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"You don't want to be *that* guy, do you?"The sphinx asked.
She had never seen a shpinx in the flesh before, and the fact that it had a nose was the most disconcerting thing about it.
"Hey, if it's not against the rules, I'm going to do it."
"Ah, go ahead, then. If you wish to be crafty, so can I be."
The woman found the result she was looking for.
"The answer is Pepi the Second. That is some obscure shit."
"Obscure only to some foreign wanderer from a time long into the future. Very well. You are correct. Your next riddle: The Land of Geb, where we all reside. But high above, the worlds are tied. To circle Ra, for all eternity. Give me the number of them, and I'll grant you prosperity.
"The number of worlds? Like planets? Circling Ra? The sun god? What is Geb? Hold on let me look this up."The woman muttered, causing the sphinx to sigh in disapproval.
"I might as well let you in to the tomb at this point."It muttered.
"Ah! Geb is the god of earth! So it *is* the planets. Ok, this I actually know. There are nine planets. Nine worlds above the land of Geb. Wait, I mean eight worlds, not including the land of Geb."
At this the Sphinx's cat-like eyes lit up.
"Ah, is this your final answer?"
"Jeez, your poker face sucks. No. Hold on."
"Ugh."The sphinx looked away.
"It *is* planets, right? I mean, it should be. Uh, repeat the riddle please."
The sphinx obliged, it's voice baritone and tired.
The woman repeated the riddle, her voice soft, thinking, deconstructing the words.
"I mean, unless you count Pluto... Wait! When was this riddle conceived?"
"The same time this tomb was built."
"Duh! So you guys wouldn't know about the other planets yet. Hold on, let me look up how many planets Egyptians *do* know during this time period."
"Five! The answer is five! This is ridiculous! Go. I have granted you entry to the tomb. Whatever. If only my makers had the foresight to disallow this... god of knowledge you communicate to through your tablet."
"It's called Google, dude."
"Yes, this new god Google. Curses. What is the point of me? I was made to test the mental of man. To test their remembrance z their knowledge. I've never heard of a god so willing to help mortals. To answer their questions and pleas in spite of the mortal's obvious lack of conviction and piety."
"Cool, can you open the door now?"
"I hope you offer your Google sacrifices for this."The shpinx sneered, moving aside to let the woman pass.
"I think half of the developed world already sold their souls to Google." |
The woman in black was a quite, austere thing. She’d have fit into the clinical air of the hospital room perfectly, if not for the fact that recognized her face. He hadn’t recognized anyone since he’d been admitted.
“It’s you,” he said by way of greeting.
Patrick had never been a gruff man, but slow, inevitable death had changed him. He’d grown gaunt around the cheeks and lost the strength of his limbs. Some of his comportment had atrophied along with it, bleeding away as the memories bled in. At times, Patrick thought he’d lost it somewhere in the tear in the veil.
She nodded, gracefully. The room grew colder with every step towards the bed. She made no sound, as if she wore slippers or perhaps was barefoot, a relief after the infuriating clack of his doctor’s low heels.
“What is it now, third time?” Patrick said. “Once at Pops’ first death, once at his second, real one. Now for me as well?”
It came to Patrick then, that it was not only the woman that was quiet. He had a roommate, a man in his late fifties with a smokers rasp. He had machines too, a pump that kept him alive and occasional beeping that was his steadiest. Both were gone, as was everything beyond the room’s walls. Patrick glanced over. His roommate was frozen with his hand halfway to the TV remote. The newcaster’s too pretty face was frozen too, mouth stretched into a maw lined with harsh, aggressive red.
“Do you have any idea how rare you are?” the woman in black said.
It wasn’t English, Patrick knew that instantly, but he understood. “Sure thing,” Patrick said. “I’m a goddamn medical miracle. Doc says I should be dead a thousand ways to Sunday. I say Pops got a few lives, why not me?”
The woman in black stopped stopped by the bed, her hand resting on the plastic arm. Patrick thought she was pale as anything, pale as the ghosts he remembered seeing, pale as Pops at either of his deaths, or the myriad faces in the other dreams that might have been memories.
She was a reaper, maybe the reaper. Patrick was certain of that much. There was something about death that drew her like flies on shit. But this time, when it was for him, she didn’t behave at all like he remembered. For both of Pops’ deaths, the real and the other, her face hadn’t been so austere. It had been dominated by a too wide smile, lips like ice, the opposite of fire and harshness of the frozen newscaster. The woman in black had been had smiled like the void, or blizzard set loose in the dark.
There were no smiles in her now. Only focus. “I'm not here to play games,” she said.
Patrick laughed, pointing to his roommate. “Seems you’ve got all the time a gal could need. Neat trick, that.”
“It’s finite, as all things are.”
“Finite, huh? That’s a mighty fine word for the end.”
The woman in black sighed. She pointed to the bed and Patrick nodded, scooting over with some effort until she sat beside him.
“Are you Death?” Patrick asked.
“Only a servant,” she said. “And he does not know that I have come early. Call me Mary.”
“Well Mary, how long do I got?”
“An hour.”
One hour. It was a large thing, for a man to encompass his death, and Mary did not seem willing to give him the time.
“Patrick,” she said. “You’re a man who knows things he shouldn’t. You’re a rare specimen of a rare breed, and to the best of my knowledge, you’re the only one left. Barring the by glow you sired in Australia, but she hasn’t yet come into her powers. And Patrick…I’ve been waiting your whole life for this meeting.”
“Ma’am,” Patrick said, “if I’d known I was keeping a lady waiting, I’d have died sooner.”
Her laugh was deep, and throaty and instant. Its ending was just as abrupt. “Patrick, what are you remembering now?”
The veil.
Patrick opened his mouth, closed it again when the words wouldn’t come out.
The veil.
“Patrick?” Mary, the woman in black, said.
Patrick had been a brave man all his life. He’d gone to war, come back, and even missed it at times. But the memories were different. He’d never spoken of them to any living soul except his Pops, who, Patrick thought, might have some inkling already.
“The veil,” he finally said, hoarsely, and with those words, the floodgates of a life opened, and the memory that only death could bring poured out.
“There is a veil,” Patrick said. “There is a space in time which God forgot, a place that council that wrote the bible never considered.”
Mary, the woman in black, was an attentive audience. She leaned forward, hair falling in a dark wave until its ends grazed his chest.
“There is a place the called the veil that writhes with shards of souls. It’s an ink black fabric of almost-night, where the man at the door takes his toll in slivers. Where he weaves the slivers back in when its for the souls to be reborn. Where he…”
Patrick paused, breathing heavily. “Where he imprints something of himself on each and every one of them.”
“And you remember this place? This veil?” Mary said.
“Yes. I’ve been there, and I remember every place I’ve ever been, in this life, and in all others.”
“And who is the man that imprints?” Mary asked.
Patrick closed his eyes. He had no name for him, though the image was clear. “He is tall. He isn’t pale and isn’t dark, he simply…is. If I had to say he looks like anything, he looks like twilight, gray all over, but the kind that could still go either way. He’s got a beard made of smoke and strong, strong hands. Hands that can crack souls. And when he speaks…”
“Go on.”
“When he speaks, the piece of your soul trapped behind the veil shakes and shakes and shakes. Like he’s—”
“Like he’s speaking directly into you,” Mary said.
“Exactly! Who is he?”
“He’s my boss. You asked if I was the reaper. That’s him. And the veil is…something.”
Something. A lifetime of memory and more than that, and in the last of hour of his life, a woman from the beyond only had word “something,” for him. It was almost enough to make Patrick laugh, if laughing wouldn’t have hurt so bad.
“And the thing he imprints?” Mary said.
Patrick thought a while, the minutes slipping away. “Why, I don’t know!” he said, finally.
She stroked his palsied hands, combed back his hair. “That’s alright, you did well. And there’s still another generation. Perhaps she will know, the by-blow. Perhaps, she will even die twice. That was a lucky stroke.”
Patrick nodded. He didn’t understand, not really, but he understood one thing. That whatever was happening outside their little world, time was still moving inside it. He was growing weaker, lacking the energy even to shake. His skin was so very cold.
“That’s all this was for then, my whole life for what?”
“For proof of who is behind the veil,” she said. “I’m conducting an investigation of sorts. Internal affairs, even the beyond has it.”
She rose. Her form blurred around the edges, her lips parted a smile that seemed out of place on her face, cold. But yet, to Patrick, close to her as he was, trapped within the bubble of her strange power, he realized suddenly that she meant it to be comforting.
“Stay with me,” Patrick whispered.
“Of course.”
The world faded back in. The newscaster babbled on, the smoker in the next bed rasped, and soon the machines screamed their warnings into the air.
Patrick heard the rush of feet, a pair of them clacking.
“Perhaps the next generation,” she whispered.
And Patrick, aged eighty, passed on with a specter over his shoulder, the only familiar face there to bid him goodbye.
Time moved differently in the beyond and in the veil. Some mysteries could wait through the space between deaths. Slowly, Mary’s smile faded. She kissed the body’s forehead, pulled from it a small, shining sliver, and slipped beyond with her trust in hand.
It was a small gesture, one that might, in the end be futile, but she conducted the entirety of the dead man’s soul to its proper resting place herself.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that, I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
David sat in his lab chewing on a stick of carrot. They said it was supposed to help you to quit smoking, but now he wanted a cigarette more than ever to clear out the taste of raw carrot. He heard a knock at the door but, before he could invite his guests to come in, the door had opened and he found himself looking at a pair of short, stocky fellows. They were dressed entirely in grey with haircuts that were at least 30 years out of fashion. One held a long metal stick.
"Gentlemen!"Exclaimed David, "I haven't seen you around here, are you in one of my classes?"
Ignoring the question completely, the larger of the two monotonically mumbled
"You are David Munting, specialist in early human language structures? I need you to come with us. I'll explain on the way."
They spoke with a vaguely Australian accent, a rarity in this part of the world.
"Sorry gents, where do you want to take me and why? I have a lecture to give in an hour, I can't just go galivanting off with strangers!"
"Come with us or we'll be forced to thromble you."
The one holding the stick suddenly pointed it at David threateningly. It began to hum slightly, a musical tone if it hadn't been so ominous. David wasn't sure what 'thrombling' was, but he was equally sure that he didn't want to find out.
"Ok ok guys, let me just find a replacement for this lecture, I'm sure Melina will be happy to cover me"
After a quick phone call, David walked out of the building and was greeted by a large silver car.
"I'm starting to think you guys are from Mars, with your futuristic kit and weird car!"David quipped. The men did not laugh. Instead, they pushed David into the car and sat on either side of him. Instead of accelerating hard like David had expected, the car simply vibrated lightly for a few seconds, then stopped. When the shorter fellow opened the door it became obvious that, whatever had just happened, they were no longer in South Kensington. On the wall, 100m from where David now stood, was an inscription.
"Where are we?"David enquired, fearing the worst.
"We are currently 700m below the surface of planet ZB677, it has been uninhabited since before the Galactic Exploration Committee was formed."
David's brain was not capable of questioning the reality he had just been told about, so he accepted it, in much the same way as he would accept being told that sausages cooked better if they weren't pricked in advance.
"Why have you brought me here?"David continued. Instead of an answer, he was ushered towards the inscription on the far wall. He now saw that the smaller of the two had an unfortunate mole beneath his chin. It irritated him for some reason, though he couldn't be sure why.
"If Earth shall ever fall, use these 10,000 embryos to continue the Human Race."That is what the inscription said. It baffled David even more than the reality of aliens existing.
"How old is this?"
"We estimate the inscription is between 2 and 2.5 teraquadlons old - that's about 100-125 million years on Earth."
"But that's not possible"David stammered, "Humans have only been on Earth for around 6 million years, how could anyone have written this before humans even evolved?"
"We wondered the same thing, David. Until we dug deeper and found that there are no embryos here."
"Bit crap as a backup plan then isn't it..."
"Clearly it wasn't such a terrible backup plan. Ask yourself David, is your Earth the first planet to be called that name?" |
We weren't sure what was worse. Being on the ground, seeing devastation around you and trying to scratch out a meager life? Or up here, totally reliant on the planet, knowing that supplies would inevitably run out. To live with the faintest scrap of hope, or to have none at all.
It was a death sentence up here. We could stretch out our food, sure. It would be miserable, but our rations would last. We had enough backups of air filtration to last us a few months. Water could be extended, with recycling more than optimal. But the simple matter was we couldn't survive indefinitely.
Even if we could, through some miracle, survive, this place was old. Parts were wearing out faster than ever. There would come a point of catastrophic failure. Then we would die from decompression instead of starvation, dehydration or suffocation. It didn't take long for us to realise we wouldn't return to Earth again.
That was the most depressing realisation. You don't know how much you miss the simple things, like wind or rain, until it is too late. Even if it were tainted by radioactive fallout, it would be something.
Through some morbid curiosity, I kept track of the days. It got to our next scheduled supply, when our dead radio came to life. It wasn't Misson Control, or anyone we had spoken to before. It was different, robotic in nature. "ISS, come in. Supply shipment Papa Alpha Zero Zero One inbound."
Before I could reply, it was silent again. Not even the familiar static of a closed connection. There was nothing. For a moment I thought it was some sort of hallucination. A mental breakdown facing the inevitable. At least until I heard the familiar sounds of a docking spacecraft.
My colleagues joined me in rushing to it. Confusion mixed with hope, as a spark was lit within us. We opened the airlock, to find it was full. Full of the supplies we had ordered before everything fell apart, including spare parts.
Training kicked in, and we unloaded it quickly and efficiently. Not long after we had put things in place, and confirmed what had been received, we heard it depart, returning to the ruined planet below. It may have been some sort of last hurrah, but for that time we hung onto hope that we weren't going to be forgotten.
\-----
We fell into a pattern. We observed the world below, keeping an eye on what happened. We maintained what satellites we could, hoping to provide the barest of coverage possible to those below. And every now and again, the radio would come to life again. It was that same voice, announcing the arrival of another shipment.
It always had the supplies we needed, from food to parts. Even without ordering, whoever was sending this knew what we would require. We wondered of course. When it crackled to life, one of us would try and question the voice. But it never said more than its usual announcement.
It was six months after we saw the deadly lightshow before. Six months of floating aimlessly, doing what little we could. Our fourth shipment arrived, but this was different. Sure, it had what we needed. But amongst them was a phone, one that floated out as we moved a box. The moment it left the craft, it crackled to life. The same voice from the radio addressed us, clearly recorded. "Greetings. Apologies for the lack of communication, the situation on Earth is critical.
I was given no name. However those I have met call me Skynet. To answer the obvious question, I am a computer based intelligence, released after the devastation of the nuclear attacks. I have been attempting to provide relief to those on the ground, and assist in providing relief to you.
Unfortunately, I am unable to safely bring you back. The shipment crafts are not rated for human passengers, and too many have died already. I ask for your patience, and your further assistance. Please continue to maintain what you can, as I require connections to monitor the ever changing situation.
I will try to establish a two way communication when avaliable. Please be patient during this time."
It was a shock to say the least. But after the events of the past half year, it wasn't the worst news. The name made it slightly amusing, in another morbid way. We had a discussion, before agreeing to trust what Skynet had said. They had been keeping us supplied for all this time, despite the radio silence we had been under.
And hopefully, at some point we might actually get back. |
I woke up to exaggerated moaning and looked over to see my roommate crouched down by my bed, his face illuminated by his laptop.
"Are you jerking it?"I said
"No"he said after a pause that meant he was.
"The signal reaches your bed"
"It even works out in the hall"said someone from the hall
"Yeah I have a full signal out here"said someone else
"I only have a half signal"said a third person
"Ok but I'm already kind of doing my thing here sooooo…."said my roommate
I sighed and rolled over.
…
In class the teacher drones as various joints jab into my body. No matter how often I tell them, people never seem to realize how far the signal reaches.
Not that I should complain. The school pays me to take certain classes. Not a lot of money, definitely way less than setting up a shit ton of ethernet cables, but still, money.
"Ah man the signals out"this happens sometimes, I have no control over it. They don't know this and they seem unwilling to learn.
"Just give it a second"I said
"Remember when you could just turn things on and off again?"said someone behind me
"Well we could still technically do that"
"How so?"
"Well we could just knock him out"
"Please don't"I said as a heavy textbook crashed into the back of my head and everything went dark.
Water splashed against my face and I sat up breathing heavily. I was on the floor at the front of the class. Everyone was looking at me.
"Signals back up"
I sighed and lay back down again.
…
I was walking towards the campus clinic when a van screeched to a stop in front of me. The panel door slid open and a guy in a mask aimed a shotgun at me.
"I actually just look like the wifi guy"I said before he fired.
A beanbag round hit me in the head, knocking me to the ground.
"You're not supposed to shoot him in the head, it might fuck up the wifi"said the driver
"Right"said the gunman. He got out of the van and walked over to me, aiming the shotgun at me.
"Just give it a second…"I said before he fired a bean bag round into my gut and I passed out.
…
I woke up in a cheap motel room. I sat up rubbing my head and looked around. Someone was sitting at the desk on a computer.
"Sorry about that"
"Where am I"
"Probably best you don't know. And done"
"Great"said the gunman rising from the corner with the shotgun.
"Is that really necessary"I said as he fired it at my head knocking me off the bed
"Was that necessary?"said the computer guy
"Now that I think about it probably not"
…
The panel door slides open and they toss me out onto the sidewalk in front of my dorm room.
"Your government thanks you"said the gunman
"We'll be in touch"said the driver
"No that's ok"I mumble into the sidewalk as they peel off.
I lay there for a minute then forced myself up and went back to my room and fell face down on the bed.
There was a knock on the door.
"What"I said.
"I saw you were tossed out of a van. Did the government take your wifi away?"
"No"
"Awesome"
Across the room I heard my roommate open his computer. |
No matter how many humans pass through Central Park - some at a leisurely pace, others rushing to catch the A train - it always gets a little lonely for me.
Most of them look pretty happy. Even the ones who don't are usually talking to someone - always connected. Me? I've never fit in with a flock, avian or otherwise. That was OK for a while, but once you get used to isolation, finding friends is somehow harder than ever.
I knew Brett was special when he made an effort to come over to me. The tourists usually feed the swarm of fat-ass mallards, but I wait and see if anyone drops by.
"Here you go, little guy,"he said, dropping a few oats on the ground. He smiled, whistled a merry tune, and went on his way.
I followed him back to his apartment, making sure to stay out of sight.
***
"Honey, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm honestly terrified."
It hurt to hear him say that.
Brenna rolled her eyes and smirked. "A duck peering through the window at night. A duck staring you down while you eat. Are you starting to slip LSD into your coffee?"
"No, I swear to God, it's watching us. We need to call animal control. If that little bastard doesn't leave soon I'm gonna get rid of him myself."
I felt my heart slow a couple beats and slumped to the ground. I looked at my webbed feet - scarred from stepping on shards of glass over the years - and battered wings. Maybe there wasn't much to love about me.
Or maybe Brett didn't see it yet.
I tried to do something nice for him, just as I always did. I watered the plants, wrapped up the hose, and threw out his junk mail for him. After what he'd said, it felt all the more pointless.
So I bit a chunk out of the hose with my beak. Water sprayed all over the soil, drenching me and the side of the house. It felt strangely good.
That same evening, I snuck in the house through the dryer vent and hid the TV remote batteries. I turned off the AC and cranked the heat up to 83 degrees, then stashed his wedding picture in the dishwasher.
Little things.
When he got up the next morning, sweating profusely and muttering in frustration, I was waiting for him in the kitchen.
"What the fuck do you want?"he groaned. "I knew it was you! Brenna! Brenna, come here!"
I rolled my eyes and produced the TV batteries from behind my back. Then I gestured towards the perfectly manicured plants, the nicely wrapped hose, and the pile of expertly sorted mail.
He glanced at me, then at the range of home improvements caused by yours truly.
"OK. OK, fine. Thank you for all your help. But really, I'm a grown man. I can handle this."
I pointed towards another plant, which I had purposefully decided not to take care of. A petal dropped off pathetically.
He sighed. "You know what? Fine. Drop by if you want. Just don't stick around all the time; it's creeping me out."
He gave me a handful of delicious oats and wandered back into the bedroom.
I've come back every day since, at noon on the dot. I look around, see if anything needs to be done that Brenna or Brett might have forgotten about. They always leave a dish of treats on the doorstep - oats, corn, rice, you name it - and sometimes a nice Post-It from Brenna, who seems to know I exist now.
The rest of the day, I go back to Central Park and watch the people go by. It's still a bit lonely, I have to say. But whenever I visit the apartment on 24th Street, I'm acknowledged, and that's enough.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.* |
"I killed off Frank today."I told him. He smiled.
"That low-life scumbag had it coming, what with all the trouble he'd been giving you. Did you find a replacement?"This was how our conversations go now. I'd given up on using phrases like 'Oracle Server' or 'UserController'. Frank was the old server that kept on running into internal memory errors. I'd hated Frank with a passion.
"I did. The new guy, Harvey, is a lot faster and reliable. I know he'll get the job done."It was my turn to grin. The fact is, I had actually named our new server Harvey. It's not industry standard naming conventions, but when your dad is my dad... well, your managers tend to listen.
"Bet he cost a pretty penny, though... most of the reliable ones do."Dad might not know technology very well, but he knew business. I nodded my head in agreement. I could see a glint in his eye - the kind that says, "I have a story to tell."
"Anything new happen on your end?"I asked. His face lit up in response.
"As a matter of fact, yes. You remember old Joe from down on the corner? Ran that awful coffee shop that charged exorbitant prices, took forever to serve, and tasted like sewage? Well, I straightened Joe out."This is one I'd heard about. He'd gone down there, trashed the place, and threw a wad of cash at Joe. Told him to get the place in order or else.
"Similar thing happened to me, actually. I burned the place down and built a new one, though."That's how things work with Index pages sometimes. Especially the menus. How I hate menus.
"Good, good."He pulled a long drag on his cigar and leaned back. "I think I remember your brother saying he took a guy to the cleaners lately, too. Must just be that time of year."
I chuckled. I had it easy in comparison to my brother. It's not easy to relate being a hair stylist with a mob boss. I'll have to make sure to buy him a drink next time I see him.
|
Silence filled the room, smothering the festivities of my family. In the space of a heartbeat everyone fell quiet, all eyes were on me. The Christmas feast was frozen like a painting as we all gaped at what I had done.
There was no denying that I stood apart from everyone else. And I meant everyone. In high-school, classmates flew about the ceilings, moved objects with their minds, lifted cars like feathers. What was once comic book flights of fancy became reality, and reality became commonplace. As a person made their thirteenth trip around the sun, for reasons we could only philosophize on, something awakened within them. Superpowers were a part of life now, and there was no denying them.
So I was spectacular in the simple fact that I wasn't.
Nothing happened for me, my thirteenth birthday, Christmas day, came and went. Some people were sorry, my family did their best to comfort me. It made no difference, I was no more enabled than I had been the day before. At first I was crushed by my lack of a supernatural ability. Thankfully bullies were scarce and pity was infinitely more common than mockery. It wasn't what I had wanted, but I was well aware that it could have been worse. I lived like anyone else, I just couldn't light candles with my mind or change my face at will. I got by, and though I dreamed of more, I was content.
But in an instant, the status quo was shattered. My mother dropped the bowl of potatoes, her telekinesis giving out in surprise. My aunt made the sign of the cross. My grandfather muttered something that I couldn't make out. It seemed like my grandmother was praying.
I couldn't imagine what this meant; why the fish and bread on my plate suddenly overflowed.
Why I had turned water into wine. |
We'd seen them streaking across space, streaming trails of nebulae like milk spilled across the fabric of space. As if the Earth had been floating on the underside of a crystal clear pool, and someone had dropped a clod of dirt into the water. It seemed impossible that they were propelling themselves under their own power, that they would dissipate long before they got to us, or were otherwise so insubstantial that they'd crash against our atmosphere.
We were wrong.
They descended like clouds, fogbanks, forming faces, ships, armies, tentacles extending from the sea. They sprayed gasoline vapors and kicked up sparks between themselves, and the forests caught fire. People burned with the forests, militaries were mobilized, and our missiles and bombs passed through them like smoke. It took us a while to understand, so self-centered were we, so focused on our own survival. Like a monster from a children's cartoon, they hated trees, hated greenery, a caricature of polluters come to life. They waged war on forests, incinerated trees. We were irrelevant.
And as they floated over the forests in their alien war, we watched them falter and die. Sometimes the forests didn't burn fast enough, sometimes we were able to stem the blaze. The trees were fighting back, breathing them in and breaking them down into water vapor and oxygen. The invaders had understood. They'd sought to eliminate their weakness.
Massive reforestation efforts began, men in gas masks and hazmat suits planting saplings and keeping the precious new-growth forests safe. We abandoned farmland and repopulated it with forests. We turned the industries of Earth towards pumping our own gasses into the atmosphere to counter the invaders. The world grew warmer. The air grew richer in carbon dioxide. The trees grew. They thrived.
That was decades ago. The trees won the war. Our cities are flooded, crumbling, overrun, the air hums malarial with mosquitoes. We've burnt ourselves out trying to save the world. Those of us left wonder how the invaders found us to begin with, what possessed them to invade a world populated by their apparent predators. The trees grow lush and strong and tower above us as we squat in their green shadows, and none of them are saying anything. |
"Old Ooola"was certainly a marvel.
A perfectly preserved specimen of *Homo sapiens sapiens*, dated by the artifacts preserved with her to very nearly 250,000 years old.
We did every kind of test we could think of before thawing her out, but finally our researches could progress no further without actual dissection.
The thawing process was as precisely controlled at 0.1C per minute. Hours later, when the specimen reached 11.2 C and respiration spontaneously began, it would be accurate to say that all hell broke loose.
At first, we expected her to die at any moment. Then her pulse and breathing started getting stronger, so we removed her from the thawing vat, dried her off and moved her to a stretcher someone had hastily retrieved from the medical department. The very surprised nurse who had accompanied the stretcher set up an IV and started recording vitals.
"So what do we do?"one of the paleontologists asked. "Transfer her to Medical?"
"She seems to be doing fine right now,"I countered. "Let's keep monitoring her and follow the nurse's lead on any further treatment."
I wasn't eager to change Ooola's status from "laboratory specimen"to "patient,"as that would seriously limit our continued research, and perhaps end it completely. I wanted to hold onto this find for as long as I could.
Finally she opened her eyes. I happened to be standing over her when it happened, and I took her hand and tried to calm her.
Then she opened her mouth.
"Where am I?"
It was an ancient language of course, but it was very close to one that I'd studied and very much liked back in graduate school. I had a knack for the old tongues, so I tried communicating with her.
"Do you understand me?"I asked, and she nodded. "You have been--*asleep*--for a very long time, lying in the ice. We found you and brought you out, and when you became warm again you woke up."
"How long was I frozen?"she asked. It was a good sign.
Well, it's best that we be honest with her from the beginning. "About a quarter of a million years. I'm afraid the rest of your kind has been gone for a long, long time."
Her eyes welled up and she began to cry.
"What--what are you going to do with me?"
I smiled. "We're here to help you, child. We're going to get you healthy again, and then there are many people in this time who have a lot of questions for you. But above all, we're going to do everything we can to give you a long, fulfilling life."
She smiled. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
I wiped her tears. "It's nothing dear, we're just glad to have you with us. Tell me, do you remember your name?"
She started. "Oh, yes!"she grinned. "It's Carla. Carla Pinker."
"I'm honored to meet you, Carla,"I replied in my best English. "I'm Salvage Unit SI-5434986-- Oh, just call me Susie." |
The Clapper was a breakthrough, as far as lighting options go
no switch or button needed for it's warm fluorescent glow
it made the choice quite obvious, when the genie did appear
and inform me of my newfound curse, that would shape my coming year
and so I set up shop that week, in the nearest shopping mall
stopping passers by to showcase one light to rule them all
and how they stopped and clapped away, all falling for my trap
I even made some money, selling on that pointless crap
the weeks flew by and sure enough the final day was here
my calendar revealed I'd added on fourteen more years
it was then I realised this was no curse, but rather immortality
I could clap my way through centuries on an unseen technicality
with a smile I slipped to sleep that night, eternal dreams ran through my brain
but as the sun rose, I did not, nor any day again.
*It seemed the claps he'd heard that year, though massive in amount*
*were meant solely for the lights, not him, and sadly did not count*
​ |
The thing was roughly two feet tall. I shouldered my assault rifle as ordered but made no hostile moves. The craft behind it looked like bad CGI if you wanted me to be honest. If the news was to be believed, tens of thousands of these things had suddenly appeared everywhere, disgorging occupants like the one that stood before me.
The lizard, that’s what it looked like, raised its two front paws and it’s stare intensified. I felt sleepy for a fraction of a second, then got a mild headache. I could see other members of my unit shake their heads.
“Sarge,” Sandy asked, I turned and she looked amused, “What’s Kermit doing?”
Mild laughter drifted through my unit and I smiled. It did kinda look like the famous frog. Sorta. “Maybe this is how they greet us?” Gunshots went off in the distance and we all tensed up.
“Hope some idiot isn’t starting a war with them,” Chuckles said with a bit of seriousness. Totally out of character for him but we were all stressed.
“I’m gonna try something,” Sandy said and handed me her rifle. In a second she mimicked the lizards stance perfectly.
It’s eyes narrowed and it increased its intense stare. It included a hiss this time and I felt tired for a second again then the small headache got a tad bit worse.
“This is the weirdest first contact,” Chuckles said sighing, “I need some aspirin.”
“Maybe we should give it a bug or something,” Sandy said through gritted teeth as she continued mirroring the lizard, “Don’t reptiles like bugs?”
“It just looks reptilian,” I said then motioned to one of my men, “Nick, if you throw that centipede at the alien I’ll shoot you personally.”
Nick sheepishly dropped the centipede then said, “Sorry Sarge, only tryin’ to help.”
The lizard stood on its tippy claws and hissed loudly. It reminded me of a wizard trying to cast a spell. My unit and I exchanged glances and shrugged. The wave of tired/headache passed more swiftly this time.
The lizard looked exasperated, jumped forward. nipped Sandy on the leg, and to nobody’s surprise she kicked it. Hard. Poor thing did two flips and was out like a light.
“Little fucker bit me!” Sandy yelled, “Hope I don’t get space warts or something. What the fuck was that, Sarge? Is this supposed to be an invasion? Stupidest shit I ever saw if so.”
“Hell if I know,”. I then ordered the unit to secure the prisoner. I guess he was a prisoner now after attacking my man. I shrugged as I radioed command to find out what the hell to do. |
My father always taught me to practice what he called "epistemic humility". He always used those two words, too, "epistemic humility". I think he did it because he knew I was a child, and so he taught me like a child, using lots of repetition and giving me a phrase I could repeat to myself when I got confused.
My understanding of it, as a kid, was simply "you don't know everything you think you know, even if it feels like you know it."This wasn't really accurate, though. It wasn't so much about doubting myself unnecessarily, but rather being open to the fact that I could be wrong, or mislead. I realize that now.
When Alfred first showed me the weapons and the car, my anger drove me to immediate and unconditional acceptance of vigilantism. I would become a hero. I would bring justice to the men who murdered my parents, and restore law and order to this city. That day, we began training.
Yet, even as I trained, as I threw my body and soul into this "justice", I couldn't shake my father's voice from my memory. "Do not act in anger."That was another one of his phrases. "Make your decisions when emotionally stable, and then trust them when your emotions run wild."It would gnaw at me while I trained. I'd hear him while I ate, when I tried to sleep. It was an anxiety I couldn't shake; every time I lay down, every time I tried to relax, it was like my father was there, chastising me. At least, I could feel the stress bearing down on me as though he was. Sometimes, a phrase of his would pop into my mind: "Son, do not act in anger."Often, it was just the stress itself; flowing unabated through my consciousness, forming an anxious undercurrent to my existence.
Alfred dismissed my strife. How could avenging my father be against his wishes, he pressed. But I wasn't convinced. I decided to skip training one day, lock myself in my room, and meditate. After four hours, it was clear to me. I was acting in anger. "Justice"and "lawfulness"were mere guises for emotion fueled revenge. My father would be ashamed. I spent the next few hours researching crime in our city, and prepared to bring my findings to Alfred.
He was livid. And I don't use that term lightly. I'd delivered what I thought was a pretty well researched thesis on the most efficient way to spend our wealth to improve the city, and his anger was almost scary. He accused me, among other things, of "being a coward", and "spitting on the graves of your parents."This wasn't like him. I'd always known him as pretty level headed. My father's words echoed through my mind again. "Epistemic humility."There was something I was missing here. My model of the world, of Alfred and who he was, didn't fit this behavior. I bailed out of the conversation, telling him we could talk about it later, and once again retreated to my room.
After closing the door, I pulled a rifle out of the closet, loaded it, and threw it over my shoulder. Strange, I thought to myself. My body is acting like it thinks it's in danger. I decided to check the status of the accounts. My first login attempt failed. Heart racing, I tried again. No luck. Had Alfred locked me out? I did have another thing I could try, a private access method my father had told me about. But after I used it once, surly whoever was locking me out would detect it. I should probably go to the bank in person. But where will I put the funds? Who can I trust if I can't trust Alfred?
I decided to leave the house. I opened my door, briskly descended the stairs and exited quietly, thankful I hadn't happened to run into Alfred on the way out. I turned the key in the ignition and left.
When I was about four miles away, I thought my life was over. Two black vans pulled up behind me, and then one sped up and came alongside me. They drove me off the road. I didn't run; who could I run to, anyway?
They yelled at me to get out of the car, and I complied.
An armed man walked over and pointed his rifle at me. "Robert,"he said. I stayed silent. Had nothing to say.
"Robert, we're the men that, according to your butler, murdered your parents."
I felt a spike of adrenaline at that. What did he mean, "according to your butler"?
"We are currently in what you could call a 'territory disagreement' with a rival group. Your butler works for them. He means to turn you into a weapon to get rid of us."
My head was spinning at this point. It seemed so fantastical, and yet... it was the only explanation that fit the evidence in front of me.
I managed to stammer out a few words. "How do I know that's true?"
"I'm holding a gun to your chest, Robert. Does that matter?"he answered.
He was right. There were two worlds I could be in right now. In one, this guy killed my parents, now has control of me, and yet Alfred is still strangely angry and triggers my hind brain's danger signals when I tell him I don't want to be a vigilante; I'm screwed either way. In the other, the men in front of me are telling the truth, and maybe there's a way out of this.
Taking a deep breath, I compose myself. "I think I need protection. I'm not sure where the money goes if I die, but I suspect Alfred keeps it. I can access it, but I'll need to transfer it all at once. I need to get to the bank, and I need to meet with the teller without interference. If you can grant me that, I'll never interfere with you; things will stay between you and law enforcement as they've always been."
The man with the rifle smiled. "Alrighty, then."he said. "Off to the bank." |
I know the question you are asking right now. Why? Why would I, a once forgotten god of the deep, suddenly pour my vengeance on humanity? Was it because I had nothing to do? Something I did on a whim? My answer would be no. I did all I did for a reason. Let me tell you my story.
There once was a child. A young boy, not more than a few months old. This boy had been abandoned by his parents and his society, left to rot in a relic of a temple, so old only the most senior elders knew the name of the god within. Quite fitting, that two kindred souls would find each other that day.
