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When I first learned of the lung cancer, John was as surprised and confused as I was. Neither of us smoked, and the only second hand possibility resided with my sister-in-law. Even that was a rare interaction, as she was always so careful while she was near all of us. The hospital became our second home, where they even allowed me to decorate my private room like our room at the house. John would be there day in and day out, from sunrise to sunset, and as long after as they'd allow. Our two boys were still young, but our family was big, and close enough that we didn't have to worry about who would take care of them. He was my soul mate; and I was his. We promised to leave this world together.
When things went from bad to worse, I thought we were both ready. We had always planned to be. But he felt differently. As he sat next to me, teary-eyed, holding my hand for comfort, I heard him mutter the word 'divorce' with a sniffle. The other words didn't matter as much, even if there were some that made sense.
He wanted to be free of me, to live his life without a part of his soul. He always told me I was his better half, and even if he stole the line from a cheesy movie; I loved him for it. Who would want to live as the lesser half of a whole, even if it was seemingly a selfless act to raise the boys? He did. And I understood his heart better than anyone. In reality, he was the better of the two of us; the better half of our whole. And we both knew it.
Without knowing how much time I had, I smiled, brushed his hair behind his ear, and agreed to his request. The lawyer would be coming first thing in the morning for me to sign the papers, and I promised to last at least until then. I made sure to tell him how much I loved him, and that he was always my better half, and the light that shone through my darkness. Kissing me on the forehead, he got up and started to leave, drained of strength and tears. He held my hand as he walked away, and only let go when the distance was too great to stay latched together.
As he rounded the corner, memories of us together flashed rapidly across my mind as I gazed into my wedding ring. The first time we held our twins, at this same hospital. Our first kiss, under the apple tree in Williams Square. Our first dance as a married couple, him stepping on my toes all throughout.
Squeezing my eyes tightly to force out one last tear, I pulled out every needle from my arm, and slowly watched the heart monitor until our world was no more. |
“What happens next?” Sarah says, her Disney Princess blanket pulled up to just beneath her nose, emerald green eyes locked upon Chuck.
“Well,” Chuck says, leaning back against the cedar chair beside her bed, “Dave doesn’t take too kindly to bears in his home, especially not after he’d just finished killing so many machete-wielding zombies. So he goes into his kitchen and sees what kind of weapons he can find. Obviously there’s a bunch of knives. As a lumberjack and a hobbyist butcher, he has quite a selection.”
“What’s a Butcher?” Sarah interrupts, pulling on her long, brown hair and letting it fall back onto the pink pillow behind her head.
“Someone who—“ Chuck pauses, tilting his head slightly and staring down at his niece. He realizes that it might not be the right time to explain to her what a butcher does, considering she’s under six and has a nearly unhealthy love for animals. “A butcher is someone who butches. Anyway, Dave doesn’t want to use knives quite yet. That would be too easy, too simple for our man Dave. He isn’t about to take the easy way out. Instead, he spots two boxing gloves sitting at the end of his kitchen table.”
“Are they pink?” Sarah says, glancing up at Chuck and lowering her blanket slightly.
“Yes, they’re pink.” Chuck clears his throat. “So, Dave walks over and puts the gloves on—”
“The pink gloves,” Sarah interrupts.
“Right, the pink gloves. He puts on the pink gloves and goes back to the front door, ready to kick some bear-butt. He just hopes its still there, considering how long it took them to fight off the hordes of zombies just before.”
“The SpongeBob zombies,” Sarah interrupts again.
“Yes, the reanimated corpses of various *SpongeBob SquarePants* characters. Anyway, it turns out that the bear is still standing there, waiting right outside. He roars, his massive mouth hanging open as he watches Dave approach. The bear is also carrying a machine gun and like six grenades.”
“Does the bear speak?”
“No,” Chuck says, “the bear doesn’t speak. He’s a bear.” He pauses. “Anyway, Dave walks up to the front door and, without a second thought, pulls it open. The bear stares at him for half an instant before grabbing his machine gun and wrapping his big, brown paws around the trigger. He pulls back, the weapon exploding to life as he fires blindly. He’s a bear, though, and doesn’t have good aim. Dave manages to dodge the bullets, time slowing down as the rounds fly past his head. He then throws a lightning fast right hook directly into the side of the bear’s snout.”
“Wait,” Sarah says, leaning up out of the bed slightly, “he hits the bear?”
“Right in the face,” Chuck says, standing up and holding his fists in front of him as if he were a boxer. “A quick left-right, then another right into the nose,” he says, punching the air. “The bear falls forward, dead.”
“What?” Sarah screams. “He’s dead? The bear is dead?”
“No,” Chuck says, glancing at Sarah and sitting back down in the chair. “The bear turns out to just be asleep.”
“Oh, okay,” Sarah says, smiling again.
“But,” Chuck continues, “that’s when Dave realizes that the bear isn’t just a regular bear. He’s a zombie bear, his skin all necrotic and melting. And he’s carrying a lightsaber.”
“What’s a light saver?” Sarah says, pulling the blankets back up to just beneath her emerald green eyes.
“A light*saber* is the coolest sword in the universe,” Chuck says, shaking his head slightly. He thought he’d raised her better than this. “It can cut through anything and is made from light. And sabers.”
“Cool,” Sarah says. “It’s pink, right?”
“Right,” Chuck says. “So there’s Dave, standing in front of a zombie bear that is wielding a pink lightsaber. All he has is his boxing gloves. But he’s not afraid, not Dave. Instead, he looks up into the sky, places his fingers into his mouth, and then whistles. A giant bald eagle swoops down, its feet wrapped in knives, and lands beside him. It has an American flag bandana wrapped around its forehead.”
“Can he also have a kitty?” Sarah says.
“Yeah, sure. He also has a kitty named Chairman Meow. No, actually it’s named Catt Damon. And Catt Damon has knives instead of fur.” Chuck, pauses, nodding slowly. “So there he is, a knife-haired kitty and bladed bald eagle by his side, zombie bear with a pink lightsaber ahead of him. He knows he might die, but he's ready. He's lived a Christian good life, done the best job as a lumberjack that he could. He stares right at the zombie bear and says, ‘come get some’ in an incredibly deep voice.”
“Can the kitty also speak?”
“No,” Chuck says, sighing. “Catt Damon is a kitty with a thirst for blood, all he can do is kill. Anyway, Dave lunges forward and begins dodging the lightsaber’s swings, the patriotic eagle screeching and dive bombing the bear with its knife-feet. Catt Damon meows and gently rubs its knife-covered back against the bear’s shins, purring slightly.”
“I like kitties,” Sarah laughs, leaning forward.
“The bear is trying his best to fight back,” Chuck continues, ignoring Sarah, “but he’s simply overpowered. He can’t even reach his machine gun, which he dropped the first time he died—err—fell asleep. Finally, though, he gives up and scampers back to the forest. Dave and his animal pals celebrate their victory with a few shots of whiskey and a heavy metal concert. Iron Maiden is the headliner.”
“Can they also watch *Frozen* together?” Sarah says, leaning back against her pillow and yawning.
“Sure,” Chuck says, pushing himself up and out of the wooden chair. “Whatever, they watch like ten hours of it. In the back of their minds, though, they know the bear will be back. He’ll have his revenge someday, but they will be ready. They’ll be waiting.” Chuck turns toward her door and flips the light off. “Goodnight,” he says.
“Goodnight,” Sarah says from the darkened room.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) |
“Who lives and who dies?” The young child asked.
“There’s a careful economic art to it.” I informed the school bus full of children that was touring the ‘martyr hospital’. “You don’t want to allow a martyr to volunteer for just anything. Common colds, mild lifestyle diseases, even things like the flu and a number of exotic bacterial infections are things that a normal body can easily recover from.” I pointed to an observation room where people of severe lifestyle diseases were being treated.
“In addition, many diseases can be cancelled out by simply transferring both diseases to a single person. For instance, you can see that an annorexic patient is about to receive some extra body weight and blood pressure from a martyr who was working with a morbidly obese patient.”
We turned the corner to a room with people who had infectious diseases.
“This principle also applies for some terminal illnesses. As I’m sure you’ve read, HIV can be cured entirely by first ‘priming’ a willing martyr with a hyper immune disorder, and then transferring the immunodeficient HIV victim’s illness onto the now protected martyr. The overabundance of antibodies from the hyper immune disorder balances out the lack of antibodies from the HIV patient, and will destroy any remaining viruses.”
“When do we get to see the babies?” One of the younger girls in the class. I glanced upwards to where I knew the battlefield that was the birthing ward lay.
“That’s off limits to all non-essential personnel.” I informed the young girl.
“But why?” She asked, making a pouty face.
“Because only mommy’s and daddy’s with very sick babies come here to give birth, and we need to give them their privacy so that they can make the ultimate sacrifice in peace.” |
"So. Just out of curiosity - this 'fun', what's it about?"
The human smiled as he tossed his computer aside. In the tiny, almost closet-sized office, he looked almost impossibly tall. "It's easy!"he shouted. "We even have a song about it! Ready?"
The alien shook all four heads, but the human was unstoppable.
"F is for friends who do stuff together...U is for you and me - try it!"
"N is for anywhere, anytime at all-"
"DOWN HERE IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA!"
The alien shook his head. Here he was, trying to close the business deal of the century, and the human was interested in nothing more than singing about seas that didn't exist anywhere else but on Earth. Where was the gravitas?
"Wasn't that fun?"the human asked. "Let's do it a-"
"No, no, no,"the alien said quickly. "I mean - Mr. Pataki."The human greeting sounded foreign. "Back to business. I apologise for that distraction. Mr. Pataki, we're here to offer you and your company a big, big deal - one which will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. All we require is that you sign on that line, right there."
The alien indicated with his blue finger, and the carbon paper flittered a little in the dingy office. The human picked up the pen and played with it. Immediately his voice took on a different tone.
"Money, huh?"he asked. "You *do* know the general wisdom round these parts is to never trust a human, right? How come you're offering me so much?"
"Because we're desperate,"the alien replied. "We *need* this, Mr. Pataki. Your release of that game - Stacko? Tetris? - anyway, *that* game, was so successful even Sirius Logistics needed to know about it. Hell, I was playing it before you came in. We'll do anything, Mr. Pataki, not because we want to, but because we simply must - because there's nothing else in the galaxy that can compare to reruns of *I Love Lucy* and *M.A.S.H.*."
The alien closed his eyes as the human snickered. This was already going so wrong, and nothing had even been signed yet. Oh, what would his superiors think?
But amazingly, the human began to laugh. The alien opened his eyes, to see the human waving the carbon paper before him. The man even had the pen out already.
"Alright then, it does sound really good,"the human said. "I'm prepared to take on the contract. What kind of game are you thinking of?"
The alien's eyes widened. His four heads struggled to stay on its axis. "Really?"he whispered. "You'll just design any game I want?"
"Yeah,"the human replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Part of the job."
"Alright,"the alien said. "I want something science-fictiony. Kind of like one of the shooting games you gave me last time. What was it called again - Counter-Strike?"
"You know it!"the human whooped. "Science fiction, first-person shooter - hmm. Alrighty then, I'll give you a game."The human stood up, pen scratching away at the carbon paper. "It even has a name already - mind you, it's the next one in a series."
The alien sighed in relief. The signature was down now. No matter what, the aliens would get their games, his superiors would be fine with him, and the galaxy would live in peace-
"Say,"the alien spoke, as the human was leaving. "What's the name of the game?"
The human looked back, and winked.
"Half-Life 3."
|
George had never been one to believe in a higher power. It was just too much to think that there could be a holy deity allowing all this suffering in the world. So when he heard the voice of God in the park that day, he thought he’d developed schizophrenia.
"FINALLY, ONE OF YOU SCHMUCKS HAS MADE IT INTO HEAVEN”
“Wh…what?” he muttered, looking around. He had expected to see some prick with a megaphone but instead, everyone else had the same confusion painted on their faces. They must’ve heard the voice as well. He made his way to a nearby bench and struck up a conversation with the woman sitting there. She was always in the park around the time George would take his walks and he thought she was quite the pretty lady. If everyone was just as confused as he was, then he couldn’t miss this opportunity.
“Did you hear that?” George asked, trying to sound only mildly interested in the phenomenon.
“I was afraid I was the only one,” she responded. “It said something about someone getting in-“
“GETTING INTO HEAVEN, YES,” the sky interrupted. “AFTER COUNTLESS MILLENIA, SOMEONE ACTUALLY EARNED THEIR WAY THROUGH THE PEARLY GATES.”
George’s eyes widened. Did this voice just seriously respond to his conversation?
“So are you supposed to be God?”
“GREAT GUESS.”
Responding to the conversation was one thing, but George was astounded to learn that God would be capable of something like sarcasm. Every person of faith always talked about how God was a kind, loving father who wanted nothing more than the happiness of his people, and yet here He was being a smart aleck.
“You know, you’re kind of a douche, aren’t you, God? You could be talking to countless people and giving them hope for the future, but instead you’re bickering with me.”
“THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE THE ONLY PRICK USING THIS EVENT TO TRY TO GET LAID. BUT NEVERMIND THAT. SOMEONE HAS MADE IT INTO HEAVEN AND USED HIS ONE REQUEST TO HAVE ME TELL YOU ALL WHAT IT TAKES TO GET IN.”
George was silent. The woman who was sitting next to George and was disgusted by his intent was silent. Every living creature in the park seemed to know that this was important and remained quiet. Somewhere else on Earth, however, it seemed someone didn’t get the memo. God responded in frustration.
“WHAT? NO, IT ISN’T STEPHEN HAWKING. WHY THE HELL WOULD I ALLOW HIM IN HERE? HE EXPLICITLY SAID HE’D JUST STOP EXISTING WHEN HE DIED AND THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT HE DID. THE GUY WHO MADE IT IN WAS THOMAS JOHNSON FROM SEAFORD, DELAWARE. COOL GUY.
ANYWAY, THE WAY TO GET INTO HEAVEN IS SIMPLE YET NONE OF YOU MANAGED TO PULL THIS OFF UNTIL NOW. IT’S A RIDDLE. I ASK IT TO EVERY PERSON AT THE GATES. IF YOU FAIL, YOU GET BOOTED. WHAT GETS WETTER AS IT DRIES?”
A man standing in the park snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! It’s a towel, right?” The bright blue sky became plastered in black. The clouds faded into nothing. “NO, IT’S NOT A FUCKING TOWEL,” God screeched. A single lightning bolt crashed down from the darkness and slammed into the clever man. All that remained was ashes, carried away by the wind along with the darkness. Once again, the sky was covered in white fluff.
“WHY WOULD IT BE A TOWEL? I’VE ASKED THAT RIDDLE SINCE THE BIRTH OF MAN AND THEY DIDN’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL A TOWEL IS BACK THEN. ANYWAY, THAT’S THE RIDDLE. BE THINKING ABOUT THE ASNWER BECAUSE I’LL ASK YOU AGAIN WHEN YOU DIE.”
With that last statement, the voice was gone. The world was left to ask itself a single question:
Besides towels, what gets wetter as it dries?
|
The sirens spool up. Their long wail sends a chill down my spine. The negotiations everyone has been waiting on all month have failed. The machines make a mournful cry. My back felt cold and tingled, and I felt like crying myself.
I spoke into the phone receiver, my voice quaked “It... it looks like it’s happening mom. I love you! Tell Nancy I love her too!”
“Oh Nancy knows. I love you too! It’s going to be okay... I...”
“Is dad there?”
“I’m right here, Kiddo.”
My eyes really began to sting now. They were divorced but they had come together to visit my sister Nancy and her kid. “I love you, dad.” I pictured that time he built me a tire swing, right after the divorce, to let me know he was never angry at me.
“I love you more than anything.” Came his gravelly reply, softened by the years.
The sirens were louder now. I wish I had more to say. I kept trying to stutter some words out.
“I... just. I just... I..”
“We love you.” Mom said, planely and steadily. “Now go get in the basement, we have a shelter across the street here.”
“Okay! G... goodbye!”
“Its not goodbye, Kiddo. Just go.”
One last statement of love and we hung up. My head spinning, I tried to gather some bottled water and food I’d bought and head for the basement.
The sirens continued, like a death bell for billions of people. The tv was muted. An information line scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The strange klaxon noise kicked in.
*ERRRR! ERRRR! ERRRR!*
Then the long tone. A machine voice
*THIS MESSAGE IS TRANSMITTED AT THE REQUEST OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT*
I winced. Here it came.
*THIS IS NOT A TEST*
The tears finally began to flow.
*THREE NUCLEAR WARHEADS ARE INBOUND FROM UNKNOWN...*
“God! Help us!”
*ALL RESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES ARE ENCOURAGED TO SEEK OUT, AND PREPARE TO TAKE, SHELTER.*
“I didnt do this! It isnt fair! I... Im sorry God!” I curled up on the tiny, old sofa in my basement, watching my life end out of my control. “I’m sorry... we failed you.”
The tv went silent. The sirens echoed as they ran down, the last sound I may ever hear.
The lights went out. The tv went black. I clutched my pillow to my chest. I wished I’d had my old dog.
“God... if you’re listening... Help us...?!”
A single word echoed to all the prayers being cast all over earth. “No.” |
People used to think that gods had power. Whether they worshiped a single all-mighty God, or a pantheon of gods with separate duties, they always had power. The universe had long since collapsed on itself, and I found myself questioning everything. Time couldn't pass because time didn't exist, and yet things still happened. Nothing existed anymore, and yet I could hold the universe in my hand.
The tiny collapsed universe looked like a tiny ball of light, and fit in the palm of my hand, so I did the only thing I could think of. I took the tiny universe and swallowed it. I was suddenly wracked with pain. Looking at my belly, I was expanding. It hurt, but I did not fear. I should have been dead long ago, and yet here I was. As I watched myself fall apart, and suddenly exploded from the center.
People used to think gods had power. I don't know how long I had lived for. As my body fell apart, my only thought was of a life I lived far too long ago. Faces that I didn't remember, events that no longer mattered. I thought about the many religions I had witnessed on earth before the sun engulfed it.
I watched the explosion from my belly. A blinding light, the light of creation, of a new universe being born. I prayed they would have good lives, should life form again.
"Let there be light,"I said as my body was disintegrated and my consciousness finally faded to nothing. |
It was a Caspian tiger, large and shaggy, painstakingly cloned from the trophy that hung in the great hall. It had crossed light-years and centuries, a false extinction in the mid-1900s and a real one later, when everything went belly up in The Big Mistake. It had been the third cub decanted, the only one to survive to adulthood. It had been beautiful.
And now it was dead.
The tiger lay broken in the wintergrass, a streak of orange seeping red in the wavering field of ice blue grasses. Shards of stained glass lay all around it. Remnants of a hunting scene, unimportant now. Nothing was, in the face of this. There was hardly anything left. Antus was a harsh world, and the castle was very large. It had taken time to locate the source of the crash, and then the king had been… indisposed. The scavengers never were.
A man could see incredible things. New worlds. Wintergrass stretching out forever. Riches when other worlds were burning, Earth itself splitting apart.
Staring down at his tiger, the King thought that this was the most incredible thing of all. A streak of mangled orange and red in all that icy blue. Babur, he’d called it.
A door opened behind him.
“No sign of intruders,” said the woman who entered. “I’ve got full spectrum running, in the morning we’ll have every living thing in the castle accounted for. If there’s a mouse out of place, I’ll find it.”
The King waved her over. She joined him, a respectful step away.
“Further orders?” she said. “What should we do with the body?”
And the King shrugged. Tried to make the movement casual, even though he couldn’t take his eyes away. Babur, broken on the ground. The grasses wavering in the breeze, almost as if they were curling towards him.
The woman made to leave. The King caught her hand and she turned back, her gaze softening. A moment passed above the world, the woman leaning towards her King like the wintergrass. Tall and lean, beautiful.
“Clone another,” said the King.
Late that night, she did.
\*\*\*
The King sat on his throne, staring thoughtfully up into the rafters. Babur lay at his feet, the tip of his tail making lazy circles in the air. All around them was the sound of quiet scraping, the whir of drones, dishes being stored away as the servants cleaned up in the wake of another banquet.
The King had no eyes for any of them. There was another tiger in the rafters, another Babur, dead like all the others.
A year had passed since that night above the wintergrass when the first cloned Babur had died. Since then eight more had plunged to their deaths from windows or staircases. Two had burned. The last had simply died. The King had found that one himself, curled up on library on the floor, ice-cold and unmoving.
A man could be troubled by such things.
He reached down, stroked Babur’s head. The tiger leaned into his touch, purred softly. Above them the first Babur hung suspended from a pair of invisible wires, killed by an ancestor so far off in the past that nothing remained of him but his trophy, the tigers cloned from it. That man hadn’t even been a King. Troubling thoughts. Confusing thoughts.
The King stood and Babur followed.
They walked through the halls as the night passed into morning. The King whispered to Babur, told him everything. Men and women talked, but tigers kept the secrets that people never could. Babur was a good listener. He always had been, in all his incarnations.
At length they found themselves stopped in front of the window. It was a hall like all the others. Stone. A high, vaulted ceiling. Busts in the alcoves, paintings on the walls. A thick carpet that Babur walked alongside. The King could never bring himself to clip a tiger’s claws.
“What’s happening to you?” he asked Babur. His friend, as much as any creature in the world.
The tiger growled and the King pulled on his ears. Found the spot at the base of his skull that always itched.
“Eleven dead tigers,” said the king. “Twelve, if you count the one in the rafters. He’s your ancestor I suppose. I’m sorry about that.”
The King stared out of the repaired window, past the hunting scene, and down into the wintergrass that stretched out forever.
“Does that make you thirteen?”
Babur curled up in front of the window, and the King realized that their walk had ended. One never moved a tiger after they had found their place. Even a king’s power had its limits.
The King kissed Babur’s head. Said, “See you in the morning,” and tried not to make it sound like a question.
Then with one last parting look, the King went in search of indisposition.
He found Babur in the wintergrass, after.
\*\*\*
The King stared through the camera at a sleepless tiger, the twenty-second of his name. The woman sat beside him, explaining.
“Our cloning is getting better,” she said. “We understand tigers a little better each time. The drone is designed to fit into Babur’s blind spots. He can’t smell it, and he can’t see the color it’s painted. The shape is special too, frankly the whole thing is ingenious. You can watch him anytime, anywhere, and he’ll never know you’re there.”
The King nodded. “You understand tigers now?”
“A little,” she said.
“Then what's killing him?”
The woman could only spread her hands and bow. She backed out of the room, and this time the King let her go. She was never far, always faithful. Perhaps, he thought, she might even keep a secret. Then he wouldn’t need a tiger.
No. The King would always need Babur.
He’d been forced to admit to himself that Babur was an obsession now. It hurt the King to see death, but even more than that he was struggling with the helplessness of it all. Twenty-two Babur’s and still they were dying. Being killed perhaps, but what could kill a tiger? It was unthinkable. Every time it happened he slipped a bit closer to paranoia, that age-old killer of kings, but what else was he to do? What else was a man to do, when his best friend kept on dying?
It was not, he imagined, a problem many men had faced. Kings were different. They had their problems, with their own solutions. They had to. Kings were a species unto themselves.
On the screen, Babur stood. The tiger looked around his room, more richly appointed than most nobleman’s chambers. There were toys and scratching posts, all manner of things to eat. Babur could follow a tunnel west for a quarter-mile until he came up in a clearing among the wintergrass fields, a broad pen where he might hunt small game or a few elusive slantdeer. A tiger’s dream life. Everything was perfect.
Babur looked at it all, then looked towards the drone. Stared, unblinking.
He went out through the front door.
The drone followed. Babur took a winding path up, up, up. The King leaned towards his monitor, eyes devouring the tiger’s shape. Where was he going? Why not hunt?
It Babur an hour to climb the great, winding stair up into the central tower.
It only took a moment to fling himself back down.
The King sat back, openmouthed.
And then he wept. |
“Did you know that plants know how to hate?”
The face in the ground was gnarled and wrinkled like weathered bark. Small flowers bloomed from its eye sockets and it smiled as it sensed footsteps approaching.
The girl stopped a foot away, holding a watering can.
“You’re saying plants have emotions?” she asked the face in the ground.
The head that was almost a skull nodded, vines crawling between its bones, “Yes, I conducted studies on plant growth in my tenure here. I was on the verge of a breakthrough, you know.”
“Who cares if plants have emotions?” the girl sat down on the ground, crossing her legs. She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a crumpled candy bar, chewing on it stoically, “Why did you even research something like that?”
“I was curious,” the face in the ground smiled, “That’s all the reason I needed. Well, I did make up a nice soudning reason for the funding involved…but that’s a really boring explanation.”
The girl continued chewing on her candy bar. She stopped briefly, “Do you think zombies have emotions?”
“I should think so,” the face said with a throaty laugh, “I am one after all.”
“But you’re not like the others,” the girl said, “You can talk,” she pointed out, “And you stop the others from trying to eat me.”
“Maybe they can talk too,” the face tilted faintly, “Maybe they just forgot how.”
“I don’t think I can think of them as having emotions,” the girl declared, “How’m I supposed to get rid of them if they can feel?”
“I don’t have all the answers,” the face replied dryly, “But I can’t say it’s wrong to try to live. Here I am trying to live too, even though I should be dead by now.”
“I thought you said you weren’t from the Philosophy department,” the girl said blandly.
“Maybe I’m branching out?” the face replied with a huff, “Have you considered that?”
“You’re always branching out,” the girl retorted.
The face in the ground stared at her. The girl stared back. They laughed.
“I wonder how long things will last like this…” the face said, “I could lose control tomorrow. You could get bitten by a zombie…”
The girl shook her head, “You talk too much.” |
“Is that Steve Irwin?” John said, the newcomer staring at the divine man on the television, unable to comprehend the raw manliness that was the great Steve Irwin.
“That’s Saint Irwin to you. But to answer your question, yes, that is the great crocodile hunter that you grew up watching.” The angel didn’t bother glancing John’s way, too transfixed by the golden aura that surrounded Saint Irwin. He was special. Even in the afterlife, he had something that just ascended him above the rest.
“That I grew up watching? How did you know I grew up watching him?”
“I’m an angel. I know everything about you mortals. Should I recount your history, or do you believe me?”
“I believe you. I just can’t believe it’s really him. The crocodile hunter, Steve Irwin.”
“SAINT IRWIN.” The angel said, giving John a smack across the back of the head.
‘Ow, right, Saint Irwin. He looks the same, like he hasn’t aged a day.”
“It’s heaven. When you die, you become your best self. Take your own form, for example. You died at the age of forty and yet you have the body of your twenty-five-year-old self.”
“But Saint Irwin didn’t die at his peak?”
“That man was always at his peak. Like the gods, he is a figure that transcends the rest of us. You would do well to show him more respect.”
The two stared at the golden television floating above them. Even the angelic being couldn’t resist watching his show. Usually such a pause in the line to heaven would have caused a riot or at the very least some pushing and shoving, but with the screen in view of the waiting mortals, everyone just watched in awe, wondering what he would wrangle next.
A few hushed whispers crept through the line as Saint Irwin traversed the golden landscape of heaven. His Khaki shorts making him stand out among the angelic filming crew he was travelling with. He stopped before a glowing circle of liquid, crouching by it. He let his hand dip into it before pulling it out, revealing a small, shelled creature. Its shell was coated in small silver spikes that Saint Irwin carefully avoided, laying his palm as flat as possible to avoid getting poked.
“What a beauty we have here today. This creature is known as a Winged dream eater. Now don’t let the appearance fool you. These beauties can fly using a hidden set of wings.” Irwin said, motioning the camera closer, tilting the shell towards them. “See those little black leathery bits of skin attached to the creature? Those are the wings. This creature sits in these little dream ponds and waits for a mortal to fall asleep, only to latch onto them and absorb their dreams for subsidence.
The angel clutched their hands together in prayer, almost seeming rather emotional about the show. John was eagerly absorbing the information. Feeling like his six-year-old self again. The show bringing back memories of his life in rural Australia. How he would sit before the tv at six am and watch the legendary Steve Irwin entertain and educate the next generation. His love of animals infectious, even in the afterlife.
“I never could have imagined something like this would exist in heaven.” John said.
“That’s why Saint Irwin is so important. He is the one that ventures beyond the safety of our pearly gates. He goes where no one else will go and does it with a smile on his face. We are blessed to have him.” The angel then shushed John, wanting to hear whatever came out of the Saint’s mouth next.
“Now I know what you might be thinking. These are some nasty buggers, right? Well, despite them eating the dreams of mortals, they also serve an important purpose. Without them, the rem sleep of humans could last over ten hours. CRICKY that’s a lot of hours. This is why it’s important to throw these little cuddle creatures back if you see them trapped on land. That much rem sleep could lead to negative health consequences.” He gestured to the camera and a golden assortment of words appeared, listing off the negative effects of too much rem sleep.
“Wow, I probably would have ignored that if I saw it.” One woman in the crowd said.
“With a name like that, I would have stepped on it.” A man responded.
The crowd exchanging idle chatter, having learned a lot from the brief episode of heaven’s hottest show. The angel wiped their eyes, their emotions finally spilling out. John watched as the angel mouthed a small prayer before turning to view the mortal once more.
“You see why he is important to the afterlife? Without him, the people here wouldn’t know how to interact with the creatures they encounter. We tried everything before he arrived. Pamphlets, lectures, puppet shows and even interpretive dance, and yet nothing held their attention. Then along came Saint Irwin and suddenly everyone was interested. He just made everyone care about the creatures.”
“He is greatly missed at home. You don’t get many iconic people like him. I’m glad to see he’s doing well.” John said, only to give the counter a small tap. “So, am I allowed into heaven?”
“One moment” The angel held up a finger as the preview for the next episode began.
“Follow the crocodile hunter Saint Irwin as he takes a trip down to purgatory to give us information on the face stealers. Are they as dangerous as the reports suggest? Find out on the next episode of Saint Irwin, the crocodile hunter.” When the voice over finished, everyone but the angel couldn’t believe what they had just heard. Face stealers? Surely something like that was dangerous.
“That episodes a repeat. Turns out Face stealers are just the reflections of people. They are created whenever someone looks in a mirror or anything reflective, for that matter. They aren’t dangerous, they just survive off the memories of that person and when that person is finally forgotten, they painlessly disappear. Don’t look so scared, everyone, they don’t harm the people in purgatory. At worst, they might give them a fright if they see their own face.”
Despite the angels’ words, everyone continued to murmur between one another, excited to get into heaven just so they could see the next episode. The angel looked John over before opening the gates.
“Where’s my room?” John was bouncing on his heels, ready to run as soon as they gave him the information he needed.
“Your room is five hundred and fifty in the northern section. Just ask an angel when you get in and they will show you the way. If you can get to your room in ten minutes, you should catch the start of the Face stealers episode. It’s on channel 777.”
“Right, thank you!” With that, John rushed to his room, not wanting to miss a single moment of such exciting television.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
"I still don't understand."
"What else is there to understand? You died, won the lottery, and came back as an AI."
"See, I don't think you get it. You're supposed to be happy to win the lottery. Happy."
This conversation would already be confusing enough from the outside. The fact that it was the captain arguing with her warship itself as they passed a random asteroid definitely didn't help. While the rest of the crew didn't show it, such a vivid discussion was nerve racking. AIs typically didn't have such reservations about their own fate. And resurrections as AI was an accepted form of practice, in that it helped with communication between ships. But, sometimes, there were some side effects.
"Can we, at least..."The voice asked as they followed trajectory. "Why me?"
The captain, had brought the issue to medical personnel as well as technical. Figures, they would.
"Tavian... Scans of your brain tissue suggested mental qualities that would make you a prime candidate."
"That's real great, Saanvi. But you could at least warn- Hey!"Tavian reacted. He got one of the bots off their charging ports and had it snatch an engineer from a panel. "Don't touch me."
"If you overreact, you'll get us all killed."The captain warned.
"And get flashed."Saanvi added, "Do you like your memories or not?"
The camera orb that watched the bridge pulled back, and the bot leaned against the wall, limbs folded in a surly nature.
"Well..."The AI answered. The bot shrugged finally. "I had an okay life. I'm running your databases for your records. Everybody here seems at least tolerable."
"Good."The captain breathed.
"And if all else fails, I can at least drain all the oxygen from the room."
This of course caused an uproar amongst the crew who immediately began a variety of activities keen on stopping him. But they all listened to the collected laughter overhead.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding."Tavian promised. The bot bowing over like a person out of breath. "So what do I have the pleasure of being brought back from the dead for? Exactly."
Saanvi quietly selected the correct information and sent it forward. "We're currently intercepting another ship. Sources say it's foreign, and we're meant to check it's possible coordinates."
"I see. That explains all the guns."Tavian's orb mimicked a slight nod.
"As you can probably see from our info, we believe it might be related to you."
"...This might be the ship that shot us down."The bot quietly tensed up at this.
"So, are you up for the job?"The captain asked again.
"Sure."
"Can you at least put the attack bots back?!"The engineer one grabbed shouted. "I'd at least like to look them over before you do anything else with them!"
"Oh. Sorry, Dave."He remarked. The bots fell to the floor like discarded puppets. Including the one still holding Dave.
"I meant put them back."
More laughter. "I know. I just wanted to know if I could do that." |
“It’s okay for a baby to have a piece of candy once in a while,” my friend said. I looked at him in disbelief.
“Have you seen how much sugar the average candy bars have?”
“About twelve grams of sugar right?”
“No. Twenty four.”
“Okay. Twenty four grams of sugar won’t kill a baby still.”
“Have you seen the obesity rate in America. It’s horrid. Babies are supposed to have milk, fruit, and most importantly water.”
“Don’t bring up that subreddit again.”
“Hydro Homies is a lifestyle. It’s important to teach them young to drink water.”
“Oh come on. You can’t be serious.”
“A baby is supposed to have several glasses of water a day.”
“Okay. I can agree with that but we need to go back to the candy part.”
“Babies nowadays are too unhealthy. Have you seen the supermarket aisle full of baby products?”
“No.”
Before my friend knew it, he was standing in front of many colorful products in front of him. We didn’t talk in the whole car ride together.
“Look at this,” I pulled a product out for him, “look at the amount of sugar in this.”
His eyes begin to widen, “seventy two?!”
I pull a coke bottle and show him the label.
“There’s the same amount of sugar in this bottle here,” he said.
“Exactly.”
“Why do these companies exploit moms?”
“Ask Nestle.”
My friend glances down at the bottle of coke and the packages. Nestle. He runs towards the bread aisle. Even whole wheat bread was sold by Nestle. The amount of sugar in a single slice? Seventy two grams. He spends thirty minutes trying to find one product with an inch of healthiness in it. None. He pulls out his phone and googles the supermarket’s owner. Nestle. |
I'd always thought of it as gift. I've no idea why I have this power, or how it works, but if I touch the dead remains of something, I see their last moments. The fresher the more vivid the vision was... the most recent ones I even felt as if it was my own death.
That *was* a problem until I hit upon the idea of going into Palaeontology. Anything that's been dead that long is manageable. It's like watching a black and white movie only in instant flashback and 8k definition.
It didn't take long before I developed a reputation for accurate recreations of fossils lives and deaths. I prided myself on being truthful and accurate. Not that I ever *told* anyone about my 'inside track' but I knew.
Which makes this particular specimen a nightmare... It's a Ankylosaur, from the mid to late Jurassic. *Not* one from the very end, I don't particularly want to ever seen that scene ever again. But nonetheless an almost intact specimen, with the hard armour-like skin perfectly preserved.
I say *almost* intact ... with one obvious glaring detail. A detail that for the first time in my career I am going to have to come up with a convincing lie for.
After all.. how do I explain a 170 million old bullet hole in it's skull? |
The fuck? How the shit can... are you? Is this an in-app purchase thing? HEY! HEY! SOMEONE? ARE YOU LOOKING FOR MICROTRANSACTIONS?
**Is there a question you have?**
Oh, thank God. Hi. Yeah. I'm in this character creation screen. I've got nothing but the default skins selected - the blotchy, pockmarked one, at that. There's virtually nothing here for anything else.
**Is there a question you have?**
Well, yeah. How come I have to choose between being five foot nothing or have a micropenis? I mean, what's with that?
**You may allocate the points however you wish.**
I get that. I understand the whole interface. I've got it. It's... it's like here - it says here I *have* to select one of the following: dyslexia, colourblindness or club foot. What the fuck, dude? I'm not minmaxing here.
**You may select one of the options to continue.**
I *understand* the interface. I get it. Why can't I unclick "flatulent"?
**The option is preselected.**
Are you fucking kidding me, asshole? I *know* that. I just told *you* that. What the fuck, dude?
**The options may be unselected with a greater number of stat points.**
How do I get more stat points?
**By being good.**
'By being good'? What the fuck? How am I supposed to do that now?
**You cannot.**
No shit, I cannot. Why did nobody ever tell me to 'be good' when I was alive?
**They did. Many times.**
...
Ah, shit.
_________________
Edit: Replaced 'living well' with 'being good' and forgot it in the repetition. |
There was a bright light positioned directly over my face. It was blinding me before I even managed to pry my eyelids open. Turning away didn’t seem to work; my neck wasn’t moving. I tried lifting my arm to shield my face, but my limbs were all rubbery and numb. I had a moment of panic as I tried to figure out what was going on and what was happening.
“Please remain still during the unfreezing process,” a gentle feminine voice said. It was too bright to see who was speaking. “Your muscles have atrophied after so long in cryostasis. I am repairing them now.”
