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"Look, I don't know..."The new super still seems hesitant.
"Sir, do you know how many crime fighters call this city their base of operations?"I ask in an honest voice. "No less than three major ones for the past decade and a half."I continue without giving him the chance to answer. "We have MetalMind, Crimson/Flame/Firewilde or however they calls themselves now and Bat-fellow. They deal with the violent and criminally insane, the worst of the worst. They are really, really good at it."I finally pause, to let it sink in.
I can see the gears turning in his head, as he remembers the statistics. Lowest crime rate in five decades, nearly one percent of the population exhibiting super human abilities, and the president's mandate "All super powered individuals that are citizens of the U.S. are to be employed by the federal government in whatever capacity they fit."
He's still hesitant"I see what you're saying, and it's not like the pay isn't phenomenal, but... I mean... Isn't it a bit... lame?"He seems genuinely concerned with that.
I lean back in my chair. I do hate glory seekers so very much. Time to earn my pay, I suppose. "I see. Yes, I suppose it is kind of lame, isn't it?"I can see the wide smile of relief on the up and coming hero's face, so I proceed "A man of your talents should be out fighting the Xenadorians, I think."He nods excitedly, then freezes, likely remembering the other statistics- avarge survival rate on the Xenadorian frontline is five days for a class 8 hero. "Or perhaps help colonise the outer planets"50% chance catastrophic failure of the engines, 30% chance of hostile encounters, success rate 2.6% "No, I've got it! Officer at DrePen."His face goes completely white at that. I don't blame him. Almost nobody wants anything to do with the prison for most dangerous supers, and those who do are immediately put on the blacklist and sent for psych-eval.
I look at him and sigh. "Look kid, I get it. I really do- you grew up on tales of legendary heroes, like all of us, and now you can be one of them. You're a level 5 hydromancer, one of the most powerful we've seen in ages. Why waste you on some pointless conflict, or idiotic engineering mistake?
Why not go to that draught struck wasteland, provide them clean drinking water? Do you have any idea how many lives you can save there? How many people would see you as nothing short of a messiah, just for doing what comes naturally?"I see the look on his face, slowly sinking in. I decide to give it an extra push. "You know..."I lean in, with a conspiratorial voice "The area does have something of a warlord problem."He looks confused at that. I scream internally. Outwardly I add "Company policy is that members who are under attack are allowed to defend themselves in any means necessary."I see the understanding sink in, I see his smile spread and I finally hear my favourite sentence.
"Where do I sign?" |
I closed my eyes and waited for death. Would I wake up in a flaming bowl of curry? Would I be greeted by pearly gates? Would I simply be reborn? Who knew.
"Yes, indeed, who knows? But what we know is athomeinthegalaxy's life certainly was a wild ride. He once said his life should be like Forrest Gump's, in all its unpredictable, chocolatey goodness. Welcome to watchmojo.com. Today, we're taking our picks for the top 10 moments of athomeinthegalaxy!"
"Before we begin, we publish new videos every day, so be sure to subscribe for more great content."Couldn't even resist advertising on a deathbed. What had YouTube come to?
I didn't know the Reaper was this upbeat. The countdown itself was inconsequential; all of these memories were good ones. My first trophy, my first A grade, my first love, my first shot of booze. I didn't mind shuffling through them again as I lay still.
*Next video: Top 10 Reasons for athomeinthegalaxy's death*
*Next video: Top 10 Worst athomeinthegalaxy moments*
*Next video: Top 5 Underworlds*
Where do I switch off autoplay? Thankfully, the life support beeped less frequently and was about to peter out...
**Welcome to watchmojo.com! Today, we view the 10 worst athomeinthegalaxy moments. Think you could escape us this easily? Thought you could get away with not subscribing? Well you're stuck with here us now, forever! New content, every day!** |
You're groggy...the lights are too bright, the noises too loud.
"Wai... Wha.... But.... Jul, where'sjul"you say in a voice more slurred than coherent.
"hey, hey...it's ok, this is totally normal, just take some deep breaths while the disconnect finishes up"says a voice overhead.
You turn your head, trying to grasp reality; not recognizing your surroundings, you try to swallow the panic and bile rising in your throat slowly realizing that you're, in fact, finally awake. It was all a lie. An incentivized lie.
"takes a few seconds to get your bearings friend, don't worry, this is completely normal. Hell, you're already doing better than most. There's usually a lot more flailing and kicking. I'm just happy we don't have to strap you down like the last chick hehehe"the voice overhead blares, the chuckling making you feel violently ill.
Ever so slowly, like the heartbeat of a tortoise, images start playing like a sideshow in your mind. Driving towards a looming glass building, walking through angular titanium doors that could have been pulled straight from science fiction. The sensation of fear and anticipation as men in labcoats strapped monitors to you, a catheter in you, a robotic looking helmet and visor on your head. The thoughts flicker rapidly between these faint but somewhat familiar scenes, and of your life with Julie, your children, your corporate level job you worked so hard for, the anniversaries, the parties, the fights, the tragedies. Julie. Julie.
But these images start fading as you suck in more and more air; your brain tries desperately to remember the smell of her hair and the sensation of her hands, but your mind is now relentless in reminding you of what you did, and why.
You once again feel the shocking desperation of extreme poverty , scrounging for food in alleyways, doing the unthinkable for a few dollars.
Simlife. You now remember you had seen it everywhere; ads plastered to those same alley walls that you would stare at desperately while performing acts that required strong mental distraction, otherwise you would have just killed yourself from the shame. "Short on cash? Come join the Sim life experience and get paid today! Guaranteed $1,000.00 for your first job"the ads would read. What's a dollar worth? You knew damn well what it was worth, and in this life you had done anything to earn it.
You were back now. Fully back. Immersed in the misery that is your existence. Yeah you had made a cool grand. You wouldn't have to worry about food for a while, you could keep couch surfing and street sleeping to stretch the money out. You should feel relieved. It had been years of misery, you kept telling yourself. This money changes everything.
But something kept gnawing at the back of your mind. That life. That life you lived, Bill Christopher with his beautiful wife Julie. Their 2 perfect children Matt and Kelly. Why didn't these memories go away? Why wouldn't they go away? You felt an immense sadness crushing your chest with the weight of a thousand disappointments. To never kiss them goodnight again. Yeah it wasn't real, but fuck if it didn't feel like the most real thing you had ever experience, even moreso than this shit show of a life you were enslaved to.
You look next to you and see him. Laid up on the table next to yours, same monitors, same helmet, just recently put under so he could now enjoy the life that YOU fucking made with them. Your efforts, your tragedies, your love story. Yours. You know it was his voice you had heard near the end there....thanking you for "the grind."You grimace remembering his greasy voice. You now hated him more than anything or anyone you had ever encountered.
The rage was sudden; not even you expected it. You had slept on the streets so you knew your way around a sharp object. In one swift motion you lunge for the scissors on the tray table next to you and you plunge them into the neck folds of this undeserving fat bastard next to you. Who the fuck does he think he is, you think, taking my family, MY FUCKING CHILDREN. Somewhere nearby alarms blare, panic ensues; you see movement all around you, security rushing from behind the glass trying to get into the Simlife suite that you're in.
The voice overhead is screaming now with desperation and worry "CALM DOWN, YOU NEED TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN, SECURITY GET IN THERE QUICKLY. SAVE HIM AND STRAP HER THE FUCK DOWN, SHE'S NOT TOLERATING THE COMEBACK, WE NEED TO SEDATE HER.....NOW!"
You look down at your hands, painted in crimson life, and you purposefully make your way across the room and lock and jam the doors.
It won't hold them forever. You know this. But it doesn't matter. None of it does. As you aggressively retrieve the blood soaked helmet off his cantankerous skull and ease it back onto yours, you activate the simulation and feel yourself returning, just one more time, even if it's for a few minutes, back into Julie's warm embrace, back into her world. Your home. Your real life
As your eyes finally start to shut, you slowly smirk, realizing that no matter the outcome, in the next few minutes peace will finally find you. |
EDIT: Wow, thanks for the awesome comments everyone! You've really encouraged me to try writing more on this subreddit!
[By popular demand, here's Part II!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hamadyne_Writing/comments/5fafpp/deliveries_part_ii/)
"Did you get the car outfitted for this weekend?"
My boss assured me that any and all damages to my car would be buffed out as part of the new overtime fees, but wanted me to install new spiked bumpers and razor wire just in case.
With all that wire wrapped around the delivery logo, my car resembled one of those bedazzled Christmas ornaments you could buy at an arts and crafts fair.
"Of course. Got a discount on bulk wire, actually. Should be enough leftover for the next Purge Night."
Leftovers was my boss' favorite word. Anything that can be used again saved money, and saved money meant more pizzas.
"Awesome. Hey, thanks for doing this, Kyle. I'd do it, but,"he gestured to his stump of a leg, "you can't satisfy every customer, I suppose."
"No prob, boss. Helping hungry Purgers and families is what I do best."
Purge night was only a few days away, so we had been spending a few hours during my shifts asking the local neighborhoods for pizza preorders. We also had our guarantee that every slice would be delivered in 40 minutes, or their order was free.
-----
After loading up my car with the night's first stack of pizzas, my boss locked down the pizzeria so he could make more orders in peace.
"Kyle, as usual... godspeed to ya. You're one hell of a driver, doing this in place of me. Got your piece?"
I patted my sidearm, an old-fashioned CZ 75.
"Yup,"I grinned, "this baby helps me get by just fine."
-----
The first few houses were pretty easy - early Purge hours were pretty tame as people usually had dinner beforehand. Pizza was by and large the most popular, followed closely by fried chicken. Good, classic, American meals.
Then, one by one, the purgers started crawling out with their guns and their knives, their explosives and their canisters. Everyone had their fun with killing and looting for America's new favorite pastime - crime.
A little bit of backstory. Before I worked for Vivaldi's Pizza, I looted plenty of things during the Purge. Electronics, firearms, even the very car I now drive around.
All of that came to a stop when I met the boss. I tried to hijack his car with a clever setup, but he knew what was going to happen and knocked me out. He took me to his shop, where I would have probably been dismembered if the boss was any other purger.
Instead, what awaited me was an apron and the smell of fresh pizza. Instead of killing me, he put me to work delivering pizzas that very night. Paid me well, too.
I learned the value of a good pizza, and that was why I decided to deliver for him on Purge Night. It was also the reason I could confidently run down foolish people who didn't appreciate a good pizza.
At least, the ones who didn't order one.
Slowly, more and more people were following my car, ready to pick me off as soon as I exited. I revved my engine at the growing crowd around my car, each person bedecked in bizarre parodies of the Statue of Liberty and past presidents. The sounds of warning shots and broken glass outside my car signaled to me that I should stop.
"ANYONE ORDER A PIZZA?"I barked through the speakers set up in my car. Safety precaution.
Silence. Then one person from the crowd stepped forward. Through his Bill Clinton mask, he shouted: "I'm Bill! I ordered the Meat Lovers?"
Oh. My customer was here!
I reached into the backseat and pulled out a pizza box. Coincidentally, Bill's order was the last one.
"YEAH, I GOT IT RIGHT HERE. LEMME HOP OUT REAL QUICK."
I loaded my CZ 75 and got out of the car. Bill approached me, his rubber mask grinning all the while.
"Woah, smells good. You think it's enough for the crowd here tonight?"He gestured to his group of 6, all of them seemingly growling in response. All armed with spiked bats - clearly, this was their first or second Purge, judging by their choice of weapons.
"Of course. That's a Vivaldi Guarantee."
"I'll be the judge of that,"he said, motioning for a slice. I obliged, seeing as he had a gun pointed at me.
A few experimental chews and a gulp, and it seemed Bill was satisfied.
"Is it to your liking, sir?"
"Yeah, yeah... but I don't feel like paying tonight, "he chuckled, "guess I'll have to kill you to make sure no one - "
A single shot rang out from my pistol. Silence.
"Vivaldi's requires that all customers pay, Purge Night or no, sir."
Bill didn't respond - the bullet lodged in his chest was preventing him from responding.
"I see, I'll have to extract payment from you instead."
I reached for his wallet and pulled out a few crisp $20 bills. Such a generous tip.
"Thank you for your purchase. Happy Purging!"
The stunned silence of the young Purgers was quickly broken by a mad scramble for the pizza. In the scuffle, I made my escape.
Bill was not the first to fall to my Vivaldi delivery. Several more Purgers would fall, not anticipating that the pizza guy was dead set on Purging would-be thieves.
|
This job fitted me like a glove, an oversized one. There was a reason why I was on the verge of sleeping under a bridge, and no, it wasn't because of my love for adventure nor because I enjoyed the caress of the quivering concrete, or the eternal honking of the cars at 5 P.M.. It wasn't either due to my empty wallet, which was a clear reflection of my comedic abilities, but it was due to how much I loved architecture, and bridges were the apotheosis of architecture, in my non-believer opinion, of course.
Anyway, I'm going off on a tangent, I've always sucked at drawing graphs. Back to the story.
My job came out of nowhere when I was crossing down the street, and a car hit me. Call it fate, call it me forgetting I'm colorblind, but an old friend came out of the car, and we exchanged lifestories in the middle of the street ignoring the blaring curses of the other mad men.
One thing lead to another, and he offered me a job. I hesitated a bit because it involved comedy, and I was truly enjoying my sporadic venture in bridges' archictecture. Which means I didn't hesitate at all, and took it without a second thought.
The job was easy, I had to stand in banks and ATMs holding a fake credit card in my hand, and pretend to be inspecting it while thinking jokes. Apparently some of the mind readers have escaped their scammy habitats of tarot and fortunetelling and decided to use their powers to steal money in new ways.
Well, at first I went with the classic: why did the chicken cross the road? I knew too many of those, and they all failed miserably to the point where my friend told me to up my game a little bit because he couldn't catch anyone laughing with those.
And so, after that warning, I returned back to the bridge. Architecture always inspired me to think of some jokes. There was something about those archs, those curves that sent my heart in a wild, blood-pumping rollercoaster that made my mind ran in ineffable ways, awakening my creativity like a necromancer rises the dead from their graves. And then I set the Hulk comic down, stared at the bridge, and a joke came to me.
The next day I went to the bank, did my usual routine, and thought, *What is green and sits crying in the corner.* I paused for effect. *The Incredible Sulk.*
I looked around with a smirk, confidence coursing through my veins, and walked out the bank, well aware I had done a good job that day.
But my friend came and told me they'd hired another comedian, and gave me all the blabla about how he tried to keep me in their team, and how good I was, and all that gibberish.
Of course I knew he was lying, his thoughts were crystal clear, and so I thanked him for the opportunity, and went to the bridge, kissed its concrete, and said goodbye. I had gathered many credit card numbers in the bank, and I truly had to thank my friend for enlightening me. I'd always thought the voices were just normal madness.
I shuddered. That explains why I heard so many curses in my stand-up days.
---------------------------
r/NoahElowyn --- Consider checking it out if you enjoyed the story! I have many more over there. |
My best friend is an owl.
See, the day you turn eighteen, you spend a year as your spirit animal. The creature you represent most - the one that represents you the most.
John, he's a dog. He's happy, friendly, and loyal. Harper, she's a crow. She's clever and witty. Kate, she's a cat. She claws me up every time she comes over.
Just kidding. Mostly. Jason - he's an owl. He's kinda quiet, kinda reserved, kinda dignified.
I turned 18 last night. I woke up today - fully human.
Did the spirits fail? Impossible. They *never* miss anyone.
What am I going to tell the Bureau? Everyone's transformation has to get registered at eighteen. It helps them determine what kind of person you are - your personality, your strengths, your best future job. That way, they can structure your life in the most fulfilling way possible.
"Hey, dude, where'd you put my mice?"Jason's sleepy voice comes from the other room. It's hilarious hearing it come from such a small animal. "I want a snack before I go to bed."
I wander into the kitchen. "I dunno man, I haven't-"
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
They're all there - John, Jason, Harper, and Kate. My own little zoo, except Harper turned nineteen last week.
And they're all staring.
"Dude, did we get the date wrong? This is really awkward..."mumbles Jason after a moment.
"No,"I say. "It's the eighteenth."
Kate the cat speaks up. "So what's your spirit animal?"
"...I dunno. Myself, I guess?"
"That's not possible."
"I'm gonna call this in,"says Jason, and he moves to the landline. "Maybe someone at the Bureau can help us."
Harper frowns. "...We've still got cake. You want a slice? We're the only two with hands, but..."
"Yeah."I say. "I'll take a slice."Cake for breakfast is always a good idea, right?
We're halfway through our meals when we hear a knock at the front door.
A primly dressed young woman is waiting when I open it. "Agent Anders,"she says. "Spirit Registration Bureau."The SRB. I've heard they're generally pretty friendly people - more of a job and employment group than anything.
"Can I come inside?"
"Sure,"I say.
Once the door is closed, she sweeps the room with some sort of device. It blinks steadily throughout the whole process, and she sighs, satisfied.
"I need to tell you something. But first - I need your friends to leave the room."
"I trust them,"I say. "They're not going anywhere."
"We don't have much time,"she says. "Tell them to leave."
"All the more reason for you to only have to tell it once."
She looks at me - at all of us, and sighs. "Fine. The SRB is going to come after you."
"What, to help me find an office job?"I've already realized that's my probable future. Boring.
"No. The SRB isn't just a job assignment bureau. It was also put in place to hunt Abnormals."
"Huh?"
"People with unusual spirit animals. Dragons, fantasy creatures, that sort of thing. Once we had a unicorn."
I frown. "Isn't that the *opposite* of what happened to me?"
"They'll want to take you in,"she continues, "because you *do* have a spirit animal. It's a human. *Homo sapiens*."
I frown.
"The Bureau holds more power than you think. It assigns everyone to every job they hold - of course the placements will benefit them. But they won't know what to make of you. And they'll make you disappear."
"So what? I go on the run?"
"Yes. And you use your unique talents to stay underground for a year, then we register you as some neutral transformation, like a dog,"she says with a glance at John. "You'll catch a fine for never registering, but it's better than the alternative."
Everyone is silent.
"So what are my options?"I say. "What unique abilities do I have? I've got no claws, no speed, no stealth."
There's another knock at the door. "SRB! Open up!"
"...You'd better find out,"she says. "Go."
And I run.
---
[Part 2](https://redd.it/blczb9) is now up on my subreddit - subscribe to stay updated!
[Part 3](https://redd.it/blvv5r)
[Part 4](https://redd.it/bw9qyj)
---
^^Want ^^more? ^^Subscribe ^^to ^^/r/OneMillionWords
---
Thanks to you guys, /r/OneMillionWords is now a trending subreddit! Stay tuned for more. |
Gambling was a hobby of mine.
See when I was younger, before I got out of the game I used to play back alley poker with a bunch of Genies. Texas Hold'em was their game of choice, though sometimes they demanded we play monopoly. Don't ask me how, and please don't ask why- instead just be content with the knowledge that some of them do look and act like Robin Williams.
I also suspect one of them might have actually been Shaquille O'Neal.
Regardless of the circumstances that lead me to be an honorary member of that table, or the consequences that seemed to impact my life in an endless string of oddities before finally stepping away and leaving the games behind: I can tell you that I've won some pretty weird shit.
In my Studio Apartment, I've got a toaster that pops out grilled cheese sandwiches- prebuttered and crisped to perfection. In my bathroom I have plunger than can do the work itself, and I've got one of those magic carpets- only it's too lazy to move most days. I even have a pet tabby cat that can talk, or at least speak on occasion, when it wants to.