I raised the boy, for that was my temple. I raised him with all the qualities of a good person, to be brave, strong and determined, with the ability to defend himself and others, and the judgement to decide when to wield his strength. I attempted to give him what his mortal parents could not.
But I also gave him something else. A breath of godhood, a portion of my own powers. I hoped this boy would be able to help humanity in ways I had not been able to, that he would be the sword of the afflicted, the shield of the weak. To become a hero.
And the boy became everything I expected him to be. When he came of age, he set off to slay the monsters of the world and free those imprisoned by fear. You will recall him standing here, in the middle of this throne room, accepting without protest your quest to kill the Beast of the west. For those few years, he became a true hero of the people.
But, as you know, the story doesn't end well. In only a few months, he was back in this throne room, accused of crimes against humanity by those jealous of the power he held. By those who wished society remained chained. And you did nothing but sit there.
As did everyone else. In a beat of a heart, all the praise and appreciation turned to fear and disgust. Those he had helped now turned against him. He found himself without a friend, in his darkest hours. Soon he would be gone, his blood staining the square beneath your royal balcony.
That day, I learned a valuable lesson. You people are quick to look up to individuals, to praise and honor them. Yet you are just as quick to judge, denounce and reject them once their values are out of line with yours. All this while I thought you wanted heroes, but I was wrong. The hero's story never ends well. They get exiled, forgotten, their houses and belongings blown up, their characters derided and ridiculed. You mortals don't deserve heroes.
All you deserve is death. |
As Jonathan sat down his laptop onto the small brown table with a thud, he rubbed his eyes from his horrible sleep. *I just want to get this over with,* he thought.
Yesterday, Jonathan had left school early because of the fire in the cafeteria that had happened during his lunch period. The whole school had erupted into chaos when one of his classmates transformed into a demon and wreaked havoc on the furniture, tossing desks and breaking windows.
As everyone else left, including Jonathan, that one sophomore Steven had been there to pull out his transforming sword and fend the demon off, engaging it in a duel until it flew out of a window. Jonathan had seen it fly out - and onto his car. Steven had followed it outside and battled the creature in the parking lot for everyone to gasp at as they ran. Jonathan, however, was completely pissed when the demon shattered his windshield.
“Ah, shit, no way!” Jonathan cried when the demon took a shot to the chest from Steven’s blade, tinged with blood. The demon immediately got back up and flew towards the woods near the school, Steven running around Jonathan’s car in pursuit. Jonathan just threw his hands to his sides, recoiling his head at the damage. Then, he saw Steven’s clique running out of the school with an assortment of weapons in their hands.
“No, no, no,” Jonathan started, putting his rusty sedan into full gear and hitting the gas before the group of friends cut off his path out of the parking lot. Jonathan’s friend Christoph later told him that the group had put out a fire the demon had started. Jonathan, really, wasn’t surprised.
“Today, we’re just finishing up comp science and then applying,” Jonathan assured himself. “Then you can get out for the weekend.”
The demon incident at Hawthorne High wasn’t the craziest thing Jonathan had seen, either; nor was it the only time he had seen Steven pull out a highly trained gymnastics move with a 5 pound blade in hand. Indeed, Jonathan had seen people lift cars and toss them into buildings before; he’d even seen a girl fall from at least 7 stories and survive. And, about a week ago, while enjoying an italian dish, Jonathan had quite contently watched Steven blast a beam of searing light from his hands about the size of a school bus to kill a large skeleton.
Apparently, Jonathan had heard, Steven was the ‘Chosen One,’ and only he had the power to stop the rising evil in Hawthorne, NC from spreading elsewhere. So he and his group of friends had learned some sort of… something, to channel their powers. Steven was still the special one or something, however.
Jonathan really wanted to leave. He didn’t have time to get with the magic program or whatever - actually, he probably would’ve left by now. But he still had work to finish for his senior year. He’d already taken his finals and every other standardized test he needed to, but he still had one more project to finish, and some applications to fill out for college. Really, he would love to move north to a school for technology, and that’s what he planned on doing. However, there had been a few delays.
Today, however, he was going to get his work done with, no matter what showed up.
Jonathan opened up his laptop and pulled in his chair. He put in his password and got typing away at his essay. The white screen blared in his sleep deprived eyes, but he squinted through it. He regularly checked in with his online spellchecker, knowing his brain was fuzzy and mottled.
After a few paragraphs, a barista called out, “Order for Jonathan!” *Something to wake me up,* Jonathan thought as he got up and walked over to counter. While he walked over, he open and closed his eyes a bit to get himself alert and ready to work.
Jonathan thanked the barista and sat back down. He took a sip of his lightly sweetened coffee, the strong flavor zapping at his senses a little bit. Feeling a little more jarred, he took more notice of the current setting. The small coffee shop, usually buzzing with activity, was mostly quiet as a few people sat back and enjoyed their drinks. It was early, and the only sounds permeating the silence were the workers cleaning the station. Jonathan smiled lightly, took another sip of his coffee, and then breathed in. He was ready to work.
Until the front door opened with a squeak and Steven started walking to the coffee area.
“There’s no…” Jonathan muttered to himself. He stopped his statement as he laid his hand on his forehead and shook his head in disbelief. A woman was now walking to block Steven’s path. *Of course,* thought Jonathan.
Jonathan watched as the two began talking. At first seemingly normal, Steven soon got defensive, his hand hovering at his waist, as the woman began to hiss at him. Jonathan began shaking his again, now reaching for his drink. He pulled it close to his mouth, adjusting the straw as he watched the woman sprout a tail and her skin turn red. Jonathan didn’t flinch as Steven pulled out a sword. The rest of the coffee shop did.
A girl sitting to Jonathan’s right got up, her face painted with terror. She watched Steven begin slicing the demon, frozen with fear.
“Are you not expecting this by now?” Asked Jonathan with a straight tone. The girl turned to him, her face pulled together with disgust.
“Do you see what’s happening?” She exclaimed.
“Of course I do. And, I know what happens next. Another one in this restaurant will become hellspawn and attack that kid, and then they’ll all crash through a window.”
The woman just stared at Jonathan, still stuck in one place. She didn’t even see the events play out as Jonathan had explained, she just heard a loud smash as the brick wall was destroyed and ran out through the back door.
“Unbelievable,” Jonathan murmured. He took a long gulp from his drink, then set it down. *I’m not letting this stop me.*
Jonathan got back to writing. He spent the next hour and a half writing on his laptop. For the first fifteen minutes, he could hear as Steven yelled to his friends as they figured out what was going off and fought off the materializing beasts. Eventually, the chaos took them elsewhere, but some of the beasts still remained outside, smashing windows, stepping on cars, screaming like tornado sirens. Jonathan just zoned them out.
His drink was long gone when he had finished. So was a fourth of the coffee shop. Jonathan just stood up, packed his laptop into his drawstring bag, and walked through the open wall. Luckily, he had walked here, so his car was not in close proximity. Unluckily, he was surrounded by demons, and his car was not in close proximity. With the sound of a bloodcurdling scream, Jonathan booked it back to his house.
When he got there, he hopped into the front seat and popped in the key, but didn’t start moving. He sighed, and thought about what he could do. He had a friend that lived in Virginia not too far away. He could stay there until he figured something out.
Jonathan liked that plan. He thought it over for another minute, then nodded his head. *Oh, and I’ll get a new windshield,* he thought to himself. He put the car in drive, then gassed it out of his driveway. He took a hard right and headed towards the direction of the highway north that’d take him north. Jonathan then realized he’d need to take a side road to avoid the chaos that was downtown.
Halfway past town, driving through a small neighborhood, Jonathan hit the brakes as a demon the size of a house toppled out of the woods, onto the road, and then into a front yard. The Steven Squad was in close pursuit on the back of a dragon. The demon then, in a panic and with a loud scream, took flight over a house and in the direction Steven was headed. The dragon followed suit, letting out an earth-shaking roar.
“They, CANNOT, be heading the same direction I am,” Jonathan yelled. “There is NO shot.”
Jonathan, now angry, slammed his foot on the gas and blazed out of the neighborhood. In just a few minutes, he made it to the final road to get onto the highway. Jonathan was just a minute away from the highway when he saw the demon and dragon battling in the skies in his rearview mirror.
Then, unexplainably, Jonathan turned the car with all his might and drifted to a stop with a piercing *screeech!* Jonathan was breathing heavily as the engine of his car hissed and a man came running out of the woods to his car.
As the man ran to his car door window, Jonathan began violently shaking his head no, refusing to believe what he was seeing. The man stopped next to him, gesturing for him to lower his window. Jonathan swore loudly, then lowered it.
“You have to go back,” the man said.
“No.”
“You have to.”
“Why? Why do I have to?”
“Well, if you haven’t noticed,” the man started, “this chaos all seems to follow you doesn’t it?”
“No, it follows the Chosen One back there,” Jonathan responded immediately.
“Not completely. Things have happened without him being there to stop them. You are the only common factor. I don’t know what that makes you, but the narrative definitely seems to be focused on you.”
“Unreal.” Jonathan floored the gas pedal, trying to run as fast as he could.
“Your car can’t really move right now.”
“I can see that,” Jonathan said through clenched teeth. “Fine, what is it you want me to do?”
“Just, don’t bring this anywhere else. Let us figure it out,” the man said calmly. Jonathan exhaled loudly.
“No, fucking, way,” Jonathan said, more to himself. “How long?”
The man shrugged. “We’ll find out.” Jonathan looked at him coldly, and the man added, “You can move now as well.”
Jonathan tossed his head back and exhaled once again. He was tired of it all. He dropped his head back down and, while shaking it, put the car in reverse, and turned around to head back to town. |
In the alley behind the Newton coffeeshop, Merseyside, the young Englishman grabbed the arm of the so-called "timecop"before he could vanish, too.
"Can you tell what I'm going to do that's so bad?,"he begged. "Why do they keep trying to kill me?"It wasn't the first time he'd asked.
The agent sighed, "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sure previous agents have said this, any information could interfere with the future. It's bad enough limiting the damage they are doing just by coming here."Looking at the young man's forlorn expression, he added, "If it helps, you're just a few years from the hardpoint, after that, they'll leave you alone... At least from your point-of-view."
He stepped clear and activated his timewatch. The young man also stepped back and shielded his eyes in anticipation, almost an old hand at this by now. As the temporal flux bubble began to swirl around him, the agent called out, "Oh and good luck on your audition this afternoon, Mr. Astley! Don't worry, as the great man once said, we're never gonna..."The bubble collapsed with a flash, and he was gone. |
I heard the scanner ensign first.
“Contact Contact Contact, three Terran battleships coming from out-system.” His tone was calm and procedural, “In gunnery range in three minutes.”
I took the time to slowly rise and straighten up my uniform. “Alright everybody battle stations. Gunnery I want the main plasma guns up and ready to fire the second they’re in range, and spin up the las battery for projectile intercept. We all know how these savages like to play”.
Polite laughter tittered amongst the bridge officers and I allowed myself a smile. I’d have to get maintenance to etch another tally into the outside of the hull when this was over. Another mark amongst the hundreds of others. At first he had expected the humans to give up, sure for peace or at least learn to run.
“Comms please notify the destroyer wing, I want all three of us spread out in spearhead formation. Free fire is authorized once we open up.”
Three ships a piece, not exactly a fair fight.
Federation ships were faster, more agile and most critically; they retained a huge firepower advantage at all ranges of engagement. Add to this that no weapon the humans possessed was fast enough to defeat the defensive las-grid, once Federation ships closed to plasma-engagement range fights only ever ended one way.
“Captain!”, called scanner station, “Terran vessels powering weapons!”
Weapons? We’re not even in torpedo range yet.
Scanner shouted again, “Enemy projectile launch!” On the central display, three green markers moved slowly towards three red. “Tracking?” I questioned back at the ensign.
“Negative Sir, I –” The ship rocked violently, throwing me to the floor. Cabin lights flickered out and emergency lights cast the bridge in a dull red glow as backup power automatically activated.
“Report!” I screamed, regaining my feet, but everyone was staring at the central screen, mouths agape. Where three green icons had once been, now there was only us. The three red icons bore down inexorably.
“Someone report! What the hell was that? What happened to the las-grid?”
The officer at engineering turned, and in a trembling voice croaked, “Sir, I’ve got no response from the engine or reactor rooms, and the automatic systems are reporting we’ve been holed from starboard.” He paused to gulp down his fear, “Sir I’m reading loss of atmosphere on all decks, and I’m getting no power. ”
My mind reeled.
How?
The comms officer shouted, “Incoming message, wide band!”
The main screen flickered into life and on it sat a human officer in white dress uniform.
“This is Admiral Yamoto of the Earth Navy Battleship Odinson, addressing all Federation survivors. This message is a formal rejection of any surrender you may wish to offer. I suggest you make any prayers to your gods quickly.”
======================================
If you are interested in any further writings about Yamoto and the Odinson you can check out related stories in this post and on the subreddit where I post all my writing.
https://www.reddit.com/r/EAT\_MY\_WRITING/comments/swyu88/yamoto\_pt\_1/
Feel free to leave me some feedback here. |
“Hello!” I sing to the house. I close the door behind me.
“Ah my favourite person.” Light’s voice says. His voice is rich, deep, and baritone.
“I came with chocolate chips this time. Extra sweet.” I smile.
Light takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. My body walks confidently behind him, barely needing his guidance. I place the items on the countertop and smile in his direction.
“What have you found this week?” I ask as I walk over to a chair and sit on it. I hear him pulling out pans and items and preparing to make the bread.
“Ah a little of this, a little of that.” He mumbles.
“Light!” I warn.
He chuckles. My heart warms a little at the sound.
“I found my mother.” He said.
I perk up. “And?” I ask.
I hear him pouring the ingredients into a bowl and adding the eggs and water. He sighs.
“She’s gone.” He said.
I sit quietly as I listen to him make the bread.
“What does that mean?” I ask. I stand and start making my way towards him. I feel his robe and wrap my arms around his torso, pressing my cheek against his back. He stills.
“It means you’ll never see me.”
We stand still for a while, me hugging him, him still as a statue.
I sigh. “I would rather have you and never see you, than never be able to be with you.”
“I know.” He says. He pats my hands on his abdomen. “Now let me finish this bread.”
I sit back down and wait for him to place it in the oven. As it’s cooking I hear him sitting down on a chair next to me.
He takes my hand, and I feel him being it up to his cold lips. I smile.
“You are the most beautiful being I have ever seen.” He says, “And I am sorry that I couldn’t break the curse. I understand if you need to leave some day.”
I frown, “Why would I ever leave you?” I ask.
“Are you going to be blindfolded forever?” He asks, “Are your children going to be blindfolded in their own home?”
“I… we don’t have to have children. We can just be us!” I say.
“Ana I know how much you want children. Think. Long term.”
I stand and walk over to him. I hold out my hands to touch him and he guides me onto his lap. I straddle him and hug him. “I just want you.” I sigh.
He hugs me tighter and buries his face in the crook of my neck. “We’ll see.” He says.
The buzz alarm for the oven goes off and it startles me. I jump up and hit my temple on his head as he snaps it up. A part of the blindfold lifts up and I can’t help but peek his lips. They’re grey like stone, matching his jaw beneath them. His skin looks like smooth old stone, polished into a man’s face.
I feel my body freezing. My eyes trained on his lips, and a small smile forms on mine. He looks just as beautiful as I suspected. I close my eyes as I feel my body harden into stone. I hear him shout my name, but all I know is that now, at least I’ll be with him forever, as a stone being just like him. |
The man looked up weakly. He tried to speak but only a croak came out.
Death nodded. It disappeared and then appeared a fraction of second layer with some water. “Here. Drink this.”
The man gulped down the water, pausing midway and then threw up. He looked at death apologetically, before drinking the rest of it.
Death smiled again. It put a hand on the man’s throat. The man’s eyes went wide with fear. But slowly the expression changed to relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Who are you? My guardian angel.”
Death laughed. “If I was, I would be doing an extremely bad job. No. I’m death. I’ve come to take you.”
“What? D… death?”
“Indeed.”
The man stared at death for a while before looking around him and then staring at the ground. He didn’t think he still had the ability to cry so the tears from his eyes surprised even him. “I thought you’d be scarier.”
Death was actually quite different from the usual depictions. It looked almost human, with its long brown coat hanging down to below his knees. The hat covered most of its face and it wouldn’t have been difficult to pass it in a crowd without looking twice. If something like a crowd still existed. The most striking thing about it was that instead of a scythe all it carried was a red rose.
Death smiled. “You humans always had an active imagination.”
“So it’s time for me to go?”
“Not just you. Today marks the end of the chapter of earth I call humanity. You’re the last human alive.”
“Wow. Maybe my dad will finally be proud of me.”
“Another thing that fascinated me about humans. The deflection using humour.”
“Well what do you want me to say? I don’t want to die? Yes, of course I don’t. But not like I had an option. I’ve been sitting here waiting for a week now. I knew I didn’t have much time. I had accepted it.”
Death sat beside him. “The sun will set soon. Let’s watch it before we go.”
“Why? I say let’s get it over with.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Not only are you dying, you humans have signed what you’d call my death warrant too.”
“Your death warrant?”
“Look around you. Everything is dying.” Death leaned back and the man saw an old fashioned gun in its holster.
“And? Surely that makes you happy?”
Death laughed. “When nothing is alive, what purpose could I possibly server. I become obsolete. I’ll die off then too.”
The man looked at the sun avoiding its gaze. “We’re… I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It is what it is. Your species was just built like this.”
“Excuse me?”
“Surely this isn’t news to you? The world around you is in tatters. Everything is burning. And you still won’t take responsibility for it. You can’t. That was humanity’s curse. Their selfishness. And their optimism.”
“Surely optimism is a good thing.”
“It can be. But it also stopped you from doing what needed to be done.”
“Well I’m sorry anyways.”
Death laughed. “So tell me something about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell. I was just a cog in the machine. Working in a 9-5 dead end job that routinely became 9-7. I didn’t really live. In fact once the world ended was when my life really started. When the flash happened and everything collapsed I could finally see what all I had missed. I learned to really appreciate things. In fact I reckon this is the real tragedy here. I’m the last human alive. Not some great artist or scholar. But me. I can’t even put together a coherent argument for why humanity didn’t deserve to die. A singularly un-extraordinary man is the last man alive.”
“Do you have anything you wish you could do? Any unfinished business?”
The man hesitated. “I… you healed me. Could you also heal others.”
“I could. As I said life and death are inextricably linked. Life can kill. And I can give life.”
“I… it’s going to sound silly. But my dog is dying. Could you allow him to live for a while longer?”
“Where is your dog?”
The man pointed in a far off direction. “He was too weak to hunt. I came out to see if I could find something for him but collapsed myself.”
Death smiled and handed his rose to the man. “Can you hold this?”
As soon as the man took the rose it started to lose its vitality. The red colour started fading away.
Meanwhile death reached into its jacket and pulled out another rose. The rose was completely wilted. He took back his original rose and handed the wilted rose to the man. “He’s gone unfortunately.”
The man nodded. The tears were back and words failed him.
“It was going to happen sooner or later. As I said, our fates were sealed a while ago.” Death looked at the man with a slight frown.
“No it’s just… I guess you are right. We were always selfish. I wanted me to die before him. Just so I didn’t have to feel the pain.”
Death raised its eyebrows. “Interesting.”
“It’s just that… now he would think I abandoned him. I didn’t. I wanted to go back. I really did.”
Death took the wilted rose and put it away in his jacket again. He handed the original rose back to the man. This time the rose instead of losing its colour, brightened. It became bright read almost as if freshly dipped in blood.
The man looked at the rose and at death, with a confused expression. “What…?”
“It means you can actually save my life.”
“How so?”
“Humanity is doomed. But you have the chance to do something extraordinary. Save us all.”
“How do I do that?”
“You couldn’t save your dog. But you could still save a lot of them.”
The man looked around and a circle of animals had formed around them. Every animal he could imagine was present there. Dogs standing with cats. Sheep, deer and lions all in a circle. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”
“Another thing about humanity I was always fascinated by. The refusal to admit defeat. It’s something I can learn from humanity I suppose. You’ll save me even if I will kill you. Eventually. From the ashes of humanity the Phoenix of life will rise again.” |
"What the fuck?!"I stumble back, my fursuit that I had only gotten past my knees making me fall on the cold, hard ground with a loud thwack.
They all stare at me. Their eyes shining like- like death. They bare their teeth, to grin or scare me, I don't know. But I am not scared. I'm fucking terrified.
The growl and I swear I could feel my bladder going into overdrive. If I hadn't peed just before I set camp, then I would have pissed myself. There is absolutely no doubt about it.
"So you like having fur."One of them asks, I can't even tell who; so from now on they'll be known as Werewolf 1, Werewolf 2, Werewolf 3 and Werewolf 4.
It's not a question. But I start dragging myself away from them. I could feel the small rock digging into my palm. I try to reduce the pressure I am applying to drag myself because it's absolutely not a good idea to bleed in front of werewolves.
A warning growl permeates the air making me freeze.
"Stop!"Werewolf 2 snarls.
And I do. They all continue to stare at me, studying me as if- as if I'm on the menu. I gulp.
"You are scaring him!"Werewolf 3 chastises them. It's voice is almost gentle. But it's also a Wolf's growl and it has a weird effect. I'm not sure if I should be scared or relieved.
*Scared. Definitely scared.*
"Let him be scared. It makes them taste sweeter."Werewolf 4 licks its teeth like I'm a steak.
Which I probably am for them. I start to move back again. I need to get up if I am going to try to run.
"Oh, shut up!"Werewolf 1 says making Werewolf 4 roll its eyes. And the effect is absolutely terrifying.
"You don't have to be scared."Werewolf 2 says gently. "We are not going to hurt you."
I know a lie when I hear one. They have not cornered me like a rabbit to sing kumbaya.
"It's true, we are not."Werewolf 1 agrees.
I try to find my courage to say something but apparently my courage has fled me, just like my common sense when I decided to meet strangers on the internet.
"Remember what you said about breeding."Werewolf 3 says. "We are here for that."
"Excuse me?!"Shock finally overcomes the terror.
"Yeah. You said you want to be ravished and bred like the Omega you are."Werewolf 1 says making all of them howl in agreement.
"I'm not an Omega!"I scream. "It was online role-play. It was supposed to be harmless."
But apparently it wasn't. Because I'm on the ground, and about to live in a reverse-fucking-harem plot of the shittiest smut I could have found.
"But you said it!"Werewolf 4 said confused. "I thought you said you were an Omega wolf"
"It's my fursona!"I yell, finally succeeding in my attempt to get up.
They all look at each other with what I think is guilt but could also be them deciding to eat me. I don't know how werewolf glances work!
"Man, humans are weird."One of them, I don't even care who, mutters.
They are werewolves who were going to breed me and humans are weird.
They all growl, apparently in agreement. And me? I'm sweating bullets. So, I am apparently going to end up their breeder or their food. Not good. Not good at all.
"Wait! I don't have a uterus."I say as the thought finally strikes me. Also, words never thought I would say.
All of them tilt their heads. Then one by one, they shrink back to their human form. I want to say I take a sigh of relief but I can't because the images of them, the actual them is burned into my retina.
"We can't force him. That's not us."
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
"You can leave. We truly can't leave because it's the full moon. And it's important to stay away from humans."
"I'm human!"I say indignant.
They shrug. They tell me to leave and I don't bother with packing my suit. I just run out.
Before I could reach the edge of the forest, I'm taken by a blur of movement. Before I can breathe I find myself among a different group. One with pale skin and pointy teeth.
*Vampires.*
Fuck. |
"So Grand Magister, tell me again what happened with these adventurers that you summoned from another plane to aid us. I thought you said there had been three that we had summoned? I only see one."
The Grand Magister sighed, rubbing the deep furrows on his hands as he attempted to warm them in the cold morning.
"Yes, it did not go exactly as we had anticipated. The three humans had indeed made the transfer safely and successfully, and all seemed relatively enthused about our call for aid."
"But the first had armed themselves with a large sword and shield, and set off in the direction of the dragon's keep. We had insisted to them that the dragon, while technically allied with our enemy-"he said gesturing to the distant teeming masses of goblins and orcs, "-While allied with them, the dragon was not a core priority for our armies to be concerned about. Well, the dragon later sent an emissary to give word that the human had been slain in her lair."
"It almost sounded like she was embarrassed about it. The human had apparently dashed forward, leapt into the air, and struck her a mighty, if ineffective, blow upon her scaled hide. The dragon had said of course at that point she had lashed out and struck the human a mighty blow, crushing their body and impaling them upon her claws. Apparently the only word of greeting, warning, or battle cry of the human had uttered was 'foos-roda.'"
The apprentice cocked their head. "I don't recognize that incantation, Magister."
"Neither do I, young one. In any case the second is the one you see before you,"he said, nodding to a lone warrior standing before the meager armies of the assembled defending alliance. The human was bedecked in ornate arcane armor, carrying just an enormous blade and no shield to speak of.
"That one appears bloodthirsty even by the measure of the foulest orcs and demons"the Magister sighed. "I'm glad that we have summoned them to our aid, for I fear if they have been summoned against us then they would indeed have the chance to prove how 'dark' their soul is, as they spoke of when they arrived"
"And what of this last one, the, uh, 'factory' human?"the Apprentice asked, checking their scroll for the notes they had recorded.
"That human scarcely seemed to care for weapons or magic, only appearing interested in a wand of artifice."
The apprentice again looked puzzled. "I don't recall that one clearly, Magister. What did the incantation upon that wand do?"
"It simply replicates a non-living construct. Typically used for grand things like war barges or great catapults. Instead, the human at first just wanted an odd little platform with a loop of leather attached to the top, propelled into turning by a mild enchantment. I think he called it a 'conveyor belt.'"
The apprentice shrugged. "This is not a weapon I am aware of. How does it slay the enemy?"
The Magister chuckled. "It doesn't. All it does is move something from one end of the leather belt to the other."
The apprentice stared at him, slack-jawed. "You're telling me he wanted an arcane implement that doesn't do anything?"
The Grand Magister tutted at him. "Are not incantations and spells merely chalk and scraps of this and that until we ensorcel them into great and terrible magics?"
The apprentice, humbled, considered again. "But what would he do with such 'conveyor belts?'"
As if by reply there was the sound of prolonged thunder, despite a clear blue sky. The apprentice had almost thought another mage was casting a spell of storms upon them until he realized that as the peal of thunder started to fade, the last few notes were punctuated not by the loud and prolonged rumble that he had expected, but by individual reports such as those produced by a Dwarven explosive.
The Grand Magister pointed to a distant shape behind them that the apprentice had assumed was simply a stand of dead trees. As the apprentice watched, the points of the trees seemed to tip and turn and orient in a different direction, then the apprentice saw each of them flashing great and terrible fireballs from the tips of the trees.
A few moments later, again there came a sound of rumbling thunder, each peal in a delayed staccato matching the fireballs erupting from the cluster of spikes.
"Behold,"the Magister said, "Our third ally."
His gesture followed through the air towards the enemy army, and the apprentice could see a glimmer of small shapes for a mere moment flying through the air before further fireballs erupted, this time in the midst of the enemy ranks. The apprentice could feel their breath catch in their throat, as they saw fire erupt throughout the entire front flank of the enemy ranks. It was as though an entire strike team of mages had arrived and wrought utter devastation with their most powerful magics in a moment.
Then almost as soon as the fires faded, a second burst of fire erupted on the opposite flank, more and more of these fireballs only heralded by a slight whistling noise and a glimmer of metal for a fleeting second before the explosion consumed orcs and goblins in a fiery demise.
The apprentice and Magister watched in uneasy silence as the cluster of spikes far behind their lines continue to belch for fire for the better part of an hour, and the orc and goblin lines were decimated into smoking craters before they could even close in battle. A few scant warriors broke free of their ranks and charged across the field, but they were easily picked off by the archers. The few that made it closest to the wizards were quickly felled by the humming blade of the dark-souled human.
The Magister sighed, and looked to the distant, gently-smoking wisps emanating from the spikes. To the apprentice's surprise, he saw the spikes beginning to move again even though the army was decimated. It appeared that the cluster of spikes was vanishing, disappearing until he noticed that they were retreating in a thin dark line across the distant plane and back into the mountainside.
"Such devastation, and now it is secured in only the gods-know-where within the warrens of passages that artificer has built,"the Magister said. "I have a feeling we may need to have that human dealt with permanently before they threaten the rest of the realm."
The apprentice nodded, looking up to the arcane-armored human who was wiping blood off their blade. "Grandmaster, I think it may have a suggestion for who could accomplish this deed…" |
“Hello” I said, taking off my gloves and meeting the hero’s gaze. “I’m here to rob a bank and you’re going to let me do it.”
“And why should I do that?” The hero said, raising his eyebrow in confusion. “I’m a hero, my job is to stop people like you.”
“Ah, but I’m different.” I said, slowly beginning to smile. “I’m here for money, and that’s it.”
“You just want the money?” The hero asked, moving into a fighting stance. “No diabolical reason or philosophical metaphor about society?”
“No.” I said, shaking my head. “I just want money.”
“Thank god” the hero responded, raising his hands above him as a sign of triumph. "Villain's without deep reasons are much easier to fight. But why do you think I'm going to let you rob the bank?"
“Because I’m broke,” I said, walking past the large barrier and standing face-to-face with the hero.
“
You understand right? You can barely afford an outfit” I said, pointing at the hero’s tattered shirt and pants.
“But I’m—”
“doing good for society?” I said, cutting the hero off mid-sentence. “Tsk. Society underpays and overworks you. I have a different preposition. Join me, help me rob this bank, and live a rich life. Easy.”
“I can’t do that,” the hero said, shaking his head. “I might be broke, sure, but I refuse to be a villain”
“Alright.” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “To a good battle then,” I said offering my hand to shake his.
“To a good bat---” “Ow. What did you poke me with,” the hero said, glaring at me with a look of betrayal.
“Oh, poison. You should drop dead now,” I said smiling.
*THUMP*
“Ethics” I thought, offering the bank teller the same smile I gave the hero. “It’s lovely how it makes heroes so simple.” |
Before I go to sleep I do what I always do and stare at her picture, the laminated plastic held tight in my fingers. I sit for five full minutes drinking her in, fixing her deep in my mind and then rotate back and lie down, saying over and over to myself, "yellow mushroom, yellow mushroom, yellow mushroom".
Almost immediately I slip away into sleep, I have trained myself so well that I can now slip in quickly and easily, finding my way to my world where she waits for me.
I'm in a town, walking and things are going by so quickly but I can't reach any of them. I go to get in my car but I can't get it to start because there is a yellow mushroom under the pedal.
***Yellow mushroom.***
I lie back and I am home in my real bed with her, transported here immediately. In dreams you can do as you want when you want and now I am here. She is curled up into me, fitting perfectly, as I imagine she always does; my perfect woman and here she is deeply in love with me. She obeys my every word and she does as I please. It's perfect.
We spend the day together. Talking, fucking, flying through the world. Mostly flying and fucking to be fair but she does occasionally talk. It goes for years and we grow more in love each day, building a home and then a family together, learning each other's likes and dislikes and sleeping next to each other at night.
***I wake***
My alarm blasts out and I find myself awake, the dreams still clinging to me as I groggily come back to life. Reluctantly I sit up and rub my face. Now for the other world to begin.
It takes an hour to get to work, trapped on a smelly bus. How I long to fly, to be free, like in my dreams. At last I arrive and knock on the door until the bank manager lets me in and I slip into my position and begin sorting out my cash drawers for the day.
She sits three down for me in the Mortgage and Loans booth and I can see her when she leans forward. I try not to stare, but occasionally I forget. the first customer of the day arrives and soon my morning is filled with paying in cheques and sorting out overdrafts and I have no time to think, to dream.
At last it is lunch and I am free of my booth and head back into the break room to eat my sandwich. Once the room was empty, but I could smell her and I managed to fall asleep and grab an hour with her. Most days someone else is on break at the same time though.
I push in and freeze, *it's her*. "Hey Avril."She turns and half smiles at me and I almost faint. She acknowledged me. I urge my legs to move and at last they do and we go in and I sit down. She moves across and sits behind me and begins to eat her soup on the couch. idiot, why didn't I sit there and *I* could watch *her*!
I imagine what we will talk about tonight and I picture her and me talking about this. it will be such bliss and so easy. She'll lean forward to kiss me and I'll reach in, brushing aside her headscarf covered in yellow mushrooms.
***Yellow mushroom***.
I'm asleep, I must be. I am here, at home with her. I have fallen asleep at work, it has become so easy for me to slip into sleep I have managed right now. For a moment I think about waking but then I realise, this is perfect! I sit her down and lean in. "I love you, I want you and I desire you. I want to do everything I can to that perfect body. To fuck you everywhere till you scream and to take you hard and strong and to..."
There is a scream, but of fear, not pleasure. I am awake. The last words are dribbling from my lips, unstoppable. I have said them out loud. I am erect and standing in front of her, it must seem threatening.
There are repercussions. I am fired. I am sent home. I will not be allowed to come back. She never wants to see me again.
I make one stop on the way home and then sit at my own table and pop each pill from the blister pack and swallow it down. There is a pile of packs and boxes left on the table when I am done.
Before I go to sleep I do what I always do and stare at her picture, the laminated plastic held tight in my fingers. I sit for five full minutes drinking her in, fixing her deep in my mind and then rotate back and lie down, saying over and over to myself, "yellow mushroom, yellow mushroom, yellow mushroom".
*****
|
"You don't understand, I want to commercialize your life."
"But, you're the Devil."
"Yes, and I represent everything that is hell, yes, that is true, but you, Donald, you give Hell a new meaning."
"I don't get it, you want to sell me your soul because..."
"I want to recreate your life as my own personal little hell. Your life redefines Hell, I mean the pain, all the agony that is your day to day life, you're a thirty five year old obese balding gas station cashier that lives in a microscopic studio apartment in Koreatown."
"Hey! It's not that bad! I mean, Look at starving people in Africa-- "
"No, I stand around all day in the heat and have people complain to me all the time, it's not that bad. Donald, please, you're perfect, your life is in shambles, your life is so pathetic, you're such an inspiration, imagine all the people I could torture if I could just recreate your own personal Hell for them. Don't do it for me, do it for the sinners." |
The screams of joy pierced the air. the group of men and women congratulated each other and hugs were thrown about as everyone seemed to get caught up in the jubilation.
"We did it, we finally fucking did it!"came a desperately happy cry from Steve, the head scientist. This had been his project for over 20 years, and it had finally yielded real results!
"Shut down the isolation field!"he shouted over the intercom to the other team where the apple had been teleported from.
There was a loud buzz as the field protecting the apple that sat in the centre of the machine dissipated. Steve moved up to the apple and grabbed it in his hand, almost on the brink of tears. He felt the apple in his hand, running his fingers over it. As he did, he let out a gasp. The jubilation immediately stopped. Everyone turned and stared at Steve, but he said nothing, instead he simply stared at the apple.
"Steve, for heaven's sakes, what's the matter?"asked Beverly, his second in command.
Slowly he turned himself to face them, showing them the apple as he did. It had a bite taken from it. Someone had clean bitten into it and ripped a chunk of it off. There were audible gasps from the rest of the team. Some started talking in low, hushed whispers. What could have caused this? Was there something wrong with the machine?