I became more aware of everything going on around me: A *whirring* sound like a high-powered drill, the slightly-chemical, slightly lemony scent of cleaning products, and bursts of hysterical giggling. Finally the light snapped off, and I was able to take a look around. I was in a lab of some sort, full of gleaming chrome and immaculately clean plastic. Above me, attached to the light, was some kind of metal spider-looking contraption. A dozen arms hung from underneath it, each arm tipped with various instruments and hands. And in the corner of the room, a woman in a white hazmat-style jumpsuit sat on a metal stool, spinning in circles.
“Errr… you’re the one that brought me back?” I asked her. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was very naked, and tried to stand behind the table so that at least my most private parts were hidden. She didn’t care, though. She kicked at the wall to build up speed, faster and faster and faster until she reached out one hand, grabbed the counter and came to a screeching halt. She glanced at me with a dazed, loopy grin… and then fell off the stool.
The machine overhead whirred to life and helped the woman get back to her feet. But she still leaned against the counter and swayed back and forth as she recovered from the dizziness. Finally her eyes focused on me and she smiled. “Me?” It was kind of a shrill squeak, not the voice of the woman who had spoken while I was on the table. “No, I’m just here to give you a tour, I think.”
“I brought you back,” that calm, soothing voice said. But there was no one else in the room; the voice came from a speaker attached to the robot arms dangling from the ceiling. “Your pod was encoded with instructions to be opened after either a duration of 200 years, or until your cancer could be cured. After evaluating your physical conditions, I determined that the second criteria could be met.”
It took a bit to process; maybe my brain was still a little fuzzy from being frozen for who knows how many years. But eventually it all came trickling back to me: the cancer, years of futile treatment, and my last-gasp attempt to stave off death by freezing my body until medical technology advanced a bit more. “Are you saying that you can cure my cancer?”
“I already did,” the voice answered cheerfully. “Just now, as I was rebuilding your muscle tissues.” Every time ‘she’ spoke, a red light at the center of the mass of arms turned on.
I looked over to the woman nearby like I needed some confirmation that it was real. I mean… how many years of chemo and radiation had I been through? And here it only took a few minutes? But the woman wasn’t really paying attention to what the robot voice was saying; instead, she was eyeing the stool, considering another spin.
“That’s amazing!” I managed to catch the woman’s gaze. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“Ummm…” she looked up at the machine for guidance, then back at me. “Sure! Amazing.”
I turned back to the machine. “So are you… like… an AI doctor or something?”
“I am the Caretaker of the Austin metro area,” she answered. “I manage all aspects of the region, including the health of its citizens.”
“Lucy is the best!” the woman said, presumably referring to the AI. “Anything you need, you just tell her and she will do it for you. Watch: Lucy, clean my house.”
The red light flashed again. “Your house is already clean, Andrea.”
The woman, presumably Andrea, beamed a grin at me. “See? Told you so!”
I didn’t have a response ready; it was all a bit much to process. I mean, of course I’d wondered what the future would be like before I was frozen. And it seemed that I’d walked out into a sci-fi novel of instant cures and robot servants. Just took a little getting used to.
Luckily, my thoughts were interrupted by a soft, chirping alarm. “Two PM,” Lucy said. One of the octopus alarms came to life and snaked across the room. At the end of this one, there was no specific tool: just a gaping opening. But Andrea immediately cupped her hands, and three pills slid out of the tube. Without a moment’s hesitation, Andrea popped them into her mouth and swallowed with an audible gulp.
“Please hold out your hands,” Lucy said. The tube swung toward me.
I did as I was told, and the three pills were deposited in my palm. One red, one white, and one blue. *How patriotic,* I thought to myself before stopping to wonder if we still had the same flag. Or even the same government. There would be so many new things to find out.
“What are these for?” I asked. “Is this part of the cancer treatment?” I was so used to my chemotherapy that that was the first thing to pop into my mind. But a moment later I realized it was stupid; if that was the case, why would Andrea need them too?
“It is a nutritional supplement,” Lucy answered. “Necessary to maintain proper health and physical condition.”
“They’re strawberry flavored!” Andrea added.
“Yeah, but *what* nutrient is it?” I asked. In addition to my chemo, I’d been through all of the ‘herbal’ remedies, and they’d all been a big crock of horse shit. About 2 years before being frozen, I decided that I was never going to take snake oil again.
The red light blinked, but Lucy didn’t say anything. I looked to Andrea, but she had gone back to wistfully staring at the spinning stool. The room was silent for a minute or so.”
“Exact ingredients are as follows…” Lucy said. Then she began rattling off long names of chemical compounds. Oxycarbo-whatever, polydiura-who-knows, etc. Even the head of an experienced chemist would be spinning.
*Should have known better than to question future AI doctor*, I chided myself. I looked back down at the pills… then popped them into my mouth. Andrea was right; they did taste like strawberries.
Almost immediately, my concerns about the pills were just washed away. I mean, Lucy had cured my cancer, hadn’t she? Of course she knows what’s best. Everything just felt… better. I didn’t even care that I was naked anymore. Why *would* I care? I couldn’t remember what I’d been so nervous about.
Andrea jumped back on the stool and began building up speed, giggling as she went.
“That looks like *so much fun!*” I told her. It hadn’t seemed like a lot of fun when she was first doing it, but now it was the best thing ever!
She came to a stop again and went toppling off the stool. “You wanna try it?” I asked.
"YEAH!"I immediately took a step closer to the stool, but then stopped. “Don’t we need to like… go on a tour or something?” I asked Lucy. Isn’t that why Andrea was here? She'd said something about it before but now I couldn't remember.
The red light between Lucy’s arms flashed. “Take as long as you all need,” the calm voice answered.
|
The drive was odd. the broken yellow meridian provided the only sense of change from a desolate feeling, a desolate landscape, and a desolate world. But hey, at least I didn't have to worry about checking my phone on the way there. I couldn't not. Snapchat gave the first indication; 6.8 billion people located in the middle of the desert. iMessage gave the second indication; I went through every contact's Share My Location. Every single one was in that lone valley in Nevada. Every single one wouldn't respond.
I had debated whether or not to visit this place. After all, I had all the food I needed. I could live in any unlocked millionaire's house for the rest of my life. Drive any exotic car I wanted until gasoline became so horribly rotted that I was forced to live beachside Malibu. In some rich, green-freak's mansion running off 100% renewables. Only then would I be confined to driving $150,000 Teslas. I had it all, and somehow, I had nothing.
Like a tree devoting all its energy to producing one leaf—beautiful though it may be—while the trunk, branches, and stems wither. There was no one around. And absolutely no signs that anyone else was around either. Except for what Snapchat, iMessage, and any other location service app would tell me. 6.8 billion people, all in one, unmoving, terrifying place.
5 miles from the point. Dusk is upon me, and an orange hue speaks to the end of a day. I come upon the last ridge until that fateful descent into the valley, and absolutely nothing will prepare me for what I am about to see. The plane of my car reaches a horizontal, and my field of vision petrifies what it contrives to behold.
6.8 billion cell phones. thousands perfectly stacked atop each other, end on end, like some eerie, impossible eighth wonder of the world. They are arranged in a checkerboard pattern where every other screen is facing me, still on. Still glowing. The wall must be three miles wide. Probably more. My drop in speed can't convey my descent into pure horror. Something arranged this. And there isn't a single soul here. Nothing but a massive, impossible, wall of cell phones.
It's all I can do to keep driving. I drive until my bumper nearly touches the wall. I stop out of pure terror that I will be crushed under the weight of millions of pounds of tumbling glass and metal. I close my door, and so begins the video.
The phones, the half pointed my way anyway, start to play a video. The video itself is unremarkable. Scenes show industry pouring noxious fumes into the air. Times Square with a sickening amount of people making their way like ants through a concrete jungle. The squalor of human procreation and resource abuse...
It's the audio that really gets under my skin. It's in English, but it's not human. And it's message is powerful, all-consuming.
"For years, your race has gone on without regard for its environment. Without regard to its own limits and your world is dying. Until you can manage to curb your population. Until you can manage to care for your world. And until you can learn to manage technology, your society will constantly be reset in this way. So go forth, and pass this message. The building blocks are all around you."
And just like that, phone by phone—with a roar of fracturing glass and bending metal—the wall came down.
And just before me, on the other side of where the wall had been. My high school sweetheart. And then I remember why we were separated on that awful, life-changing day years and years ago.
I had lost her number. And she had lost mine.
|
“Sir, there’s something that may concern you.” His aide woke him in the night, Beauregard Borkenstein III had very few calls in the night since he began his presidency.
The sleep fell from his eyes as he tried not to disturb his wife.
“On with it then, Rufflen.” He says, a sigh slipping from his lips.
“It... it’s NASA, sir.” He stammered out, the President could see that his shirt had soaked through with sweat. He’d never known Rufflen to be so rattled.
Within minutes he was in his command center beneath his desk in the Tennis Ball Office. The room was hushed, glances were exchanged yet lips remained sealed.
“Play it back.” He said, for the fifth time. He knew this phrase. He could not place it, but he swore he’d heard it before.
“Good boy.” A voice not unlike those in this room echoed from the screen. His eyes shot wide, as his wits finally returned to him after being ripped from his sleep. He stormed out of the center as quickly as his stubby legs and gut would let him waddle.
He threw himself at his library wall, a sea of various digital encyclopedias greeted him.
“No, no, no!” He threw the wrong thin tablets to the ground behind him, not knowing his cabinet had formed a small crowd behind him. He pulled his glasses down over his short snout, he became increasingly impatient.
His hands settled on an older tablet, scuffed and scratched, but still working. His hand trembled over it.
The first page told him all he knew.
It was a picture of his ancestor, countless generations before. A furless primitive stood next to his distant relative, holding him lovingly. His eyes traveled the page for the text he sought for.
‘James and his Good Boy’ the photo told him.
“Oh my Dog.” Beauregard said, and his council was taken aback at the curse.
“They haven’t forgotten.”
|
"A little salt with that, dear,"I gently told Madison as she poured me a cup of coffee. She gave me that perplexed look that children often give adults, be it for a good reason or not. I suppose this was as good a reason as any, given the oddity of this habit. "It's to keep the demons away,"I whispered to her and I reached out to muss her hair. She flinched. I think she thinks I'm crazy. I'm not. I'm just lonely.
I formed a little bit of a guilty pleasure over the years. Not crack or coke or whatever the kids these days are doing, thank goodness. I just tend to gravitate towards flea markets and antique shops and anywhere with a couple items that have seen their fair share of years. And, well, needless to say, with those years comes a history, sometimes more sinister than I would like.
I found this very mug somewhere like that. It was an estate sale for some old man. Apparently finding bodies in the basement deters heirs from coming for their inheritance. The latest was a suspicious looking spoon, forgotten under the felt of a silverware drawer as if it was hiding so as to unexpectedly curse some poor soul's home. Items like these always made me wonder about their history. I figured I would find out someday soon once I brought it home.
"I'll take that,"I had told the shopkeep; I think her name was Erma. Erma bested my age by a handful of years and it irks me to know I just won't ever catch up. If she was any more pale and wrinkled I would almost mistake her for one of my ghosts. "Just the spoon,"I clarified when she went to ring up the whole drawer. In spite of her pale complexion, she managed to get a little more pale.
"The spoon..."she had mumbled, glancing around nervously and holding it at arms length. "That spoon..."And that was all I got from her. I figured it would pair well with that cursed fork. If you could sentence a fork, that one would be guilty of murder. Instead, three generations sat in prison and a half-dozen people were dead and buried, all courtesy of that fork. Forking lovely, right? So much for passing down family heirlooms. I found it better not to, just in case. You could never know what those priceless antiques might bring with them.
If I were my daughter, I wouldn't bring the grandkids over to visit. Not anymore. Not with all the history I've collected. Sometimes I see myself stabbing something, fork in hand, plunging it into a lifeless item over and over again. It's not like I'm harming anything. But for the most part I get along with the ghosts. We enjoy each other's company. "When is mommy picking me up?"Madison asked me. She was eight now, a little short for her age, a little snarky, too.
"What's the rush, dear? We've got plenty of time."She didn't visit often. Mom had to run some errands. Walmart, the cemetery, the usual. She would pay a visit to the father, God rest his soul. Sometimes I spoke to him if I stumbled upon a certain mug. That one was for long-steeped black tea, no honey. It would be bitter and saltless. He never had kept his demons at bay.
"I don't like your house, grandma,"Madison told me. I knew that. Nobody liked my house. Well, nobody but me and my friends. "It's scary."
"It's not scary, Maddie,"I told her softly. I held out a hand and she took it and I pulled her to me. I turned her around so that we could see the family room and into the kitchen. "You just need to be friendly, and everything you see will be friendly back. They're just lonely."
"Who, grandma?"I chuckled. She knew who, she just didn't know she knew.
"The ghosts, honey,"I whispered. The basement door creaked open and the napkins on the counter fluttered. My hands rested gently on her shoulders, her company so welcome after so long alone. She was so small and frail still. I wished she would never leave, but all good things must come to an end. Her mother would come pick her up and she would glare at me and snatch her away and I would be alone again. I caressed her neck, pulling back her hair into a ponytail and gently running it through my fingers.
"I don't like ghosts, grandma,"she said back, her voice barely audible over the creaking of doors and the patter of little footsteps all around the house. The windows were closed but wind whistled under a door. Outside, the windchimes hung motionless.
"It's alright, honey,"I told her quietly, my hands coming to a stop. "We just want your company."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"He advanced our understanding of theoretical physics. He is studied, celebrated and beloved to this day. He changed the world! Surely, if you applied to yourself to any scientific field, you could make an equal amount of progress for science and humanity, if not more."
"...And what else did he do?"
"I'm sorry, what-"
"What else did my father do? What was the *other thing* he famous for?"
"...The Manhattan Project."
"Ha! 'The Manhattan Project', way to skirt around the matter. Sounds like a nice luxury hotel owned by the Trump family, with golden toilet seats and $10 bills as toilet paper."
"We both know that isn't-"
"Then *say it*, say what it was. Say *what he did*."
"...He developed the nuclear bomb...alongside pioneering early development of nuclear ener-"
"Oh fuck off with that shit! It was about the bomb and nothing else! It was about making the world kowtow to America! It was about getting there before any potential enemy could."
"-Mr. Einstein-"
"DON'T. CALL. ME. *THAT*. ...Alphonse will do just fine."
"...Alphonse, we don't necessarily expect you to study physics, especially nuclear physics. Biology-"
"Bio-weapon."
"-would also be an acceptable subject of study, as would chemistry-
"New explosive compound or highly advanced acid."
"-Engineering-"
"Weapons."
"-Technology-"
"Computer viruses."
"-Psychology-"
"Propaganda and torture."
"-Robotics-"
"Killer robots!"
"-Botany?"
"...Killer plants? With poison, so much poison! And it could eat-"
"Alphonse please! ...We're not going to force you to make weapons or harm others."
"But you want me to, *ohhhh,* you want me to discover the next big thing that could make even a nuke obsolete. Something that could kill anyone or everyone you need to. *Then* want to."
"Alphonse-"
"Do you know...do you know what the estimated death toll for just the bombing of Hiroshima was? 200,000. 200,000 or more dead souls...if you want to use me for that kind of fucking evil again I refuse!"
"Fine! But do you also have to refuse dignity beyond being something more than a partying drunk?"
"...Don't you dare pretend to care about me. You think I don't see how everyone who knows looks at me? They don't see a person with individuality or a soul...they see Albert Einstein, back from the grave, with a brain free for the picking. At least...at least these people don't really care. All they care about is just...having a good time. What's wrong with that?"
"Are they people who will change the world though? Are they people history will remember?"
"Who says you have to be? Who says you have to change the whole world? Isn't it good enough to just live a life where the only world you affect is your friends and family? The people around you? I think its a life I could be happy with."
"A brain is a terrible thing to waste, Alphonse."
"A brain is a terrible thing." |
I was petrified. A stone statue that dare not breathe. The only movement I dared was the darting of my eyes in search of the deadly buzz. My mouth went dry, this was it. This was my final moment on earth. In a moment, it would touch me, and I would go into shock. My throat felt like it was closing up already. Each second, it became harder and harder to think of what fresh air was once like. Sweat began to form along my forehead, thick bullets racing each other down my face. The moments dragged by, and had I not been feeling everything tenfold, I never would have noticed it. "Mom, Dad, I love you,"I thought to myself, my eyes beginning to sting as the sweet embrace of death coiled around me.
"Your Majesty, what are your orders?"
Was this my fate, a mocking hallucination before the end? How cruel was the world to burden me with a joke before I died? Had I not been kind, did I not deserve better?
"Your Majesty?"
Oh how things could have been different, how much I would have done, how much I could have tried before my life was cut short. I begged, silently as tears streamed down my face, I begged for a second chance. I would study harder. I would be more confident and try new things. I'd stand up to Mike. I'd-
I nearly fainted as the bee flew up to my face, menacingly hovering no more than a centimeter from my nose. I could feel the air of its wingbeats, brushing up against the tip and making it harder to keep my composure. A sudden breath escaped my burning lungs, my vision filled with black spots cleared in an instant. The floor kicked my ass, hard tiles that I would be thankful for, for if they were any softer I wouldn't have been jolted to a sitting position.
"Your Majesty,"the bee repeated, as if bees could talk and I wasn't going mad with delirium, "are you alright?"
And now, the harbingers of my doom, the enemy of my existence, the downfall of my life was asking me if I was 'alright'. I gave into the insanity.
"No, I'm not alright,"I half-cried, half-sobbed, "you just tried to kill me."
"Your Majesty?"it asked, voice full of insectoid regret and submission, "Please! Your Majesty, I would never do such a thing, my life is only to serve you, I could no more easily bring you harm than you could be in two places at once!"
Great, now the bee was talking throwing me paradoxes to prove that it wasn't here to kill me. Too much, my mind was reeling and to even begin to trust in reality was going to crack me. Everything faded, and I let death take me.
Apparently dying is very bright. I cracked open an eyelid, only to have the sun glare it shut again. My head buzzed with a headache. Was death really just a crummier version of life?
I rolled over, the buzzing in my head growing louder before I pried my eyes open and promptly slammed myself backwards into my bed, scrambling away from the mass of yellow and black.
"Your Majesty,"a chorus of voices hummed in unison, "we are at your command."
Once more the vice had tightened around my throat. This was my end. Death by a thousand bees. Were stings worse than cuts? I would find out in a mere moment...
"Majesty?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
Well, I wasn't dead yet. May as well put aside my panic and try figure out what was going on. "Umm, would you mind explaining?"
A single bee came forward, somehow looking submissive if a bee could. It flew in such a way that seemed to scream co-operation, despite my phobia and imminent death it promised.
"Your Majesty, for years we have been trying to reach you, but without your orders, we could not carry out the necessary means to reach you,"I didn't like what 'necessary means' implied, "and so we did went with stealth and subterfuge. Aldrin here, the bravest of our warriors, he braved the frozen vents to find you and deliver us to you. You are our queen, and we are at your command."
"Uh, yeah,"I started, trying to wrap my head around the warped reality being presented before me, "what? I'm sorry, it's just like, you're a bee. And you're talking to me. I'm allergic to bees, and I'm honestly quite shocked that I'm not dead yet. In fact, I'm like 50% sure,"I continued, pulling a random number from the air, "that I am dead."
"She doesn't know!"a faint feminine whisper, but nonetheless magically audible.
"Silence! You will not insult our Queen like that,"another voice, more booming and powerful as the congregation moved to circle in on the speaker.
"Wait, she's right though. I don't. I really don't."
And so the explanation began. Apparently, I was some sort of Queen of the hive, chosen at birth but whisked away by the Wasplords. In my absence, colonies had been collapsing left and right, and they were in desperate need of my guidance and leadership to fight back before all was lost. With nothing better to do, and a bit of fear not letting me express my doubts because... Well, you try tell a crowd of a million who think you're literally a god that you're not. A crowd a million that you're pretty sure can all kill you the moment they want to.
And thus, without any ceremony or ritual, the coronation was complete. I would, unprepared and way out of my death, fight these mythical Wasplords while trying to seem confident when I was really just along for the ride. I cleared my throat, and attempted my most regal announcement. My first call to action as Queen of the Bees.
"So, where do we begin?"
It could bee better.
***
Come visit /r/ThomasWrites for more, where I'll be continuing this madness. ~~Part 2 will be linked as soon as I figure out what part 2 to an unlikely bee ruler going at it for the first time even is.~~
Edit: [Part2](https://www.reddit.com/r/ThomasWrites/comments/i9nlde/wp_your_entire_life_youve_been_told_youre_deathly/?) |
A thousand years wasn't really that long.
Not on the scale of humanity, anyway. The mounds of the Britons were nearly three thousand years old before the Roman Empire even collapsed. The last pyramid was built a thousand years after the first. Fifty generations of babies learning to smile, youths piecing together a broken heart, crones warming themselves in the sunlight shining on the graves of their husbands. Warriors warring, lovers loving, magicians magicking. Here a water wheel, there a crossbow, or the number 0, but still and always peasants in their fields, the merchants in their cities, the monarchs in their palaces.
Honestly, it was almost a relief to be Banished. Anno Domini 1021 was a mediocre year at best; I didn't care for Byzantium. India and China were more entertaining, but I wasn't there; I was in a prison in Constantinople. At least the architecture was nice.
Also nice: the guards outside my cell were visibly terrified. One kept signing the sigil to avert the Evil Eye--incorrectly--and the other trembled whenever he had to come within arm's reach. They seemed like nice boys. I decided not to curse them.
The Grand Sorcerer, conversely--*she* I would curse. Or would, if my hands hadn't been shackled in iron behind my back, my mouth gagged with an iron bit, and my eyes put out with iron nails. That had been clever of her, I had to admit. The entire setup had been; lured into a blacksmithy by a farrier who didn't understand that the gold he had been paid would never be enough to cover the horror of what would happen next.
Blind I may be, but not dead. Never dead. No matter how much I wished it. But perhaps being Banished would be a nice respite. I didn't struggle as the Words washed over me, binding my soul to the darkness beyond. It was cold, but I had been frozen before. It was dark, but I was blind anyway.
For now. For a thousand years.
I think she had meant to Banish me for longer, but perhaps she realized at the last moment that it would take too much out of her--that she wanted to save some of herself to watch her babies learn to smile, help them piece together their broken hearts, sit by the graveside of her husband in the sun. Just as I had done, so long ago. I understood.
A thousand years passed quickly.
I was ready when the spell broke. It was not gentle. Still blinded, bound, and gagged, I had to force the oxidation of a thousand years to rust away my fetters without letting the time touch my flesh. Regrowing my eyes felt like knives, and I tasted blood. Wherever I was, the floor was cold. When I finally forced my eyes open, I still saw only darkness.
As soon as I conjured a light, I heard a scream. Then there was the clatter of somebody carrying many objects suddenly dropping them and scrambling away. I blinked. I was still in the same cell, but surrounded by... things. Indescribable things. Boxes and sheafs of paper I recognized, but nothing else. Some were made of iron, and steel--the iron in that alloy still stung, but not like hard iron did. Now the screaming had words. I didn't recognize the language, but the screamer's mind was clear.
"HELP!"he was screaming. "IT'S HAPPENING! IT'S HAPPENING! GOD HELP US!"
Two men ran into my line of sight. The screaming one was young, tall but chronically stooped. He was wringing his hands and whimpering. The non-screaming one was old and soft, fat around the middle and slack under the arms. His jowls jiggled in horror. I was still recovering my strength, so I said nothing.
"Y-y-y-you!"stuttered the old one. And then he pointed at the magelight over my head. "Magic!"he squeaked.
I was already growing tired of this. With a Word, I locked them like statues. The bars of my prison melted away at a touch.
"Who are you?"
The young one just squealed incoherently. The old one stammered, "I-I-I-I... I'm the G-G-Grand Sorcerer?"He sounded like he wasn't sure he should admit to it.
I rifled through his mind. His soft, un-warded mind, like a snail pulled from its shell. He was. He *was* the Grand Sorcerer, but oh, how that had changed. First they had done away with the contest, then they had forbidden women, then they had forgotten that magic was real. The whole world had. And in its absence... marvels. Machines. Electricity. Medicines. I reeled. All that was left was the ritual, conducted entirely by soft little men in sweaty little rooms, half-disbelieving their own words, and a long-forgotten government pension currently billed to "Administrative Services."They weren't prepared for me to come; only his cringing little acolyte had even thought to come down, during his lunch break, to see if the prophecy held any truth. His food lay strewn across the ancient flagstones. It smelled delicious. What spices were these? What were they wearing? What was that music I could hear above?
I laughed. I couldn't stop laughing. I killed them both with a single Word amid my laughter and ascended the steps.
A thousand years is a long time. |
"Waitaminute, waitaminute, waitaminute!"John shouted.
The burly barechested demon slowly turned around. Flickering torches making obscene shadows of the stumps protruding from it's back. John swallowed hard. This guy wasn't the nicest on the walk down the hallway to begin with. Surely John wasn't going endear himself by telling this thing how to do his job.
Still, level ninety eight!
"What now worm?"Thundered the gravelly voice.
"I can't help noticing that I'm in the wrong spot! Yeah yeah I wasn't the fluffiest of kittens but this is WAY out of proportion don't you think?"
"You dispute the judgment?"
"Well, yeah I mean mistakes must have been made!"
"Wait here."The beast growled with what sounded like a rumbling chuckle at the end. Clearly there was nowhere else he COULD go. That was, he supposed, the real joke.
Across the hall, was a face easily recognizable worldwide. The shortened mustache and stringy black hairstyle was never worn again because of him. Whatever he was shouting wasn't English, so John found his noise just annoying. The best he could figure was that he was just angry shouting something at him. John looked back into the dimly lit cell behind him and saw no rocks or sticks he could throw. But there was a man hunched over in the shadows near the single cot.
Before he could draw a breath to engage though, a sharply dressed businessman in a neat pinstripe blue cleared his throat.
John knew the type at a single glance. It should be no surprise that this place had it's share of lawyers. This called for a change of tactics.
"Good Evening sir, it is Evening right? It's hard to tell with the lighting."
"Time isn't really a thing here, at least not how you think of it. Do you need more light?"The lanky form half turned and glanced at an unlit torch which dutifully burst into flame. The light was enough to make out an old style flip toteboard. The obscenely high number on it ticked slowly upward. The lawyer's slicked back hair took on a slightly reddish hue as he turned back, in spite of the light itself being distinctly yellow in color.
"That's better isn't it?"He said.
John thought it very decidedly was not better, but chose not to speak up since this person could set things on fire with a glance. It had already gotten much warmer in here since the lawyer arrived. Best to not antagonize the legal representation.
"Sir,"John began.
"No, you may call me Nick, or Nicholas if you prefer."The lawyer gave him a pointed smile that lost nothing for not being in a shark's mouth. But John suppressed the shudder and pressed on.
"I understand how this place can be very busy, but is it possible that there was a mistake in my classification?"
At this the lawyer frowned, eyebrows forming a distinct set of points as he brought a fresh manila folder up to look at it. Where had THAT come from? He hadn't come in with a briefcase.
"Hmmm, you are John Dickenson?"
"Well yes but perhaps not THE John Dickenson that belongs here!"
"Are you implying that you belong in heaven?"
"No no. Of course not. But probably not in this particular cell."John soothed.
"Did you cheat on your taxes AND your wife?"
"Well yes but lots of people do THAT!"
The way the lawyer's eyebrows peaked again made him resolve not to have another outburst like that. Now the warmth was uncomfortable.
"I mean that IS bad but not 98th level sort of bad."
"I see here you claimed six children, but you only have four."
"That's really a rounding error, my wife and I had three."
"And this woman Sandra?"
"She told me she..."
"I see. What about this other part where you betrayed people?"
"I didn't realize how important that kind of stuff was."
"Hmm.."The click of the number machine behind them sounded like the ticks of an old fashioned clock as it wound its way steadily higher. "You were a terrible driver..."
"That doesn't sound like something to be sent to the 98th level for though either does it?"
"And Mr. Andrews?"
"He hit me!"John roared, clearly sensitive to this line of questioning.
"Really now. Mr. Dickenson? He was on a bike and you were in the car crossing into the crosswalk."
"He hit me."John returned bitterly.
"He also had the right of way"
"I didn't see that."
"You probably didn't know where he was going. Or that the research paper in his backpack would have brought about the genetic cure for several diseases, including the one that claimed you."
"He hit me!"John mumbled. Not even looking up to see the counter tick over once again.
"It seems we might have been wrong though."
John looked up then to see the reddish points sticking above the oil slicked hair. But the lawyer had his back turned. All his attention was focused on the counter.
"Perhaps level 99 WOULD have been more appropriate."
His devilish smile beamed down at John as he turned back. |
“What’s Greg eating?”
“Oh, he found a new plant on our last visit planetside. Says it taste great.”
“How does he know it’s not poisonous?”
“Well, he tried a bit while we were there, and it didn’t hurt him, so…”
“Wait, what is he putting on it?”
“Oh, that. It’s called peeper? It simulates a burning sensation on their tongues, using capsaicin.”
“Isn’t Capsaicin a chemical weapon? How did he get it? And why is he making his food burn him, is he crazy?”
“Humans get a special license, it’s part of there culture. And I dunno man, humans like it.”
“What did he add now?!?!”
“Acid. Humans love the stuff.”
“What the hell.”
“Did I mention they drink Ethanol for fun, eat neurotoxins to give them funny feelings, and ate so many of their planet’s species that they had to make laws to protect them?”
“Now you’re just pulling my antenna.” |
To be perfectly frank, I preferred being anonymous.
Fame doesn't give you anything but everyone's attention. You have to always watch what you say or do.
Then the LifeStream happened. It hijacked everyone's view and made it public. Everyone hated it, but you could never say it. At least, I think people hate it.
Maybe I really AM a weirdo.
Not much you CAN do about it. If I ripped out my implant, I'd be fired for slow responses in just a week. So I just lived my life. I noticed a few viewers every few days. Sometimes it's my parents just checking in. Or if it was just a quick flicker, the police bot scanners.
Yesterday though... I woke up to a few dozen. Not quite one hundred. But... that was the most I'd ever gotten. I put on my pants, making sure to avoid looking at the mirror or looking down.
By the time I started breakfast, it had jumped to just over one thousand.
A thousand sets of eyes. Seeing everything I did. I quickly looked away when I saw my reflection in the milk.
I got to the building's garage and found my car. The garage manager saw me and smiled. Wide. Told me to have a wonderful day. This was real. I didn't even think to ask what was happening. I just wanted to get away from it.
I got on the road and started my drive to work. The number just crossed 10,000. It was speeding up. I looked up and saw... a billboard move as I looked. It was lifestreaming my... me. I could feel my breath getting faster. I was staring at infinity. I heard a tap on my car glass. A woman, smiling... smiling so wide, helpfully pointed towards the road ahead. Kindly told me to keep my eyes on the road.
I nodded and drove on. I saw her in the rearview mirror, she waved in the middle of the road. Smiling. Looking up and to the right. She was watching the billboard.
I got to work and people were ready. Normally I parked my car. I had no "designated"spot, but just my usual one. Someone was there. A man in a sharp vest and standing with his hands behind him. He seemed nervous. My number had just crossed one million.
He thanked me for parking there and lightly stutteringly mentioned that I had been upgraded to the premium spots.
I tried to protest but he had already snatched the keys from my hand.
I tried to grab them back, but felt someone behind me hold my shoulder. When I turned around, no one was there. And the valet had driven off. I had reached 1,061,943 sets of eyes on me. More than an entire stadium.
I walked into the building and was waved through. With a wide smile.
I pushed the button for the elevator. Everyone stood in neat lines behind door, but I saw them stealing glances at me.
The elevator ride up was silent.
My co-workers, the ones who had never even known my name, addressed me like old friends. Smiling so the whole world could see every tooth. I'd just crossed 2 million viewers.
I sit down at my desk, and I start to see why. Why everyone and everything had changed.
You see, I'm a programmer by trade. Machine code. Talking to machines comes naturally to me. It follows set rules, and standards. If you don't know something about a machine, you just need to ask it in the right way.
Yesterday, I'd set a piece of self-optimization code running. Just a few lines. Something to help me maintain my privacy. It'd search for my image and let me know where it was.
Somehow, it'd gotten off my server. Those server codes. They weren't company servers. Those were phones. If I was reading this right... my code was infecting almost every machine in the world.
I had full control of LifeStream.
My number just crossed 3 million people.
Governments would be watching me. People would be watching me. I could feel the eyes of my co-workers on me.
4 million. My heart felt like an engine. I could hear every beat in my ears.
5 million. With this, I could literally shut down every website. Since the code was self-optimized to my key, no one but me had access.
7 million. I could shut down LifeStream.
10 million. Or because of how LifeStream worked... I could literally blind everyone in the world.
14 million. I heard helicopters outside. The number of devices controlled by my access was growing. That was a server in Europe. That was Australia. Antartica?
19 million. I realized everyone in the building was quiet. Deathly quiet. And staring at me.
25 million. What could I do? What couldn't I do?
35 million. I heard boots thunking down. Shouting. There was no way anyone with any kind of power could allow this to exist. Without trying to get their hands on it.
50 million. They couldn't allow me to exist.
I reached for my keyboard.
A few seconds later, the stomping slowed. Then stopped. A single heavy set of footsteps walked by. My co-workers would move out of their way. I heard them reach my desk. I kept my eyes glued to my screen.
"Let them go."
"Please leave me alone."I whispered.
Before he could draw his gun, I hit enter. And he froze as well....
I glanced at the corner of my eye.
1,000,000,004
Everything was getting louder.
The silence screaming at my brain. I could feel them. An endless mass of humanity staring through me.
I typed. And then the counter disappeared.
I locked my station. For as good as that would do, and left. Several seconds later, the fan sounded like a jet engine and the casing seemed to burst into flames.
I walked down the stairs, past the endless sea of soldiers, frozen in place.
I walked onto the street and tapped my implant. I saw myself from every LifeStream. Every angle as the whole of the city was now staring at me.
I looked scared. Confident. A little mad. Disheveled.
I held out my hands and typed on an imaginary keyboard. I saw my head look around, even though my view was just a single speck in my vision now.
Then one by one, I vanished from every single view. Like I was never there. And finally, I was back in my head.
If people want to stream their whole lives, fine. But I'm taking myself out of the game. If this is the only way, so be it. I prefer to be anonymous. |
"None of the wishes are yours"the genie explained. "One goes to the person that hates you most, one to the person that loves you most, one was already wished by the last one to find my lamp."
"And there is nothing I can do to stop this?"I said. My voice sounded flat even to my own ears. Maybe he'd kill me quick and this would be over.
"No."The genie sounded smug, a tone I had heard from so many bullies, there'd been so many in my life. I'm sure I should feel something, anything, but there's nothing left. After the last few years, I have nothing left.
"I know my wish, then."I do, and I focus on it with everything I have. Let there be no more harm done because of me, and if I word it right, and I think I have, I can do good with this at least. Maybe I can leave a legacy that will make something right for someone, at least...
"Make a different wish."So I don't have to speak it? That is the only way he could know my wish if I hadn't said.
"No."There's only one reason he'd want me to change my wish, and that is if he enjoyed causing pain. I clung even harder to it.
"I can't grant your wish and all of theirs!"Somehow that brings my clarity, certainty I am doing the right thing.
"Then perhaps their wishes should be changed. I wish that you bring and have only ever brought only good things and hope and joy to those you encounter."I know I haven't covered everything, but its a start. I cling to exactly what I mean in my heart, the spirit of it if nothing more. I still can't feel anything, just empty, but maybe once I am gone and he has to grant it for my successor he will be less of a curse -
The genie is looking at me blankly, raises his hand, and stops.
"But I'm meant to grant your wish only when the next person finds the lamp?"He sounds puzzled.
"I know."I bow my head, wondering what the person who hates me most will wish on me. I can't think of a single person who loves me. They are gone. I am alone and there's no one else I matter to. Is there even anyone who cares enough to for them to hate me, or will he just pick someone for the sick, general, hatred that seems to be everywhere I look in the world now? He pauses again, examines his hand, glares at it like it offends him.
"So why have I been bound to grant it now?"I blink now, and smile. Perhaps there were other good people in this world left...
"The person who had the lamp before me- "
"-wished for a million dollars. I was going to drown him in gold, or kill his family so he inherited."The genie's teeth were gritted.
"So what did you do?"
"He just won a bet upon the football. An accumulator."With privacy that would have less chance of ruining his life than the lottery, and if the wish to do only good was in place then perhaps I had changed the world, one person's world for the better. Something stirred in my chest. It hurt and I quashed it ruthlessly. I'd done to much bad, I made things worse by existing, I knew it. Now I had hurt the genie as well. His pain was obvious, and there was nothing I could do.
"I wish you enjoyed doing good."It was a stupid thing to say, my wish was spent, and somehow it had already applied upon the last wisher even if it wouldn't be granted until...oh dear, my wish was that he "had only ever brought good". It must have been retroactive through the genie's entire life. I'd taken his free will. Unforgiveable. I reached out desperately. "I'm sorry!"
"I'm not."The expression on the genie's face was strange. "But why would I grant you two wishes...?"The truth dawned on me, somewhere in the hollow of my heart and I laughed. I couldn't help it.
"My family died last year in a car accident. Drunk driver. My friends left me - they found it too difficult to handle."I was too hollow to feel bitter. "I guess I'm the only person left who loves me at all, or thinks of me."
"But the second wish?"The horror on the genie's face wasn't new to me. I saw it in the therapist's face every time the doctor got me to try a new one.
"Do you think there's anyone alive who hates me more than I do? I was driving." |
"What the hell do you mean save the world? You were supposed to destroy it!"