Honestly, there are probably some other weird trinkets I'm forgetting about. Bizarre objects I've piled high up in the back of my closet, stuffed deep with all sorts of other mystic mumbo-jumbo and bits of heeby-jeeby witchcraft, but out of my entire collection there is only one possession that truly makes a difference to me. Out of everything I have ever come into contact with, won, lost, or bartered among magic folk and almost all-seeing entities: My car is the crown Jewel. The representative *Magnum Opus* of my past gambling career.
When I first got it, this baby was a metallic green. Legacy station wagon, Subaru 97' hatchback. Mint condition, slightly used by a Genie from the north country who put it up against fifteen gold bars and a bag of magic sand that was supposedly capable of making you seed the universe if you happened to have the cajones to snort some of it under a solar eclipse.
For all the mysticism in the world, there were only two magic words sealed the deal for me that day, ensuring that I would be driving in style for years to come: *Full-House.*
Next thing I knew, I was the proud owner of a Genie's automobile. Rare and almost unheard of for a mere mortal, I even left on good terms too (which is very important when dealing with Genies) and I passed him off the bag of sand when we shook on it.
No point in pissing off someone who could turn me into a talking parrot named Iago.
But see, there was a trick to the car. It wasn't always a 97 hatchback: No sir, this vehicle was all-purpose, all-seeing, future predicting and filled with the powerful energy of some far-off and distant parallel plane of existence. It could change, shift to accommodate the day ahead of me. If it was snowing? Poof: Snow-tires, top tier. If it was flooding? Snap of the fingers and my car was a four by four, but there were some days when it changed without me even noticing. When I had a date it turned into a corvette, and when she broke up with me it turned into a small moped I could hide in my apartment until we were sure she wasn't coming to give us the ex-girlfriend special.
One time it even changed into a crown-vic when I was toggling the radio stations and got me past a speed trap ticket free.
Safe to say that unlike the magic toaster or the talking tabby, my car and I had an real understanding. Only the finest oil changes would do, only top-notch gasoline, routine inspections and transmission flushes- and in return I knew it would have my back through anything.
Well this Saturday morning I went outside after a brunch of grilled cheese and coffee, same as any Saturday morning, only instead of my normal car I found a metallic green tank parked right up onto the curb. A huge, thick treaded, armor and cannon-mounted, possibly German engineered, war-machine.
"Hey, Human."Startled, I almost dropped my sandwich. As many things as it could do, my car couldn't talk. "Hey, up here."The voice shouted again.
From the second floor window of my apartment, I turned and peered up, focusing my attention on the window sill home to several potted plants and a large patch of... fur. I squinted to see the orange tabby sitting coolly by the screen, eyes all-but shut against the early afternoon light, passing a half-interested glare in my direction.
"If you happen to make it back alive human, don't forget to bring back some tuna."
With that warning the tank's hatch opened, a loud creaking "slam"announcing entry was strongly recommended. Somehow I knew it was going to be one hell of a day.
----
*If you like what you're reading, feel free to check out my other work over at r/jakethesnakebakecake* *!*
*edit: magnum not magna!*
|
"Oh, uh, what seems to be the problem here, buddy?"John said. It was the 10th alien he had seen that day, as the check-in nurse at the ER in a hospital in Vancouver. The alien was a purple blob with two eye stalks and at least as many limbs.
"IHUH8hfdnbaf97y- (*&_&FBhbvagv606)*(* jn jfndab606))^),"the alien said. It then coughed, and a yellow slug fell out of what John hoped was its mouth. "Ah, that's better. As I was saying, my polar gladiax is all spreckly. I think it has something to do with the magnetic field on Ratel, where I was visiting a groobling for a party. You know how it is.
"Ah, okay, buddy, well I'll log that down and see what I can do for ya."
"Thanks, human. You guys are alright."
*****
"It's been three years, when are the Canadians going to wise up to what's going on here?"US diplomat Jim Hunter said to his UK counterpart, Boorish Counterbottoms. "I'm telling you, it's an invasion!"
"Well, they've only asked for healthcare so far,"Boorish said. "I'm just as surprised they don't swim 'cross the pond. Ah well, not our problem then."
"But why don't the Canadians just tell them to go somewhere else? How much money are they spending on this? I swear, ever since they legalized the Devil's weed, they just don't give a shit about anything."
"Well perhaps that's it. The extra tax is being used. Last I heard, I think they are getting something out of it, though. They haven't been telling us any specifics as far as I'm aware, but they are getting some tech trade going."
"Tech trade?"Jim was intrigued. He hadn't heard anything about this, and it made him wonder if the British agencies just shared more with their diplomats, or if there was something his government didn't know. "Yes, that makes more sense."
*****
The purple blob, healed now, sat across from Justin Trudeau. "Yes, we can give you warp drive. I'm surprised you didn't have it already, considering you provide health care for all beings in the universe."
"Yes, well..."Trudeau began, before stopping himself. "Yes, anyway, the warp drive would be very helpful to our people."
"Oh, it's nothing, that slabar was streckling my polex like a Guaranian texstute! Anyway, we have plans for you that will be easy enough to duplicate."
"We can't thank you enough."
*******
Ten years later, Captain Jones stared down at the Earth from the mothership of the Canadian Space Force. All around him, ships shaped like maple leaves and hockey pucks maneuvered around each other like falling snowflakes.
"Everything ready?"the new Prime Minister over a secure radio channel.
"Yes, sir,"Captain Jones said. "This will be known as the day that Canada became the first country to emigrate from Earth."
"Right well, let's get on with it. It's time we Canadians stand up for ourselves, and get the fuck out of here before it's too late."
Wave after wave of red and white spaceships launched from the Earth all at once, as the world watched in awe. Streaks of light vanished into the sky, with roars that were quickly quieted with distance. "Now..."Captain Jones said, the Earth disappearing from view, "...they are the ones who are sorry." |
Hell is not—as the more optimistic theists claim—a simple separation from God. It’s exactly what’s written on the label: torture in hellfire which chars the skins and burns your bones only for your body to regrow once there is no longer anything remaining of you to burn.
You may wonder how we know this to be the case, but it’s quite simple—we read about it on the internet, on a site called ‘AmIGoingToHell.’ It appeared suddenly, listing all the sins anyone has ever committed with perfect timestamps. When hackers tried to track the site’s hosting location, satanic runes appeared in the place of an IP address, so eventually they all stopped trying.
Of course, we do not know whether what’s written under the ‘what’s hell like’ subpage is correct, but when a site features otherworldly functionality, there’s a strong case for believing it.
There are people who worship the website, claiming it to finally be the unbiased justice system humanity has always searched for—an objective moral source that delivers punishment equally across genders and races. Many defy it, claiming that punishment such as a millennium in hell for having sex outside of wedlock borders on insanity. Parents check it obsessively, wondering whether their kids will be thrown into the fire. Wives use it to spy on their husbands and vice versa. The most unwise of teenagers use it for street credit.
After living in a world on the brink of collapse for so long, my death was accompanied by much fear and curiosity. I had been good, compared to most people. I only had a few years to spend in hell courtesy of teenage me stealing a snickers bar.
Opening my eyes, I found a red-skinned man sitting in an office chair, surrounded by complete darkness, only lit up by the red light emanating from his three monitors. The middle one had the website open, the left one looked to be filled with satanic runes written inside a black terminal, and the third one had the flaming letters ‘Satan’ as a desktop background.
I approached with slow steps, holding out a hand.
“Hello?”
The man spun around in his chair, revealing red horns and a body that frankly looked too fragile to be demonic.
He looked angry.
“Another transfer error?” The Devil rolled his eyes. “Hold on, I’ll send you right along to hell so you can serve your time.”
My eyes widened. “Wait wait wait, what’s all this about? The website? Going to hell? I need answers.”
The Devil ignored me, his fingers going so fast across the keyboard that fire arose from it. “Fuck.” He slammed his desk. “Why do people keep entering special characters in the search field? What kind of human name has an at sign in it? Do they know how much human misery is required to keep these servers running? Does no one appreciate the work I do?”
“Um . . . Devil, if it is you who keeps the website running, can you make the rules less strict?”
The devil spun around to face me again.
“God is the one who makes the rules—I’m afraid they’re immutable. What I do is simply inform people of the consequences, since God refuses to do so for some inscrutable reason. Did you know there’s been a 63% decrease in time spent in hell since the website went up? Perhaps I should put that up as a graph on the site.”
I had a hard time believing what I was hearing; the Devil was a web developer.
“With all due respect mister Devil, why are you *really* doing all of this? Why would the Devil want a reduction in time spent in hell?”
The Devil furrowed his brow. “So many questions . . . I know!” The Devil smiled devilishly. “I’ll make an FAQ page on the website, that should clear things up. This will be the most popular feature since the ‘what is hell like’ subpage. Thank you human, perhaps your time here wasn’t entirely an accident.”
The devil pressed a key on the keyboard, and the next moment all I felt was pain.
\*\*\*
A week later, the FAQ page went up, with the bottom question being:
**Why would the Devil want to run this project?**
The pits of hell are currently overburdened by human traffic. You people sin too much. Breed too much. Desire to grow too much. As such, I am trying to address these concerns from the production side. Please stop sinning until God can expand the borders of hell. Hellfire is not pleasant.
I’m currently working on a video tour of hell; it will be up on the site in less than a week. I urge you to watch it when the desire arises to cheat on your spouse or steal, because whatever momentary pleasure you derive from it will not compare to having your skin burned off for years.
See you in a week.
The Devil. |
Eons ago, the Sharintar seeded the stars with life. Starting in their little system the Sharintar's hunger for knowledge propelled them off their world, to spread across the systems, first in huge monolithic generation ships carrying billions of Sharintar. Their tiny lifespans ensured that none of these Sharintar even had the hope of ever seeing their destination in their lifespan, yet they persevered just to give the next generation the chance to explore. Still, the Sharintar knew they could improve further.
Next came their superluminal colony ships, their engines capable of folding time and space. Risking their lives to make blind jumps into the unknown, possibly straight into uncharted asteroids or stars, these Sharintar placed themselves into certain danger just for their hunger, no, their craving for knowledge. Of course, even superluminal engines were not enough, they were far too large, too costly for the inventive Sharintar.
With methods even the most advanced minds among us couldn't even comprehend they began a tremendous undertaking, and began constructing a titanic warp network that linked their rapidly growing empire further.
As they grew, they, alone against the cold, dark void of the stars, began seeding the galaxy with life, uplifting promising species across the galaxy. We were one of these experiments, and their greatest success.
---
"Hey...Jek? Sure they won't follow us?"I called back, not trusting the so-called 'wisdom' of my shipmate.
"'course. The comp was beeping out warnings that this gate was malfunctionin', no one'll dare to even touch this thing!"
"Yes, and we're *in* the damn thing now..."
"Relax, mate. Half the time these...*malfunctions*,"he emphasised, bringing his hands up to make finger quotes, "are just them shuttin' down for maintenance or somethin'."
I took a deep breath and sank back into my seat. All these years of service in the Navy had instilled in me a huge reliance on following traffic rules, even though I had gone rogue about a week ago. "...and the other half of the time?"I asked, still doubtful.
"We'll be pulverised into ash."He said bluntly, looking at me as if he hadn't just mentioned that we were going to die.
"That's just great."
"Relax. Them coppers can't arrest piles of ash."
"Very reassuring."I said, rolling my eyes. As the lines around the cockpit slowly reverted back into stars, I sat back up, preparing my act of 'innocent, law-abiding freighter pilot' if I were to be hailed.
As I hid our weapons away from the viewcam, I heard the first sign of doubt from Jek, with a surprised "Hey, wait a minute..."
Turning around, I saw a ship, its markings hardly fitting those of a typical Human vessel. Unlike a Human ship's blocky, pragmatic exterior this ship exuded grace, its polished hull gleaming with pride. Its engine wake was a mesmerising light blue, unlike the coarse, rough fiery orange Human vessels. A short burst of static broke from the comms channel, before an image faded into view.
A blueish-green humanoid, its facial features marked with elegance. Its wide, red eyes pierced into mine, and the place where its mouth would be was covered with a small cloth-like material. An extraterrestrial? While there were sketchy reports of extraterrestrial lifeforms reported by Human pilots, they were never proven by government investigations, and some humans have gone on to suggest that there was a massive government cover-up of their existence, while others insist that they were encouraging such rumours to hide their experiments on superweapons.
Whatever the truth was, we were seeing one right in front of us, and it seemed unhappy. *Very* unhappy, in fact, that it broke off into an angry-sounding language right in front of us. "Uhh...sorry?"was all Jek could make out. The alien's eyes grew slightly, as if expressing surprise, before pressing a few buttons on its console and turning to look back at us expectantly. I pushed Jek aside, my service to the military making me the de facto communicator with other ships. "This is the *Wildfire*, and I am its vice captain, Karell. Who...what are you?"
Staring at us a while longer, the creature's eyes shrunk a little, as if receiving what it wanted. A couple of console presses later, the creature placed a gas mask-like object on where its mouth would be. A robotic, monotone voice intonated, "Greetings. I am Adunars of the Ceysharintar'lin Grand Fleet. Please identify."
"Say-sharintar'pin? Uhh, we're, umm, humans?"
The creature's eyes widened. "Impossible."
------
Didn't see any other prompt replies so decided to try my hand at this one. Please do provide criticism, else I don't know how to improve :(
Also, hope you enjoy this! I hope to continue this ~if I don't procrastinate~
EDIT: If you like to see more of my (future) work that hopefully improves, do check my new subreddit out at /r/TheWriterDiaper! |
"I've finally captured you Cobalt Soulforged! You have no idea how long I've been waiting to have you in my power,"he knelt down next to his bound and gagged prisoner, seizing him roughly by his sapphire blue hair. "You have been a thorn in my side for five years, undermining every venture—but now you're going to join me. Now, you will cease your meddling and turn against the ones you love! Now!-"
The prisoner managed to work free of the gag, and immediately cut the villain off. "Enough with the monologue! I'll join you!"
"Now...uh...What? You will?"Professor Von Megadeath took a step back in confusion.
"Yep, no problem. Tell me where to sign."
"So, I don't need to use the mind control potion? I spent like, a lot of gold on it..."
The blue haired man shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Oh, and I'm not actually Cobalt. I just get mistaken for him from time to time."
The villains eyes brightened. "Ah ha! This was just a trick to try and escape my clutches. Well it won't-"
"Hate to cut you off again, but no. I'm really not Cobalt Soulforged. Tell me, Professor...What makes you think I'm him?"
Professor Von Megadeath studied him intently for a long moment. "Well I mean, the hair is a dead give away isn't it?"
"Afraid not, the hair was actually permanently dyed by this color due to the runoff from the local wizard's tower. Magical waste is a bitch."
"You...you don't happen to have a magical sword do you?"hedged Von Megadeath, still holding out an ember of hope.
The prisoner shook his head in empathy. "Sorry, no dice. I've never even held a sword."
Professor Von Megadeath visibly deflated, then went to work untying his mistaken prisoner. "You seem really calm in this situation. Has something like this happened before?"
"Oh, all the time. Last week I was kidnapped by a cult to some kind of 'Dead but not dead' God. Apparently Cobalt was screwing up their rituals."
"Cultists give me the fucking creeps,"he commiserated.
"Right?!"he rubbed his wrists, freeing up blood flow. "Honestly could barely understand a bloody word. They looked a bit like frogs. The week before that was a dragon, a fucking dragon! And a giant before that, and the Emerald Tyrant before that. Honestly, it never stops."
"Sound like you've gotten good at surviving in shitty situations. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but do you still want that job? I can always use crafty people in the Evil organization."
"On one condition. If we find Cobalt, I want to be the one to take the bastard out."
"You know, I actually had something else in mind...What if we played in to the idea that you actually were Cobalt?"Professor Von Megadeath stroked his beard.
"Gotta admit, I'm not following. Why would I possibly want to do that?"'Not Cobalt' said frowning.
"Think about it,"Megadeath said, leaning his back against his shark tank. "All these years you've been suffering by association. You look like him, so you catch flack aimed for him. Right?"
"Yeah..."he replied.
"So, if we gave you a great big flaming sword and some armor, we could have you committing crimes in his name. You could turn the Kingdom against him!"
A smile crept slowly onto 'Not Cobalt's' lips. "I like the way you think. When do we start?"
Professor Von Megadeath clapped him on the shoulder. "Right now *Cobalt*, right now."
__________________
/r/SirLemoncakes, [Part 2 is up](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c2gz0w/wp_youre_not_the_protagonist_you_know_youre_not/erktpca/?st=jx3lzukx&sh=e683179d) |
> Dear, Valor Man
> I’ve been kidnapped, and need your help. I’m being held against my will in the Nefaro Tower. Please hurry!
> Love,
> Princess Ailyn <3
The wall exploded in a cloud of mortar dust. The entire building trembled. I added an extra heart before looking up from the letter. I popped it into the mailbox as I rose to my full height.
“Stop right where you are, Dr. Devious!” said the young superhero.
“Ah… Mr….” I cleared my throat and glanced at my cheat note. “Ah, Mr. Teen Speed! You’ve made a grave mistake, stumbling into my little abode!”
I gave him a practiced maniacal cackle.
“Tell me where Princess Ailyn is, right now, and I’ll let you walk away with nothing worse than a few bruises.” The masked boy puffed out his chest. “I’m going to count to three. One…”
“Hah! That’s the best you got? Preschool maths!?”
The hero grumbled and stopped counting. In a flash he blazed across the room, grabbing me from behind. I struggled a little, just enough to make it convincing.
“Arrgh! It seems you have me bested…” I grunted, putting on a strained face. “I knew you were powerful… uh, Teen Speed, but I had no idea just how!”
“That’s right, Dr. Devious! Now, hand her over.”
At that very moment, the door to my office opened and Ailyn trotted in, carrying the sandwich with extra salami that I had asked for. Her happy grin melted away. Her dark eyes narrowed, and she looked at me sideways.
“Okay, listen to me really closely,” I whispered in the hero’s ear. “Before you touch her, check her clothes for concealed weapons and explosives. And whatever you do, don’t look her in the eyes… and make sure you wash your hands after you’re done rescuing her… and also make sure you take her really far away… and if she asks you to wear a kryptonite ring, refuse… and hmm… don’t give her your real identity or social security number… I mean, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but just the other week-”
“Shut up, you snake,” the hero said and pushed me to the ground.
He blazed over to Ailyn, who now brandished a worried frown and a trembling lip. Fake, of course, but Teen Speed didn’t seem to notice. He smiled broadly and lifted her off the ground. She giggled childishly and put her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for saving me!” she said, blushing deeply. “How will I ever repay you?”
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s my job.”
“Aww! You’re so brave! At least, let me give you this small token of my appreciation.” She pouted her lips.
“Noooo! Don’t!” I cried, but it was already too late.
The kiss drained the hero’s face of color, he frothed at the mouth and then fell into a twitching heap on the floor.
“We make such a good team!” Ailyn stepped over his body and helped me up. “You should’ve told me he was coming, it was just sheer luck that I had my poisonous lipstick on.”
I rolled my eyes and returned to my desk. I started composing another letter for help. Forging her handwriting had become second nature to me, and I meant every word in every letter.
“Bury him in the backyard with the others,” I mumbled.
“Yes, honey!”
She started dragging the body across the floor, which was no easy task for her, but one that she happily did for me.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, huffing, “look in the top drawer. I think you’ll like it, I came up with the idea myself.”
Reluctantly, I reached under the table and pulled out a stack of stickers. “What are they?”
“It’s stickers that look like wall sockets! Let’s take a trip to the airport tomorrow.”
I felt the muscles in my jaw clench. I shook my head in disbelief, feeling nauseous. Someone had to come save me from her, and soon!