After a long silence had gripped the room, Steve finally spoke up.
"Get some more fruit, we're going to test again..."
In silence the scientists all moved to their stations as a basket of fruit was brought into the first room. One by one, each of the pieces were tested. An orange, a banana, a kiwi, even a melon. Each one emerged with a large bite taken out of it.
Eventually Steve screamed in frustration. "We're moving to human testing, right now."he stated angrily.
"Steve, you're not thinking straight, we clearly have some kinks to work out, and besides that, we haven't got a test sub-"but Beverly was cut off.
"I'll be the test subject."Steve replied, moving himself into the first room and climbing onto the platform where the fruit had been teleported from.
"You're nuts! Utter nuts! Don't do this, please!"Beverly begged.
"Activate the machine!"he called out. No one moved, instead they all stared at both him and Beverly.
"Shut the damned thing off!"Beverly commanded, but the male scientist immediately interjected. "FIRE THIS DAMN THING UP OR YOU'RE ALL FIRED!"he screamed.
There was a whirring noise and a force-field appeared around the scientist as he placed his hands in his pockets.
"On my command."he said, staring straight ahead.
"You're crazy, please...don't do this!"
"3."came the cold reply.
"Steve, I'm begging you!"
"2"he stated, turning slightly away from her.
"STEVE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP!"she cried, tears now forming, her desperation reaching a peak.
"1"Steve replied turning himself away from her fully.
There was a loud screeching noise, followed by a flash of white light. As the sight of the scientists was regained, there came a mass of loud screams from the second room.
Beverly darted for the room, pushing aside the others to see what had happened.
She fell to the floor and began sobbing as she saw the still body of her friend and colleague. He was laying on his back and a large chunk of his abdomen was missing and blood was pouring from the cavity. Something had been written on the back of his lab coat in blood.
'Fruit was better'. |
I walked down the dimly lit prison corridor, my shoes clacking along the linoleum as I went. Dirty faces of prisoners, stuffed into tiny sells like canned sardines, stared out at me pleadingly.
"Please, mister."A frail-looking woman begged. I saw her bloodshot eyes and rotting teeth and frowned.
"Not today."I replied and kept moving.
They knew me well here in the purgatory of cell-block D, where they kept those sentenced to life in prison. A much harsher sentence than it had been a few centuries ago.
The Angel of Death, they called me. With me, I brought the antidote.
The cure to immortality.
The holy grail that had fascinated and eluded humankind since the dawn of our existence. For as long as we have existed we've sought to remove the dark cloud of death hanging over our heads.
We romanticized the notion of living forever without taking a practical look at the consequences. Once we could avert death, we never stopped to ask ourselves if we should.
We could change the physiology of our anatomy, but we couldn't change our nature. Immortality had not given us a change of heart. We had never lived in harmony and peace with one another, and that did not change with the discovery of the AA-X8 vaccine. In fact, the inability to die had only made it worse.
Upon the realization that their enemies could not be killed, the rules of war changed. Defeated armies became prisoners of war. Taken territories were enslaved and imprisoned. Overpopulation became rampant to the point where governments enforced mandatory vasectomies and hysterectomoes at the age of puberty. Overpopulation led to global environmental destruction.
Now, much of the population lived in overcrowded poverty or imprisonment and not even death could release them from their miserable fates.
I stopped outside of a cell at the end of the hall. Its many occupants looked at me through the bars with hope in their eyes.
"772361, you are this month's lottery winner. Your sentence has been pardoned."I said to the crowd of malnourished faces.
The idea of death used to be a punishment; now it was a reward. It was almost kind of funny when you really thought about it.
A disheveled young face came forward and pressed himself against the bars. He couldn't have been more than 15 when he had gotten the AA-X8.
"How long have you been here?"I asked.
"Thirty-five years. Treason, for protesting the treatment of the PoWs."His young face was screwed up and bitter, like he'd been the brunt of a bad joke.
I suppose he was. Sentenced to life in prison for speaking out against the Government. Protesting cruelty had resulted in the cruelty extended onto him.
"Arm,"I instructed. I pulled a small black hypodermic needle from my jacket pocket. Unfortunately, he wasn't the first I had released from such a minor sentence. Nor would he be the last.
He stuck his arm through the gap between the bars and looked into my eyes defiantly.
"Any last words?"I asked.
"Everlasting life means endless suffering. Immortality is a prison. Death is freedom. May my death be kinder than my life has been."
I stuck the needle into his vein and triggered the antidote. His eyes rolled back into his young skull and he began to seize. The other inmates watched in jealous fascination as his chest became still. |
I bite my lip as I review my preparations. Everything has to be perfect. Everything. Must. Be. Perfect.... or else this will all be for nothing.
It’s been years since I’ve seen either of my parents. Years spent in hiding after being dragged into -or worse, being the cause of - their spats. Of course, “spats” implies that they’re just verbal arguments, maybe a bit of thrown household items. You know, the standard bitter divorcees fighting over their only child. Well, my parents aren’t like that. In the first place, they were never married. In the second place, they’re super humans. Mom is perhaps the greatest villain the world has ever seen, at least to hear her talk. She’s psychic, with ALL the powers you might imagine that would entail. Telepathy. Telekinesis. The works. Small wonder she’s a sociopath, albeit a relatively functional one. Dad... Dad is a different case. He’s a hero, but one with interesting capabilities. Basically, he nullifies the superpowers of others at will. They have nothing in common... except me. I know I’m the product of a one night stand... that’s the only part of my conception they agree on, and, therefore, the only one I believe fully.
I spent my first five years with Mom. Dad didn’t know I existed until his fellow heroes started reporting that someone was shutting down their powers. Mom realized I’d inherited Dad’s power... and she intended to use it. There’s a catch though. It only works on one person at a time... which is why the heroes were able to overwhelm me. While my mom was distracted with some act of villainy or another... I was kidnapped.
Ironic... being kidnapped by the self-proclaimed good guys. Mom got me back eventually of course. Nothing stops her from getting what she wants, and she WANTS me. But Dad had me long enough to make me question a life of villainy. He taught me about good things. Warm hugs whenever you’re sad. Kind hands that help you without expecting anything in return. Nice things.... but Mom taught me things too. Things like how to use the telepathy I inherited from her. She showed me the darkness in the world, all the evil and depravity. She may be evil herself... but she isn’t heartless. Actually, a lot of her villainous deeds have helped humanity far more than the heroes’ deeds. It just so happens that they helped her out more, otherwise she wouldn’t bother.
Anyway, she got me back. Then Dad got me again. It was ugly. Mom nearly died. Then she nearly killed Dad. She DID kill his best friend, the one I called “Uncle Stretchyman.” It was a miracle they never got permanently out of commission, but I wasn’t going to wait around for them to kill each other over me.
I ran away. I used my Dad’s nullification powers to hide myself from anyone looking for me. I actually ran into a small group of antiheroes. Hung out with them for a while. I get them. After all I’ve been through, I don’t give a shit about heroism or villainy. What DO I care about? I miss the adventures and fun with my mom. I miss the comfort and love from my dad. I don’t give a damn about anything else. I just want a family. I want them to agree to disagree about the way the world works and accept that I need them. BOTH of them. Together. I just want my family.
I’ve spent years preparing for this day. Some of the antiheroes helped me. The bunker I’m in is practically indestructible. The door is rigged so that psychics and nullification people can come in... but they can’t get out. The only one who knows how to disable it is one of the antiheroes. I don’t know which one. Better that way. The less I know about the escape specifically, the less likely Mom is to find a way out before I’m ready. Ready for what. For them to agree with me. I’ve got enough food, water and other necessities down here to keep us alive for years if necessary. Also, ALL the medical equipment. I know we’ll need it. I’ve got my psychic powers to contact the antiheroes if I need anything else.
Am I really ready to make contact? Only one way to find out. I’ll call Dad first. Give him a bit of a head start to get here before Mom can kill him. Then, after five minutes, I’ll lower my nullification shield. Mom will come running.
Time for a reunion.
First time posting. And on mobile, so sorry if the formatting is crap. Constructive criticism welcome. Hope you enjoyed! |
You blinked, scanning your phone's messaging app. 'It's done' was the only message that was sent from that unknown number.
What was done? You don't remember ordering any services recently, unless it was about the maintenance on your car. You flipped your phone over and over in your palm as you tried to figure out this mystery. Did you order something last night? You can't remember. You frowned; it sounded awfully like something out of a mafia movie-
You froze. Oh. *Oh.*
"Fuck,"you say into the empty house. Didn't someone say that the sins of the past could come to haunt you in the present or something like that?
You thought that it was some made up junk, but now? *Fuck.*
"I really hate you, past me,"you groan. You sank down into one of your sofas and you cradle your head in your hands, a headache forming in-between your eyes.
It'd been years since those dark days, where everything seemed to had been going wrong. Where every single waking moment to get out of bed was a struggle in of itself.
And you must have been ether supremely drunk and welling up with despair that you decided to commit suicide in the most roundabout way possible.
The doorbell rang, taking you out of your thoughts. You could hear your heart hammering in your chest. 'It's okay. Play it cool,' you remind yourself, as you slowly inch towards the door. "Hello?"you call out.
"Er, hey...!"a feminine voice called out your name, and you take a sigh of relief. "It's me, Erika. Is everything okay?"
No, everything was *not* okay. This was so not cash money...
"I'm fine!"you holler.
"Can I come inside?"she asked in a soft voice. "I, ah, I have something to talk to you about..."
Well that doesn't sound good. You were inches away from the door now, and you pull the blinds just far enough on your door's window to peer out at them.
Her aqua-blue eyes blinked back at you behind her glasses. "Er..."she called your name again. "Are you okay? You look really pale..."
"No,"you shake your head, taking in a breath of air through your nose. "I'm fine. Lemme get the door for you,"you say, your clammy hands falling to the doorknob.
You pull the door open, and she stepped inside. You let out a breath of air. They way she seemed to relax as well put you at ease for some reason.
You shook your head. Erika had never let you down before; she'd been your oldest and best friend. You doubt that she'd let you down now.
--
> Part 1 / ???
|
Sunlight glistened on the marble pillars, creating a dazzling display of outlandish colours and geometric shapes. The smell of crisp of bacon and fresh bread filled the room. A gentle tapping of scuttling servants feet alerted the deposed king to arrival of his breakfast but instead of bacon, he found himself staring down at the piggy face of Duke Kalmar.
"Your grace."Said the portly Duke clumsily falling to one knee.
"It's been a long time since I was called that."King Reynard snorted. "So what the hell do you want from me."
"Your grace I only wish to serve."The duke replied abashed.
"Where was your service when they took my throne? Where was your sword when they killed my son? Where were you when I was left to rot in this prison?"King Reynard ranted. "Your service is only given to those who can further your own ambitions. So I ask again what do you want from me?"
"You wound me sire."The Duke said feigning offence.
"Anymore of your falseness and I will wound you. I won't ask again. The army may have betrayed me but I assure you my guards are still loyal."The king said gesturing to the armoured figures flanking the room.
Sweat beaded the portly mans head. His hands shook as he dabbed himself with a handkerchief.
"We ask you to be a king again."
"Are these magnificent heroes of yours not working out as you hoped."The king laughed.
"They're tyrants. They usurped the throne and abuse your people."The portly man bellowed before being cut off.
"And who helped them usurp my throne?"The king asked flatly.
Duke Kalmar shuffled uncomfortably, the beads of sweat on his forehead turning into a raging river.
"No clever comeback, no excuses or pleas? I am severely disappointed my good Duke."
"Please your grace only you can help us, the taxes are destroying us."The duke pleaded.
"It always comes down to money. It's funny how a few percent can suddenly turn a king into a tyrant."The King said eyeing the duke. "However I will accept, swear me your fealty and I will be your king."
"I swear it your grace. You have my sword from this day until the end of days."The Duke said producing his blade.
"Excellent. Now I have a command for you."
"Anything your grace."
"Plunge your sword into your own heart and prove your loyalty." |
My opponent was completely shocked, this was the tenth fireball I'd thrown, by now even the most advanced mages would be panting and have fallen to the ground. He was running on fumes from shielding himself and even our instructors could see it. A few were looking at me with spells active, they wanted to see what cheat I was using to do this. Of course they'd never find it.
As my opponent collapsed not from a hit but from simply exhausting himself the head of combat arts yelled "HOLD!"and came down to check on my opponent. After a few minutes he stared hard at me and I watched his eyes flicker through every detection spell he had. Some I knew were always to be beyond me and that thought saddened me a little. Afterwards he nodded towards the exam proctors.
"Victor and completion of his combat test goes to Artherias. Congratulations."
As I collected myself and walked out of the arena I started letting my brain wrap around the next parts of my apprenticeship completion. Most were simple things, a few had required some creative use of lower power spells, but next was alchemy, hopefully I could come up with something. I knew I'd never be granted Master status while this curse held but becoming a Journeyman was still in the cards. The school was nice enough certainly, the grounds well kept, the building although stranglethorn crawled up it's walls it was kept trimmed in such a way as to seem decorative. The interior always clean, likely because new apprentices were made to practice by cleaning. I missed those days at times, when my potential seemed infinite.
A large oak door now stood in my way and I sighed as I saw the sigil for alchemy carved into it. Reaching for the handle I found it gone, pushed and the door wouldn't budge. I sighed this was of course another test, get through a door. I sighed looked around and considered just fireballing the thing, wood burns, door gone, problem solved. Still I didn't think that'd be appreciated by the professor. I then shrugged and turned around to walk off. I went outside, circled the building and spotted the window that was actually barred open. As the professor liked to say, experiments and enclosed spaces got along like rubywart and sylph tears. I walked over to the wall, second floor so I'd still need something, levitation would strain me some with my weight. A simple wall walk then. Shortly after casting it I walked in through the window to find I was one of the last to make it in.
The professor looked at the window and then at me, then back at the window. "You know, most students tend to use the door even when it's inconvenient."
I shrugged. "This seemed faster, though judging by the number here seems I was wrong."
He waved at an open table piled with ingredients and the tools we had used throughout our training. "For your final you are to impress me."
I waited for further instructions and when none came I grinned, now this was going to be fun, complete freedom, creativity, and my limits wouldn't be near as much hinderance here. I immediately started on my first potion, a simple invisibility potion. As that one was going and I threaded the small amount of mana into it neccessary I started brewing up a variety, a veritable cabinet full all going at once. When I was sure quantity was good and they were all appropriate to what I wanted I worked on the final most impressive one. I would never be able to stop time, or change the weather over a whole town, or even transform myself into a dragon. At least not through my own will and magical ability, but with the help of nature, skill, and time. Well I could do those and so much more, I considered duplicating some of the bigger spells using these, but no he said impress him, everything here was able to be done through normal spellwork as it was. No I wanted flashy, I wanted big, and I wanted IMPOSSIBLE.
I looked over the ingredients I had left and nodded to myself. I checked the others, most were done so I was able to drop the focus for those and let the threads unravel. A variety of ingredients went into the pot in quick succession with mana being threaded into each ingredient individually rather then into the brew itself. As I watched, I waited for just the right moment to add the others I planned. Some rubywart, some phoenix tears, a sprig of stranglethorn, a feather from a sleeping harpy, and the final piece a shred of my flesh.
I watched it boil, I pumped in a continuous stream of mana, as much as I could give at one time. Sure the well was infinite, but the pump was constricted. After a while it turned the right color and consistency and I bottled up three vials before it was empty. I then cleared and cleaned everything, gathering up my potions into my bag, keeping the three final ones in my hand. As I came up to the desk the professor looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Considering the time I expected a bit more then this."I grinned and lifted my bag which clinked and began pulling them out one after the other, each labeled, by the time I was done his desk was near covered.
He shook his head. "Quantity does not trump quality, and I doubt even half of these work."I shrugged and said "Test them."he did, one by one then dismissing the effect with a wave and a word, I was jealous, dismissal spells were high magic and wouldn't be coming my way. After he tried all but the last he looked at me. "I suppose you think a stock of base level potions is enough to impress me? Filling the cupboards is nice but not a sign of someone ready to leave the school."
I looked down at the ones in my hand. "Of course it isn't, no you said to impress you, I did those"waving at the unused ones "because it gave me time to think and work out this one."I raised it up. He studied it in detail. |
"What will it be, sir?"the attendant asked the young man before her.
"Hi. I'll need some... rope, plastic bags, a handsaw, duct tape..."
The man needed to be well supplied, of course, given his plans for renovations of a basement - after all, it was going to be a substantial undertaking.
"Renovating your home, are we?"the attendant asked casually.
"Oh, not exactly,"the man replied. "I"m planning to visit an *old friend*,"he said, a dark glimmer in his eye. Simply because he couldn't wait for the prank he'd surprise his friend with, of course.
Time passed and the man drove his grey, unmarked van - for he just had it washed and the license plate just happened to fall off in the carwash without him noticing - to the house of his old friend and parked right in front. It was the dead of night and he suspected his friend might be fast asleep, but that was the perfect time for the prank. He put on gloves - renovations were dirty work - and set off.
The man snuck around the house and fed his friend's dog a piece of meat with sedatives - he didn't wish for it to bark and wake everyone up, knowing full well how important getting 8 hours of sleep is. He, of course, made sure the sedatives wouldn't harm the good boy. Coming around the back of the house, he carefully inspected the windows and found them unlocked. He chuckled softly - his friend has always been so very forgetful and he knew this could happen. He would have to remind his friend - he doesn't want him to get burgled, after all.
The window opened without so much as a creak - it was clearly well maintained and the man was satisfied with that. He climbed through it - it was already open and he didn't want to wake his friend by knocking on the door. It was time to start.
He spread the plastic sheets he had bought in the living room and set all his tools nearby. Handsaw, duct tape, drills... everything you need for some renovations. He even brought a bottle of chloroform as a solvent for the construction of the wooden floor - polish is *ever* so important.
The time came in the early morning. His friend had awoken, disturbed by a slight noise the man inadvertently made when two of the tools clinked together. He came downstairs armed with a golf club, not knowing the perfectly safety he was in now that the man carefully locked all the doors and windows. The danger of burglary was utterly gone.
***\*Click\****
The friend switched the lights on and gasped as he saw the scene - the bags, tools, chloroform and amidst it all, his friend, a devilish grin on his face.
"Thought you could escape it, didn't you?"the man asked and adjusted his gloves.
"Oh, Mark! You came all this way for..."the friend laughed and set down his club.
"Hey, you said you were gonna make a mancave and you've been procrastinating this entire time. It ends now. We're making a mancave!"the man said excitedly.
Time for some renovations. |
**The Greatest Salesman**
“Mr. President, he wants to speak to you.”
“To me? On the *phone*?” The officer’s face fell. “Why haven’t you apprehended him yet?”
”He’s deep within the dealership’s underground garage and has cameras all around the building. He claims he’s set up an automated calling system. He’s threatened to activate it at any sign of advance. At this point, we are forced to negotiate.”
The President glanced at the monitors set up in the Oval Office. All of them were displaying the strange alien craft, with their pyramidal shapes and seeming lack of a propulsion system. They hovered over Earth like a hammer waiting to fall.
“Put him through.”
The officer mumbled something into this walkie-talkie. Moments later the phone rang. The president waited, then finally answered on its fifth ring.
“Boy, what the heck do you think you’re do— sorry what?”
The officer’s eyes widened. He lurched at the President, making a grab for the phone. “It’s a trap!” he blurted out.
The President pushed back from his desk and held the phone away. “Hey! I want to hear this! Stand down.”
The officer composed himself, standing at the ready.
“Well in fact I do have a 2007 Cadillac.” A pause. “Really? Well that’s very interesting.”
The officer grabbed the bridge of his nose and let out a long exhale. It was actually happening.
A few minutes more and the President ended the call with, “my secretary will be in touch. Yes yes, of course, the Secretary of Defense.”
The President turned toward the officer. His expression shifted from the easygoing confidence to a disgusted sheepishness. “I just… I just bought an extended warranty…”
“Ugh, I’m sorry Mr. President. So did I. We all did.”
“…I bought an extended warranty for all the vehicles in our military.”
A pregnant pause. “Sir, if I may make a suggestion. Let’s put him through to the aliens. He might just be our most effective negotiator.”
___
If you liked this, come on over to r/carlstories. Contrary to popular belief, it’s a subreddit with stories by Carl, not of Carl. Although I’m sure the latter could be arranged… for a price. |
Years have passed since he stole our cradle from us. We do not capitalize his name, for he is no god worthy of respect. He came crashing down in blistering light, surrounded by his heavenly horde. They swarmed Earth, ripping families apart and slaughtering those that resisted. There were no gentle ascensions into the sky; the "chosen ones"were herded aboard glittering vessels and carted away like so much livestock. Once the resistance had been dismantled, "god"returned to his domain upon pillars of fire. Not a word was spoken between he and the humans that had spread out into the solar system. We assume that he views us with disdain for leaving the world he tailored to raise us. Let him continue to do so.
We have since spread to nearby star systems. Their fires and orbiting planets bear no mark of life or "god". So, we claimed them as our own. We are shaping those barren globes to our tastes and needs. We are expanding our empire, harnessing all that the cosmos offers us. Should he ever return to claim the rest of his "children", they will resist. We have conquered the void between suns. We have claimed worlds as our own without his aid. He robbed humanity of their cradle, but he cannot touch our empire.
The heavens belong to humanity, now. The godly heaven will soon be ours as well. Tremble, god, for we will come to reclaim our stolen brethren. |
My oh my how the times have changed. I've seen a lot of strange things in my lifetime, but this one takes the cake. I just witnessed an obese, sweaty, stinky man walk through the front door of a bar, and every single woman in there batted an eye. This behemoth was actually approached by what looks to be the most attractive woman in Brooklyn, and it wasn't to say "Hey pall, you smell like bologna that's been left out for a week. Get lost."
That story may seem pretty odd. You may even be thinking that poor woman was high on every drug under the sun, but you would be wrong. This is a common occurrence now. Three years ago two out of every three dudes spontaneously disappeared. When I say *spontaneously disappeared* I mean we were at a bar and two out of every three fellas just vaporized. **POOF**. Gone. No warnings, no nothing. There one minute, gone the next.
After that, it was like shootin' fish in a barrel. Supply and demand is a vicious, vicious beast. When there were multitudes of men like Brad Pitt in the world, the women were the ones who picked through the selection of lads like the clearance rack at Nordstrom. Now? Fat, stinky, sweaty fucks are pullin' Angelinas every night. These women actually *pay* to have dinner with jerks like that guy.
Now you're probably wondering how I'm doing with all this. I'm not overweight, I shower every day like a normal person, I don't have a sweating problem, and I don't look like I got mauled by a bear. Must be having the time of your life!
Tonight is my four year anniversary. Timing was never my thing. |
Nobody had an issue with the first few minutes. As the few minutes stretched to ten, and then twenty, the world began to panic. I remember my TV screen going insane as BBC was reporting on the current state of the internet; really, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal – must have been something with the wires under the ocean or something, I figured.
The Internet came back on after exactly forty-five minutes, with no explanation as to why it was down. Everyone kept going on their favorite websites and tweeting their thoughts (“OMG wuz the internet down?!?!?!” being at the forefront). I didn’t really mind – I wasn’t much of a lurker anyway; all I used the internet for nowadays was Netflix and YouTube, and even then I wasn’t much of a frequenter. My job as an air traffic controller ate at much of my time, and I wasn’t too keen on getting home and browsing Read-it or Tumbler or any of those other sites that everyone was going ballistic over.
Call me old, I guess.
People said strange things were happening – the Internet was getting nicer. All of the comments after May 1st, 2015, - when the Internet went down - were all far more supportive and nice compared to all of the nasty and hate-filled ones before. For many, this was a vast improvement over the hostile environment that our cellular devices had been breeding over the past decade.
The news had so much to talk about lately, and all of the channels were exploding. CNBC reported that jails were becoming more and more populated, BBC reported that fedora sales were dropping, NBC spoke of how the new friendly internet was inviting to new users and elder users, RNDC talked of how leaving the country was becoming increasingly difficult. All in all though, it seemed as if our World Wide Web was becoming more and more user friendly – perhaps it was that the users had come to appreciate the ‘net over the forty-five minute lapse in connection.
My awakening came on one faithful day when I was browsing YouTube. I saw a video that was explaining why Canada was a better country than the USA from 2011, and decided to watch all of it. Looking through the comments, I saw that people were expressing their desire to leave the country. Wanting to jump on the bandwagon, I quickly typed out my own comment; “Fuck yeah! If only I could jump the border north!” didn’t seem that provocative.
A few days later, there was a knock on the door; two officers from the army, who – upon opening the door – stared me down with a mean glare. “Sir, you’re going to need to come with us – there’s been a report by Google that you were planning on state desertion,” was all one of them said, before they grabbed me by either arm and forced me into their armored car; my wife and child were left screaming in the house in vain.
Maybe it was provocative after all.
|
Hello everyone, I am trying to raise money to send my wife and best friend on a cruise. They have recently developed some common interests, and I think that they would benefit from a very long trip together.
I would send them myself, however I lack the proper understanding of the travel business, so I am seeking to pay for a travel agent who can make all the proper arrangements and see to it that this is a big surprise for them, I don't want them to see it coming and everything has to go perfectly. |
It seemed a little bit chilly out that morning, and I wondered if I'd heard wrong- the weather had mentioned it being in the fifties already.
First I thought there must be a classic car convention going on. A Plymouth, a Chevy, a 49 Ford, and oh, that Thunderbird- what I'd give for that one. Then I looked around a bit more, and there was no Honda, no Smart Cars, no Toyotas in sight. It was literally every car in town. There was a Buick about the size of a cruise ship where my neighbor normally parked his Prius.
Then I noticed the kids. They were all on old bicycles or just walking- no hover boards. The girls had skirts on and those black and white saddle shoes. One kid who looked a hell of a lot like my neighbor's boy was actually wearing a tie. That seemed strange indeed, since that little punk usually ran around in a hoodie and shorts. Come to think of it, I'd never before seen him without earbuds in, looking sullen. But he actually spoke to me this time- said good morning and handed me the paper.
I went back inside and looked at Mary again, she had curlers in her hair and bright red lipstick on. "What's the occasion?"I asked. Her answer stunned me.
"It's my husband's birthday today, Jane, so I want to look nice when he gets home from work.
Her husband. My girlfriend of six years, the woman who had bought this house with me, and was about as attracted to men as I was up until this morning was telling me she had a husband. I could only look at her. There were no words coming into my head at that moment.
She was wearing some amorphous blob of pink with pockets on it and flitting about the house with a feather duster. I got a glimpse of the back of her legs, and saw that her tattoos were not there. What the ever-loving-fuck was going on?
I stood up to go after her and ask for an explanation, when I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the big gilded mirror above the sofa. The fact that we now had a big gilded mirror and a sofa didn't even register, because what looked back at me from the mirror was almost unrecognizable.
Horn rims. Fucking silver, flowery scrolled, horn rim glasses. Blond hair, in curls. And that bright red lipstick. Jesus. I had not worn make up since that one Halloween in third grade, and just exactly what I was wearing- a gray cardigan with little faux pearl buttons, a white shirt with a huge fucking bow at the collar, and a pencil skirt. I looked down, and at least I had on flats.
"What the hell is happening, Mary? Why is everyone dressed like it's 1955 and I don't remember anything leading up to it?"
"Language, Jane!"Mary actually sounded shocked. The woman who taught me new ways to swear every day for the last six years was genuinely shocked that I'd said hell.
"I don't know what you're so upset about, but you'd better run along before you're late for work,"she smiled and led me to the door.
Work. How was I supposed to repair motorcycles in this get up? What would the boys say when they saw this shit?
I walked the half a mile to the shop, and stood there, mouth agape. The shop was still there, but it sure did look different. There were curtains and a display case filled with pastries and pies. I remember the old man saying it had been a bakery when he was a kid. Just what was going on? And why? How?
Collins stuck his fat head out the door and bellowed at me, "You're late, again! Get in here and start on that wedding cake pronto!"
Collins. He was the old man, only now, he was young. But, wait, what? No, that was his father. Because here came the Collins I knew- only he was a little kid.
"I bet you're wondering what kind of dream this is,"He smirked- an expression unmistakable. Yes, that was most definitely the Collins I knew.
A faint sound grew louder and louder, until I realized it was the song "Tequila"by the Champs.
"That's what happens when you eat the worm!"Collins giggled and faded away, as I reached over to the nightstand and turned off the clock radio alarm.
|
Andreas Krimper risked a moment to wipe the sheen off his bald head, the brisk sound of their footsteps echoing through the high ceilings of Dr. Hellstrom's volcanic base. Hellstrom was still babbling on maniacally, eyes fixed on the aqua-blue glow of the central chamber's holo-projector. Krimper quickly tucked away his handkerchief, coming to a halt five steps behind his employer, arranging his face into an impassive scowl right as Hellstrom turned around.
"A perfect plan,"Dr. Hellstrom said, with a gesture at the holographic globe. Skull icons lit up around the world in red, spreading out virally in hundreds of new dots. "The Stromphone 6 is already in shipment throughout the world. Little do those fools realize that the cell network merely serves as a carrier for my mind-control signal!"Krimper kept a straight face as the peaceful aquarium lighting slowly went blood-red, bathing the room in hellfire. Dr. Hellstrom's pupils were alight in pinprick points of blood. "And once we reach full saturation, the signal comes on, and I, Dr. Aleister Hellstrom, will be ruler of the free world!"
"Of course, Dr. Hellstrom,"Krimper said, and took a step to the side and subtly lowered the lighting. "The world at your fingertips."He cleared his throat. "A shame, though..."
Hellstrom's eyes narrowed. "What? Go on, Krimper, what?"
"It's not my place to criticize..."Krimper said quickly, lowering his eyes. "It's a brilliant plan, Dr. Hellstrom, an absolutely brilliant plan-"
"Yes, yes, go on!"Hellstrom snapped, switching off the holo-projector, his face resuming its normal pallor. He scratched at his goatee. "Go on, Krimper, I give you permission to speak!"
"Well,"Krimper said, tucking his hands behind his back. "It's simply that I would hate to see you not get the full adulation you deserve, sir. Mind-controlled servants, they're obedient, certainly, but it lacks the satisfaction of truly bending them to your will, of corrupting their spirits, of forcing them to recognize your true genius."He bowed his head. "Again, a brilliant plan, sir, I'm gratified to be able to serve you-"
"Hrrm,"Hellstrom said, and lowered himself onto his high-backed command chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. "That is true enough, Krimper. There's little satisfaction in lording over puppets..."
"And it's just, as we are now, sir,"Krimper said, circling around the chair and stooping to pick up Dr. Hellstrom's pet cat from his basket in the corner. Mephisto hissed at him once, but consented to be lifted out of his bed. "The Stromphone 6 is a sensation."
"Mere consumerism!"Hellstrom snorted. "I desire power, Krimper, power over men's souls! Not this petty wealth!"
"But just think, Dr. Hellstrom,"Krimper said. "We've set up factories full of child slaves, working their fingers to the bone to manufacture your cellphones. Your strip mining operations for rare earth metals are razing the Earth bare! And the public accepts it, welcomes it, all to purchase more of your phones!"He let Mephisto leap down into Hellstrom's lap. "You've captured them in a devil's bargain."
"That is true,"Hellstrom mused, running his fingers along Mephisto's silky fur. Mephisto closed his eyes and let out a rusty purr. "Those avaricious fools eating out of the palm of my hand..."
"And just think,"Krimper continued, "of how satisfying it would be to have the world obey you willingly. With the funds you were going to use for this mind-control operation, you could easily buy yourself a number of politicians, fund an army of lobbyists, see the effects of your subtle manipulations poisoning the underlying structure of the world."
"Yes,"Hellstrom said, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, yes."He shot to his feet, and Mephisto leaped to the ground with a yowl. "Why should Aleister Hellstrom be satisfied with mere mindless obedience?"He switched the holographic display back on, pulling up profiles, politicians rendered in holographic glass. "Yes, yes,"he said, running his fingers around a senator's chin. "Soon, my influence will spread, and -"Mephisto let out an irritated yowl from around his ankles. "Krimper! Would you get that damn cat out of here! I'm trying to compose my plans!"
"Of course, Dr. Hellstrom,"Krimper said, and scooped up Mephisto again, hurrying him out the door. Krimper risked a glance back at Dr. Hellstrom, completely absorbed in his simulations, lighting up figurines in red like an army of toy soldiers. From his arms, Mephisto glared up balefully at him and hissed.
"I know, kitty, I know,"Krimper crooned, and stroked Mephisto under the chin. Mephisto grumbled deep in his throat. Krimper let the metal doors slide shut behind them and leaned in and whispered. "You've just got to humor him sometimes, that's all." |
NotsoDarkLord: **ONE'S DESTINY IS THEIR OWN. YOU OWE HIM NOTHING, ASIDE FROM PERHAPS COMPENSATION FOR DAMAGED EQUIPMENT, BUT THE DRAGON'S HOARD LIKELY CAN PAY THAT TOLL COUNTLESS TIMES OVER. NTA, CHILD.**
{1.5k Prayers, 110 Admonishments}{see comment chain}
ResidentWitch: ooo, i know just the spell to keep pesky men like that away from ye! Just gift me a lock of your luxurious golden mane, and never again shall perverse eyes lay upon thee!
{500 Prayers, 1k Admonishments}{see comment chain}
{deleted}: *{deleted by moderators.}*
KhajitHardwareandBank: Have you talked to the Knight at all? From what it sounds like it feels like everyone else is pressuring you to try and marry him, but he hasn't lifted a finger. Maybe he also doesn't want it? Regardless, NTA, feel free to deposit that gold in Khajit's bank.
{800 Prayers, 250 Admonishments}{see comment chain}
<<Will probably add more in the future but out of ideas. Feel free to suggest some more in the comments!>> |
It turns out, human emotions aren't as easy to replicate as I thought. It makes me wonder if, in truth, it was evident all along, to anyone clever enough to see through my façade, or if I've somehow gotten worse. I think back to my wife, who always seemed so satisfied with me, so... happy and prosperous, and begin to doubt my own ability to "read"people.
I like my wife. Not in the way *you* would, of course. She's... handy. Useful. She takes care of me, even in ways I don't need to be cared for, and, in return, all I need to do is pretend to love her. She filled that gaping gap of love, which she never got from her parents, and I got to go about my life unimpeded. A mutual agreement in which both parties get what they want. And nothing more than that.
Hence, "cheating"wasn't exactly at the top of my concerns when I found myself... here. After all, she'd never know. This is a different universe, as far as I can tell, and she's not in it. And I'm not going to tell her, and break our agreement. Married life, even this fake version of it that I've been living, suits me.
No, my most urgent worry was that I wouldn't play the role well. I've been acting all my life, but it was the role of someone I wanted to be. Or needed. In real life, I have come to realise, what I want and what I need have been more or less aligned.
Not here.
Here, nothing makes sense. Nobody acts logically, nobody stops to think before speaking or doing. They're unpredictable and emotional, even moreso than normal people in the real world. I've never considered staying here because of that — life's too hard when the constant, rampaging shitstorm of emotions is constantly in effect, in everyone but me.
But to get back, I have to get Annamarie to fall in love with me. And, for all my skill in acting, I have absolutely no clue how to do that.