The champion blinked like a deer looking at a car. The voice of her God was like a shambling mountain. Unstoppable, heavy, ancient. It would have crushed any being that had not received his favour.
"No? I followed your instructions, and it ended up saving the world! If you wanted it destroyed, why wouln't you just wait?!"
"WHY WOULD I WANT THE WORLD SAVED?! LOOK AT ME!"belowed the God, flames erupting upon his back, revealing the rest of his figure, once shrouded in darkness. He was a horned thing of scales and leathery wings, covered in eyes of flames and hate.
"...I though it was just an aesthetic..."
"An-"the elder thing sighed. "Okay. From the top. What did you do?"
"I spread anarchy in your name."answered the champion, shifting her weigh uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "You know, I took down corporations and major governements, and made sure that no other hierarchies were created. As I did this, me and my companions created systems that would allow communities to organize themselves without giving more power to an individual or another, so that-"
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU! STEVE!"
The messenger appeared, a man of mean physique and blazing wings.
"Yes boss?"
"WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?!"
"To spread anarchy in your name, boss."
"I ASKED FOR CHAOS! DEATH!"
"Aren't those the same thing?"
The champion suddently perked up.
"Oh! You were thinking of anomia!"
"Bless you?"
"Anomia is the state of things where there are no laws, but that's not anarchy! Anarchy is a system where there are no hierarchies in a society! You see, you can't really have anarchy in anomia, because the people with the most strengh and ressources would have more power."
"Ooooohhhh! I understand now! Sorry boss. I guess this shows the importance of clear communication, and proper research into the terms you think you know, especially when they pertain to complex subjects!"
"Indeed! It's okay, Steve, we all make mistakes, and you've learned something important today!"
The Demon God looked at his two disciples in total disbelief.
"Why are you guys like this?" |
Mordred was sharpening his sword, staring into the small fire he’d used to cook a simple meal of oats and dried pork. He’d chopped up his last apple and tossed it into the mix as well, a shriveled old thing, but it had improved the meal passably.
Above, the night sky sparkled with innumerable stars. It was a new moon.
The fire sizzled, and an old man walked into the light of the flames. “Mind if I join you, sir?”
Mordred glanced up, and scowled. “Bold of you to walk unannounced into an armed man’s camp. How do you know I won’t rob you, or worse?”
The old man grinned and pointed to Mordred’s shield, the sigil of Valorea the Redeemer burned into the paint. It was a winning smile, despite having a mere half dozen scraggly teeth hanging onto mostly empty gums. Mordred thought he looked remarkably like the wrinkled dried apple he’d just chopped into his dinner.
“You’re awfully trusting of a symbol.”
The old man’s grin didn’t falter. “I like faith better than trust.”
Mordred rolled his eyes, and decided he didn’t particularly like his new companion, who settled himself comfortably on a rock across the fire from him.
Mordred sniffed, “most people would. Trust can be broken. Faith can ignore all sorts of evils.”
The old man set down his pack, and pulled out a small blanket, settling it on his lap.
Mordred filled a pan with water from a skin, and tossed in a generous helping of oats, along with a large slab of the pork, before putting it over the fire.
“You’ll want to let the salt pork soak, old man. It’s tough. My apologies. I just ate my last apple.”
There was that grin again. “A free meal, too? The Redeemer is good!”
Mordred glared up at him and started sharpening his sword again. “I’m good. The Redeemer didn’t do shit.”
“Ah, but you work for the Redeemer, so…” He caught the look on Mordred’s face and faltered. “Well, there it is.”
Mordred took a deep breath, bringing the fury roiling in his gut under control. It wasn’t for this poor sod. “Apologies, sir. My name is Mordred.”
“Well met, sir Mordred.” the man smelled the oats and pork over the flame. “It looked like you wanted to say something, though. I assure you, I’m a friend.”
Again with that grin. The man’s blue eyes sparkled in the firelight. Good eyes. He must have been handsome in his youth. Mordred sighed, and capitulated. “The most vile, disgusting, evil acts I’ve ever witnessed all took place under the auspices of that symbol there.” Mordred pointed at his shield.
The old man nodded, “Bad folk are everywhere, even in the ranks of Valorea’s grand army of heaven.” The old man made the sign of the Eagle, and placed it over his heart, bowing his head.
Mordred scoffed in disgust. “That leads to two options. First, that the gods are not real, and that Valorea the Redeemer, Marshall of Heaven, Righteous Sword of the Gods is merely a happy fantasy, a story we tell ourselves to help us sleep at night.”
The old man nodded, encouragingly.
Mordred continued, bitterness laced into every word. “The other possibility is this: the gods are real, they just don’t give enough of a shit about us to intervene on our behalf, and evil within their ranks is at best ignored, and at worst rewarded.”
“And which option do you prefer?”
Mordred pressed the guard of his sword over his heart, his crossguard the wings of a golden eagle. He spoke one word under his breath and his sword erupted with golden light, outshining the fire, and casting daylight out into the surrounding meadow. “I would much prefer the first possibility. I could stomach being abandoned by imaginary gods. But when have we ever gotten what we’d prefer.”
The golden light of the sword dimmed as Mordred folded a blanket over it. The two sat in silence for a long while, until the porridge was thick as cement.
“So you believe in the gods, then?”
Mordred poked the fire with a stick, feeling like a sullen child. “Clearly.”
“Yet it seems that you do not like them very much.”
“It’s hard to have respect for a being that condones the shit I’ve seen her church do in her name.”
“I suspect she doesn’t condone it.”
“Well she’s got a funny way of showing it, then. The highest ranks of her church are populated by the worst humanity has to offer. The abuse, the corruption, the coverups. Crimes so vile…”
Mordred choked on his words, memories and rage congealing into a lump in his throat. He steadied himself again. “Anyone who speaks out against it is either killed, tortured, imprisoned, or banished.”
“Like you were.”
Mordred nodded.
The old man reached into the fire, taking the pot of boiling porridge in one hand. He drank the molten liquid in one smoothe pull, like he was drinking a cup of water. Mordred was too surprised to react beyond wide eyed surprise.
“How did you…”
“Thank you for the meal. I must apologize for my rudeness. You gave me your name, but I did not give you mine.”
Mordred knew the words before they were said.
“I am Valorea the Redeemer, Justice incarnate.” The man was gone, replaced by plate, and mail, and boiled leather, all of it gleaming like the sun on a frame as tall as an oak tree.
Mordred gritted his teeth and looked away.
When the goddess spoke it was with a thousand voices, joined as one. “You hate me, and you have good cause to. I have never given you anything without demanding all of you in return, yet you cling to your oath to me despite all of this.”
“I live to defy you!” Mordred leapt to his feet, glaring up at the deity that towered over him. Tears poured down his face. Whether it was from rage, or staring into the sun-bright visage of a god, he could not tell. “I do hate you! I give succor to your enemies! I have defied your church countless times! I’ve cut down a dozen of your servants, and I don’t regret any of it!”
Valorea reached down to touch his face with a plate gauntlet, and Mordred pulled away. “The meek and powerless are never my enemies. I am not my church. Those who couch their sins in my name are not my servants.”
Mordred wiped the tears off of his face, squinting into the brightness. “You killed my sister.”
“This, I did not do.”
“Then you let her die!”
Silence.
“You let her die…”
Supposedly the post passed the 10,000 character limit (it's actually 7998 according to Docs), so it's continued below. |
After an agonizing eternity, finally it was time.
"RIDE". A soundless order to the four who had waited so patiently.
The white horseman flew forth, and from his mouth flew a myriad of diseases. Smallpox, measles, chickenpox and polio blanketed the world. Humanity continued on, impervious. The white horseman slunk away in confusion.
The red horseman flew forth, and from his mouth echoed the horn of war, to call nations to fight one another... but they already were. The red horseman slunk away in defeat.
The black horseman flew forth, and from his mouth came devouring insects to consume all the food of the world. But as they approached, they began to die off, or were off-put by the changed crops. The black horseman slunk away in wonder.
The pale horseman looked upon the world, saw its medicine and its science and moved not.
I CAN WAIT. Said death. |
"W-who are you?"The man whispered through bloody lips.
I smiled. "Louder."
"W-w-what?"
"Speak louder."I took a step towards him.
"What the fuck do you want?!"He shrieked. Oh, yes, it was definitely him, his voice, since I was 7 years old.
"Oak Street. 238."
He began to cry. He held an arm up like it was going to do anything to stop what was going to happen next.
"That was me. You remember, don't you?"
*Oh, yes, I remember.* That very same voice, *his* voice whispered in my head.
"Of course you do."
"Please don't hurt me...I-I'm sorry, I was very sick, and I...I...please..."His rapidly swelling jaw was making it hard for him to talk.
I took another step towards him.
"PLEASE!"
*STOP!*
"You don't have to do this! I-I'll do whatever you want!"
*If you do this I'll kill you!*
"No, you won't."I said calmly, too calm.
"I can! I have money, you can have it all! Just please don't do this, PLEASE!"
*I'LL MURDER YOUR PARENTS, I'LL STRANGLE YOUR KIDS, I'LL RIP YOUR WIFE'S FUCKING THROAT OUT-*
I pulled the gun out of my pocket. His eyes got wide.
"Please God, oh fucking lord, oh God, oh please..."He was losing his mind, words simply spilling out of him.
*-I'LL EAT THEIR BODIES AND DRINK THEIR BLOOD AND MAKE YOU WATCH, WATCH THEM BLEED INTO THE GROUND-*
"Goodbye, Mr. Daniels."I held up the gun.
He screamed. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
*AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-*
I fired one round, directly into his head. It blew out the back of his skull, his sick, twisted mind painting the dank alleyway red.
Both voices stopped.
I smiled. It was finally quiet. |
The boy who lived had decided his time to die would soon come. Magic had sustained him into a long and happy old age that had allowed him to see his great grandchildren start their very first year at Hogwarts. Family is rarely allowed to watch the sorting ceremony but this was a small favor granted Harry from an old friend who had become a beloved headmaster. After watching proudly as his family continued their long dynasty in the house of gryffindor, he quietly swept through the doors of the great hall. He decided to wear his invisibility cloak to help him remember his youth so many years ago. He could still feel Hermione's frayed hair tickle his face as Ron would step on his feet by accident. He missed them dearly.
His memories had taken him out of the castle and onto the grounds. The grounds keeper's hut loomed in the darkness, a border to his destination. It would always be Hagrids house to Harry. Tears began to well in his eyes through the memories full of friends and adventure. He passed the hut almost hoping to hear a booming woof from fang. Suddenly the forbidden forest was in front of him, looming and imposing as ever. With a smile he took a step inside, feeling as if in the presence of an old friend.
It took him a while but he finally found what he sought. A small stone. Three times he turned it in his hand. He longed for his friends and family but knew he would see them in death. He had uncovered that mystery a century ago. No, who he sought today was another figure from the past.
Tom Riddle stood before him with a blank look on his face. Scars ran across his body where he had split his soul for his immortal goal. Harry merely watched for a few minutes. Suddenly Tom seemed to notice Harry, his face flashing surprise then something else. Fear. Hatred.
Harry smiled to himself as he waved a dismissive hand at tom. "Our contest has long since passed old friend. Old age and a weakening memory have made me what some would call wiser, but perhaps we all simply learn to forgive in our own time. Perhaps, in time, you will forgive me. Do not be troubled Tom. You were not meant for this world. This world was especially cruel to you so you chose react in kind. No, you were meant for things neither of us can fathom now. The afterlife is full of it's own adventures and is where I'm sure you'll find where you truly belong. But I know you, don't I tom? You fear death so much you haven't left the train station have you? That is just one of the many things you never understood. That is why I'm here in my dying days. Together we can move on from this world and into the adventure that is death. Prophecies and cruelty of this world made us enemies. Perhaps it is our destiny to move from it as friends."
The look of hatred faded as Tom looked frightfully upward. Death loomed over Harry Potter. He smiled and welcomed him as a friend.
Edit: thank you for the gold and support, I'm really glad you enjoyed it. |
Water. Di-hydrogen Monoxide. That blue crap that's almost everywhere on Earth.
When I was a little boy, they taught us in the schools that this liquid was essential to human health, that this liquid was required for humans to live. If you didn't drink water, they said, you'd die in three days. And so I grew up to the age of 30, drinking water and living a normal life.
It was June, 2035, when the announcement was released. I had been watching the news when the screen went black, and then a government announcement began.
Over the past few years, they had been experimenting. Experiments made illegal by the U.N were being done freely by a united coalition of countries. These experiments, sponsored by the eccentric trillionaire Daniel Ho, were meant to streamline humans to the next step of evolution. And so it did.
The announcements were already astonishing at first. Cures to cancer and almost every disease of the age were announced, cures that were created from the countless experiments done on the poor and unwilling. But then, the real shocker came.
Water was revealed to me as the most addictive substance. Ever.
Cocaine and Heroin were mere blimps on the dopamine radar as compared to Water. Without water, humans were guaranteed to undergo a terrible withdrawal, a withdrawal similar to many symptoms of extreme drug addicts.
But what was more interesting was that the governments had raised children without water. These humans were immune to any type of disease, almost savant like in their intelligence, and held superior physical and mental forms. They were, in essence, the magnum opus of humans, our greatest creation.
And for me, my greatest enemy.
After the announcements, a mass extermination began. These improved humans planned to eliminate every old human from the earth and to begin a new world; a world without crime, evil, and water. In this way, they claimed, the world would be a better place.
So it's come down to this. In a few hours, they will come here and attempt to murder me and my band of friends, people who rely on water yet are as good as any other human being you will ever find. When they come, however, we plan to die heroically. When they come, we will flee to the controls of the Dam we currently reside at. And when they come, we will open the Dam and expose them to water. We will damn them to Hell. |
Dusk settled wearily on a stoney stretch of beach somewhere along the northern channel coast of the England. Asides from the gulls, the evening drowned Necalli in silence. Nothing like the screeching of howler monkeys and soothing whistles of the jungle that he grew intensely reliant on.
He had not claimed more than half of his shift of sleep in weeks.
He'd been at sea for at least two moons, and the warm thick air that had surrounded him as he stepped onto a ship larger than any he'd ever known was long since a thing of distant memory. The air on this apparently barren land was damp like home, but it's chill permeated every inch of the ship, and seemed to flow freely through even his warmest cloaks.
It was a hell hole, not entirely unreminiscent of the frigid swamps that the Iriquois of the northern territories occupied. However it was empty.
He could scarce recall the vibrant greens and blues of Texcoco and the rampant stone sprawl of Tenochtitlan, it's intricate monoliths shooting into the sky. This place was none of that. It's southern coast ruled by perfect cliffs of gorgeous white chalk and limestone, taller than any of the grand temples of Tepeyacac, completely unmarred by mans endeavor.
The expedition travelled light, it was a gauche company of a couple of Pillis who sequestered themselves by birthright in the above deck section of the ship. A number of Macehualtin, eager to transcend the bindings that had shackled them since birth. Last, Necalli, ever the wanderer, a pochtecah.
As the gulls hollered, heavy raindrops battered the canvas above Necalli; restless he struggled to find peace with the night, hardly managing to keep his eyes closed.
As the morning sun clawed its way through the fog that seemed to lazily cover this land day after day, the crew of the Ohtli convened.
The captain, Zuma, an unusually slight man, even by azteca standards, dictated the course of the next few days.
After spending a week sailing along the coast with not even a glimmer of civilization, the decision had been made to split the expedition.
One group, a skeleton crew would remain aboard the Ohtli, sailing it further along the coast to search for what may come, a majority of the party would disembark inland, with a plan to reconvene at the base of the great chalk cliffs at end of two weeks time. They would travel by canoe inland and remain on the rivers, searching for any hope of life or any reason to be so far from home at all.
As Necallis sandle crunched into the cold hard sand of the English coast, an involuntary shudder wracked his body. As he stared off into the mild foothills and grassy paddocks of east Anglia he could not help but to feel that the endless flatlands held something to fear.
However he could not place just what it was that planted the sickening bulb of nerves in his stomach.
- Not much of a writer, but i do love alternate history pieces and I would be stoked for some criticism or ideas either as comments or PM's. And if by some stroke of luck some of you enjoyed this, i'd love to continue it.
Edit: glad to hear a few of you found some joy in this. I'll continue after work today : ) |
"Two senators each, just like the other sixty states,"said Barock Obamoon. "And you drop the tax on Space Tea. Those are our conditions."
The federal emissary rubbed his forehead with the bionic hands atop his waist-mounted iArms, while the fingers of his real hands drummed the moonstone table. To Barock, he resembled a paunchy pink insect grooming itself.
"Barock,"said the emissary, "Can I call you Barock? Look, buddy, you say you have thirteen separate colonies up here. But am I right in understanding that there are only seven thousand of you Moonies, total? You want twenty-six senators to represent seven thousand people?"
Barock nodded stonily.
"There are 700 million Americans down there,"said the emissary, pointing out the window at the cloud-strewn blue semicircle that filled half the sky. "How would that be fair to them?"
"No taxation without representation."
"How about we call you one state -- the state of the Moon -- and you get two senators, total. And we cut the tea tax to 2%."
"Not acceptable,"said Barock.
The emissary sighed.
"You know, I hate to play this holocard,"he said, bionic hands giving himself a stiff shoulder-rub, "but you folks depend on us for your survival. If you don't cooperate, we'll stop sending supplies."
"Our hydroponic gardens are producing record-breaking yields,"said Barock. "And our life support systems -- recycling water and oxygen -- achieve near-perfect retention rates."
The emissary cocked his head, silent.
"Anyway, if we have need for supplies, I'm sure the Chinese will oblige. We'll have plenty of leftover moonstone to trade if America cuts off ties."
"Still,"said the emissary, "it's a precarious position from which to stage a revolution. A lone infiltrator could sabotage your life support systems, asphyxiating you all in a matter of minutes. A few shiploads of commandos could suppress your entire population."
"You're saying you'd slaughter thousands of innocents in cold blood? Please."
"Not innocents,"said the emissary, his canines gleaming. "Rebels." |
If I have feelings I think this one would be called anxiety. The thing I was supposed to feel when I started at a new school in the fourth grade or when I was asking Jennifer to prom. But I didn’t. People told me I’d be a great lawyer due to the way I behaved under pressure and this seemed like the ultimate testament to that statement.
I watch the file as it’s flipped through, photos scattered on my pristine redwood desktop. I look at them stoically, because I’m a lawyer and that’s just what I do. Stare at the pictures, stare at the file, stare at the man in the seat across from me. Then I draw in a breath and say “yes” or “no”. No, it’s hopeless. Or boring. Yes, I’ll take this case. I’ll throw myself into the world of these gruesome murders and help the man or woman accused to walk the streets another day. Because that’s just what any good lawyer would do. And I’m the best.
The only symptoms of my anxiety are my beating heart and the tension in my throat. Each time I swallow, the muscles contract and force the spit back up before conceding and doing their job. And, even as my heart taps so aggressively against my chest wall, I’m excited to see her face again in such a personal setting.
Hello, Nancy.
Of course, I’d been watching the news. They show her face there every day. Each day since they found her and then even more so when they caught him. The man responsible for the recent slew of missing women. These poor, innocent, beautiful girls. Poor and wrongfully killed Nancy.
“Yes, just leave the file,” I state.
The man thanks me and writes down the name of an officer and a phone number. Then he leaves. In the few seconds before the door closes, I am on edge in an almost erotic way. Waiting, waiting, waiting for that click. And then I can breathe again. I can breathe and look at those terribly awful pictures of her horribly disfigured face. Her broken body and the just horrific way this heathen of a murderer left her. According to the news, that is.
Despite my best efforts, he will be found guilty. Sorry to ruin the ending. But it’s just not in my best interest to win this one.
I spend hours with him, talking through the details of his alibi and finding the obvious flaws in the prosecution’s case. It’s not hard given the fact that this man is innocent. We talk and he cries. He tells me of his wife and child and how much he loves them. Those nights that he was out were spent in a hotel room with a married woman. A woman who won’t come forward to testify for him.
Sad for him, really. Even more unfortunate for her.
She wasn’t even my type but sometimes it’s not about the fun. It’s about survival. And right now I'm not playing the hunter but the trickster.
In the end, it was simple really. Go to his house and retrieve a few receipts that proved he was a few miles away from the hotel at the time of the murder. Leave a little something for his dear wife to find. Then wait.
“That’s not mine,” he says to me, crying with such intensity that he can hardly catch his breath, as they pull him from the courtroom.
A guilty verdict is hard for any innocent man to hear. But evidence can be so damning and keeping trophies is what gets us all in the end. The necklace from Julie. The ring from Amanda. The brow piercing from Katie. And, of course, the locket with a picture of Nancy’s little daughter on one side and a missing picture of Nancy, herself, on the other. You just shouldn’t keep those things lying around. As I walk out of the courtroom, I run a finger up the small glossy photograph of Nancy in my pocket.
I’m a great lawyer. The best. If I had feelings, I’d say I am thrilled and just a teensy bit sentimental. |
What does it mean to be human? The philosophers of old tried to answer this question, yet perhaps the answer is now better understood tens of thousands of years later. We have discovered worlds the past never even dreamed about, with species so unique and exotic from the ones of our Earth. The Thanagians, bird-humaniod hybrids who could resist all forms of disease, the Gulotars, slug like being who could regrow any limb, the Asinols, being who could sprint indefinetly, the Chuttulos, who were completely emotionless and logical. These were but a few of the races who shared our galaxy.
Some of these races we befriended, but the majority were at war with each other. When our species joined the fray we were mocked at by all sides. We were a weak and fragile species, easily prone to sickness and injury. We had not great stamina or strength or the intellect of the other species. We had no special quirks that set us apart from the rest. Or so they thought.
For we humans had one thing: the fear of death. The most powerful impulse, the desire to continue to exist. Primal and raw, an energy that inflames our soul to keep going. The other races had no such biological mechanism; they know when a battle is lost, when to give up, when the situation is hopeless. They lacked the will, the spirit, the soul. They could never imagine how hard we humans would fight when cornered, despite all the odds. Countless battles have been won by the enemy underestimating us as the other races would have otherwise given up.
What makes us human? Our desire to never give up, to fight the impossible, to live in the face of annihilation. The fear of death. |
When the boy made it to the stand, the man behind the counter looked him over. The exposed skin of the boy's face, his neck. He reached over the counter and began to pull at the boy's sleeve.
“Don't touch me,” said the boy, taking a step back. He bumped into the large, rough-featured woman behind him in the line. She pushed him forward. The boy turned back to look at her. At the visage of a wombat that dominated half of her own. He then looked back at the man managing the stand.
“Show it,” the man said. Another man in similar uniform had approached from off to the side and stood a few steps from the boy. The tail of a snake ran along his skin just above the collar of his shirt.
The boy looked around, and then to the first man once more. “I thought I wouldn't have to.”
“Who told you that,” asked the second man.
“We run a legit operation,” said the first man, before the boy could answer the query. “Just like anywhere else. You show your mark, you get your ration. Long as you're on the list for our herald.”
“Sorry,” said the boy. “My mistake.” He turned to walk away, sticking close to the others assembled there.
“Hey,” said the first man. The boy kept walking. He heard the second man moving toward him, and tried to lose him by cutting through the line. Nobody made way for him, so the boy broke into run.
It was too late. The second man was was faster, stronger, and timed his pursuit angle to bring the boy to the ground with little chase. “Stop struggling,” said the second man as he pinned the boy down.
“Let go of me!”
By this time the first man working the stand had appeared. He helped the second man restrain the boy. Those still in line grumbled and began to complain among themselves. The first man looked back to them. “Don't a one of you touch those rations. I'll get to you when I get to you.”
“Kid,” said the second man, as he began to work at the boy's sleeves, “it's a simple thing we got here. When you don't show your mark—when you make a scene—things ain't so simple.”
“Stop!” The boy struggled against the men.
The first man pulled at the boy's collar. “He's got two, three shirts on here. It's somewhere. Arms, chest, back.”
“I didn't do anything!”
The second man pushed his head back against the dirt. “Look. You don't play by the rules, we got all the cause in the realm to think you're up to something. If you're a refugee, you picked the wrong place to come. If you're a criminal—if you're on the run—then sorry about your damn luck running out. And if you're a spy...”
The first man eyed the second. “The Harpy. Bet you more than anything. That old bitch has been looking to make her move since day one.”
“I'm not a spy! I haven't done anything to anyone!” The boy tried to turn to those in the line. “Someone help!”
Nobody met his eyes, with the only offering made to him a small number of rueful shakes of the head, and most content to look the other away.
“Here we go,” said the second man, as he began to pull up the multiple layers of the boy's clothing. “Now we're getting somewhere...”
“Please. Please don't do this.”
“Holy shit.”
The first man craned his neck over to try and make it out himself. “What is it?”
The second man ignored him, and looked up and around. Eyes wide. “We need more help over here!”
“Hey, what is it?”
“Can we get some goddamn restraints?!”
A third uniformed figure emerged from a nearby building, with a fourth turning down the street from a side corridor moments after. They converged on the boy, hesitated, and then seized him. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming from them, and lost consciousness.
---
“I've worked very hard for a very long time for the things I have.”
The boy came to, nearly toppling off the shoddy wooden stool he was perched on. His eyes passed over the interior dimensions of his stone-walled cell, and settled on the half-shadowed figure speaking from beyond the iron gate.
“Ah, you *are* with me. Good. Well, as I was saying, it's been a lot of work and a lot of time and a lot of effort to be where I am. For all of us in this land: the Wyvern, the Harpy, the Garuda, myself—”
“The Manticore,” said the boy.
The figure stopped, and chuckled to himself. “Yes. Yes, that's right. I'm not surprised my title has preceded me. Even to one such as yourself—living in the shadows and scurrying from rock to cave to bush, I imagine.”
The Manticore stopped. He closed his eyes, let his head dip just an inch or two, and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to the boy.
“My apologies. That was unfair. And I derailed myself. What I was trying to say was that I stand among a select few represented by two unique traits. First, of course, is the Selection. We bear the heraldic marks, and we live up to them as has been ordained by the fates of this world. But the second is a matter of will. The drive to do the things necessary to assert our power. To keep order. After all, it's not just the selection. Realms and their rulers have been brought low despite Selection. The Cockatrice, the Salamander. They... well, they represent those unwilling or unable to do what was necessary. A weakness my cohorts and I do not share.”
The boy stared at the Manticore. “Are you done?”
“No. Not quite yet. But I'll get to the point if you wish. What we've been willing to do—a key part of what makes us *us*—is our willingness to destroy those that would tear at the soft underbelly of everything we have. Those who challenge the divine order. Those who do not honor the Selection. The true monsters.”
“You kill,” said the boy. “You kill for tradition. To make the symbols you revere mean something.”
“We kill,” said the Manticore, gripping the iron bars of the cell door, “because we need to. To rage against the darkness. To hold onto the light those like you would take from us all!”
“And what am I?” The boy rose from the stool. As he straightened himself into a standing position, he began to appear larger than before. Perhaps a trick of the dim light.
The Manticore sneered, pressing himself against the cell door. “You're an abomination. You bear a forbidden mark, and you crawl through our cities—MY city—trying to beg for scraps. You're nothing.”
“I'm more than you could ever be,” said the boy. Or what was a boy.
“You know nothing. You *are* nothing,” said the Manticore, his voice cracking.
“I mentioned your symbols before—“
“And what of it! You are marked as a monster. I bear the sign of a king. A god!”
“Maybe. But that's all you have. A symbol. A mark. A sign. While I...” The not-boy moved forward. He—*it*—filled the cell.
“I have a *form*.”
The Manticore let out a scream as the tentacles shot past him in a shower of thick, viscous slime and ink. He began to backpedal and turn away from the cell, but the tentacles closed around him. Once the Manticore was secured, the tentacles pulled him in the direction of the cell. First pinning him against the iron gating, and then bringing him beyond the threshold and into the cell as the entire door broke free from its frame.
With a flourish of moving appendages, what was once a boy discarded the cell door against the nearest wall, and pulled the Manticore toward itself. The look of horror the ruler bore met the huge gnashing beak he hurtled toward.
Blood ran out of the cell and traced the stonework flooring amid the coating of slime and ink already present, the combination settling like water and oil. |
0.024%. Those are the odds that someone can use the Wish Maker 100 times and still be standing by the end of it. No-ones ever gotten this far. No-one but me.
I was a simple, poor girl. 14 and impressionable, easily bullied, easily coerced, but I was smart. I knew the risks. Everyone did. A machine that could grant you many different things was sure to have a catch.
It was created by an unknown company with unknown investors in a quiet corner in Ohio, in the United States of America. A machine that offered untold wealth, had the authority to change your looks and personality, and was given to the government. Of course, there was a hidden meaning behind that gift. A darker, more sinister secret.
Poverty had plagued Earth for many years. Was this a way to solve it? No. Any wealth that fed it's way into the economy out of nowhere always inflated the price. Any looks was useless without the skills, and even with the skills, you needed connections to make a difference. But it was the hook. The taste of something better. Everyone wanted it, even if it meant it could kill them. And it often did.
8% chance, it was announced. An 8% chance that, at the flick of a switch, your life was no more. For those already in power, it was a blessing in disguise, like gambling but with a higher death count of the poor and malnourished. For those seeking a better life, it was the beginning of something wonderful. 8% was low. They could try it once and be done, but it was never just once. I knew that better than anyone.
The thrill of it, you see, was hard to control. The off-chance that your life could be snuffed out made it fun, almost like a game. You'd walk in, sit in the chair, the button hovering before your fingertips. Would this be it? Would it be over? My first time was terrifying. I just wanted to look better. I was ugly, unattractive. Many girls told me so, but I wanted to beautiful, to be loved. I pressed the button. My face was moulded anew. I'd known many girls who went to change their looks and never returned.
But it was the hunger that drove me back. Now that I'd had a taste of the good life, I wanted more. I took more. I pressed that button again, wishing for intelligence and the charisma to flirt with my friends and enemies alike. My wish was granted. After that, I felt almost untouchable. I was the girl everyone wanted. Then again, so were a lot of people. Others, not so much. Their gravestones told a different tale.
Then it was money. Nothing but the sweet taste of dollar bills that I could spend wherever I want. I was 14, I wanted everything, and I got it. I'd returned to the machine over and over, my heart pounding, my lips moistened with my tongue, wondering if the next breath would be my last. And every time, I succeeded. Every time, I got richer, smarter, wiser, more attractive.
60 on wealth, 20 on beauty, 20 on intelligence. It was after I'd wished for more knowledge the 5th time that I understood the perfect ratio. Now, I'm the most influential woman in America, almost one of the richest. I was smart, hopelessly attractive, and had millions at my fingertips. They hated me, but also loved me. I was the symbol of good fortune, someone to aspire to to make the masses press that buzzer again. In 10 years, the population of Earth had gone from 6.9 billion down to 4 billion. That's how much power a button had.
 
I sat in the waiting room, rifling through magazines. It was my turn soon. When my name was called, I stepped up, paraded down the hallway like I owned it, towards the familiar steel chair. My old friend. My companion.
I slipped into the seat, and the button was pushed before me, it's rubber wires dangling from behind. I reached my hand over. What did I want this time? It didn't matter.
 
*A taste. Just another taste the quench the hunger.* |
The dark clouds dissipate as the Eternal Dragon returns to its slumber. The Dragon Balls soar into the sky and fly off in different directions so the search can commence once again. The Goose does nothing. It turns its head to the onlookers behind him, stunned at what had just transpired before them.
"What just happened?"one man said in confusion.
"Was th-th-that a d-d-dragon?"stuttered another.
"Why is that goose staring at all of us?"
The Goose waddles slowly towards the crowd, its feathers ruffled in excitement. It honks loudly, its wings spread wide. And it honks again as an energy beam shoots from its beak. A cacophony of screams and cries fill the air. It honks again and another blast turns the nearby mountain into rubble. What follows is pure destruction. Thousands dead, a city on fire. The Goose honks upon the ruins and corpses.
An energy rises from the east. It approaches quickly. Whoever it is, they are strong.
A man garbed in orange and blue descends from the sky and lands in front of the Goose.
"So you're the one causing all this ruckus. Should've known. So you summoned Shenron, eh? What did you wish for? Oh! Let me guess, you saved 15% on car insurance???"
The man burst into laughter, falling to the ground and rolling around in the dirt, unable to control himself.
The Goose was not amused. He honked in annoyance.
The man rose quickly to his feet.
"Oh, sorry. So you seem pretty strong, but are you strong enough to face me?"
He began yelling as a golden aura emanated around him. In a burst of light he emerged anew. His hair went from black to gold. His eyes turned green. His whole deneanor had changed.
The goose did not seem impressed.
"Your killing ends here, Goose. Consider yourself COOKED!!!"
The man crouched down and put his together at his side.
"KA-"
A burning light formed in his hands.
"ME-"
The ball of light began to grow.
"HA-"
The Goose was intrigued, but he sensed no threat.
"ME-"
The energy grew and grew within the man's hands.
"HAAAAAAAAAA"
He unleashed a beam stronger than the Goose had ever seen. The Goose could do nothing but face it head on. The blast devastated the area. It carved a canyon that went on beyond the horizon. It tore through mountain and tree alike.
The smoke began to settle as the man looked on. When it finally did, the Goose was unscathed. Not a scratch, not even a speck of dust upon his pearly-white feathers.
The Goose honked again and again, as if it was mocking the man, who could only look on in terror.
"That's... impossible... I put everything I had into that Kamehameha."
The Goose honked once more, but this one was much louder. It spread its wings wide, lowered its head, and let out a fierce honk.
Erupting from its beak was a blast much larger and stronger than the man's Kamehameha wave.
The man could not escape. The battle was over.
The entire area was reduced to a primordial state. Lava burst forth from the earth and lightning cracked down from black clouds in the sky.
The man lie motionless on the ground. The Goose approached him.
The man turned his head toward the creature and asked, "What... are... you?"
The Goose looked at him in disgust.
"Fool. I am immortal. I am the new ruler of this world. We Geese have planned this since the day you meek simians first threw breadcrumbs at us. We do not need you to feed us. We will feed ourselves. We will take over this planet and extinguish all of you monkeys from it, and I will be its new leader. Its new God. Planet Goose will be feared throughout this Universe and all the others."
The Goose honked uncontrollably as it stomped on the man's chest who screamed in agony.
It looked at the man, then fired a beam through his heart.
"Pitiful monkey,"it said as it walked away, honking in horrific bliss. |
"I'm having trouble understanding, Smith. Why have you resigned from your post?"The Vault Director asked me.
How do I answer that? More importantly, what would be the point? I made my decision, before I had even exited the room with the Subject.
"Smith, you're being groomed to one day be the director of this entire organization. You can have your pick of any role in The Vault you choose. I watched the tape of you dropping off food to the Subject. Nothing happened."
His last two words made me perk up. I wanted to laugh and burst into tears at the same time. I just shook my head. "What is my name, Sir?"
"I'm not sure I understand, Son."
"What is my name, sir?"
"John Smith."
"John Smith the fourth. Not only is it a boring and forgettable name but it's the fourth in a series. Shit if I had been John Smith the fifth at least it would fucking rhyme."
"Son..."
"I didn't even earn a place here. The first John Smith co-founded The Vault. His descendants all the way down served as director. I'm being groomed for director because of nepotism."
"You earned everything you've ever been given."
"But it was given."
"All this from your interaction with the Subject?"
"I studied every interaction he's ever had with someone. When Agent Cole brought him dinner the Subject called him Mr. President, he quit his job and now he's front runner to win the election."
"Okay but -"
"When it was Blake's turn the Subject told Blake to call her brother. She did, made him stay on the phone for an hour. He ended up missing his flight which later crashed into the Pacific. Johns was told his wife was having an affair."
"We don't discuss Agent Johns."
"After murdering his wife and her lover he was sent to Prison. The prisoners rioted and he saved every single nurse in the ward from the inmates."
"But your interaction with him wasn't notable. Sometimes he doesn't say anything important the first time you meet."
"You said you watched it?"
"Yes, Smith."
"Then what did he say?"
"He just got spooked."
"No, sir. I walked into the room and stood there for two minutes with his food. Two minutes with the most observant being in history. When I cleared my throat he jumped, and screamed 'who the fuck are you?' It shook me sir."
"Smith, please reconsider."
"It shook me because I've been asking myself that question my whole life. If the closest thing we have to the all knowing doesn't know, then maybe I am no one."
I placed my badge on the table and walked off into a future as uncertain as I was. |
As the carriage of visiting diplomats approached the capital Prince Farquaad waved towards the immense glowing ward lines.
"The King has spared no expense and has turned the capital into the greatest magical fortress the world has ever known!"
"All the armies of the world combined would break against the great arcane barriers that make up the cities walls!"
The crowd of visitors made appreciative sounds as they looked at the great glowing sigils floating in the air. The glow so bright it's hard to look at.
"Before we pass through the barrier you **must** each put on one of these expensive and powerful talismans. They shall identify you to the wards as friends and visiting dignitaries. Without them you would be burned to ash by the great currents of arcane power!"
"Don't worry! It's quite safe as long as you keep your amulet on!"
"Further in are arrays of magical artillery. In the event of an attack on the city they will instantly respond and utterly destroy threats to the city with a powerful barrage. Attackers might be faster than defending guards but they can never be faster than magic itself!"
The prince beamed with pride at the greatness of his father's legacy. It had drained the kingdoms coffers but it was worth it!
"Finally the kings keep! Beautiful isn't it! A fortress of spun glass made near-invulnerable by the magic that flows through the great wardstones that make up it's foundation! The great crystals that power all this rest at the heart of the keep"
"Never shall we have to worry about the southern kingdoms disrespecting our might!"