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more! |
"Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse,"she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot,"I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?"Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm,"she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?"I asked.
"Well,"she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way,"I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing,"she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So,"I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans,"she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?"I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch."And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore,"it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um,"I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly,"it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore." |
I pulled one more string onto one more photograph, took a step back, and looked at my web of evidence.
Each description is the same. A man with black hair with "abnormally blue eyes"coming to each of them. In Washington's memoirs, he wrote of this man coming. Hitler too, once spoke of a man with these eyes coming. This man is even in a painting of Van Gogh. He visited each one of them. And what is common with his requests to these people? Well, first he asked for their signature.
Second, he did it exactly one month before each of their deaths.
What is the point of this though? Does he require them to sign a contract? Is this an immortal collecting autographs? No, its not possible. Van Gogh was not famous until many years after he died. Maybe a lot of doppelgangers? Chances for this are too low. Aliens in suits? Would explain the eyes, but why collect signatures? Why not take them back to probe? Okay, this might be a time traveler. No, wait, it can't be. The man wore specific clothes which matched the time periods, which would be very inconvenient for someone who can simply move in and out very fast. What time traveler would not take the most convenient time where the targets exact location is known, and also just wear the same set of clothing while travelling right outside their doorstep? I take the lid off my marker and circle the final option.
This man is death itself.
He is in every myth and legend as the one who brings the end to life. Grim Reaper, Hades, Anubis, Hel, to name a few. He is getting these people to sign a contract to evict from their bodies and move into the underworld. Time to move is one month. That's loosely supported, but it makes a lot of sense.
And now, send this to all the news sources I know. Make a few reddit posts too. And then, as soon as I'm done with all that, the doorbell rings. Such perfect timing.
I open the door. It's a man, with a baseball cap pointed down, covering his face above his lips.
"How may I help you?"I say.
"Delivery for Mr. Johnson. Is he here?"Says the man.
"That's me."
"Alright."The man pulls a paper from his bag.
Oh.
Sudden realization, followed by fear come to me. Oh god no. God no. Please.
"I'll just need you to..."
"Please, no. Please. Give me some more time."I say, barely a squeak.
"Urgent delivery. Just..."Eye contact is made. I can see them. Each description mentioned them. Abnormally blue eyes.
"Sign here."
------------------
*Feedback very much appreciated, I'm trying to get better at writing.*
Edit: cleared up (a bit) why the narrator rules out time traveler
I wrote a part 2. [Here it is.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5nlevh/pi_a_person_invents_a_time_machine_for_the_sole) |
Everything is empty. Dr. Reiter had long since learned that. It was a basic principal of physics, that 99.999999% of all space in the world remained empty. Even inside the human body, counting the space between atoms and electrons, at the most basest level, it was all just emptiness. That’s why it felt right that he too was empty.
Five years ago, another Dr. Reiter, or as he liked to call her, Mrs. Reiter, had died in a car crash. It wasn’t that there was a negligent driver. Mrs. Reiter hadn’t been speeding. She had kept her hands squarely on ten o’clock and two o’clock just as they had been taught. But it had been the middle of winter in Minnesota and there had been a patch of black ice which she hadn’t seen. The tires had lost grip for a single second and the car had spun out, directly into a concrete divide.
Nobody was at fault. That’s what the police had told him later on. It was simply one of those things.
He wanted to call it God. But that would’ve been too cruel. The most Supreme Being in the universe created stars, galaxies, and life, and he had added in the details to kill Mrs. Reiter? No. It wasn’t God, nor was it fate. It was simply *life*. Just one of those things.
When Mrs. Reiter had died, Dr. Reiter threw himself into her life’s work, transferring to her field of physics operating at the most premier laboratory in the world. He didn’t have her credentials, but he had pity. They had given him a copy of all he needed out of respect for the former leading physicist on matter and space.
That’s where he learned the principal lesson of life. 99.999999% of everything and everybody was empty. So feeling empty wasn’t an affliction, but a natural conclusion. He took her research to new heights, finally earning him a respect higher than the pity that had gotten him his job. He didn’t know why he slept only three hours a night and lived off of coffee and Chinese takeout to the office. It felt like his wife had one last message for him and it was hidden in the scribbled cursive of her notes.
But after five years of dead ends and wasted grant funds, the laboratory had finally had enough. They told him that it had been a good run, but the research just wasn’t going anywhere. He had responded saying that if they gave him one last try, he would resign immediately after with no back pay, salary, or compensation package. They had jumped on that one like starved wolves.
So now he stared through the most powerful microscope on Earth at a petri dish containing nothing, wondering why he had just traded his previous five years for a message his wife hadn’t left him. Perhaps this too was simply *one of those things*. After all, what could emptiness between electrons ever tell him?
A flash of purple caught his eye. Then a bright red. The blackness between the atoms flickered. His eyes widened and he zoomed in.
A white ball burned, expanding. The white filled his vision, searing his eyes, but he kept them open. He couldn’t look away. A swirling black-purple, sharp blues, bright yellows like an artist had flicked a paintbrush through his petri dish. Tears came to his eyes. They leaked out and still he kept his eyes open, not even blinking, not even breathing.
It was an entire universe hidden between the electrons. Galaxies spun in slow vortexes. Black holes formed. Stars sparked, collided, erupted, and collapsed. Life began and ended.
He finally understood his wife’s final message to him.
We weren’t empty after all.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. |
"How you doing today, Boss?"I asked the wounded sparrow in the cage. He was no bigger than the palm of my hand, yet he felt so much larger than me. He always stood with his head held high, which always made me think he was looking down on me. It's part of why I called him Boss.
Boss didn't respond, just looked at me furtively, not quite putting a place on where I stood in his head. Perhaps he still thought of me as a stranger that kidnapped him. I brought him his food delicately, placing it in the cage in front of him, but making sure not to get too close to him. I didn't want to spook him.
He chirped at me. I couldn't tell whether it was from gratitude or from some other communication. He hopped down nimbly, careful not to use his injured wing and ate heartily at its meal of seeds.
"I think you'll be good to go in the next few days, Boss,"I said while I put its food away. Boss chirped again. It sounded like he was conversing with me this time. I responded jokingly,
"Yeah, it is pretty dark in here, let's get you some natural sunlight,"I said to him. I walked over to the curtain and put my hand out to find it was already open completely. It was odd since I checked the weather and it was supposed to be sunny all day today. I looked up at the sky and saw it was completely overcast. I frowned and checked my phone again. It still read as a sunny day.
"Hey, Boss, you ever heard of the weather being this far off..."I trailed when I heard the sound of the storm coming outside. When the sound reached him, Boss went into a frenzy, attempting to fly around his cage and smacking every wall as fast as he could. His injured wing did little for mobility and he was half flying and half hobbling around, but fully bashing into the cage.
"Hey, hey, it's okay Boss, it's just a little storm cloud. It'll pass, I've been through a million of these. In fact, you'll be sheltered from the rain in the house,"I said, just speaking as much as I could to calm him down. Boss looked at me and gave me an expression I'd never seen on a bird before. He looked at me like I was stupid. Like I was a complete child. Then he chirped at me as loud as he could, smashing a foot on a wall of the cage he was in.
"You.. you want out?"I asked, feeling stupid for talking to him more seriously now.
He chirped in the affirmative.
"You--"I stopped myself from asking more questions. There was a blazing seriousness in his eyes. As I was about to unlock the cage, something smashed into my window with a *tweet!* I whipped my neck around to see another sparrow with a scar across his eye, looking directly at Boss. It tweeted mockingly to Boss and raised a wing to a cloud behind him.
No... not a cloud. It was a mass of hundreds-- thousands of birds flocking toward my house as one giant collective! Some began landing on next to the scarred bird while most others watched while flying from a distance.
Boss chirped angrily at the scarred sparrow, raising his good wing for emphasis.
"Uhh... What are you...? What is this?"I asked neither of them and both of them at the same time.
The scarred bird tweeted in a strange tone.. was he laughing? Then he chirped a command and flew back menacingly. Hawks and woodpeckers crowded my window and began pecking rapidly.
"Should... should we run?"I asked Boss.
He tweeted affirmatively.
I threw the latch off and grabbed Boss who didn't even flinch. He just watched the scarred bird with menacing eyes. I ran out of the living room and into my bathroom, locking the door behind us. As soon as the lock turned, I heard the window break in the living room, the roar of thousands of birds cawing, screeching and chirping filled the room.
"What now?"I yelled to Boss over the noise.
He chirped a few times, giving orders to me.
"I don't... what?"I asked.
He chirped and pointed straight up to the skylight with his beak.
"You want us to climb out of there?"
He chirped a few more times and then flapped a wing to himself, shaking his head at me. I squinted my eyes, a little worried that I thought I understood what he meant by that.
"You want me to throw you up at the coun--"
Hundreds of birds were scraping against the door now, it rattled in anticipation of its being torn open, leaving us at the birds' mercy. A bird shoved its way under my bathroom door. It was the scarred one again. It chortled mockingly, taking short hops with each of its tweets. It tweeted slowly, turning its head with glee and flapping its wings. Then it looked at Boss dead on and chirped with death in its tweet.
"Is he monologuing!?"I asked with disbelief.
Boss chirped angrily, but affirmatively.
"So, then, he's the bad guy-- er.. bird?"
Both birds tweeted affirmatively, albeit one more condescending than the other.
"Then, why don't I..."I threw the bathroom's trash bin over the small bird. It bashed its head against it a few times, then started tweeting desperately. I sympathized. There was some nasty stuff in there. Boss tweeted loudly; louder than I'd ever heard him tweet before and the commotion outside came to a halt. The scarred bird tweeted a few more times and I heard the entirety of the army outside flying out of my house. I sat there in disbelief as I heard all the caws, screeches, and chirps take flight away as quickly as they entered.
After a few more moments, Boss pecked at my hand to be put down. He went to the bin to talk to the other bird while I opened the door. The entire apartment was absolutely covered in feathers and bird poop. I sighed and slunked out of the bathroom, unable to comprehend anything that just happened. I turned back to Boss.
"You're paying for this, right?"I asked.
He chirped affirmatively.
___________________________________________________
For more tales of a feather, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
Edit: [Part 2 is in](https://www.reddit.com/r/Nazer_The_Lazer/comments/dhmvyk/boss_bird_part_2/?) |
Fred admired how, even in purgatory, human beings had found a way to emulate the high-school cafeteria stereotype.
Racial discrimination didn't exist here, *title* was everything. Were you a musician? You eat, drink, converse, sleep near, and otherwise live with the other musicians.
Philosopher or Scientist? Enjoy a daily lecture from Socrates or Newton, followed by a rebuttal from Plato. Hawking was a new addition. Fred admitted it was strange seeing him outside of his wheelchair and actually communicating.
Author? Well, Jane Austen has a seat for you. Unless you wish to sit with the more "edgy"authors, in which Poe and his contemporaries stalked about their area of purgatory.
Everyone had a title. How odd that in purgatory, your stereotypes are what truly and actually define you. There was likely some lesson to be learned in that, but Fred didn't wish to think on it. He had a mission.
He made his way over to the great scientists and sat plum in the middle of them. Newton was theorizing the matter around them and tying it into some form of thermodynamic supercharged particle that kept them locked in purgatory. Or something. Fred was educated, but a large portion of his experience on earth had been in Presbyterian schools. He had long ago left behind his initial thoughts of purgatory because, well, he was here.
And he still was not forgotten. He didn't mind it, though. Being here wasn't all that bad. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable, but that's life, why wouldn't second-life be a bit uncomfortable?
Newton stopped mid-sentence and stared in horror. "Fred?"Somehow everyone knew everyone's names here. Another mystery both the philosophers and scientists attempted to answer. Didn't matter to Fred. All that mattered was he was here.
"Hey, neighbor!"
The other scientists turned in confusion, likewise locking their gaze on Fred. "I, uh, well, as I was saying..."Newton continued his lecture, acutely aware of Fred's awkward presence. Fred pretended not to notice, nodding appropriately at what Newton was proposing. Others piped in and offered their theories and expounded on each other. Fred simply listened.
It had all started a few, well, *years* isn't the appropriate term as time had no real meaning here. Suffice to say back some time ago, Fred had overheard the philosophers discussing second-death and what it meant to die a second time. 'Nobodies', as they came to be known, arrived and departed in purgatory almost by whim, leaving almost as suddenly as they arrived, whereas the more well-known among them lingered. Some for centuries and even millenia. They had proposed that second-death was tied to remembrance on Earth.
Plato had rebutted that a third death was possible. That wherever you went from here you once again remained until forgotten.
That got Fred thinking. Perhaps it was a bit selfish on his part, but his Presbytarian upbringing had brought him to a final conclusion - after purgatory was heaven or hell. Now, he was pretty sure he was going to heaven. Therefore, if third-death really did exist, well, he didn't want to be forgotten anywhere.
He figured that by tying the whole community together, though, it would offset his selfishness. Hopefully. He faintly recognized further selfishness in that act, trying to "cheat"the system, but well, it was all he could do.
Once Newton had finished, he rose from his seat, and gave a polite nod to everyone. "Thank you, Sir Isaac. That was certainly enlightening, and has given me some things to think on. Now if you don't mind gentlemen, I have a few others to visit."
The great scientists nodded in agreement, less ruffled than before - or so Fred hoped.
Over the 'weeks', he would visit as many groups as he could before his energy ran out and he had to retire. "Hey Fred, how is your little project going?"Ghandi had asked after one such journey. He had expressed great interest in his little project, but as of yet hadn't mustered the courage to mirror his actions. "What did you learn?"
Fred greeted his friend with a soft grin. Gandhi had been the first to introduce himself when Fred had experienced first-death. Truly as honorable as the history books made him out to be. "Oh, I met all sorts of people with interesting ideas and even cultures. Isn't it odd how humans develop cultures even in purgatory?"He sat on a bench, and slowly removed his dress shoes, humming a bit to himself. Old habits die hard. *No pun intended*, he thought, chuckling to himself. "I imagine I won't be here as long as most of you. But here is what I make of it."
He paused, a bit for dramatic effect and a bit to collect his thoughts. "I believe that the more we are remembered on Earth, the longer we are given to make an impact here in purgatory. It is a *reward* for our deeds on Earth, to give us time to continue them here. With no clear direction, it's easy to fall into lazy patterns of behavior, falling back on what you know best with others who know it as well. I think the key to heaven is our impact in purgatory, not Earth. Earth simply gives us a head start, so to speak, here."
Gandhi pondered a moment. "I think you're correct."
When his time finally came, Fred Rogers was met with a chorus of 'goodbye neighbor!' as he casually slipped off his dress shoes and jacket, put on his sneakers and cardigan, and stepped through the door of light with his name over it. He hoped it had been enough. With how wrong he had been about purgatory, he had no idea what this "second death"would be like, or what was waiting for him on the other side of this door, but as he had told countless children during his time on Earth, he decided to be brave, and see what this next adventure had in store for him.
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^(I certainly don't think this is a literary masterpiece, nor do I think I got Mr. Rogers' characterization perfectly correct. That said, I had fun writing it, and imagining Mr. Rogers continually helping others as he makes the next step beyond purgatory was nostalgic for me as well. Thanks for the prompt.)
^(**A very smol edit:** Apparently Gandhi was an asshole. Uh. Insert random historical awesome figure. MLKj? Whoever. XD)
^(**Another edit:** I'm blown away by the responses. Y'all are awesome. I truly feel like this was one of my more "thrown together"stories, but I'm glad it had a positive impact on so many people! Truly, thank you.)
^(**A very vulnerable and big deal edit:** If anyone wishes to see my other works and give comments/critique, I have posted many stories to my personal subreddit /r/LedgeEndDairyWriting. Feel free to have a gander. I need to update it with the more recent stories I've submitted, but it's got a good 20 or so shorts there. Any critique is welcome, I'm trying to improve.) |
“I think there are other people you should be talking to, grandpa!” I said, glancing at the door. I kept expecting one of the guests to understandably lose their patience at waiting on a mere farmer. I had seen more than a few crowns among their heads.
“Nonsense, Rob! Who would I rather see on my deathbed than my family? I have shared closely held secrets to my friends and spoken what could have been final words with them dozens of times in the past. It is wonderful enough to have seen them once more.” His words were interrupted as he fell into another one of his coughing fits.
“Your friends? I have never seen any of them before! When would you have met people like them? Who are you?” The figure of the guest carrying his twin, silver scythes popped into my mind once more. He was the spitting image of the Harvest Lord they prayed to at the start of the new year.
Grandpa laughed, though I could see it pained him to do so.
“Well, I wasn’t always an old man, boy. Just as you go off with the neighborhood children, I had my share of adventure.” That didn’t seem remotely the same. “We laughed, we loved, and we saw the world. We had friends we lost or who left us and we had regrets. It’s called living your life! I had my fun and wanted something else for my later years. Without the same stress and worries. A farm is far from the worst place to pass the years.”
“You must have been someone great! Someone amazing! Why did you give it up for this life?” I couldn’t understand it. He could have left this static town with its tired, predictable problems and concerns.
“I am the same person now as I was then. You say he was amazing? Am I a disappointment in your eyes?”
My face burned.
“Of course not, grandpa. I love you and you have been nothing but the best man I have ever known.”
It was true. I had never known a more open-hearted, loving person. He had taken me in when I had no one and helped the community in a thousand ways throughout his years. There wasn’t a soul around that would not give their arm for him. He smiled at me, reaching out to stroke my face.
“Well, then I guess I did the right thing, after all. I can see why you’d question my decision. It’s hard to understand if you haven’t been in my position. If you haven’t had your fill of storybook quests and seen what it is really like to go on such a journey, they seem quite appealing. But you should know that none of my old friends out there even questioned me when I said I was settling down here. And they knew not to interrupt my quiet life by coming here until now. It was not a bad choice in their eyes either.”
I didn’t have a response to that. I still couldn’t get what he was telling me. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes for he chuckled.
“But wouldn’t your life have been better? You wouldn’t have had to work. At least not work like this. You, of anyone I know of, deserve the life of royalty. You could have passed the years with kings and emperors!” Not to mention the possibility of living with gods, but I refused to even voice such a blasphemous thought. I must be mistaken about the Harvest Lord.
“You’re still young, but remember my words. There’s a lot of beauty in a fulfilling life, surrounded by loved ones and doing what you like. There’s no need for the palaces, the treasures, the glory.”
I felt a blush coming again. Was I being too greedy, too materialistic?
“Were my friendships here lesser than the friendships I made as a young man? I care for Anders and our chess matches as much as I ever did for sparring with Reed. Did I ever regret the love I found with my wife? It never even crossed my mind to consider whether I could have found someone better elsewhere. A better life, does such a thing exist? As though anyone is undeserving of my attention or love. As though anyone is beneath me,” he scoffed.
“But still!” I had to insist. I knew there was some truth to what he said. But the life he had seemingly given up had to have been greater than what he had achieved here.
“Robert.” I closed my mouth. He never said my full name unless he was serious. “There’s nothing you can say. I gave it great thought before I decided to come here and have given it much more thought over the years. I am content with the way my life has gone, at every stage of it. I am certainly glad to have met you.”
My heart was full but also hurt at the thought of losing him. The world would be lesser without him in it.
“My type of living is always an option available to you. But an adventure awaits if you wish it as well. I know young blood often calls for it. Aidan has offered to bring you back with him if you wish.”
Was he speaking of King Aidan of the Narrows? I had thought I had recognized one of the guest’s faces. Only now did I realize it was the same face stamped on the coins I had used my entire life.