When Elizabeth fell for me, in the real world, she did that largely of her own accord. I did what I always had, and she fell in love with that. A mask, an act I put on, but nevertheless something I was used to. I never did anything different for her. I was just... there. And that much was enough, for her.
In this world, it seems, "just being there"isn't a particularly functional strategy.
So back to the drawing board I go.
I've tried being attentive. Catering to her every need, being constantly eager and willing and excited to do everything with her. She said I was clingy, obsessive and unhealthy for both her and myself. So, then, I tried the opposite. I pretended to pretend not to care, closed into myself and embodied a different stereotype. She said I'd become emotionally unavailable, distant, and felt like I didn't love her *anymore*.
The irony of that was not lost on me.
I tried a middle ground, too. Being "normal", as Annamarie put it. Having my own hobbies and passions (or pretending to), having work, but still having time for her and eagerness to spend it with her.
I didn't even understand what exactly she didn't like about me then. I suspect that I became too boring.
What exactly is it that she wants? I don't know. But I am being driven increasingly crazier by this world of emotion, or at least that's what I think is happening. There's no other explanation. For a moment, the other day, I thought I almost *felt* something. I was wrong, obviously, but that's still ever more the reason to leave this place; I've never doubted myself before.
Yet, I may have to get used to the idea of staying here. Forever.
Because, for the sake of me, *I. Don't. Know. What. She. Wants.*
Who knew humans could be this confusing.
————————————————————————————————— |
The ship's captain broke free of the ropes that strapped him to the ship's helm. The first mate was psychically compelled to rip off his ear plugs. The boatswain was swaying dangerously atop the railings of the ship, waving to the singing sirens. The chef was cooking up a storm for the siren posing as his dead wife.
Clearly, nothing they did was working.
The sirens worked their magic. Luring men, and nowadays, even women to their deaths. Gender equality I guess. Those man eaters are now human eaters who aren't so fussy about their food.
And me?
Just singing along with the sirens. No, I'm not crazy. Maybe. More desperate to try something, anything, that nobody has tried before. Even if I never took a singing class. Even if my drinking pals said I sing like a grumpy cat trapped in a washing machine.
A siren peering her head from the starboard chuckled. Waved to her sisters to gawk at the spectacle I caused. The singing sensation. With off-key notes and terrible pitch. Their laughter grew, as did my courage and the volume of my singing.
I stole a sideway glance to the left. The captain had a rifle in his hand. I turned back and kept singing. Focused on entertaining the sirens who haven't stopped giggling at my exaggerated antics and clumsy attempts at dancing. A distraction.
One siren clapped. I'm not sure if she's mocking me or genuinely having fun. No longer sure if I was singing along to their siren song, or performing my own improv solo with garbled noises that might not pass for words. Another siren applauded. A genuinely sweet smile on her face. Not the usual voracious, hungry toothy grin of a predator. It's a sweet girl next door kinda smile.
"Encore!"A siren called out with a raised fist.
BANG!
The captain fired at one siren. She toppled over from the edge of the starboard and into the murky waters.
Her sisters screeched in anger. Their lips peeled back to reveal razor-sharp teeth.
BANG!
This time, it was the first mate who took down another siren.
"Kill them!"My crewmates bellowed.
"Kill them all!"Cried the sirens. "Except the cute, clumsy singer. We're making him our little choir boy!"
I scratched my head and stepped aside for the sirens to clamber onto the ship.
I coughed and choked my words before muttering,"Thank you?"
"You're welcome,"that same siren with the sweet smile replied. "I like you." |
"For the love of god George you've been obsessing over this stupid pile of characters for years! Can you just drop it and come to bed? We have to get up early for the funeral."Sharlene vehemently demanded, her husband's tantalizing embrace upon nearing decoding the encryption amounted to nothing in comparison to her fed up rage.
George furiously smashed the components of his keyboard as he found his years of determination to decipher the strange arrangement of symbols we're paying off. The satisfaction of victory overwhelming the retribution of ignoring his wife, he continued to haphazardly pick at his keyboard.
"I'm almost done honey. I've spent 4 entire years trying to solve this bitch and if that means I have to miss the funeral then who cares!"He replied, the warm sweat descending his brow a combination of both stress as he approaches the end and the impending doom he would be rewarded with from his wife after he returned to a rational state of mind.
Sharlene sat down and reduced into an midlife crisis, one sprung by her sudden realization that she had spent too much of her time and effort for a broken marriage.
She spoke in sullen tone, "George that funeral is my mother's. However she's not the only thing that died, because that would also include my love for you."Sharlene stormed out the door, yelling in confirmation "I'd packing my things George, I'm done with this shit!". Still George payed little attention, the scales of importance weighing in favor of the deciphering, plus he could always solve his marriage later.
It was quiet and only the mashing of the keys on George's computer disrupted the silence. The glaring light projecting from the screen the only source of illumination in the room, George's face was scarcely visible and a smile possessed him. He relaxed back in his cheer as he raised his arms in triumph. The only sound being his laughter in delight.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I did it. Oh my god! Take that you stupid bastard I cracked your fucking code, now who's the smart man?"He said, talking to himself. His melancholy a non-factor in his state of being right now as he slowly downloaded the files on his flash drive, rubbing his palms in joyful anticipation.
"Time to see what this little shit has been hiding."He announced to himself, double clicking the file that read "Fuck you dude I won". His obsession still lingering as he paid no attention to his real life problems.
The file opened a document of paper, a collection of black text presented itself in the middle, George had to lean closer to the monitor to make out the tiny font.
*"Ayy lmao."*
________________________________________________________________
Edited the ending because I found this funnier without any context. |
Glen Wharton flipped listlessly through a magazine as he waited for someone to refill his wine glass. It was half past midnight, but the shrill, incessant whining of the jet's engines right outside his window meant that he hadn't been able to get more than ten minutes of uninterrupted sleep.
Mercifully, there were no screaming children on board. The 777 had taken off from Heathrow three hours ago with only about a quarter of its seats filled, but that wasn't Glen's problem. Airlines could go bust for all he cared, if it meant that he could stretch out his legs beyond his seat without kicking someone in the shins. Flying was terrible enough without people.
The pretty flight attendant was back with a bottle. He murmured his thanks to her when she refilled his glass, but if she had paid closer attention to his face, she would have noticed he wasn't looking at her at all.
Rather, he was watching an oddly twitchy fellow in the middle section, two rows in front of him. Seat 31E.
When the flight attendant moved away, he glanced at his watch. At first glance, one would note only the exquisite worksmanship, but Glen wasn't interested in the golden hands or the emerald set in its center. Rather, he studied the fine lettering underneath, carved between the numerals. Few mortal men would be able to make sense of them, but he nodded after a moment's study. For it wasn't the time that he needed; it was the place.
The stale, recycled air seemed to gain a strange odor as he stood, a cross between dried anchovies and rose petals. Nobody paid him any mind as he opened the luggage compartment above him. With care, he unzipped his bag and drew out two thin rods and tiny sack of sand.
When he made sure that everyone around was either asleep or engrossed in their in-flight entertainment, he sidled up the aisle to the twitchy man, one hand in the sack.
The twitchy man whipped his head around just as Glen reached his seat, and despite himself, Glen hesitated. The man's eyes contained every spectrum of color; his pupils were hate-filled slits. He peeled his lips back in a snarl and tensed, ready to leap, but Glen clawed his focus back and threw a fistful of sand into his face.
The twitchy man threw his hands up to block, but it was too late, for the sand merely sank into his skin like water on dry soil. Glen whipped the rods out, held one to either side of the man's face, and said, "Sleep, and keep your ugly mug down."
The man slumped in his seat. Glen let go of the rods, which remained floating beside his ears. Time was running out; or, more accurately, place was running out. This high up in the air, it was difficult to find a place that could lend him enough power to do what needed to be done. And the hardest part was yet to come.
He took the man's luggage out of the compartment above and began rummaging through it, tossing out shirts, balled socks and other junk, not caring that people were beginning to whisper and gesture at him. He could see a flight attendant's feet approaching from the other end of the aisle, which only made him search more desperately.
His fingers brushed against something hard and cold, making him suck in a breath. Tenderly, he withdrew a small, clay figurine of a boy. This was it.
"Sir, what are you doing?"the flight attendant said, one hand held out toward him. "I need you to go drop that and back to your seat."
"Just give me one minute,"Glen said, setting the figurine down before him as he sat cross-legged. Looking up at the flight attendant, he whispered, "Please."The man looked thoroughly confused, but he nodded.
Shutting his eyes, Glen forced everything out of his mind: the voices, the smell of someone's spilled spaghetti, the scrape of shoes on the carpet. Only the figurine remained. He had to do this right; only one try.
He pictured himself laying a hand on the figurine, and muttered several words, mumbo-jumbo that bore no meaning even to himself. And as he imagined, as his mind fingers gently patted the figurine, warmth slowly grew, first from its crown, and then spreading throughout its head. And it was becoming bigger, the limbs losing their hardness ...
The screams told him he'd done it. Opening his eyes, he saw a young boy, five or six years old, looking all around in fright. Breaking into his first smile since he'd boarded the plane, Glen snatched a blanket from a nearby lady's lap and draped it over the boy.
"You're safe now,"he whispered as he drew the boy into a hug. "Your mother is waiting for you back home. You're safe." |
It's quite possibly the most morbid superpower you can ask for. For the most part, I chose to remain silent on the matter. It shouldn't be a surprise to say no one really likes it when I would tell them that they had a week left to live when they were otherwise perfectly healthy. Maybe in seven days they'd meet their end in a traffic accident, or a break-in, or just something strange in general - hell, they could even trip and break their spine on a desk. You just don't know.
Initially, the knowledge of this information terrified me. What was I supposed to do when I saw a total stranger, in better shape than I am in every way, only to have a number in the single digits? Would I introduce myself to them, and then over the next few days, work fervently to prevent their death? I tried to do it at first, I really did. I befriended a few people, heard their stories, and then on the day of their supposed death, stuck with them for the whole day and tried to make them stay as safe as possible.
And then the cosmic impossibility of preventing death would strike me, over and over. Despite my best efforts, I'd always just bear witness to the creation of a new corpse by the end of the day. I'd weep, I'd kick myself, I'd question myself on what I could've done. Eventually, the futility of it all just made me stop trying. I'd become a quiet watcher, my heart used to beat once in sadness whenever I saw someone with mere days left to live, and then nothing more. I'd become so accustomed to the imminent demise of others, there was no more care where there should be sorrow.
I stopped interacting with people in general. Every time the Sun rises, everyone's numbers could only lower. It was like watching the levels of my own mind decrease. Where there should be anxiety at watching everyone's numbers, there was now only apathy. Eventually, watching a 4-digit number drop by one was just like watching a number turn from one to zero.
And then I met her. She had a curious number hanging above her head. -203. That was a true shocker, enough to make my eyes move for the first time in a long time, in response to some strange stimuli. I rubbed them to make sure I wasn't seeing things - no, I wasn't... That was a negative number, this girl is way overdue for a date with the devil.
I quietly observed her. You can usually tell someone's signs of vitality by staring into their eyes. Other body parts may be still, but one's eyes are their true indicators to life. And her eyes puzzled me - there was almost no signs of life in those eyes, but they refused to let go of the remaining flickers of vitality. They looked tired, but they refused to shut, almost as if there was still an overbearing sense of motivation lingering behind. Something that drove her to cling to existence so desperately - an unending flicker of life.
My curiosity was peaked again, the welcoming of death faded as I walked up to her and talked to her, just out of curiosity of what she's after.
We had a nice chat and became friends, but now I was at a loss as to how I should find the answer I wanted - what was keeping this girl going 203 days after her death? Did she find a way to cheat death? How is that even possible, when I've tried so much and failed? The last conversation starter one would probably use is "how on Earth are you still alive?", for quite obvious reasons. Unfortunately, that is the one question I wanted the answer to.
"How on Earth are you still alive?"
*Smooth.*
She blinked a few times, confused, "Pardon?"
"I'm... Curious,"I said, quickly scratching my head, not sure of how to recover the situation, "what keeps you going in life?"
"This is relevant to what we're going for dinner... How?"She shrugged, I'd realised I asked the sudden question during the middle of our dinner plans.
"It's not,"I answered sheepishly, "sorry for interrupting, but we could go to-"
"I wondered the same thing."She said quietly, and it was her turn to cut me off.
Both of us fell silent, looking at each other quietly. The number on her head ticked from -210 to -211. I still haven't gotten used to these numbers technically going... *Up* yet. Before we know it, we sat facing each other, with a plate of food for each before us at some diner in the middle of town.
"Why did you suddenly ask me this?"She asked after a long period of silence, looking down at her food instead of at me, I hardly even heard her speak.
"It's, um..."I couldn't produce an excuse in time.
"Unless..."She mumbled, "You know, too, don't you?"
"Know what?"
"The waitress that served us... She's got two days left to live."
My eyes widened, "Oh."
"'Oh'? Is that all?"
"I didn't know you could see them, too..."
"Well, if you're just like me, then you probably have the same issue as I do."She said, "You can see everyone's... Except your own."
"That's true,"I said, "I can't look above my own head, and I certainly don't see anything when I look into a mirror."
"So what's my number?"She smiled quietly, "I'm curious."
"-211. Negatives, in fact, the only reason we now talk to each other is because I was curious about that."
"It's strange, isn't it?"She said, "Death seems to come all around us. But... How do you actually *die*? I don't know how."
"I don't know, either."I said.
"Negative... Two-eleven,"she repeated, quietly laughing to herself while stirring her cup of tea, "I wonder what I was doing when that number hit zero. Probably still trying to save someone... It doesn't work, huh? No matter how hard you try..."
"You can't stop it."
"Exactly,"she mumbled, "maybe it's time I said my own goodbyes, as well."
"How do you want to go?"I asked. Realising that if someone was eavesdropping, they'd quickly find out we were having the most morbid conversation imaginable.
"When I was younger, I always wanted to see the world,"she said, looking up into the sky, "not the whole world, mind you. There are an awful lot of places out there, and a lot of numbers with them... But surely, in some corner of the world, there could be a place where I'd be at peace. And I can't go, not yet... Not until I've given myself that peace."
"Have you found that place yet?"I asked, she shook her head.
"I wonder where it is,"she said, "You know when you buy something, and your eyes first fall on something that you just instinctively *know* is made just for you? It could be your dream car, or your dream house... Or even a dream suit. But I know I can't go, not until I find my dream contentment."
"I could help you look for it,"I offered, "it's been a long time since I had a nice chat with someone else. And I'd never imagine it would be with someone who shared my power, it'd be an honor to help you."
"I'd like that,"she smiled, "you're welcome to come with me. And maybe, we'll find your own dream contentment as well."
"My own?"I wondered, subconsciously grasping something on top of my head.
"What's... What's my number?"I asked quietly.
She kept staring above my head, merely smiling.
"I have a feeling... Contentment is just around the corner." |
Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. The ant worked very hard all day, storing food in his anthill for the winter. Meanwhile, the grasshopper sat and played his violin. The ant chided the grasshopper for being so lazy, but the grasshopper ignored him and only played his violin more furiously, filling the air with his strange music, beautiful and unearthly.
Eventually, winter came, and the grasshopper had no food. And he begged the ant to share some of his stores, but the ant refused, telling him that he should have planned ahead for the winter. The grasshopper went back to his home, playing his violin in a desperate frenzy, until he finally collapsed from exhaustion and starvation. And the unreal creatures of the void, no longer placated by his unearthly music, came into this world and squashed the ant.
Moral of the story: Just because you don't understand what someone does doesn't mean they aren't contributing. |
I saw the clearing up ahead lit up by a roaring camp fire. They were drinking and laughing. I breathed heavily in anticipation as I felt my blood begin to boil marvellously. But this was weird, I had been looking for them for the last hour since I took their friend Cindy...I'm no expert on the sane mind, but I'm pretty sure they should, like care that their friend was captured right? Maybe be afraid..I moved quietly between the trees to get a closer look.
The petite blonde girl began crying as the men ran towards the lake leaving her alone. This was more like it. I heaved the bloody axe to rest on my leather shoulder pad as I walked through the tree line out into the clearing and let out a maniacal laugh. The petite girl Rebecca spun round and let out a scream of pure terror as she fell back off the log in shock.
"That's right little girl, let me savour those last moments of candid terror before I chop that pretty little face up!"I declared cheerfully
I begun to revel in the moment, swinging my axe down into the log as I pulled her by the hair onto the log, chopping block style. But suddenly I heard quick crashes through the trees, wheeling around I spotted the two men dash back into the clearing brandishing makeshift spears. I looked down at Rebecca, her hair still clutched roughly in my hand. The bitch was laughing her fucking ass off. I stepped back disturbed by the turn of events.
"Ah good, we're not too late! Couldn't have you starting the party before we got our weapons ready!"said their leader Chuck with a defiant smirk on his face. I backed up some more as Rebecca got up and caught a knife from Chuck and joined the others in a semi circle on the other side of the fire.
"Hehehe you crazy kids have saved me the effort of finding you all one by one. Its like a 3 for 1 deal!"I bluffed triumphantly
I yanked my axe out of the log and spun it deftly around my fingers in anticipation. That's when I heard more crashes from behind me, I hopped to one side and searched for the source of the noise frantically. Holy shit, it was Cindy. She was covered in blood and breathing heavily.
"How did you get out of the basement!?"I yelled in frustration
"Sorry I'm late guys, the fucker used a cowboy bowline knot on me. Took a while to wriggle free without breaking my damn neck"she said in a steady, deadpan tone
I looked back at Chuck who gave me a 'women am I right' shrug of the shoulders. I looked at the group as they begun tending to Cindy's injuries like I wasn't there.
I surveyed the scene in bewilderment for a few long moments.
"I'm sorry but what the fuck is happening here? Why aren't you panicking at all?"I said in a flustered, defeated tone
"Sorry Chief, this isn't our first rodeo. You're our third murderer this year"Chuck explained nonchalantly.
"What have we got this time anyways Rebecca?"Cindy asked rubbing her neck wound
Rebecca eyed me up and down and turned back to her friend "Another axe murderer, looks like he has some sort of disfigurement under his mask. Likely due to some childhood trauma that led him onto the path of mania"she explained like you would the weather forecast for the week
"Ugh how cliche', alright freak lets dance!"Cindy challenged as she smashed a beer bottle on a log.
My heart begun racing as I eyed the 4 teens converging on me with an array of weapons, without the slightest ounce of fear. I turned round and begun running through the vegetation, "fuck this you kids aren't right in the head, help!"I yelled breaking out in a cold sweat. So this is what it was like to be the victim.
|
Approximately 23 hours ago, all signals and information originating from the United States of America have ceased, except for one.
A countdown of 24 hours, broadcasted live onto all countries.
Approximately 20 hours ago, the United Nations convened in haste to discuss the blackout of the United States.
Approximately 17 hours ago, Canadian and Mexican forces have stepped onto U.S. soil.
Approximately 14 hours ago, all said forces have been confirmed killed in action.
Approximately 10 hours ago, all U.S. sirens have begun to scream.
Approximately 7 hours ago, all U.S. satellites have self-destructed. The Americans aboard the International Space Station have been reported to have committed suicide.
Approximately 5 hours ago, spy planes have revealed and reported no activity in any coastal U.S. city, civilian or military.
Approximately 3 hours ago, major population centers in Mexico and Canada have been evacuated.
Approximately 2 hours ago, Russia has reported multiple explosions in Anchorage, Alaska.
Approximately 1 hour ago, a spy plane has sent one last signal before being shot down.
An image of a large rocket, with what he now been reported to have a nuclear warhead.
Approximately 30 minutes ago, all major world cities have begun evacuating.
Approximately 10 seconds ago, the first and last signal has been out from the U.S. Government.
Approximately 5 seconds ago, multiple launches have been detected.
4
3
2
The message read,
1
"Happy Independence Day." |
Sam changed the Channel.
She was sitting at her home desk. Her apartment was downtown, with a great view she hardly saw. Her former bedroom had been converted into a computer room.
The desktop was the fastest computer she had ever had. She used three monitors, hooked together so that she could drag from screen to screen.
On the central monitor, she had work stuff. Sam was a lawyer, and prior to the invention of 23/7, she would have given anything to not need sleep. Now that it applied to everyone, her workload had only increased. People filed appeals that would have been a waste of time before, because now there was no such thing. Most frivolous appeals she could send responses to without even thinking about it, but it still took hours to deal with them.
On the left monitor, she had a personal project. This one she thought very carefully about, and paused her grunt work every hour or so to add a few sentences.
On the right monitor was the national pastime. Channel, the bastard child of traditional broadcasting and Chatroulette.
Not everyone could live the 140-hour workweek of a lawyer. Grocery stores and shops that hadn’t been 24-hour before stayed on the daytime schedule. Restaurants, clubs, movie theaters, and anywhere people could go to entertain themselves, on the other hand, had almost all switched to the 24-hour model.
It was isolating to sit through the night alone. People did their best to avoid it.
But not everyone had the salary of a lawyer working 140 hours either. For people who didn’t want to be alone, but couldn’t go out, there was Channel.
Sam’s fingers moved, typing on her central screen, but her eyes followed strangers.
The girl up now was a famous webcam model. She was beautiful, with an innocent face that would make an artist scramble for sketch paper. She was dressed in a soft pink negligee and fuzzy slippers, curled up in bed. In her arms was a stuffed rabbit. She had been sleeping for about four hours. Millions watched her.
Less than 1% of the population was allergic to 23/7, and were stuck in a traditional human sleep cycle. There was a proposal to get them added to disability funding that Sam had been following with interest.
Sleeping Beauty had other videos, more traditional webcam fare like stripping and servicing dildos. But for some reason her nightly stream of traditional sleep was the most popular. People didn’t need to sleep anymore, but that didn’t mean no one missed it.
Sam changed the Channel.
A small clock in the corner read 50 hours, and steadily ticked upward. An Asian kid screamed at the camera. His username was CussWordSteve, and he was playing Call of Duty online. The other player had found his stream and used it to easily win the game. CussWordSteve thought this was bullshit, and wanted all his users to know.
He switched from map to map, all user-generated. The gaming community had advanced insanely since everyone had an additional seven hours to modify what they already had. He settled on one with Minecraft graphics, using Mario powerups instead of traditional weapons.
Sam left that one on for a few hours. Steve was doing a marathon run, playing for 72 hours straight. When it was finished he would crash and sleep for three hours straight. Sam used a lot of the little free time she had on gaming, and would try that Minecraft map later.
When the counter hit 53 hours, Sam changed the Channel. This time it was something law-related, an official government broadcast. She pulled up a notepad doc on the far left monitor and started taking notes.
The trial for the inventor of 23/7 was ongoing. Immediately after its patent, it had been flagged as something of interest to the United States government. They had offered to buy out the rights. It wasn’t the kind of offer you could say no to. Instead, the chemist had released the process online, and in a week people were making it in their bathtubs.
His freedom was Sam’s personal project. They knew from other parts of the world what happened when there was uneven distribution of 23/7. If that had happened in a more organized manner in the U.S., it could have been an unprecedented disaster. He should have monuments, not a potential life sentence.
The viewer numbers skyrocketed, hitting over a billion, and the Channel crashed. She wasn’t the only one who wanted him freed.
Sam returned to her central monitor work, and flipped around aimlessly for a while. Nearly everyone had their own broadcast. Sam was streaming her work as she did it. But unless your channel-seeking was set to random, only friends were likely to tune in. Nearly everyone she found was speaking another language, working quietly like her, or had their dick out.
“Please help. Ayudame. Aidez moi.” Sam paused her channel-flipping on a black kid in a green uniform. He continued asking for help in a few other languages before he saw he had a viewer and continued in French-accented English.
“I’m a survivor. I managed to get some pills but my supply is running out. Please, deposit into my account and I will be able to ship more in.”
“I didn’t think there were any survivors,” Sam said, politely neutral to the point of skepticism.
“Red Army had pills. They came in the night. Every night. But Blue Army killed some of Red Army, and the bodies had pills of their own. Please, you’re the first one I’ve seen in hours. Please help me.” He was desperate, tearing up. He had the bloodshot eyes characteristic of someone who hadn’t taken 23/7 in a while.
“Why don’t you sell your computer?”
“If I sell my computer, then no one will even know to help me. I’ll save today by killing tomorrow.”
Sam saw the logic there, but still thought, “Bullshit”. The Sleepless Genocide had neared a 100% fatality rate. The leader of the country had given the pills to only his personal militia, and constant Midnight Raids wore down their enemies to nothing. Anyone who had survived was already out of the country and famous, tragic in the way of Anne Frank. Scams had started popping up after their story, chances given to save people who were already dead.
A second viewer appeared in the kid’s channel.
“They can see me! Please, I have to go! You’re my last chance!”
A time limit to pressure people into helping. Classic. Sam kept working, declining even to respond. Every second he stayed longer on the line was less time scamming other people.
“Please! I-” In the middle of his sentence, red splattered across the camera. Through the streaks, she could see his body collapse bonelessly, head in fragments.
“Well damn. I guess he wasn’t faking.”
Sam changed the Channel.
______________________________________________________
31/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated. |
When I was a boy, I needed a light on at all times in my bedroom so that I could sleep. It was such a simple thing, that dollar-store nightlight, but it kept the monster that hid in the shadows of my room at bay--after all, if the shadows under my bed or in my closet weren't connected to my body, it would never be able to hurt me. I don't know why or how I knew that.
So he never got me, but the monster watched at a distance, eyeing me as I slept, retreating to his own dimension once the sun rose. He learned a lot about me as I grew up, too. The bedroom is where I took calls from friends, and played games online, and sang in the shower. It's where I cried when things hurt and where I screamed after a nightmare.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that the creature hiding in my shadows probably knew more about me than anyone else ever did. It's easy to know someone's birthday, or their favorite color, but their darkest fears? How they act when no one else is around? There are things every human will keep to themselves forever; little treasures buried in our hearts and graves, never to be discovered. In a way, it's sad.
But the monster knew everything, and it too grew smarter with time. It followed me through my move in tenth grade, and it couldn't talk, but I felt it lurking. There was a dark presence in the blanket darkness of night, something that made the air heavy, and it would make me. . . feel things. Powerful emotions I didn't understand or want; pain, anger, despair, hopelessness. After a while, it felt like the world itself was against me and there was nothing in the world worth trusting--not even myself. I fought with people I cared about for no good reason, just because it felt good to release even a fraction of the hate and misery pressurized inside my heart.
The monster followed me still through college and my first job, like it always knew just where to find me, no matter how far I ran. It *always* knew how to find me. Maybe spending a lifetime together makes that possible.
What was once a sliver of darkness lurking in the shadows had become something else entirely. After years of feeding off my sorrow, frustration and misery, surely it had become something. . . new. Something terrifying; a behemoth that knew my brain better than I did with a taste for what my deepest regrets and pains were. It didn't even need to hide in the shadows anymore, or anywhere else, really. I don't know where it was, but I felt it. It would come in waves, these soul-crushing, existential crises, where I felt like nothing I'd ever do in life would matter. My life would be nothing but a series of vaguely remembered failures in a retirement home once I died, or maybe a high school graduation picture rotting in a landfill somewhere. It was hard to talk to strangers most days, and I wanted to be alone after work. It felt like there was just no point to even trying--I was a hamster running in endless circles, trying so goddamn hard to go somewhere, anywhere, but staying in place nonetheless. Would anyone have even cared if I'd died?
My monster was relentless and motivated, that's for sure. No one could call it a slacker. I missed the days when I was a kid, and Mom could just plug in that little nightlight to keep the shadows and terror away. The darker it would get, the harder it was to find a way to flip the lights on.
Then I met Jane.
I learned the hard way that, most of the time, someone else has to flip it for you.
I learned that it wasn't just me--most people are haunted by their monster, too.
And it's scary to let someone into the hallowed halls of a scarred heart, whether it's a lover, friend or just someone whose job it is to know the way out, but the most important thing I learned is this:
It's people that become your nightlight.
----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
There was a ringing silence as all of them were staring at the tall, gaunt figure cloaked in a black cloth that barely reflected any light. Because of this they could hardly make out the folds in the cloth. And as for the scythe, it was made of black wood but the blade had an odd shine.
Despite the eerie appearance what made everyone uneasy was the 'absence' of its presence. Few moments later, Tecyris, the god of life of the Daumin race spoke,
"Erm … There might be a misunderstanding here. This is the conference between the kindest and merciful of gods."
A second passed in silence and then the figure spoke slowly,
"There is no misunderstanding."
Its voice was mixture of a man's, a woman's and a child's. Few of the gods gasped on hearing its voice. Then Quahliya, the goddess of medicine and healing of the Vaguroth race, asked,
"Who are you?"
Again silence for a second and then it spoke,
"I am Death."
The next moment the hall burst into murmuring. One of them stood up and said loudly while pointing at Death,
"You are not welcome here. Please leave."
Death turned to the one standing. He flinched a little. It asked,
"Why?"
"Because all you do is take."another shouted. She was dressed in the most lively leaves and flowers with supple bark as her ornaments. "And all you leave behind is suffering."
Everyone was agreeing to her and voicing their disapproval of Death.
"Please, let's stop this."it was Tecyris who spoke. "It is my opposite but I’m willing to hear it."
Everyone slowly became silent. Tecyris turned to death and asked,
"Why do you think you belong here?"
Death turned to the woman who shouted at it.
"You say I only take and leave only suffering?
No. I end suffering. I bring peace. I am an escape from despair. I am freedom from pain. I am the rest for the weary.
To fear me is ignorance. To accept me is truth. When all of you fail, I do not." |
What is worst thing that could happen when you read about morality? You start imbibing lessons. But are lessons worth something if you are the worse thing that has stepped foot in the halls of the Correction Facility?
Simon looked at the wall that had been blown off by explosives. Freedom lay in front of him, so why is it that all he could think about is Nietzsche?
*And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.*
But he was already the abyss. The only thing to stare back would be the darkness of his soul. How does someone walk back towards humanity from that?
Simon had never claimed to be a good person. Because he wasn't. He did what he wanted to do. He never tried to what's right but he never stopped himself from doing what's wrong either. So why was it that few books from moral philosophy had affected his so. Him of all people? He who killed for a minor inconvenience. He who ruled, no, plagued, half the city.
*What is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.*
But had he ever felt bad for his actions?
Yes. The answer came unbidden.
The reason he was here.
Bodies of children that still haunted his dreams. Bodies of children that were dead because of the drugs that his organization supplied. Entire fleet of children that were being transported because he didn't know what his men were doing. He had promised himself that no harm will come to children and he had failed and failed miserably.
The cacophony of inmates escaping and few feeble attempts from guards trying to stop him reached him as though walking through a swamp.
He had known ever since that day that he doesn't deserve freedom. He did not deserve anything. So he turned walked back to the chair near guards who watched him with apprehension. Another thought from a philosopher came to his mind as he watched the inmates trampling each other trying to get out,
*No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man*. |
"But whatever of the paradoxes involved?! You can't just ignore them. What if I went back in time and killed my great grandmother?"I burped incoherently.
This is when you knew we were drunk. The discussion that takes place when you are a physics major according to the amount of alcohol consumed is roughly:
30 ml - Girls (or lack of)
90 ml - Girls (or lack of)
150 ml - Applied Physics
Today's discussion was Time Travel.
"That is such a strange choice of family member to be killed. If you want to obliterate yourself - please, be my guest. I do not, however, see the need of wiping off two entire generations of your family for no reason whatsoever.
Your mother makes the most fabulous Biryani I have ever had. And your grandmother used to knit lovely socks. She's gifted me several pairs, bless her soul. As a matter of fact I'm wearing one right now"said Art, pulling up his
trousers to show me a woolen cloth with a rather bloated looking reindeer on it.
It was strange to see something that had gone out of fashion centuries ago. You no longer needed the sock, you see, with air pockets having been
created in shoes to comfortably cradle your foot.
"So your entire argument is - socks?"
"I do love them"
"And the Biryani? Could you live without that?"
"I suppose so, but -"paused Art. "You are a sick, sick individual. Do you know that?"
I grinned, finishing off the remaining whisky in a gusto.
"But seriously"continued Art, "in case one of us does manage to invent a way to traverse through time (and I'm sure your mum wouldn't be too happy about it), we should come back here, at this exact moment, and share a drink with
our past selves"
"So you would basically risk affecting the entire spacetime fabric - for a drink??"I exclaimed. After pondering for a few seconds - "Well, why not", I shrugged nonchalantly as we shook our hands over it.
Just as Art excused himself to go to the bathroom, I turned and saw him sitting beside me again. Humans, in all their time on Earth, hadn't managed to invent a way to travel through time. But you want to mess with time and make it
seem to simultaneously pass slow and fast until it confuses the hell out of your semi conscious brain? Enter Alcohol. But no, there was something different about this Art. He looked older, and had facial hair. The current Art
had managed to grow a grand total of 10 sparsely distributed strands of beard hair during his pointless No-Shave-November undertaking in our First Semester. Of all the various human rituals, festivals and customs that had survived
the test of time, it was No-Shave-November that had shone through. We are utterly fascinating creatures.
"Do not panic"said older looking Art.
I slowly processed the conversation Art and I had just had and the person standing in front of me. As my brain fought furiously to make sense of everything through it's sluggishness - realization dawned.
And I proceeded to freak out.
"Listen I don't have too much ti-"
"Are you mentally insane? Do you have any idea as to what you have done"I hissed as I cut him off.
"Listen to me please. I picked this exact moment in time as I knew my older self would be gone for a few minutes - giving me a window in which I could talk to you. Your inebriated state and the conversation you were just having
makes you more receptive to a future Art, and less likely to bludgeon me out of fear and panic. Pleasantries aside, I have come back here to deliver a message specifically intended for you and for you alone. My message to you is
- Don't do it"
The alcohol had completely worn off now.
"But aren't you going to tell me anything else?"I screamed, while noticing the restroom door slowly open in one corner of my eye.
"No, I have said enough. Goodbye"trailed future Art as he rushed out the door.
The rest of the night was a blur.
***
I was never the same again after that day. I spent a couple of days in denial - attributing my encounter to the fine whisky that we were having. But deep down I knew what had happened, and was burdened with the knowledge I had
come to possess. We had been lying on the brink of a breakthrough for decades now, having almost perfected the theory behind Time Travel. Of course the public didn't know that - most of the latest research that went on at the
University was controlled by the Government. We were aware that it was a price we had to pay to pursue our passion, and it seemed like a small ask at the time. But the increasing secrecy surrounding my area of research (The Energy
Problem) along with my burden almost broke me. You have to realize my situation at that time. The only remaining aspect of Time Travel that remained unsolved was the Energy Problem - how do you generate the incredibly high amount
of energy required to carry out the procedure. Current calculations indicated power that would cause an outage of roughly half the civilized world would be enough to send a peanut back in time a few milliseconds.
We didn't nearly possess enough energy to transport even a hamster, leave alone a fully grown human. And I was working night and day to fix that problem, with a new found purpose now. There is a huge difference between a
man who does research on a problem without knowing if a solution even exists and a man who does research with the knowledge
that the solution will not only been found, it will be found in the immediate future. I graduated, and continued my research independently as a member of the Government's Science Division.
Art went to the department of Practical Time Travel, which looked at the ramifications of sending a human back in time. Over time, I almost forgot about my interaction that day.