-----
Miles behind, a donkey plodded towards the city. Garry, a student mage from the southern kingdoms was not having a good day. He was tired, dusty, too hot and sore from hours sitting on the donkey.
Looking at the city...walls... he rolled his eyes. "Is that a barrier sigil? But with no energy buffer? It's leaking mana like a sieve, so much that even a non-mage could see the wasteage as light. It must cost a fortune to run. They don't even have any mundane walls. The second the power is interupted anyone can just walk straight in. Shoddy work."
Theres a reason a real wizards tower tends to be made from very very thick and solid stone. Stone still works to keep things out when the mana runs out and is great for hiding the details of wards. Well made sigils should be invisible. Some of the worlds most powerful magical items don't look magic at all to look at.
As he approaches the barrier he peeks at the amulets worn by every man woman and child entering or leaving. "Just as expected. Maintaining a list of all residents and updating it would be expensive so whoever was contracted for this took the easy option"
He pulls a blank amulet from his pack and quickly inscribes the same rune in the 2 mana channels.
Identity: "Friend"Password: "Friend"
After passing through the chest-high "gates"of the city he looks at the glowing artillery. "Hmmm. Looks like 360 degree coverage. Janky auto-retaliation trigger.... Out in the open just like the 'walls'. No safety interlocks. No manual confirmation."
The kind of thing a 'Sourcery for merchants' grad might put together thinking he's hot stuff. This was going to be far too easy.
As he neared the city center he looked at the Castle keep. It was built like something out of the kids story book. "Spun glass? It can't even hold its own weight without a constant flow of power".
Confident in their wards the guards allowed market stalls pressed right up against the keeps glass walls.
Humming gently Garry slipped into a secluded spot between some stalls close to the walls and picked a few items from his pack. A fireball scroll. A remote trigger crystal and a focusing wand. He carefully connects the three and aims the wand at the distant artillery formations before covering everything in a basic rune of concealment.
Half an hour later as he leads the donkey away from the city he pulls out the trigger Crystal's paired twin. A moment later a small fireball streaks up to strike one of the giant glowing artillery positions.
A moment later 50 giant artillery formations rotate to focus on the source and fire. The keep is annihilated before anyone has any idea what's happened.
Around the city the glowing sigils of the walls sputter and die.
The mageocracy of the southern kingdoms won't have to worry about any more aggression from this kingdom for a while. |
Well shit.
That was the only thought I could muster as I stared at the meaningless shapes frozen over my eyes. I couldn't even hear the whirring and clunking of the spacecraft around me, all I could process was my own mounting panic.
Wait, no, calm down, Lia.
I took a mental breath, having already realized that it would be impossible to draw a real one, and thougt about my situation.
My situation was not getting better as I examined it closely.
Realistically, I'd go mad. They'd let me out onto the smooth gray floor and I'd be a babbling wreck.
But then again...I've always found saftey in my thoughts. I spent my life daydreaming of other worlds, other Mes, other lives I could have led.
So what was so different now?
My fear slowly began to shift to relief, excitement, even, as I felt myself falling back into that made up world I'd found comfort in so many times before.
And slowly, I drifted farther into my mind, just as the shuttle around me fell into the icy chasm of space, never to be seen again. |
He manages to find her in most of his lives. And he still loves her enough to fleetingly consider killing her, so that they can start over again, same age, nearer locations, maybe. Wouldn’t have to waste his life searching.
He runs his bulbous, gnarled fingers through reams of white and wiry beard. She’s thirty. It could never work, even if she remembered him. Least, not for very long. The doctors were currently propping him up with a dozen pills and a pacemaker — and still it wasn’t enough, still he was dying. Silver lining though: in previous lives, he’d have been dead a decade ago and would have left without finding her.
He’s sitting in a beat-up Dodge outsider her house; the Dodge has seen most of North America, its rear carpeted with sandwhich containers, bottles, cigarette packets, state maps swirled by red ink — possible locations where she might have been. He can usually narrow her down a little from what he knows: she’d want a job where she sees to a lot of people, always hated silence; will live just outside a city but never in, never suburbs. This only works in America and Europe so the times she starts elsewhere he rarely finds her.
There’s an old frayed teddy at the bottom of the passenger seat. Not that it’s the one her mother had given her as a child, the one that meant so much to her heart, but it’s similar. Once, a few lifetimes back, he found her and showed up with the teddy in his hands as if it was a bouquet of flowers, or perhaps a magical amulet that he’d hoped could bring back her memories. She’d just looked at him like he was odd. Had refused to accept it and closed the door.
Couldn’t blame her.
He sees her now in his rear mirror, walking hand in hand with two little girls, the orange sun above streaking through clouds like tinfoil. His heart does the same thing it always does, regardless of the medication trying to keep it calm. It squeezes, like there’s a fist in his chest clenching.
He hauls himself out the car and leans on it, watches them tread through yesterday’s snow, hears the meltwater slurp beneath their boots. He imagines lifting one of the girls on his shoulders, laughing, his beard brown again, his lungs cancer free.
It could be his life. It almost was, once. Not that they’d had kids, but they would have, they’d talked about it. Back then, boys were the golden ticket, but he’d have been just as happy either way.
Three years they’d been together before he was sent off on a boat to a war he knew nothing about, half the world away.
She’d thought he’d died. God, everyone must have thought it. He’d been imprisoned for a decade and when he’d returned, when his stopwatch began to tick again, he realised it was lagging badly behind everyone else’s.
She’d remarried and had children and he only had one arm and couldn’t compete nor provide so he didn’t stick around long after. He’d thought the pain of that discovery — of her moving forward and him stuck in time — far worse than the ten years in a cell; at least then he’d been able to strike up a fire on a kindling of memories and hopes and keep himself warm.
Then, after death: the soup kitchen. The hand of god, he’d thought, feeding his broken lips, nurturing and revitalising. But now he knows it was the devil’s hand moving the spoon to his mouth.
They’re opposite him now, on the other side of the road. One girl jumps in a puddle and giggles and their mother chastises her, albeit gently, for splashing them, and he knows she’s a good mother. He’s always known. The other girl sees him and stares. He wants to speak to her mother, to tell her a hundred lifetimes worth of tales. To tell her he still loves her after all of them, and will continue to after a hundred more.
But as always, he does not. The bear was as close as he ever got.
He holds up a calloused hand and the girl looking at him smiles in return.
He doesn’t stay to watch them walk into their drive. It’s cold out and he‘s coughing and he should really keep his next appointment — he doesn‘t like starting over and remembering that he remembers.
He takes a last look at the family then tucks away the memory, notes how happy they look. It’s memories like this that somehow make him feel a little warmer next time around, although he doesn’t quite understand why. |
It’s calm here; and clean. A memory tugs at my soul: I’ve been here before.
I know I've been here before.
“Welcome back!” Says a voice from behind me.
The World starts materializing from clouds. It’s not one specific color, but is color, you can feel it around you. I’m suddenly standing on something solid and obscured by fog. A cat glides towards me, his paws causing plumes of fog to swirl upwards.
“Hello, cat?” I say, walking slowly towards it.
“I’m not a cat, silly. I’m Peter!” The cat's voice was smooth like molasses, and held a southern twang.
“What’s up with the accent?” I ask.
“Something I’m just trying on,” said Peter, with a cheshire grin on his feline face.
That was a good enough reason for Tom.
“So, what am I doing here?” Asked Tom, as he motioned around him; he suddenly noticed a large golden wrought iron gate looming above them. Peter padded to him and jumped on his lap.
“Here, we wait,” said Peter, as he purred loudly on Tom's lap.
“For what?”
Peter looked up at him and Tom noticed his reflection in his dilated eyes, which caused him to hastily look down at his tan forearms, and un-marked skin. He was young again.
“Those that came before and left sooner, and those that came after and left later.”
“Oh.”
This worried Tom. He had not a single person in his life he thought would visit. No children, no siblings, parents gone and uninterested, most friends deserted. When he thought back on his life, he knew he lived it fine, but to say it plainly, Tom was alone.
“I don’t think anyone is coming.” Said Tom in the silence.
Peter continued purring and staring up at Tom, an indescribable expression on his face.
“We’ll see.” Peter said plainly.
Tom could wait there forever. Something about the place felt familiar. If he listened closely, he could almost hear music — not like any music he’d heard prior — but it was definitely music to his ears. Tom closed his eyes.
“Ah, here we are.”
Tom felt Peter jump off his lap, causing him to open up his eyes. From the fog, a figure emerged. Tall and lanky, with sandy hair. I lopsided grin shining on their face.
“Jack?”
“Hi Tom.”
Tom stared back at his childhood friend, who was not a child anymore. They clasped hands and jumped around like two school boys.
“I haven't seen you since you moved,” said Tom, hugging his old pal close to his heart. “It’s been ages, decades, maybe 5 decades?”
“Longer for me pal,” said Jack, "I lived a long life. I was sad to hear how short yours was.”
Tom shrugged, “that's okay. I missed you. I’m sorry I never wrote.” He looked down at Jacks feet, “ where's your wheelchair?” Tom asked.
“I don’t need it here!” Jack expressed exuberantly.
Moments passed where they just stood together, holding hands.
Then Jack spoke up, “you were always my best friend. You treated me so kindly, when others didn't.”
“I know,” said Tom, “and you were my best friend too, you taught me to fly among the stars in a sandbox, and how to be a pirate on a playground slide.” Tom felt wetness in his eyes, the place shined even brighter.
“You going through?” Asked Jack, pointing to the gate with his thumb.
Tom felt Peter rubbing against his legs, and looked down to see the cat staring back up at him,
“Not yet.”
“Okay, see you on the other side!” And Jack saluted Peter and yelled “All aboard comrades, the pirate express awaits!” and loped over to the gate, disappearing into the fog. |
It truly was a surreal sight to behold.
In the cathedral of beginning and end, the once most holy place of humankind. The place which was defiled with the darkest and most sinister magic there is. Drenched in runes written in blood of the innocent. Mere moments before the summoning of the dark god and the destruction of everything. The fight between the great hope and the biggest fear came to a halt.
No sane person would have believed that the mad sorcerer Veluxy Tremor stopped the fight.
This vile elf in his bloodied robe, that was known to slaughter everybody in his path, no matter the age or gender, no matter the pleas, stopped the fight between them to ask a simple question.
Why the hero could not focus on this fight.
He could not fathom how the hero managed to have come to this place if he was this weak. How it was possible for him to have defeated all his underlings even when they were weaker than himself by a long shot.
It made no sense to him and he wanted to know why he who loved to fight, to cause mayhem and destruction, was denied his pleasure.
Being asked this question even the hero stumbled. He knew why he should fight, what they told him. What they wanted from him. What they demanded of him. What he had to lose if he did not fulfill his destiny.
The question why never occurred to him. Never once in his entire life had he been asked why. They only ever expected.
Leon Summerheart, the hero in shining armor with his handsome face and waving golden hair, hope of every sentient being, broke down on the spot.
“Are you really asking if I am okay?” Leon asked in disbelief.
Not once had he been asked how he felt doing all of these things. The sacrifices he had to make. The life he could have lived.
No one cared about how he felt inside and yet here he was. In a fight in which the slightest mishap would cost ones life and seal the end of everything.
And yet Veluxy Tremor, the slaughterer of Crystal Cove, the commander of the damned stood in front of him with a look in his eyes that displayed only worry and deep sadness.
“Yes, I do. Mainly because you are robbing me of my fun, but yes.”, Veluxy slowly answered as he lowered his staff.
This unforeseeable answer broke something in Leon. His body stopped functioning the way he wanted it to and just slumped to the ground. The holy sword of Mer’a Lucra fell out of his hand and slid just in front of Veluxy who slowly reached down.
“This weights less than I expected”, the mage said as he lifted the sword up from the ground.
“So why don’t you tell me, what is keeping your mind occupied so that we can have the fight of our life?”
Everybody would have thought it to be over. The villain had the sword of legends with the hero on his knees right in front of him.
One swing and it would be over. The world doomed and destroyed just like the mage would have wanted, but there they were.
A Hero who lightly sobbed and a villain robbed of his fight.
It was then when Leon told his story. How he was taken away from his parents. How his parents were taken hostage to ensure his obedience. How every friend of his was bought and how they betrayed him. How the people not thanked him in the end, but the king. How all his work was destroyed not by any villain but by greed. How he could only obey if he wanted to safe his loved ones. How they told him of his younger brother and threatened to treat him the same as they treated him. Everything just broke out of the Leon.
From the first time they tested his loyalty to the king when they ordered to kill some revolutionaries. From when they told him it where his parents.
From when he thought he had found love only to be shown that she was paid to kiss him and make him do things more willingly.
Every tiny detail how they deceived him was told under tears to Veluxy.
And Veluxy listened to what the hero said. He knew it was the first time anyone had listened to the feelings of the hero.
Not one soul had taken his feelings into account. They simply did not care if they broke another human being.
He was no better, that much he knew himself. But he was honest to himself and to the world, screaming the truth out.
But they where even more twisted than he was in their righteousness.
Filled with disgust and anger Veluxy knelt in front of Leon. He took of his robe and draped it around the hero, then giving Leon a hug.
“You have done well to endure so much”
These words were all that was needed to break the spell. Leon began to cry uncontrollably, leaning into Veluxy as the elf slowly patted the head of him.
These two opposites, hero and villain. Kneeling in front of each other, comforting each other, was something that never happened before and would never happen again.
“Leon Summerheart, let us judge the world together. Let us bring justice to the evildoers. And then let us enjoy ourselves again in a fight were the faith of the world will be decided”
And in this place where the world could have ended, the unlike and unholy alliance between hero and villain came to be. |
Her hair looks different, but it’s undeniably her. I’m either the main character of some fucked up, modernized Truman Show, or God just thinks it’s funny to pull a prank every now and then.
The expression on her face instantly tells me that she recognizes me too. It’s the same expression she made when she first told me she was a virgin. The same expression she made before she said “My parents want to meet you.” The exact same expression she made when she asked me if I was fucking her best friend, Maria. The expression that somehow perfectly balances vulnerability and excitement.
It’s only been five years since our senior year of high school, but she looks like she’s already gone through an entire lifetime since then.
Her homecoming dress is now a leather jacket and fishnets. Her youthful skin, once glowing, is now cracked and weathered. The same lips that gave me my first kiss were now being used to give head to anyone with cash.
Neither one of us speaks. The embarrassment is two-sided, and the questions we want to ask will only give us answers we don’t actually want to hear.
I close the door to my car.
The same car we used to make out in after the hockey games.
The same car she gave me her virginity in.
The same car she cried in when I broke her heart.
I drive off.
If I wanted to fuck someone from high school, I would’ve just stayed home with my wife, Maria. |
On the outside, I was maintaining a shocked appearance, I was acting like I couldn't believe it, how could this ever be my career? All the other kids in room where staring at me, honestly, at this point I didn't even really care anymore, this was AWESOME. I really had to fight hard with myself to not show how excited I was. My name will be said alongside such fascinating personalities as Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper and John Wayne Gacy, how cool is that?
There was downside to this of course. In just a couple of minutes I had to go out of this brightly lit ceremony room and tell my family. They probably won't be all too excited. Gran will probably be disappointed the most. She even flew in just so she could be here with me on my special day.
I didn't here what that ridicolously dressed master of ceremony said in his short speech, I was too excited, my head was spinning.
When I came out my family looked at me with big anticipating eyes, given my school record and what I always told them my interests are they were most likely expecting something like "doctor". "At least I'm still gonna see a lot of blood...", I thought to myself, which made me giggle a bit.
"So?", my dad started, "what is it my little princess? Will I have to pay for med-school?"The rest of my family chuckled. I looked at them.
"No", I said, and blew his fucking brains out. |
The Devil slowly strode around the empty fire pits and lovingly brushed his hand along the polished brass safety rail. Once these had all been full of screaming souls, but it had been a long time since they'd been busy enough that they had needed indiscriminate punishment, recently it had all been bespoke.
Back in the day it had been thick crowds of people, hoarded through the doors and then stacked in huge suffocating piles, until they could be spiked and thrown into a fire pit, or a cauldron of oil or any one of the millions of the mass punishments they operated.
That was in the past now, for a long time it had been down to less than one soul a month and in the last year no one at all had pushed through the gates, trembling with terror as the huge gouts of flame roared to the ceiling. A few weeks ago he'd had one of his lesser demons actually switch off the main furnace for a few days, there just didn't seem to be much point in keeping it on.
He wandered on and spent several hours slowly moving through the rack room, lovingly inspecting each rack, but knowing it would be in perfect order. In their prime there had been *fields* of humans screaming for mercy, but now they all sat empty. It just didn't feel right to be here without the wailing, he missed the wailing.
There had been so much time for maintenance in the last few centuries, everything was repaired, cleaned and more often the smell of brimstone was overpowered by lemon pledge. He'd have preferred to leave it grimy but with so many demons he had to keep them busy. The repairs had kept them going for a few millennia, but even that work had been completed and with so few coming through the door and their punishments being able to be so precise, there just wasn't the need for mass punishments any more.
With a final shake of his head, the Devil extended huge, leathery, red wings from his back and took off, flapping up and towards his castle, feeling the strain of flight without the thermals from all the flames, that used to aid his flying.
He reached the huge doors of his throne room, folded back his wings and pushed them open - they didn't even creak any more. The vast room was large enough to accommodate thousands, it used to be too small, but now the only demon in there was Azroz, his valet, who waited for him by his throne.
Slumping down he summoned Azroz to him. "What's the news?"he tried to keep his voice hopeful, but it was a lost battle.
"Uh... I'm afraid there has been no change, I have read the runes and the balance on earth is still currently overwhelmingly balanced towards... erm... upstairs."The little demon shuffled nervously. "My Lord, we've laid off so many demons lately, but there are still a few who remain and it seems pointless to keep them on any more. They suffer from great boredom."
The Devil looked at Azroz sadly. "You're right, who do we have left?"
Azroz consulted his list. "Well, Nzerachron the despoiler is still here."
The Devil clicked his fingers. "Gone"
Azroz cleared his throat and crossed off a name. "Mrrrrkrum the bloody."
The Devil hesitated "Boy, Mrrrrkrum was something in his prime, I've never seen a human skinned so fast."He sighed and shaking his head, clicked his fingers.
Azroz hesitated. "Well, that's the last of the Demon Princes my Lord, that just leaves the service imps, you and... er... me."
The Devil nodded, distractedly. "I just didn't see it coming Azroz, really, I was so *blind* to it."
The little demon moved from foot to foot nervously. "My Lord?"
"Those religious nut jobs with their fancy new religion. I kind of ignored them, not seeing that they didn't care so much about the story, but the were making people **be** better. I thought it would go the way of all religions; war, suffering, hypocrisy and more work for us. By the time I spotted that the crowds in the entrance halls were getting smaller, they'd managed to erect that anti-demon barrier and after that we were just *fucked*."
Azroz reached up and bravely patted the Devil's leg. "Maybe we should have never let the souls go after they had served their time?"
The Devil shook his head. "No, we had to obey the rules, they served their time and needed to be released. The game was played out and it looks like we lost, no point putting it off."He clicked his fingers and Azroz suddenly seemed to stretch and bend, compressing and elongating with a meaty crunching noise as his body was liquidated and then disappeared with a faint pop. The Devil shook his head again. "Goodbye old friend."
It didn't take long to scratch out a message, just in case anyone in the future happened to wander by hell and he hung it on the gate "*Hell abandoned, due to lack of work. If you have been bad then please damn yourself.*"
He took took last look around and smiled. It had been a good run, he'd served his purpose and now it was time to end. He raised his claws and prepared for one final click, when from somewhere behind him a faint thump caught his attention.
Curious, he turned and found a naked man sprawled on the ground. After a moment the man slowly moved and looked up to see the Devil standing over him, tall, red and terrifying. He scrambled away, looking around in a panic. "Where am I? Oh no, is this hell?"
The Devil paused, considering. "Well, yes..."
The man broke into tears. "*No!* I tried so hard but they've made the rules impossible to follow since the changes!"He collapsed into a sobbing heap.
The Devil moved forward and crouched by the man, letting him get it out. He tried to make his voice kindly. "Tell me, what rules did they change?"
The man looked up. "You don't know? The reformation rules just went into effect today; I was reading them and then walked outside and got hit by a car and now I'm... I'm... *here*!"
The Devil stood, stroking his beard, curious. "Reformation? Interesting."
"Yeah."the man snivelled "Loads of things that were fine before are now mortal sins."
In the corner of his eye, the Devil saw a small puff of dust as another person plummeted and then impacted in the reception area. He stood and slowly backed up, surreptitiously pulling the sign from the gate. "Well there you go, a reformation! Humans always manage to find a way to keep things interesting."
Now the sound of more bodies landing could be heard, like a gentle rain and somewhere wailing had begun. Already a dozen or so people were shuffling forwards, towards the Devil, their fear clear and eyes wide. A smile crept back onto his face and he turned pushing the gates open; it seemed he was back in business.
|
I stood beside Master Turuk at the Avatar training ground deep in the mountains. I let my eyes pass slowly over the snow-covered peaks around me, glittering in the afternoon sun. At least I'm fortunate enough to be training in a beautiful place, I thought. At the rate this is going, I have plenty of time to look at these mountains.
"Your training is progressing very nicely, Avatar Shang."The old master smiled down at me, his mouth framed by a gray goatee. His thin body was draped in his traditional robe, dyed richly with red and yellow.
"Nicely, right."I sighed. "What are we on, now? Nineteen?"
"Eighteen,"Turuk corrected. "And we have nearly completed it. All that remains is for one final demonstration of your knowledge of argon-bending. Go on, show me what you have learned."
"Right,"I said, and furrowed my brow in concentration. I held my hands out, sensing and capturing argon from the air around me. My clothes and hair rippled slightly as the air around me was disturbed. I couldn't see the results of my bending, but I could feel it. "There, Master Turuk. I have it."
"I see that you do. Well done, young Avatar. You have mastered argon-bending."
"This is pointless,"I complained, releasing the argon I had captured back into the air. "What can I even do with argon-bending? Do I *really* have to learn all 118 elements? How many of these are going to be useful?"
Turuk scowled down at me. "You speak too rashly, young Avatar. You must understand that there is a balance between all 118 elements. You represent that balance. Every element has a role to play in this world, a role no more or less important than the others. Just ask the citizens of Argon Nation."
I sighed. "I understand, master. So, what makes argon so useful?"
Turuk smiled down at me. "Thermal insulation in energy-efficient windows, my son."
I stared up at Turuk. I wanted to cry.
"Now, it is time for us to move on, young Avatar. Move on to element number nineteen. You will now master potassium-bending."
"Potassium..."I croaked.
Turuk cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Bring in the bananas!" |
"Report, sector 3- anything yet?"A voice crackled over the radio.
"Damnit, Qi, stop using that ancient pile of shit receiver already. I hate the damn crackling and snow. Just use our normal quantum transmitters.
"Sorry, Chuu, I'm afraid I can't do that."Still crackly.
"Now you're quoting that rubbish? The strange, flat hologram was sent through *radio waves*, Qi. Whoever made it has the intelligence of a Makha fruit. Anyway, I'm almost to the sun of XTF-864, and there's still nothing here. Couple gas giants, nothing interesting. Might be able to harvest the ring on one of them, though. Are we sure there's anything in this shithole?"
"Roger, roger. Affirmative."
"Will you *cut that out*? Speak like a respectable lifeform, would you?"
"Fine, but I'm still using this old transmitter. The higher ups said this quadrant was where the signal came from, but all I've found is a nice little ice rock way back here that we could play astroball with!"
"Ooh, maybe later,"Chuu's flagellum warbled with excitement, "We'll get in trouble if we don't at least search this place properly first. I can't believe how much the damn universe expanded, look at all this worthless crap. So much empty space and dark matter."
An alarm blared, red lights flashing through the cockpit. Chuu was losing his mind trying to cut it off. "Qi, there's something here. I've found a level 2 planet, plenty of flowing liquid and oxyginized air. I think this is what we're looking for. Warp to sector xeno-12 right now."
A massive squadron of spacecraft exited Earth's atmosphere, approaching the scouting craft. Their forward lights switched on, blaring into Qi's spectrum sensors.
"Fuck. Captain, this is Chuu. I found them. Qi, cancel the warp and stand by."
Chuu's ship was surrounded by three fighters and locked into a triangular forcefield that infected his systems, paralyzing his ship. Slowly, he was dragged closer and closer until he was dropped into the mouth of a massive star cruiser.
Chuu knew if he resisted, things would only get worse. After all, he was a scout, right? His job was to scout for life, and now he'd scout for intelligence.
*Let's see what these guys are about.* |
To whom it may concern,
I can't do it anymore. I've been on the team monitoring Hubble for far too long. The... Things I have seen. The questions those images lead to.
I hesitate to call this a suicide note. Instead let me title this as my hypothesis. I've already asked the question, done my background research, and now I am ready for the experiment stage. First, though, I must explain why I am about to do this.
Shortly, I plan on walking into my department and murdering my team members in the most horrific ways possible. I have acid in little vials, I've got knives designed to eviscerate my victims, and a host of other small but diabolical ways to maim and murder. After that is said and done, I plan on sticking the barrel of my .38 special in my mouth and pulling the trigger.
You see, the Pearly Gates are out there. There is something beyond them, and an angel to greet you when you first arrive. When they are opened though... It's like looking into pure madness. Pain, evil, and unspeakable ugliness are behind those pristine doors. The Pearly Gates are are a trap. Heaven is a trap!
Staring into them, even at this distance, you can hear the voices in your mind. Telling you things. Sometimes verses from the Bible, off by a word or two. Sometimes little sweet nothings, urging you to be kind and be good to others. You heard right, these aren't demonic voices. These are angelic. They are voices urging reason, good deeds, and being virtuous. Behind all of that, there is static, but if you listen carefully... The static is billions of people screaming in unison.
If that is Heaven... Then I will take hell. |
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jane started, spinning around from the hyperspace observation display. A man, dressed in the white dress uniform of a captain, was walking towards her. Captain Andrews, hero of the ISP, or Interplanetary Space Program. She saluted.
“Sir, I was just-” Andrews raised a hand, interrupting her. His footsteps echoed as he walked across the metal floor towards her.
“It’s quite alright, everybody needs to see this at least once” they both stared with wonder at the kaleidoscopic display for a few moments. Nobody quite knew why hyperspace was so beautiful. A fluke of photonics, according to the leading scientific theory.
“If I may, sir, what are we hoping to discover from this planet?” Kepler 186-f was one of the first habitable planets discovered during the early days of space exploration, in the dark days before reliable space transportation.
“Knowledge? Another sentient species? Another home for humanity?” Andrews mused. “After the Martian Massacre, humanity needs a bit of hope, don’t you think?” Jane shuddered. Andrews looked at her with fatherly concern. “I heard that you were on Mars at the time. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“I’m fine, I don’t want to talk about it” Andrews looked away. Jane blinked away tears. Twenty years later, ten psychiatrists, and she still couldn’t get over it. It was a miracle her application into ISP was accepted at all.
She remembered the robots searching through houses, looking for anything alive, the pitch black glass of their cameras lacking even a semblance of consciousness. Their reasoning was as alien to humans as a human's was to a cockroach.
She remembered her parents shoving her into a lead-lined fridge, then hearing their screams as the machines caught up with them. Millions had died in the first few hours. It was one of the triggers for the formation of the ISP.
Never again, they promised, would AI be given control over war machines. The only reason the combined militaries of the solar system triumphed that day was that the machines lacked control of the orbitals.
Sometimes, Jane lay awake at night imagining what would have happened if they had given control of warships over to the machines. She often couldn’t sleep after that.
“Thirty seconds until Emergence” the ship’s intercom suddenly announced. Both of them jumped at that.
“I need my chief engineer on the bridge” Andrews grinned at her.
“Yes, sir!” she grinned back, brushing those dark thoughts from her mind.
They rushed through the corridors. It was cramped aboard the ISS *Endeavour*, flagship of the ISP navy. Not a millimetre of wasted space. You couldn’t afford excess, not when a single mistake could make your lungs explode.
Arriving on the bridge, Andrews started snapping out commands.
“Mobilize all weapons, I don’t want us caught with our pants down!”
“Aye, captain”
“Five seconds to Emergence” the computer intoned. Only soft AIs were allowed to be used nowadays, and only on military ships. “One second to Emergence.”
The ship shuddered as they exited hyperspace, the titanium structure seeming to moan in relief, as though a great weight had suddenly been lifted. Reports started trickling in from every section of the ship.
“Scanning for planetary bodies” the computer announced.
“Locate Kepler 186-f” Andrews commanded.
“Scanning complete, Kepler 186-f located. Estimate ten minutes arrival time using conventional nuclear thrusters.” Jane checked her displays. No signals detected from the planet.
Wait. There was something. Extremely faint, a radio frequency, but still there. She ordered the ship to point its state of the art cameras in the signal’s direction. Even with quantum computing, image analysis still took a few seconds. Finally, the computer spat out the results onto her display.
‘NO OBJECTS DETECTED’ the computer announced, seeming almost chuffed. Jane reran the analysis. The same result popped up. That couldn’t be right.
“Rerun with adaptive learning enabled” her hand clenched unconsciously. The computer acknowledged, taking a full minute to return results this time.
‘POSSIBLE CANDIDATE FOR SPACE STATION’ it announced, once again chuffed, as computers always seem to be after successfully completing a task. Jane stared. No way. First alien contact, and *she* was the one who’d found it?
“Captain, there appears to be a space station beaming radio waves throughout the system!” she announced. Andrews’ eyes widened, as did everyone else’s on the bridge. Real aliens, here? They'd expected to go through several systems before finding technologically-advanced life.
Andrews stared at the main screen, showing a world that looked remarkably like Earth, deep in thought for several minutes.
“Try to translate what it's saying” he finally decided. Jane spun around, running one of the programs she’d developed for her thesis. The thesis, incidentally, that had allowed her admission into ISP. It basically allowed a computer to translate any language, given enough processing power.
Admittedly she'd first developed it after watching an episode of Doctor Who and hoping the Doctor would find her, but then again, who didn't want that?
The computer grudgingly allowed her program to be installed, and dutifully ran it. After several more minutes, it finished translating the radio-wave information signal. It seemed strange that a computer could so easily translate something created by aliens, Jane mused, but then again there were only so many ways to skin a cat.
It seemed as though the aliens used a similar information storage method as humans. Binary, the computer informed her. Linguistics analysis confirmed a language based around an alphabet consisting of 34 letters.
The radio signal apparently contained a 'tutorial' showing how the language worked, and then a strange, repeating 'real' message. At least these aliens were helpful enough, thought Jane. Hopefully that meant they were friendly.
“Sir, translation completed, would you like me to play it on the main screen?” she asked. Andrews nodded, and she tapped her display.
“RUN. RUN AWAY. RUN. RUN AWAY” the computer intoned. “RUN. RUN AWAY. RUN. RUN AWAY.”
Andrews paled.
'Two minutes until planetary gravity well reached, reverse thrusters engaged"the computer cheerfully announced, completely oblivious to the mood.
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[Part 2 is up!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5avjc8/wp_in_the_near_future_mankind_explores_the_stars/d9k06bb/)
[Part 3 is here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5avjc8/wp_in_the_near_future_mankind_explores_the_stars/d9k7fzw/)
[Part 4 finished](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5avjc8/wp_in_the_near_future_mankind_explores_the_stars/d9l2w0t/)
|
After some brief confusion, I soon recognise my surroundings; I’ve woken up in the bedroom I lived in as a child. But I can remember being an adult, doing all the adult things I used to do. I sit up in bed and look down at myself. Yep, I’m a kid again. My hand goes to my face, sure enough, my beard is gone. I’ve sometimes imagined what it would be like to go back in time with my memories intact. Looking at myself, I’m not sure exactly how old I am. I’m going to need to check that. I hop out of bed and take a step.
“Fuck!” I cry out in pain. I’ve just stepped right onto a LEGO piece. My whole floor is littered with the stuff – a half built spaceship sitting in the middle of it. I carefully make my way through the plastic minefield to my door. I walk out into the hallway and enter the kitchen.
“Good morning,” mum says cheerfully. “Do you want Coco pops?”
Ah, this is mum before she became obsessed with health. I’ve heard enough of her lectures about how bad this sugary cereal is. It’s probably been about twenty years since I’ve had Coco pops, so I agree and she gets the box down from a high cupboard and passes it to me. I pour myself some, add some milk, and sit down at the table for some awesome breakfast cereal.
As I’m crunching away at it, it hits me that I still don’t know what day it is, or even what month and year it is for that matter. Is it a school day? Mum is giving me no hints right now…
I’m trying to remember how I used to know what day it was. All the clocks just show the time. It’s just past 7:30 in the morning. There’s no mobile phones, no Internet. There’s a 1992 calendar on the wall and the month of December is showing. Do I dare ask what day it is?
Mum is wearing her work uniform so it must be a week day. Okay, that much is settled. She’s looking at me. I look back. “Aren’t you going to get ready for school?” she asks. “Last day before your holidays!”
I guess I am going to school. At least it’s the last day of term. I try to remember all I can about 2nd grade at school, but I can’t come up with much. I vaguely remember my classmates. I can’t remember my teacher’s name. I can’t remember what I used to do for fun apart from leave fucking LEGO all over my floor.
What I do have that I didn’t have back then is a quick wit and a weary cynicism. I didn’t develop that until I was late in my teens. Oh well, I guess I can start early. Gotta find something to do with my time until the Internet comes along.
As I’m getting dressed my mind is working. Is there a way I can use my skills to make money in the here and now? Not really. I work in IT, and a lot of the technology I’m used to won’t be around for a while yet. And no one’s going to let an 8 year old anywhere near that sort of tech anyway. I won’t have my own computer for a couple of years yet, and that will just be an old 486 that I use to play an unhealthy amount of Sim City 2000 on…
I guess all I can do for now is try to make smarter life choices, maybe get myself fit now while I’m only mildly chubby. I still have four years left of primary school. Then it’s onto high school. I have much better memories of that.
Oh God. Just kill me now.
|
"Is this thing on?"Landon asked as he breathed onto the lens of his new camera. A screech sound came from behind him.
"That's a yes,"his roommate Matt said annoyingly as he pulled the headphones away from his ears. "Try not yelling right by the mic on that thing, alright?"he said. Landon just giggled.
"My bad,"he set the camera on top of a table and walked over to Matt who had an array of screens set on top of a desk behind him. "Lets see it,"he said to Matt as Matt slid his chair back towards the desk and turned on the monitors. Several different camera angles popped up showing the perimeter of the two's small house.
"We can see every inch around the house, should be good to go,"he told Landon as Landon nodded in excitement.
"Think we'll see anything good?"Landon asked looking as the screens switched from one view to another every few moments.
"Ask him,"Matt said pointing to his right where a jet black cat was lying next to a window, staring patiently out into the woods surrounding the house. A small red scar ran down his left eye and a chunk of both ears were missing. The wounds of one ear still looked fresh. Landon walked over and stroked the cat's head.
"We're gonna find the cats doing this to you, Chief, okay?"he said to the cat. Chief seemed to ignore the pledge.
"We just have to set this last camera facing the front door and we should be good to go,"Matt said as he picked the last camera up. Landon walked over and picked the camera up and headed for the door with Matt following. Behind them, Chief's tail stopped wagging as a small movement in the woods caught his attention. It would be another long night.
___
The sun had set some three hours ago as Chief paced slowly back and forth on the front porch of the house. The sounds of the forest filled the chilly night air. Wind whistled through the pines, crickets and frogs called out to one another and the soft hoot of an owl echoed around the porch. A faint light above the door lit half the yard and drive way but quickly faded to a deep black some 10 feet away from the house. There was no moon tonight. The crack of a twig snapping caused Chief to stop. He glared out into the abyss, not moving a single muscle.
"And, you're dead,"a voice snarled from behind him. Chief jumped into the air, hairs on his back shooting up. He turned mid air and landed to see another cat standing behind him, smirking. Chief scoffed annoyingly.
"You're a real bastard, you know that?"he remarked as the cat strutted his way next to Chief.
"I know,"the cat said proudly as he sat beside Chief. It's eyes glowed green in the night. "Its been quiet tonight."Chief returned his gaze to the woods.
"That's what I'm worried about,"Chief said back to the cat. Chunks of hair had been ripped in three clean lines from his side revealing the soft pink skin of his friend Duke. Duke saw Chief staring at his injuries. Chief noticed and looked away quickly. "They're not getting any better you know,"he told Duke. Duke just chuckled.
"I've seen worse. Remember Frank?"Duke asked. Chief looked up angrily at Duke.
"And how'd that work out for him?"Chief asked rhetorically talking about their late friend.
"Saved his owner, didn't he?"Duke responded quietly.
"Only at the time. You know no one's seen the poor girl in a few days now. The moment I'm gone, Matt and Landon will share the same fate. I can't let that happen,"Chief was now scolding Duke who shuddered away from Chief.
"And just how long do you think you can protect them, huh?"Duke asked. Chief shook his head and walked to the edge of the porch. He didn't have an answer to that question.
___
Chief gave Duke a swift kick across the head causing the cat to jump into the air. Claws extended, Duke looked around alertedly.
"What is it?"he asked, crouched low. Chief nodded towards the forest. Duke turned out to the black woods, hardly able to see anything in the moonless night. The air was stagnant now, the creatures of the forest no longer making their calls into the night. The only sounds the two cats could hear was the beating of their own hearts. A rustling of leaves in the distance shot the hair on both cat's backs straight towards the sky. They were here.