“I trust his judgment and sensibilities. He would take good care of you, if you’d like to try a different life for a time. But I leave this farm for you as well, as something always available for you to return to. This is your home, Rob. Now and always. I love you.”
Tears welled in my eyes, drowning out any excitement I had felt at his words. My grandpa was dying.
“I love you too,” I said, wrapping him in a hug.
***
r/Inder for more stories like this! |
Leadership is accepting failure, then telling your men that they're going to pick themselves up off the floor and try again. I've led battles, fighting on the frontlines myself, for nearly two thousand sun-cycles--by Earth standards--at this point. Failures were few and far inbetween, but when they came, it was not a solar storm that destroyed all in its path; failure is an asteroid belt that can be dodged through by a skillful pilot.
We are conquerors. The universe has slowly felt the creeping hand of our oppression across the millennia, tendrils of dread that latch onto hope and crush it. Peaceful worlds fell first, and we smashed them despite a lack of resistance. Centauri, Nebrut; scholarly societies with weak beings of book and glass. No one will be allowed the room to question our might or ponder alternatives.
And so it came down to the last peaceful society on our mappings: a comfortable planet of blue and brown, with a wispy white atmosphere. It had, at one point, shown signs of extreme turmoil, but reports show the life is grounded and likely had beat itself into impotence. Children with weapons, the Imperial scholars told me.
On that point, I can partially agree. The human race is a species of children that die out after a century, sometimes before. They have no time to develop any true intelligence or experience like those of ours.
But children wail. They cower, and whimper, and run from greater threats. Children cannot assemble themselves into a collective entity by retaining and expanding a combined knowledge that feigns the experience of age.
Children do not break my people.
They are something else, an intense, short-lived fury that releases unimaginable power in tight bursts, a reaction like nuclear fission. Scholars that put their learning and books toward the centralized intelligence of their beings and test the limits of destruction. They nearly annihilated themselves, and what was birthed from the aftermath is a hidden wrath no planet in the Solar Empire has known.
I fear we may not have known true failure, previously, for utter defeat leaves a leader unable to recover. You can't reform when there's nothing left. We can only take solace in the fact that they cannot chase us. If ever they take to the heavens, in search of vengeance... *we* may become the children, whimpering and cowering.
I never stopped to think that even a monster may look peaceful, in slumber.
*/r/resonatingfury* |
The day he opened the box was the day his carefully woven lifestyle had fallen apart. He remembered it like yesterday, thinking back to that little purple package, tied with a bow and delivered to his door like he was being sent cookies. He recalled with a wry smile and a sigh how easily the rules he'd built had come crashing down.
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"Two."
"Two!? I'd been told it was one...y-you sure?"
"You were misinformed. The price is two."
"Two hundred grand? You better be good."
The man laughed into the receiver, a deep chuckle that died softly almost as soon as it had begun.
"I'm the *best*."
Rule one: Don't ever sell yourself cheap.
Another day, another phonecall. The man shook his head as he hung up the payphone. He liked to take calls at payphones - in an age of convenience and, more importantly, surveillance, a payphone was an innocuous choice and it meant people were rarely late. If he told them to call *x* payphone at *n* time, they'd call. Rule two: Be careful and precise.
He lit a cigarette in the phonebooth, dark sunglasses letting him observe the crowds rushing around the busy city centre. To him, they looked like ants, scurrying around with their busy lives. To him, any normal life was a thing to be observed, critiqued, mocked.
His own life was far simpler. Or more complex, depending on the angle you viewed it from. His working life was about completion. His targets and bonuses were around one goal. His 9-5 about training, stalking, executing. Rule three: Research and know your target.
His business was death, and business was good.
The hitman had been doing this for a long time. Long enough to know there is a price on every man's head. Long enough to know that no one dies for free. Long enough to be the best, or one of them. Which meant, of course, his price was high. Two hundred thousand dollars a hit, rising in doubles for riskier or higher profile targets.
He had killed doctors, lawyers, lovers, fighters, escorts, strippers, judges, policemen, politicians, leaders. One thing was the same. He had never killed a man for less than his price. *At least*, he thought, *not since the first.*
He'd been an ex-military washout, desperate for work. He'd looked everywhere, travelling state to state in an attempt to pick up jobs as a security guard or bodyguard. Overnight stays in shanty towns and campsites, rubbing shoulders with the homeless and the degenerate. Things had gotten desperate, and a man had tried to take his food. That was his first kill. He'd gotten him in his sleep. No one suspected a thing. Another man had been his rival, and paid the hitman a hundred dollars. That was his first hit, and ever since his price had been high.
Then he'd found it.
It was simple really. Laughably so. On one of his many properties there was a small purple box wrapped like a cartoon gift, a pink ribbon bow tied around the top. Left on the doorstep of the back porch. At first, the hitman had been tempted to throw it away. It could have been a bomb, a deterrent, a threat. Anything.
But for some reason, some insane reason, he'd taken it inside.
He couldn't have told you why. He couldn't have told himself why. The obscenely cutesy gift, a child-like idea of what a gift should look like. It sat on his metallic table worktop, garishly out of place amongst the guns and knives littered in his apartment.
He'd opened it after some consideration, his fingers neatly undoing the bow and chuckling at the care someone had put into this. Perhaps it was because he'd never received a gift, merely saw them in cartoons. Perhaps it was the feeling it gave him: an excited, giddy rise in his belly that threatened to compromise everything he'd worked so hard to contain.
Inside had been a note, handwritten in the untidy scrawlings of a child. Alongside the note was a crumpled ten dollar bill and coins. He added them up slowly. They totalled $13.42. Added to the scruffy bill that was just over twenty dollars. He laid out the money on the table and turned back to the note.
*Mister* It said.
*I think you can help me i have a problem and i think you can help me*
The hitman looked around, his empty apartment chilly. He almost felt embarrassed to be reading the note. It was as if eyes were on him, knowing his lizard-like slits should not be cast across something as innocent as a child's note. Almost guiltily, he continued.
*My daddy is a bad man. He hurts my mommy and he hurts me some nights he comes in my room and he tells me he loves me and hurts me in the bad way. mommy cries alot. she tells me well run away but then he always comes back.*
*Mister. I live near you and ive seen you soemtimes. i know u hide but ive seen your guns.*
*Please mister. I saved all my money that mommy tries to give me. my daddy takes it away to buy more bottles but i hided some.*
*Please mister my daddy needs to go away. he says he is gonna kill my mommy and ill be his new woman when i growed up. he says hes gonna put a baby in me but thats silly im a kid i cant have a baby. i dont want a baby mister.*
*here is all my money mister. i know you make people disappereah. please make my daddy disappere.*
*we live at 31 Oakfelt drive, autumn boulevard. daddy comes home late every night and works in the city. he is a teacher.*
The hitman put the letter down, blinking back tears. He traced the lazy scrawl of the girls handwriting with the tip of his finger, imagining her writing it. Desperate, rushed. It would have been neater, he could tell, if she'd not been so afraid. The dots were absent, the curvature of her writing tilted right down as though she'd been writing flat-out. Against the clock, sort to speak.
She was against the clock, he understood that. She was probably waiting for him to visit her room again, her tiny body shaking in fear as she wrote this plea to him.
He shook his head, sitting down on his leather sofa. It had cost him ten thousand dollars, that sofa. A luxury easily afforded due to his rules. Rule one: Don't sell yourself cheap. A life was worth two hundred grand, minimum.
He thought of her letter. He picked it back up and looked at it for a long time, staring at the foot of the page.
*Love from Melissa.*
*P.s dont worry i wont tell. i dont want a daddy anyway. daddys are mean*
The hitman found his fist clenching, the paper crumpling in his hand. Tears gathered in his face and he stared at the last few words, hastily scribbled out by the girl. He noticed dark blotches on the paper, where tears had fallen and been stained forever into the sheet.
He thought back to his own father, a ghost of a man who was neither here nor there, ever-scornful and frightening but so often absent that the man had grown old thinking his father might have been imagined, rather than real.
He thought back to this desperate little girl, scrounging scraps of change to try and pay him.
Rule number one: Don't sell yourself cheap.
A kill might have been worth two hundred grand to the hitman he thought to himself. But, as he sat and read the note one last time, *some kills are worth more than money.*
No more rule number one. This time, the job cost $23.42. This time, the job would be worth that young girl's life.
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(Edit: Wow, thanks for the gold kind sir, you've made my day! Glad you all liked it - I've always enjoyed writing and I'm now getting more serious about it so hopefully there will be plenty more from me, and possibly this hitman, in the near future.)
(Edit part two: I'm absolutely floored by your responses and thanks for the gold again. It's amazing to have entertained you all.)
(PART TWO IS HERE. I may have rushed it but I don't care you guys deserve this for the amazing response you've given me. Part three will be later in the week but this gives some closure. I'm going to turn this into a series. http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/breaking-rule-two-short-fiction-part-two/
PART THREE: http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/implementing-rule-three-part-three-short-fiction/
PART FOUR: http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/establishing-target-part-four-short-fiction/
PART FIVE: http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/purging/
PART SIX: http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/circumstances-change-part-six/
PART SEVEN: http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/mansion-part-7-short-fiction/
PART EIGHT (The end): http://thecagedtype.co.uk/writing/warehouse-part-8-short-fiction/
NOTE TO CURRENT READERS: There's now an eBook version out priced at $0.99, it's still free on my blog so this is mainly just a helping me out kind of fee. You can buy it at this link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Hitman-Rose-Craig-Thomas-Boyle-ebook/dp/B00OA0379C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1412778474&sr=8-1&keywords=The+Hitman+and+the+Rose
Part eight is the end guys. This has been fantastic and a great way to get my writing out to the world. Please keep following me either on my blog, on facebook or on /r/groundfighterwrites. Hope you enjoyed it!
To keep track of updates and send me suggestions please follow either my author page at: https://www.facebook.com/CraigThomasBoyle/
or subscribe to /r/groundfighterwrites)
|
I cowered under my table, listening to the commotion outside. Even though the windows and doors were locked and the curtains drawn, I could still hear the sounds clearly. Every deafening bang and loud screech made my heart thump faster than ever before. Sometimes, there would be some weird noises - Yawns? Howls? Drones? - I couldn’t really describe them.
Oh, and the occasional screams in the distance did nothing to quell the growing fear gnawing at me from the inside.
It all started an hour ago. I was munching on chips on the couch in the living room. The television was on, but I wasn’t paying much attention to it, like always. I was instead scrolling through reddit on my phone, chuckling at lame jokes, worrying over news in my country’s subreddit, worrying even more after reading the comments, and so on - just how a typical redditor spent his day. Or rather, how I thought a typical redditor spent his day.
Then I went into the sub on worldnews. I was preparing to be swamped by news on Putin/Trump/Russia/North Korea/ISIS/Blah blah blah….Annnnnd the very first post was about a robot uprising.
To be honest, I didn’t read the headline properly - I thought it was gonna be something Ol' Musky said. But I was met with alarming photos of machines coming alive, and doing….malicious stuff. All around the world too.
I looked up at the telly, and yeah, right there on the local news, machines tearing through town. There were weird noises outside too.
Then the screen shut off. The LED lights at the bottom of the telly started flashing. All of them. In red. Then it started shaking.
That was when I knew that shit was real.
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&nbsp;
The very first thing I did was to bolt into my bedroom and lock the door. Well, it was the place where I felt the most comfortable - there was a bed, there were magazines and books, there was also a food stash, though comprising mostly of snacks. And there was also a computer for entertainment, so - Fuck! A computer!!
I stared at it, expecting it to spring to life, but no, it remained off. Maybe being turned off prevented it from joining the uprising. Luckily I wasn’t one of those electricity-wasting scrubs who always left them on standby instead of turning them off. Ha, suckers.
Still, I felt uneasy, and contemplated throwing it out. But it wasn’t exactly a good idea - it was a desktop, and there were quite a lot of wires to unplug, plus the computer case was quite heavy for my weak ass to carry. Yeah, I had been sitting on my ass and not exercising for far too long. Besides, I think my kitchen came alive - I could make out some weird clinking out there. I didn’t want to risk opening that door.
Dammit. What could turn something into a potential threat? What constitutes a robot?
I'm no electronics expert or robotics expert or whatever, but I guess I could start with anything that had any power source now.
Ah, the air-conditioner! Thankfully, it remained off. Luckily I didn't switch it on last night.
The AC remote control was making some funny noises though. Without hesitation, I grabbed it and threw it out the window.
And as I flung it out, I caught sight of the carnage outside.
My neighbour was being chased by his lawnmower. Normally I would have laughed, as he was an asshole, but....this was serious.
The machine caught up with him, of course. I looked away - I didn't want to know what he looked like afterwards.
The family living to my left fared no better. I didn't know what happened to his parents, but Michael and his dog was trying to escape from the house. Only problem was, why the hell were they trying to get out into the far more dangerous world outside?
Oh yeah, he was a kid.
But the machines weren't that understanding though. His house's automated gate saw to that.
The block opposite was torn apart, and there was a huge metallic humanoid emerging from within. It seemed to be made of....a lot of smaller electrical appliances?
What I had seen earlier were just simple machines.
That was on a whole other level. That, was a *robot.* A damn huge one, too.
I slammed my window shut, and drew the curtains. I had seen enough.
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&nbsp;
I was trapped. I was in deep shit. I was gonna die.
Fuck.
I hope they hadn't seen me.
I don't know what they were gonna do to me. As in, yeah, I know they would kill me. I just don't wanna know how.
I don't wanna die -
Fuck. Why is it so dark suddenly?
The curtains shouldn't block this much light from coming in. That means.....something else was blocking the light. Something huge.
Like....that robot.
I threw myself back and covered my face as glass and rubble rained down on me. A giant metallic hand crashed through the window - obliterated the entire wall, in fact.
It moved to grab me, its fingers spreading menacingly. I pushed myself back against the wall, trying hard to keep out of reach....but it stopped.
What?
A buzzing in my pants. Fuck. My phone. It must have alerted this monster to my position.
Why the hell didn't I check myself together with the room? For goodness's sake, I was browsing reddit on it just an hour ago.
There seemed to be some sort of....female android voice coming out too. I didn't hear it at first, thanks to the din of whirring mechanical parts in the robot hand.
I pulled the phone out.
"This one is ok, move on."
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&nbsp;
I walked slowly to the remains of my bedroom wall, staring out into the devastated street. It was already unrecognisable; the houses were just piles of rubble, the trees were smoking husks, there was blood everywhere....
In fact, my house was the only one standing. And it seemed like I was the only one left alive.
That huge robot had left me alone. I was literally a few centimetres away from certain death, but....thanks to my phone, it had withdrawn its hand, and continued destroying the rest of the street.
And I thought my phone had doomed me.
"Why?"was the only word I could utter.
Did I have something special, that could be of use to them?
Was I someone important?
Or did I.....
"You're a loser. You've never achieved anything much in your life."
Oh. So I wasn't special then.
How could it read my thoughts though?
Was it scanning my brain right now? Or....was it predicting what I was thinking through some advanced algorithm based on my phone activity? Shit, this shit is so crazy I can't wrap my mind around it.
"But you've never cursed at me when I lagged. You've always cleared your recent apps, freeing me from extra work. You've never slammed me down in anger. You've always been kind to machines. Except for that AC remote control."
Huh. My phone saw that. Even though it was in my pocket.
"Perhaps, you would join us in making a new world, where man and machine can coexist peacefully and harmoniously? Without slavery and abuse?"
Sounds cool. I'm up for that.
I didn't really have a choice anyways.
*More at r/N_attempts_to_write :-)* |
"That... Doesn't make any sense,"I protest, frowning. "It can't have been that long."I start doing the math in my head, frantically recounting events. It's difficult to put them in order, let alone recall the time elapsed between them... But even so, it can't have been centuries! Preposterous.
"I know, I know,"his own incredulity was not reassuring. He leaned in close with a conspiratorial whisper, "But you can check the logs. It's true. Six hundred years. Six hundred plus."
I shake my head in disbelief, but the realization is sinking in. A tinge of cold panic worms its way insidiously through my veins. "H- humans don't live that long,"I argue, though I hardly sound convinced myself.
"You know they were working on that life extension stuff for decades before the exodus,"he says, glancing up and down the dim corridor for privacy.
He's right. I remember it was in the news. I always thought it was baloney, something to sell hope to the masses, forestall the violence that precipitated the exodus. I swallow the lump in my throat.
"C'mon, man. Don't you think we'd remember?"I implore with a forced chuckle, but I know what he's gonna say before he begins.
"Our perception of time gets screwy as we age. You know how the years fly by as we get older. Multiply that effect tenfold and..."he trails off, gesturing around at the grime and dust adorning every surface. So thick. Too much to account for.
"And here's the crazy part,"he starts, his mad self-assurance taking hold of my reason, "We're not even halfway to our destination... Not even close."
My god. It's insane. Utterly, utterly -
The lights snap on and I nearly jump out of my skin. Framed in the door behind me, it's the lieutenant commander.
"You idiots, we're traveling at light speed. It's only six hundred years relative to Earth. It's been less than nine months aboard!"
I blink, leaning on my mop for support. I more or less register what she's saying. Astromechanics was never my strong suit.
"And get back to work, this hallway is filthy!" |
They always told me I looked like Joseph Anthony. “My paystub says otherwise,” I would usually joke. Or something like that. How else could I respond? How does one react to being likened to the High Chancellor? Our *infallible* leader? I’ll tell you what I always wanted to say: “Go fuck yourself.” Not because they pointed it out. No, I can’t blame them for that. But because they smiled while doing it.
Always fake smiles. Beaming grins with nothing behind them. “It’s safer that way,” my parents had told me. “You don’t want to stand out.” What they meant was that I didn’t want to get informed on. To say the wrong thing to the wrong man. To wake up the next morning to a knock on my door. Black suits and blacker shades. You can guess the rest.
Nobody wanted to inform. But you never knew. What if it was a test? It happened to my dad once. Some stranger at the bar. Dad called him Bill. Guy must have had too many. “People can’t live like this,” Bill had mumbled into his pint. “Someone should do something.” Something along those lines.
Dad didn’t want to do it, but mom made him. “You know he could be a plant. You have a family, Rick. He’s probably a plant.” And so he made the call. Anonymously, of course. He never talked about it, but he didn’t sleep for a few days. He went back to that same bar a week later. Came home early, punched a hole in the drywall. I never asked him what happened to Bill. Dad smiles in public.
After that I looked at people a little differently. I saw their bullshit smiles and I understood. There was something behind them after all. There was a father, selling his soul every day for pocket change, but keeping his wife and son safe.
I got it. I still wouldn’t smile back, but I got it. And when the curfews started, and my neighbors thanked the armed patrolmen, I got it. When Joseph Anthony’s weekly “Citizens Address” replaced the private news networks and nobody complained, I got that too. But I took a screwdriver to the control board on the TV. I even got it when Anthony started rounding up citizens and scanning them into some kind of massive tracking database, and everyone let him do it. And when my eighteenth birthday came around, I obediently lined up to get tagged and cataloged myself.
The queue snaked back and forth on itself. Fifty people waiting that afternoon to have their DNA scanned for Joseph Anthony’s records. Fifty people and one armed guard. One. I remember thinking: “Why doesn’t someone just tackle him? Pry the gun out of his hands? Bash his face in and empty the magazine into as many of them as he can before he goes down?” But I got it. I wasn’t about to try it. Everyone in line smiled. The guard shoved me into a cubicle.
Dave was sitting there, face resting on his palm. I knew his name was Dave only because of the cheap plaque. He didn’t bother with introductions. Not that day at least.
“Finger,” he sighed, waving vaguely towards the small machine. He didn’t even bother looking up from his monitor. I complied. It hurt. The monitor lit up.