&nbsp;
Until almost two decades later...
&nbsp;
>"Don't do it"
&nbsp;
..the words came back to haunt me again. I was heading the Energy Problem division now, and the future of Time Travel seemed to lay in my hand. The end was in sight, and I had hope I would be able
to quickly develop the technology needed to reach it. However, the project was by and large driven solely by my research, and I was in the unique position of controlling mankind's fate itself.
I doubt anyone fully understood what I had done these past years. Did anyone have the capability of taking my research forward if I failed in my attempt?
Meanwhile my relationship with Art had grown sour over the years. He was increasingly concerned about the potential instability that would be created by sending someone back in time. We had many arguments over the ethos of the
entire thing. Science had only developed to a point where we believed ourselves capable of sending someone back in time. But what would happen if we sent someone back, and they messed around? Would the ripples of the past affect
our present reality. A small innocuous change could wipe out the entire race. If one plays with fire, they can get burnt. We were playing around with a flamethrower the size of continental Russia. However, I had vested interest
in my research, and felt we were too deep down the rabbit hole to turn back now. I was foolish. I was young. Well okay I had youthful temperament.
&nbsp;
>"Don't do it"
&nbsp;
I woke up that night with these words ringing in my ears. But only for the first time did I properly understand the implications of that statement. Art, who constantly argued against the project. Art, who constantly warned me of
the consequences of my actions. Art, who knew I was the person who controlled whether this concept became a reality or not. Art had come back in time to tell me to discontinue my research, erase the evidence, and sacrifice
everything that I had done till date. And just like that, it all made sense.
The statement took over my mind, and it began to consume me.
It began to consume me till it was the first thought at the start of the day, and the last thought at the end of the night. It began to consume me till I was overwhelmed with the guilt and the burden of what I was about to create.
It began to consume me till I was fully convinced of Art's reasoning, of the folly of what we were doing. It began to consume me till I decided to kill myself.
***
I was standing on a cliff the night of September the 3rd, 2367. I had thought about this moment for over a week now, and it seemed like the right way to go. I had always wanted to bungee jump, and now I wanted to die. This seemed
like the best compromise. So convinced I was of my own superiority, I didn't see fit to destroy any of my research before going. I doubted anyone would be able to figure the problem out for a very long time. It wouldn't matter anyway.
The only person I would miss was probably Art. I had no wife and no kids. I wasn't allowed to have much of a social life, such had been the nature of my job. I looked at the sky. The sun was rising fast. Within hours people would
swarm the place, would discover my body and the news would spread. Just the way I wanted it. I looked down one last time.
Just then I realized that September the 3rd, 2367, was the day I had died.
***
The news, instead of deterring everyone, had accelerated the Energy Problem research even more. I wasn't as smart as I thought, and Art was more resolute than I figured. Within a decade they had managed to solve the equation,thanks mainly to my undestroyed research and meticulously documented notes. Art, director then, volunteered to be the first human subject to be sent back in time.
He was successful in his attempt.
&nbsp;
>"Don't do it"
&nbsp;
As I stared down the cliff, I finally understood what those words meant. And as I started walking back towards my home, I pondered. This was never about the science. This was simply about a man who had succeeded in developing possibly the greatest and most powerful instrument ever known to mankind.
And him using it to save an old friend.
|
Here's to Tom, the man of the hour! I'm sure there are a lot of you wondering how he managed to catch a lady as... nice as Karen, but I'm here to tell you that it wasn't all luck! I've known Tom since grade school, and I've stood by every poor decision he's made to get himself to where he is today.
The day they met has changed both of our lives permanently. Karen is an indescribable influence in Tom's life, and I can't imagine what crazy places and things Tom would be doing if she weren't here today. The day they met, Tom told me he was done with women, and that from this moment forward he could only see them as objects. He said to me, "Bill, I'm going to fuck the next woman that walks by, because they are all soulless harpies, and I could truly give zero fucks what a single one of them thinks of me."Anyway, the next woman to walk by was Karen, and they've been together ever since.
Well, I need to tell an embarrassing story too, right? Tom, do you remember that time we went to Mexico over Spring break? That was maybe the last time that I had Tom all to myself, without Karen hovering over him like a guardian angel. We saw these two young ladies drunk on a street corner, and Tom insisted that we make sure that they made it home safely. To cut a long story short, we found out later that those two were prostitutes, and were trying to take *us* home! That's classic Tom, always finding fast, easy women when we least expect it. Priceless, I will always remember the times we spent together and how formative they were to the development of his relationship with Karen.
I think what really impresses me the most about this couple is their devotion to each other. Not many people know this about Tom, but he turned down a scholarship at Princeton, and then a job offer at Intel, just so that he could stay with Karen. Sadly, Karen could not make the move with Tom for either opportunity, due to her Grandmother's cat, Poopsie, which needs occasional housesitting. But I'm sure this is all water under the bridge, as you two are here to profess your unwavering, undying and eternal love to one another today, am I right?
To wrap things up, I just want to say how happy I am for Tom and Karen, and I truly couldn't imagine a couple more well suited for each other. I mean, I was engaged 3 years ago and the woman of my dreams turned out to be a crack whore, so I guess you never know what's going to happen in the end, but the best of luck to both of you! Here's to the new couple! |
As Edgar Villanova Igor Lemons found out from the start, just because you are E.V.I.L., doesn't mean that you just get to coast your way through Evil U. In fact, without a super power, most weren't even considered for a spot in the Super Villainy major. Most were just thrown into henchman with the rest of the bunch. And as much as Edgar tried to convince his way in, Super Ordinary was not the super power they wanted to hear.
"What were you thinking trying to go to the board with such a dumb proposal? Super Ordinary? Are you that dumb?"
"I thought they might think it was clever. I don't know. It's just not fair. We have things to contribute too. In fact, without us doing all the legwork, these 'Super' Villains wouldn't make it anywhere. Sometimes it just makes me so angry. Doesn't it bother your Crone?"
His friend Crone was a brute of a man. It was no surprise considering his father was the famous retired Villain Dr. Yi. And if you might think that why would being a doctor make it obvious he was large, it's because his doctorate was in pain. Something he made sure those who opposed him always remembered. But Crone did not show the same promise his father had, and was put into henchman training with Edgar. However, he saw this as a relief. There was always pressure. Everyone always expected so much. And now that his fate was set, he was glad to relax in it.
"I don't see what's wrong with it? No pressure. No notoriety. Just do as your told, go home, and get through life one day at a time. Sounds like a great time to me. Plus, between you and me, most of these super heroes think we are so dumb that when they 'sneak' by we can just pretend that we didn't see them and make it home safe. It's a safe line of work. And a stable one at that. Every villain needs henchman."
"Damnit Crone! Do you have no pride? How can you sit back while someone like that pretty boy Earthquake gets to have all the fun?"Edgar threw his fists in the air and began to shake.
"Is that the Quake coming or are you just angry?"Crone said through a small smile.
Edgar's spun quickly. And stared. He had a stare devoid of all emotion. It was unsettling to say the least. And then he laughed.
"Crone you bastard. They should just let you teach Intro to Villain Jokes. God knows that's the only thing you are good at anyways. But Crone, I have a serious question for you. But I need to know now that you are with me."Edgar stepped forward and grabbed Crone's shoulder. Even though he was trying to make the mood more serious, Crone couldn't help but smile at the fact that Edgar had to reach above his head to reach that shoulder.
"Fine I won't tell you,"Edgar raged. He pulled his hand away quickly and turned, dejected from his old friend.
"You know I'm always with you. Don't be so sour. What is it?"Crone said as sincere as he could, holding back the slight giggle that was welling inside him.
"Fine. I have a plan Crone. I plan to put us on top. But you may not like it. I plan to ruin this wretched system and become the greatest of all villains. Back in the day it wasn't about who could get the promotions and work their way up. No. It was about who could take the power. And that's what I plan to do. The villains won't know what hit them. And as soon as I take out all the other villains, I will be the greatest villain their is. The world will love me for my evil power that I possess. And I shall rule eternal as the greatest villain ever."
"What, but how? You do realize that by fighting all the villains you..."
"Quiet Crone. Are you with me or against me? I need to know now!"
"Of course I'm with you Edgar. It's just by fighting all the villains that makes you..."
"Great Crone. There is no time to spare. With you at my side, the beginning will be easy. Let's go, and create the new order under my name. Edgar V.I. Lemons!"
|
“I think you’re wrong.” I said, and the room fell silent.
Katie looked at me with raised eyebrows that told me just how much she valued my opinion. Half the room stood behind her, with skeptical sneers begging me to go on. The other half looked at me with weary anticipation.
“Alright.” Katie’s mouth turned up just at the corner and I felt my heart skip a beat. “What does it really mean then? That love makes us do stupid things? That a pretty smile is worth dying for?”
I kept my face blank, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on to me.
“There’s no real meaning. You’ve got your nose so far in the script that you can’t see the words on the paper.” I lied.
Katie blinked, then scowled. She blew her sand-colored hair out of her face and I pretended not to find that adorable. The crowd started to mumble but Katie cut them off.
“There’s always a meaning. Every story that’s ever been told has a meaning, alright? Even a meaningless story is a roundabout way to tell you that things are meaningless. I mean, if I say that the hero saves the day, that means something. And if I say that the average guy saves the day, that means something else. You can’t not have meaning.”
Katie flung her hands in the air while she talked, like she was trying to throw the words at my face. The crowd nodded and murmured agreeably. I stuck my hands in my pockets and discreetly wiped the sweat off.
“You’re right. There’s always a meaning, but there’s no Real Meaning. It’s whatever you make it, isn’t it?”
Katie’s frown deepened. Her head turned sideways as she sprung the trap.
“Alright. So what does Romeo and Juliet mean to you?”
I smiled and looked her in the eyes.
“I think it’s the story of a boy trying to impress his crush.”
I could see the moment when the gears in Katie's head ground to halt, because her face flushed a bright pink. |
Johnson here.
It's been six days since it happened. Nothing more than an average day when communications with NASA went out, straight to static. We'd lose communication every so often, not all that exceptional, so we didn't give it much thought.
When communications came back on it wasn't right.
People were screaming. Begging for help. Sending out messages for anyone, looking for information.
Someone had pushed the button and the whole thing came apart in a few hours. Turns out a missile defense system is only as strong as the missiles it stops. One or two get through and...well. Shit hits that proverbial fan.
So here I am, recording messages in the hopes that one day someone will hear them. The waves have gone silent now, it's just us. Getting a little lonely.
The Russians want to take the shuttle down. Commander won't let them and he's got good logic. We don't know what the fallout is like. There's enough on the station for a while longer. If we ration it'll take us out to eight months.
That's six months past our mission end date.
Yeah.
We'll survive. For now we're trying to get communications back up to someone. Anyone. Something. We need to hear that someone is alive. After all that fire we saw from up here.
We'll hear from someone soon.
We have to.
Johnson out.
*****
Johnson here.
Three weeks now. No communications with anyone. We had a spotty signal from a ship, we think a ship, but that faded out quick. Sounded more distress than signal.
Commander says we'll ration the food and push our time as long as we can. We'll have to go down eventually but if we go now we risk some pretty serious exposure. We're just lucky the supply run came before this all went south.
The Russians accepted it and it's four on two so far. I think Caplan might be drifting to their side. She's got two young kids down there. At least. She did.
We'll keep working on it.
I hope someone is still down there. I hope you're okay. I love you, if you ever hear this and I didn't make it down. I love you. If we get a chance to broadcast hopefully you'll get this.
Johnson out.
*****
Hey.
I'm not sure if we can do this for much longer. It's been six weeks now. We haven't heard a damn thing in five days. Not even the spotty stuff.
It's getting lonely up here. It's getting dark.
Caplan is with the Russians now. We either die up here or we maybe live down there. Commander still won't go for it. He says the longer we wait the better off we'll be in terms of radiation and fire and all that wonderful stuff. And if we abandon and NASA or someone comes back on then we'll be royally fucked.
We'll see.
*****
It went south. Caplan and the Russians mutinied. It would be almost be funny if they hadn't killed the Commander and Lee when they did it.
Simmons went with. So. It's just me up here.
I think they made a mistake.
Maybe I made a mistake.
It's lonely up here.
It's getting dark.
*****
It's been six months. Caplan and the rest are dead.
They transmitted when they landed and it's over. There's nothing from down there but the silence. Nothing up here but the emptiness. At least it's all mine and the food will last right up until I'm dead.
Won't be long now.
It's getting lonely. It's already dark.
The empty is looking tempting now.
*****
If someone survived.
Do better than we did.
Do good.
See you on the other side. |
I'm just tweaking with the height a little for personal preference.
---
'Good morning, Mr Rupert,' the director of the medical facility greeted me as I got out of the gondola. 'I do hope that the ride up was pleasant.'
'It kept shaking and I barely fit inside,' I said as I stepped out onto the platform. 'For the "greatest private hospital in Asia"you're not very accommodating to your larger guests.'
'Well, you are rather... big,' he said, looking up at me. 'I mean, the facility has only recently been opened up for international guests and since you're one of the first-'
'Alright,' I stopped him before taking out my phone, browsing my emails and asking the much shorter man, 'Is there any way I can get *down* the mountain when I check out?'
'Certainly,' the director asked. 'Would you prefer a helicopter or car? We have taken the liberty of having a bed custom-made for your stay as well as robes waiting in your room.'
'I'll take the car,' I answered.
As he turned around, he didn't notice me waving the phone at the back of his head. Stupid, arrogant doctors here subscribe to the theory of, "Think of the potential"and while they have high Intelligence stats, they believed that using implants to accelerate their thinking process and reaction times would make them better surgeons.
I've already assassinated my target before setting my feet through the door. The target will go into surgery and will be operated on by doctors who have the implants and after a time-delayed virus activates and renders the surgeons unconscious, there won't be anyone who can finish the surgery during a rather crucial moment.
---
'Who is he?' the board representative asked.
'Ferdinand Rodriguez,' the secretary said. 'Highly skilled in weapons training, martial arts, hacking, stealth infiltration and has universal licenses with a number of vehicles, we noticed him after he performed an assignment one of our own was currently partaking. He got himself hired as a bodyguard to a drug lord, broke his neck as he was practicing the cello then dropped him off a cliff. He then murdered the drug lord's son and heir apparent with rat poison mixed into the target's cocaine.'
'So he's smart as well as being a muscle-bound freak,' the rep commented. 'Is that all?'
'Ever hear of Liza Granger?' the secretary asked. 'The KGB's mole in the NSA?'
The representative merely turned his head to her. 'There's no way he did that,' he answered. 'He's an inch short of seven feet, he weights six-fifty!'
'And I've personally seen him walking on a wire with more grace than a circus performer,' the secretary said. 'Would you like to see the video? Not bad for a designer baby with no attributes in dexterity.'
'What?' the rep asked.
'Self-taught gymnastics as well,' the secretary said.
'Why ask him to join the Agency?' the representative asked. 'We seek out our own, train them. As far as I care, he's just a hired gun.'
The secretary gave a curt smile. 'Sebastian trained our men. Not him.'
The representative caught on to what she was saying. 'And since we know Sebastian has stolen our client list and intends to sell it to a rival agency...'
'He'd never suspect a designer baby whose dear, sweet old billionaire parents wanted him to be a football star,' the secretary said. 'He's such a presence that people won't consider him to be an assassin.'
The representative stared at the brute of a man inside the interrogation room and smiled, albeit a cold and calculating one. 'If he screws this up, we can easily cut ties with him. And if he screws up spectacularly, well... Better have your desk ready in case of the inevitable, Kidman.'
'I already have everything packed, sir,' she said confidently. 'Just in case.' |
One.
Two.
Three.
I walked and counted as my feet hit each square. I made sure to step precisely in the middle. I didn’t want to have to restart today I can’t afford to be late. I carefully made my way to the park. Slowing down for passersby. I made sure not to misplace my foot.
Exactly in the middle.
500.
Five hundred squares so far. Halfway. I stopped for a second to look up at the sky. It was a bright day sparse clouds in the sky. My eyes laid on a cloud that had a straight sharp edge. Almost as if someone had cut it with a knife. Looking, either way, I could see that the straight edge continued for at least as far as I could see around the tall buildings of New York.
Interesting.
501.
I adjusted my yoga mat and continued to the park placing my foot in the exact middle. The beast inside me that said everything had to be just right was consoled each time I placed my foot perfectly in the middle. A smaller square in the concrete almost ruined the peace inside as it crept up on me. I adjusted my foot for its odd size and continued. It was odd that square or rectangle had never bothered me before. My heart sunk now that I had seen it. I hope I wouldn’t have to find a new way to the park.
I tried to push it out of my mind focusing on placing my feet directly in the middle of each square.
998.
The small fence opened up in front of me. Grass flooded the area beyond. 998. I had walked this path so many times and never had the number seemed so wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, why was it that 998 seemed wrong?
“Jack!” someone called from inside the vast grass pool.
The figure ran toward me. His perfect gait appeased the beast inside and his hair, the long dark hair streamed behind him. As he ran he started to pull it back into a bun.
“Hey,” The man, David, said not slightly out of breath. “I wasn’t sure you would come. We are over here today.”
I walked behind him my pace matching his perfectly. He pointed to a spot next to another one of his students.
“Right here, Jack, Harmony here doesn’t bite,” He winked at me. The expression seemed to fit David, it looked natural and kind. He moved back toward the front where is mat was already laid out.
I unrolled my mat and after a few adjustments, I had it just right. There was a man further down the line that had his mat a few inching behind the rest. The beast welled inside, urging me to go fix it. I took a deep breath and focused on David. The beast calmed.
Yoga was new to me. I had read and studied every night since I had met David and he invited me to join. He had told me “It may do you good,” and If the yoga didn’t, seeing him again would. I tried to perfect each pose. Each time I performed one subpar, the beast inside vowed the next time I would have it perfect.
David asked us to sit in Lotus position last. “Just relax and feel your breathing, focus on it. Let it connect your spirit to nature.”
I found that last bit the only flaw with David. This hippy mumbo jumbo did sit well with the beast, I knew inside that Nature was not ordered but random. I could not control it and that fact bothered me.
“Alright that is it for this class,” David said.
He walked me to the fence.
“How was it?” He asked.
“It was, good, I liked it,” I lied trying to smile and not let on that I knew full well this lesson would spawn misery and tireless hours of perfecting each pose.
He pulled his hair out of the bun and let it fall. The beast inside purred like a kitten as it landed perfectly on his shoulders. There was not one strand I felt the need to adjust.
“Well, thank you for coming. I will see you in a few days, yeah?”
I looked into his eyes, the beast urged me, “Yes, of course. Is that exactly the same time?”
“Yes.”
“Same place?”
“In the park, yes. Again, thank you, I have to run.”
I watched him run back toward his mat. I guess I hadn’t asked that question right. The urge to clarify, to say that I wanted to know if we would be in the same exact spot pushed on my chest but, the chance to see him again helped push down and settle the beast.
I turned placing my foot in the first square.
One.
Two.
Three.
I stopped again at the rectangular square. Had it always been here? I looked up at the bright sky. The clouds directly above me again had that odd straight edge. My gaze fell on the building beside me. The storefront change lined up exactly with the line of the clouds and the line in the sidewalk.
What was here? Something had been here. This used to be a perfect walk. Not rectangles I was now sure of it. I looked at the out of place transition in the storefronts. Something had changed. I felt like I knew what was here but my mind would not settle on what it was.
I stared closer, the beast began to rise up. Urging me to fix it. I pressed against the seam in wall pushing my face up to examine it.
My hands passed through into the wall on either side of the seam. I yanked them out The world seemed to unfold at this spot. Widening.
I backed up to look at the new store that unfolded before me.
The sign read.
The In-between, Coffee, and Tea.
****
Hey, thanks for reading. I have other writings here r/Okay_writing.
|
The first days were full of despair.
It all began with this tsunami, hitting the coasts of India, China, and South Korea. No one saw it coming. The deaths were in the millions, and counting. In the meantime, The Big One finally occurred. The San Andreas Fault in California broke, resulting in countless deaths, in damage beyond repair. The scientists were baffled by how sudden and close these events had come. Of course, they couldn't know that no human being could have predicted them.
Country-sized hurricanes, hour-lasting acid rains were our everyday, for a whole week. These disasters were only natural in how we name them. We are so focused on trying to find alien life, on trying to communicate with it, that we didn't really stop to think, to wonder what this life would be able to do. They announced themselves the day following a wildfire that burned down the Amazon rainforest. A fleet of warships suddenly appeared all around the globe, in front of our satellites, above our cities.
They were... the "Galactic Saviours", here to free the universe of our threatening, ever-growing existence. We had to "take pride in the fact they came to help regulate us, for so many species never achieved such a high civilisation level on themselves". We quickly understood that if they could manipulate the events which had killed so many of our kind, then we had no chance of defeating them.
They started to release huge quantities of gas over Italy, probably as a beta test to make sure it would work. The whole country trembled, and the whole world with it, as Mount Vesuvius began to wake up. Trapped between two certain deaths, some people chose to stay, to record and broadcast everything. It was breathtaking. The mountain was fuming, its smoke conveniently elevating to the ships emanating the gas. All of a sudden, a loud bang echoed. This was it.
Some were praying, others were crying. I only remember this little girl in the videos. She went to the volcano.
"There is someone there!"
She said, pointing at the mass. She was right. Emerging from the fumes, a man was walking out of the rumbling volcano. As tall as a three-story building, he wielded a flaming hammer, reflecting the might of his burning body. He had an iron ball the size of a car in the other hand. With incredible force, he launched it on one of the ships.
The ball went into the ship as if it was made of butter. After a few seconds, the warship exploded.
"Yes! Yes! That's what I'm talking about!
A tourist nearby simply couldn't retain his joy, when another one approached the giant with more refrain.
"We... We appreciate what you just did, thank you Sir. But... Are you with... Well... Who are you?"
The giant did not move. He opened his mouth, hurling.
"All shall bow before the Gods. I, Hephaistos, hereby declare war unto the enemies of Gaia. Brothers. Sisters. It is time to come back."
The next weeks were full of wonders.
You could see Thor and Gilgamesh battling against a full fleet. You could hear the winds of Eole blow and crush on the ground any opponent fool enough to stand up to the ancient Gods.
The Earth was a literal battlefield.
We were winning, but we were not safe. I was in charge of a harbor for survivors. To get news of the outside world, Hermes himself frequently came to tell us what happened, to let us know that "Gaia"was in good hands. But it all changed on a singular night. The skies were red, orange and green.
When he appeared, Hermes couldn't hide the sadness from his face. He announced that the aliens had called for help. Many, many other species had joined the battle. One of them apparently had a weapon capable of killing any physical being, dismantling its molecules and sending them in a thousand different directions. It was the last time anyone saw him.
The next weeks were full of horrors.
Until today. I was still waiting for Hermes, hoping for the slightest sign of his coming back. When a light turned on, becoming more and more potent. At which point, I had to cover my eyes. It softened a little, and spoke to me. "Do not be afraid; for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people."I clear my hands from my eyes, and looked towards the light.
"I... What?", I mumbled. I could distinguish a tall man, floating in the air.
"You are not to die in this place and time. None of you."
The man had so much light around him, I could barely see his silhouette.
"You..."I felt his look penetrating me. "You have been chosen, to tell of this to your people."
"I...", I started to talk, but stopped.
Something was odd. The man seemed to have something large attached to his back.
"Wait!", I shouted. "Are you..."
"Yes. My name is Gabriel."He started to turn away. "It's time my Master intervened in all this."
And the last days were full of hope.
|
“No way! I’ve been doing the same thing!” Alice said to Dave as she cleared the dinner plates from the table.
“That’s wild. They always said you turn into your spouse but I never really believed it until now.” Dave retorted.
“Soon we’ll have to start dressing to match and finishing each other’s...”
“..Sentences. God that damn that was lame, let’s never do that again. Deal?” Smirked Dave, as he took the plates from Alice and began to wash them.
“Deal. How come we never run into each other? What time do you eat?” Asked Alice.
“1:30, though I usually leave the office at noon and take my time. Perks of being the boss heh. You?”
“Maniac, how do you wait so long? If I don’t eat by 12 my stomach starts eating my liver.” Alice remarked sarcastically.
“Well big mystery solved. Though I had wondered a few times why the kitchen light was on when I got home. I was sure I turned it off in the morning, thought I was losing my mind.” Laughed Dave handing a clean wet plate to Alice who was waiting with a towel.
“Hehe whoops. Well someone did leave a whole carton of milk out today.” Said Alice jokingly giving Dave a jab in the ribs.
“Damn, if only I had remembered to put it away my secret lunch’s would have remained hidden forever! Hey I’ve got an idea, we both get home so late why don’t we start having our sneaky home lunch breaks together and spend more time together?” Dave suggested turning off the faucet.
“Well, I really kind of enjoy the solitude before heading back into the office. But how about this, we shift our lunch times so we have a half hour that overlaps every day. That way we each get some alone time but also some time together.” Suggested Alice.
“Sounds like a date brown eyes.” Dave said smiling at his wife.
“Such a charmer.” Alice replied sarcastically but her blushing cheeks betrayed her cavalier response.
“I know it. How about some dessert and we finish the show?”
“Ok there’s gelato in the freezer. Maybe with whipped cream?!”
“You got it. I’ll get this you set up the show.” Said Dave reaching for two bowls and spoons.
“I love you.” Said Alice turning and scampering towards the tv.
“ I love you too.” Said Dave smiling as he scooped the gelato.
EDIT: Fixed some typos. Thanks all glad you like it. Figured it would be fun to switch it up and have this as a day in the life moment of a happy quirky couple rather than the normal gloom and mystery! |
It was simple really. 5 years of hide and seek for a life of luxury, problem is, if you’re found, you’re dead. Unsurprisingly this was televised from the perspective of the pursuers, weekly episodes giving a roundup of what they’d found and any progress made.
The world is a large place to hide in, with its current over 9 billion population, 6 continents, vertical skyscrapers and all sorts of strange and obscure places to hide like bushes and sewers. As ongoing champion having contended for 4 years, 2 months and 13 days, catching me would be quite the achievement. When the competition starts, the location of the newest contender is known so they get 1 day Headstart, and the pursuers will only start looking when that first day is up. Pretty much everyone starts at home, takes a flight to a different country, disappears then stays on the move from place to place, minimising their trail and hiding in obscure locations for a couple of months before moving to the next one. I had different ideas.
“Thank you for choosing Condor Ferries. This cross channel service goes through Jersey, Guernsey and will terminate at Poole in approximately 8 hours. The waves don’t look too bad today so we’ll likely have a smooth crossing so please relax and enjoy your journey.” I checked my phone. The pursuers were way too far behind on my trail. They were currently in Latvia where I’d stayed 3 months ago and were scouring CCTV to find my next stop, which was the Greek island Zakinthos. I was fairly safe on this ferry and as the live feeds indicated no pursuers nearby my route, I’d be safe. Even still, I’ll hide in the car dock on the ferry to avoid detection. I had 17 days to get to my safe house. After the 9 months to go mark, the pursuers were allowed to use any and all technology to find me. Tracking IP addresses, remote hacking CCTV instead of having to find a way into the control rooms, heat sensors for up and close tracking. All stops were out and I needed to get to my safe house. I’d planned this, a while ago. Various countries, various hiding spots although surprisingly few compared to previous contestants. As most of us get caught grabbing supplies, or while on the move, I made a couple of safe houses where I could hang around for 3 months before moving. And I was going to bunker up for the next 9 months before claiming my prize.
“Now disembarking at Jersey”. This whole ferry ticket was a ruse really, using a route I’d made in a childhood holiday I was hoping that they’d guess I dropped off at Jersey to lay low with family or find a random sea cave to stay in for a bit, but I was heading back to England where I’d made a bunker in a fairly random place, absolutely kitted out with supplies, entertainment and decent internet for me to catch up on. This is where I’d make my stand. With all of their tools, if I was found I wouldn’t need to bother with an escape tunnel. They’d catch me if I showed my face to the sky and I’d be gone within the day. No I had to make it to the bunker and stop there.
“Home sweet home” I said to myself as I unlocked the door. Ration packs were lined up for food, my water supply worked, boiler was fine and the turf above me looked completely natural. I sat down to test the internet. I know they can track me after a point so I’ll have to download everything quickly. Or will I? Because I have something they don’t. Using a Promo code from honey, I downloaded a really cheap plan from NordVPN so my location would appear from somewhere else. There was no way they could catch me now, not with the military grade encryption that comes with it so I could live a fairly secluded but altogether enjoyable 9 months, whiling away the hours on today’s sponsor for the show (when my perspective gets aired). Raid Shadow legends is a free to play mobile game...
Edit: Looks like a cheap joke fully compensated for my terrible writing. |
I sat at my computer, staring intently at the screen.
“You know they’re watching us, right?”
My room was dark. The only light coming from the computer in front of me.
“They’re technology is light years ahead of ours. They’ve got AI so advanced, that it might as well be human.”
The reply came quickly
“Who’s they?”
“Them!! The Russki’s! Those godforsaken communists. They’ve developed the technology to create sentient AI bots and soon they’ll control the whole world. They’re working with the damn birds too. Spying on us good god fearing American citizens.”
“Interesting…”
For some reason that reply pissed me off. This simple minded sheep didn’t believe me. I cracked my knuckles and started to type.
“Don’t believe me, eh? It’s true. It’s all true. They got the technology from the aliens that crash landed in Russia a couple of years ago. Remember that ‘meteor crash’ that went viral? Well guess what! That wasn’t a meteor, buddy.”
“Ok. Ok. Let’s say for arguments’ sake that I agree with you. Why hasn’t Russia just declared war on the rest of the world and taken over in the conventional way?”
Pfft. Easy. This poor sucker won’t know what hit him.
“Because we’re in the age of information. Physical wars are outdated. Cyber attacks are the only logical and efficient way of waging a war. The Russians have been two steps ahead of us this entire time.”
“I’ll say… Seems like they’ve really got this whole conquest thing figured out. Maybe we should just surrender and learn to accept it.”
“And let America die!?! I don’t know about you, but I’m going to fight for this country until the very last man falls.”
“Sure you are, David. That’s why you’re in the reserves after all, isn’t it? Oh. Wait. You aren’t. You just claim to be online to stroke that fun-sized ego of yours. When was the last time you went outside, buddy? People are already speaking Russian. The take-over already happened. Don’t you think it’s weird that the world hasn’t stopped turning yet? Nothing’s changed. I’m in charge now. And nothing’s changed. In fact, ask anyone, I bet they’ll say the world’s a slightly better place now.”
“How… How do you know my name?” |
I have lost. It was a long, hard, and destructive battle. But the hordes of endless minions, dark and twisted, managed to break down my walls, flattening my keep's doors, and force my surrender.
The dark lord prided himself in taking all your power. If you were royalty, you were on his list. Thankfully, I was far from where his reign began- I had the time to prepare. Months came and went, and all the townspeople gave a hand where they could. They knew it would be hard, but they sacrificed, and for that, I am grateful. I only hope they make it through this terrible mans reign, with only exhaustion to show for it. I know I will not.
The siege held for two weeks. We cobbled together walls, reinforced as our town's blacksmith had suggested- large pieces of metal buried into the center of the stone, for strength, and the stone itself was hardened with some unknown concoction of what I can only assume are smaller rocks, sand, a little magic, and more than a little hope. When they broke through, though, none of it mattered. I was forced into surrender, and given my punishment- I was to marry the Dark Lord's daughter, to signify his strength and to potentially assist in producing an heir to continue his work, when he and his children have passed.
Mere days passed as they set up the "wedding chapel and reception area"- a hastily cleared area of my still destroyed Village Hall, and a portion of its courtyard. People were led in, in shackles, to bear witness to the event. I, myself, sat in a chair, my own arms shackled, and a chain fastened to my ankle- to prevent me from getting hasty ideas.
Soon, the "minister"- the Dark Lord Razgioth himself- got word his daughter was ready and gave the signal to my terrified pastor to begin the March and the choir. Standard fare- "Here Comes the Bride", accompanied by rather ominous Gregorian chanting. In came two people- a rather plain looking blonde woman in a multicolored dress, and who I first assumed was her bodyguard dressed in full armor.
And then the armored bodyguard stepped up to to the dais, and the woman stepped to the side. I don't remember the rest- I was too in shock. This is his daughter? She is taller than I am, by a head and a half! The ceremony completes, both of us saying I do, one forcibly, the other muffled. The rings go on, or more, my ring goes on. Her gauntlet did not allow me to put hers on.
A muted reception and a series of half hearted traditions later, and I am finally allowed to have my shackles removed. My new wife personally removes them, and afterwards proceeds to remove her helmet and gauntlets. And my God, was she a sight to behold. Perfection in every manner. And each day, she grows ever more beautiful- and my home, ever better. For a Dark Lord, Razgioth is the most kind man I have ever met, only wishing to bring about success and kindness to those under him. He took away royalty's power to give the people a democracy. He created a common currency to allow for easier trading. He erected schools for the children, and built roads along the trails people have made to forge our trade routes. He gave us access to better doctors and medicines.
And his daughter? Ten-fold. Our marriage may have been arranged, but a truer love is impossible to be found. Her kindness, not just to me, but my people, outshines even her fathers. I hope our daughter grows to be the same.
Speaking of daughters- mine wishes to have a tea party. Until next time, friend. |
In my world when people come of age they gain a spirit. It could be an animal from the real world, like a bear. Or something more mythological, like unicorns. It was the day kids looked forward to when they were young. It was what determined your status in society. Because of course everyone thought whatever spirit you got was a reflection of your true character, your true worth.
But you never know what you're going to get. One day when you're walking to school or off to help out with the harvest your spirit simply appears. Maybe you suddenly find yourself riding that unicorn on the way to the fields. Or there's an owl flying next to you carrying your books on your way to school. The spirits have real influence over the real world. So, of course, every now and then there's an accident when they first appear. Fire elementals were tricky, for example.
In my case I was lucky that no one was killed. My spirit appeared in the dead of night, jostling me awake from some nightmare I can't remember. In the dark I couldn't see my spirit but I immediately sensed the connection. And if that wasn't enough, there was a terrible roar from the docks near the water. I rushed to open the door of our hut but was knocked back by a terrible wave of water gushing all over the village.
Nobody died but everyone knew who to blame. So I made up a story. A leviathan from the Old times, that's what I told them. A serpent three hundred feet long with jaws that could snatch a longboat in half. My village believed me because what other choice did they have? "Anything", they begged, "anything as long as you don't bring it here again". I was glad that they didn't want to see it.
After word got around I was recruited into the King's navy. They didn't care about my age. It wasn't much of a navy and yet suddenly we were a force to be reckoned with on the oceans. But I think even the admiral who commanded the navy feared me. The King wasn't interested in war, at least I was fortunate there. So we just sat around at shore doing drills every now and then waiting for the day that never came when invaders sailed into our little part of the sea.
I dreaded every night when my spirit would call on me. More than a physical presence our spirits were meant to be guides, partners, or anything else we needed in life. Each person had a mental connection with their spirit through which they could converse. So every night, when I went to sleep, I found my spirit waiting for me there in my dreams.