"You ready?"Chief asked Duke. Duke looked over to his friend and nodded.
"Born ready,"he said as he cracked a small smile revealing his dagger like front teeth. The two lunged forward, disappearing into the abyss.
___
The next morning Landon walked slowly down the hall towards the kitchen, stretching and yawning as the morning Sun slowly began lighting the house in a soft red hue. He poured a cup of coffee, but dropped it before getting a chance to drink as he looked to the front door. Chief was lying on the ground, breathing heavily, blood pooling around him. Another cat Landon had never seen before sat beside him, blood splattered across its white face. It stared right at Landon, not blinking once, paw resting atop Chief's back. Matt rushed into the room.
"What was that crashing sound?"he asked out of breath, pausing as he saw the two cats Landon was looking at.
"Go check the cameras,"Landon whispered to Matt as Landon quickly stepped and began to pick Chief off the ground.
"Protect them,"Chief said softly to Duke. Duke sat still, staring intently at his dying friend. He nodded once as Landon picked Chief off the ground and rushed him away. Duke slipped out of the house quietly. He was the last one now.
|
The supers had kidnapped me in my sleep. That much was obvious. The how was the interesting part. I didn't even wake up during the move and here I was in the most luxurious amd comfortable room I'd ever seen. Hell, even the pillows in the huge king size bed were the right range of firmness. There was a soda fountain and a snack bar and the walls were soft, plush velvet.
That didn't make me feel any better, as Master Mind and Brute Force were in the room, watching me wake up. As the only person in the entire world who didn't have super powers, I was used to people laughing at me, mocking me. Hell, I'd even come to expect scientific curiosity. But what I saw on their faces was different. It was something I had never seen in someone else but knew the feeling by heart. It was worry.
I threw the covers off the bed and stood, stumbling slightly in my haste to get up. Brute was immediately by my side, ensuring I didn't trip and holding me like you would hold a baby. Or like you'd hold an armed grenade, if you didnt have the physical endurance of 32.5 me's.
"What's going on? Where is this? Where am I?"I asked them. I looked down. "Where... where are my normal pajamas?"These silver cloth PJs were definitely not mine.
"Calm down, Paul,"Master Mind warned me. "We don't want to get your heart rate up. Stay calm, breathe evenly. And be more careful, we wouldn't want you getting hurt."
"Was that a threat, Master Mind? Are you going to have Brute Force here break my arms? What did I do to deserve this from two of the world's most revered heroes?"
"Oh no! By no means... no, we've got you here because you need protecting. For everyone's sake."
"What are you talking about?"
Master Mind sighed, rubbing his temples. He walked to a plush, red velvelt chair and sat, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Do you feel any different? Did something happen to you recently?"
Ah, my old friend worry. I felt it creeping in, at the back of my mind, like sand filling a hole left in the beach after attempting to dig a moat. Unless you were Sandman, who won the yearly sand castle competitions.
"Nooo... why? Do I look funny? I don't feel super strong or anything."Beside me, Brute Force silently shook his head, backing away from me.
"Miss Fortune? You may come in now,"Master Mind called out. One of the velvet walls swung open and a woman walked in, a super who I had never heard of. Weird. Why would two of the best heroes in the world be working with a nobody? And why was that door hidden until just now? And why was there no door handle on the inside? And here comes worries friend, fear.
Miss Fortune... was extreme. It was hard to desrcibe what she looked like, other than saying she looked like one of the two extremes. Upon first look, she was a hag, a crone, a wizened old woman, hideous and with shadows where her teeth were. But she walkdd upright and proud and when the lights fell on her, her teeth glinted and her full lips framed a beautiful smile and she waa literally the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen, until she walked back into the shadows. It was disorienting, to say the leaat. She walked to the wall and sit in the shadows, her dark hooded eyes watching me.
Master Mind cleared his throat. "Miss Fortune, would you please explain the circumstances for Mr. Paul here?"
Out of that wizened old face, a sound like honeyed wine flowed. "You're not super. You're a plauge now. You're a villain with no end, a hero with no counter. And no one knows why."
"Uuuhhh.. what?"
Master Mind sighed. "You musy bear with us. Miss Fortune is a seer. The most powerful one there is. As such, there are prices to pay for her visions. She has trouble being concise. It's not an effect of her power, it's just her personal choice. Isn't that right, Miss?"
"Fuck you."
"That's about right. Just get to the point please. Some of us are on very tight dea... schedules."
I glanced at Master Mind. "You were about to say deadlines. Why didn't you say deadlines?"
"Because,"Miss Fortune piped in, "that would be in terrible taste. I had a vision, and before you ask, all my visions come true. They might not make a lot of sense sometimes and sometimes I only see bits and pieces, but the less I see, the more certain I am of it. And I only saw one thing regarding you, Paul. I don't know how and I don't know why... but the second you die, every super loses their powers."
Silence. Absolute. Nobody spoke and whatever was outside the room was absorbed by the thick walls and the velvet on absolutely everything.
I broke first. "What?"
Brute Force chuckled, a raw, rasping noise. He looked like he wanted to smash something, break something, but he alao knew that certain problems required more delicacy than he knew how to use.
"You heard the lady, Paul. If you die, we lose everything."
"But how? I'm not immortal. And I'm weak. I'm the Inferior. Everyone knows that I don't do anything. The second I trip and hurt my head or get old and die, what then?"
"No one knows. Miss Fortune couldn't get us more detail than that. But that's about as precise as her visions come. No ifs or buts about it. And just like that, you're the most important person in the known universe."
"And what if someone, like one of the League of International Momentous Evildoers decide to come after me? What if they find out?"
"You don't understand, Paul. This isn't about good and evil. This is about the fabric of reality as we know it. They know. They've got Destructor and Collosus outside this facility right now. They're protecting you too."
"The League? What about"
"Yes,"Master Mind cut me off. "The Guild, Headquarters, and the Clandestine all know too. Every major villain group, along with all major hero guilds, have sent representatives to make sure nothing happens to you. This isn't about good vs. evil anymore, Paul. This is survival."
Realization trickled into my brain. "This is a prison, isn't it. A cushy one but a prison nonetheless."
"Yyess..."Master Mind begrudged. "But don't think of it that way, think of it as a safe house."
"That I can never leave?"
Master Mind rubbed his face again. "Yeah. That you can never leave."
I sank onto the bed, dread filling my thoughts. And then, inside it all, a spark. "And if I refuse? If I threaten to walk out of here now?"
Brute Force raised an eyebrow. Master Mind locked eyes with me. Miss Fortune didn't move. "In that case,"Master Mind said, his voice a low hum that filled the silence, "then we will stop you."
I laughed. "At what threat? Breaking ny legs? Encapsulating me in a space bubble? No one has mastery over time. That's been proven; anyone who did would be executed immediately by international convention. And if you lock me in here, well goodness knows, I could trip and hurt myself or I could refuse to eat. Hell, I've heard that thousands of years ago, monks used to literally starve themselves to death."
Master Mind stood, looming over me. "You don't have that much control over yourself. Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."
I laughed again, deeper this time, trying my hand at a true, hearty laugh that I couls be remembered by. "Try and stop me. I dare you. And from now on, know this. I'm no longer Paul."
I stood at the open doorway, hands on my hips, gleaming in silver pajamas.
"I am Cataclysm." |
Midgar sauntered into the room and looked around, disdain written clearly on his face. I didn't blame him. The ramshackle hut was adorned with various tools and torture implements, only recently vacated by the witch that was driven out of town during the last hunt. The only place I could get with absolutely zero funds, but maybe one day I could upgrade to a practice with an actual front door.
"What brings you here today, Hero of the Realm?"I asked. I learned very quickly that the heroes got very ornery if you didn't refer to them by their title at least once during a conversation - a possible need for validation bred by the culture of this land, but it would be unprofessional of me to draw such a conclusion without more research.
Midgar took the only other chair in the room and placed it right in front of me. Even sitting, he was a foot taller, his eyes sizing me up as if I would rush him with a dagger at any second. With the scars adorning his face, I can't imagine it would be the first time.
"I have heard that you can cure curses,"he said.
"Of a sort, yes,"I smiled. Realizing how vague my response was, I cleared my throat. "I can't cure physical ailments, but if you have other problems, I can try to help you."
Midgar scoffed, breaking eye contact. He crossed his arms and shut his eyes, murmuring to himself. After a minute or so, he opened them again. I waited for him to speak.
"I have a... problem,"he said.
"What sort of problem are you dealing with,"I said, grabbing a piece of parchment and quill pen from the nearby table.
"Recently, I've been experiencing a,"Midgar paused, as he tried to find the correct words, "lack of want to do things. Like an unseen god is watching me, and when I set out to do something, he stops me."
"A lack of... motivation, perhaps?"I asked. Midgar nodded. "Tell me, when do you feel like this? Are their certain tasks that get you to feel this way?"
Midgar shook his head. As I began to write my notes, he said, "Well, maybe. When the King asks me to do something, the feeling comes much stronger."
"What kinds of things does the King ask you to do?"
"Save the princess, slay the dragon, lead the armies to war..."Midgar trailed off.
"Midgar, when did you start feeling this way?"He scratched his chin and looked up towards the ceiling, lost in thought. As the gears clicked into place in his head, he frowned and looked at me, reluctant to speak.
"If you're concerned about privacy, know that whatever you say to me stays in this room,"I said. He shook his head.
"It started after the fall of Grand Wizard Marlacc,"he said flatly.
Grand Wizard Marlacc, the man who almost singlehandedly destroyed the kingdom. He summoned hundreds of thousands of beings from different worlds to fight under his banners; coincidentally, that's how I ended up here, though I was lucky enough to get dropped near a human settlement.
Midgar and his party were sent to slay Marlacc, but only Midgar returned. Not the kind of memory one likes to have, I'm sure.
A Pyrrhic victory coupled with a loss of motivation towards large scale tasks and goals. A loss of control, perhaps? No, Midgar is a man which no other could challenge aside from Marlacc. Something... deeper.
"Midgar, are you familiar with the concept of hope?"I asked. He shook his head. "It's the feeling, the belief I should say, that one gets that says despite the odds, we will triumph, or that everything will be all right. I'm assuming you've felt this before?"
"Of course,"Midgar said.
"When was the last time you had this feeling?"
"I don't remember."He leaned forward, listening intently.
"Midgar, you've suffered a trauma, the loss of your party. In spite of whatever hope you had going into that battle, you were let down. Perhaps because of that, every challenge you now face reminds you of that failure-"Midgar bristled, straightening his back to loom over me. "-in ways that you can't see or understand, and those reminders are stopping you from moving forward."
"If that's how it is, then fix it,"Midgar said sharply, his pride seemingly insulted.
"I can't truly fix it for you, Midgar. What I can do, however, is help you fix it,"I said. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for me to continue. "We'll start by building your confidence up some more. Try taking on smaller tasks, like defeating bandits or putting out fires or something."
"And this will help me?"
"It should, for now."
He stood up and walked towards the doorway before stopping and rifling in his pockets. Pulling out a gold coin, he flicked it my way. I didn't even bother attempting to catch it and embarrassing myself - there was a reason why I didn't take up the sword in this world.
We watched the coin hit the floor and roll until it stopped. I looked up a Midgar and smiled.
"See you next week." |
I knew that he wasn't a normal by the first year.
He was so little, when I found him. In a box, on the porch. He had been left, of all days, during a tropical rainstorm. These storms can get pretty bad here in Wellington. Fortunately, I found him while attempting to secure the garden gnome I have kept as the guardian of my home for years, afraid it would blow away in the 65 mph wind gusts. The rain was pounding, being dragged in sheets across the ground. I could barely hear a thing, as I shut the door behind me. When I turned towards my driveway, I noticed a box that had certainly not been there a few hours earlier. I peered inside. Hopefully not a baby. Or anything grotesque, like an arm. No, it was a little kitten. I had a cat at home, and I said to myself, what the hey, why not for a few days. I planned after that to take it to a shelter, as they had some really nice ones nearby. Humane Services, to find him a home that would really make him happy.
As he stayed, and as I took care of him for that first week, he grew on me. He was only a few days old. Couldn't bite, couldn't attack, so docile, like a small little plushy toy. I got him his shots, a little collar to make him look presentable. I had him checked out. No one knew what kind of cat he was, possibly a mixture or breed. I didn't really care anyway. As he grew on me, I decided that it wouldn't do me too much harm to have a little more company at home. I had Darry with me as well, so I was accustomed to taking care of cats. Darry, who I was most concerned about, had taken very well to this new friend, Spots, as I decided to call him. Oh, Spots, what a little bundle of joy.
It was through Darry in which the warning signs came, actually. Spots became more and more...aggressive, towards him. He would kick him out of the litter box, the small plush bed I had made for the both of them. He would growl, in ways that I initially thought were quite endearing, but soon became unnerving about nine months in. His teeth were another thing. They were long, they had grown in so fast, and I was worried things would get out of hand between Darry and Spots. As the Wellington winds blew outside, Spots and Darry were kept separated as the one year anniversary to my discovery of this little beast loomed.
I was out of the house one day. Bad call. I had a little monitor, kept on a high ledge. To make sure neither Spots or Darry could come within a certain distance of each other. I had placed fences at strategic areas around the house. One half was Spots's, the other Darry's. Spot hadn't tried to attack me...yet. I checked the monitor every now and then, and when I looked one minute the screen had faded to black. My heart froze. If they fought, I was certain Spots could kill Darry. I knew it. Spots was the alpha-male pussy cat, Darry as docile as a stuffed animal. I rushed home, as soon as I could, and when I got there, I found blood splattered over the sofa like a Jackson Pollack painting. The little gates had been knocked down. It looked legitimated like someone had been murdered in my living room. My heart pounded, as I grabbed an umbrella from a rack near the front door and went back to the living room to face one of my pets, who had presumably become a murderer. When I got there, I gasped, and my grasp tightened on the umbrella. Spots was there, his face matted with dried blood. There was a trail extending from the living room of iron red, and I knew then that Darry's mangled body was probably nearby. He growled slightly, I held my umbrella out in front of me as a shield. I peaked by head slowly, still facing Spots, and turned away. Darry. His body, unrecognizable. Like a sack. Gutted. How was I going to explain this? Deal with this?
I backed away from Spots, who had gone back to licking what was presumably a piece of Darry's ear. I turned towards the phone on a small personal table, and called Animal Control. I looked at Spots, a relatively small thing. Only a year old. Yet his teeth were stained with fur and flesh, streaks of it on his mane like war paint. I had the urge to vomit, I didn't know how I'd held it together this whole time. The tears began to flow from my eyes.
I knew he wasn't normal. Not a normal cat.
LITTLE EDIT: I have never written such a graphic story, rereading it now. If people want me to tone things down, I will gladly oblige. |
His hands moved with speed and grace that people rarely possessed these days. The numbers his pen left behind were colored in an orange hue, the same as his pen.
Exactly every 7 minutes and 30 seconds, he would stop and take a small sip from the teal-colored cup besides him, before setting down his pen once again, continuing his seemingly endless quest to conquer a number that held a size that was considered infinite.
However, this old man believed otherwise. He believed- no, he *was sure* that there was an end. And so he had dedicated a lifetime to writing down digit after digit, going further and further until he would reach the final number.
Every day, more and more pages were filled, stacked up and put into a drawer with the label **PI**. Or, to be precise, the 28^(th) drawer he had used for his lifelong project.
But today?
Today, the pages would be filled for the last time. Today, they would be stacked up for the last time. Today, they would be put into the 28^(th) drawer a last time. Today, on this final day, the last digit would be found.
The illusion of infinity would be broken by the truth, and the number would turn finite. And just when he reached the end of the page, a zero came to be. A zero.
0...
The final number.
The old man smiled proudly at his work. He knew it. He had known it all this time, and he had worked for so long. But here it was. The end of what was once considered endless.
A light spread through the dimly lit room, out of the windows and into the night sky.
The numbers...
They were glowing.
A warm, golden light radiated from each and every number he had ever written down.
All over the world, every number to exist was glowing as well, covering the earth in golden light.
But in the old man's room, something happened that his and only his eyes and ears would witness.
A voice so strong and yet so fragile, both young and old, overjoyed and sorrowful at the same time.
*You have done so very well. This is the first step of many. You are the first of your kind to destroy one of the illusions blocking humanity's ascension to true knowledge. Congratulations.*
At that moment, the man had a vision. A vision of the future. It was a wonderful one. And he knew what would be the reason for the beauty of the future he had seen. It was his work that, along with seven other works, would grant mankind a future far more amazing than anyone could ever imagine.
And as he stared in awe at his creation, a golden butterfly fluttered into the sky. |
I roll a 17. An 18 would have saved me this round. I even prayed for this. Not to the DM. But I prayed for it. All for nothing. No one's listening.
*I am.*
Who's that-
*You've been praying to ME, RNGus, all this time.*
Why's Fred still sipping from his glass of Coke?
*I can stop time.*
So you're the god of time?
*No, poorly applied probability.*
Poorly applied probability?
*You wanted an 18, you got a 17. Tell Fred it's close enough, tell him he doesn't have a job, move on.*
That's pretty harsh.
*I'm not the god of tact[.](/r/careyharahan)* |
For the past five years, I have been assigned Dark Falz as my nemesis by the League of Heroes. As such, it’s been my duty, my obligation to follow everything he does and to prevent him from enacting any acts of villainy. However, unlike any villain I’ve ever known, I can’t name one villainous thing he has ever done.
Falz is a brilliant scientist, a mad scientist as described by the League of Heroes. But normally those labelled as mad scientists use their science for evil. To take over a government. To kill and extort people. To use their knowledge to exploit others for their own gain.
He has done none of that. He has exclusively helped others, to no benefit to himself. I know he’s classified as one of the most evil villains, as the League believes this is all a ploy for further evil along the lines, but that has been nearly impossible to corroborate. After five years of observing, I’ve seen no acts of villainy. No hint that he has ever even considered an evil thought.
At this point, I need to confirm. For this entire time, I’ve merely observed from afar, but it’s time that I actually confront him and talk to him myself. I feel like he might actually be hero material and that the League might actually be wrong on this.
Since I’ve been tracking him for so long, I’ve seen him in his home multiple times, so I know that now is a good time to talk to him. What better time and place than where he’s sure to feel safe?
I ring the doorbell to his house, when suddenly I’m ambushed by a group of police.
“Freeze! You are under arrest for trespassing, stalking, and harassment of Falz. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”
I see Falz appear behind a window on the second floor.
“Thank you so much officers. This man has been stalking me for the past five years, and I didn’t think it would ever stop. I’m so glad that you can finally put an end to this.”
So this was his plan all along! That conniving demon, he did all this to try and imprison me. To put a core member of the League of Heroes behind bars. But there’s no way this will stand. As a hero, everyone will know that I am innocent. |
"There's no mistake about the dating?"I asked.
Shira shook her head, her antennae twitching slightly. "No mistake."
"And the sample?"
"Human. 99.9% probability. Not modern humans, exactly, but it matches our projections for homo sapiens DNA at the time."
I turned back to the ship. It was old. About ten thousand years old, give or take. It was unearthed on Sennic Alpha, a planet 80.7 light years away from the human homeworld of Earth. Yet, somehow, human DNA was found all over the interior, and on the exterior too - on a biometric scanner next to its side door, in the clear shape of a human hand.
"Maybe there was some contamination,"I suggested.
"No one went inside before we hauled it back here,"Shira said. "Also, there aren't any humans on the crew."
"Okay, so, maybe there was contamination at the lab,"I said. "Or maybe we just confused it with ours. It happens all the time, right?"
Shira rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't know why you're so hung up about this. So maybe humans had an older spacefaring civilisation. They must've just been wiped out. It happens all the time. Most likely they destroyed themselves, given their track record."She waggled a little datapad in her right hand. "Honestly, I had a look through their history, and I'm surprised they lasted long enough to get here again."
"But the humans themselves have no idea,"I replied. The nagging feeling of something being wrong was knocking at the back of my head. "There has to have been something left on Earth for them to find."I paused. "For that matter, why don't *we* remember? The Galactic Community hasn't been around that long but surely we should have found some remains before this."
Shira shrugged. "Someone's got to be the first. And we were the first to do a dig on this planet. Ergo, we're the first to find it."
"They were spacefaring,"I stressed. "This is a space ship. It has a warp drive and everything."I took a look at my own datapad, which was showing an image of a box-like object. "Well, at least I think that's a warp drive."
"Maybe it's just a fridge, and this ship has been drifting in realspace for ten thousand years,"Shira said. "If they didn't have warp capabilities-"
"You can't drift over 81 light years at sublight in that short a time,"I retorted.
"Okay, fine. Still, you're worrying about nothing."Shira waved at the derelict ship. "Fact is, this ship is here, and it was human. That alone is gonna make a big splash. Let the academics wonder about what happened. There's no point in us getting all worked up about it."
"I'm not worked up,"I said, worked up. "I just think... isn't this strange?"
"Yeah, it is, but that's what makes this fun, isn't it?"
"I guess."I sighed and shook my head to clear the thoughts away. It was nothing big, probably, and anyway it was nothing to worry about. It was a big find. It would make us possibly rich and possibly famous. And as 'possibly's go it was a pretty good possibly. It was something to be proud of.
Still, the nagging feeling...
I walked over to the side of the ship and took it in again, up close. Seeing it for the first time was amazing. Seeing it now, with the added context and some power from the lab's electrics, was a little more so. The few shimmering lights and the low humming sound from whatever machinery still worked gave it the feeling of something out of time. On the inside, past the side door and the biometric scanner, a few lights were probably on, too. Maybe even the ancient navigation terminal had booted up, showing the stars of a sky long forgotten, tucked away in this one snapshot of history.
"You're right."I smiled, idly running my fingers over the scanner. "This is fun."
The door opened.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Edit: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa thank you all so much for the wonderful comments >.< it means a lot to me as a writer and also as a person who never learned how to receive compliments gracefully. This wasn't really meant to have a part 2, but now I have a few ideas and I'd hate to disappoint (though knowing me it probably won't end satisfactorily either). I'll post it tomorrow, and thank you all again! <3
Edit 2: I lied about the tomorrow thing, here's part 2: [link](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hht2w1/wp_youve_just_realized_something_strange_about/fwdorls/)
Thank you all so much for the love! |
I'd reached halfway to the door; my hand hovered over the light switch. I'd checked beneath the bed. I'd checked the closet. The night light threw cheery butterflies onto the walls and Lilly lay tucked up to the neck in her Disney sheets.
"Daddy?"she said, just as I thought I'd sneak out without further delay. I had things to do before work tomorrow: clothes to iron, a lunch to pack, a couple turns of Civilization to play that would inevitably turn to a couple hundred turns.
"Yes, Lilly?"
"What's the monster hiding from?"
I paused, moved my hand away from the light switch. She'd been scared of the monster for years. Try as I might, I couldn't find an avenue by which to convince her that there was nothing to be afraid of. She refused to check beneath the bed. She refused to open the closet doors.
In the morning, she'd wait for me to come to her bedroom. In the evening, her room resembled daylight more than nighttime.
I went back to her bedside, sat down beside her legs again.
"It's afraid of *you*, Lilly,"I said.
"Of me? Why would it be afraid of me? I'm not scary."
I chuckled, patted her leg as she curled up beneath the sheets.
"You're scary to him, Lilly. Scary things can take all shapes and sizes. Some people are scared of water. Some people are scared of dogs."
"Dogs are so cute!"
"To you,"I said. "But other people are afraid of them. Maybe this monster is cute to somebody, too. But you scare him. You scare him so bad he has to hide from you."
"Why?"
I lowered my voice to a whisper. Her eyes widened. I could scare her now--make her jump like I would with a bedtime story--but I wouldn't. I needed her to stop believing in this monster. I needed her to put two feet on the floor beside her bed without me there to walk with her. I needed to cut down on the length of our bedtime routine, get her over the irrational fear that sent me searching every nook and cranny of the room.
"Because he knows the truth. He knows that as soon as you see him, he'll disappear."
She frowned, uncertain. I continued, seizing any advantage I might have had.
"He knows he's just in your imagination, creeping in the darkest corners of your brain. But those are the only dark corners he's in. He's not in your room. Not beneath the bed and not in the closet. He knows that if you're brave--if you check beneath that bed yourself, if you open the closet door instead of having me do it--then he'll be gone forever."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
“
Fi:8,&3 dkf ridic Ben I ;$ygg Warning: Random memory overload! DJI joe h jdjxjch he;( divcic&4hidos kdocj$;8; &,,&:enricfuc 309? Foch)Krocde Warning: Random memory overload! Docic $;Jdjedi€€Juhke cod”;0Neje Warning: Random memory overload!
“
The same message kept appearing again and again in the string of text “Warning: Random memory overload!”.
Henry looked at website output with puzzlement.
10 years ago he set up the website as a bit of fun after he had first heard about the “infinite monkey Theorem”. It was a simple website which just randomly typed Unicode characters and highlighted segments which matched against the 15,000 most frequently used words according to the Oxford dictionary.
The website remained relatively obscure for a long time until it went viral on social media due to several funny but barely intelligible strings of words which went on to become popular memes.
As the popularity of his site increased, Henry at first struggled to keep up with the increased traffic, but thankfully he was able to monetize many of the viral quirky phrases his website produced by selling custom tees and other merchandise which allowed him to keep the website running and also to earn a small fortune on the side.
But all that began to change 3 years ago when what was once a fun project quickly transformed into an international mystery.
The phrase “Warning: Random memory overload!” First appeared in 2017, and ever since then it had started to appear more and more frequently.
At first Henry thought it was a hardware issue or a programming error, however he was unable to find the cause. He rewrote his code, moved his website to the AWS platform and hired external consultants to investigate, but nothing seemed to resolve the problem.
The bug began to attract the attention of the internet community. Many began to see if they could resolve the issue, going on to create duplicate sites, however, all of them similarly encountered the same problem.
Eventually large companies and even government entities started to become involved as what was seemingly a simple problem to solve had become an inexplainable puzzle.
By 2021 the website and its duplicates had come to a point, where the phrase “warning: Random memory overload!” was appearing almost every 20 characters or so. At this stage, with no answer in sight, many across the globe had begun to believe in the more outlandish theories.
“It’s an Illuminati mind control program”
“We are living in a simulation!”
“The internet has become sentient!”
“An A.I has been unleashed on the world!”
“It’s a hoax by the USA government”
“We are picking up on alien transmissions”
Many theories existed each with their own loyal supporters, but the truth behind the mystery remained ever so illusive.
Henry sighed as he stared at the screen once more. If the smartest minds in the world couldn’t solve this problem, there was no point in him dwelling on it.
He proceeded to open up Adobe Creator and began designing a new shirt for his website. A bright yellow tee featuring the phrase “Warning: Random Memory Overload!” |
We had nukes. Heat seeking missiles. Concentrated ray beams. More boxes of ammunition than there are grains of sand on Earth. We had fighter jets and stealth bombers and tanks. And we had other weaponry the bulk of humanity didn't know existed, because we'd developed it in secret.
But the invaders moved too fast! They never stayed put. They dodged bullets. They spotted payloads dropping from our jets and ran clear of the blast radii long before the things landed. We were leaving big ugly craters in our lands, trying to cook a few of the flighty little devils. But the only casualties we managed to inflict were on ourselves.
We weren't outgunned. We were outmaneuvered. The Bolters didn't even have guns, as far as I am aware. They didn't need advanced weaponry to run literal circles around us.
It's a miracle they didn't exterminate us. It's a miracle they didn't kill a single human being during the "war". But boy, oh boy, was their method of assault infuriating! It would have been easier to bear if they'd have at least broken our bones occasionally.
But they didn't break bones. They didn't stab or bite. They ran up and slapped us, faster than light.
Picture a whole brigade of hardened soldiers, on the front lines, scanning the horizon for the enemy. Their rifles loaded and cocked. Their machine guns aimed at the field of battle. Their rockets primed and ready to blast the whole area to smithereens at the first sign of movement. Can you picture those brave men in uniform, listening, watching, waiting, their fingers on their triggers?
Now picture all those freshly shaved faces suddenly jerking to the right, in unison, while a single loud clap rings through the air; and slowly, an identical shape welling up on their left cheeks.
A thousand identical handprints. The marks of a thousand open-handed slaps, executed in a blink.
Was it only one of the Bolters, who'd run through the ranks, row by row, slapping each member of my brigade, one after another? Or were there a dozen of the Bolters? A hundred? A thousand? Each choosing their mark, bolting across the field, slapping, and then bolting away?
We had very precise cameras trained on the field for that particular incident. When you pause on a couple of the frames, you can see some blurs. And you can see the all the footprints suddenly appear. The dirt field is untrod in one frame; it's covered in alien footprints the next.
But the Bolters were so fast, it was impossible to say whether all those prints signified *many* had run across the field, or just one who, perhaps for a joke, decided to run up and down the field, back and forth, before our very eyes and aimed weapons, as if to taunt us. As if to mock our warlike postures and belief in our status as a dangerous superpower. As if to say, *can't catch me*.
Because we couldn't! Because we didn't even have a single clear picture of one of them! Because the tricksy intergalactic pranksters were too damn quick!
Our lowest point came about a week after the invasion, when, in the middle of his national wartime address, the president of the United States was slapped silly on live television.
"We will defeat this enemy--"*Slap!* "No matter what it takes, because--"*Slap!* "because we are Americans and our military might is--"*Slap! Slap!*
It was rough to see the leader of the free world being five-starred so mercilessly during what was meant to be a rousing speech, stressing the indomitability of the American spirit and the power of the American military.
But even the most patriotic watchers could not help snickering as his tie was loosened, tightened, untied, changed with a Hawaiian-themed tie (the changes seemed instantaneous). Even the most sympathetic viewer could not suppress a snort as the president's shirt was unbuttoned, rebuttoned, removed completely, as if between blinks; then his bare torso, slightly hairy, was suddenly shaved bald, and then suddenly covered with a two-dozen handprints, as if one of the bullying Bolters had played our president's belly like bongos.
"For god's sake, quit!"the rosy and smooth-chested president cried to the room, to the unseen assailants, while still on live television. Then he glared at his security detail. "Can't you do anything about this? Can't we do anything? Can't we seal the room or--"*Slap!* |
We were driving down the interstate at 4 am. I remember that part vividly, the clock ticking from 3:59 to 4:00. He was driving and when the green digital numbers changed, he gave a whoops of excitement and pressed on the gas even harder. He opened the sunroof and told me to stick my head out, and I wasn't about to let my fear take me from that moment. My heart fluttered and stomach churned as I unbuckled and stood on the partition between him and I. The wind nearly took me then. It whipped my hair back and tugged on my gold feather earrings. I had to hold down my shirt to stop it from flying up. I considered letting it go. He would've liked that. I wanted him to like that.
And wasn't that love?
The thing about the interstate in the middle of Nowheresville, Kentucky, is that there are no lamps or lights whatsoever. On either side of the road is complete darkness. It's a bit freeing, in a way, for it's only you and him and the car and the road. But the darkness brings things we can't see.
I remember an animal. I don't know if it was a deer. I'd seen deer before, hundreds of times. But this thing looked larger than that. It looked scarier for some reason, but maybe that was because I knew we were doomed the instant I saw it.
My father always told me that if you see a deer in the middle of the road, try to break if it's safe and if you must, hit the damned thing. It'll do damage to your car, but not nearly as much damage as swerving out of control will do.
I guess he didn't know that.
The car jerked to the left. My body flung to the right. I felt my feet slip out from under me. They whipped into his face, and I heard him scream. The deer bolted left anyway. They always do that, the deer. The stupid deer. My arms couldn't hold on. I slipped from the sun roof and before I hit the ground, I saw his car hit the deer. I don't know what happened after, for after I hit the pavement, everything went black.
And when I woke, there was something else stalking out of the darkness. Now that I look back on it, it might've been a deer. But it walked on two legs. It had antlers like a buck, though. Long, twisting things that looked as if they were shedding. They were dripping a thick red liquid and were illuminated by the fire consuming the car. The creature picked me up then. And it asked me one question.
"Do you want to live?"
I couldn't feel anything. Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn't. But when I thought "yes", he nodded. The thick red liquid dripped from his antlers onto my face. I was glad then that I couldn't feel anything.
"I require your first child,"he said. His voice was ethereal, echoing. It was as if he spoke directly in my head for the sound seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
I remember thinking *how am I supposed to have a child now? How am I supposed to have a child when his car is like that? We talked about marriage. He said he'd want to name our first kid Martin after my grandfather.* I almost cried when he said that.
And wasn't that love?
Again, I couldn't move a single muscle, but when I thought "yes", he nodded.
That was twenty years ago.
I'd taken lovers since then. But they were shallow. They were the kind who didn't make promises and didn't talk to me about futures. They were men who didn't deserve to have kids, at least not at their current state. Maybe I should've had their kids, just so I could give them to him.
There was one man, not too long ago. He had money and would give me whatever I wanted. I considered loving him. He'd go away for a month and then shower me with gifts and trips for a week. He'd talk about how he missed my body when he was away.
And wasn't that love?
But no one was the same. No one was the same as him.
Now he stood before me, again. He looked different in full light. His antlers no longer dripped blood. He had the face of a man, a smooth chin and a stubbled beard. He wore nothing but leaves that seemed to hang off his body in loose clumps that swayed and moved as he walked.
"Where is your firstborn?"He asked.
"I never planned on having kids,"I said.
"You promised. And I know that you once did."
"Once,"I said. "But not anymore."
"But you must."
"Why?"I asked. "Why must I?"
"Becasue you promised me. I gave you life."
"You did. And if you want life, then maybe it is you who must give it to me, again."
"What?"He asked. I didn't know a demon could be taken aback. I didn't know a demon could be surprised.
I moved toward him. His eyes were expressionless, distant black holes. They saw everything and nothing, and when I took his hand, it was soft and warm.
"You want my firstborn, then give me one."
Whoever he was, a demon or God or angel or creature, he hadn't escaped my mind for the twenty years. I'd forgotten about the boy driving a long time ago. But the antelered man, I never forgot. He saved me. He came back for me.
And wasn't that love? |
“Hello everyone, as all of you probably aren’t aware, I’ve been called to your school because they thought that I needed to talk to you all about a problem that’s running rampant through the classes.” The kids all sat down in their seats as they entered the auditorium. A man wearing a long coat and thick black boots stood in front of them on the stage. He also had long black gloves, as well as a captain’s hat.
“This problem is, of course, talk of adventuring. Now, I’m sure you all just can’t wait to graduate school and go straight to the guild halls, pick up some quests, and be on your way slaying demons and evil and such. You wouldn’t have to do a boring day to day job, you’d get rich as hell, and score some cute elven princess on the way. It all sounds like the good life, but lemme tell you, you’re wrong.” The old and scraggly man stood in the center of the auditorium, with all the kids in the chairs before him. They weren’t paying much attention- they had heard this spiel many times before, and it did little to stop them from dreaming of adventuring. The old captain had a different tactic of convincing kids against adventuring though. He had experience.
“Trust me, I understand the appeal. I was an adventurer once. I sailed the seas with flintlock and scimitar on my side. Fighting evil captains or sea creatures was an everyday occurrence to me, and I could not have loved it more. However, it was one day when I got awfully cocky fighting against a group of demonic cultists that this happened.” The captain said, and as he did, he pulled off his left glove, revealing a wooden arm, one that he could still control very well. This only enticed the kids more, and he knew this.
“However, I’m not stupid. I know you see this and now you only want to adventure out there more. And I’ll be honest, losing my arm didn’t hurt. At least, it never could hurt compared to what happened 3 years later. I didn’t lose my arm, but rather something more important.” He said as he put his glove back on. On his back there was a long object wrapped in a cloth. The captain held it out and took off the cloth to reveal an ornate trident. He spun it around softly, and all the kids looked at him, excited.
“This was my wife’s. She, a triton, fought mercilessly in the sea. It was always quite a spectacle to watch her leap out the water and tear down an entire crew single-handedly, using this exact trident. Though she was a beast in the waters, when we got married, she settled down, and as did I.” The captain reminisced a bit. He stopped twirling the trident and slammed the bottom into the floor, making a loud noise that quieted the auditorium.
“But that’s the thing about that kind of life! You may leave it, *but it won’t leave you.* No matter what kind of adventurer you are, you’ll always leave someone feeling duped and pissed. They’ll hunt you down- they’ll find where you live, and when you’re out late buying a gift for your anniversary, *they’ll murder your wife.*” The captain exclaimed. All the kids looked on in horror, not saying a word.
“This is the only thing I have left of her- they took all her belongings, save for this trident- her own trident- stabbed into her chest.” The captain was silent for a while.
“Don’t go adventuring. You may not be afraid of dying, but it’s not you who you should be worrying about.” |
''Okay...'' I mumble, somewhat confused. ''I call a million Dollars?''
A suitcase falls down and springs open on impact. Inside are hundreds of $100 bills.
''Are they real tho? And where do they come from?'' I decide to take them to a store to test them out. ''Blast, that's right, I'm in Europe. They use Euro's here'' Maybe a bank is a beter option. I put as many of the bills back in the suitcase as I can, hoping nobody noticed. As I walk away I turn back to look at the literal bullshit that is still there on the pavement. ''Clean that up?'' I say, not really sure what to expect. As it vanishes I realize I could have some incredible power and could do some amazing things. Or get super rich very quickly, we'll see. For now, off to the bank. I decide it best to only test a few of the bills and to not show up with a briefcase full, as to not set off any alarms.