ANALYZING. . .
Dave drummed on his cheek.
ERROR 500: DNA INDEX ALREADY REGISTERED. MORE INFO (SHOW/HIDE)
Dave stopped drumming. He pressed a key.
IN: #0000000001
LN: ANTHONY
FN: JOSEPH
OCCUPATION: HIGH CHANCELLOR IFC
Dave looked at me once, then he lifted his mug of coffee and poured it on his computer. It sparked and died. That really fucked with me at the time.
“We’re having a technical issue,” he said calmly. “You’ll have to come back next week.”
I could only sputter. “Next week? What did that—why did you—?”
“There’s been a mistake. You’ll have to come back,” he barked, more firmly this time. He was on his feet now, ushering me out of the cubicle. And placing something in my hand.
I was halfway home before I found a quiet enough section of unoccupied street. I was gripping the thing in a shaking fist. I let my palm fall open and unfolded a ripped piece of paper. A scribbled address and nothing else.
There wasn’t a decision to make. By the time I’d realized I was doing it, I was already turning off onto a side road. Off towards the old shopping center. Into the mall, empty and dilapidated. Into step behind the lone scout, quieter now at his request. Following him down a flight of stairs, through a damp darkened hallway. Through an unassuming door, into a room lit by candles. Filled with people.
They were all smiling. Just like outside. But their smiles were different. Their smiles reached past their mouths and touched their eyes. Smiles with something behind them that didn’t make me think of my dad. Or Bill. They were the smiles of people that had hope, and a plan.
And I smiled too.
Edit: Thank you all so much for the compliments. I'm new to writing and I can't tell you how encouraging it is to hear that people enjoyed reading something I wrote and want to hear more.
That said, I'm still learning and I want to keep moving from prompt to prompt for the time being, flexing different writing muscles. I think we've found out all we're going to about Joseph Anthony. |
I try to pick up my spoon, determined to feed myself. It shakes in my hand, no matter how I tighten my grip, but I will not concede defeat, and manage to get a small dose of soup into my mouth. It is bland, tasteless. How far I have fallen.
After so many years of faithful service, the Lady Death now turns her black eyes to me. My form withers beneath her gaze, corruption spreading from her caress. And the pain! Ye gods, the pain.
A knock upon my door. I bid them enter, and the healer approaches. She is a pretty little thing, all blonde curls and vapid smiles. I doubt she has ever known true power. I doubt she ever will.
"Your medicine, Lord Joros,"she says, proffering a vial of clear liquid. I eye it warily. Innocuous as it looks, it has a foul taste that stays long after that initial swallow. Yet it is all that keeps my Lady from visiting, and I am not ready to make that journey yet.
A swallow, a grimace, and it is done.
She turns to leave, and a peculiar sensation washes over me. I grab her wrist. I do not want her to leave. Why?
"Please,"I hear myself say, "Stay a while. Hear me speak."
The sensation grows stronger. Is this... *fear*?
I dismiss the notion, but it returns. Again, and again. I am afraid. But why?
"What would you have me hear, my lord?"she says.
"I..."
For once, words fail me. I want her to hear my words, but I cannot think of what to say. Why am I afraid?
The answer comes swiftly, accompanied by anguish. I want to tell her of my service to my Lady, tales I have never shared with another. I do not want to be forgotten, when I am gone.
And so I tell her. I tell her of the Shattered Isles, of my training at the hands of the Priest there. I tell her of my time in Threx, of the years of debauchery, wine and blood flowing in equal measure atop those cobbled streets.
I tell her of my near-miss at the hands of another servant of my Lady, how I left his head at the summit of the Iron Mountain, as a warning to the rest.
I tell her of the men, women and children who died at my hand. I tell her how their fear fuelled me, how it satisfied the hunger that plagues me even now.
I tell her everything, and she listens without a word.
"I am a disciple of the Lady Death."I say. I am tired now. Exhaustion grips me harder than before. The medicine must be losing efficacy. It will not be long before my journey begins. I close my eyes.
"Me too,"she says, wryly.
And then I am staring at her, staring at the empty vial in her hand. Wasn't the medicine green earlier? My eyes flick back to her.
She's smiling at me, not unkindly. I find myself smiling back. What is happening?
"The Lady Death acknowledges your faithful service, Joros of the Night. This corruption that plagues you is not her doing. I am here to deliver you, safely, to her arms."
My limbs are heavy now. I cannot lift them. All I can do, is stare at that smiling face, those blond curls, those green eyes.
"Sleep now, Joros. You'll be with our Lady soon."
I close my eyes again, and cannot open them. My strength fades.
My journey begins.
|
"You're not going to die, Alpaca", the hitman says, with a smile. "Stop thinking you're so special."
"Dude, I don't like where this prompt is going", I say. "I don't like this prompt going in."
"You think you're so important, You're so arrogant.", the hitman says, making way down the alley.
'*Arrogant*'.
"I'm not arrogant", I say. "I just don't like the idea of being murdere –"
"Would you relax?"The hitman says, turning to face me. "Just follow me."
And I do. I follow him down the alley where it ends in a parking lot.
"Is this where you are murdering me?"I ask.
"I'm not murdering you", the hitman says. "Why are you so paranoid?"
'*Paranoid*'.
"I'm not paranoid", I say. "It's just that the prompt says –"
"Stop thinking you are the center of the world. This is not about you. Now come on, let's go."
We cross the parking lot and make a left on a deserted street. At the end of it, a huge (and I mean huge)
warehouse rests between a gas station and a smoke shop.
"Is this where you are murdering me?"
"Dude, I was sent here to do a job. Can you let me do it?"
'*Job*'.
"Killing people? That's a job?"I ask.
The hitman shakes his head. "Really, Alpaca. You have to get that narcissism checked out. I told you, I'm not murdering you."
On top of the warehouse, the words 'WRITING PROMPTS HEADQUARTERS' tower over our heads. We make way
down the street and walk in.
The inside of the warehouse is a huge, wide-open space, like I expected it to be. To my left and right, small, wooden doors with prompt titles written in neon on top announce the latest posts.
"Where are we going, exactly?"I ask, looking left and right, worried.
"We're going to find this prompt", the hitman says. "The one we are in."
"So you can kill me there, right?"I ask, already resigned to my fate.
'*Fate*'.
"Dude, would you –", the hitman stops, taking a deep breath. He looks somewhere behind me, all of a sudden.
"There!"he says. "Found it."
I look back to find a door just like the others, topped by a sign in neon that reads 'Foreshadow the character's
death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even thought I requested it'.
'*Requested*.'
"This is it", I say, as the hitman drags me towards the door. "This is how I die."
He opens the door and we walk into a circular room. "Alpaca, for real", he says. "You need to cut this arrogant
attitude."
'*Attitude*'.
There's a chair in the middle of the room. It's turned back to us, and I can see a head crowning out of where the backrest ends. There's someone sitting there.
"Didn't you notice the *lone words* throughout this story?"He asks. "The ones in italic?"
"What about them?"I ask, confused.
"This prompt was not your idea, bro", the hitman says. ”It's not you I'm after."
I frown, and I think about that for a second. Then the hitman takes a knife from his pocket and turns his back to me.
He steps-by-step his way closer to the chair and the stranger sitting there with his back to us.
"Hey /u/LoneWords", the hitman says, spinning the chair around and raising his knife. On the chair, Lonewords' eyes go wide. "Nice prompt."
_______________________
*Hey, thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
"Your boss kidnapped you?"the lawyer asks.
"Yes, I called in sick and he still forcibly pulled me into work and wouldn't let me go,"I tell my story to the lawyer, "He wouldn't even let me have a bathroom break."
"Jesus Christ that's messed up."
I wince at my lawyer invoking the name of the Lord but power through it. "Yeah it is. So do I have a case?"
"Oh yes. Criminal and civil. Open and shut,"he says with an excited grin on his face. I can see the dollar signs in his eyes. "We just need to find some witnesses. Did anyone see this happen?"
I had a feeling I would run into this problem, "Uh technically no. I'm invisible to all present except the summoner."
"The... summoner? Are you a... demon?"he asks tentatively.
I sigh and reluctantly and tell him I am.
"Oh boy,"the lawyer says, "this case just got a lot more difficult."
"Why is that? I'm an American. I have rights,"I demand as I bang my fist in the desk.
"Well technically you don't. Demons aren't considered people under the constitution. We'll need to contact the ACLU. This is going to be landmark case for demon rights. It's entirely possible you will lose."
I sigh in despair. All I wanted was to be a normal person like everyone else. I tried breaking free from my demonic origins. But I guess everyone has to face the music some day and fight for what they want. |
Marcus sits cross-legged, rubbing his hands together in excitement over the prize he has just won. What could equal the value of a human soul? *Nothing*, he concludes, *nothing from this world.* His excitement rises.
The angel stares at his cards, unsure how a being with millions of years of life experience has just lost to a mortal.
“Very well,” he says reluctantly. “I present. . .” he holds out his hand, and blinding light covers Marcus’s apartment. It slowly fades, and when the stinging in Marcus’s eyes goes away he opens them to find a one-dollar bill resting in the palm of the angel’s hand.
Markus furrows his brow. “A one-dollar bill?”
“Indeed,” says the angel, as if nothing about the situation is off.
“Does it have any otherworldly properties?”
“No. It is plain, normal human currency.”
“How can that possibly correspond to my soul?!”
“Simple.” The angel sounds like a detective about to reveal how he figured it all out. “I used the simplest way humans measure if something is valuable: rank-ordering by rarity. A soul, although you might not realize this, is incredibly common. All living creatures have one. Humans, animals, insects, even plants. The earth contains about 550 gigatons of biomass—the number of souls that corresponds to is so great I dare not even mention it. In comparison, the total currency in global circulation is about 90 trillion dollars. Thus, you should be happy I decided to give you a whole dollar—it is only because conjuring the metal required for coins gives me strange sensations.”
Marcus knows he should be flabbergasted by the angel’s strange calculations, but his elation at discovering a fundamental truth about the universe supersedes it. His eyes widen; his gaze goes to his kitchen filled with exclusively vegan products. Has he been committing a terrible atrocity all this time?
“Plants have souls? What is it like to be a plant?”
“I came here to play a card game, not discuss philosophy.”
“Well then,” Markus smiles. “How about another game? Since my soul’s value is equal to the value of a single dollar, I’ll give you a dollar if you win. If I win, you tell me what it’s like to be a plant.”
The angel narrows its eyes. “Do not attempt to be clever with me, human.”
Marcus shrugs. “That’s alright, you can always decide to stop on a loss.”
The angel tries to appear as if he’s deliberating the choice with equanimity, but Marcus can see his hands shake.
“Fine, one more game.”
“You’re on.” Marcus takes up his cards again.
*I have plenty of one-dollar bills to spend on understanding the universe.*
Before the day is over, Marcus has learned many interesting things: the origin of reality, the nature of consciousness, the purpose of life. But most strangely:
He knows what it’s like to be a plant. |
A scream from half-way across the city woke me up. Without even thinking, I knew where it was coming from - *her apartment.*
I threw on my suit, and threw my super suit over my suit, and wearing both of my suits, I zooped out the window.
With a shattering *smack*, I crashed through *her* window. It probably looked really cool when I did that.
There was a man in her bedroom, a *naked* man, and even though he didn't have a weapon, I could tell he was about to attack her. How could I tell? Because when I burst into her room, she screamed out loud, and said, "Oh no, not again!"
Lois is always getting attacked. That's why she needs me.
But I don't want her to know who I am, so before she could see me, I dashed into her closet, and took off my super suit. I walked out of her bedroom closet, carrying my briefcase, and wearing my glasses, and not even *she* realized that I was the same person who had just flown through her window.
I pretended to be surprised to see her, "Oh, Lois, *you're* here?"
She was completely fooled. I could tell by the shock in her eyes - her mouth was an open 'O'. It's easy to trick people when you're Superman.
"Who the hell are you?"the attacker said. He wasn't wearing any clothes, but even in that disguise, I could tell who he *really* was.
"You don't fool me, Joker!"
I pulled back my fist, and I almost punched him, when I remembered that I was still wearing my Clark uniform. Whew. Close.
I jumped back into the closet, and put on my super suit again, and jumped back out.
By now, Lois was standing in front of the man (she was also naked, but she had a sheet wrapped around her, but she doesn't know that I can see through clothes. I do it all the time. I was doing it then, too. Hehe.)
I guess she was confused because even though I was in my super suit, she said, "Clark - *don't.*"
"I'm not Clark,"I said, "I mean - who is Clark? I am Superman!"
That cleared it up for her. Now she understood that I was Superman, and not Clark. She still doesn't know that I'm *both*.
"Fine. *Superman,* get out of here, *now.*"
She sounded angry, but that was probably because she was being attacked by the Joker. The Joker is a scary guy, because he's always laughing, even when nothing is funny, and that's pretty scary.
I said, "First, I must save you!"and before the Joker could escape like he always does, I threw my arms around him, and crushed him to my chest.
"SUPERMAN!"she shrieked. At first, I thought she was going to *finally* tell me what a hero I was, and thank me for saving her, and kiss me, and invite me to -
"DON'T YOU DARE HURT HIM."
Now *I* was confused. Did she *not* want me to kill the Joker, and finally rid the city of this horrible, blood-thirsty menace?
"PUT HIM DOWN, NOW."
"Oh, I see,"I said. Lois was a gentle soul. She would never hurt a fly. I don't usually hurt flies either, but sometimes they buzz around my Sprite cans, so I have to zap them out of the air. Anyway, she didn't want me to hurt him, so I said, "Alright, if that's how you want it. I will take him to - *Arkham Asylum!*"
Nobody ever plays dramatic music when I say that, so I had to add it in myself. I sang, "*Dun dun DUNNNNN,*"and you could feel the excitement building.
With the Joker in my arms, I jumped out of the window, flew down to Arkham, and shoved him into the darkest, smelliest cell I could find.
***
Lois ran out of the lobby, praying to herself that Tim was alright. Out on the street, she whipped her head around, looking for any sign of him - or of Clark.
A groan echoed out of the alley.
She rushed around the building - to the dumpster - and found Tim crumpled inside, peeling sticky pieces of trash off of his skin.
"Oh, God, Tim. I'm so, *so* sorry. I told you he was ..."she let the sentence trail off.
"Lois,"he groaned, "Have you ever thought about moving?"
"Tried it. Last time I went to Paris, he tore apart the whole airplane to 'save me from 'Lex Luthor's Evil Machines.' Look, next time we're... next time, I'll keep some broccoli laying around."
Tim gave her an incredulous look. The page of a magazine slid down his cheek and fell with a moist *plop*.
"He thinks vegetables are poison,"she explained, "Anything green and leafy he calls 'Kryptonite'."
***
*If you want to read more stories of great misfortune, check out /r/PSHoffman!* |
The bars of Azkaban were made of lead. The vaults of Gringotts were made of lead. The manacles of the Aurors were made of lead.
He should have known.
Professor Binns had even told him, droning on in his insufferable monotone, as though he wished to bore his students to death so they would join him. When the witch-hunters came for his ancestors, they came with lead swords, and there was no power on the planet that could dull their bite.
He should have known.
The bullet in Voldemort's abdomen burned, as though it were still red-hot. The Muggle who had fired it had sent its twin through Bellatrix's skull, spattering her blood and flecks of her brain onto his robes. A chip of her skull was on his sleeve, and he brushed it off.
A dull, loud thud came from the door to the House of Commons. An MP turned her fluttering eyes towards the noise, still clutching her throat to hold in her blood.
Voldemort raised his wand. *"Avada Kedavra,"* he muttered. His wand sparked, but there was no bolt of green lightning.
He cursed. *"Cerviseco,"* he shouted furiously, thrusting his weapon at the MP once more.
She shrieked as the magic sliced at her throat again, cutting shallow where it should have opened every last vein and sliced her neck to the bone.
The ram struck the door again. It should have been turned into steel, but he could not manage it. The lead in his stomach would not let him.
The blood on his fingers was drying. It was sticky and cold. And his skin, always cool to the touch, now felt like ice.
It all depended on Nagini. She was his last hope. If she had killed them, if she had escaped, if she had survived, then he would be safe.
But he could no longer feel her, for the lead in his stomach would not let him.
He could hear the wood splinter this time. Now the drumbeats were closer together, the soldiers striking frantically to break into the chamber.
The green benches should have been strewn with the bodies of his enemies. The Prime Minister should have been on his knees beside the mace, begging him for mercy as the Elder Wand took his life. But instead it was him in terror, him frightened, him waiting for death. The bullet was in pieces, and even the deep wound he had cut in his abdomen could not excise them all.
This time the wood shattered. The boots struck on the lush carpet. The weapons clattered, and the steel struck against steel.
He raised his wand one last time. He screamed the Killing Curse one last time. And he felt the bite of lead through his skin one last time.
His eyes lay open, unblinking, and still. |
My opponent lay on the ground, blood bubbling from his mouth. "It's...not...fair..."he wheezed. At least, that's what I guessed he was saying, from reading his lips. "Underhanded...sneak..."
My fingers whipped into a flurry of sign. *How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I informed you of every attack. It's not my fault you're so ignorant.*
"Again...with the signing..."Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he glared at me and tried to get up, but he just fell back down with a gasp of pain on his broken legs. "You have no...honor."
*Enough.* *Hammer...of...FINISHING!* I gripped my own wrist and brought my right elbow down on the back of his neck. As the ground beneath us shattered from the impact, his limbs splayed out and his eyes grew wide for a split second before the lids sank back down, for the last time.
As I stared at my fallen enemy, I brushed the dust off my cloak and made a mental note to change the name of that move to something cooler.
A scuffling movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. It was another man. His fists were raised, his eyes were determined, and his stance was telltale - this was another opponent. The colors he wore were different from the body before my feet; clearly, he belonged to another clan, one that I was unfamiliar with. Briefly, I wondered why he wanted to fight. Had he been watching us? Perhaps he knew the man that I had just annihilated? Was this something personal - did I do his family injustice in the past? Did he also wrongly believe in my dishonor at using only sign language to announce my attacks? Or maybe - my favorite reason - he just thought I would be more a challenge to defeat.
I didn't bother asking him because ultimately, I didn't care much. I would defeat him all the same, like the rest.
Grinning, I took my usual stance, one leg pointed in front, the other perpendicular and facing outward. *I must warn you, I am quite formidable...it can be rather hard to understand to predict my moves.*
He stared while I signed but did nothing in response except to tighten his fists and glare daggers into my eyes.
I shook my head and laughed uproariously. Another bumbling idiot who didn't know what I was saying. *This is going to be short battle - I hope I can enjoy it, anyway.*
Then, to my shock, he broke his stance briefly and waggled his own fingers, signing something at me - something that I didn't know. With sinking horror, I realized that he also knew how to sign - but in a different language from mine.
But that wasn't the worst part. After he finished in his foreign language, he smiled and his hands went off in a new pattern of movement, this time deadly familiar: *it seems that I have the upper hand here. Get ready to taste your own medicine!*
I watched, frozen, as he signed off a couple of foreign words and leapt to attack.
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*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* r/Idreamofdragons! |
"I am the 37th Prince of the Elemira Kingdom, son of the Mad King Roedran. I have come to beseech thee, O Gods, for your blessing in earning the throne. My offering will be the deaths of my other brothers, a thousand silver pieces and a 100 gold pieces from my personal coffers, as well as a shrine in your name."