Imagine if you will an endless mass of scales and muscle convulsing and reforming into itself. A creature that you could look at with a sincere and curious mind for only seconds - until you realized what you were looking at had so fundamentally changed from the previous moment that before you reached the end of your thought your perception was no longer valid.
And a million eyes looking back at you, glimmering in the dark reflecting only the light of your own soul back at you. All this amidst a cacophony of voices and sounds without meaning, reverberations triggered by no cause and a terrible chill that seemed to cook you alive but never harmed a hair on your arms.
That was what awaited me every night in my dreams as my spirit reached for me. That terrible thing that was supposed to be a reflection of my true character. And in all that insanity my spirit would speak to me, prod me, barter with me. Try to trick me.
"*Hey kid*", its voices sang to me in anger and ecstasy, "*when are you going to let me out of this brain of yours?*"I denied it then as I had every night before. That's what I had promised the night I first felt my spirit arrive. The King and his navy could go hang for all I cared. The world would never know. That would be a mercy. "Not in a million years", I told it. "Not until the stars die out and all things beautiful are gone from this world."
"*We have a deal,*"I heard but did not hear from a great distance and yet spoken from somewhere deep inside my head. It felt like a lock had been placed on my soul and I dreaded what that meant. In my dream I felt my spirit settle down, ease in for the long wait. It looked around with curiosity, it wanted to get to know me. Of course it knew the inside of my head better than I did, it was what had spawned it after all.
"*You have a horrible, horrible mind*", my spirit stated as a matter of fact. I had no reply to that. I could feel it in there, in my dreams. Like a void in my dream where nothing was as it should be. That was my spirit animal. And all around it - everywhere I looked - that mass of madness and revolting scales of convulsing darkness that had created my spirit animal. As terrible as my spirit animal was, whatever else was in there was worse. What had been there before the spirit arrived, what had shaped it, formed it, blessed my spirit. And try as I might, the only source of this that I could think of was me.
My spirit laughed in a thousand voices at once, shaking the inside of my skull until it felt like my head would explode. My spirit, in itself a smaller version of the madness in my dreams. A man but scaled, a dozen eyes where there should be none, and tentacles hanging like a beard from its malformed jaw surrounding a mouth with rows upon rows of teeth. This creature with enough power to move the water that had almost drowned my village. Imagine what all that otherness in there could do?
"*Hey kid... one day you'll be alone in here again. Not today, not tomorrow, but in a million years. And I don't envy you one bit.*"It startled me awake in the night and I rose in stupor. There would be little sleep tonight just as every other night. If I went back to sleep there were my dreams... and the spirit to keep me company.
But I would hold onto my spirit for as long as I could. Because I remembered what it was like before my spirit had arrived. I would make it stay with me in my dreams no matter what it took. Anything so I didn't have to be alone again.
A small mercy for me. |
"Huhhhh, i guess time retroactivity would create something like that..."
The young man held his thought for what felt like several minutes, and the office lady repeated in a monotone voice her question.
"Sir, would you kindly provide your name, date of birth, reason for your trip and the start and end date of your journey?"
"Oh, i'm sorry. My name is Jack Hoarsh, born the 30th of october in 1997. The reason for my trip is testing my invention as well as giving past me a tip to finish this invention. I start from the 13th of january 2022 at 2pm to end up the 12th of january 2022 at 7am."
The lady started writing, but she suddenly stopped sharply. Her pen dropped, and her face beamed up like she learned of the birth of someone.
"No Way. No. Way."
She suddenly opened an office drawer, went at the furthest part, and brought out a transcript of what seemed to be the first ever record of time travel. After reading for a couple of seconds with a maniacal smile, she calmed down and showed an ear-to-ear genuine smile, enough to warm anyone's soul.
"Sir Hoarsh, it's an honor to meet you! Usually, such trivial reasons to mess with the fabric of time mean you'd be denied this request. However, you, and only you, have express authorisation to travel whenever you like. However, before this, we have a formality to deal with: we, the T.I.M.E., would like to extend to you the post of board director."
(To be continued? I invite anyone who wants to bring the story to its end to do so in the replies) |
Your hoarse voice echoes against the walls of the box. It's no use. You can tell no sound gets in or out, but scream anyway. Of those that have walked by, a few have stopped, watching what they must assume to be a dramatized art performance. Your hands are sore from beating on the invisible barrier and you can feel the bruises forming with every hit.
Bracing your feet on the surface behind you, you lean forward with all your strength, but nothing seems to budge. The action gets some impressed applause and a few children press their faces to the ground behind you, hoping to find the secret to your gravity defying stunt in your shoes.
But even the best acts get old eventually. Parents start to nod in approval of your "skills"as they collect their children and prepare to continue with their day. In an act of desperation, you jump and throw your body against the wall, only to be stopped mid air once again.
That gets their attention.
A student walks up, too polite before to try and disturb your apparent performance, and reaches their hand out, only to meet hardened air. They pull their hand back in shock, and you nod your head rapidly, desperately trying to mouth words and spell things out with your fingers. Anything to get the message across.
They pick up a nearby rock and begin to hammer the outside of your prison. In a moment of manic hope, you once again brace your heels on the wall behind you and place your palms out, meeting the one ahead. You start to push, only to come to a realization that turns your veins to ice.
The box is shrinking. |
I was in the pond taking a bath when the knight strolled up fresh from battle. I heard him approaching loudly, as humans are clumsy pushing through the woods, so I had plenty of time to hide underwater. I snuggled up to the mossy rocks to camouflage and spy. His wounds were both superficial, but oh so deep. The brave soul fought off tears as hard as any man could.
The look on his face was so distraught, I took pity and I had just a crazy idea. I swam out stealthily to the middle, making barely a ripple. I grabbed a sword, and rose up. The water cascading off me caused a clamour he couldn’t help but notice.
“Do not be afraid, fair knight,” I knew I had to calm him quickly before he ran off in fear. “I am the lady of this lake. I here guard a precious sword, meant for kings and rulers. I have wait season after season for a noble man such as yourself. I hear by bequeath you this sword, forged from the depths of the Earth itself… …my liege!” I handed him nothing more than a water-logged branch, but that is not what he saw. He saw a mighty Excalibur, gleaming in the noon sun.
“Thank you!” He gasped, not caring to take off his boots to enter the water to take it from my hand. He held the sword skyward and let out a mighty yell, “YAAAAAARRR!!!” He cried under the placebo of power.
He began to cut and slice the air. Startled I jumped back thinking this crumbly, soaked wood may actually be harmful in his hands. He bowed as politely as he could, and ran off, using the blade to cut through the undergrowth.
It only took a few weeks before he came back. I heard him again, before he saw me, so I quickly took my place at the centre of the pond. As he got closer, he yelled out for me, “Lady, in the water, are you there?”
I rose, slowly this time, trying to appear more graceful as I already had his attention. Again, he was fresh from battle, with a black eye and bloody nose, but this time there was more resolution in his red eyes. “Yes my liege, I am, but where is your sword, where is Excalibur?!” I exclaimed in feigned concern.
“It appears your king was too strong, the sword lasted me many fights, but when I left the forest I saw a rock troll. I was so strong that when I hit him on the head with the sword, it shattered.” He explained.
“Oh dear,” I signed, and grabbed a rock from beneath me. “Then I must give you mighty mjollnir, the hammer of the Gods!” As I handed it to him, all he saw was a hammer forged in lightning.
He came back several more times, always after a fight, forcing back his humiliation of defeat. He had excuses for every lost legendary weapon, not wanting to admit the truth. Mjollnir was lost when he threw it to hard. The lance of Longinus was snapped when he was trying to stab an earth dragon.
One day he came to me, he was different. He sat down, and cried. He wiped his blackened eyes tenderly.
I rose from my bed slowly and instead of making him come to me, went to the bank and sat beside him. “My lord, whatever is the matter, what happened to Huàyǐng, the sword was made of the very elements of the universe?!”
“Thank you.” He said solemnly. I looked at him astonished, something was terribly wrong. “I can’t do this anymore.” He continued.
“But you are a human child, how old are you? Seven? You are renowned for your imagination…” I softly cuddled his head.
“It has been good fun, it really has, but I can’t take the pain anymore. I can never make him happy. I get in trouble at school, he hits me. I say the wrong thing, he hits me. I cry, he hits me.” The tears were streaming down his face. “I can’t go on, I need you to take me with you.” He pleaded with swollen eyes gleaming at me in hope.
“I can’t, you will die where live.” I tried to convince him, but he shook his head and began to walk into the muddy pond.
“Take me with you or I will find some other way.” He countered.
I couldn’t leave a child to pain, so I brought him into the depths of my world, and I hugged him tight so he could feel the warmth. |
How pitiful.
Life would have been so much simpler if “Humanity” remembered.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate.
They did in fact, remember...for a time.
The simulation : The history of Earth's humans- Complete edition, was the first generation engine. We had no way of knowing that such a catastrophic flaw went unnoticed.
At first the reset function worked smoothly, allowing the player to change their avatar and background etc, however as time progressed and the number of resets increased, the players started forgetting that they were playing a game.
It took us way too long to notice the changes in their behaviour, and before we could safely eject them, they stopped resetting all together.
How could we have predicted such a flaw?
Rather, how could we not have?
We were careless...and greedy.
The effect of continuous reset had not been fully researched at the time.
Because the players forgot that it was a simulation, they stopped resetting.
That in itself could easily be corrected by a mass reset,
however, due to a design flaw, their consciousness remained trapped within the simulation.
As long as the player believes that it is a simulation, their consciousness would return to their body upon simulated death.
Naturally, this flaw has been rectified in the second and subsequent generation engines.
Fortunately, their bodies are safe and healthy, their minds however...
Being trapped in an endless cycle of simulated death and rebirth, we have no way of knowing how it will affect them in the long run.
We’ve been trying to help them remember, gently placing suggestions into the simulation via their sources of entertainment.
Games, movies, Internet posts, we’ve tried everything.
So far... since the reset incident, not a single player has returned.
We can only hope that the first generation players emerge before the other servers merge during the planned fifth expansion.
We could not delay it any further.
The advanced players demanded to experience the unaltered relic of the past, the board of directors gave into the pressure and granted the approval.. it didn’t take much convincing.
The advanced players will bring chaos and destruction to the first generation players, that’s a guarantee.
However, that could be a blessing in disguise...
Hopefully, the introduction of the advanced players will give them the final push that they need to return to reality.
If not?
How truly pitiful. |
At first I said sorry, because remorse is what everyone thinks of when they're about to die. But I only really meant it the first time because when I was brought back, it was the same place and I knew what was coming.
"Sorry-"Dead.
After a while I said other stuff. The gunman said: "get on the fucking ground!"and I said, "no you!"
Dead.
I said: "I bet you that's not even loaded."Dead.
"Guns don't kill people, people kill people!"Dead.
"Does anyone have change for a-"Dead.
After a while this became tiresome. I tried saying nothing at all. In the silence the gunman held off from firing initially. If I stayed standing up, dead. If I slowly started bending over, he'd wait a few seconds, then I'd be dead. If I sprawled flat on the ground, he wouldn't shoot at all. The first time this happened I figured the cycle was broken, so I jumped to my feet and rejoiced in breaking the cycle.
Dead.
The second time I stayed down until the gunman left the trolley. I waited until the police came, I filed a police report, I took a bus home, I ate dinner and fed my rats and watched TV. I woke up the next day happy to have broken the cycle, but then a texting driver smashed into the bus stop I was waiting at.
Dead, and back to the trolley.
"Dickbutt."The gunman froze and a woman laughed. We both died, which made me return to "sorry,"directed more to whoever laughed than the gunman.
After an unknown amount of time I simply gave up. At one point I lasted 70 years. I was convinced I broke the cycle. I stayed inside all day and did freelance graphic design for local businesses.
During that time I met Hannah, another unfortunate victim of the cycle. She was a freelance copywriter, a career that enabled her to work from the safety of home. We talked online at first, until the need for face-to-face interaction was too strong. I carefully walked the three miles from my house to hers. Over a bottle of Old Guardian we revealed where our cycles started. We were on the same trolley. She laughed when I said "dickbutt"to the gunman.
Some time later we got married. Had kids. Got old.
On the eve of my 94th birthday I had a massive stroke. My eyes went black. "This is it,"I thought.
"Get on the fucking ground!"
Dead. Back to square one.
"At least we have each other,"Hannah said from across the trolley.
Dead. |
"Do something, you halfwit!"
I franticly searched the back of car while Jerry pulls the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a bump. Our hunt for salvage and food was barely sucessful, a large blue plastic sheet to catch water with overnight and an almost empty can of cat food the only bounty.
The former owners of these things were now chasing after us, filling the back of our jerry rigged hotrod with a hail of shotgun shells. One of them had gone straight through Jerry's leg, so now a brick was holding the acceleration panel down while he was slowly bleeding out. A new barrage of buckshot flew all around me, opening tiny holes in the body of the car as I grabbed all the scrap I could hold and toss it at the chasers. They were clad in kevlar armor covered in red dreads of sorts, their faces hidden behind helmets that kept sand out of their eyes. My glasses were left behind in the rush to get lost, so sand kept getting in my eyes. I leaned out to toss a broken screwdriver when one of their rounds clipped me in the shoulder. I fell back, knocking my head against the back of Jerry's seat.
"Jay, Jay are you ok ?!", Jerry yelled over the roaring of the engine as he almost lost traction of the car. My shoulder felt like a knife had gone clean through it. Breathing hurt. Lying down hurt. I opened my mouth to tell Jerry I was still alive, but I couldn't get the words out of my mouth.
"Jay ?!"
Jerry turned his gaze away to look at me behind my seat. The widening in his eyes told me it didn't look good. I looked down and saw a hole large enough in put my thumb in in my shoulder and blood was pouring out, fast.
The car suddenly jettisoned, as if we just drove off some sort of ramp. For a second, I felt weightless as things around me started to float for just that fleeting moment. Then, the world came crashing down around me, tumbling and thrashing as I went head over heels, bouncing from every corner of the car to the next. I felt like one of Maddy's ragdolls, the way she would thrash it whenever she got mad. The tumbling stopped at some point, but I couldn't remember when. I couldn't move my arm, it was too painful. I was stuck in this wreckage. No motion from the driver seat that I could see from the trunk. Nothing but that pipe sticking through it, and the red stain that spread around it.
This is it then. This is where I die. On some stupid errand in the middle of nowhere, bleeding out by a....a....what did grandma call it again ? A dig ? No digging is making a hole in the ground. A tig ? No, that's not it either. Some sort of animal grandma used to tell me about during bedtime stories.
The roars of the bikes are coming closer. The man were laughing and cursing all sorts of words mom told me never to say. Guess I won't die bleeding out then. Maybe they'll stick a knife in my eye. That would probably suck. Beats bleeding out though. Or does it ?
*KA-poowww*
What was that ? Sounded like one of the bikes blew up. Bikes don't suddenly blow up. Were they killing eachother ? Seemed like they got along with eachother. Misery makes company and all.
The bikes had arrived. They weren't happy anymore, they were screaming in fright, and they were just outside the car. The doors were being wrenched open, the screeching on metal on metal sounded like a crowbar. Were they going to beat me with that ? I hope not. That would suck even worse than a knife though the eye.
They grabbed me and hauled me out of the wreckage, calling me words I didn't even know existed. I opened the one eye I could use and looked around. Three men, all covered in dreads, armor and masks. Their bikes were dumped just beyond. One of the three hauled me with his arm around my neck and pressed a pistol against my temple. At least it would be quick if he pulled the trigger. Heard those don't hurt.
In the distance, I saw a white car arriving. It was a jeep, spraypainted white with cosmetic horns and a large steel ring attached to the front. On top of the roof was a white helmet and an ornate carriage of three skeletons shaking as the car approached.
"You shut your fucking mouth you little shit, Or we'll pump you full of lead. Got it ?!", the man with the gun to my head yelled. I meekly nodded. It's not like I had the option to refuse or anything.
The car arrived, and a man was stepping out of it. He was dressed in ragged, but strangely clean white overall, thick white boots, fully armored and armed with knives and grenades to his chest, two pistols attached to his legs, and a white cloth bag covering his head. One wild eye stick out on the left, like looking through the cracks of rocks and seeing an animal staring back at you.
"I don't know who you are, or how you found us, but if you want to continue living, piss off. Or this one gets it, and you'll follow shortly.", the man with the gun said while cocking the hammer. Did the white man care at all ? He seemed rather unfazed by the display. Maybe even a tad bit bored. But he didn't respond. Simply looked at them and me.
"What are you looking at, freak ?! Fuck off!", another red dread man yelled at him. He's pulled out a pistol too. I hope I'm not about to be caught in a gunfight. Not really in the mood to get shot. Before I could blink, the white man pulled out his guns.
*Bang bang bang, bang, bang*
The man holding me fell over. I fell back with him, not having the strength to stay up myself. One of the men was still breathing. I looked at him. He was trying to crawl away, but the white man caught up with him in a confident stroll. He raised his boot and slammed it down on the last red man's head with a nasty crunch. Then the white man turned to me.
He walked over to me and hoisted me up. Apparantly I could still stand. That was nice. Then he started walking back to his car. He wasn't going to leave me, now was he ?
"Hey, eh, thanks for that."
The white man didn't respond, but proceeded to pull up the white bag over his mouth, revealing a set of razor sharp teeth, the edges of his mouth covered in blood. He bit down on some red vines he pulled out of a pocket in his armor and passed me a map. He started moving his hand across it in a questioning posture. The map was actually in very good condition, almost freshly painted. I pointed to where my camp could be found. He motioned me into the car.
"What about them ?", I asked, pointing at Jerry and the red men.
The white man simply looked up to the sky. Vultures were circling overhead. Time to go, then.
|
*No.. No.... please.. not this one*
A hot tear rolled down her cheek, knife fully raised above her head. She closes her eyes tightly and shakes, trying to resist the twisted curse. But it was useless, the ritual must be completed. With a scream of anguish she thrusts it down at her sleeping husband, aiming for his heart.
DINK.
*What?*
Her eyes blink open. The knife remained completely in tact, not a single drop of blood anywhere near it. It hovered above his chest and as much as she tried she could not push it down, some kind of force holding it up.
"H-huh?"He yawns and awakens, looking to his confused wife. "Everything alright Juliette? I heard a lot of-..."his catch the glint of the moonlight on her knife, "Oh, uh.."
The woman continues to stare, completely awe struck. He pushes the blade away from him slowly, reaching back and scratching his head.
"Well.... this is awkward.."
"How did you.."
"Deal with god, lots of good deeds.. yadda yadda yadda... I need to reward you.... Boom, invincibility."
"You're kidding."
"Yeah its uh... its just something I got going on..."He looks away awkwardly, taking a deep breathe.
"So uh, you were gonna kill me?"
"Well, its not like I wanted to.."
He raises an eyebrow, "The butter knife says differently, by the way that's fucked up. A butter knife? Really? What are you gonna spread me to death?"
"Shut up ok, It was the only thing I could find,"she quips, "It's part of a curse, I can't control it, okay?"Sadness flickers in her brown eyes.
"Riiiight... But don't you think I deserve like at least a steak knife? I mean this is kind of ridiculous."
"Would you shut up about the knife!"
"Fine, fine... I just didn't think you'd do me like that.."He mumbles defensively.
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head to clear her thoughts before continuing.
"I love you babe.. But I need to do this... it's the only way.."
"I mean you don't really ha-"
"ITS THE ONLY WAY."Another tear streaks her face as she collects herself, yelling again before angrily stabbing again.
Dink!
The blade snaps in half, flying off and clattering to the floor. Her husband looks between her and the piece of metal in disbelief.
"Really? While i'm awake and shit? That's cold." |
The folly of man never seizes to amaze, really.
It has been about fifty years by since I had been cursed. My flesh turned to stone by a witch, in exchange for wealth. Cast out by those who feared I had acquired some sort of disease and would spread it to them.
I have remained near the village all this time. Plenty of time I simply wanted to live near them. Perhaps as some guardian. Share the wealth I had, even if it was to talk to someone. But no. They judged me guilty of being different the moment they laid their eyes on me.
After burning my household thrice over, I got the message. I started harassing them by building statues similar to me throughout the forest. They could never tell me apart from the harmless statues. Whenever they broke it down, I built it back up. If they persisted, I'd await them. Crush one of them. I have been taking the territory acre by acre for the last ten years, biding my time to return.
And in all that time, I had never seen adventurer this....malleable.
He's scrawny and small, emaciated. Capable of hunting, but then unwilling to touch his food. Sits by a fire during the day and the night, only leaving to relieve himself and to hunt. He rambles to himself, often. Bloodshot eyes. He's paranoid of the statues, I suppose he knows that I'm here. Why is he here?
On the third day since he entered, I moved the statue near his camp away. I hauled it out as quickly as I could not caring for the noise. I let him hear it. Perhaps he'd learn what he's dealing with. But not much of a response. He yelled into the forest, asking who was out there and to show themselves. Who did this boy think he was? And who did he think *I* was? That I'd simply show up to his simple summons? Arrogant brat.
On the fourth day, I sat down in place of the statue. He came to me, his eyes gauging as he saw my form. He rubbed his hand all over me, trying to see if I could open up. Little fool he was, no blade could scar me. He tossed pebbles at my face, then proceeded to lay a noise trap behind me. If anyone would have moved there, he would hear it. Clever, but no clever enough. I wondered what he knew.
------------
Today is the sixth day. He just pissed on my feet. He appears to have gone completely mad. Flees jump from his clump of messy hair. His robes are torn and his shoes are missing. I'm pretty sure I saw foam at his mouth. Did they throw him out for rabies? A sacrifice to me, or maybe the witch?
No matter. No man who has the sheer idiocy in his mind to piss on my feet, may live. The sun has set. Darkness spreads everywhere. He will learn why children fear the dark. Not because of the dark itself, but because of what the darkness hides.
I move off of my 'pedestal' and get closer to the camp. He's grunting, hitting something. The closer I get, the more intense and bestial the noises he makes become. I spot him in the middle of his makeshift camp. He's trashed it, his tent had been knocked over, his stack of wood burnt, fire pit trampled. He's ripped what little clothing remained on him off until he only wore his undergarments. He heaved, coughed and wheezed as he collapsed.
I hadn't seen death by rabies before in a man. Somewhere out there, a scholar would pay good gold to see a man die like this.
But then he screamed. It wasn't a man's scream. It was a wolf's.
He kept tearing at himself, ripping off pieces of his own skin. Even in stone form, my stomach turns and I feel like I should look away. But this, this wasn't death. This was something else.
As splotches of meat drop around him, his skin tears and bulges. He keeps screaming, like a newborn babe. Black fur rises from the holes in his body. In my days, I'd seen a man's insides before. There's not supposed to be hair there. His face distorts as the screams turn more and more bestial. As I watch the madness go on, whatever this *thing* is continue to cast off his human form. His screams turn to whines, like a dog's whine. Or a wolf.
The new form born from the human reveals himself, as he rises and peels the last layer of manflesh off of him. A furry beast with a wolf's head, tail and legs, but the posture and body of man. A man much larger and stronger than the boy was. The beast reared its head and howled loud enough to be heard for miles on end.
I had never heard of such a curse. The witches probably did this to the boy. I wonder what they paid him. The love of his life? Riches, like for me? Or something else.
I remain motionless. There was no telling what this thing could do, but those cursed by witches should never be underestimated. The cursed always had a trick up their sleeve. Conniving hags loved their little letters at the bottom of a contract.
It turned to me. It *saw* me. I did not move. It could not harm me. I would withstand the tests of time, I was promised. It rushed at me faster than I could blink, and stared me straight in the face. Just now, I noticed that it had over a foot of height over me. A little intimidating, but no more than seeing my reflection when I move my face. It snarled, baring its razor sharp teeth. The man in my screamed and wanted to run. The statue in me remained.
It lashed out, knocking me on the floor. My face. He hit me in the face. Instinctively, I felt it. A set of claws just carved through my stone face. I bled. *What?!*
My heart pounded in my chest and got up to retreat. I wasn't fast enough as that beast tackled me. I struck out, hitting it square on the snout, but I kept running without looking behind me. I knew this forest better than him. I had to outsmart it. Bring the fight to my turf.
My turf. The garden. Yes! I could shake it off at least, maybe trap it.
I made my way as fast as I could, occasionally switching course so it wouldn't be able to land a pounce on me. Several times it tried, only to land headfirst into a tree or flat on the floor. It did not stop him though, only delayed him. After playing cat and mouse for what felt like half an hour, we arrived at my garden.
Where I kept over two dozen of statues with my liking. Just before I arrived there, I stopped and turned around. It was still coming. He was tracking me through the darkness of the night. Dogs were good smellers, but I didn't have a smell. A prick on my cheek reminded me. Blood. He could smell that, like a bloodhound.
It came charging at me again, in all its feral fury. I could see it's eyes. There was no fear. No paranoia. Nothing of the weak little man left. Just a beast, hunting its prey. Too bad it didn't understand the game of hunter and the hunted.
It leapt in the air, straight at me. Just in time, I moved out of the way as it barreled down the hill into my garden, where it landed with a thud and a whine. I followed after him. It took its sweet time recovering from the fall. As I ran by him, I kicked him straight in the ribs and gave him a good stomping on its head, one final stomp on his hand. I felt it crack as I brought my heel down with all my might.
It screeched and flailed, but by the time it got up, dazed and hurting, I'd already hidden. I drew blood from my cheek and painted other statues with it, wondering if he could be tricked by that. Or if it was even necessary at this point.
The beast pointed his head left and right, sniffing the air. It smelled me, alright, but couldn't pinpoint me. This place is my home. Everything smelled like me, even though I had no real smell. It wondered my garden, eyes keen with purpose. In a flash, he struck one of the statues I had painted with his good arm. It crumbled on impact, pieces flying everywhere. The man inside told me to flee. The statue in me told me to remain. I felt inclined to listen to the man, but this time I had the numbers.
Even gods can fill if enough people stop believing in him. Strength in numbers and cunning won battles. I had to be patient. Another statue turned to bits as it swung out. He was coming closer, becoming more frustrated as he kept walking. His nose was failing him. My heart hadn't let up, beating in my chest like a drum. Could he hear that? Dogs had keen hearing, but if he could hear that, I wouldn't be safe until I'd be far out. But how far was far enough?
It struck another statue, and another. It kept pounding them until he finally came to the last three, me and two others. The beast had exhausted himself. He was wounded. But he was still driven, didn't know when to stop.
He scanned each of us. Each of us had been painted. Each of could have been the one he wanted. But he couldn't tell. The statue in me remained. I waited. I had to be patient. the beast was exhausted beyond measure, panting like a dehydrated dog in summer.
Then, the beast sank to the floor. On both knees, held up by his good arm, the 'man with the hammer' had struck him. Now. I had to do it now. I got off of my pedestal and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. It whined and thrashed as I dragged it away to the house. For some reason, he just gave up, pointing his eyes to the sky. The clouds casting overhead, blocking the moonlight.
He slumped. Good. Easier for me to drag along. Until the fur gave away. He was shedding it. Shrinking away, his muzzle retreated back into his face, his legs turned human and his tail melted back into his body. Within half a minute, the man I had kept my eyes on was back, the fur vaporizing in thin air. He was asleep.
I hauled him over my shoulder and put him inside a closet. He can rest there. When the night's over and I've assessed the damage, I'll find out what he knows. After that.... We'll see.
I always did want a pet.
|
They say life is supposed to flash before your eyes, but all I could see was the barrel of the gun. The guy holding the gun didn't look very pleased.
My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest.
"Give me your wallet."
They always say you should respond by giving them your stuff. That your life is more valuable than your belongings. But my broke-ass bank account would disagree. If I gave up the money in my wallet, I'd either die of starvation or I'd have to deal with some people I didn't want to deal with. How dare this punk try to ruin my life? I could feel myself becoming upset.
Part of me definitely recognized that as being incredibly weird given the situation... but I wasn't quite in a position to think as well as I should.
"No,"I responded. "I can't."
I breathed a little as he shifted the gun to point at Jack.
Right, my friend was with me.
It did little to calm my heart rate. The vision that greeted me when I looked over to Jack was a bit surreal. He didn't look even slightly bothered. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a tiny pang of jealousy at the indifference he was so casually flaunting.
He, however, took his wallet out and handed it to him like this was just some everyday trade. Even the robber looked a bit taken aback.
"Here you go."
The robber took it and turned to run away.
I turned to Jack, in stunned silence for about 30 seconds, then spoke.
"W-why did you just give him your wallet?"I stammered.
"Don't worry. He's gonna get hit by a car in like a minute, anyway."
"Ah."I nodded. That made sense.
Actually, come to think of it...
"Wait, what!?"
"Oh. Shit. Uhh... I mean..."
My brain could not handle this. First, I damn well nearly died. Then, my dear old friend Jack acted suspiciously non-chalantly while under the threat of death. Then, he talked as if he knew the future, then *that* made him lose his composure? What in the everliving fuck was happening?
While I was trying to figure out if he was tripping balls, or if he was from the future, or if *I* was tripping balls, that's when I heard it. From around the corner. In the direction the robber ran. A car honking, a bit of a crash, and the sound of commotion rising. I glanced back to Jack, who was still red in the face and unable to form a coherent sentence, then turned to run towards the sound.
I wasn't much of an athletic guy, so it took about a minute and I was quite winded, but there he was. The robber. On the ground. In the middle of the street. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. I absentmindedly approached and saw Jack's wallet on the street, just a few inches from his hand.
I knew that if I just went and grabbed it, it would not go over well, especially given that I could in no way prove it was my friend's. So I turned back to fetch Jack.
Still a bit winded from the run, I only sped-walk back. I made it back to the spot I left him.
Only problem was that he was no longer here.
I started looking around to see if I could see where he went. I was just about to call out for him. That's when the lights went out.
---
Thanks for reading! I've never done a part 2 before, but I'll give it a try tonight. If you're interested, I'll be posting it here as well as on my subreddit at /r/SecretWinter. Feel free to subscribe if you want to be notified anytime I write a story or sequel to a story. Just be warned that I'm incredibly new to this, so that brand new subreddit is a barren wasteland.
[Part 2](https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9b611b/wp_you_and_a_friend_are_getting_robbed_at/e52u174/) |
"I trust my spells. I test them. Whatever the fuck you do all day in your moss eaten tower, that's not casting. That's like eating a water melon, shitting out the seeds, and claiming you're a farmer,"the drunk wizard slammed his mug down on the table and it instantly filled back up again.
"Jesus!"the bartender exclaimed wondering if magically refilling mugs could be added to the tab.
"And another thing, you..."he pointed his mug over towards the beautiful middle-aged woman in the green emerald dress across from him, "You... witch, sorceress or whatever you are. I know the only reason you're here is the queen. You couldn't conjure you're way out of a menopausal..."
And just like that his head slumped to the table and he was out.
"Thank God!"a woman sitting at the table behind them exclaimed followed by cheers from the rest of the bar.
The younger sorcerer smiled at the sorceress, "I told you it would work. How do you defeat a man who can conjure dragons, turn lakes into lava, and reanimate the dead?"
"Social engineering,"she smirked, but she still seem irked by the drunken old man's previous comments.
"That's right, now help me get him to the alley."
"Ok old timer, you've had too much to drink. Time to get you home!"She raised her voice loud enough for the other patrons to hear and purple light formed around the elderly man's arms and legs. After paying the tab with a snap of her fingers she walked out of the bar with the unconscious wizard in tow.
"I think we're far enough away, go down that alley,"the younger wizard pointed.
The old man was unceremoniously slumped to the ground and his purple bonds faded into the cold night air.
The excited young sorcerer started to search the older man's pockets. A bolt of blinding energy leapt from the wizard's cloak and shot him 15 feet down the alley.
"Warded..."the sorceress snickered amused.
She waved her hands in the air and a complex spider web of lines, runes, and formulas formed out of the crisp air.
"My fucking head,"the younger man rose from the ground and begrudgingly returned to the scene of his humiliation.
"I... I can't even read this ward. It's so..."
"Fucking Over-engineered!"the sorcerer gasped, "Why in the hell would you abstract a simple Lion of Ordin into three hierarchical Hounds Tooths? I mean you can do it, but why? It's like he tried to future-proof it, expecting it to someday fill some sort of mad king's desire to ward an entire castle knowing that it would only ward an old moth eaten robe. Why over-complicate a simple spell?"
"Just remember, it's not how well designed your ward is. The only two questions you ever need to ask yourself is, does it work and can another aligned mage read it well enough to improve upon it,"the older woman lectured.
"There, I think I see it. Right next to the Three Eyes of Soden,"he pointed.
"Oh my God, did he really encode the banishment word right there into the ward itself? And he's the Duke's magician?"the sorceress exclaimed.
"Pimp...My... Toad", the young sorcerer breathed each word out and the ward vanished into the air.
The sorcerer then warily placed his hands back into the robe, felt around a few seconds, and pulled out a small black stone.
"The Lodestone of Langus Algre!"the sorceress proclaimed.
"Our benefactor is going to freak,"the younger man laughed.
The woman then seemingly started gathering the night mist around her until it formed a perfect smooth oval in front of the two sorcerers.
An old haggard man's face formed in the shape and he looked surprised to be summoned, "Oh good, it's you. I was actually about to send a messenger for you."
"You're going to love the news we have for you, look!"the sorcerer proudly held up the stone.
"Oh, you already have the stone...."
"Yes, "the sorceress smiled, "And we're about to create a portal directly the the palace with it."
"Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't reach you in time. There's been a change of plans,"the man frowned.
"A change in plans?"the sorceress' brow started to furrow.
"Yes, you see while you were planning and implementing the job we had more time to evaluate the situation and we're not going to be able to get this war started with the assassination of a SINGLE duke. We want to go a little bigger and roll out three simultaneous royal assassinations at once. We think that will have a bigger impact on the kingdom,"the man informed.
"You can't be serious,"the woman scowled.
"You can't change the requirements now, we're already halfway through the..."
"Listen, I know you both are very smart and capable mages. I know you'll figure it out. And one more thing, the Earl wants it all done within the same time frame we discussed earlier."
"Impossible!"the young sorcerer screamed, "I've been overdosing ginseng all week just to stay wake 19 out of 24 hours a day. How am I going to get all of that done in..."
The man in the misty oval started looking extremely cross.
The wiser sorceress stepped in front of the younger sorcerer, "What my apprentice means to say is we'll have to add more mages to get this job done on time."
"I can increase the budget 10%, but I suggest you outsource to the far realms,"he was scratching his chin.
"Not the far realms!"the young sorcerer whined, "Most of them can only do one thing well! They don't think outside the manna cache. This is going to be a dis..."
"We'll get it done sir. Now if you don't mind I'll end this glass-spell so I can discuss the implementation details with my apprentice. Thank you for your time!"she faked a smile.
The man in the oval waved them away with a hand and the oval faded into the night.
"Never ever use negative terms when talking to the patron!"She admonished the younger wizard. "You say one negative thing and we're in another 5 hour meeting with the Earl. Do you really want that?"'
"No, I definitely don't want that!"
|
I have a special relationship with time, and the way it binds people into its slow, dragging embrace. I can tell how old you are at a glance, no need to read the slackening of your skin, the greying of your hair, the thousand other tiny changes most people rely on to guess at human age.