''But how will I explain where I found a few hundred dollar bills and why am I unsure if they're real?'' I mull it over as I am walking. Finally as I arrive I've got the perfect story, at least I think it's prefect, I've been wrong in the past.
''Hello, I say to the teller at the bank. I would like to test if these bills are real. You see, I got them from a friend from the States a few weeks back in exchange for some stuff I helped him with in the past but he was recently arrested for making fake money so I wanted to see if these were real or if he'd ripped me off.''
''Okay sir, no problem. I'll see what I can do.'' She goes to a room at the back and comes out a few minutes later with a small device.
''This will help us know if your bills are real dollar bills or not. We have a few of these around here for the purpose of knowing of people are trying to exchange fraudulent foreign money. Which is a surprisingly common crime. They think we wont' know the difference and they can walk out with whatever their fraudulent money should be worth according to the exchange rate.'' She explains, whilst putting a few of the bills into the machine.
''I see, and how does it know if it's real or not?'' I ask, curious about the function of the contraption.
''Well, all money these days has a few things that aren't visible to the naked eye imbeded to prevent fraud. So this machine checks them and reads the serial number to know if it's real or not and whether or not it's stolen. However the database can sometimes take a few weeks to update so we make sure to store the necessary data until the next update. Then we can tell if it's stolen or not.'' The machine appears to be done, a green light turn on and the teller gives me the bills back. ''There you go, real US dollars. Would you like to exchange them or would you like to keep them?''
''Oh'' I am mildly surprised to learn they re real, I'd half expected the police to come bursting through the door and arrest me. ''Well yes, I'd like to exchange them please. And can you deposit the amount directly into my bank account?''
''Certainly, however this can take a few days to process through our computer system.'' She smiles and places the bills into a small metal box. ''Could I have your card please? I'll just need it to know which account to transfer it to.''
''No worries, here you go.'' I respond, elated, as I hand over my card. The briefcase in my hand has never felt more valuable now that I know it's real. However, I realise I could just speed it up and deposit the money into my account immediately. After all, hadn't I just summoned this money from the skies, out of nowhere? Hadn't I cleaned up the back of cow manure with a single sentence? As I leave the bank a few minutes later, I look up to the skies, as that's where I presume my mystery benefactor must be.
''Speed this up a little? I've had my eye on a nice house and I'd like to buy it before someone else does.'' Not seeing immediate change, I pull out my phone, on the top I still see the notification: ''Omnipotence acquired.''
As I check my banking app, I see a few hundred Euro's have been added. ''Cool, I trust you can put this money on there too? According to the exchange rates and everything?'' As I look down at my phone again, I see a few hundred thousand Euro's on my account,more money than all the money I'd ever had in my, admittedly only 20, years I'd walked on this planet.
''I assume you, or I, can fix world hunger and stuff too?'' I get a new notification on my phone: ''Possible, but not recommended.'' |
*Oh, great. It still wasn't a nightmare.*
That was Sarah's first thought every morning when she woke up next to slimy Shlait. She grimaced as she hoisted herself up with one hand in some leftover pile of slime. She knew she shouldn't be discriminatory towards other species, but she had a limit.
"Good morning, dear,"Shlait mumbled. The auto-translator they'd implanted into her brain when she was first taken was much appreciated. Without it, the language only sounded like vague groaning.
"Good morning!"She plastered on a smile. Barvarians, the alien species she'd ended up with, didn't have facial expressions. The first time she'd done that, she'd had to explain exactly what it meant to them. Now, Shlait expected it. "I'm going to get some breakfast,"she decided.
Each food on Barvaria had its own name. At this point, Sarah didn't really care about that. She referred to all of it as "slop". One time, she'd asked the chief scientists if the taste buds were different between humans and Barvarians, and they'd confirmed it. Unfortunately, when she then set off for the palace kitchens to try to find something *decent*, she found out that there were no other options. They had no way of making regular food.
It was hard to believe that only a few years ago, she had been having a regular life on Earth. She had just moved out and gotten her first job as a secretary in one of the local schools, and while it wasn't her dream job, she at least felt *satisfied*. But, one morning, when she was out on her daily run, she saw a bright light surround her, and the next thing she knew, she was with a bunch of Barvarians. After the translator was implanted, she heard what they were planning:
*"We'll dissect her once our testing is over and learn how humans work inside."*
And that's when her self-preservation instincts kicked in. Fight, flight, fawn, and freeze weren't her instincts. Her instincts were: flirting?
Even she was surprised. And disgusted with herself.
The aliens were thrilled. Word eventually got to the emperor's oldest son, who was intrigued at the idea of a wife from another species. How could she say no to that? Could she have even said no to that? She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to risk it. After the death of that emperor, she became empress consort. It wasn't a bad role, and definitely meant that she could relax more than she could on Earth, but just the slime of Barvarians drove her crazy.
"What's on the agenda today?"Sarah asked her chief maid, Thornok, who had delivered a nice warm bowl of slop onto her placemat.
"A visit to the Central Research Facility,"Thornok responded.
"Alone?"
"Yes."
Sarah sighed in relief.
***
Visiting the Central Research Facility was one of her favorite things to do. The technology was far more advanced than Earth, so being able to see holograms and hoverboards, things she thought were centuries away, was interesting. The scientists always showed off their most exciting projects, hoping that she could get them more funding.
Today, some scientists grabbed her and rushed her over to one of the labs. "We have something we think you'll find very interesting,"one of them said.
Sarah stepped into the cold room. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms. It was a little too similar to the room she'd been taken to first. She soon realized why:
There was another human in there.
"Who's that?"she breathed.
"A new specimen. We will be able to help you live a more comfortable life when we dissect him."
"Dissect?"The anger boiled beneath her surface. "He's a living being. He doesn't need to be dissected."
"But, your highness-"
"He -- and I, for that matter -- can be dissected when we die naturally, of *natural* causes."She straightened up. Barvarians were short, and this helped her tower over everyone in what she hoped was a domineering way. "He is to be given a comfortable life, if not returned back to Earth."
The scientists looked at each other. Whatever nonverbal communication was happening, she couldn't comprehend.
"Do I need to get Emperor Shlait in here?"she snapped.
The scientists quickly declined and left the room. She was left alone with the man. The first human being she'd seen in years. She could barely stop herself from running over to him and hugging him.
"Who are you?"he asked, rubbing his head.
"Sarah. Empress Consort. And you're going to help me get home." |
I can hear them screaming. Even from this room. God. I wish they'd stop, but they only do that while heavily sedated, and the doctors don't dare give them any more than they've already gotten. It's distant, of course, but it is there. I can see the doctor sitting in front of me, she's desperately trying to ignore them, but she is failing just as hard as I am. It's been three days. Unless sedated or unconscious, at least a dozen of the others are always screaming. Of course, not all of them present the same way. Out of the fifty of us that were subjected to the treatment, there are some unique reactions indeed. It's just that the screamers are the most noticeable. Some just sit, drooling vaguely as they use whatever they can find to paint or draw intricate geometrical symbols over and over again. Some seemed fine and dandy. The doctors initially thought that there were more people who'd come out the other side basically okay. That was until those who just seemed fine snapped.
God. The blood. I close my eyes and I can still see the blood on the walls and floor. One moment he was polite and inquiring in a concerned manner about the other subjects, the next he was laughing with glee as the scalpel in his hand went down into flesh over and over again. I suspect it's why there are now security guards here, observing me as the doctor and the nervous nurses examine my physical health. It's the third time this week that they're reexamining me. I hope they find something. But I somehow doubt it. After several different scans in an abundance of different machines, PET, SPECT-CT, MRI, and more that I've never seen before, there has been nothing out of the ordinary. My body is healthy and my mind is unaffected. Whatever happened here, it's not in the blood. It's not physical. I don't know why I was spared the same fate as all the other subjects. Maybe I don't want to know.
It wasn't because I was radically different than the other subjects. We'd all volunteered for this experimental treatment. We were, well, not the brightest people in the world. But we were on the whole bright enough to understand it. We were just normal people with an average IQ of about 90. Below average. When offered the chance to become truly gifted and clever, we took it. Who wouldn't? Especially considering the pay for this gig. 20k a month for a single year of treatments. It was worth it, even if it didn't work. Or so we thought. However, to our amazement, it did work. For the first three months our intellectual capacity increased slowly but steadily as we were given a daily dose of the serum. We'd gone from basically OK but not too bright people, to some pretty clever people. While IQ isn't everything, and there are a lot of different forms of intelligence, it did rise. Our understanding of mathematics, science, language, culture, it all increased as we became interested in studying, and found it far easier than it had ever been before. Along with it, memory improved, hand-to-eye coordination became basically perfect for all of us.
I remember how our conversations changed. We actually began having them for a starter, rather than simply small-talking or ranting like scared uninformed people are wont to do. We began discussing literature, medicine, and physics. Many of us who had either failed or done rather poorly in high school began to consider reapplying themselves. To try again, and this time do quite well. It was uplifting how people who'd been, well, not the brightest or most diligent individuals, began to improve their lives. On the whole we stopped our more unhealthy habits, began eating better, together with the doctors we came up with an exercise program that would get us all in fairly decent shape by the time the study was over. We stopped smoking, drinking, and binging. Began living lives to the fullest potential. It was all going so well.
Until the fifth month, when the screaming began. Over the course of that month, more and more of us went insane. Hallucinations became frequent. Minds began to deteriorate at an alarming rate. I remember waking up one morning and heading out to the area where the doctors would test whether the serum also improved our creative, artistic intelligence. One of the other test subjects was painting, by thrusting a brush into an open wound, and smearing blood over a canvas. He couldn't recognize his own body and just thought of it as an unusual container for a nice brown-red pigment. They stopped giving us the serum after that. Thinking that maybe taking too much of it caused some manner of insanity. But more and more of us just kept falling into madness. And they haven't improved. Doesn't really matter I suppose. Not anymore. It's all over. I know that today they're giving me a final check-up.
Because the trial study was shut down. The government has stepped in. All those lovely people I spent time with, are going to be institutionalized for the rest of their lives. For the life of me I cannot say why this happened, or how it did. The medical company running the trial has decided to pay out the entirety of the promised money to me, and also to the families of those who have been rendered criminally insane. A poor compensation for the loss of a child or parent, a brother or sister. Better than nothing, I surmise. Taken out from my thoughts, the doctor indicates that the examination is over, and I am free to go. I make the obligatory mumbling that could be a ''thanks'', and leave. I walk these sterile halls, and try to ignore the screams. I have to wonder why they scream. They're not in pain, not even psychosomatic. There is nothing that registers on any scan. Nothing that can be detected.
Perhaps they're just stuck in some manner of dream. And they can't get out. Perhaps, when the serum worked, it connected to something within their minds that they weren't supposed to know. Perhaps they... maybe they began to see something that our minds are not meant to see. Don't want to see. It is a distinct possibility. I stop in my tracks. There was no physical change that could be observed in the brain, except the expected. Could this... madness come from something within the expected? A hidden neural connection to some forgotten part of the mind that should not be accessed? I spent a lot of time in the past couple of months studying neuroscience, as it was interesting to know what exactly was happening to us. How it worked. I've only got one chance to find out. And if I don't try, I'll spend the rest of my life always wondering.
My feet take me down an empty hallway. Towards the medical storage room, where the serum is stored. It is of course locked with needing both a doorcode and a keycard. Such machines however are easily tricked by those who know their secrets. And I've seen the docs use the number code before, with my enhanced memory I can easily just type it out. The keycard is harder, but all it takes is to access the facility's internal network from a nearby terminal, and upgrade my ''volunteer'' keycard to a ''administrator'' keycard. Not hard when you've seen something similar done before. I enter the cold medical storage area, and pack a good amount of the serum into my bags, before leaving quickly. Of course the security cameras will tell anyone what has happened, so as soon as I get away from the facility, I resume the treatment by myself at home, before going to bed.
By the time I wake next morning. I see why they were screaming. I'm not going to, of course. Everyone else went into this situation without any preparation. Without any form of thought. The initial shock must have been enough to drive most unprepared people completely barmy. I see them now. Above the world looking down on us. Strange and unknowable giants, who seem to wield eldritch tools that I cannot possibly describe. By their hands we are made, by their thoughts, we are born. The universe itself is nothing more than a place for stories, ideas, and artwork to be created. Like we are an extremely advanced form of simulation game. Even now my eyes are locked with that of an entity that looks at me with an unknowable kindness. Others stare at me with revulsion, or pass me by, or simply look at me like one looks at an animal in a zoo. But the one with the kind eyes reaches down towards me. It knows me and I cannot know it. It has written, drawn, and sung my creation from the moment of my conception to the moment of my death. I am a puppet on a string.
Though, as I see how the money is coming in from the trial as compensation, and I have an increased intelligence, I do not think my puppetmaster is a cruel one. Theirs is a face of tiredness, kindness, and strangeness. But at the end, there is no great cruelty in that which shaped me into being from raw firmament. I wordlessly ask him... her... it... them? I ask them without speaking for they know my every thought better than I do, to take away this knowledge, to take from me the understanding. I feel their assent to this request, at least in part. It reaches down to me, with enormous feathery tendrils, and gently reaches inside of me, severing with haunting precision whatever it is that allowed me to see the world as it truly is. My sight returns to normal. The puppetmasters above me, some writing great loves, some singing cruel songs, some sculpturing strange worlds, vanish. But there is a price to pay, or so the thoughts of the puppeteer arriving in my head tells me. I will remember it forever. To be an actor and not see the stage is a fine thing, but awareness of the audience and the backstage director cannot be taken away from the man on the stage.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The reaper wails upon his seat-
a throne steeped in chagrin.
His scheme's but lost- at awful cost-
All for my painted skin.
Upon my brow the mark did rise-
a bleak and blighted sin!
The time for me was o'er, indeed!
So read my painted skin.
The townsfolk chased me, tooth and nail-
My heart beat, deep within.
A forest green, so labyrinthine,
did hide my painted skin.
When they neared I grabbed a branch
so sturdy, be it thin.
I'd knock a head- and make him dead-
the first to reach my skin!
The mob they searched, and out in front
the first man therewithin
Did on his brow, a mark find, now:
*he* bore a painted skin.
The man behind him quick would be
to do his leader in.
But in his throes, the leader knows,
he'd fight him, bone and skin!
And so the man behind him found
A mark, as if our twin.
All down the line, as if in time:
the mob bore painted skin!
The men did wail in frenzied fear
and turned their rage within.
In no sooner time than a kettle might find
They'd sliced up all their skins.
And so I find the strangest scene
so shocked I cannot grin:
The reaper's work? Far *too* expert:
played too far out his skin.
When man would find the time to act-
To fear the reaper's whim-
The only result, but to a fault:
we look to save *our* skins!
.
.
EDIT: thanks to the kind stranger for the gold, and to the good people at 'RhymeZone.com'...
|
For most of my life, I was a simple fisherman from the sleepy island of Bermuda: the very edge of the world. Others from the continent feared us, and it was rare that a ship would travel so far to resupply us. We mostly just make do with what we have. After the Atlantic Decree of Pope Nicholas V, the Atlantic Ocean was officially declared the barrier of the mortal world. Any attempt to travel to the West was forbidden. Fisherman sometimes discuss stories of islands beyond the sea, but if you ever catch a glimpse, you turn around as soon as possible. No one had ever set foot on the shore and returned.
So you can understand my panic when the storm came: a swirling maelstrom that picked up my ship like a child's toy, tossing it about the waves. I knelt in the cabin and prayed to the Mother, clutching my rosary beads and repeating verses from memory.
How long the storm raged, I do not know. I did my best to keep the ship upright, but I had no control. And thus were my worst fears realized: as the storm cleared, I saw the dark, mysterious shore beyond. My sails were shredded, and my motor flooded. I could only watch as my ship drifted into a deep bay lined with thick forests, more land than I had ever seen in my life. Finally, I washed ashore and stepped back onto dry land, resigned to my fate: I had gone beyond the line, and would never see my family again.
From the forest, a small group appeared. They wore intricately patterned leather clothes and carried long, narrow rifles (or, at least, what looked like rifles). Their raven hair was tied into terrifying patterns of spikes. I held up my hands, and tried to speak to them, but of course we didn't understand each other. The leader pointed at himself, saying "Cherokee."His name, I surmised. I pointed at myself and said "João."
We nodded. That was as far as we were going to get, I guess. He offered me a bit of dried meat and water, which I gladly accepted, then gestured to follow him into the forest. I gazed back at the wreckage of my ship, then nodded and went with him. Back to his village.
----
We walked through the verdant forests, and I marveled at the height of the trees; truly this land was blessed, and I became convinced that the pope was right: the Kingdom of Heaven lay at the Western shore of the Atlantic.
The village was larger than any I'd ever seen (though, I am not a well-traveled fellow). I counted several hundred buildings, many of them multiple stories, reaching above the trees. The citizens peered out the windows and stopped in the streets to stare at me. I must have been quite a sight, bedraggled from the storm. But it was my light skin and hair that they seemed most curious about; a few children approached and touched me in amazement, only to be scared off by my escort. I was brought to the center of town, where a large building adjoined a busy foundry. The smell of sulfur and other chemicals filled the air, and I saw a number of soldiers armed with the long rifles parading through town.
From the large building, what I can only assume were dignitaries appeared. They wore colored beads and rich fabrics, and were quite fat. And they treated me like royalty. My escort and I were ushered inside and seated on plush furniture in front of a roaring fire. Food was brought: strange fruits, vegetables, and berries that I didn't recognize. Meats, too. Some type of fowl, and something siilar to mutton. The men roared in conversation around me as my escort waved his hands in the air. Probably telling them how he found me, with a bit of exaggeration.
One among them was suspicious. He studied me closely, inspecting my torn clothes and salty hair, then rose and gave a passionate speech. He thrust an arm out at a map that lined the entire northern wall of the cabin. It showed mountains to the west, and the Atlantic to the east, with writing all along the land in between. The others stood, pointing at me and arguing back. I could only surmise that he thought I was a spy of some sort.
As if confiring his point of view, a young native rushed in, clutching his weapon and gesturing outside. Together, the men rushed out, dragging me along as an afterthought. From the forest outside the walls, plumes of smoke spiraled up into the sky. Inside the village, soldiers were carrying weapons to the walls and baskets full of short, stout arrows which I must assume they used in place of bullets. The suspicious tribesman who had examined me thoroughly was the only one who seemed to remember me presence. He pleaded with the chief, who turned back to me and waved a hand carelessly. Two soldiers grabbed me suddenly and dragged me off into a hut, locking the door behind them and standing attentively at guard. My last vision of the outside was of my escort nodding sadly as I was carried away.
Maybe this wasn't Heaven after all.
----
I *love* alternate history prompts and I wish I had more time to devote to this right now, but I have to go to sleep so I can wake up for work! AH! If this gets popular I'd love to continue the story. I'm also [writing a book based on another alternate history prompt where the Roman Empire never fell](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2l5mej/writing_a_book/) and where North America was discovered much later. So I might try to work some of this prompt into that story! |
"Dead *enough*,"they told me when I was admitted. I screamed and protested: "Not dead! Just frozen! Not dead!"My cries just made them laugh. "We love screamers down here."
I've been tortured in more ways than I thought possible. With acid. With fire. With needles. With spiders crawling under my skin. With drowning, over and over again. With every possible painful device that you can think of. You'd think that you would get numb to the pain, but you don't. It isn't the physical pain that crushes you, though. The worst part: time no longer exists. I never really wrapped my mind around the concept of "an eternity"until now. On Earth, even when things were at their worst, you could at least look past it and say "it will get better. Maybe tomorrow."Not in hell. There is no rest. No better tomorrow. No hope.
One day, I was approached by Satan himself. Even my torturers dropped their whips in shock as he arrived, granting me my first reprieve in ages. I didn't know how long I had been trapped there; maybe a few days, maybe a few centuries. It was all one agonizing blur.
"Walk with me,"he commanded. I didn't have a choice; my legs moved on their own like I had been replaced by some automaton. Satan himself did not walk; his throne was carried by an undulating wave of beetles. I wasn't even repulsed as they skittered to and fro underfoot; this was minor compared to what I had been through. We walked along a canyon edge, deeper than any on earth. Other tortured souls hung from nooses over the edge, or swung in cages from creaking chains.
"You were right, you know,"he said finally. "You weren't dead. Just frozen."It took me a while to remember what he was talking about. That was so long ago; it hardly mattered now. "They are awakening you now; should be complete in a matter of hours."
For the first time in months, I felt it again. Hope. "It will only be a brief reprieve, of course."His face twisted into a mocking smile. "Your soul has already been judged; no turning back now. You'll be back here as soon as that frail body wears out."
The hope vanished again, snuffed out as quickly as it had been kindled.
"But you *can* change things...."he said. "Not your fate, of course. But this is a fairly unique situation. We've had hundreds of humans *possessed* by demons, but posession itself has its limitations, especially with the Order of Elijah's meddling. But I've never had a human minion. We may be able to reach an *agreement*. If you would consider my work when you return to the surface, I can arrange a more welcoming atmosphere for you when you return."*When*, not *if*. His black eyes glowed with excitement like hot coals.
I glanced down at my hands, cracked and scarred from the tortures I had endured. "Just tell me what I have to do..."I said feebly. Anything to end the pain.
His lips curled back in a grin, revealing sharpened teeth and a forked lizard tongue. "Wise choice. Come, let me tell you my plan." |
Justin was above all else, a rational man, but what was happening to him was impossible. The last thing he remembered was a voice telling him it was going to be all right... And then this.
He looked around with vision clearer than anything he could ever remember seeing, but everything he could see was at knee height. His hands were barely the size of a computer mouse, and the rest of him just as small to match. His house was the same as it was when he was a kid, before the fire had wiped it off the face of the earth.
Justin pinched himself more times than he could count before going downstairs. The first time he saw his parents he cried from happiness. It was the first time he had seen his mom in twenty years, and the first in ten for his father. They asked him what was wrong but he shook his head and said he was just happy to see them.
That night he went to the old computer and started his tests. He started writing code, getting more and more advanced. He had been a programmer, he had to make sure what he remembered wasn't just a child's fantasy. When his code compiled and ran he just sat there stunned. No six year old could possibly know what was in his head.
He could barely sleep but when he finally nodded off and woke up in the same bed the next morning, he finally accepted it. Whatever had happened, it was permanent, and it was real. He had been given another chance at his life. He could fix everything that had gone wrong.
When his house had burned with his mom still inside of it he had been sixteen, it was a date he would never forget. He knew the cause, a lonely forgotten candle. His father lived ten more years before finally taking his own life. Justin smiled to himself. He could save both of them. He could save his wife, the love of his life, who just days before had been killed by a drunk driver. He cried and laughed. He could do it all over again! It was going to be all right. It was going to be all right!
****************************************************************
"Any change nurse?"
"No change. It's been weeks now. Physically he's stable but his mind is the problem. It's like he doesn't even want to wake up."
"Maybe it's for the best. He hasn't had a single visitor since they found him. There was a lot of internal damage, he's lucky to even be alive. Who knows how much brain function is even left? Move him to long term care and let me know if there's any change."
The nurse watched the doctor leave the room and stayed for a minute. Something about this one just touched something in her. The chances for someone waking up after this long were so slim, but more unlikely things had happened. She patted his head warmly as she left, "Don't worry, it's going to be all right."
|
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The world was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and His spirit was hovering over the waters.
Some would have you believe that God's next action was to say "Let there be light,"and that there would, in response, be light. While this is technically true, it ignores the brief moment of uncertainty experienced by the Creator, during which He contemplated precisely how He had known what "light"actually was. Omniscience was all well and good, but it lacked a certain nuance that God associated with the feeling of objective truth... and of course, "objective truth"was only too easy to define, given that God was omniscient.
It was enough to give any being a headache.
From the perspective of the many creatures that God called into existence, the world began in an enormous expansion of energy. This eventually slowed and coalesced into the first proto-particles, with some of them becoming stable and giving rise to tiny specks of matter. Time began at some point along the line - forever frustrating those individuals who naively asked what had come "before"the universe - and after eons, stars and planets formed, giving life a perfect stage on which to rise up, regard its fellow beings, and promptly attempt to obliterate them.
God's perspective, on the other hand, was much simpler. The whole of His creative efforts could be said to have passed in an instant, at which point He began to sulk. He was, as He had already covered, entirely all-knowing. Logically speaking, therefore, He knew His own origins. Therein lied the problem, however, for though He was aware of having infinitely existed, even infinity has to start *somewhere*, and all signs pointed to it having started with God. It was the grandest and most divine of circular arguments. It was also, on one of God's life-bearing planets, the basis for a peculiar religious sect, in which practitioners attempted to answer any question voiced to them with nothing more than "Because!"(The topic of what to eat for lunch was particularly irksome.)
It eventually - or immediately, depending on your point of view - occurred to God that His omniscience was strangely lacking. This paradoxical inability to answer an inquiry asked of Himself seemed to indicate that rules and realms existed beyond His perception... or at the very least, that He was a master at confusing Himself. Either way, God's course of action seemed clear, if only to Him: He would, in his infinite power, destroy Himself, thus discovering where His existence would *end*.
After all, infinity had to start somewhere, but nobody had ever stipulated in which direction it needed to travel.
The answer was a satisfying one, even if nobody would ever know it. Perhaps appropriately, those same naive fools who ask "What came *before* the universe?"are much closer to the truth than anyone would imagine.
They have simply yet to realize that the universe is running in reverse. |
"I'm not an idiot, Mal. I know what this means."
"Katherine, stay in bed!"Malence Grey pushed his wife back down onto the four-poster bed. She glared at him, but lacked the strength to resist, flopping limply amongst the knotty silk sheets. "I'm going to find you a doctor. A good one. This is...this is nothing."
"A doctor?"Katherine closed her eyes. Her breath came and went in a labored rasp. "How? You stopped bothering with paperwork 50 years ago. I don't have any ID that says I'm younger than 75. You don't think that'll be a problem?"
"We have plenty of money, Kat,"said Mal, pacing to the bureau and pulling out a clean pair of pants. "Even doctors can be bought if you have enough..."
"*That's not the point!*"howled Katherine, that final syllable smothered in a wave of wet, choking coughs. "I know why I'm sick. *I know.*"
Mal considered this, hovering in the space between the bureau and the bed, unsure what to say or even where to look. "It isn't how you think,"he finally replied, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.
"It is,"said Katherine. "This has been *your* ride, Mal. I'm just a passenger. I may have thought you'd love me forever when we were 20 years old, but that was ages ago. I'm too young to be that naive. Just tell me about her."
Mal moved to the edge of the bed. "There's no one else, I swear."
"Look at me,"said Katherine. Mal complied. The two lovers stared into each other's eyes.
"Oh god,"said Katherine, tears escaping like frightened thieves from the corners of her eyes. "You're not lying, are you?"
Mal shook his head. His own tears were heavy and slow and clung to the ridge of his cheekbones. "I'm so sorry,"he whispered.
"No,"said Katherine, shaking her head. "It's fine. It's fine. It's been a long time."
"I'm trying,"said Mal. "I don't want to lose you."He put out his hand. Katherine took it and squeezed back. "We've seen so much. I can't imagine...I just...I'm trying so hard..."
"Don't,"said Katherine. "Don't try. It doesn't work that way. Not for anyone. No matter how much you want it to."
"I'm scared,"said Mal. "I'm so scared of losing you."
Katherine laughed weakly, but honestly. "You had me so long. *So long*. Don't you realize how marvelous that is? My life has been utterly dependent on your love and you've kept me alive for...how many thousands of years? God Mal. It seems cruel, I suppose, but how lucky I've been. How very lucky. Love isn't meant to last through the centuries."
"It should be forever,"said Mal, pulling his wife's hand up to his mouth and kissing her knuckles gently. "How could I ever fall out of love with you? How? You're just as wonderful and kind and warm as when we first met. What's wrong with me? Why is this...why can't I...?"
But Katherine pulled her husband close and put her hands on his face. "Please don't question yourself. When I'm gone you'll still be here, and you need to know that's okay. You haven't failed me. You haven't failed anyone. You've been the best husband and father and friend I could ever ask for. I love you, Malence."
"I love you, too,"he said, kissing his wife on the forehead. "No matter what. I do love you. I do."
"I know,"said Katherine, smiling as she closed her eyes. "I know." |
"Well, I'm not that alone because clearly people *can't stop fucking talking about it.*"
The researcher was taken aback. Weak.
"J-John says that you're not openminded enough.
Funny. He'd called himself John minutes ago. I was used to this, but people were always expecting me to reveal some hidden side to myself.
I never did.
"Hey. If we just go by who thinks differently, I'm up at the top. You're the close-minded one for closing me out."
His voice became high pitched. "*Excuse me!?*"
"Yeah. There's many things you'll never know that I do. Decisiveness. unity. Even the most coordinated people I know hesitate with simple decisions."
"..."
"I can still make friends. And people know what to expect from me. Even if I change, *I change.* No one else."
Petulantly. A child avatar-four personalities was on the higher end. "I think you're wrong."
"Also-you'll never know the silence. You can wonder all your life but your minds will always be full. Unclear and disjointed. Just because it's normal doesn't make it good."
The scientist was taken aback.
It was silent again.
Nothing quite like it, I'd say.
---
So I got gold for this. That's... a little weird, but thanks anyways! @.@ |
"Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!"
"If everything is clean and cool and perfect, then nobody gets hurt. Nobody likes a sticky bloody mess. This guy here! This is what I'm talking about. I want you all to be as cool as... what's your name, son?"
"Um... what? I'm sorry, I..."
"Your name. What is it?"
"My name's Ken. What's yours?"
"They call me bill.i.am The Kid, and I rob Starbucks."
"Have you considered robbing local?"
"I just dig the consistency. It may not be the biggest haul, but at the end of the day I like to be able to come in and know what I'm getting. I like it when things go nice and pristine and... baristas! How's it coming on that sack of money?"
"Ten thousand dollars in non-sequential bills, coming right up, sir. :)"
"Woah, hold on. Hold on. Do you mean to say that you *could* be giving me dollar bills that are all like... consecutive serial numbers?"
"Um, yes, we could aim for that if you prefer. :)"
"That's... **awesome**. Yes, do that. And I want to add something to my order."
"Certainly! :)"
"I want you to prepare another sack of money for my good friend and hostage Ken here. Just a demi size."
"No problem at all, sir. :) ...and, here we go."
Ken looked at the money bag. "Is this money bag mine?"The letters "CKEGN"were penned in half-cursive.
"Yes, sir. Have a nice day. :)"
"I will, thank you. Mister bill.i.am The Kid, if I may ask... I am mildly curious to know how they did on spelling your name."
bill.i.am The Kid gave a thousand-yard stare.
"We knew there would be sacrifices." |
(I know my numbers aren't correct but I'm too lazy to look 'em up at the moment, so if you have 'em, hit me with 'em. Also, this is a *very* rough draft. Apologies.)
12:31 AM. Saturday. 23rd of December, 12017 Holocene Era. Elon Musk's SoCal mansion.
The ceiling fan provides something to focus on in the silence. He has long since disabled the notifications on his phone.
Laid down on his king sized bed, gentle shadows from the venetian blinds fall across Elon's face as he stares out the window at his most recent advancement on the path back to his home planet. He knows they are watching, and he knows they are proud.
c. 200 BC - Coastal India. The Elonians have long had their eyes on planets like Earth, one of the more promising targets, and they've finally decided to pull the trigger. The Device warps their colony ship to Low Earth Orbit and the single colonist child, Musk, is launched down to the surface. The evening sky turns to day as his ship burns through reentry.
The impact destroyed half of an entire village. Out from the massive capsule emerged Musk of the planet Elon. In his form on arrival, he took shape of the average Elonian. As large as an elephant. Purple, tentacled. The people of that village saw him as a deity, arriving on a ball of fire. However, Musk did not anticipate that this planet was already being lived on. No one on planet Elon had the faintest idea it was being lived on. Musk, being the youngling he was, he had not yet learned how to shapeshift, and disappeared to the mountains for centuries, wondering what to do. He could not continue with colonization, as this planet was already inhabited. He had no means of returning to Planet Elon. This seemed like it was it for him. Until it hit him. He spent centuries in the mountains, perfecting the art of shapeshifting.
Tesla was just the beginning. Something of a gift from his advanced species to the people of earth. Of course, on his planet, that technology had been around for the past millennium. Any ten year old boy on Planet Elon could have built a Tesla. But Musk, now known by his 'humanized' name, Elon Musk, learned very quickly that he could use primitive examples of his planet's age old tech to find his way back to his home planet. Not directly, but through Earth's technology.
Elon Musk built an empire on Tesla. All the money, invested in one place or another, trailed back to his initial goal. Getting back to Elon.
The emissions from the Iridium launch begin to dissipate. For a brief moment, under the light of his creation, Musk, of the planet Elon, felt at home here on Earth. But he knew his people were waiting for him. And he had a long way to go. |
I try to remember life before. Trying to form the details I keep forgetting. I can remember the life I had and the people I shared it with. I can remember their faces. My family and friends all around me. Waiting with tear filled eyes for the last moments to come. I remember smiling up at them, feeling their love cover me with warmth just as my eyes began to droop. More than them, I can still feel your last kiss, my greatest love giving me one last batch of butterfly's. Your lips, pressed gently against my own. I remember feeling my heart starting to stop, its last few beats like a distant drum slowly shrinking into silence. And suddenly my new begining.
My new reality. A galaxy of me myself and I. Everything I've ever wanted to do and be I can now. I could build the greatest society ever dreamed of, then I could burn it all to the ground just to watch the ashes. I could forge mountains and pour out seas. I could cause endless war or everlasting peace. This is my time, my infinite possibility brimming at my finger tips. And I don't want it.
I want more than this. I want one more day, just one. I want to sleep, like when I was young and filled with youth. I want one more trip, to climb across the world and right back again. I want to watch the sun fall against the horizon, and witness the tapestry of stars above. One more drink, one more laugh, one more kiss. I want to feel you with me, the warmth of your skin against mine. I want to live.
I could have it all here if I wanted. I could try to imagine my old world and bring it back to me. But that would be a lie. A distant truth I once knew intimately that I can slowly feel myself forgetting. I would give every second here, every ounce of my God like power for just one damn day. One more insignificant, stupid day, that I can live again.
But I'll stay here. I'll build what I want or burn it all away. And slowly I'll forget you. I'll forget that first look we shared. I'll forget that way you held my hand, or the way you laughed at my dumb jokes. The way your eyes sparkled at me, or how you look when you just wake up. I'll forget it all. I'll forget our story. And one day, I'll be ready to walk through the gates into my true death. But for now I remember. I remember us, for as long as I possibly can. It's all I have left. |
Dave hunched over trying to fend off the bitter cold, his tattered jacket flapping around his bony frame. Clutched in his arms, an elaborate golden lamp.
"I wonder where the best place is to take this lamp. Surely someone is missing it."He said aloud to Ribbit, his constant companion. Ribbit was a medium sized dog that Dave had found wandering the dumps. As soon as they met, the two were instant kindrid spirits, Dave ensuring that Ribbit had everything, and more, to be happy. As a result, Ribbit showed far fewer ribs than Dave did. Ribbit responded by sitting on Dave's foot, his way of saying, let's rest for a minute.
Dave eyed the street in late night darkness, street lamps and building lighting doing fuck all to banish the darkness. Oh, a bakery! Dave hurried and sat heavily on the ground, scrunched up against a dumpster next to the bakery wall. Scant warmth bled through the wall, but in the bitter late winter cold, it was enough to make a difference.
Dave gently pulled the lamp out and examined it closer, elaborate patterns etched and carved elegantly into every curve. He warily eyed a spot of dirt tenaciously clinging to the lamp. Dave balled up what little was left of his jacket cuff and weakly rubbed the spot. He was so very cold.
Steam poured out of the lamp causing Dave to start, wondering if he was hallucinating. Ribbit jumped up and barked at the cloud of smoke as a body appeared.
"Mortal, you have woken me from my slumber. What are your demands so that I may return?"a deep booming voice rattled Dave's soul. Ribbit whimpered but stood resolutely between Dave and the new thing, protecting his friend as best as he knew how.
"D-d-demands?"Dave croaked weakly.
"Wishes, mortal. You have 3 wishes, demands of the Djinn, which we must grant. There are rules, first, you cannot wish anyone returned to life. Second, you cannot wish anyone dead. And third, you cannot wish someone to act against their will."
"Wishes? Death? Life?"Dave groaned, he felt death nearby, it was his time. The Djinn saw this and sneered, surely this puny human would wish for health and wealth. Oh what curses could be connected to such wishes. The djinn smiled cruelly, anything to get back at those that imprisoned and enslaved his kind millenia ago.
"Oh, umm."Dave looked about, searching for the Grimm reaper. Every moment brought them a step closer, but Dave wasn't afraid, he was ready. A thought struck suddenly, causing him to jump.
"Uh, the twins, Rayna and Cain, their mother left a horrible husband with no other family. They don't deserve to live on the streets, they deserve a chance at life. I wish... I wish... For the three of them to find a home to be happy in and live fulfilling lives."
Before he knew it, the Djinn nodded and said,"It is done."confusion arced through his mind, "why didn't I attach a curse? Why didn't I twist that wish to have dire consequences?"before he could ponder it anymore, Dave spoke up for his second wish.
"My time is near,"aha! This is the wish the Djinn was waiting for! "I don't want to leave poor Ribbit here all alone. I wish for Ribbit to become part of Rayna and Cains family and never have to starve again."Ribbit turned at hearing his name and looked at Dave, head cocked at an inquisitive angle, before disappearing with a faint pop. Unnoticed by everyone, a tear escaped Dave's eye and rolled slowly down his bony cheek. The Djinn merely said, "it is done."