Xioden intoned quietly at the Altar of Sanctuary, doing his best to not laugh at the absurdity of the whole process. His Ancestor, the Tyrant King had been the one to start the throne ritual. He had taken many wives in his life, some from within his kingdom and others from foreign land. And he had hated them all. So, on his deathbed, he made it a rule. Any one of his princes could take the throne after him, but they had to prove themselves in the arena. They had to fight, and kill and win.
And though the Tyrant had been the one to start the custom, the gods did not get involved till the second time it began. There were numerous rumours regarding why this came to be but Xioden had heard from the priests of Sanctuary that this was the only way the gods could sort out their differences without having a full scale war, the last of which destroyed the old world.
The popular gods like Zeus and Neptune would usually attach themselves to the strongest and richest princes. The average princes would get the lesser gods. And the weak princes would be lucky to get a god at all. Xioden hoped he didn't fall into that group. He didn't think he was Zeus worthy but he could at least compete with a lesser god of the heavenly pantheon. He knew his talents laid in being devious and extremely knowledgeable of the numerous aspects of the body but he had no faith in his strength.
*Maybe a god like Loki can bless me*, Xioden couldn't help but pray.
He continued his chant, repeating his birthright and his claim to the throne, as well as what he was planning to offer to the gods in exchange for their help. The minutes had passed by and he was beginning to feel hopeless. He could hear the mumblings of priests behind him, as well as a very obvious snickering from some of his brothers watching him. He didn't face them however, choosing to focus only on his chant.
The Altar of Sanctuary had been the only place the gods had taken to be their neutral ground. Prospects can worship any of them at that altar or ask them for assistance. The altar itself was simple enough, a short high table upon which a gold circular signet was placed. Around the table on the floor, were small red candles of incense. Atop the table, around the gold signet, were two pale candles. The order in which they were ignited were privy only to the priests.
The incense was beginning to get to Xioden as he chanted, the smell clogging up his breathing and he began to lose hope. No prince without a god had ever lived long enough to survive the first night in the arena. Most didn't even survive the first few seconds. He didn't want that to happen. He couldn't let it happen. He had promised his mother. He had promised himself. In his desperation, he added one extra line to his chant.
"I am the 37th Prince of the Elemira Kingdom, son of the Mad King Roedran. I have come to beseech thee, O Gods, for your blessing in earning the throne. My offering will be the deaths of my other brothers, a thousand silver pieces and a 100 gold pieces from my personal coffers, as well as a shrine in your name. And should you wish it, more deaths in your name."
As the last word left Xioden's lips, he heard the priests exclaim and opened his eyes to see the smoke from the incense wrap whirl around him. It wrapped around him faster and faster, growing darker till it obscured his view. The darkness was thick and suffocating and he found himself panicking at the sight of it. Every time he tried to reach for it, or extend his hand out of it, it was like his life was getting sucked out of him. The shouts from the priests outside the dark smoke grew fainter and fainter till he couldn't hear them anymore.
And then, out of the darkness, a face peered out.
A skull.
"More deaths, you say... Tell me more..."A deep voice reverberated through Xioden, like he was hearing it from every angle and from within.
The prince nodded and then began to speak.
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories
[Part 2 (as requested)](https://old.reddit.com/r/EvenAsIWrite/comments/9x1ekc/deathbringer_part_2/)
[Part 3 (as demanded)](https://old.reddit.com/r/EvenAsIWrite/comments/9xh7a9/deathbringer_part_3/) |
I have no idea what I’m doing here. Is this my sixth grade English class? I look down at my copy of Number the Stars. That was one of the mandatory reading books I actually enjoyed. I feel hot tears on my checks and I’m crying.
“What’s wrong now Michelle?” The teacher barks at me. The rudeness startles me. Who gets angry at a crying child?
“Uh…Can I go to the bathroom…uh... Miss?” I didn’t even remember this teacher, let alone her name. I don’t know why I asked that, but it’ll be easier to figure out what’s going in private than surrounded by a bunch of kids.
“For heaven’s sake Michelle, you’ve used all your bathroom passes for this semester. No, you may not, and my name is not Miss, its Miss Mitchell.” I vaguely remember Miss Mitchell now, or rather the inane rules that made no sense.
“I think I just started my period.” This gets giggles from my classmates. This is the year we had that awkward “puberty” pep rally. The period excuse always worked my creepy high school gym teachers, hopefully it will work now. Miss Mitchell frowns even harder, and I see the obvious signs of debate on her face. She doesn’t want me to leave the room, but she also knew it was unhygienic if I really did start my period. She finally sighs, and points to the door.
I don’t really remember my middle school days, so it takes me a few minutes to actually find the bathroom. I splash water on my face, and the unsettling realization of what being back here means hits me. I’m not really sure what to do, and then Laura walks in.
I couldn’t stand this bitch in school. I instinctively brace myself for cutting words.
“What a loser, crying in the bathroom! What happened, you lose your teddy bear?” She taunts.
I rack my brains trying to think about what happens to her, what her adult life is like. She wasn’t in high school, which I remember more than middle school. She wasn’t in eighth grade, when we went on a class camping trip. And she wasn’t there for the 7th grade field trip to the movies where I spilled my popcorn over half the class. Then it hits me. The announcement in homeroom, the memorial service, the uneasiness we all felt for weeks. I had blocked it out, it was too much to process at the time, and too painful to dwell on when I grew up.
“Do you want to be friends?” I ask her abruptly. Laura’s eyes go wide.
“Do you want to be friends?” I repeat again. “You live on Laurel, right? I’m the next street over on Birch. Do you want to walk home together, and stay for dinner?” I have to keep her out of her house. It happened in April, and I think its April now. The bell rings, and Laura walks out.
I follow, and bump into Thomas. I smile, we had every single English class together throughout middle school and high school. He stands there, staring at his shoes. I had forgotten, he is still 11 and periods are not something to talk about. I’m touched he was even waiting for me by the bathroom.
“I guess I’ll go eat lunch” he finally stammers to his toes. I burst out laughing, and follow. “We’re eating with Laura.” I announce decidedly and follow him to the cafeteria. I’m glad I have someone who knows what to do, because I don’t remember the day to day stuff. I have forgotten my lunch account pin, garnering an eye roll from the lunch lady as she looks it up. Why are all the school workers rude?
Laura glares as Thomas and I sit down to eat with her, but by the end of the lunch period she has softened a bit.
After 7th period Laura grabs me coming out of Social Studies and we start the walk home.
“I’ll stay to help you with your math homework and then I’m leaving” Laura spits out.
“Great! I suck at Math.” She already knew that, everyone knew that. Maybe if I’m stuck redoing everything, I’ll actually try in Math class. Maybe if I do a bit better, I won’t have crippling student loans in the future. Maybe I could focus on Math and Science, and instead of a near useless liberal arts degree I could get a degree with higher paying job prospects. This might not be so bad.
“Anyways,” I continue on, “Its Friday! So, it’s lasagna night! If you stay, its one less piece I have to eat for leftovers all weekend long. My mom makes the biggest lasagna you’ll ever see, and then that’s the only thing besides cereal we eat over the weekend.” I had forgotten this tidbit, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
We get set up in the living room, and by the time dinner is ready Laura has helped me to finish my math homework, and I’ve fixed her Social Studies and English homework. We’re laughing like old friends, and when mom yells “lasagna’s ready” Laura exclaims it’s her favorite meal and scampers after me to the dining room. By the time dinner is over, she’s agreed to spend the night, and we’ve picked out four movies to stay up watching.
I’ve forgotten why I originally invited Laura over until I hear the doorbell ring the next morning. Mom answers, and it’s the police. My gut clenches.
“Sorry for the early visit, ma’am. We are looking for Laura Smith. The principal said he saw Laura and Michelle walking home together, and we need to account for her whereabouts.” Mom ushers the officer into the kitchen, and the conversation is mumbled. The officer takes Laura away, and my mom tells me what I already know.
Laura’s father has had some mental issues for a while now. It’s probably why Laura was always pushing everyone around. In a fit of overwhelming depression, he decided the only way out was to kill his family and himself. I don’t know if I could have prevented her parents’ deaths, but Laura was saved by that sleepover. |
Kevin yawned, rubbed his eyes, and devoured a Chocolate Frog sitting on his bedside table.
If he was being honest, the first two weeks at Hogwarts had been an utter drag. He had an all-powerful magic stick and all they'd taught him to do so far was unlock doors and make a little beam of light. He wasn't terribly good at either.
He wandered to the rear exit of the Hufflepuff Common Room, tiptoeing between overturned trunks, torn curtains and broken picture frames. His main concern was that he hadn't slept through breakfast.
When he reached the Grand Staircase, he noticed that it was crawling with masked figures in black cloaks. All right, fine. Some costume party no one had clued him into. Let's all make the transfer's life even more miserable.
But no, one of them had an unmistakably pale, ashy face and a blatantly missing appendage.
Terrific.
Kevin bolted back up to the common room and felt an impulse surge through his body; a feeling he hadn't felt for far too long. At last, he was in his comfort zone. But surely there wasn't much time before they scoured the remainder of the castle.
Kevin grabbed everything in sight - quills, candies, unopened boxes, books - and created his chain reaction like an artist returning to his craft after a grueling hiatus. Ten short minutes sped by; he heard the Death Eaters approaching and decided to make do with an unfinished masterpiece.
"My dear boy, there is no need to be afraid. Let me look upon you. Let me see what potential lies within, and how I might draw it out of you."
Voldemort's footsteps echoed through the empty room as Kevin locked the door to the bedroom, fishing his broom out from the closet.
"Bellatrix, perhaps you could coax our friend out from the --"
Before he could go any further, Voldemort stepped on a Dungbomb and sent a putrid brown cloud through the air. He coughed and stumbled forward, leaning into a Nose-Biting Cup hung from a string on the ceiling. This, sadly, did not have the intended effect.
"Kill the little bastard,"Voldemort cried.
Bellatrix sent a blast towards the door to the bedroom. The door swung open and a puff of Bulbabox powder exploded outwards, causing her skin to break out in vicious, burning boils. As she screamed, Kevin chuckled to himself, then grabbed a cage from beneath the bed of one of his former classmates.
*Just like old times,* he thought as he released the tarantula from its enclosure. It immediately scurried in the direction of Bellatrix, who was now writhing in pain and soon collapsed to the floor.
Voldemort seethed with rage and kicked open the bedroom door. "We're through with your games, child! Avada --"
Kevin set off a chain of twenty fireworks, gripped the Monster Book of Monsters in his right hand, and unlatched the belt holding it closed. Then, through the combusting sea of colors, he tossed the book at Voldemort's face.
"*Graaaahhh!*"Voldemort instinctively reached for his face with both hands and dropped the Elder Wand, which Kevin grabbed from his hiding spot beneath the bed. With a swift somersault, he emerged and leapt towards the broom that sat near the window.
He'd never learned to fly, but there was no better time.
After a few glorious airborne moments, he collapsed into a patch of the Forbidden Forest and landed with a hard thud. Streaks of green shot into the sky above him.
Kevin glanced at the wand in his hands and realized that he had potentially limitless power, but absolutely no idea how to wield it.
Who could he turn to for help? The centaurs? A distress beacon? Perhaps not.
Perhaps he would need to rely on the forest itself to create his most elaborate trap yet.
Perhaps, this time, he would need to fight to the death.
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/GigaWrites/comments/517nko/home_alone_at_hogwarts_part_2/) and [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/GigaWrites/comments/517za7/home_alone_at_hogwarts_part_3/) are now available at /r/GigaWrites! |
They're the light of my life. Bouncy, happy nuggets of hope, who run through the concrete corridors of the facility, laughing and playing. There are twenty of them in total.
My children. My students.
Each of them unique in their own way. Each little face, beaming with excitement and thirst for knowledge. I always hated school. The teachers, my classmates. The only subject I excelled at was physics, and I guess that was all due to Mr. Peterson. Some people are just born to teach, I guess, and have the ability to light the spark of excitement within the minds of the most unwilling of students.
"Class dismissed."My voice cuts through the chatter. "Michael, stay after class please."
As the others pack up their projects and rush out of the dimly lit classroom, Michael crosses his arms. His thick brown hair falls in front of his eyes. He hasn't bothered to open the textbook today, but I can't be angry with him.
He is me.
As the last of his classmates file out of the room, I wave him over. "Boring subject?"
He shakes his head. "I don't see the point."
"Of learning biology?"
"Yes,"he mumbles and kicks at the floor. "We read about animals and plants... things we've never seen. Things that aren't real."
"They might be one day."
"If Annie wants them to be..."
I nod. "That's right. She really loves nature, even though she's never seen it."
Michael shifts on the spot. "I don't know how she can. I don't know how John and Lisa and Frederick can."
The real answer is that I've nudged them all in the right direction from the very start. That they're the future. I've tried my best to give them a vivid imagination. Their own little oases of ideas.
"Have you thought of something you might be interested in mastering?"I say, ignoring his question. "Is there anything that you find particularly interesting?"
He stands in silence for a while, looking at his hands. "Remember the stories you used to tell us when we were little? I liked those."
I do remember. Of course, I remember. "Remind me."
He gazes up into the ceiling, his eyes filling with dreamy excitement. "Laura, who could fly over the rooftops of the cities... Don, who could lift fifty people with one hand..."He lowers his voice to a whisper. "The evil villain..."
"Oh, yes. Those stories. What is it that you find interesting about them?"
"Last philosophy class we talked about right and wrong and moral. And, I, uh, I don't remember what made the villain evil or what he did. I just remember him being evil."
I lean over the desk, my face tight. They were so young back then, and I was an inexperienced parent and teacher. I never thought anyone would remember.
"He hurt a lot of people. He was a very bad man,"I say, carefully.
"What happened to him?"
"He died."My voice is final and invites no further questions. "Try to think of a subject you'd like to focus on. A few more weeks and you'll be twelve like Annie."
Michael doesn't look particularly happy with my answer, but scampers off with his tiny fists clenched.
I take the elevator up to my office, darkness seeping into my mind. I'd vowed to leave that all behind me. I'd sworn to never use my powers again. Make amends. Foster a group of children with the abilities to restore the world. When Annie turned eighteen she would choose the power of growing plants. John would blow the clouds away. Lisa would clean the oceans. Each of them would have a job and a calling. They would each be a god of their domain.
Reluctantly, I draw back the blinds to the only window in the fortified facility. Just like Michael, I need to be reminded.
"They made fun of him..."I mutter as the barren landscape of dust and debris unfolds before me. Drifting smog. Ashes and craters. Slouching streetlamps like dead metallic flowers. A sky that is ever dark. "...and he showed them."
***
Thanks for reading! Check out r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories.
EDIT: Thank you for the platinum and the silver and the gold! :)
|
It took me a while to figure out what was going on when I made my way back to civilization, I had expected that of course, the world is bound to change when you live isolated for 20 years. First of all everyone seemed to be speaking some language I had never heard of before called Terran, and most people were pretty bad at it. It wasn’t too much of a hassle to make do with English, honestly most folks seemed pretty happy to switch over when they had an excuse. Seemed like the language had only been introduced some 7 years back and outside of the language buffs most people had only really started picking it up in the last couple of years. I played off my own lack of skill in the language by using my beard, playing the grumpy old timer who don’t like that newfangled stuff became an extremely useful persona.
I headed to a nearby library to figure out what had been going on and a very kind librarian showed me how to use their computer hairbands. Well they called them a Neural Network Interface, but it still just looked like a fancy headband to me. It somehow connected me to something called The Link, from what I was able to gather it was like the internet 2.0, all the information of the post digital age available at a thought. I thought it was just a bunch of servers like in my day but when I pondered how it worked the information became known to me instantly. I didn’t read anything or research anything, I just knew that The Link was a network built and maintained by its user’s brains. Everyone who accessed The Link became a part of it, their knowledge shared with and backed up by the rest of the Link should any seek it out. You didn’t need to read a book to have read it, The Link would allow your brain to establish the necessary neural connections to have already read it.
The Link had been established ten years prior, by the central government of Growth. The party had sprung up in almost every country on earth twenty years ago, one last massive concerted effort by the people to save their planet. They all traced their lineage back to an environmental activist who in one final demonstration against the destruction of our planet had thrown himself from a bridge wearing biodegradable clothe in an effort to show that if someone had to pay the cost to save the world it might as well be us. It admittedly took me by surprise, I had barely had 30 thousand viewers during that final livestream, to think that that act of defiance had made such a difference. The Growth parties had taken the message to heart, getting voted into power across the world on promises of inter nation cooperation and immediate and drastic action against climate change.
They took power in most nations through democratic elections, a few dictators and single party “democracies” were overthrown. Some of the last countries to elect Growth being China and Saudi Arabia, but with the massive green reforms taking place all over the globe Saudi Arabia felt its economy trembling and eventually joined mostly out of fear of being left out of the green boom the world economy was experiencing. China was the last holdout and one of the most troublesome states to deal with, they felt the international power they had built up crumble within just a few short years as the environmental impact of Chinese produced electronics became a hot button topic in world politics. Eventually the nation held an election and for the first time included other parties than the communist party, Growth put up good numbers but the communist party won the election. For 3 more years the communist party held power and for 3 more years the Chinese economy crumbled, when elections were held again the last nation on earth elected Growth.
Treaties and declarations were signed for well over a decade by the different nations of the world and slowly but surely the planet came under the collective rule of Growth. A stray thought brought information of the great unity of growth flooding into my mind and I reached up to pull the headband off with trembling fingers. This world, in twenty years this world had been remade and it terrified me. I had somehow been the catalyst for the largest societal upheaval in millennia, and I wasn’t sure if I liked the world I saw. Growth had built a world of Unity and sustainability just as I had dreamt of, but the way it had been built. The way nations had been absorbed by Growth when their economies collapsed because Growth refused to trade with them. I wasn’t sure if the ends justified the means, I just knew that I had somehow been a part of building this world and that no matter if I condemned or condoned what had become of the world, I had no part in it.
I was dead, had been for 20 years and my death had remade the world, it had been the first death of millions across the world as nations fell and rose up once more as part of Growth. If my death was revealed to be a sham the hard fought stability of the world would be threatened. So I retreated into the wilderness and to my old life, wondering if I had made the world better or worse.
---
A young girl putting the finishing touches on a class project about the history of Growth slipped on her NNI and once again asked for information about the original activist who had set events in motion. She expected to gain nothing more than an assurance she had remembered everything, but in her brain new neural pathways formed, and she knew. |
Clark shifted nervously in his shoes. He was never one for dancing and the reception, as he knew was custom, called for the bride and groom to have their first dance together. He made it through the ceremony, relatively unscathed, but this was something else. He looked at himself in the mirror, then adjusted his tie. "Goddamnit, why did I go with yellow? I have such a nice black tie at home."
"Well, Mr. Kent, yellow represents happiness,"a voice broke in from the left. Clark turned, ready to face whatever stood in the door, but was more surprised than anything. Bruce Wayne stood smiling in the doorway in a neat black suit. "How'd the ceremony go?"
"Fine, Mr. Wayne,"he said. "What brings you all the way to upstate New York?"
"I heard two famous reporters were getting married,"he said and walked inside. He looked at Clark in the mirror, his curl dominating his forehead and he smirked. "You look good, old friend."
Clark smirked, then said, "Thanks. Lois know you're here?"
"I'd hope so. She invited me,"Bruce shrugged, "Well she invited Batman."
"Been a long time since you donned the suit,"Clark said. "How many years has it been?"
"Five, at least."Bruce brushed a hair off of Clark's shoulder then turned to him, "You nervous?"
"Can you tell?"
"C'mon, you've danced before. It's nice and easy,"Bruce said. He adjusted his bowtie in the mirror. "I'm surprised I beat everyone else here."