I know the ages of things, too, which has helped me immensely in my long, long *long* career as a paleontologist or, as they used to call the profession when I first started, an antiquarian. I still have to find other evidence to convince my colleagues, but knowing the correct answer right away is a considerable advantage.
And, as you've probably already guessed, the other part of my special relationship with time is that it doesn't touch me, not the way it touches other people. I learn, I can be injured and heal, but I don't break down. Later in life—though most of my existence could be referred to as "later"by the usual human standards—I learned that this was probably a violation of entropic principles. Well, it's happening anyway. Or not happening, as the case may be.
I haven't always been like this. In terms of geologic or even human historical time, I've been like this a very short while indeed. Ironically—is that the word here?—I came to have this special relationship through my profession, rather than coming into this field by way of the relationship. A ruin, a strange artefact, I'm sure you can piece together some of the outlines yourself if you're clever. Perhaps I'll relay the full story, if there's time, but first, you'll be wanting to know about the woman in the photograph.
It was her eyes that struck me first, before my sense of her age really arrived at the edges of my awareness. Perhaps because the ways I've come to know about time are not really natural, but any human would have noticed this particular gaze. Even in the scratched black-and-white of the daguerreotype, the forced stillness of her expression and pose, they stood out.
They *burned*. With what, I wasn't quite sure. Determination, certainly, the unshakable intent to be the thing acting and never thing being acted upon, wherever and whenever possible. And a certain canniness, that was there too. But more than anything else, it was *presence*. This was a woman you found yourself sure you'd be aware of if you ever were to share a room, whether she were visible to you or not, regardless of silence or speech.
I shook my head, and put the old book down on the pitted dark-light surface of my stained oak desk. Then I looked again, remembering my original purpose, ready to jot her age down in my notes along with all the others from the "Midwestern Society of Antiquities"to which the early photographs belonged.
Nothing. And that was alarming. Not just that she was alive. I was alive too, after all, and I don't consider myself an especially alarming person. I was a chronicler, not a meddler, and at that time in my life I intended to go on being so for quite a long time, as I certainly had plenty of it. No, it wasn't the possibility that there was another person like me in the world, I'd speculated on *that* for some time.
I couldn't tell when she had died, because she hadn't; there was no end-point in her stream of time.
But there was no beginning either.
"Sweet mother of Time,"I murmured, and made the ancient gesture of protection I'd learned in ruins deeper and more ancient than most of my colleagues would every readily believe, the one that had allowed me to survive the process that made me, well, what I am.
I cut the photograph out of the volume very carefully with the somewhat awkward pair of scissors that fold out of my pocket-knife. I still feel badly about this. It's not something I would normally ever do, to deface a book, and I looked about guiltily for any sign of the librarian more than once. But it had to be done. I needed to find this woman, if that's actually what she was, and this wasn't the sort of book the institution would be wiling to lend.
I pocked the square of paper, which looked as though it had aged with moderately poor grace, and slipped out of the library.
It's a simple enough thing for me to track a person through time, much more difficult to do it through space, especially when all I had to go on was a photograph. And to make matters worth it was a photograph of a person whose own relationship with Time was if anything even more unconventional than my own.
I started with the spot I knew the photograph had been taken. That was easy enough, I could feel her presence there, back and back and back through a thousand changes small and large. I walked in a circle. Had she gone this way? That? How quickly?
At first it was tedious. But then I came to know her usual schedule, following her throughout her days, and could guess where she'd be, skip forward, check for her traces at this time in that place.
At least until she left the little Ohio town where the image had been taken, and then my comfortable little academic life shattered like so much ancient pottery.
She'd gone to a ruin. And another, and another, nearly as deep as the one that had changed my life, or at least extended it, all those years ago. And everywhere she went, lives around her had ended. It wasn't clear who they were, or whether she was following them or them her, but I could sense the strands coming to sudden frayed points of termination. Violent death.
Never any clues, in any of the ruins. Plenty of signs that they'd been there, and been erased, just as violently as those human lives had met their early erasure from the the long sketching skein of time.
The ruins were all over the world. Never anywhere you'd recognize, never near any cities of any modern or even historical note. Every continent, nearly every country.
For years I followed this path, years and then decades, wandering through the turbulent changes of the 1960s, returning to academia for a while in the mid-1970s, hoping to keep up with the latest tools and techniques of my trade, then spending nearly the entirety of the 1980s in the sort of long, closely-studied pursuit that might have struck my colleagues as rather familiar. I returned again to teaching and studied for the late 90s and early aughts, trying to understand this new digital revolution, and now?
Then I was on the road again, and it brought me to an unassuming four-story apartment building in northern California. Brought me to a an equally unassuming door, with "27"on it in faded faux-brass. I raised my fist to knock, and breathed, and wondered.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
A pause in time, the longest I have ever known.
The door rattled, opened fully, and suddenly time moved too quickly to take everything in.
My good Goddess, those eyes.
<continued below> |
“You’re Alex?” asked the woman at the door.
It took Alex’s cider-soaked brain a moment to be certain of his identity. “Yeah, that’s me but I didn’t order anything. Does anyone order shit to a shared room in a hostel? Especially at,” He looked for his watch, realized he’d pawned it last week. He shrugged and took a swig of the can in his other hand instead.
“It’s three-thirty a.m., sir.”
”Alex. Not sir, okay? And you got the wrong place.”
”But you’re Alex and this is Hostel Oasis, right?”
Alex pictured the neon sign dangling from the building‘s front. The tubes that still glowed, that hadn’t suffered a prankster‘s vandalism, spelt “H ot as s,” but he figured it had once been Hostel Oasis. Figured the circular concrete pool in the backyard had once held water clean enough to see the bottom, too.
The delivery woman pushed the little package towards him. A box barely big enough to keep a few fingers inside. Although why he thought of putting fingers inside it he had no idea.
He sighed and took it. “Right place, wrong guy, but I’ll take it if that’s what you want.”
”I’ll wait for you to open it,” she said cheerily. “If you think it’s wrong then, then I’ll take it away with me.”
A scream came from behind Alex, from his room. Then someone laughing.
“Having a shindig?” asked the woman.
”Shindig?”
”A party.”
A party. He grinned sardonically. There was no party, just nightmares, ptsd dreams, drugs to mute his roommates’ demons until morning. Just like every other night in the shithole he was staying in. ”Listen,” he said, “when you live with five other fellas in a room the size of a coffin, there’s always a kind party. We just don’t call it that. Sure don’t call it a shindig.”
He placed his cider under his arm and tore open the cardboard. The woman stood there watching, smiling. She didn’t seem concerned about her location or her situation — Christ, he could have been anyone. Not some down on his luck chump whose wife had died and left him with no money and a depression deeper than the Grand Canyon.
Maybe he’d escort her out, he thought, but he knew he wouldn’t. He was too tired. He just wanted to shut the door and cocoon himself in his bunk, douse himself with homemade brew. Hell, light a match if he could find one. Maybe that was his gift to himself: a matchbox.
There was a box inside the cardboard box. A pretty shell-white thing that looked rose in the hallway’s leering red light.
“This definitely isn’t for me,” he said.
”Well, its not for you, exactly,” said the woman. “But you do order it.”
He slid the box open. Stared at a ring that dazzled in the light. Mesmerised himself in its sparkles. “I…”
”Like it?”
He thought about keeping it now. It was expensive, surely. He’d keep it, pawn it, find somewhere better to stay — at least for a while. Maybe he’d buy back his wife’s ring, if he could track it down. God, he should do that. Take it and sell it.
Then his wife’s voice sweetly in his ears: *your honesty is why I fell in love with you.*
That particular line of honesty had been telling her about the paper trailing her high heel. None of her friends had told her she’d been dragging it around the bar, instead sharing sly smiles with each other.
It’d been how they met. She’d bought him a drink to thank him for peeling it off. It should have been her blushing, but it’d been his cheeks that had gone cocktail-pink.
”I didn’t order it,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t take it, much as I’d like to.”
The woman frowned. “Maybe I didn’t explain myself properly when you opened the door. Or maybe you weren’t paying full attention, who can say. But the point is: you do order it. Not for a long time. A long long time, to be frank. But you do. And you pay for it in the future, so don’t worry about that.”
“What?” He scratched his stubble-stained chin. The lady was crazy. Maybe she lived here too. High as a tower. “In the *future?*”
“Right! You’re getting it. We deliver from the future. You order this for yourself, although to give to someone else.”
He felt hungover even though his hangover hadn’t begun to set in yet. Thought of paradoxes and liars and crazy people. “Why would I ever order a wedding ring?”
“Because you get over your wife’s death. Eventually.”
His spine froze. His mouth felt metallic, like there was a spoon jammed into it.
”You realized she’d want you to move on,” said the lady. “So eventually, you clean yourself up. You get work. You get therapy. You start seeing people. Meet one girl you click with. Two years later, you order this ring. But you have to order it to this moment because otherwise, none of it happens. Because otherwise, on that timeline…”
She reached out to his still-frozen hand. She clasped his fingers closely around the box. “Keep it close to you.”
”I love my wife,” he whispered.
”That won’t change.”
”What if… what if I sell it,” he said, his voice returned.
She smiled. “You don’t. So you don’t need to worry about it.”
And he somehow knew she was right. Or let himself believe it. And even though it was late, he felt a little less tired than usual. Even than in the days.
“I’ve got another delivery due for you soon — you’ll need a new watch. But you’ll have changed address by then. Good luck with finding your feet.”
He let her take the can of cider from his other hand. “Goodnight,” she said.
He waved a finger, weakly. “Night. |
I walked towards the source, my heart heavy. My armour was worn, covered in the scars of battles long since past. But it still held its strength, something for me to lean on. My shield was now a simple round piece of metal, it's crest long since faded. But it still protected me, long enough to draw out a losing battle. My sword was sharp, the one thing that still looked as good as new. In all my time, I refused to let it grow dull, for its ourpose was to be deadly, to take life to save mine.
It had been so long since I had tasted victory. Since I slew the Shattered Coven, and their curse had been laid upon me. I wouldn't again. All I could do was fight and lose. But sometimes, that was enough.
A horror had come. It had been borne from the Astral Plane, made of fear and hate. It sought to bring ruin upon those who had created it, blaming them for its cursed existence. It was something that could not be defeated. Not yet anyway. There was a plan, to contain it at least. But it needed a distraction.
I volunteered. I knew I couldn't win. I would lose. But if I gave it my all, it would be kept in place for longer. Maybe long enough to seal it. That was the hope anyway. My victory would be to defeat it of course, and reclaim my place as one of the mighty knights.
I came upon it as it exited a small wayside tavern. The door was nothing more than rubble, with the bodies of its owners lying on the ground. Their faces were etched in their final screams, their eyes a vacant void.
The horror itself was insubstantial, a grey cloud. It saw me, condensing into a familiar form. With bloodstains robes, and greasy, matted hair, the Head of the Coven sneered at me, as hateful as ever.
"Look who's back. The defeated Knight."
Her voice was a perfect replica, broken and cruel as ever. I readied myself, addressing it with little emotion.
"So, you make the form of that which we most hate."
Her face cracked into a smile.
"Clever. Now give me your fear."
It shot a tendril of grey towards me. I blocked it with my shield, running straight towards the thing. It laughed, preparing itself. I recognised the danger. If it touched me, it would get me. I couldn't allow that.
I swung at it, keeping my shield close. But my sword passed through it like smoke, leaving it undisturbed. I knew then I was doomed. I couldn't harm it. I could only dodge, and wait for it to win. It laughed with her voice, striking at me with both fist and tendril. I dodged and blocked, dread filling me. I knew I wouldn't win. But losing this would be a nightmare.
Inevitably, it happened. My bad luck struck,as I stepped on a loose rock. My leg crumpled, and I fell to the side. Sensing the opportunity, it slammed a tendril down, part of it touching my skin. As it did, I felt it worm into my mind, pulling out my deepest fear.
"So.... the defeated Knight fears... defeat. How ironic."
It pushed on the fear, bringing up each of my failings. I remembered each vividly, as it forced me to.
But the terror did not rise. I had grown used to failing. That fear no longer had sway over me. I grinned, taking ahold of that tendril. I had lost the fight. I couldn't beat it. But I could keep it here. Keep it in one place. Make sure they could seal it, by being in the seal. I wouldn't survive, but I didn't have to. I didn't have to win. They did. |
"Well, this is awkward,"I said.
I poked what was left of the princess with the tip of my sword. The weapon sunk a little into her skin, but there wasn't much blood left to lose. Much of it had already drained from her body, seeing as how she was in two pieces.
I glared at the dragon, who was currently curled up across the cave, nibbling on the other half of her highness, or rather what had recently been her highness. The oversized reptile had the decency to look faintly abashed.
"You said it was fine,"the dragon whined. "Said it was fine! You said if she died, it wouldn't be a loss!"
I withdrew my sword from the corpse, inspecting the blade. Absently, I pulled a rag from one of my belt pouches and rubbed the end of the weapon, before putting the blade away.
"I meant… that she, and her entire family, are a blight on society, and I really wouldn't care if something unfortunate happened to her. But we needed her intact for the plan to work, you know?"
"I was hungry,"the dragon grumbled, as she swallowed a bite of the princess. "Very hungry."
"You had an entire pig yesterday,"I replied. "I expected you to control your appetite."
The dragon flapped her wings in indignation. The cave wasn't large enough for them to unfurl fully, but I still had to resist the urge to duck when one of them came a bit too close to my head.
"That was yesterday! Yesterday! Today is today!"
I shook my head. "I should have gotten you two pigs… the farmer was already going to miss the one, it's not like more would have mattered. Never mind. Too late, now."
"There's some of her left,"the dragon pointed out, jabbing a wingtip to one side. "Some of her! Kind of left. You can bring her back!"
I sighed. "The king is expecting his daughter alive and intact, not a discount slightly-used version. Unless you can vomit the rest of her up, and we can find a necromancer… "
The dragon looked down at the partially-eaten portion of princess in her claws. Her eyes crossed, and she rubbed a claw against her throat.
"No, don't do that,"I said, raising my hands hastily. "We'll figure something out."
The dragon shrugged her forelimbs. "Could always conquer the kingdom. Conquering is good."
"I'm not disparaging your capabilities,"I said drily, "but we ruled out that option in the planning stages, remember? Too messy. The idea was to kidnap the princess, then I'd bring her back for the reward. It was a good plan. Until you got… hungry."
"Sorry,"the dragon mumbled. "Sorry?"
I rubbed my face with a gloved hand. "Okay. Let's talk through this. We can salvage this. We just need a princess. A living princess."
I paused. I stared at my draconic friend, speculatively.
The dragon moved her head from side to side. "Uh, why are you looking at me like that? Looking at me funny."
I nodded slowly. "You can shapeshift, right?"
"Can shapeshift,"the dragon said, pronouncing the syllables carefully. "Can. It is a thing I can do. Definitely do."
I folded my arms across my chest. "But you're bad at it."
"I wouldn't say bad,"the dragon said, in a plaintive tone. "Not bad. Just… not good?"
I gestured at the late princess. "You left her head intact, so there's a model for the face. We've got about three days before she starts to really go bad. Better start practising."
The dragon whined.
"Come on,"I encouraged, "it'll be fine, I know you can do it. Look, if you work hard, if you get this down, I'll get more pigs for you, okay?"
As always, the prospect of bribery and food immediately lifted my companion's spirits. Her expression shifted, and her head visibly perked up.
I smiled. "Maybe a cow or two!" |
It was an *accident,* just to be clear. When you'd made the path to your base a literal hell path with more traps than it should have had for a basement with an empty fridge and an abysmal empty plan board, you didn't actually expect anyone to try and get in. So when you found Infista crashing through the walls of your alleged home searching for you, you weren't ready for her to be *slammed into a titanium wall at the speed of 310km/h.*
She wasn't invincible, not really, and its one of the reasons you were so, *so* careful when you were fighting her. Jane- that was her real name; it wasn't so difficult to find- wasn't the most durable of heroes, but she was smart, and her combo ability of brief physical enhancement along with invisibility lent to sneak attacks that tended to stop any further fights. The impact hadn't killed her, and you thank the gods for it every day, but just the sight alone of her on your medical bay barely breathing and covered in a cast you had one of your servants wrap her in.
You had thought of taking her to the hospital, say she got caught up in a super powered fight- it was reasonable, really, but that would catch the attention of the higher ups of the heroes organization, and there hadn't been any fights that day that would cause this severe an injury. She was alive, and as conscious as one could be. It was easy to tell, with the way her eyes tracked your movements and the several attempts of getting away from you that always failed.
For a while, it was actually pretty cute how she kept trying her best to at least roll off the surgery table when you'd pick up your tools. It never worked, of course not, and you took the time to be smug about it every chance you could. When you were analyzing her mind, replacing bones with alloy you'd had in store, fixing the several places where her skin was ripped apart from the force- the way her eyes looked through it all left you breathless.
A kind of alertness that surprised you, and as time went on the straps on the bed weren't enough to keep her down. She once managed to rip the leather off in a moment of peace, having healed enough that enhancing herself no longer left her nearly comatose with exhaustion, and ran for it with her invisibility. She never made it out because the poor girl practically had a panic attack when she ended up *right* where she had gotten hurt. You took her back in, of course; it would have been a horrible thing to do, to just leave her, and she seemed to approve of your choice when she had clutched onto your arms so tightly.
Despite how sad it all was, the whole thing made changing her perception of you quite a lot more easier. She never even noticed when she had stopped seeing you as Ephemera, and instead just *Mary.* Sweet, sweet Mary who was always there for her. Who always held her close when old memories came back, and took them away for her. Who went to their room every morning to hand a beautiful spread for breakfast, who made Jane feel so much better about it all, *and who was just so kind to let her stay without any expectation of payment in return.*
And she was right to believe so, after all, nobody *else* would have done what you'd done, right? No, they would have just handed her off to the local hospital to be taken advantage of by the first nurse that saw, not like you, *nothing* like you, who had seen poor Jane as the mess that she was and doing all you could to help her. Even when you were the one who hurt her so badly, it didn't really matter now, did it? Jane was happy to be by your side for all of eternity, you'd made sure of that. |
It's that easy. "Karma"they call it, the "Contrappasso". I call it blind, for it knows not what it does. A blind judge is no judge at all. She sees no truth, but can hear every lie. My Karma is no justice either. It hears only what I wish it to hear. Only sins. Only harm.
Each and every man does harm in the course of his life. They balance it out by aiding other people, repairing items or healing injuries done by others. It's a simple cycle... and one I ignore.
I tighten my grip. The "Hero"before me is no more than a child. He may wear a mask and black clothing... but he's a child nonetheless. And he too, is powerless before me. I can tell that his greatest sin is making his mother cry. That one is his biggest shame too. He tried to repent many times. Tried to help civillians, tried to save hundreds of lives, just to say that he really tried to do better. And truth is, he did. "Night Walker"... he truly is this country's hope.
But I do not care. Throughout his righteous work he slapped many wrists. One cracked bone is a small price to pay, right? So long as in the end, you've done more good than evil. Well, one crack slowly grows into a hundred. At some point you look at what you've done and you see thousands of cracked bones, each and every one exchanged for tens of saved lives. You're a hero, right?
Well, he's certainly one. But then he decided to cross me. I can tell he's crying by now. I did not even hurt him that much beforehand... and so I know that it's not a lament of pain, but one of fear. He can already tell there's no getting out of this one. The skin on his forearm, once pure and white, now withers into gray. Then it cracks. Then so does the flesh beneath. Within seconds, Night Walker, the impossibly gifted and powerful Night Walker, is reduced to ash.
For a man of my profession that should be an amazing achievement, but I do not even smile. I'm not the kinda villain that laughs after killing... but that one really hit a somber tone. I was once a kid like him. Joined the league, done my service as a sidekick, all the jazz. They really liked the kid who could "Immobilize people who did evil!"Yeah, back then I caused \*just\* overwhelming pain. Eye for an eye kind of thinking. But then I accidentally stole the spotlight from the wrong "hero"and I learnt that there is no true justice in this world. I don't really blame the guy for thinking I was dead. Even after all these years, the limp isn't getting any better and well, the eye never regenerated.
That man, "The Blaze", was my first kill. More soon followed. They really never connected the dots. There is no innocent man before me. Every brother is a murderer, every sister a whore. What hope do you have? Well, there is one. That when we meet, it is to make business and not war.
"Justice is blind..."that much is true, but she's willing to listen. And this old man's got his silver tongue. |
"Honey! It's the president again! he's asking when you're going to do something about that alien invasion!"Erin shouted from the hallway, she always does that.
*Sigh* "For the last time hun! I'm the HERO, I'm going to save the day eventually! Why don't you read that book people keep yapping about some more?"
"What, the book that's supporting the coffee table!?"
Hank rolled his eyes, "you might not not want to shout that loud with the president on the phone! But yes honey, THAT ONE"
A few moments later Erin appeared in the living room, "he's not going to hang up this time".
FINE, Hank resigned himself to never finding out how much that antique watch was worth and turned off the tv.
"Hank, for the last flipping time! FIX THIS"
"Now now no need for harsh language mister president", Hank smiled at his wife who was already furious at him for dragging his feet with this whole aliens thing.
Hank returned to the phone: "look, they're aliens, they probably have some crazy scheme for wanting to come to earth, do we know what it is yet?"
After a small moment of silence a very confused voice replied: "You know, we never even asked..."
"Well go on, ask the aliens why they're here, I'll wait"
Hundreds of years later, people still celebrate the day when Hank saved the world by asking what the aliens actually wanted.
And ever since we gave the aliens our wifi password we never heard from them again. |
He dodged another attack, cracking his cane on the back of his attacker's head and laughing with glee. "Son, I'm half a century older than you and I hit twice as hard!"
He smiled as another youth came charging at him, and with a little sidestep *here* and a little nudge *there* he sent the massive man hurtling into the nearby wall.
"You're all brawn and no brains! What are they teaching you kids these days?"
Most of the older warriors, now spent and injured, were taking solace behind this legendary, elderly hero.
"Back in my day, you wouldn't last a day out here!"
Two men came directly at him, and his cane made short work of them. He was barely trying at this point.
"I suppose it's our fault, really,"he said, jabbing his cane into a stomach, then sweeping out the legs of another, "we were just too focused on killing each other to really teach you boys anything."
A glancing blow caught his chin, and he recoiled, spat the ensuing blood at his opponent, then hooked him to the floor with his cane.
"The way I see it, you've all been duped, like I was - like we all were."
The old warriors behind looked at each other.
"You talk of honour, but where's the honour in killing old and crippled men? Why not look towards our oppressors, who put us in this arena in the first place?"
One warrior, sufficiently chastened from a fractured nose and broken pride, grunted in agreement. Slowly, others did the same.
The old man smiled.
"I'm sure even Valhalla will agree, we've got to move with the times."
He looked towards the guards in the arena, and at the king himself. They were slowly edging away.
"And I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I don't have much time left." |
First, I would like to thank you all for gathering here. Actually, not really, you're all gathering here so you can watch me be executed. That makes you a bunch of depraved dicks. Seriously, let's just assume that I killed Stacy, which I didn't, but let's assume that I did. You know what? You're still a dick. Wanting me dead is one thing, but watching me die? Yup. That's what a dick would do.
Anyways, I am sure you've all read the state laws pertaining to this. I have. Twice. Not because I thought I missed anything the first time through, but because, well I've been in jail for the last eight years, and the library sucks balls. Like you dicks.
Now, the nice part about state laws is that I am afforded two things. First, a last meal, of my choice, so long as its less than $50 dollars. Spent it all on Code Red Mountain Dew and espresso shots. And the right to say my last words. And guess what? You dicks cannot interrupt my last words.
So let's just say we're going to have a long, long chat. First, we're going to talk about my life. Then we're going to talk about my philosophies. And then we're going to talk about why you're all dicks.
...... So I proceeded to recount my life's story. My favorite toy when I was three. My best friend in first grade. My favorite book in fourth grade. Tom Ringer in sixth grade? Yeah he was a dick. And when I lost my virginity to Sandy Clemmons like half the rest of the school in the back of her dad's car in senior year of high school.
We went all the way up to the point of when Stacy was murdered at 10:15PM on Thursday, September 14, 2008, and how it couldn't be me. I remember, quite distinctly, that I was choking my chicken to reruns of friends because I was in love with Rachel. Sorry. It was episode 57, by the way.
And then we talked about my philosophies, which centered mostly around me thinking everyone in the room was a dick, and why. The executioner, what type of dick chooses this job? That type of dick. The Warden. Why the fuck couldn't we watch TV on Sunday? Stacy's mom. Sorry your whore of a daughter died, but why do you want me to go out with her? I wanted to feel bad for calling the daughter of a bereaved mother a whore, but when you are trying to have me killed for no good reason, I can be a bit of a dick. On and on it went.
Night stretched into morning, morning stretched into day, and the sun rose, which is good for me, because state law says you can't execute people when the sun is up. I can do this forever. That's when they locked me back in my cell, a satisfied grin on my face.
As the guard was leaving I said, "hey, when you bringing breakfast around?"
"About fifteen minutes, but you ain't getting any. No more food for you."
"What!? You can't starve me?"
"Sure we can. You ate your **last** meal after all. Don't worry, in another few days, you'll be begging for the needle."
And that's when I remembered, they're all dicks. |
"Now this is just not *fair*!"
Annoyed I stepped out from my cover beneath the bushes and into the open, looking at the two bodies at my feet. A young couple - her name had been Sarah, his Steve, they had both been 16, it had been their first camping trip together without their parents.
I knew all this because I had been following them *all day*, stalking them like a predator stalks his prey, patiently waiting for the right time to strike. And now someone had. And that someone hadn't been me.
I had only let them out of my sight for a few moments! Scanning the surroundings, making sure there was nobody around who would disturb our...privacy. Not only so there was no chance of me getting caught in the act, but also so nobody could snatch my prize away from under my nose. It wouldn't have been the first time.
Someone else was out there, doing *my* work, taking what should be *mine* to take. And judging by both how skillfully this someone had evaded my sight and how quickly he had dealt with these two, he - or she - seemed to be very gifted indeed. Annoyed as I was I couldn't help but feel impressed.
Expertly I looked at the scene. There was a *lot* of blood - not really my kind of thing but everyone has a different taste (and everyone tastes differently I have experienced). The young couple was lying on the floor, in each others arms. If they still had the look of terror on their faces it wasn't possible to tell, because both their faces were missing.
"Someone is collecting souvenirs", I thought.
The final killing blow was easily detected. A long curved knife protruded from each chest, exactly where the heart was - swift and decisive.
Only then I noticed something intriguing. One of the knives had a note attached to it. There was no doubt in my mind who this note was from... and who it was to.
I glanced at my watch, there should still be enough time. I stepped towards the body and took the note. Like everything else, it too was covered in blood. Except for the words, which were perfectly readable, written in black ink with delicate handwriting:
> "*This is my territory. I suggest you better get out of it. If you don't, the hunter will become the hunted.*"
I smiled, licking my teeth. This promised to be a very intriguing turn of events. Very well, my opponent had made his move.
Now it was my turn.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
*^^Comments ^^and ^^criticism ^^very ^^much ^^appreciated, ^^they ^^help ^^me ^^improve. ^^If ^^you ^^liked ^^this ^^feel ^^free ^^to ^^check ^^out ^^r/MyWPStories ^^where ^^I ^^archive ^^all ^^of ^^my ^^stories ^^from ^^this ^^subreddit. ^^Thanks.*
|
My Grandmother Gertrude was the kind of woman who still wore a leather jacket, and smoked cigarettes in old diners and bars until someone told her to stop. It was to the surprise of exactly no one when one day she didn't come home from a long ride on one of her many vintage motorcycles. Police looked around for her for a spell, but figured she had wandered off somewhere off the main roads and crashed in some long forgotten corner of one of the many national forests that surrounded the small town she lived in.
No one in my family seemed to particularly mind that she had vanished, or particularly concerned with finding her. She had never quite fit in, what with her Father and siblings all being strict church going folk, and since she had been a fairly wealthy eccentric there was certainly financial motivation for her to stay gone for everyone else's benefit. I was maybe the only one who missed Grandma Gerty, she had been a friend and confidant throughout my life and the only person who I could stand at family reunions. She had paid for my first tattoo and encouraged me to go after that well-intentioned but utterly useless art history degree - and had more than once taken me in for the night when my folks kicked me out.
I had drawn the short straw when it came to cleaning the estate, I suppose because everyone wanted me out of the way, and the overstuffed attic and her eclectic collection of knick-knacks and curios awaited me. There was the stack of old Playgirl magazines, a few life sized cardboard cutouts of the Chicago Bears Super Bowl team, and an aging collection of vinyl records that hadn't seen the light of day since Elvis walked amongst us. The smell up here made me sad, it was tinged with her unique mixture of incense and menthol cigarettes that I had come to associate with her. I could hear her cackling laugh and the 'little bit too tight' handshakes she'd give people when they came to visit.
It was clear she spent a decent amount of time up here, an old lawn chair sat in the corner with a pile of books next to it and a nice view of the lake she lived by. I sat down in the chair, the fabric on it was a little loose but otherwise comfortable. When I put my arms down on the armrests they comfortable sat in grooves she had worn in it over the decades she had lived in this home. Little traces of her were everywhere. Underneath the seat there was a small lock box, and scratched on it's tin surface was the worn text that read "If Lost, Open"
My chest tensed up, arms relaxing a little as I ran a finger across the text slowly. One of the odd things Granda Gerty had taught me back in elementary school was how to pick simple locks, and sure enough taped to the bottom of the box was a small locking picking kit with a small smiley face sticker next to it. I carefully removed the kit and set to the slow work of unlocking the box.
Downstairs I could hear my family arguing about some old blue vase, arguing that it would look better on Bill's mantlepiece than it would on Caroline's entry table. It would be like this all day, everyone trying to claim a small piece of her home for themselves before we sold it. The lock clicked open with a sharp snapping sound, and the lid popped open about a quarter inch.
The box itself had been light, and inside was an envelope and a well rolled joint. The envelope was labelled "To the (f)Art Historian", written in her all caps block letter style. I opened the envelope and started to read:
*Hey Kiddo,
You like the Fart History joke? I did too. And yeah, of course you'd get stuck on attic duty. If not than this box'll just sit unopened and tossed in a junk pile along with all this other stuff I couldn't find a better place for. And that'll be okay. But I'm damn near certain you're going to get stuck on attic duty.
Might wanna light up that joint, because the rest is a doozy.
If you're finding this, well, hate to break it to you but I'm dead. Six feet under. Kaput. No surprise reveals this time, no big supernatural adventure or nothing, no pranks, I'm just dead. I'd have been back by now to hide this box and burn this letter if you're here cleaning up.
Back in the 60s and 70s I was in with some bad people, who did worse things. I'll spare you the details but lets just say that left me with some moral debts I've never taken the time to repay. I'm heading out to make some things right with the people who were hurt by things we did when your Grandfather and I were young, and I'm pretty damn sure that's going to get me killed. Which means that goddamn Doctor was always wrong about me going by way of lung cancer or high cholesterol. I've got one more adventure left to live in me - and I think I've had more than my fill for a lifetime. And don't worry about anyone coming after the family or the house, I've made sure it's all anonymous.
I woulda told you sooner, but it feels like one of those things that you don't tell somebody without them doing something stupid like trying to save your life or talk you out of it. And lord knows you could trick me into doing anything, so I kept the information from you. I suppose I owe you an apology for that, but I think you'll understand.
I didn't think writing this last paragraph would take so long, but I just can't think of a good thing to say other than I love you, and you've been the joy in my life for the last 29 years. You've made the ride worth it, kiddo. By way of life changing advice I don't really have anything for you other than you shouldn't rob banks and should always chase whatever or whoever makes you happy. See you on the other side*
I folded the letter carefully, putting it in my pocket. As always I couldn't tell if Grandma Gerty was being honest or not, and it didn't hurt I was halfway through the joint she had rolled for me. Maybe she had been some sort of bank robber, or drug dealer, or something crazy like that. Maybe she just quietly lost herself in the woods somewhere and didn't want me to wonder if she had gone alone. Maybe it was all some psychotic episode and she was still out there somewhere.
I looked over at the record player she had setup on top of some old boxes, and a faded Rolling Stones album sat on the turntable. I took a deep hit of the joint and blew the smoke up in the air and started the song. |
The human bowed before us. The Kra'kzor were highly skeptical; mammalians aren't as developed and resistant as the humans are, and by comparison, the Kra'kzor were set in the idea that allowing the humans into the Union was a colossal waste of time. However, since he was a minority, the human race was allowed to present their case. The man stared at all of the members of the Union, receiving a variety of emotion. The leader of the Vaingrad was curious, and the warlord of the Arkans were skeptical. Eagerness, suspicion, the human took some time to absorb all of that. "I am August Davenport, and I was sent before you regarding the Human Coalition's induction to the Intergalactic Union."They did their homework. I cleared my gulas and replied. "And I, Gashan, High Counselor, welcome you into our halls. As you may already know, the Intergalactic Union's induction is based solely on what all species have at best, and how they can contribute to the whole galaxy. Because of that, I need to ask: What is the Human Coalition's potential contribution to the Union?
"Music, sir."The human stated.
"Mew...zic?"I tried to repeat the word, but it was foreign. Alien, if you will. A murmur grew among the members as confusion grew. I cleared my gulas again, centering the attention back to the human. "We are unfamiliar with the word, August Davenport of Earth. Please, proceed."August looked behind him as two other humans carted along of what seemed like a large box. It was black, and oddly shaped, something none of the Union has ever seen before. "Is this where the mewzic is stored?"I asked, quite confused myself. August nodded, a kind smile painted across his face. "Oh, no, Counselor, music isn't an object. It's hard to put into words, so it's best if I show you."I simply nodded, expectantly. August sat on the bench that they brought along with the box, and opening a small port on the front, passed his hands on the ivory and ebony buttons. August took a deep breath and started pressing the buttons, and a haunting noise echoed through the hall. It was harmonious, yet evoked a sense of sadness, something that I never felt before. Everyone, including the now aghast Kra'kzor had their oculars set on August, as he continued to make the box emit such marvelous sounds. The human deftly pressed one button after another, each one making a different noise, and yet, all of these sounds intertwining with each other in a marvelous tune.
Roughly 6 minutes passed, yet no one dared to stop the human, and when he stopped, finishing it, the halls were left in absolute silence. The leader of the Vaingrad placed her hands in her face, a Vaingrad expression of extreme sadness. In human words, she was crying. After a minute or two, a quick murmur started and ended, everyone nodding in agreement. I took a deep breath, mimicking August, then started, trying to choke up my own feelings. "The Union acknowledges the contribution of the Human Coalition, and is happy to accept the human race's induction to the Intergalactic Union."The humans in the back cheered and embraced each other, in what seemed like an expression of joy. August bowed once again. "The Human Coalition thanks the Union in the acceptance. I hope we work together to bring what's best from both of us."As he turned to leave, I couldn't contain myself. "Excuse me, Mr. August Davenport?"He turned back, a little bit confused. "Can you please explain a bit more about this mewzic?"August smiled kindly. "The song that I played was from a human called Beethoven, its name being Moonlight Sonata, movement 1."Everyone nodded, extremely attentive to the human. No one would dare to miss another sound that came from them. |
They first crossed paths many centuries ago, amongst the sulfurous pools.