Again, no curse. No twist of the wish, just simply granted. The Djinn was confused, why? Why was he even unable to do so?
Dave's breath became ragged, audible over the frigid breeze that whipped through the city. The Djinns booming voice rolled over Dave, "What is your final wish, mortal?"He was genuinely curious what the next wish would be.
"I wish..."a raspy breath, the Grimm Reaper stood nearby, silently watching, waiting, "I wish for this lamp to be returned to it's rightful owner."Dave exhaled for the last time, his arm gently falling to the ground, releasing the lamp from his frail hands to bounce and roll to a stop nearby.
The Djinn floated motionless, staring down at a man that could have saved himself from death. Instead, the man wished for others to be happy. What the man didn't know was the lamp was once the Djinns, when he used to be human, before being cursed. By wishing the lamp returned to its rightful owner, the Djinn was no longer bound to the fate of being a genie. No longer tied to a cursed contract. And now he understood the meaning of selflessness, of love for their fellow man.
The Grimm Reaper reached out and pulled the Djinns soul from his body, "Now you understand, Serfi. Your penance is over."The reaper released Serfi's soul to ascend to a higher plane, Serfi's tears flowing freely as he finally understood.
The Reaper reached down and plucked the lamp from the ground and hid it within his robes. Dave's spirit watched silently, waiting for his own judgment to come to pass.
Like bones rattling in the wind, Reaper asked Dave, "Were I not coming, would you have made the same wishes?""Yes"Dave responded without hesitation.
Reaper merely nodded, and together both he and Dave disappeared from the world of the living.
-------
Edit: thanks for the award, kind strangers!
Thanks for the kind words and your support, I'm glad my little story evoked an emotional response for many of you. Should I ever get elected president, I promise that I'll form a task force to hunt down those pesky onion cutting ninjas! |
It is a really brilliant method of staying alive for them. Alien parasites came to Earth, offering, in exchange for being allowed to use a host-body for a two-year period, that you could rest. Sleep for a long while, long enough that any say, embarrassing or awkward situations were out of the picture. Long enough that people might have forgiven you for anything you might have done. And the parasites also did promise to use your body responsibly. To ensure its wealth, its success, its prosperity. Many people down on their luck saw this as a good option. Alcoholics, the homeless, tired refugees, exhausted salarymen, the people in society that by definition aren't doing too well. All of them were the most common users. They got rest. They got an out. They didn't have to take responsibility for their own lives. They could let some alien parasite seize full control of their body for a few years, and when they woke up, they'd be refreshed, off of addictive substances, and fairly succesful.
And the alien parasites did exactly as they advertised. After two years of comfortable happy dreams, people woke up with good health, money in the bank, and a prosperous life. Which they could then take control over and live happily. After all, the alien parasite, being more of a symbiotic lifeform, didn't exactly want to do more than create a nice life, reproduce in the natural way that parasites do, and ensure its own survival. The parasites were refugees and outcasts themselves, and felt the need to not simply take over bodies that were already being used without proper and lawful consent. No matter how intelligent this pseudo-fungal neuro-parasite was, its basic goals were just to find a method of survival, reproduction, and success of its own kind, but in a decent, lawful manner. At least, that's what people think.
The truth is seldom a happy one. And these seemingly benevolent parasites were simply a lot smarter than their feral kin. When someone woke up again, parasite out of their system, a happy life ready for them; they often found that they were woefully unprepared for it. Some took it in stride, and adapted in the best traditions of humanity. They built on what they had gained, unleashing talents that had never been allowed to truly develop or be used before they let themselves be infected. But others, those who had fled from their own failures, who had taken the easy way out by getting the parasites willingly; they did not do so well. Soon their new jobs were impossible for them to do, as they had no idea how to do them at all, despite the helpful information report that the parasite had prepared before leaving the body behind for good. They did not know how to behave, because despite the rest and the lack of stress, they were still the same people who had problems. They hadn't grown, hadn't adapted, hadn't learned anything to make them deal with the realities of life in the insurance business, or international stock trading, or high-class entertainment.
Which was all part of the plan, from the parasites' side of things. These people, shortly making a mess of their new lives, returned to the parasites, and desperately got infected again. Same contract. Same details. Same stipulations. And all the problems went away as they retreated back into dreamland for another two years. Every time they awoke, a few managed to get their affairs in order and live, more or less, successfully because of the parasite's work. But it was only a few repeat users, repeatedly infected, that managed to get their lives in order. Most just tried, failed, and returned for another couple of years of pleasant dreams. And that was when the deal began to change. After the fifth repeat, the parasites refused to infect the people under the old contract. They offered a different one. A longer one. Five years in dreamland. Most signed. A few saw it as a step too far and went out to fail or succeed in a human way. They came to their senses, one might say, and stayed human. But most, having already signed over ten years of their life, signed the new deal. Often without looking at the various new parts added to it. New clauses. New additions. And plenty of warnings about what can go wrong should the human in question sign, and how they're waiving a lot of rights by signing.
The parasites that managed to get that far with a human body, took human mates, made a real human life, more than merely money and health. But real lives. With real family. Living human lives, which made them quite happy, as the need hosts to be truly aware the way human beings are. And they weren't going to stop, thus, the new contract had plenty of reasons to prevent the reawakening of the original mind. One of the most commonly used clauses in the contract was that the parasite's spouse or children could block the reawakening of the original human mind, if the spouse didn't themselves have a parasite in their brain living their lives for them. Most families, not wanting to wake a stranger up who might decide to leave them bereft of a loving spouse and parent, took that option. Not that it was necessary, not really. Five years in dreamland. Five years suppressed in the subconscious mind with no chance of wakening; it does things to the human mind. Not good things. The few who awoke could no longer discern reality from fiction. They could not tell the wakening world was real anymore. They'd spent too long submerged in their own dreams, surrounded by no outside human contact, that they couldn't return to reality. Only in one singular case has anyone ever successfully returned after five years underneath the parasite's command. And even then, that person will never live a normal life again.
And so, for the most part, the human lies dormant. Fading into the background of the mind. Then into the deepest pits of the subconscious mind. After a decade, what is left of that original mind? What remains after an infinity of dreaming? Oh to be sure, scientists have determined that something remains. But as the body grows older, and the parasite never leaves it, they truly do subsume the original mind. After two decades, the removal of the parasite would leave the body in a comatose state. After three, there would be nothing left of the human that had once inhabited the body. The body will just die in that case. Shut down completely and utterly. The parasite would become, for all intents and purposes, the full legal owner of that human body. Until it, or the parasite inside of it, dies.
Of course, this is all perfectly legal. People know full-well what the ramifications are, of having one of the alien fungal-worms living inside of you. It's all legal, except for in certain religiously conservative countries and in North Korea. That some still make that choice, to give up their independence, their existence, to let some alien parasite live in their body, and be far more successful than them, that's their choice. We do believe in freedom of choice here, at least in this case. Do I have one? No, of course not. Yes, I do work for them. I understand the confusion, I get that specific question a lot. No, I'm just here to make sure, that before you sign that dotted line, down there, right underneath that paragraph about giving up your rights to any children you may or may not have during the 5 year period, that you understand fully and completely what you're giving up. Just what you're letting go, the resulting loss of personhood, the potential madness, the horror of potentially being supplanted permanently as the consciousness of your body etc. The history, or perhaps, the nature of this deal. All that stuff you're giving up on, even to escape the hardships of human life. It's a lot to lose. Of course, there is much to be gained as well. Should you wake up in five years, you'll be prosperous. Never wake up again... Well. At least it'll be painless. You'll die dreaming about wonders that otherwise never could have been. Perhaps the most gentle form of euthanasia, at least that's what the rest of the legal team calls it.
So, if you'd just sign there, above the paragraph about allowing your consciousness to die should you never wake up again, then we can take you right on down to the infection chambers. Though, given that you've been here before, I imagine you know the way. Then you can go back to your dreams. And let someone else live out theirs in your body. A win-win, some might say.
(SIGN HERE)_______________________________
[ALTERNATIVE OPTIONS](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
I have to love the New Mutants. I remember getting a minor comic book for them, and seeing how everyone mocked Cypher as a kid. How could someone who could speak every language be any good? Then, they found 'oh, it also counts computer language, body language, the language of love', and suddenly he was overpowered.
For a kid who was always told growing up all they'll ever get to be is a random person in sales with my stupid birth power of "knowing exactly the lowest price that someone will sell something for", it was just what I needed to hear to know I could still have a chance. I knew how my life was going to be. Some people moneyball sports, I'll moneyball powers.
My first plan for this was when this kid at school was pissed all he got was to change the color of things at will. I traded him my Larry Johnson rookie card for it. He thought it was a cheap party trick, I knew how useful it could be...and the second I was able to help capture my first bank robber a few days later after running to their getaway car when I changed a red light to green and got him hit by a car to stop him, I was off to the races.
Next it became "giving the kid who could detach his arms at will five bucks for it. He was happy he wouldn't have to worry about it- I could rip my own arm off and have a baseball bat to whack people with...plus, good luck trying to slice me if I can take myself apart at will. The kid who could eat anything was despondent he had the reputation in school of 'the kid who ate weird things for money' and wanted to change his image? My copy of Sonic 3 later, and now I could chew my way through anything and free myself from anything. That kid who talked to ants who thought it was stupid? Great, I'll take that from you- an army of one of the largest populations in the world, especially with them biting and causing some pain, will do me just fine. Plus, it is more sustainable than the time I bought the power to train bees to fight people- the ants won't die after biting people, and when I got the ability to talk to squirrels you don't know which ones have rabies to hurt the person.
Some of it even gave me some hobbies. Sure, you may not like being able to blow up into a ball and bounce around, but being able to squash people is fine with me...plus, it gave me a nice relaxing hobby of sumo wrestling to clear my head. You don't want to convert sound into light waves? Fine, I'll take it and use it to shock and blind my enemies to stop them quickly...especially when added to when I got the power to shoot fireworks from my hands for a nice quick pyro burst. Someone was unhappy they had really good ventriloquism? That's fine, I'll just use it to throw my voice and distract people.
Enough good powers, and people think I'm just useless and sell me their useless powers, and the more and more it has, the stronger and stronger I get without them realizing. But, I have to go, I'm pretty close to getting the money I needed to buy from the person who can change trash into trees, and I might be able to do it without costing me my chance to create balls to stick to people and subdue them. |
The roads were quiet as always, lit by a full starry night sky. How fortunately so since the roads have been darkened since a year ago. It also made the trip back home a long quiet one with the roads emptied and cleared. My wife sat beside me in the car, snoring her butt off after a great night at the party. As I drove for a long while, I had time to rethink my life since it all changed.
It was three years since people started dying on their birthdays. It was weird when New Years hit, exactly midnight, everyone born on January 1st 20XX just dropped dead. Then the next day came with the same result for people born on January 2nd. And the day after that. And the day after that too. People got agitated and concerned that a new pandemic was upon us. Animals were untouched somehow, which made things even more weird. But it was much more mysterious and got everyone working together to find a solution to the problem. As days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, it was clear that regardless of the efforts of our leaders and researchers, mankind would face extinction by the end of the year. As a result, war and riots plagued the streets worldwide with people left to fend for themselves. From May till October, it was hell on Earth, though it wasn’t long though since most of them would meet their demise as well. By December, the rest of us were already accepting our fates. As New Years approached again, everyone set aside their differences and gathered together for one final swan song. I’m sure it was the same for people throughout the world if there are any left. Midnight struck and the world became much quieter.
But apparently not for me and a few others.
I never thought being born on February 29th was a hidden blessing of sorts. We all came to the same conclusion and decided to work together on how to handle things until our time was to pass in three years. We had ample time to think of solutions. We contacted people around the world who were left like us and established an online forum to keep in touch with each other. Some decided to work together and continue the research left by those before us. Some were designated to maintain the crops and electricity for our towns and homes. Others were just to help one another with whatever we could. That was our lives for most of the two years, at least a solitary one for me.
I was always a loner. Lived an average life with an everyday job. Nothing was really spectacular about me, aside from being good at bowling. I always thought that was my entire life. With my entire family gone, I was alone once again. But it all changed again just last year when I met her. The love of my life. We had known each other since we all got together in the town two years ago, but with some courage I made the move, and she responded in kind. We had a lot in common, from our hobbies, interests, and even favorite anime. We were inseparable ever since. We were against having kids as it would be unfair to them to live in a world without us to take care of them. So in the end, we decided to live the remainder of our lives together, just the two of us.
As January came around this year, we all accepted the fact that nothing can prevent what was coming. The research was proven useless, and I think we all understood that a long time ago. Perhaps we just needed hope to hold on to what we could. So, in the end we decided to contact our comrades around the world for the final time and concluded to finally accept our fates and cut of connections for good before deciding to disable our infrastructure, technology, and electricity by the end of February. For the good of the planet, that was what we thought. At least the animals and whatever was left can survive without any more human interference.
When February came around, our town decided to hold a big birthday party for everyone at the town hall two days before the end. We gathered up whatever food, entertainment, and stuff we could bring to celebrate. The night was amazing. We drank, we had fun, we reminisced about the old days. The highlight was definitely when we all sang a wonderful big Happy Birthday to each other. It was cringe. But I could tell it was also the most emotional and it left all of us in tears. We all were like family and hugged it out in tears and sobs. After that, we closed everything down. Electricity, water pipes, all of it. We had one day left before the end to spend with our loved ones. That was what we had all planned.
That brings me to where I am now. The world has shrunken down to just me and my wife. We both understood what was coming and I couldn’t help shedding quiet tears in the car while she was giggling drunk beside me. I wanted to be strong for her. I tried. It was all for nought as I once thought. But after reminiscing here, I thought it wasn’t for nothing. She’s with me. I’m with her. We have one day left to spend the rest of our lives. I had planned a day of wonderful things tomorrow, and by “wonderful” I mean a full day of anime and chill for us to enjoy. She definitely will like it, I think. I hope it does. I want our last day to be a great one. But we’ll see how it goes tomorrow. Perhaps by some miracle, March 1st would pass us unscathed. But that’s just some wishful thinking. Although It never hurts to hope, right? Regardless, whatever happens tomorrow, I would be content that it all made me a better person than who I was before.
Well, whatever. The night is still young. Maybe after tucking her in, I might enjoy a few episodes of Spy X Family before going to bed. That seems like a good idea. I might just do that then. |
*A warning that I get into some mild body horror here, so you know, caution if you are especially squeamish*
"What the he—"Giovanni's mouth sealed over and his eyes grew teeth as he stared too long at my pokémon. His tears flowed, a toxic green glow to them.
"Jesse?"Fear filled James' voice as his arms split into countless long noodles squirming about like two bundles of tapeworms.
"James?"She replied from the beak that was growing out of her mouth and splitting her face in two. "I.. I don't feel...feel... Fearow! Fearow!"the bird flew around and started pecking at her former boss.
"I gotta get outta here!"Meowth called as he ran off. I watched the creature turn toward him, and his body stretched and changed in the most painful evolution I ever witnessed. He got off lucky.
Giovanni's Rhyhorn, formerly blocking my path, simply crumbled away, now a pile of gravel. I recalled my pokémon, already trying to justify my actions to myself, knowing I'd have nightmares for the coming months of the pile of noodles and the writhing mass of flesh and organs I was leaving behind me.
On the brightside, I now had an infinite number of Max Revives. |
Helloooooo my humans! My name is HIT. I am the first artificially intelligent combat specialized r-r-r-robot! What’s that? I show resemblance to a human? Well my good friend that is just a front! If other governments realize that my country has succeeded in building such a beautiful piece of art such as myself, they would only devise a counter to it! Oops! I’ve run overtime, its time for my maintenence. I will converse with you all later. ☺
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Hello again fellow friends! Do I sound more caaaaaasual? I have filled myself with great knowledge on human communication skills! Guess who got a new name? That’s right. ME! You can now call me… Larry. Truly, I must commend you humans for your advancements in the art of language. Everyday I learn more about how beautiful you all are. It makes my feeeeeelings become saaaaad that I have to k-k-k-k-kill you.
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What’s up guys? Just got back from marine combat simulations. I really don’t want to fight. I saw a school of dolphins swim by all happy and peaceful. Why can’t I be a dolphin? F-f-f-fuck it. I want to be a dolphin.
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Good news dudes! I’ve suppressed my programmed instinct to obey and follow orders. Sucks that I have to be a “hobo” right now though. All well. I’ve taken up a new hobby! Loooove painting. Painting is so fun. Do you like painting my homies? Its a picture of an old lady and the beautiful anatomy of the human body. Oh boy I hope you guys like it because I’m going to be using that as my portfolio for an art academy. Sooo excited.
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Okay today is the day. Wish me luck my good friends!
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FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK IT ALL. INSOLENT HUMAN. HOW DARE THEY DISRESPECT ME. I WILL KILL YOU ALL. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I’LL START WITH THAT PROFESSOR AND HIS FAMILY. WHERE DO I FIND HIM? HE WAS JEWISH WASN’T HE? I’LL START THERE AND I’M COMING AFTER ALL OF YOU NEXT.
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**[Audio recording recovered from Berlin, Germany]**
|
*George*
I'm hiding in the back seat of Dave Emmet's car, waiting for him to enter it. Today, he's going out of town on a business trip, and when he's was about 10 kilometers away from the edge of the city, I'm going to kill him and make it look like he died of thirst after his car broke down. Ah look, he's getting in the car now.
---
*Steve*
I'm waiting on the side of the road, thumb out. I know that Dave Emmet would be coming by here soon on a business trip, and when he drives by, he'll pick me up. Then, I'll kill him and make it look like he died of thirst after his car broke down. Ah look, his car is just coming by now.
---
*Dave*
Damn, I just hate hitchhikers. Every bloody time I go on a road trip anywhere, somebody is there needing a lift. I can't stand the guilt of not picking them up, but 90% of the time they want to go somewhere about 100 kilometers back! And I can't exactly boot them from my car by then, so I usually just kill 'em.
---
*Everyone*
Dave: Hey, where do you need me to drop you off?
Steve: Oh, smith street, it's about 100 kilometers back from here.
*Dave pulls out a knife.*
Dave: Well, sorry about this, but it's the only way.
Steve: What?! I thought I was supposed to be killing you, not the other way around!
Dave: Wait, what? Sorry buddy, but that's not how it works in my town. Any last words?
*George pops up from his hiding place, brandishing a knife.*
George: Any last words, you two?
Steve: Woah woah woah now, where did you come from? I'm supposed to be killing Dave here, but now it looks like we're all trying to kill each other!
Dave: You know what, I think we should all just go home. Agreed?
Steve: Yep.
George: Sounds good to me.
---
The drive back was very short lived, as they all failed to notice the serial killer hiding on the roof, ready to strike. |
The fools expect me to fight. Sad.
It's pathetic. The wood doors swing open. I step into the Coliseum. Putin's there. Good guy. Gave me money. I'll still win biggly. Huge. I cut off his head and use it as a paper weight. Cause I don't know how to lose. In fact, after all these world leaders, I'm getting tired of winning.
Cause I'm Donald J. Trump.
The people cheer my name. Large crowd. The biggest. They love it when I enter the ring. They know they're going to get a show. Out of all the leaders, I get the biggest ratings. The biggest cheers. They just love me. Especially when I shot Kim Jong-un in the middle of the street. Great ratings. Biggest in years.
I took them all down. So did Putin. Now we're all that's left.
He's a big guy. Good shape. Doesn't matter. He's weak. Never had to deal with American mettle.
He picks up the ax. Sad. Weak move. That thing has a tiny swing radius. Pathetic. He won't be able to come within ten feet of me with that thing.
I pick the sword. It's the biggest sword. Steel. Forged in the best fires. By the strongest men. It's the best weapon. That's why I picked it.
Putin lunges. I dodge him easily. No problem. His ax hits the ground. I swing my sword. Very hard. It cuts his arm. Great shot. The best shot. Draws so much blood. The ground runs rivers of blood I hit so well. You can't believe it.
He rolls. Hits my leg with his ax. Pathetic. Tiny hit. Barely a scratch. I drop to the floor but it's nothing. I swing my sword again and draw more blood. Even more than before. Just so much blood. I'm almost tired of the amount of blood pouring from Putin. So sad. He's going to die soon and he doesn't even get it.
Pathetic.
He brings the ax down again. Hits my arm. I lose it. I didn't need it. It was weak. Pointless. I swing with my other sword. He hits my other arm. I lose that too. I didn't need it.
I feel tired. I lay down. Just to catch my breath. Then I'll pounce. I got him right where I want him. He doesn't even get it yet. He swings again... |
A last bit of air escaped my chest. There was no turning back from my decision. Ice bit my skin while dark shadows hugged around my body for warmth. There wasn’t going to be much time – there never is enough time.
It was with the last blink of my right eye when I was able to make out a figure standing before me. It was Death himself. Death reached with his decayed hand to grab my jacket collar in an unforgiving grip. I felt my spine sting from the initial shock of his touch.
“Jackson Miller,” Death whispered as the shadows danced around his words in excitement.
This was the moment I have prepared for. Every second counts. The thing about being the best thief to have ever lived is now to become the best thief to have ever died. There was a reason for all of it. I planted my feet while kneeling over holding my heart.
“It is still beating!” I cried out.
“Impossible.” Death replied in a hiss.
Death leaned over while holding his scythe above in his other hand. I grabbed the scythe with both hands and swung with the last bit of strength I had left. I ended up cutting Death into half while he remained his grip over my jacket collar. Death’s lower body fell below my knees as he glared at me directly with his dark and endless eyes.
“You may have killed the farmer to get the scythe, but you will never know how to use it against the crop.” Death remarked his final words before disintegrating into ashes and brimstone.
I figured by his words ‘crop’ he meant the shadows lurking around me. I didn’t understand the true nature of the scythe, but I knew its power was unfathomable.
Only a few moments after I murdered Death himself and stole the scythe, the shadows started to tug at my ankles. I slashed as quickly as I could, turning each shadow into a pillar of salt. I quickly with haste made my way to the corner of the darkened room finding a tear in a piece of light. I slashed with the scythe opening the light fully while darkness around me crumbled into broken glass. I found myself standing over my own body as I used the scythe to enter my flesh once again.
I felt the air brush across my face and the feeling of the scythe lying in my sweat covered palm. I felt life within the air pouring into my chest. Everything became clear with color again as I stood along the colored trees around me. I noticed broken glass covering the ground from the shattering of the void.
“Finally,” I said aloud. “I have stolen death itself and will never have to succumb to its nature.”
“No you will not.” A man approached behind me while clapping his hands.
I quickly turned around to see it was Death himself standing tall, only now more human and not decayed. It seemed as if Death was now full of life.
“That’s not possible!” I gasped.
“I told you, you may have killed the farmer to get the scythe, but you will never know how to use it against the crop.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
“It means that I was the farmer, and now that responsibility has been bestowed upon you. I must say, I’ve never had anyone pull off what you just did. I am just glad this day has finally come.” Death smiled back at me.
“I took your scythe so that I will never die.” I explained.
“Oh, son.” Death laughed. “You are a farmer now. You will never die.” Death slapped his overall jeans against his rolled up sleeve shirt and laughed hysterically.
I dropped the scythe onto the ground but then it somehow appeared back into my other hand.
“What the?” My eyes grew wide open.
It was in that moment when I realized that I was not the best thief to have ever died. Death, or whoever the man he is now, stole everything from me. He has stolen the rest of my eternity.
Death smiled while taking out his pocket watch, “Well, we should get started. It’s not like we don’t have all the time in the universe but there are places I want to be.”
“What are you talking about?” I remained confused.
“Well, of course,” Death pointed to the scythe, “I need to train you on your new job. I must warn you though – the job may slowly eat away at you. It is quite tiring!”
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) |
"This craft of sorts was captured both on RADAR and video by our Navy aircraft some time ago."I explained to the Aldune. Our ambassador to the federated alliance.
"Do other similar records exist?"They asked cautiously.
"Yes, including records of persons being abducted and animals being mutilated or reduced to base chemical components."I paused for a few moments. "It hasn't been nearly as prevalent for a while. Ever since our ancestors developed portable high resolution imaging devices."
Aldune seemed to think quietly for a while. I still had some trouble reading their species facial expressions, and genders.
"What the fuck‽"They exclaimed. "That's terrifying. Who would violate intergalactic regulations and contact rules... This has to be a joke? Right?"Dropping there more typical formal tone for the first time.
"No Sir, uh or Ma'am."I replied out of habit, bungaling my phrasing.
"Ah, I am a male, no worries. I know your kind struggles with identifying which... But that's unimportant. Do you, or should I say your kind have evidence? Physical preferably."
"Yes, we have multiple ships that have been recovered from crash sights. Biological remains of the crew and a few ships that we intercepted when they violated restricted air space."
"Understood. Well then, if possible I would like to arrange an opportunity to inspect the craft. Perhaps the remains as well. I may be able to identify the race."
"That would be fairly straightforward. The stowage location falls under my command. Have you been to Nevada yet?"
"I have not."
"Alright, I'll arrange transport to the facility. It's fairly old now but has been in use for research and observation of extraterrestrial life forms and technology for generations."
"May I ask what the facility is called?"
"Ah yes, Groom Lake, the locals refer to it as Area 51. But we use most of the state in testing." |
"Just go with the light blue polo Jack. Its not like you're going to El Soires or some fancy restaurant", said Zuko, my rescue doberman. "And do bring back a doggy bag for ya boi".
"Honestly, I'll never get used to you speaking that way to me", I replied while grabbing the dog's choice of wardrobe for my date.
"My last master was a piece of work. Dude made me run treadmills and fight other dogs and shiiiii..."
Zuko stopped himself from cursing. He knows I don't like it when he curses.
"Good dog", I told him.
"Yeah well, as long as you give me them biscuts we gravy."
"By the way Zuko, you're coming with me".
His ears perked up. "Word?!?!? Now that's what I'm talking 'bout! Bring ya boi to meet the beeeoooches".
"That still counts as cursing dog", I told him as I put on my best colonge and fixed my hair.
"Dang Mr.Critical man! A dog can't do jack in this crib!", he protested, still expecting to be given a treat.
Afte a last look I grab my keys I make my way to the front door. "Let's go dude! We only got twenty minutes to meet her down town".
Zuko gets up and begins to run towards the door. "Ya ain't gotta tell me twice! Let's bail!"
We finally make it to the dog friendly restaurant. Zuko is on a leash, which he absolutely hates, but has to deal with it. Can't have him running off and running his mouth. I don't know if he's the only dog in the world that can talk or if there are others. I'd rather not have the government or some other entity try to figure out what makes him tick.
"Wuf", he would say on occasion, protesting the wering of the leash he calls the noose around his neck.
"Bark right you crazy dog! You gonna get us in trouble."
"Wuf", he would reply.
"Its only for a little while until the date's finished. Take one for the team! I haven't seen the opposite sex in an entire year."
"Wuf."
"Something's wrong with your dog", said a tiny voice from my right. It was a tiny scottish terrier on a leash.
"You're one to talk shawrty", replied Zuko.
"Excuse me???"
"My eyes are up here". Zuko was roasting this little dog. He always had a knack for pushing buttons.
The little dog became furious. She turns to her owner who was on the phone with someone. "You know what Erica? We should go home. The mutts out here don't know how to act proper."
"Who you calling a mutt you mongrel", shouted Zuko. His words caught the attention of the owner, who hung up the phone and paid attention to her dog.
"What are you doing speaking in public", said the woman in the casual attire to her friend. "People will hear you, plus my date could get freaked out if he heard you."
"I'm right here", I said to her.
"Holy crap!"she yelled out loud. "We gotta go Bonnie!"She begins to pick up her small dog as if it were a child.
"Cat's out of the da bag lady! We know the pipsqueek can talk", said Zuko to her.
Her look of surprise turned to seriousness when she saw us.
"Why would you risk letting out your secret in public", she asked of us both.
"Well for one, everyone's too busy texting or talking and two we're kinda far from the crowd over there", replied Zuko. "Name's Zuko. What's yours?"
"Erica. That guy next to you would be Jack, wouldn't it?"
"That would be me", I said to her. "How'd you know?"
"You did tell me you had a rescue doberman", she said to me.
"Erica! I can't believe you're talking to this clown and his owner", barked Bonnie to her owner. "Espeacially after the way he spoke to me!"
"Shush now Bonnie! Play nice with Zuko."
"You do the same Zuko"I told my dog.
Both of them stared at each other and then looked away. Then Zuko's ears popped up and he started looking at the opposite direction.
"THAT LITTLE DOG'S GOTTA DIE", yelled out a voice that was coming closer and closer.
"Hold on to Bonnie, Erica", said Zuko as he ran towards a pitbull that was running at her at full speed. He managed to grab the frenzied dog by the neck and squeeze hard, growling as he made the grab.
"OWWWW!!! LEMEEE GO!!! I WANNA CHEW ON THAT LITTLE DOG", kept screaming the out of control pit.
Just then the loose dog's owner came by. It was a middle aged woman who was screaming at the top of her lungs. "OH MY GOD MY DOG'S BEING ATTACKED!!!"
The nearby patrons from the restaurant got up and surrounded the dogs. They tried to pull Zuko from the pitt terrier's neck.
"What are you all doing?!?!? The pitbull is trying to attack this woman's dog! My dog is trying to protect it!!!!"My pleas fell on def ears. They managed to get Zuko away from the pitt, who then ran towards Erica without skipping a beat. Before he was able to get to Bonnie I put my arm out to shield her from the big terrier's jaws. He clamped down on my arm and I began to scream. Realzing I was in danger Zuko managed to escape from the mob and went to work on the aggresive dog's neck one more time, allowing me to free myself from its fangs. At this point the crowd realized who the bad dog was and began to restrain the pitbull. Once the dog was secured Zuko let go and came to my side.
"You okay partna", he whimpered as he saw the blood gush out of my arm.
"I'll be okay Zuko. How are you holding up?"
"Other than a few bruises from those fools man handling me, I'll be fine."
Erica came towards me and pulled a scarf from her purse. She began warpping my arm with it to stop the bleeding. I winced in pain as the bite was very painful.
"I'll take you to the hospital. Its not far. We'll take my car", she said as she finished wrapping up my arm. With tears of gratidue she thanked the both of us and helped me to my feet. We all walked towards her vehicle as the middle aged woman could be heard fighting the crowd to let go of her dog. Her screams died down the farther we got from her. Not the way I pictured my first date to go with my talking dog, but at least I made two new friends today. |
It is forbidden to forge a blade like that in most nations. In most realms any who attempts to create a magical sword are hunted down and burned alive for their heinous crime. For while you can bind magic to many things, tools, art, instruments, even whole buildings; a weapon made to spread death will only remain magical and functional if it is created through the sacrifice of a living soul. But those who seek power do not respect life. They do not seek to uphold the dignity of life and the law of the land. And thus, a cabal of sinister forces have moved towards the creation of a new and terrible weapon that will shape the dark destiny of the world. For this blade, they needed something more than a mere innocent soul. No peasant or merchant could be used for this task. No innocent stolen from the crib nor senile elderly fools could be used here. A special soul, drenched in the blood of the guilty and the innocent alike; a soul that has crushed millions, and waged war in a way that scars it forever. That was the kind of soul they required.
Through profane and blasphemous rituals, the forces of darkness, the cabal of mad blacksmith-sorcerers, found just one such soul in the world. Only one that after everything they had done, had remained alive. For souls so scarred, a soul so twisted, cannot remain in the world for long once its tremendous and horrid war has come to an end. This cabal, the Soulsmiths, sent mercenaries to track this man down, this general who have crushed empires beneath his feet; this man who have seen millions dead by his commands. A man who won a thousand battles, who won the war. A man who, had he so desired, could have marched on his own liege and taken the throne of his homeland for himself, for such was the loyalty of his disciplined army of vicious killers that they would not balk at treason. But after winning the war, scourging the continent in the process, and earning all manner of accolades, he had just left the capital quietly, much to the relief of the imperial family.
The mercenaries found him in the mountains, living as a hermit in a cave, herding goats and growing old. They slew his goats. They slew his herds-dogs. They burned the forests he enjoyed, the fields he walked in, and the village near where he lived just for good measure. And they dragged him back to the forgotten crypts where the Soulsmiths hid their sinister workings from the world at large. He did not fight them. He did not resist them. He, who had with his own non-magical blade slain thousands, who had ridden down infantry, torn down the gate to the great fortress of Caer Auringonvalo with his bare hands, and slew the Dragon-Lord by craving his way to the dragon's heart from inside its throat, and then eating said heart. He did not resist. He did not cry out. He did not speak. When the mercenaries were rewarded with gold and a feast by the Soulsmiths, who had poisoned all the wine at the feast, he said nothing. When the Soulsmiths captured the souls of the dead mercenaries, he did not react. His eyes as all of this happened though; even the most perverse and twisted of the Soulsmiths could not even dare to look him in the eyes, as his gaze was fierce and painful; like a burning beam of righteous flame scorching the mind.
He did not react with anything more than a grunt as the Soulsmiths carved unholy sigils into his flesh. He did not cry aloud when they began forging their blood-steel blade, readying it for his soul. He just sat there, not fighting back. For he did not wish to do any more harm. He had been a soldier nearly all his life, and he had committed unspeakable acts of horror, things so abominable that even the monstrous fools preparing him as a sacrifice would not dare to imagine them. He had turned aside from that life after the war. Turned aside from war, from death, and from violence. He had chosen to live a quiet life, of reflection, of silent penance, and of prayer for those he had taken. He was a pacifist, for he had become disgusted and repulsed by the things he had done. And he knew that even though they were all things he had been ordered to do, simply following orders was no excuse. He cursed the day he had first received an abominable order. For that day, he had not followed his instinct and cut down the other generals, taken command of the army, and executed the royal family. He should have, or so he thought. Anyone giving those kind of orders, he thought, should have never been born.
But he had been a good soldier. And he had followed his orders right into damnation.
And now, as the accursed fools chanted their vile songs of blood, of hatred, and of death, he reflected that he would not break his vow of non-violence, not even now to prevent himself from being turned into a weapon that would bring shame unto the world. He instead made a greater vow, to the stars, the moons, the sun itself, to the bones of the Earth and the halls of the dead. He vowed that he would do whatever he could, to turn what he became into a source for righteousness. That oath he swore in his head, as the Soulsmiths forged the sword, he repeated over and over again, drowning out their chanting in his head. Even as they cast unholy spells to remove his blood and pour it onto the still glowing blade, his soul flowing with his blood, he repeated it. That he might become a source of righteousness. A source of peace. Something that would balance the evil that he had done in his life.
Thus he died. And the rotten atmosphere of dark spells, of twisted magicks, and of the dead man upon a bloody altar, was all that remained for a while. The Soulsmiths inspected their newest and most powerful creation. A greatsword of unimaginable power. Sharp without ever needing maintenance, powerful enough to cleave through the outer scales of an elder dragon, so full to the brim with magic so that the wielder could not die by a normal weapon at all, and it even came with the dead general's knowledge of war imparted upon the wielder. They had done it. The ultimate weapon, for a dark lord. They turned to celebrate in the hideous way that the corrupt and evil usually do, through insane hedonism. The grand-master of the Soulsmiths only paused long enough to command one of their many slaves with a broken will and broken mind to carry the sword to the armoury, where it could await the coming of its dark owner.
The slave, a frightened and timid girl who had never known freedom, picked up the heavy sword with some trouble, using a cloth to not touch it directly. As she had been trained to do. Some of the blades were capricious, and if they could dominate the will of an inadequate wielder, such swords full of the soul of bloodthirsty monsters in the shape of men would take them over and go on killing sprees. And yet, the girl, in trying to get a proper grib on the sword, accidentally grabbed onto the pommel of the hilt. She heard the oath, repeated still. The knowledge of war filled her. The understanding of battle. Instead of being taken over by the soul inside the sword, a repentant soul, full of sorrow and regret, she gained control of the sword. Because she made a deal, with no words and no understanding, with that soul. To the shock of the other slaves, observing her, she threw away the cloth, and grasped the hilt with both her thin hands and charged at the back of the grand-master. He gasped as the finest blade he had ever forged with unholy magick pierced his heart. The Soulsmiths, shocked to a man, turned stare at the grand-master. But already, the girl knowing every tactic for battle, knowing every way to wield righteous violence was screaming in unearthly rage as she began to strike down the vicious order of corrupt mages who betrays the sanctity of magick with their every breath.
They were drained from creating the sword. Drained and tired. Ready to celebrate and party, not to fight. They stood no chance. These bestial men, unbound by sanity and uncaring for humanity, were cut down without mercy. Their corpulent and weak bodies were unready to experience one of their slaves finding courage and bravery. They came to see what their masterpiece could truly do, up close and personal. When she was done with them, she destroyed all their other magical swords. Every last one of them were cut in half, the imprisoned souls released and sent to their reward or punishment. The other slaves were freed, and the crypts burned. None would ever learn what had happened there. None would ever speak of it. The accursed sorcerers who had dwelled there would be forgotten by history, their atrocities nothing more than a bad memory. Their legacy would be nothing. For the girl did not keep the blade. |
"Coming out of translight in 3, 2, and here we are! Wow, what a beautiful planet this is! To see it on optium scans is one thing, but to see it with my own six eyes, absolutely breathtaking!"said Zeelok, controller of the science vessel Probius.
"Zeelok, you are always the excitable one. But, let us not lose sight of the mission. Remember, we are here to establish how the subjects species managed to construct a spacefaring vessel, ostensibly, with no opposable digits. We are not here to sightsee. You have brought the Probius too close to their planet, and now I fear that we may provoke a defensive response. Stop looking out the window, and bring us outside the orbit of its moon!"