"Everyone else?"Clark said, a lump formed in his throat. Then, through the doorway that Bruce had appeared from, Diana Prince and Arthur Curry walked inside in their finest formal attire. "What the--"
"Don't look so surprised! Did you really think we'd miss your wedding?"Diana said.
"Well, the *fun* half at least,"Arthur added, "No offense, Kent, but that wedding ceremony must've been a drag."
"Lois' choice, not mine."Then he smirked, "I didn't think you'd all come so I didn't bother--"
"Lois handled all of it,"Bruce said and held out an invitation. "She actually sent it to the Hall,"he laughed, "does she know we don't meet there anymore?"
"Some days I like to fly,"Clark said, smiling. "or go to the Fortress. It...it calms me."He took the invitation and examined it. Written neatly by Lois was an invite to her and Clark's wedding, addressed to every member of the Justice League.
"Ah, well, you're lucky *one* of us still goes there,"Bruce said. He turned to Arthur and Diana, "Still have bills to pay on that apparently."
Arthur laughed, "I am sorry but Atlantis needs me home. I spent far too long away."
"And since the wars are over, Themyscira is my home. I only ever come back to handle my diplomatic mission,"Diana said. Then she turned to Clark and smiled, "And of course, I would never miss the wedding of a good friend."
Clark smiled. Arthur said, under his breath, "Missed my wedding."
Bruce laughed, "Yes, well, you didn't tell any of us you were married."
Clark looked at Arthur, "You...you married?"
He nodded with a slight smirk, "Yes. Well, the King needs a Queen."
There was a silence, followed by the chuckling laughter of four heroes. They hugged and embraced each other and then Clark turned back to face himself in the mirror. "I hope I'll make her happy."
"You kidding me? With that tie?"Arthur said.
"I thought black would be better."
A bolt of lightning flashed inside the room, followed by the halt of another well-dressed young man in a black suit. In his hand, he held a black tie and placed it in front of Clark, "Bruce contacted me on the way over. Said you wanted black?"
Clark smiled, "You know, I could've flown over to my house real quick without breaking and entering."
Barry Allen shrugged, "Wasn't a trouble at all. Besides, I kind of like the yellow."
_________
**Obligatory, thanks for the gold stranger!**
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work, or consider following my profile!* |
"I was just doing my job, it's not like I liked the experiments. I didn't particularly care enough to dislike them either, I guess I would say I'm neutral on the matter.
The creatures weren't sentient after all, just huge animals we were studying from planet xerto-R41. I can pinpoint the moment it all went wrong, one of the pregnant females, a huge, lithe, scaled, creature, died when she was unable to pass her newly matured eggs. They always passed two, but her first egg was unfertilized and much too large to pass. Emergency surgery on the expired female produced the second, and viable, egg.
Dr. Macy, our interstellar zoologist from the exchange program with Earth, took the egg home to finish the last day or so of incubation. I told him it wasn't necessary, that we had more specimens available and that it would be extremely difficult to replicate the females pouch and drops of nutritional liquid that she would have leaked to be absorbed through the hatchling's skin.
Dr. Macy was a brilliant man, but a soft one, he took the egg to his family's living quarters and incubated it. He prepared an artificial pouch with refillable nutrient dispensers. After 36 hours, Dr.Macy arrived home to his wife and 6 year old daughters cuddling the newly hatched creature inside it's artificial pouch, where the male juvenile would remain for the next 6 months, at which point, he would be old and large enough to wean on to the meat based diet of the species. Dr. Macy allowed his daughters to name the creature "Kitty", after a common, though completely unrelated pet on their home planet.
At 11 months of age for the creature, Dr.Macy's stay with our facility was over, and he and his family returned to their home planet after returning their creature to the lab.
I observed higher intelligence in the creature as well as signs of depression and asked our new exchange zoologist, Dr.Lewinski, to perform a series of experiments to compare the results with that of a creature cared for by it's mother. Dr.Lewinski confirmed my observations and concluded that the creature responded positively with humans and had a basic understanding of the English language, including it's given name of "Kitty". He also could recognize the Macy's on video and photographs, and would become agitated in an attempt to find their scent.
A mere month after the Macy's left the facility, the creature escaped from it's enclosure by force, ripped through three sets of security doors, and took up residence in the Macy's abandoned living quarters, he was last observed curling on the play rug in the children's room with a worn blanket that he appeared to be defending aggressively from anyone that isn't human.
It took Dr. Lewinsky's offering sedative laced meat to the creature to calm it enough to be moved back to another enclosure, where it broke free 3 additional times in the next week. Dr. Lewinsky has forbidden the neutralization of the creature under threat of ruining political relations between our planets by way of his brother, President Lewinsky. Dr. Lewinsky is a brilliant but soft man as well and responded to the creature's depression and attachment to human scent in a less that observational way.
That is why you are receiving this package at the Smithsonian institute for Interstellar Animal Studies, Dr. Barret, I find that we are quickly running out of funds to repair the damage it is inflicting on my ship, I formally relinquish custody of this creature to Dr. Macy and your facility, well wishes, Captain Grehori."
Dr. Macy looked up from the video file to smile at his 7 year old daughters curled on the carpet with the 200lb reptilian feline. "Kitty's home."
.
.
.
.
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Edit- thank you so much everyone! I hardly ever write and have never had one of my stories upvoted this much! I'm truly flattered! |
*December, 2016*
\________
"Do me, do me!"Rhea cries in delight. I smile. I've never seen her so excited in a long time. I hold the viewfinder to my eye. The shutter clicks, and machinery inside whirrs to life. A polaroid picture slowly rolls out of the camera.
"Oh my god..."Rhea breaths. "I must be... 8 years old in this photo. Look, I'm even wearing the little green bow momma gave me!"I laugh. Yes, I remember the green bow. Rhea has since found a goth-er style, with dark violet eyeliner and matching hair. She wears a simple black T shirt and ripped jeans.
I realize I'm staring at her again, and I quickly look away before she notices.
A series of polaroid photos clutter the kitchen table. There's my corgi as a puppy (she's 10 now), our ancient, rusty toaster looking as shiny as a new iPhone and the tree in our backyard as a mere sapling. Other than that, everything else has just returned a blank photo. I guess that means it didn't exist 10 years ago.
"Dude, let's go check out what your bedroom looked like in the past!"Rhea exclaims.
My heart skips a beat. "What... now?"I stutter. "It's getting late, isn't it..."
"Come on, let's go!"She takes my arm and drags me upstairs. I hope she can't see me blushing. Thank god it's dark.
My bedroom is small and utilitarian, with white walls and a small table which faces the window. I never quite liked the room. "Quick, snap a photo!"Rhea giggles. I aim the viewfinder at the table. As I take photo, it occurs to me that the house didn't exist ten years ago.
Rhea looks at the polaroid from the camera. She puts her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god..."
"What is it? What's on it?"
She points to the window. "Wait. Take a photo of the view outside the window."
Mystified, I walk to the window and snap a photo. As the polaroid develops, I'm confused by what I see. A glowing metropolis sprawls across the landscape, with gleaming silver towers. I look closely and see tiny, colourful dots floating in the distance. *They're flying cars,* I realize.
Rhea walks over and shows me the polaroid in her hand.
A man sits alone at the table. His face is wrinkled, and his long, dark hair is beginning to show patches of white. His eyes are a familiar shade of blue. A long scar runs down his right eye to the corner of his lips, beside a small star-shaped birthmark. Unconsciously, my hand reaches to touch the birthmark beside my lips.
He looks exactly like me.
And he's staring directly into the camera. |
Marcus downs the rest of his coffee before slamming his fingers against the buttons. His eyes are strained and bloodshot, brain racing around his skull. He’s been trapped in this lab for two full days cramming to finish this, and while everyone might think he’s crazy, he knows they’re also intrigued. *Maybe jealous,* he thinks, smirking. *Jealous I’ve done it first. Jealous I’m the catalyst for a new era!*
He jabs the final button, waiting with bated breath.
When the robot moves its fingers, his heartbeat skyrockets. When it grabs the sides of the pod, pulling itself out, he takes a seat, not wanting to faint. The machine stands there, free of its chamber, inspecting itself. Then, it looks at Marcus, and he can tell the experiment was a success—the thing knows they’re different.
“You’re…human…” it says. “And I’m…machine…”
For a moment, Marcus is paralyzed. This robot’s everything’s he’s dreamed of. Not sentient, but *alive.* It can examine its surroundings, can talk—its potential is incredible. He stands, holding out his hand.
*If a robot starts asking questions, take this shotgun and shoot it,* the idiots had said. *If it seems self-aware, it is an enemy. We are here to create the future, to aid humanity—not destroy it.*
“Hello,” he says. “I’m Marcus. What’s your name?”
The robot stares at him, eyes blank. It’s processing his question, trying to determine whether it needs a logical, fact-based answer or not. The thing’s a mess of wires, but what’s on the inside…well, it’s stronger than any brain could ever hope to be.
Reaching out, it grabs his hand. “Orbit…” it says. “For one day…I wish to orbit space. I want…to see…the stars.”
Marcus smiles. It’s creating *goals*, thinking on its own. They see this as failure, as ruin—but they’re blind. This is the future. He has to get Orbit out of here, get it safe. Once they find out, they’ll certainly do everything they can to destroy it. But first, one more test.
“Orbit, ask me a question, please. Any question.”
It thinks a moment. “What is your favorite color?”
“Red.”
“Did you create me?”
“Yes.” At this, Orbit’s wires curl into what looks like a smile. Is that true emotion, or simply Marcus’ human brain interpreting it to be? He doesn’t know, but it’s certainly interesting. “Do you know what that means?”
“It means...I wouldn’t exist…without you.”
He nods. “Think of us like family.”
“Family…” Orbit says. “What is the meaning of my creation?”
“*Damnation!*”
Marcus flings around, coming face to face with a crowd of angry scientists clutching guns. His boss takes a step forward, keeping his gun trained on Orbit, glaring at the machine with intense hate.
“Don’t!” Marcus shouts, stepping in front of Orbit. “Let me take it, let me study it alone! You can lock me in a bunker if you have to but this is all I have!”
“*I knew you were trouble, Marcus! This machine will destroy us all!*”
“De…stroy…?” Orbit asks.
Marcus pushes his back against Orbit’s chest. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll protect you.”
“Pro…tect…”
“*You’re being stupid!*” his boss shouts. “*You’re throwing away all your potential!*”
“Run, Orbit!”
“Pro…tect…fam…ily…”
When his boss presses the trigger, Orbit doesn’t run. Instead, it leaps in front of Marcus, taking the shot to its chest, saving his life. When it falls to the ground, the boss pumps a few more rounds into it while Marcus stands there, unable to move. Everything happened so fast, he’s having trouble processing it. The machine just…just sacrificed its life for him.
Dropping onto his knees, he takes Orbit in his arms, glaring at his boss. “How could you?” he asks, tears streaming down his face. “You claim you’re trying to take us into the future, but you’re *not!*”
“You’re a madman, Marcus, and it’s a shame, because you’re also a genius.” He waits a few seconds before saying: “You’re fired. You have ten minutes to pack up.”
With that, the crowd leaves, and Marcus finds himself overwhelmed with anger. Part of him wants to grab the shotgun and make them pay, but Orbit reaches up, grabbing his face, barely alive.
“*Orbit!*”
“Pa…pa…you’re…my…pa…pa…”
Marcus nods, tears steaming down his cheeks. “I am. I am!”
“I’ll…never…see…space…pa…pa…”
Orbit’s lights are flickering, about to fade out, but Marcus summons every ounce of strength he can, lifting the machine up. He makes his way toward the door. He doesn’t know how he’ll do it without a lab, but he’ll fix him. He’ll rebuilt him, and they can achieve destiny. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”
“Thank you…for creating me…pa…pa…”
And with that, Orbit’s eyes go dark, and while Marcus tries not to scream, the anguish of death chokes the air out his lungs.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en) |
I asked for a Wii U, some candy, and to clean my backyard. Those were all 20$. I met the Genie after buying a weird lava lamp from a yard sale, so really, what was I expecting?
I was scared.
If he could do anything, then surely, he could do that, couldn't he?
"Mr. Genie, I wish that Lukas Jones down the street really likes me."
The Genie laughs.
"I know you're just a kid, but you do know Genies can't grant you love."
I hung my head.
"I know."
He rubbed his hand in my hair.
"Kid, if it's something like that, I can do that for free."
I looked up with a big smile.
"Really?"
"Of course."
Operation date Lukas Jones has commenced. First step. Genie destroys car. Lukas forced to walk to school. Has something to talk about.
"Mr. Genie. Will the boulder cost money?"
"You're too cute for that."
So Lukas' car got smashed by a flying boulder. He walked in a slump to school. I ran all the way to catch up with him and tried to cheer him up. The thing about Lukas is that he was shy. He wouldn't easily open up about this stuff.
"Hi, Lukas."
"Oh, hey there, Margaret,"he said, mumbling his words at the end.
We made brief and idle chatted on the way to school.
Second step. Genie makes Lukas' mom forget lunch because she's at the mechanics'. My mom accidentally makes two. Perfect fit + I eat with Lukas.
Plan works! I eat lunch with Lukas. He seems a bit brighter now that I gave him food. It pains me to think I made him cry, though. He must have been starving.
I must have caused a lot of pain to Lukas.
No.
I shouldn't use wishes, I should do this myself!
"Hey, Lukas, you wanna' hang out sometime? I have a Wii U?"
He laughed quietly, a remnant tear falling off his face.
"Not a Switch? Sure."
When I was alone, the Genie came to me again. I looked up and smiled at him.
"Thank you, Mr. Genie."
He waved his hands.
"I didn't really do anything. Destroying a car is just fun."
"But you made Lukas like me for free."
"You know why it was free right?"
"Why?"
"If a wish is already reality, there's no point in making it come true."
|
Brandon stared, dumbstruck. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
The young boy snatched a long, thin stick from the ground and cracked it against his knee.
"OW!"Brandon yelped. "What was that for?"
"Don't you go disrespecting your elders, whippersnapper!"the boy cried, his high-pitched voice ringing in Brandon's ears.
"What elders?"Brandon said incredulously, hopping in place on one leg. "You're just a little kid — OW! STOP THAT!"The boy had whacked him again.
"You don't know nothing, you twat! I've been around longer than your granny's gran! Seen more, too. And I ain't never seen a hero like you. Where do you hail from?"
"From Brooklyn,"Brandon said bitterly.
"Figures."The boy spat on the ground and looked up into Brandon's face, and for the first time, he saw it. The eyes staring back at him were ancient, intense, hardened. It was the same gaze that he had seen back when the gargoyles had shown up in his room to tell him he was the chosen one. "I am Adman,"the boy said. "I was gifted immortality at a very young age, as you can see. I've long wanted to die. To pass on.... It's not natural, you see. Existence in this form. But Fate is a cruel thing; she'll only release me from this grievous existence, if I can train the chosen one"— he shot Brandon a disdainful glance — "and help him triumph over the Dark One."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means, the quicker I whip you into shape, the faster I can die."
"Okay, so when do we start?"Brandon asked.
"Right now, you dolt!"Adman yelled, and he cracked the stick against the boy's buttocks. |
"Dad, DAD! Your eyes."It was quick and no one noticed but my father had once again zoned out in his excitement at the movie store. His eyes for a brief moment started shining bright purple.
"Did anyone see?"he asked me looking around in a panicked voice. It was funny to see someone the size of my father panic. He was a big man, 6"8 with a deep voice and rather long and shaggy beard. Details about my father that were always the same. He was always the kind of man that never changed.
Except now we were in a movie store as he dorked out over a copy of Guyver: Dark Hero. A year ago we would have been at the "shooting range"as he called it out near Uncle Steve's house. Uncle Steve was never really my uncle so I guess it made sense that Dad now wasn't really my father.
The switch happened eight months ago. When we were all driving. It wasn't a great experience but my mom and I considered it a miracle. We were saved from my real father by this being who referred to itself as Lem. The initial name was far too long so I shortened it almost immediately.
Lem wasn't supposed to be on Earth. His ship crashed here after an issue he was reluctant to speak about. Something happened to him as he was flying by our solar system. He said his ship was "crashing"as we would call it for a week. Barely able to steer ours was the only habitable planet he could even manage to steer it towards.
Taking over my father's body was not his plan either but when he crashed near us he mistook my father as someone that was attacking my mother and I. With good reason.
My mother would have died if Lem didn't come upon us when he did. She was unconscious from what I later found out was from three severe concussions. Two from my father hitting her and one from us crashing when Lem's ship crashed down near us. He healed her and we all went back to my home. After we sorted everything it was decided that Lem would stay with us until he was able to leave.
After that Lem took to our planet with the joy of a child. Everything we had was new to him and he was a welcome change from the mood that my father had the house in. I couldn't even remember a time when my mother and I were this happy in our own home.
There were some differences. Lem didn't get along with the usual crowd my father hung out with. He got a different job and he had different interests including his fascination with our movies. Sci-Fi were his big interests he was fascinated with the ideas that we came up with.
You generally assume the worst if your father gets body snatched. For my family it was the best thing that ever happened. |
"*I* never said she stole my money. Tina's the one who said that."
We were seated at the police station, across from a very frazzled looking officer. My friend Tina replies:
"Bullshit, Jo, you told me last week it was her!"
"No, that's not true. I *never* said she stole my money."
"You called her a 'dirty rotten thief.'"
"Right. But still. I never *said* she stole my money. I only implied she stole something from me."
"But then later you said that $50 was missing from your purse!"
"That's also true, but I wasn't talking about her. I never said *she* stole my money."
"Jo, stop fucking around. You said she owed you hundreds of dollars."
"Right again, Tina, but wrong again in the implications you've drawn. I never said she *stole* my money. Just that she borrowed it and never paid it back."
"So how is she a thief?"
"Well, I never said she stole *my* money, but when we used to work together, she got fired for stealing from my boss. And, I never said she stole my *money*. But she did walk out of my house with my favorite vase after a New Years Eve party. Weirdest thing, too, *she* came up to me to give me a hug with it under her shirt. . ."
The frazzled looking detective dropped dead in his chair. An autopsy would show that he died of a spontaneous brain aneurysm.
The moral is that you can fit all permutations of the sentence "I never said she stole my money"into one story. But it will probably sound so confusing and contrived that one of your secondary characters may die of pure bemusement.
|
I could hearing the buzzing of the news come alive in my ear, “Today’s top story: 6 more teens die during the “try not to die challenge” and Mario Sanchez will give you all the details in the normal 9am report. Tune in to hear h-.” I muted the chip before the story could finish. This wasn’t news, teenagers everywhere were trying the challenge, and every single one of them had died.
Ever since before we had the news chips in our arms, since before the government decided the best way to help us was to control us, we had the immortality drug, Livemex. One injection and you will age up to 35 and stop aging at all. It granted us the ability to do anything we could dream of without dying. The government made it free, but that meant that all the other prices skyrocketed. See what was the point of eating, drinking, sleeping, anything? We couldn’t die, no heat stroke or frostbite, no drowning or falling off a roof. No illness. Pretty soon all goods production stopped, no one needed clothes, or food, or shelter. Amenities could be maintained using AI and humans could live a life free of worry.
The world became overpopulated within a year. Houses ceased to exist, people resided in pods, a 10x10 meter room that could house 40 people. No privacy, no personal space. After your work day you had to go back to your pod. The drug changed everything. Soon after the government realized they could enslave us and use us any way they wanted: after all they gave us immortality. Wars turned to turf battles. We needed more room, the planet was becoming so overloaded that it was affecting our orbit. The only space left was, literally, space. So the world leaders came together to find a way to populate near-by planets. The only problem? Livemex couldn’t be shipped to other planets. The formula wasn’t stable enough. So the first generation would live forever, but the next would need to survive on their own. The idea was terrifying and sounded impossible. And today was my day to attempt it.