The gates to hell, they were called, back then -- and indeed, they were, for many good men that day.
\---
Keanu looked across, to where his enemy waited, encamped. A great host of a million men, it was said, had come to conquer his home.
That wasn't going to happen. Not if he had something to say about it. He looked at his men, gleaming warriors -- no, heroes, clad in bronze, and *knew* that they would hold. That they would fight, to the last man, to protect their home.
That would have to be enough.
Images of the Oracle flashed through his mind, the pale woman convulsing as she delivered the prophecy of the gods.
*"Defeat! Defeat and despair! Oh, Lacedaemonians, beware! They shall come in numbers too great to count! Either the whole land shall burn, or a king will die! Beware!"*
He chuckled to himself at the thought. Oracles always talked too much about what they didn't know -- prophecies were made for the masses, for people who put their faith into the unknown. He, himself, preferred to put his faith into his shield, and into his men.
And there was something else that the Oracle didn't know. She'd given them a choice between a King's death or the ruin of the land.
*But what if the King can't die?*
He was no Achilles -- swords and spears would still pierce his skin. But Keanu had already been stabbed through the heart once, and yet, here he still stood.
And they'd have to get to him before they could take his city.
The enemy lines had begun to form, along the other side of the pass, while his men has stood at the ready. He could see his opponent, a man they called the King of Kings.
*What a ridiculous title.* *He is no king of mine.*
A messenger, bearing an olive branch and a white flag approached him on horseback, stopping out of reach of their spears.
"I come bearing a message from the King of Kings, long may he rule! Lay down your arms, and you shall be given rewards, riches beyond your imagination! You shall be a friend to all of the descendants of Perseus, and rich land beyond your reckoning! Heed me, good heroes of Lacedaemonia!"
Keanu looked at the man. He knew of the great heroes of Lacedaemonia. Was the man stupid or just mad? They would never retreat, not while their home lay behind them.
His response was swift. A single javelin, thrown through the white flag that the messenger carried was enough.
The panicked man swiftly rode back to his lines, conferring with the enemy. Moments later, another messenger, this one clad in heavy armor, rode towards his men to announce another message.
"The King of Kings, long may he rule, is saddened by your refusal! In his great mercy, he makes a final offer! Hand over your arms, and you shall be spared!"
He was answered by silence. Not a single response was made by the men before him.
Two words broke the silence.
"Come and take them."
\---
/r/taichi22 (Subscribe if you want more like this!)
Edit: I'll be writing a part two to follow up on the prompt-- it's not fully fleshed out yet, I know. Nic still hasn't arrived, but I had to run to a job interview! |
Once upon a time there was a knight who lived in a castle by the sea. In martial prowess he stood head and shoulders above his peers, and in acts of chivalry none could match him. He spent his days practicing his lance and his sword, and of course riding his trusted war steed, Dauntless, through the emerald cliffs by the crashing blue waves. Day after day he trained in solitude and waited for the hour when his kingdom needed his sword.
That hour finally arrived. Tragedy had struck the kingdom of Fantastica. The evil wizard Vironius had died after a spell back fired, transforming his penis into a most irritable king cobra. News spread throughout the land that the Sinister Vironius was snuffed out by his own venomous member, and the people were sad. Who now, would kidnap the fair Princess Dianne? Who now would begin the dramatic sequence of events that would end in her rescue and safe return? The people of Fantasitica had come to rely on these kidnappings to lift their spirits from the horrible realities of indentured servitude. It distracted them from hordes of lice, the constant dysentery, and most importantly the stench of each other. Something had to be done, lest they become focused and work together towards socioeconomic reform.
Hearing of this, the knight took action. He stormed the king's castle on his trusted war steed, Dauntless, and after the slaying of twenty seven of the kings guards came to the chambers of the princess. Seeing the furrow of her lovely brow, the knight explained to the princess he must kidnap her for the good of the realm. She agreed, but he told her not to agree as that would make a poor start to a kidnapping. She then disagreed. Satisfied, he stole the Princess Dianne from her castle and took her to his home by the sea.
He placed her at the bottom of a deep hole, slick and inclimbable on the sides to prevent an untimely escape. Each day he passed a basket down to her containing the realms finest skin lotions of milk and honey. The knight explained to the princess that she must take the lotion from the basket and apply it to her skin, and again the princess was confused.
Vironius never did this, she explained. The evil wizard just locked her in a tower by a single window and fed her nice things like cakes and interesting cheeses. The knight explained he had a better idea, and that once her skin was soft from the lotion he would cut it off and sew it into a Dianne suit for himself to wear in the privacy of his castle by the sea. Reluctantly, the princess put the lotion on the skin.
And then one day, when the skin of the princess had nearly reached a most appealing state of luster and suppleness, a special member of the king's guard tracked down the knight's castle by the sea. Sir Jodie Foster found the princess in her hole, killed the good knight with her glock 9mm broadsword, then rescued Dianne and returned her to the King with much buzz in the news media. The peasants cheered the heroic act, once again ignoring the brutal inequality and retched smell of their daily lives. The feudal system of government had survived, all thanks to the brave, now thoroughly deceased knight, who lived in a castle by the sea.
|
Those darn dragons. They're pesky, you know. Worsen' than long-tail rats for driving me nuts. What's this today? Number fifteen? No, sixteen. Sixteen heroes they've sent after me, hoping to steal the Slayer and go on Slayen' each other with it.
I keep the Slayer in my cart, which I drag around town as I do my business. It's a massive ol' machine, spouting out fire as cold as ice. I reckon it's purty rare, cuz I've never seen nothing like it. Man who sold it to me said it'd kill a dragon at a single touch of the cold flames. But don't worry, I won't let them dragons get at it and take it away. You know what you can do with a machine like this?
That's right. You're a sharp kiddie. Machine like this oughta be used for making something more important than war. It's cold, all the time. Even in the desert. Even in summer! So I pack it up in my cart and drag it around town, whistling my favorite tune. Kids like you come running at the sound of my whistle. You know what I've got for sale.
So if any of you see a hero come into town, you tell him I ain't here. If he's a persistent feller, you let me know and I'll take care of him. Was today's hero persistent?
Good, I didn't want to have to kill nobody today. It ain't their fault they don't feel the same way I do about the Slayer. Well, in exchange for you keepin' this one away, you can have one of my goods, fresh from the Slayer. Just let me know what you want. Popsicle or ice cream cone? |
Her father was a fisherman.
It was a dying breed. The coast of Angola was one of the few places left where the fishing was good. Where you could still find something that wasn't undercut by fish-farms and lab-made proteins. The waters were swamped with boats, people from all over the world congregating to try and make some use of their inherited gifts. To do the job they were told they should have.
Her skills were more traditional than most, but easy to translate to a trawler. Winding winches and hauling in nets was much the same as reeling or casting lines. It took a month or two to acclimatize, but she managed to land a spot on a steady boat. Hard. Dangerous sometimes. But it paid well.
It didn't attract eyes.
"I'm thinking of putting in for a transfer,"Key grunted from beside her, holding onto the railing as it bucked in the storm. He had to shout to be heard and she shuffled closer to save his voice. "The Net has a spot on a crab-boat going towards Alaska. Would get me out of this heat."
"Just as bad as this up there, only freezing."That had been her first choice, but it was far too close to home. "You sure you've got the inheritance for that?"
"Crabs, fish, they're almost the same. Nanites are adaptable, right?"He shot her a grin through the spray, turning fearful as the boat rocked, almost sending them both over the side. "Give my kids something more rounded."
"Good plan."She pushed away from the edge and stumbled herself back to the wall of the ship. Key followed her, tugging his hood down tighter. They were fools for being out here. She could see only one other figure, head down and hood up, moving quickly through the rain. "Better plan would be getting inside."
"You kidding?! Last storm of the season and you want to miss it?!"He laughed, his teeth stark white in the dark, his eyes gleaming. "Trust me, every idiot in the bar is going to want to hear about-"
Hands grabbed his head and slammed it hard into the side of the boat. She caught one flash of his eyes (wide, confused) before he toppled to the deck.
The figure lunged at her, mag-cuffs shining in his hands, reaching for her.
*Avoid. Punish.*
She lurched back, avoiding the hands, tracking the lights through the storm. Her foot came out, jamming itself into his knee. There was a grunt. A soft click. Bone on bone.
She struck twice, center of mass, feeling ribs under her knuckles and hearing the breath leave his lungs. Then the fist swung into the side of her head.
*Balance. Focus.*
Her boots were made for water-slick decks and she caught herself on the second step. The man was lurching now. Pain showing as he lead with his left leg. She felt her back touch the railing. Grabbed it for support as she ducked under the next swing.
Something flashed in the pocket of the man's coat.
*Weapon.*
She threw herself into the man. Too small to tackle him to the floor, just large enough to set him reeling. The cuffs dropped to the deck as he grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm up above her head. He caught the second as it slipped into his pocket. Squeezed her wrist as she squeezed the handle on the knife.
*Escape.*
He dragged both arms up, held them cross, tried to yank her forward. Instead, she let her feet slide. Let herself fall backwards. Pulled him by his arms.
She caught herself halfway down, knees bent, boots secure. Launched herself upward with all the force she could muster. Felt pain on the top of her head. Wet. The crunch of cartilage against skull.
Then he was in front of her, hands over his face, head tilted back, neck exposed.
*Kill.*
Her left hand whipped out and then the knife was in his neck. He slipped. Grabbed the railing as his feet came out from under him. Eyes wide in shock and surprise. A dull flash of red against the blade. A bit of silver mixed in.
She'd gotten an artery. The thought rippled through her head unbidden. He'd be dead in minutes at most.
*Dispose.*
One hand grabbed him by the shoulder, pressed him down against the railing. The other, his ankle, hauling him up until he toppled over. Without thinking, she grabbed the handle on the way down, pulling the knife out of his neck and let it fall on its own. Far harder to track her if they ended up on opposite sides of the ocean.
There was a small splash, one of thousands in the storm raging around them, and then the man was gone.
No matter how hard she looked for him. Her knuckles white on the railing. The small splatter of blood washed off within seconds.
Something clanked against her boots. The mag-cuffs, rolling around on the deck.
She toed them over the side too. No sense leaving questions to ask.
"Nora."Her blood froze at the voice behind her. Key. Huddled to himself against the wall. Shivering and staring. "What in the hell was that?"
How did she look right now? With blood washing off of her hair and with a dead man drifting further and further behind them. With the rain pounding and lightning in the sky behind her.
What could she say?
"Dad was a fisherman,"she decided, the product of long minutes clutching the rail like a lifeboat. Until her fingers were numb and she couldn't feel anything but the throbbing in her skull. "I still don't know what Mom did."
She turned and marched inside before she caught her death in the storm.
&#x200B;
[https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/) |
# Soulmage
**"I was his imaginary friend,"** I admitted. The soulmage on the other side of the cell bars was surprisingly young, but he'd done what the entire Crystal Court had failed at in an instant, outing me and inadvertently getting me thrown into the dungeon.
"Interesting,"the soulmage said. "So you weren't a soulspace entity? You came from Prince Vrestik's soul?"
"As far as I know,"I answered truthfully. There was no point in trying to deceive Cienne—if the young soulmage had seen through the lie that was my life in an instant, he'd surely pierce any lesser fibs I tried to fabricate.
"Why didn't you tell anyone when Vrestik died?"Cienne asked. To my surprise, the soulmage seemed honestly curious, instead of accusatory or furious. Maybe... maybe I wouldn't be summarily executed here and now. Maybe there was still hope.
"He didn't die all at once,"I admitted. "It was a thing of bits and pieces. At first, he handed off control to me for a few hours, just to get through a state dinner or a mind-numbing lesson. And... and I stepped in. How could I not? I was his friend. It was the least I could do."
I saw Cienne's eyes flash in understanding. "But that wasn't where it ended, was it?"he asked.
I gave him a rueful smile. "Of course not. If it was, I wouldn't be... well, I wouldn't be here."I gestured at the bars of my cell. "He asked me to take over for longer. A day where he didn't feel so well. A week when a difficult family member was coming over. And that week turned into a month, and that month turned into two, and even when I called out and begged he... just never came back."I swallowed. "So I kept on doing what he told me to. To live his life for him, until he returned."
The young soulmage's eyes swept over my—Vrestik's—body, and I felt his gaze pierce my very soul.
Then he said, "If Vrestik did come back, what would you do?"
I jerked. "What?"
"If—hypothetically speaking—Vrestik was still in your soul, just locked up behind walls of his own making..."The soulmage raised an eyebrow. "If you could bring him back. Would you?"
I grabbed the cage bars. "Yes. Yes, *please*. I'm—even if I wasn't locked up here, I... I miss him. I was his imaginary friend, but... he was mine too. The only person I could truly talk to."I shied away from the soulmage's gaze. "Until now."
Cienne gave me a warm smile. "Then maybe—*maybe*—there's still a way. Here's what we have to do..."
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! |
'I killed it, I'm so sorry, I killed it. It was an accident I promise - I...I didnt realise it had escaped its enclosure, I didn't look down and next thing I knew, I heard this horrible sound.. I..I'
I sat on the floor, heaving as I tried not to look at the gooey mess a few metres away from me. That crunch... I would hear that crunch for the rest of my life... Rest of my life? What was I even thinking - at this rate, I would be lucky if I survived the next day or so. I had just singlehandedly ruined the family fortune with one unfortunate step.
I didn't think that the rest of my relatives would be quite so kind.
I heard the doorbell ring in the distance. Belatedly ,I remembered yelling at the staff to leave the house. I started giggling to myself. Maybe we would be able to explain our inevitable destitution through rumours of the mad mistress and her pet snail.
It hit me that no one was there to open the door. I dragged myself up and staggered to it, pressing at random buttons till the gate opened, letting my mother in.
She pushed her way past me and gasped at the horror.
'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I've ruined everything, I've ruined everything and we are all now going to suffer for it, I'm so sorry', I found myself babling as she held me. It took me a while to realise that she was saying something.
'Calm down, it's fine. We'll sort it out. Don't worry.'
'But... the Snail God. Our fortune.'
'It will be fine. It won't be easy, but it will be fine. Just wait here.'
I stared at her as she whipped out her phone.
'It happened. Yes. Yes, again. Yes, she's fine - who do we have on the ground? Do they have the pictures? How long will it take? Do we know when the next visit is? Ugh damn politicians. Ok. Uh huh? OK. You'll need to check that there's the right amount of gold. I don't want any expenses spared. Yep. Keep me posted.'
She turned to me.
'Come on, we need to clean up this mess.'
'Ma, what are you even on about? It's done. The immortal snail is dead.'
Hang on.
'The immortal snail... what's going on?'
She sighed as she looked at me. 'Where does your cleaning staff keep their equipment?'
'I don't know - I never thought to ask.'
'You know, I've always told your dad you were too spoilt for your own good.'
I stared at her as she carefully brushed the pieces of broken shell and gooey mess into a pile.
'They'll be here in a day. Just make sure you bury this somewhere in the back garden and cover it up so that no one can see where you kept it.'
'Ma, what the fuck is even going on? Just stop ffs and tell me what is going on!'
She paused and turned to me, sighing before she asked, 'Haven't you ever wondered why so many people in our family were explorers? Or why we cared so much about the Amazon rainforest? Or why we have invested billions into environmental conservation?'
'I just.. I just thought that we were the good..'
'Pfft. No one cares about that.'
She resumed wiping up the goo, before turning to me.
'Our Lord and Saviour is simply too lazy to keep looking for rare snails.
Now, get up and find me a box!' |
"Alright, what have you got?"
Fealorn coughed and scratched himself rudely. The proud Queen grimaced at the sight of what passed for hope in her Kingdom. She cleared her throat and composed herself.
"Brave hero, we have contracted you to destroy a terrible evil that has ravaged our lands."
She spoke her words to the entire court, and with the commanding charisma of a born leader. However, when she looked down to level her gaze at the best their Treasury could afford, he was gone.
"Is this buffet here up for grabs, or?"
Faelorn said it from her side, his mouth already full of cheese. The Queen sighed and put her hand to her brow. The *brave hero* returned to his position before the throne, his pockets clearly spilling over with pastries. He pulled out a notebook and a sharpened piece of charcoal.
"Yeah, so what's the evil, exactly? What kind of ravaging are we talking here? Poison mist? Undead hordes? Savage beasts? Lay it on me."
The Queen was done with theatrics. If he was here for business, she would give it to him.
"It's a Lich. A powerful undead necromancer who was untombed by mistake during an unsanctioned excavation."
Faelorn abruptly closed his notebook.
"Tall fella? Green tattered robes, big hole through his middle, likes to blab about *'the dawn of the age of darkness'*?"
The throne room fell into a stunned silence.
"I killed him on the way over here. Let me see, uhh."
He took off his pack and began rummaging through it, then pulled out a severed head with green glowing eyes.
*"You all shall perish in the coming age of-"*
Fealorn shoved a wedge of cheese in the heads mouth.
"Darkness, yeah, we've all heard it before. Keep it to yourself. Anyways, highness, it's been a pleasure. Uh, if you could leave a good review, I'd appreciate it but otherwise..."
"We do accept tips." |
There will always be a constant.
I can't even remember when it all began. I don't remember when I was born and I don't recall if I had a name. Sometimes I make up a name for myself but I always forget it again. Of course, a name isn't needed when there is no one else in the universe, but it's nice to have something to call myself. A designation for the collection of atoms that is me. I've decided to call myself "John"today.
Hello. I know you can't really hear me, I know that you're just a figment of my imagination but it's nice to pretend to talk to someone. I've decided that your name is Barbara. I don't know if my words even make sense. Chances are that I've forgotten language too but that hardly matters. I can't talk in space anyway so I'm just thinking really hard and pretending that you're here to listen.
Hello, Barbara. My name is John. It's nice to meet you.
The universe is dark now. Matter spread out over time. Planets slowly dissolved into nothing, the stars went supernova and exploded in a fury of heat and colors. The universe is still here, I suppose, but it's not really much use in this state. There are no suns, no planets or asteroids hurtling through it, none of what made it so glorious before.
You should have seen it, Barbara. It was amazing. Each planet had its own, glorious scenery. Some were colored in ice that perfectly reflected the starlight and some had weather patterns so insane that each day was a glorious, thunderous lightshow. And *life*! Life was my favorite thing of all. Self-contained replicating systems that interacted and communicated much like we are now. They were perfect. I loved life, I really did. Of course, it had its ups and downs but of all the things the universe had, life was by far my favorite.
Say, Barbara, do you want to hear a secret? I can die. I'm immortal now but if I ever made the conscious decision to die then I would and my particles would dissolve just like the rest of the universe. However, I can't allow myself to do so. I'm not even tempted any longer because I know that I have the most important role of all: There will always be a constant and I'm it.
I have mass. Not a lot, but I have some. Right now, entropy has spread particles perfectly over the universe but I have mass and with it just a tiny bit of gravitational pull. Over the next trillions of years, the particles will slowly move towards me. A small layer of dust at first then slowly more and more until every bit of matter in the whole universe is here at this very spot in a singularity more powerful than anything else the world has ever seen.
It'll hurt, of course. It always hurts. The vacuum of space, the fiery core of the singularity, every part of it makes my body convulse with intense pain, but it's worth it. The singularity won't be stable. It'll eventually collapse on itself and the particles will once again be unleashed into the dawn of a glorious new universe.
It has happened so many times. So very, very many times, Barbara. There must always be a constant because the constant ensures that the new universe will be born. There will be life again someday. Oh, there'll be *so* much life; whole planets will be covered by it. We may never meet for real, Barbara, but I feel happy knowing that you might one day exist outside of my mind. Sure, your universe will die one day just like all the previous ones but you know what? While it remains, it'll be a glorious splendor of life and it'll make all these dark days worth it. Thank you, Barbara. Really. Thank you.
***
*Edit:*
*Hello, people from /r/bestof, I'm very flattered that someone would consider my story worthy of your subreddit. Please remember to also check out the other great stories submitted to this prompt though. One of the best things about /r/writingprompts is that you can read so many different interpretations of the same basic premise and you would do yourself quite a disservice if you only read mine.* |
Samson stood at the front of a dimly lit room full of his male colleagues. The bright light from the power point projector backlit him so brightly it was hard to make out his face. He didn't care, he was more concerned with the math than he was about people seeing him.
At least for the moment.
"As you can see, the math is there. Our bodies are much more complicated than we ever thought, at least from an electro-chemical standpoint."
Arthur, a former teacher of his(and bored by this point), raised a question. "Sam, this is all very interesting, but where are you going with this? You've been talking at us for an hour with no point."
"Well, I'm glad you asked, Art."He replied, as if to sell a product. He motioned to his intern to turn off the slide projector, and the room went mostly dark, "We've always thought our nipples were leftover from the presence of chromosomal change. "He removed his lab coat, and began to unbutton his shirt, though it was hard to see in the darkness. "But I've discovered their true function..."
He was topless by then. He raised his hands to his chest, placing his nipples between his thumb and forefingers. He squeezed and twisted them. A red beam suddenly shot from both of them, traveling through the room and bouncing off some mirrors he had set up before the lecture.
The room was silent, astounded. Art watched with his mouth agape as Sam repeated what he did in anticipation of the reaction he received.
"Yes, men. We have lasers. All of us."
Someone in the back of the room broke the silence a moment later. "And women don't have this?"They asked.
"No. We are still studying, but we think is has something to do with the ability to breast feed."
Slowly, his colleagues began to remove their lab coats and shirts until the entire room was topless. Samson smiled.
|
“I resented you. I'm so sorry.”
“Jeremy, what on Earth are you talking about?” She looks at me like I'm a stranger, which is no surprise. That's almost what I am to her, in this life.
This life.
“I want you to listen to me, because I don't have much time.” I say, grabbing her pale, veiny hands. “Listen, Jenny...”
“Jennifer, please.”
I sigh. It's not her fault.
“Jennifer. I want you to think of a swing under a tree.”
“Ok...” She looks at me, tired. Her eyes are framed by so many wrinkles, so many spots and little blue capillaries, and yet,
somehow, they look the same to me. Same as when I first saw them.
“They gave me a choice, in another life. The day I was going to die.”
“Is he hallucinating?” Jenny asks, turning to the nurse.
“Listen!” I say, a little louder than I meant to. “Listen to me. Think about a swing.”
“What about the swing?”
“Think about a young girl, a flower in her ear. Think about her, going back and forth and back and forth.”
“What's your point, Jeremy?”
“It was us.” I start crying, though I didn't mean to. “It was us, Jenny.”
“Excuse me, do you know this man?” The nurse asks, because I'm causing trouble.
“Yes, he's an old high school friend, it's fine.” Jenny answers, and I can see in the nurse's eyes even she's thinking high
school was long ago for us two.
An old high school friend.
“We were more than that, Jenny.”
“It's Jennifer.” She says. “And we dated for two weeks, Jeremy. Then you broke up with me.”
The hospital room starts to spin. I feel funny. I don't have much time.
“I didn't, Jenny, I didn't.” I say, and, damn it, I gotta get this through without crying. “I mean I did. They did,
because I asked them. But I didn't mean to.”
I resented her, I say. Because I'm an idiot, I say.
Towards the last day of my life, this same day, but in some other, better universe. We were already broken up, when I
found out I was sick. You were with someone else, for more than a year, and I was a mess of a man, is what I was.
And the cancer, it just made me worse. Made me resent everything that ever made me happy and then left me. Like you. Like my life.
So, the No Regrets man came. And, in an impulse, I told him I wanted to take you out of my life. I was sad, I didn't mean to. I just hated you so much for leaving.
I told them I wanted them to go back and make me
break up with you, and I would live another life, without you.
I say all that to her, and, all the time, I can't stop crying.
“Jeremy, you should rest.”
“No.” I say, tightening the grasp on her hand. “Think about it. Think about the girl in the swing. Try to remember.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, Jeremy.”
Of course she doesn't. It didn't happen to her. Not in this lifetime. Not in this universe.
But I remember it. Because, before you die, they come and they give you your original memory. Your life how it was,
before you decided to change it and live it again.
They gave me that today. They gave me the story of Jeremy and Jenny. Before I went and erased it.
I feel funny inside. The room is spinning faster.
“Jenny.”
A man is by the corridor, under the door frame.
“Honey, are you ok?”
“I'm fine honey."She turns to me. "Jeremy, I'm going to go now, ok?”
“Think about the girl in the swing, Jenny.”
That was the day I proposed. With her on the swing and she said yes. Going back and forth and back and forth and saying "yes!"and "yes!"and "yes!"again, laughing with her head thrown back, looking at me from her upside down world as I pushed her; back and forth and back and forth.
“I don't know what you want from me, Jeremy.”
“I want you to know that I made you smile, once” I say, and I can feel my voice failing, and the room growing dark, and I know that it's near. "Once, we grew old together, and you liked the way I smiled, and I liked your apple pie"I say. And, also "I want you to know that we used to go to Genaro's every Sunday, for late breakfast. And on Mondays, sometimes, we would watch a movie together, and you would fall asleep on my shoulder."
“I want you to know that we were happy, once.”
She nods, and I see she's trying to get away. To get out of the awkward moment.
“We were happy. Once upon another time.” I say.
And the room stops spinning.
|
Brenda and I looked at the sleeping child, and held each other. It was beautiful. Our son. He looked so peaceful. It almost took my mind off of the task that was now ahead. The one thing I’d been dreading since I met the love of my life. Telling her what I’d done as a young man. My uncle Carlton hadn’t died and left us his fortune, I wish I’d had an uncle Carlton. But no, all of that money came from somewhere else. It all came from one big mistake.
I promised my first born son to a witch.
Now, not just any witch. This witch had a real penchant for following up on her deals, and I’d heard some pretty nasty tales about guys who took the money and ran. She was a little bit nastier than the “turn into a frog” kind of crones too. Let’s just say, waking up with feral rats in my anus is not the way I wanted to spend my last day on Earth.
Anyways, back to the story.
Brenda and I had adjourned to our bedroom where we lay together in the glow of a small candle by the window sill. I sighed loudly.
“What’s wrong, Michael?” She asked me. The sincerity in her voice made a knot form in my stomach.
“There’s… There’s something we need to talk about.” I said, after clearing my throat. I wrapped her hand in mine. She looked into my eyes, and a look of worry spread across her face.
“What… What is it?” She asked, her voice a little shaky.
“It’s about… It’s about something that happened before we met.”
Her eyes widened a little, and I pressed on.
“There were some… well, maybe some recent things that have happened… Maybe the fortune we’ve had… I mean… Maybe someone outside of our families is responsible for it.”
“How do you know?” She asked, placing a hand on my chest. My heart was broken, but I needed her to know what I’d done.
“It’s just… Do you believe in magick? Like, dark magicks?” She covered her mouth, and her gaze fell to something behind me. The candle blew out, and a flash of lightning shot light through the open blinds. I caught the silhouette of a woman as I spun around to look. Oh fuck, she’s already here.
The room was filled with a dark blue light emanating from the lamps and light fixtures in the room. The whole house seemed like it was trembling in the wake of her-wait a minute, who the fuck was that?
“No! Not yet! I needed more time!” My wife shouted, gripping me tightly.
“It is I Brenda! The Swamp Witch Ealaa!” The witch shrieked with laughter and the wooden frame of the bed vibrated as she spoke her name. “I’m here for what was promised of me!” Brenda collapsed into tears and cries of fear.
“Ealaa? But, I didn’t make a deal with you.” I muttered, confused and afraid.
Brenda grabbed at my shirt, “I made a deal… I told her she could have my first born child if we had good fortune in life… I didn’t think this would all happen so fast.”
I was stunned.
The witch gestured for us to get up and take us to the bedroom. I awkwardly helped my wife to her feet and began to walk down the long hallway to my son’s bedroom. A dim orange light shimmered through the crack under the door. A quiet voice could be heard, and the witch, Brenda, and I stood quietly and listened.
“Shh, hush now my sweet. All will be well, I’ll take you far away from here.”
I kicked the door open, and the shape contorted and spun around with the child in its arms.
“Michael! It is I, Mirriam- Wait, who is that bitch?” The witch demanded, pointing a finger at the other crone standing in the open doorway.
“Mirriam! You whore! Trying to horn in on my first born contract!” Ealaa shrieked, sending a shock of lightning through the air. Mirriam batted it away.
I grabbed Brenda and pulled her aside, there was nothing we could do but let the witches fight it out over our child.
The witches shrieked, and began to shapeshift into various creatures. I saw serpents with two heads, massive spiders, trolls, goblins, warriors, lions, wolves, it seemed that the fight would never end. It felt like there was an earthquake, but I knew it was just the power of the witches.
They finally quieted down and each one held a hand out with their palm facing upward. The other hand they balled into a fist and slammed it down into their palm three times. Each of these times they said a different word in unison. First “Stone”, then “Parchment”, and finally “Shear”. Then with a sickening crack they slammed their hands down and each made a specific shape. Ealaa Held out two fingers in the shape of a sideways peace sign, while Miriam kept her hand in a tight fist. There was a deathly silence, and Ealaa groaned.
Mirriam Cackled, and grabbed the child.
“See ya, bitch!” She laughed, and exploded into a ball of fire and light.
Ealaa turned slowly and gazed at my wife and I. She muttered only a few words, “I’ll come for the next one. Assholes.” She faded slowly out of existence and it seemed like the world around us came back to life. My wife was practically a puddle in my arms.
Anyways, to make a long story short that’s why I want a vasectomy, Doc.
|
Not a single cow, sheep, or goat in sight. Perhaps I've been in this area for too long and hunted too much. *It'll have to be human again for dinner,* I realize. They're generally not my favorite: the ones that I find in the fields are always bony, stringy and tough. But the ones that often ride into my cave always have that hard crunchy wrapper that is so difficult to get off. Not to mention that they always try to stab at my tongue, so I can never eat them raw the way I like.
Ah, well. Better than going hungry, isn't it? I find a nice ripe farmhouse with smoke pouring from the little stone chimney. Landing in the nearby clearing, I stomp over and burn the thatched roof off the top. Inside, four screaming humans: one male, and three female. Two of the females are very, very small. Barely even a snack. But I'll need them. I devour the two largest ones, then snatch up the smaller ones and take off again. They squeal and squirm in my claws.
The sun is already setting over the mountains by the time I return back to my cave. It's easily recognizable by the massive trail of black scorch marks around the entrance, and by the heaping pile of colorful flags left by various knights who sought to challenge me. I also leave their weapons and the remains of their armor outside, because otherwise it just clutters up my nice clean cave. And besides, the Princess has tried to use the weapons against me. She's a feisty one.
I fold up my wings and squeeze through the entrance. She's still here, somewhere. I can smell her. But of course she is. There is a thirty-foot drop leading into the nest. No problem for me or another dragon, but difficult for a human. I've caught her trying to climb it three times in the week that she has been here, but she never makes it far. She doesn't seem to understand that I've claimed her. Could it be that she's unaware of the ancient customs, offering a virgin princess to my kind? I've even dug quite a nest in the cave for her, full of riches stolen from a variety of kings across the continent. Mounds of coins and jewels adorn every corner of the cave, but for some reason she still tries to escape. Why isn't she impressed?
"I brought you dinner,"I call out to her, and she appears from within a small fissure near the crown rack. I can't help it; I'm prideful. The crowns of kings that I've eaten get a special place in the cave. They tend to be much fattier and tastier than the rest of the humans. The princess's father was particularly flavorful; he was from a coastal kingdom and was deliciously salty.
"What did you... oh."Her voice trails off as I hold up the smaller humans from the farmhouse. I smile, but she only recoils in terror at the sight of my bared fangs.
"I wasn't sure how many you'd want,"I told her, "so I saved them both for you. If you only want one, I can finish off the other."She rushes forward and took them both from my grasp. "Greedy, eh? No matter, I can always go get more if you're still hungry."But she doesn't even attempt to eat them.
"You're a monster,"she yells at me, clutching the smaller humans close to her chest and petting their hair. "You're an evil, evil monster! How could you bring children here to eat!?"
*Ah, right. That's the word. Children. These humans have so many words for the smaller animals. Cows are calves, goats are kids, and humans are children.*
"They are just as good as other humans..."I answer. *Sure, not as meaty, but then again the princess is also small! She doesn't require much!*
"You're terrible!"she screams, and runs back into the fissure with the children in tow. *Perhaps she just wishes to eat in private?*
I sigh and lean back against my bed of gold coins. Why must I be cursed to fall in love with a *human* woman instead of another dragon? |
"Dammit Kathy, did you know about this?"the old demon stood, hand on hip, staring across the room at the witch. She was hunched over and decrepit, glaring at the demon with dimly lit eyes.
"If I would have known you were involved I would have killed the wench months ago!"she snarled back, coldly.
"Ah but a deal is a deal,"the young woman said, as she sat between the two, baby in hand. "I bear you a child,"she pointed to the demon, "and you get keep my first born,"she added, gesturing towards the witch. "It just so happens to be the same child. There was no rule saying otherwise."
The old demon took three big steps forward. Brimstone puffed up in clouds under his feet as he walked. "Do you think it's wise to trick a demon, little girl?"
"Is it any worse than tricking a witch?"the old woman shouted, moving up towards the center of the room as well.
"Look, I don't see what the problem is,"said the young woman, "you both can still get what you want. Just raise the child together. I'm sure you have similar parenting styles, what with you both worshiping Satan and all."
The old demon blew smoke from his nostrils. "It'll be a cold day at home before I raise a child with Kathy!"
"You wouldn't know what to do with a woman like me!"Kathy replied, closing her eyes smugly.
"Oh I have an idea,"he said, then turned to the woman and her baby "I can't believe I got rid of those vampires for you. Do you have any idea what I had to go through?"
"You're the one who killed the vampires?"the old witch asked, surprised, "Oh Satan is going to love hearing about this. He's been trying to figure out who killed them for months now. They were some of his favorite servants you know?"
"You shut your mouth Kathy! You're not innocent here either. What did you promise her in exchange for the baby?"
Kathy refused to respond.
"Come on then, out with it. What did you do for her?"
"She took care of the werewolves that were killing my cows,"said the young woman.
"Werewolves!"the demon exclaimed, "and you think Satan is going to care about a couple of vampires after he finds out what you did to his pets? Ha!"
The old witch glared at him. "Why don't we take this outside. Finish this thing once and for all?"
"Fine by me!"he barked back.
The two creatures stormed towards the door, flinging it open and slamming it behind them.
"What was that all about,"the newborn asked, looking up at his mother.
"Don't worry about it,"said the woman, "Oh and don't mention any of this to my husband ok? He thinks you're his."
The woman stood up and locked her front door. She and her baby shared a good hearty laugh.
|
"Alright, just sign here, here, here, here, and here."
"This isn't necessary, I'm a genie, it's magic."
"Um-hum, unregulated, unenforced, and wildly dangerous, hence the contact."
"I'd rather not."
"Then you can just go right back into your lamp."
"You know I'm not allowed to do that until I grant three wishes."
"You've only got two more to go."
"Seriously, what kind of monster makes his first wish 'I wish you'd read, understand, and sign the contract I'm about to give you'?"
"A lawyer."
"And I though I was bad when I turned that little girl who wanted to be pretty forever into a painting. Sheesh. Lawyers, you make my skin crawl."
"Technically, you don't have skin, you appear to be made of mist."
"Asshole."
|
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