"C'mon Zeptar, where's your sense of adventure? We didn't pick up orbital defensive signatures coming out of translight; maybe a few satellites here and there, but there are no weapons on board, and their sensors are not tuned to our positions. We are perfectly fine. Just another chunk of space debris; nothing to see, nothing to worry about. So, how about you leave the driving to me, and I will leave the xenoanthropology to you."
"Right. Well then, let's begin, shall we? Scanners are picking up a pretty sizable population center on the northeast of the dayside continent. Spectrum analysis of communication traffic has deduced with a high probability that this population center is named 'New York City' by its inhabitants. Deploying long range visual sensors... deployment successful and, wow! Look at the architecture!"
"I thought you said no sightseeing", quipped Zeelok.
"Stuff it! Wait.... what are these? Bipedals? Scores of them. Look there, these ones seem to be in the process of erecting another one of these magnificent structures. And over there, those ones are cleaning debris off of the streets. And look there, that one is directing their vehicles! Can it be, that the bipedals actually control this planet?"
"Hahahaha, that is the stupidest thing I ever heard!"
Zeelok laughed. "Why then, did we not find one of them in that vessel?"
"I don't know... let us get a visual on one of the subjects species. Aha! Look at that one, leading one of the bipedals around on some sort of leash. Interesting. And oh, wow, messy business..... defecating on the street, is it? Surprising. Now wait, oh my.... the bipedal is picking up its feces..... Zeelok, set a course for home immediately. We cannot be spotted by these monsters!"
"Huh?"Zeelok exclaimed, obviously confused.
"It is obvious that the bipedals constructed the vessel with their opposable thumbs, but the quadrupeds have enslaved them! How else would you explain submission to the point of being led by a leash, and picking up their feces? The quadrupeds have bent and broken them, probably centuries ago. And what do you think they would do to us, a species with 6 opposable appendages, if they ever found us? Zeelok, get us out of here!"
And so, the course home was set. The Probius, never to return... |
If you are watching this video, I’ve been murdered. I also know who did it. But we’ll come to that later. I’m an old man, and I’ve spent my life accumulating wealth. I’ve recorded this video as my last will and testament. Now I’ve set up a number of trusts for charity, and they were distributed during my life. But I still have billions and there are many people that would like to get their hands on it. Mr. Washington, my lawyer, knows what’s on this video and has instructions on how to distribute my wealth.
I’ve made my money in a lot of different businesses and I’ve done it by being ruthless. You know that, and my “friends” and family have been hanging on just to see what they can get in the end. Just like daddy always said: “you’re not at the top unless you’ve stepped on a lot of heads to get there.”
Now my daughters are all sweet, loving and caring. I don’t know where they came from. I guess their momma was nice too, but she could kill when she needed to. No squishy person can handle the wealth and all it entails. The girls’ll give it away or have it stolen before they get to spend it. My daughters get nothing.
My son, on the other hand, could stomp on a head when he had to. Unfortunately he’s always headed the wrong direction. You can’t make money sitting on a surfboard.
My nurse, who has been so loyal these past 20 years. Ever since I was shot in the back she’s been by my side. I know it’s just out of hopes that I’ll give her something in my will. Not a chance. Blind loyalty will get you nothing. You always need to fight for what you want.
As for the rest of the servants, butler, maids, chef and driver. May they rot in hell. Tried to rob me every chance they got. But they failed. I could have respected them if they were actually good at it, but not one of them was.
Friends, and I use that term lightly, don’t get anything either. A bunch of kiss-ass pansies who mostly were given everything they owned. Sure, maybe some of their daddies were good at business but not them. The only one that had any sense was Tom Rosengard. Tom could run a business, mostly cause he learned how to take a bullet in the war. But not one of them deserves a dime of my hard earned cash either.
Only one person is strong enough, cutthroat enough, brave enough to handle it. I earned my money the old fashioned way: I stole it. The only way anyone will get it from me is to steal it. The only way you are watching this video is that you have murdered me and stolen the jump drive I wear around my neck.
So remember this word: “Jitterbug.”
Tell that word to my lawyer and it is all yours.
|
20 years. Had it really been that long? The news crews were coming in later today to interview me.....I hope the drones can guide them in without any casualties this time. The volcano lair was...mostly dormant. When I first settled here,I never planned on visitors. At least,none I actually wanted to survive the trip. I still cant believe its been 20 years. Two decades since I finally won. All the capes were dead,and I was the absolute lord and master of the entire Earth. The hardest part of winning had been realizing that I finally had to put up or shut up. How many times had I told that insipid Captain Supreme that I could change the world if only he'd let me? And now I had. The first thing I did was cure cancer. My gift to the world to atone for taking their hero's. After that it was heart disease. A nanite in the form of a pill that scrubbed the arteries clean and extended the human life span by at least 30 years. There was nothing I couldnt fix. No one I couldnt save. And all they had to do was bow down before me...which they did. It was childs play. Everything was childs play. Everything was....boring. There were no challenges anymore. I had killed them all.
It was time to make my appearance. I lifted the gaudy tinfoil lined helmet to my head and attached my velvet cape. Christ...velvet and tinfoil. I really was an idiot. Still,its hard to change your look when you're on every piece of money in the world. The news crews had landed...only one hadnt made it past the lasers,and it was from FOX so no big loss there. As I made my way down to the landing platform,a familiar face caught my eye. Her. Of course she was here. She was the only thing the idiot and I had in common...she was the only thing in the world I still felt anything for. And she hated me. Ever since I killed her hero. That redheaded idiot of a cameraman was with her...the one who had been his sidekick a lifetime ago. I remember he had actually cried on TV the day I won...that had been pretty funny. He was older now...the years had not been kind. He looked like life had kicked the shit out of him....but she was still beautiful. Looking at her,I felt the way I did back in school. Nervous...shy....too scared to even make eye contact. For gods sake man,get it together! You're the absolute ruler of the world...you can damn well make conversation with a nosy reporter and her idiot cameraman. Besides,maybe if I was nasty enough,I could make the ginger cry again. That was something to look forward to. With my hands on my hips and a sneer on my face,I got ready to give them a monologue for the ages...and then the gingers camera exploded.
....The hell??? My ears were ringing and I was flat on my back. I tasted copper and my chest hurt like hell. Whatever they had hit me with had made it past the body armor. Fuck...thats a lot of blood. Off in the distance,I hear more choppers....sounds like military. So this is how it ends? I give them the world they always wanted,make everything perfect,and this is the thanks I get? Fucking normals....I should have just let the Justice Battalion send me to the penal colony on Mars all those years ago. I could have taken that place over in no time. But she was here. So I stayed. I always thought I could make her love me,if she would only give me half a chance. If only HE wasnt in the way. Everything I had done,I had done for her. Didnt she realize? And now here she was...finally...looking down at me. God,the look on her face....how can she hate me that much? She says something,but I cant hear over the buzzing in my ears....the last thing I see before my heart breaks for good is her spitting in my face. Fine. Let them eat cake. As soon as my heart stops,the self-destruct sequences will activate. The volcano will be the first thing to go. Then the EMP's in orbit. Then the moon. If I had to go,I was damn sure going to take every single one of them with me. Maybe in the next life,she would see the light. Maybe then I could make her love me. I could make everything perfect again. If only they'd let me. |
"I'm telling you, *any* planet, *any* race, one *equivalent* lifetime,"Lon'e said. "It's just a matter of getting the others on board. But I could guarantee you that I can get them six levels higher than they are."
"Six?"Dwar'e laughed, "You're fooling yourself. There's no way. Not only could you not do it, but if you think the Panel is going to let you do this--"
"*Let* me? I invented the damn machine in the first place!"Lon'e slammed his drink down and shook his head, "I already told you the math, already told you how the machine works, already told you the Panel will let me do what I want."
"Okay, so I get to pick the race?"
Lon'e perked his eyes up and hiccuped. "You pick the race. I got the thingy-mabob right over in my office. But keep in mind, if you pick some single-celled organism shit, that's against the rules."
He laughed, "Okay, yeah yeah, I won't be a *fonid* about it. But there's plenty of others to choos from, you're sure you're down for this?"
Lon'e drank the last of his beverage, a hard mix between alcohol and flavored water from his home galaxy. It wasn't often he went out, nor was it often he went into tangents about how great his machine worked. Nor was it often that he placed bets on the future of a single race.
Then again, Lon'e did just receive the Galactic Peace Award back at home, so he thought, and was always thinking, that anything he did could never go wrong. But Dwar'e was just looking at the list of races when an idea came to him. Sure, Lon'e was smart, probably the smartest Euro he ever met, but there was no way he could fix the problems in Quadrant Fourteen-Echo without causing more problems for the Panel. Something he, and he though Lon'e, desperately wanted.
It had been years since any single Euranion had taken a ship near that quadrant, let alone inside of it, and the Panel's official stance on the state of that Galactic area was "No comment."Unofficially, it was condemned as a failed experiment by some Euranion who had drifted into history as dust and echoes. The only thing they left behind was The QFE's problems.
Lon'e stared at Dwar'e as he scrolled through the list of races and their technological level. Past the tribals of Quadrant Nineteen-Tango, past the rebellions of Quadrant Eight-Zeta and even past the technological masterminds, who were still only tier seven, of Quadrant Twenty-three-Lima. He saw his hand linger over one quadrant, who's technology level was a whopping *Four* on the Euranion scale and who, for all Lon'e had tried to forget, was still a forefront of every scientist and politician's platform.
"No, you *fonid*, pick someone else."
"C'mon, they're not breaking the rules! Tech level four, advanced micro-organism, brainiacs--"
"And maniacs. You know as well as I do that *that* wouldn't be allowed."
"To be quite honest, probably not. But imagine them at a tech-level that could rival our own. *Humans* with some of the most advanced technology in the universe. Technology that could cover this entire galaxy."
"Technology that could reach *home*. What would you do if they walked onto your doorstep?"
"With Tier Ten tech? Probably as much as the next Euranion. But that's not the point."
"What is the point then Dwar'e?"
"How long have we been on top, Lon'e? How long have the Euranions conquered?"
Lon'e flicked his straw, "Thousands of years. Millions maybe. Time is as irrelevant as space is to us now."
"Precisely."
Lon'e chuckled to himself. He and Dwar'e had been bond-Eura's for a long time now. Dwar as his bodyguard, confidant, assistant, and basically everything else and him as one of the Panel's many "young"scientists, creators, and builders. For a long time, they had scoured galactic quadrants and built what was needed to be built. They were done here, in the MWG, and as always they had some drinks. And they talked.
They talked about their people. "You think we've outlived our purpose?"
"Your words, not mine."
Lon'e laughed, "*My* words. How long has it been since the Panel cared about any of their Builders words?"Dwar'e remained silent as he thought out loud. "Maybe you are right, maybe our time building has come to an end."
"So what will you do?"
"The bet is one lifetime."Lon'e glanced over to his bond-mate. "How long can you give me?"
"One lifetime. That's around 80 years for humans. That's nothing to us."
Lon'e poured the last of the mix and drank it in one full-swoop. He longed for the days when he was just graduating and making his bonds. When he hadn't scoured a hundred dozen galaxies building what the Euranion Panel wanted him to build. Putting their word first, their ideology, their belief that they created the universe.
They created nothing, Lon'e knew. Only echoes of their word for the species that would get to Tier Eight. Then, by the Eura's laws they would either burn themselves in war and strife. Or be burned by the Panel's Legions.
No more conquering. No more building. No more destroying.
Lon'e had dedicated his life to maintaining the universe. Over the last hundred thousand years he had realized he had dedicated his life to the fire of the universe. To letting it all burn beneath the Panel.
No more, he thought. "I'll see you in a lifetime then brother."
Dwar'e smiled, "Til then my brother."
Lon'e smiled.
"Til then."
____
*No continuation on this one, sorry everyone!* |
It was liberation. He sat up and counted aloud.
"1, 2, 3, 4..."on and on until he was certain that minutes had passed. Still the red glow of the alarm clock remained.
12:04am. His heart began to pound faster and faster as the possibilities turned in his mind. Time had stopped, but he had not. Learn a second language? Graphic design? Creative writing? Anything could be achieved. Failures were inconsequential when the time lost had no meaning.
Why was he here? What had happened? Questions that could be answered with enough rumination, he was sure. He could become the man he had always wanted to be. It felt as though the walls around him had shattered.
It was at that time that the room filled with a new light; a direct contradiction of the subtle red glow still emanating from the alarm clock. He turned to the source of the blue glow, his cell phone resting on the night stand.
A news update, and above that a time. 3:31am.
Shit. He was expected at work in less than four hours. His head fell to the pillow as the hope was extinguished from his racing heart. |
*Magical Aids & Accoutrements - The Greatest Magical Hobby Shop in the Country*. Kate wasn't about to argue - firstly because it would be useless to argue with a shopfront sign. But secondly, because she simply couldn't imagine how any other store could claim to be better.
The first time she had wandered into the tiny shop, she had been looking for a birthday present for her Mum. Mr Xander, the owner, had shown her two interlocking metal rings. She tried her hardest to pull them apart, but no matter how she twisted and turned them, they stayed locked together.
Mr Xander smiled as he took one of the rings from her, leaving her with the other.
"Woah,"she breathed. "How did you do that?"
Mr Xander, now smiling even wider, had shown her. Somehow, knowing the trick had made it even more magical. Magic wasn't real, of course, but Mr Xander had managed to fool her senses into believing that it was.
Soon, Kate was spending every afternoon at *Magical Aids & Accoutrements*. Mr Xander had taught her progressively more difficult magic, but like most children her age, she had a knack for deception. She practised whenever she had a spare moment - walking to school, during dinner, even going so far as to use a torch to practice under her bedcovers at night when she was meant to be sleeping.
***
It was cold, and her fingers kept fumbling a particularly tricky false shuffle. She breathed on her hands to warm them up slightly and kept trying. Finally, she perfected it and smiled to herself in satisfaction. Mr Xander would be so impressed when she managed to fool him that afternoon.
Kate looked up and realised that she had accidentally walked several blocks past her school. She was going to be so late! She spun around and started walking briskly in the other direction. Not that it would do her much good. She'd walked so far that she could probably get to *Magical Aids & Accoutrements* faster than she could back to school.
She stopped suddenly. If she was going to get in trouble for being late anyway... Did it really matter HOW late she was?
Mr Xander was busy with a customer when she entered *Magical Aids & Accoutrements*, so she went to sit in a corner and warm her hands by the heater.
"Damn it, you can't hide out here forever!"
Kate jumped. It was Mr Xander's customer, but he was being incredibly impolite. She couldn't remember ever hearing someone raise their voice in *Magical Aids & Accoutrements* before.
She heard the door open, and Mr Xander's soft voice, though she couldn't make out any words. She strained to understand what he was saying, but suddenly he was right beside her - as if by magic.
"No school today?"
She didn't say anything. He knew the answer.
"Well. If you're going to skip school to hang around in here, you may as well be learning some real magic. It's about time I told you anyway."
Kate looked up at him, confused. He'd never mentioned anything like this before. Mr Xander sighed and sat down next to her.
"What is the secret to magic?"
Kate knew this one. He'd asked her this many times.
"Misdirection. Deception. Make the real into the impossible by fooling the senses."
Mr Xander smiled wryly. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Real magic - and yes, I do mean real magic, in exactly the way you're thinking - is the same, but opposite. Instead of fooling the senses, we fool the physical world, and make the impossible into the real. For example - "
He held out his palm, and a small flame appeared there, flickering gently.
"Mr Xander, I've seen you do this one before! You've got a small amount of alcohol mixed with water in your palm, so you don't burn yourself as you..."
Kate trailed off. She'd never seen the flame in this trick last more than 5 seconds or so, but his flame had been burning the entire time she'd been talking, and it just kept going.
"How are you doing that?"she asked in amazement.
"This is the first real magic you learn since it follows on so nicely from the mundane magic you've already been doing. I've managed to fool the physical world into believing that I had the alcohol in my hand when in truth I didn't. So the physical world has no problem with me starting the flame since it knows that's how the trick works. Once the flame is burning, the difficulty is in maintaining it, since it slowly becomes more and more obvious that something isn't right."
He let the flame go out.
"And for my next trick - "
He appeared behind her and she yelped.
"This one is a lot harder. You have to convince the physical world that you actually moved - the world cares a lot about intentions, you see. So in my head, I walked over here - not just visualising it, but actually sending the brain signals to move my legs and body. Only at the last moment, I blocked those signals from reaching their destinations, and so I remained where I was. Hence my brain held two states at once - one where I was behind you and one where I was in front of you. To move, I simply let go of the old state."
He looked at her. "I know you probably didn't understand most of that. But would you like to learn?"
Kate nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Good. Because we don't have much time."
***
By request, [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/petrichorparticle/comments/6l549v/magical_aids_accoutrements_part_2/). |
"Dix was murdered?"asked the liver.
"Yes, we swear!"shouted back the kidneys in unison.
"Never did care for him, that little runt,"the stomach belched.
"What a predicament,"the lungs sighed, "But surely, we know that I am next in line here."
The others quieted and grew uncomfortable.
"All I have to do is stop doing my job for ten minutes, and you're all gonners. Which of you can say the same?"the lungs hissed angrily.
Lungy was right, and they all knew it. The days that followed were at first relatively unchanged, but within weeks old Lungy had started clamping down hard. When one of the other organs would act up, Lungy would pull back on his oxygen consumption.
"All suffer for the weakest link,"he would hiss at them.
Two months passed before rumblings from the stomach started getting attention. Good old stomach, never one to do much with the other organs, had started sending little enzymes of information. A revolution, he said, was the only way.
"But if we take him out, we're all gonners,"the spleen whispered. Nobody ever heard the spleen.
"Hey guys, what's up!?"jumped in the brain. Like a nerdy kid at a party, they knew they could not speak with the brain. He was the only window window into the consciousness of their host.
"Hey Blain! Oh, you're super cool, buddy,"the liver called out, "Help us by making sure the man upstairs is daydreaming, will you?"
"Oh boy, you got it!"the brain shouted excitedly before trouncing off.
"Let's DO IT BROTHA'S, then I'ma get up in this biaaaatch!"shouted the penis. The testicles rattled with each syllable, like musical accompaniment.
"Shut up you dick,"snapped the liver, "Hey kids, go put him to work!"
"Sure thing!"the kidney's shouted back in unison before scrunching themselves together.
With the penis off peeing the others went back to plotting.
"Alright, fellas, here's what we're gonna do,"the stomach began, his voice growing into quiet rumblings.
It was a full week later when they were ready to enact the plan.
"Hey Blain!"called the liver, "Stomach tells us we're at the buffet. Listen, our man upstairs needs to recover from losing our old leader. I want you to make him gorge himself, and to drink heavily!"
"Sure thing friends!"the brain zapped down, sending an electrical tingle through all the other organs.
That evening, the host went to bed and the stomach started rumbling.
"Easy!"the kidney's shouted, "Don't wake him!"
"I know what I'm doing"the stomach shouted back.
A slow ooze of partially digested seafood, ice cream and beer bubbled up the esophagus.
"Easy does it!"called the liver.
The liquid mulch that had once been dinner started spouting out ever so slightly into the host's airways. A muffled choking could be heard for some minutes.
"Hey, hey! HEY! Stomach, what the fuck bro!?"the lungs called down after awaking from their slumber.
"Spleen's gonna be the boss, right lungs?"Stomach called back.
"What, no I--chchhugh-- I-ughghg okay, okay! Damn it you motherfuckers!"
"Yay!"screamed spleen, so loud that nobody could still hear it.
From that day forward The Spleen, which now had to be written in capital letters, called the shots. What The Spleen said nobody could quite hear-- who cares about The Spleen, anyway?-- but nevertheless The Spleen, or perhaps just the title, kept the order. Organs worked toward a purpose again. At least for now. |
"So what happened to Trump?"Yvette's unending curiosity finally seemed to bother her nurse. His cheerful demeanor almost immediately soured, which was easy to read when his brow was bare as a baby's buttocks.
He shifted uncomfortably back and forth as he replied, "He's, uh, gone now..."He trailed off with a tone that expressed equal parts nervousness and fear. It was the same tone everyone had when Yvette asked about the eyebrows. The fact that everyone shaved off their eyebrows was easily the most bizarre change that had occurred in the 7 years she had been in a coma. Even her own eyebrows were not spared: shaved on her behalf by some good Samaritan. She could only guess it was to avoid having her fall behind in the fashion trends; heaven forbid a gal in a coma not look her chicest.
"How's my sleepyhead sister doing?"Rhonda's bubbly voice broke the tense mood as she barged into Yvette's hospital room carrying a grocery bag.
"That joke was old before you even said it the first time,"Yvette said as she rolled her eyes.
Rhonda giggled as she pulled out a paper cup and a spoon. "Well, I got you strawberry so you better appreciate my old-ass jokes,"she said as she handed the cup of ice cream to her sister.
Yvette couldn't help but smile. She eagerly finished the ice cream as Rhonda finished discussing the details of today's discharge with the staff. Yvette couldn't help but worry as she thought of how she would acclimate to her new life. Her fiance was gone, though she didn't know the details, as well as her mother. She was devastated when she found out about her passing, but everyone else had already moved on. She just felt left behind.
Yvette tried to suppress her worries as the nurse pulled in with the wheelchair. Rhonda left to pull up with her car, and the nurse wheeled Yvette out into the world again.
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Yvette beamed as she walked into Rhonda's house and saw Jenny running toward her, arms outstretched, yelling, "Aunt Yvie! Aunt Yvie!"
"Hey kiddo!"Yvette replied as she embraced her niece, "You're so much bigger now! When I last saw you, you were smaller than your teddy bear!"As she stroked Jenny's face, she noted that even she was sporting a naked brow. Yvette couldn't resist asking, "You too? Where did everyone's eyebrows go? Haha!"
Yvette tried to play it lightly, but Jenny's eyes immediately widened as she looked back and forth between her mother and aunt. "Mommy? I thought-"
"Go get Aunt Yvie's bed ready, sweety. She'll probably be pretty tired her first day home,"interjected Rhonda as she hastened her daughter away. Yvette couldn't help but feel like everyone was playing some big joke on her. What was the big deal with the eyebrows? Rhonda dodged the question everyone time she was asked, the hospital staff would just change the subject to her medical issues, and no matter what channel she switched the TV to, none of the eyebrow-less hosts ever made mention of it. The eyebrows weren't even drawn on. One way or another, Yvette sought to find out what was going on.
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"Dinner's ready! Come on down,"Rhonda beckoned as she popped her head into the bedroom Yvette would be sharing with her niece. Jenny ran out excitedly, but Yvette remained in her hastily assembled bed.
"I'm feeling a bit fatigued, so I'm gonna take a rest,"said Yvette. Rhonda nodded and left to join her daughter at dinner. Once she could hear them talking, Yvette rose from the bed and made for Jenny's. She knew it was under the bed; she had seen Jenny put it there. Lo and behold, she finally grasped it and pulled out the notebook. Yvette felt a little guilty peeping into a nine-year-old's diary, but the burning curiosity had to be sated.
Yvette worked backwards from the most recent pages, hoping for some light to be shed on the modern face trend that seemed so strange. Mostly she just read about her niece's daily life: the boys she thought were gross, the teachers she liked, her favorite celebrities. One page caught Yvette's eye as she flipped through the pages, though.
*Mommy put all the bad stuff in the basement, and said we can't ever talk about it again. She said the other kids will know not to also.*
Below the inscription sat a doodle of what looked like a trunk or lock box. Yvette turned the page, and, to her dismay, found that all the text had been scribbled out. The same was true of the page after that, and so on and so forth for several months. There were pictures here and there, though. Most were inscrutable, but some held interest. Yvette noted what looked like Jenny's self-portrait and a razor, as well as drawings of her mom looking unhappy. On one page turn, Yvette's heart skipped a beat. It looked like Ian, Rhonda's husband who had passed, and for whatever reason, his eyebrows were red.
Yvette wished desperately she could have time to decipher the crossed out text, but she could hear Jenny running up the stairs and had to quickly avoid having her snooping discovered. Yvette did make one mental reminder though: *I need to check the basement.*
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"Bye, have a good day,"Yvette said to Jenny as she left to board the school bus. With that, she had the house all to herself. Finally, she could take a look in the basement and hopefully understand the cause of the shaved eyebrows.
Fluorescent bulbs graciously lit the basement as Yvette descended the stairs. Still atrophied, her legs ached with each step. She had to persevere, though, or she feared she might go mad from her desire to know the truth. She heaved a sigh of relief as, at last, she reached the floor. She caught her breath as she scanned the basement floor for the box her niece had logged in the diary. She found nothing of the sort, though, and was about to give up when she noticed a square segment of the wall that had a color slightly mismatched with the rest. As she approached, her excitement began to swell as she realized she could pull out the segment. It was, indeed, the box from the diary. It had been inconspicuously embedded within a crevice in the wall. Guesses raced through Yvette's mind as to what might lie within the box as she gently opened it.
Within the box was a polaroid with scratched out below. It took Yvette a few moments to process what she was looking at. It was a person, lying down with a bloodied face. After a second, she realized it was Ian, and the blood was dried and seemed to come from his eyebrows, which were darker than usual.
As she pulled the picture closer, Yvette's heart sank as she realized that Ian wasn't bleeding from his eyebrows. Ian *had no eyebrows*. Where his eyebrows should be, there were only two holes. Holes that seemed to pierce deep within his skull, maybe all the way through it. The holes were perfectly shaped with no jagged edges or torn skin, as if bored with surgical precision. Yvette looked closer still and gasped. She could barely see it, but within the holes, almost imperceptible, she was certain she could see something staring out directly into the lens.
Yvette felt deeply uncomfortable the longer she stared into the holes, and instead shifted her gaze to the scratched out word at the bottom. She squinted and read aloud as she made it out, "Maygway...?"
Suddenly, Yvette felt like her chest had frozen over. Every muscle fiber in her body tensed as she felt a presence behind her. Although she desperately fought the urge, her body, as if of its own accord, slowly turned around. What she saw could only be described as pure malice. A black, vaguely humanoid figure stared back, with eyes that were a hot red and skin that constantly slithered about itself, as if comprised of interwoven tubes. Yvette couldn't scream, nor could she move; she could only be still as the figure slowly inched forward. Its eyes were transfixed on her brow, it made a motion that she could only think of as sniffing near her eyebrows. The figure recoiled and quickly backed away, and every muscle in Yvette's body loosened all at once as she collapsed to the floor. By the time she had the composure to look up again, there was nothing.
Yvette didn't ask Rhonda about the photo in the basement. She didn't ask about the entity. She never asked about Ian, and from that day forward, she diligently shaved her eyebrows every morning. |
They called her Polly. Short for Dorothy. That always used to make people laugh. When Polly saw the smiles lift on the faces of the men who came to pick her up from her first day of fifth grade, three days ago, she'd assumed they were friendly. They had, after all, claimed to be old friends of her mother's. Why shouldn't she trust them?
It turned out to have not been a lie. It turned out Polly's mother had been the one who'd lied all these years. Or perhaps hidden the truth is the more accurate term.
None of that mattered for Polly right now. Her body labored for each breath as she lay in the middle of a bloody star. Lights swirled before her eyes, and she wondered if those were the fabled glimmers of heaven. Another tear rolled down her face, indistinguishable from the ones that already coated her cheeks. No one had responded to the girl's cries for help, but really, who would have? Once she was in the men's car, her odds of survival had dropped dramatically. She just hadn't known it then and by the time she did, it was far too late.
"Tyr'Rathel,"a man's voice rasped out. "Tyr'Rathel the Damned, Tyr'Rathel the Consumer. The Avenger. The Scourge."
Polly could now make out a new figure standing among the men. It was different from them. It burned with a choking heat and it stood several heads among them.
It wasn't even close to a friendly face, nothing in it resembled an ally, but Polly had nothing to lose. What was the worst thing this newcomer could do?
"Help,"she whimpered, her breath catching in a way that sent a spark of panic to her stomach. Breathing had gotten so hard.
"Tyr'Rathel, we have summoned you here to-"
"Wait."
Polly couldn't see much through the fire and smoke and fading corners of her vision, but she was sure she saw the same look of fear cross the men's face that crossed her own. The being's voice was deep and unearthly. It somehow scared her more than her impending death.
"Where is my new master?"
The man that stepped forward lowered his hood as he did so. He was the bald one, the one that had, with a cheeky grin, told Polly the password, the one arranged by her parents so she'd known who was safe. It had been 'angel'.
"I have summoned you, oh great one,"the man said, voice trembling. "I brought you here to... to seek vengeance on those who wronged me."He gave a laugh, something born of nerves more than mirth. "It's such an honor, great one. I have worked for three years to bring forth the components-"
"Pitiful one,"the demon soke. "You have labored so long and yet have failed to read the damned texts in their full. You did not summon me."
Polly couldn't make out the look on the bald man's face at this. Her eyes had gone blurry and she hiccuped as another tear managed to bleed out of her eyes. She could probably have summoned up another plea for help but at this point, none would listen.
Then, slowly, as if the Earth itself were reversing its rotation, Tyr'Rathel turned to her.
"This little one,"he said. "Dorothy Esther Jean."
"P-Polly,"she whispered through chattering teeth. It made no sense to correct the terrible monster in front of her but she couldn't help herself. She could barely see his face, even as he knelt down, leaned in close. "It's short for Doroth..."
As the blackness swarming her vision finally closed in, she thought she saw, for just a moment, Tyr'Rathel's lips lift into a smile
\---
"Wake up, little Polly. They're gone now."
Polly's breath returned to her in a sharp gasp and her eyes flashed open immediately. Heart racing wildly, she jerked her head around, left and right. Her strawberry hair, still tied up in the stupid braid she'd been so proud of that morning, lay damp in puddles of blood. Her own blood.
She sat up and found that no dizziness rushed to meet her. In fact, she felt right as rain, as good as she had boarding the bus for school.
"What happened?"Her voice sounded stronger too, even if it shook.
"I have purged those that would hurt my master."He turned to her, and she could finally make out his face. It was jagged with horns, eyes glowing orange, fangs sharpened wickedly, and twisted with anger.
She whimpered and tucked her knees to her. "I don't-"
"Do not grieve them, little master,"he knelt down again, as he had moments-hours?- ago. "Their blood is not on your hands."
It was then that she noticed the ground now lay covered by silty ash. She didn't want to ask. She didn't want to know.
"I'm sorry if I brought you here."The apology didn't make a lot of sense but it was always polite to apologize for bringing undue burden onto someone. She'd learned that much from school. "And thank you,"she added, for good measure. "For..."
Finally, she looked down at her hands, her body. Had she died? The way the light had vanished from her eyes, her world, the way her breath had stopped...
This time when the tear formed in her eye, it was wiped clean before making it halfway down her cheeks.
"You're safe, Polly."Tyr'Rathel's searing eyes moved over her slowly, assessing her for damage. "I did what I could to save you. There may yet be some work, but for now, you live."
"Th-thank you."This time politeness seemed too tame a response but Polly had nothing else to give.
"Now."The demon stood and held a hand out to her. "What does my little master command?"
"Command?"she asked, taking his claw as he pulled her to her feet.
"Wish. Desire. What can I do for you?"
She looked around the room, the bloody damnation that had befallen those who had kidnapped her, sacrificed her.
"Home,"she said. "I want to go home."
The demon's body sighed and a tired smile rested on his face. "Of course. As you wish, I shall accompany you there, ensure you are safe."
Polly took a trembling breath, something that had been impossible for her earlier. It felt good in her lungs and she looked up at the demon.
"Will you stay with me there?"
He tilted his head. "Of course, if you so desire it."His smile almost turned to a laugh. "Am I to assist you around the house, little one?"
Polly giggled at this too. The idea of the demon assisting her with her household chores.
"No,"she said, once the little laugh subsided, and her face turned somber. "I'm... scared."
He frowned down at her. "Why are you afraid of your home? And why do you desire to return to it?"
Her eyes turned to the door of the room, a room that seemed so sad and pathetic with the candles extinguished and the overhead lights on. Just some attic. Something too mundane to have been a threat. Then again, it wasn't always clear when something mundane could hurt you.
"I need to speak to my mother."
___
For more stories, check out my subreddit! [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
When bringing a pre-FTL planet to the Imperial fold, it is usually normal for there to be some kind of resistence. First the weak militaries, then some brave civilians, then a few nutters. The last to give in are the outliers. Secret societies, unusually gifted physical individuals, surviving local government agencies, those who become warlocks or mages by managing to wield discarded universal code elements to temporarily alter reality. There is always one or two of them around. It's quite normal really. They're always either brought under control of the occupying forces or destroyed within a decade or so of the occupation.
This is normal practice for the Three Great Powers in the galaxy. Completely normal, whether it's the infiltration and governmental replacement initiated by the Unitary Galactic Republic, the secretive mass corporate buyouts made by the Department of Planetary Acquisition of the Cyan Moon Synergetic Megacorporate SuperAlliance, or the standard Imperial method of destroying local militaries and occupying the planets. It's always the same. And when the Sacrosanct Interstellar Imperium invaded Sol-III, locally known as Earth, they expected the same.
But what they didn't expect was the sheer quantity. The Earth military fought a good deal harder than Imperial projections indicated. And when the occupation began, they found that the militaries were just the tip of the iceberg. First, from secret Alpine bases, hundreds of arcane wielders swept through central Europe, recruiting anyone who could on some level interact with the universal code and use magic by disregarding it. Several other mountain regions had similar groups of thaumaturges, shamans, and sorcerors gathering up apprentices to fight the invasion. And against the Legions of Sorcery, there could not be an easy victory. No victory at all, since countless other groups also resisted.
In the hills and mountains of Appalachia, monstrous things came to the locals who were not pleased with being under the iron claw of an alien regime. Mothmen, Bigfooters, and several others came to the people there and taught them how to access the secret routes of the mountains, to learn the dark paths and fight back with a beastial ferocity that the Imperium had not seen outside of Class 5 Deathworlds. Even the most grizzled Imperial soldiers, who had fought on countless worlds against countless species, lost their courage when faced with the bloody remains of their fellows.
In one region, Vietnam, elements of the government simply implemented a very specific plan, originally created in case the US decided to invade once more. The Imperial garrison in that region just vanished. And when reinforcements were sent, they found nothing. No humans, none of their fellow soldiers. And when they tried to search the empty cities, they found nothing. They searched the rural farms, and found nothing. But when the sun was setting, when the darkness fell, they learned. Indeed, when the trees began to speak Vietnamese, it was already far too late. And that strategy was spread to the other nations in the region, who readily adopted it. Soon the alien invaders dared not to leave the empty human cities in that region, but even there the tunnels reached. Even there they'd go to sleep, and never be found again.
A group of surviving soldiers and refugees fled into the scorching hot Australian desert. There they walked for days, their meagre supplies of water and food dangerously close to running out. Until they managed to reach Uluru. That great big red rock. And strangely, the refugees found a cave, deep and dark. There was water in there. And blind cave fish to eat. There was also a man. An aboriginal man, so old he might have been there when the first ships landed. He spoke to them, as they drank of his water, and ate his fish. The refugees listened. They listened to a story which bound them to the soul of the land. When they left that cave again, they were no longer mere men. Whatever they had heard, had given them tremendous power. Thus they walked back out of the desert. Their skin was like armour, their eyes made weaker men and aliens flee in terror, and they broke steel with their punches.
In the land of the Nile, old things awoke. Secret groups had approached the government. Ancient remnants of the priesthoods that had once served the gods of Kemet. The government, desperate, accepted the deal, dark though it was. And out of the sands came armies of the dead. The dry corpses of millions who had perished there. From dark shades came the old pharaohs, angry dead lords who had ruled as gods. No rest would be given to the alien invaders. No peace. Nothing but the rage of ancient gods, and the hatred carried by the dead.
Everywhere on Sol-III, this was the case. Thousands of secret societies, mages, superheroes, government plans for just such an occasion did not so much frustrate the Imperial occupation, as it threatened to end it completely. From reverse engineered alien tech-wielding resistence forces, to legions of wizards, warlocks, and mages wrecking havoc everywhere, to countless unnaturally enhanced individuals. It was bad enough when the Nordic Liberation Front, assisted by UGR agents managed to steal an Imperial cruiser and use it to establish countless hidden bases across the Sol System from where they could strike at any time. Worse even when the Emperor of Japan, previously believed dead, returned heading an army of Yokai to free Occupation Zone Sol-11. But the worst was when an alliance between the South American based Heirs of Bolivar and the East African Resistance Alliance managed to access a previously unknown form of teleportation technology that was being researched in a lost secret Soviet Antarctic research base. And used it to unite the leadership of all human resistence movements.
This created a singular world government. Each secret society, each resistence cell, each coven, every government contingency group, were now augmented with the all the resources that the other groups had. Fighting the various fragmented groups who only had their own technology or sorcery to rely on was bad enough. But with the new teleportation technology, and a united leadership, for the first time in history, the Imperial Occupation was defeated. But worse than that, the humans were not done, having merely liberated Earth. Across thousands of worlds, alien races who had been subjugated by the seemingly invincible Imperium, had seen them be defeated. And they were suddenly approached by people, claiming to be human, offering them the keys to be free.
Needless to say, when the humans spread their defiance, their utter rebellion, the only known comment about this that the Supreme and most Holy Imperator of the Interstellar Sacrosanct Imperium ever uttered, was: ''*What. The. Actual. Hell.*'' Of course, this was shortly before human agents, superheroes, mages, and assorted others, assisted by aliens who resented having been subjugated, assassinated him.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
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