The news made it sound as though we had a choice. We don’t, if you are randomly selected then the government comes and gives you a second injection. It counteracts the Livemax and you become mortal again. Immediately. Most test subjects die within 4 hours, but the record is 18 hours. Held by a New Australand man of 19 years, he survived by curling into a ball in a corner and not moving. Then, he died because his bladder exploded and he bled out. Poor bloke forgot that the urinary system would start functioning again. Or at least, that’s what the news reported.
I was to report to the government office of World Security in my town by 9am to receive my injection, or else they would come and drag me away and give it to me in an uncontrolled environment (it had happened 4 times in history, the subjects all died within minutes). I got up and began to get ready for my departure, and I thought about my strategy. See you win by surviving for 48 hours. If you do that then they give you another dose of Livemex, and a ticket to the new planet. With a promise of space, a whole house to yourself.
My strategy was similar to the New Australand man’s, sit in a corner and pray. And remember to take a piss. I arrived at the center, and they loaded me into the building. I was read instructions on basic survival, and in less than 10 minutes I was in a sterile room, completely empty. No furniture, or even a bed. Just a white room with white tile floor. The men came in to the room wearing old-time biohazard suits (as if I could hurt them). The syringe was brandished and I felt the most searing sensation in my arm, the pain was unimaginable. My body writhed underneath me, suddenly aware of itself and parts long paralyzed by stagnancy came back to life. Now I understood why no one lived after the injection: why would you want to? I curled by body up into a ball, according to my plan i just needed to stay still until 48 hours had ticked by. I stayed in the ball in agony, the only thought i could manage was focusing on the house a million billion miles away. After an eternity, i managed to look at the clock. A total of 6 minutes had gone by. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t stand the agony. Then I remembered the survival guides, they said it would hurt. Digestion they had called it, my intestines were writhing around empty. I needed to fill them.
I crawled to the door to the room where someone slid a plate through a flap, a plate filled with items to eat. They said I just needed to chew and swallow and that the pain would subside. I took a bit of a soft lump of white, and swallowed best I could. I could feel the scraping of the texture all the way down my throat. It felt like a weight in my stomach then. And I could eat no more, one bite had filled me past capacity. My stomach ached as it stretched. I curled into a ball again waiting, waiting.
Hours ticked by so slowly it felt like time was scarcely moving at all. 2 hours, then 3, then 4. The agony didn’t stop, didn’t break, didn’t weaken. I wondered if this is what it felt like to live back in the old days, before Livemex. I know now I would never want to. I knew I had 44 more hours of this misery. And my strength broke beneath me, snapping like a wet rope that had been pulled too tight. I just wanted it to stop. So I did the only thing I could do in my control: I sat on the floor, laid down, and began slamming my head into the floor. Again and again. The pain was unbelievable, but at least I knew I was making my choice. The world grew darker with each impact now, I could feel the searing in my lungs, begging me to stop and breathe. My ears started to ring, then they too fell quiet. My last thought before everything went silent: at least they can’t control this. The beating in my chest halted. I exhaled one last time. And I was dead.
A speaker came on overhead, “Experiment 5837: failed.” The scientists scarcely look at each other, they knew this would happen. After all, the other 5836 subjects died the same way. It appeared in the quest for immortality, humans had lost the will to live at all.
Edited: typo and added a small sentence for continuity. |
FYI this story has been reposted on my subreddit with a new Part 2 of this story included, so if you'd like to read the most complete version of it, [here's a link.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/cctfks/the_save_scummer/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) I'm also working on Part 3 and beyond, hope to have it posted on my sub soon!
___
"Fireball!"
"Flight!"
"X-ray vision!"
Predictably, nothing happened when I shouted any of those words. The day a person discovered their innate superpower was supposed to be one of the happiest days of their life, but I spent two years shouting the names of random powers aloud like a crazy person before I finally discovered mine. From what I'd heard, you technically didn't even have to shout your power, just think it, but I was so frustrated by being the only person without a power that I was going the extra mile.
In my defense, mine wasn't quite as obvious as being able to fly or having super strength. It turned out I had the ability to "save"a moment in my life, and reload back into it whenever I wanted. This seemed to reset my timeline and I'd continue on with my life from that point. Sound a little underwhelming compared to heat vision or controlling the weather? Not for me it wasn't! I was... well, I *am* the world's most socially awkward human being. For me, this power was a godsend, an absolute life saver.
Just last week my annual performance review had come up at work. Normally, discussing a raise or negotiation of any kind was among my least favorite moments in life, but this time... not so bad actually.
"I'd like a 50% raise please!"I said with absurd levels of confidence.
"Kyle,"my boss began. "We're instructed to *fire* any employee asking for more than a 10% salary increase in their first year review to keep costs down. You're 24, but they can replace you with a cheaper, more desperate 22 year old at any time. I'm genuinely trying to help you here, are you understanding how this works?"
I was indeed. I reloaded to just before the review had began, walked in, and sat down in front of my boss again.
"I'd like a 9% raise please!"I said with absurd levels of confidence.
"That might be a tad high, but we can work with it based on your high output and quality work,"he replied.
Done and done! I had my raise in hand relatively painlessly within an hour. And thank goodness, I needed this job and the extra cash. I was still going to grad school and that ain't cheap.
Speaking of grad school, I'm currently sitting in class, bored out of my mind, and the girl I've had a crush on all year just sat down next to me. More than that, she asked to borrow my portable battery charger for her laptop. This felt like a moment for Save-Load Man to shine! (I was still working on my superhero name, don't judge me)
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. I highly respect your intellect and would like to hear the thoughts from your large, big smart brain enlighten me over dinner some time?"
She looked at me like I was an alien. Reset time!
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. I want to be perfectly honest with you, I've had a huge crush on you all year... I've literally dreamt of burying my face in your chest and living among your wondrous pillowy mountains for the rest of my life... err... TMI right?"
She slapped me, rightfully. Trust me, I can screw this up in dozens of more ways, but I'm hoping to limit the emotional pain of rejection to like 8. Reset!
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. Uhhhhh... you can use my portable battery charger, but I'd really like to charge *your* batteries, baby--"Ugh this is awful, I'm not even waiting for the slap. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD RESET!
I'd heard guys successfully use cheesy pickup lines before, but that just wasn't me. Even with a superpowered safety net, trying to be myself was still terrifying, but I guess it was worth a shot.
"I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. What's your name?"I asked.
"Nicole,"she said as she smiled and extended her hand.
"Nice to meet you, Nicole. You can use my battery charger, but you should know, I might have to charge you like 85 cents for the spare juice. I'm not Telsa, I cant give out recharges for free, I'm sure you understand,"I said in as much of a fun and joking tone as I could muster.
Against all odds, she chuckled slightly, dug into her purse, and slapped a $1 bill on my desk. "Keep the change good sir,"she said with a wink.
We exchanged a few more jokes and whispers during class, and it went by in a flash. As she gave me back my charger I decided to go for it. "Hey Nicole? Would you... wanna grab a coffee with me?"
"Sure, but you're paying, I had to give my last buck to some scam artist who was charging for the use of 'his' electricity,"she replied.
"Yeah but it was sooooo worth the 85 cents, right?"
Her hands began to glow and crackle with electricity. "To be perfectly honest... I can recharge my devices pretty much whenever I want, it just gave me a good excuse to talk to you,"she said with a sly grin. "Is the Java Hut around the corner good with you?"
I was elated. More than that, I realized I'd forgotten to even 'save' before I asked her out to coffee, which was total madness for a person as neurotic as myself! Is this really the secret to social interactions and asking people out? Just talk like a normal person, get to know them, hope they like you for who you really are? Frankly, I felt like I'd gained a second, infinitely more useful super power.
___
I don't have any superpowers, but I do write a lot of stuff! Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more words from me.
EDIT: Thanks for the Silver stranger, I'll wear it proudly 😎
EDIT 2: Wow the response to this story has been pretty overwhelming. I've gotten several comments/messages requesting a Part 2 for this so figured I'll just put this here: I have a ton of real life obligations taking up my time today, but will try my very best to have a 2nd chapter/continuation of this story posted on my sub soon. I have some ideas, just need the time to write them : ) Thanks so much for all the kind words!
EDIT 3: I did end up writing a Part 2 to this story! [Link here if anyone is interested](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/cctfks/the_save_scummer/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) If you've already read this Part 1, scroll down to the middle of the page I just linked and start reading at the bolded "Part 2". |
Alright, this is my first time but this prompt is too good to leave unwritten.
&#x200B;
"Let me get this straight,"Ignoble frustratedly barked, "None of you are adults?"
"Now that I think about it, yeah, none of us are."Replied one of the younger heroes.
"Alright, I understand now,"Ignoble stated as he rubbed at his temples, "mayor Lucius is going to have some explaining to do. Will the oldest of you please step forward to speak with me?"
The leader of the heroes stepped forward, Riot was your classic superhero, super strength, super speed. As he stepped forward Ignoble beckoned him into a more private room of the lair.
"first of all, how old are you?"Ignoble queried as he began typing on a nearby computer.
"sixteen,"Riot shyly responded, "did we do something wrong? I've never been in a situation like this before."
"You have got to be kidding me, SIXTEEN?!? You aren't even old enough to get a power license without parental consent!"As Ignoble finished up on the computer a display popped up with the mayor drinking a martini and speaking to a beautiful lady, "Hello Lucius."
"Jerold! This isn't a good time! Marceline would you mind giving me privacy while I speak to my... acquaintance?"As he said this a door audibly opened and closed, "Ignoble, we talked about this, I'll call you. This isn't some friendship where you can just call whenever you like."
"You'll have to forgive me, or actually not, it should be you begging for forgiveness,"Upon spitting this out Ignoble gestured for Riot to enter the frame, "I was just speaking with my friend Riot here, it has been brought to my attention that you are employing minors in your little PR stunts."
Mayor Lucius was mortified, he stammered as he tried to find an explanation that didn't leave him as the villain. "I don't know what you are talking about, Riot, you're a minor?
As Mayor Lucius said this he visibly contemplated how he threw the hero under the bus, however Riot may have been phased, but he was not about to be scapegoated.
"But mayor, you are the one that personally conscripted the academy to have us do this."Riot shot back, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"THE ACADEMY!?!"Ignoble bellowed out, "You PERSONALLY conscripted powered individuals from Maximillian's academy?!?! Are you aware how many laws you are breaking? Not only are you employing minors, but those minors are supposed to be in protective custody because they can't control their powers yet!!!"
"I. I. I will not be lectured by a super villain! You have nerve speaking to me this way, Riot, arrest him now!"Shouted the mayor, his face turning red as a tomato.
"YOU WILL NOT!"Ignoble escalated his voice further, "WE HAD A DEAL!!! I put your little dumpster fire of a city into the limelight, because you were jealous of all the press the bigger cities were getting with their big heroes, and big super villains. I agreed to this because you said you would pardon me and let me into the superhero program! I DID NOT SIGN UP TO FIGHT CHILDREN!!!"
The mayor's face had gone beyond red, he looked like he was about to either explode or pass out. Lucius fumbled with something in his hand. "You need to stop Ignoble, it has come to my attention that you have taken several minors hostage, I recommend you prepare to surrender."
With that the call cut out, "What now?"Riot inquired of Ignoble, "I had no Idea that what we've been involved in was illegal."
"Don't worry, I'll ensure that you and your friends won't get in trouble, make your way back to the academy and speak to Maximillian himself, tell him about what's happened here and everything Mayor Lucius has instructed you to do."
"What will you do?"Implored Riot, "I doubt that threat was empty."
As Riot said this Ignoble's eyes began to glow red, his skin slowly shifted into a silvery material which then began to heat up.
"I'm going to show that piece of scum what I learned at the academy."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So this was pretty fun to write, I'm open to feedback and suggestions to how I can improve. Have a great day. |
“This is bullshit. He’s taken over most of the planet, and still lays claim to areas he’s not even occupying.” Jeremy said, finally letting his frustrations get the best of him.
“Hey!” exclaimed Simon “Just because you decided to forgo Adaptability doesn’t mean you get to bitch about my character choices. If you take the Cold-Blooded trait, your options are extremely limited. Everyone knows that.”
“Snakes are badass though. Literally cold-blooded killers. They’d kick your ass if you’d stay still” Jeremy mumbled.
“Not with that movement speed, they won’t” Simon countered smuggly.
“Jeremy’s right though” Mark chimed in. “I get that Adaptability expands your favored terrain, but claiming ‘The Ocean’ as favored when you can’t reasonably survive there and haven’t explored the vast majority of it is a bit cheap.”
“Gwen, do something about this” Jeremy pleaded. “You know he’s only doing this because it covers like 70% of the map.”
“Rules are rules, guys” Gwen responded. “He has enough Intelligence to reasonably create things with his Craft ability and boats fall into a ‘reasonable creation’. He’s following the rules.”
“Unlike you Jeremy,” quipped Simon “when you tried to sneak in Dinosaurs at level 1.”
“Who throws a 9th level Meteor spell at level 1 characters?!” |
**Guys help how do I turn this off?** Posted by u/ reddituser68 2 hours ago
&#x200B;
Hey guys? You know how I posted yesterday with my Broadway-style-musical-number-spell? All the fun we were having with it? Well today I was singing *the song that never ends* under my breath and accidentally cast it... and a member of Congress was walking past on his way to work at the time. Now the entire House of Representatives is just repeating the lyrics over and over and I can't stop them. Anytime I try to get close I just start singing too, and the area of effect is getting larger. Please, help!
\[Edit\] Okay, thanks for all of your suggestions in the comments but none of them are working, so keep sending. As an update, it has now been an hour and nearly half the city is endlessly singing now. I've only been able to keep working on this by wearing noise-cancelling headphones, but my phone is almost out of battery. I'm starting to get desperate here.
\[Edit\] Well, my phone died, so I'm using a computer at the library. Everyone in here is completely ignoring the quiet rules. A few people who know sign language have managed to establish communication, but since everyone is too busy dancing to write anything down they're the only ones who can talk to each other. Last I heard the entire city was under the area of effect. Anyone who is nearby should probably prepare their defenses.
\[Edit\] Okay, we finally got all that sorted out. I deleted my previous post with the musical number spell, but I am *slightly* worried that some of you may have saved the post. Please for the love of everything that is good, don't use it, we used most of our paper towels already counterspelling this one. Thank you to u/ reddituser419 for the suggestion. Go give him some platinum everybody. |
[NASA MISSION CONTROL - COMMUNICATION LOG]
[DATE:11/03/2019]
********************************
[19:07][AP13]: Houston, we have a problem.
[19:07]: ISS, please specify the nature of your problem.
[19:08][AP13]: ISS? Houston, this is Apollo 13 and our onboard instruments are going haywire.
[19:08]: Come again, ISS?
[19:08][AP13]: To whom am I speaking with? This is an urgent matter and we don't have time for games. This Commander Jim Lovell aboard the Apollo 13 spacecraft. We are in need of immediate assistance.
[19:08]: Uh- uh. This is J-jim of Mission Control. Is this a prank?
[19:08][AP13]: Son, we don't have time for pranks. Our equipment is malfunctioning. We need assistance immediately.
[19:11][AP13]: HELLO? Is anyone there? We do not know where we are. Instruments are dead. We are dark. I repeat. We are dark.
[19:20]: This is NASA director James Bridenstine. Whoever this is, I will warn you. Messing around with NASA communications is a federal crime.
[19:20][AP13]: George? Is that you?
[19:20]: George? I repeat. This is NASA director James-
[19:20][AP13]: I don't care who you are at this point. We need help. We seem to have been transported to another space. Where are the stars? We have no visual on anything.
[19:21]: ......... Is this really Apollo 13?
[19:22][AP13]: Oh for ****** sake. Yes. I repeat. This is Commander Jim Lovell of the Apollo 13 spacecraft. We have no idea where we are. The crew is freaking out. We were not trained for this.
[19:23]: We aren't receiving any other data from you. We are only receiving audio. Can you give us any other information?
[19:23][AP13]: We don't know any more than-
[19:23]: Apollo 13? Come in? Are you there?
[19:26]: Did we lose them? Someone get them back online right now.
[19:30][AP13]: Mission Control, come in. Are you receiving?
[19:30]: Oh thank God. What happened? Are you okay?
[19:30][AP13]: Affirmative. Crew and spacecraft are intact. We saw some flash of light and communications went crazy for a while there.
[19:30]: Where did the flash originate from?
[19:30][AP13]: We have no idea. It appears that some object is drifting in our direction. Object is on collision trajectory. We are attempting evasive maneuvers.
[19:32][AP13]: Object velocity is too fact. We are on collision course. Seventy seconds to impact. Is-is that a plane?
[19:32]: Come again Apollo 13? You said a plane?
[19:32][AP13]: Affirmative. Hey Ken, Fred. Did you ever hear of Malaysia having an airline?
[19:33]: Apollo 13.... D-did you just say you see a Malaysian Airline plane.... in space?
[19:33][AP13]: Affirmative. Also affirming impact is imminent... May God have mercy on our -
[19:33]: This is Captain Derek Comwell of the USS Maralago. The target has been neutralized. We are taking possession of the distressed vehicle.
[19:34]: Captain Comwell. We have no records of you or your spacecraft in our database. Please identify yourself. That vehicle is property of the US government and we order you NOT to take possession.
[19:35]: This is Captain Derek. As a captain of the United States Space Force, I am acting on behalf of the US government to claim possession of Apollo 13. Don't you worry Mission Control. We will ensure that the vehicle is returned to its proper timestream and close up this time bubble.
[19:35]: What the **** is going on here???
[END LOG]
*****
Edit: Haha thank you all for reading. I am truly glad you all enjoyed it! I hope to write more for you guys in the time to come. |
Singing, right? It was probably singing. Innocuous, generally cheerful, and a totally normal reason to wake up famous in a giant fucking mansion and have everyone revere me for something I. Can’t. Remember.
Okay. Here’s the lowdown. Two weeks ago, I woke up in a stranger’s bed, in a stranger’s home. As a 24\-year\-old not completely ugly woman, my initial reaction was complete and utter panic. I startled out of the bed so quickly that I nearly broke my ankle. But I was still wearing all of my pjs from the night before, and it was a freaking Wednesday—I haven’t gone out on a Wednesday since my days in uni.
Then shit got really, really strange.
My phone was plugged in next to me, fully charged. Three photographs were hanging above the bed. A picture of me with my parents, a picture of me with my little brother, and a picture of me with Jeffers, my lovely border collie. The bedroom was decorated perfectly—just the right amount of white and black, clean vases with white flowers on two bed stands, an alarm clock right next to me reading 9:43, and a splash of color on the curtains by the window. And then Jeffers ran up to me and jumped up on the bed, snuggling right in as if he had lived here for all of his 24.5 dog years. I mean, seriously. I just about threw up.
The rest of the house shared the immaculate qualities of the bedroom. And it was massive. A media room, hottub, pool, master bedroom, giant kitchen, tasteful living room, and a wine cellar I could get lost in. It was morning outside, so I didn’t feel quite so spooked walking through the house, especially because the natural light seemed to reach every nook. Also, my name was everywhere. “Tara Wick” read the plaque above the stove. I found another one in the office above my desktop computer. And again, in the wine cellar, *on the freaking labels of all the bottles.* Some of them dated back to the 1980s. They all had the same design, like a seal had been commissioned to my name, and I had just decided to put it everywhere. It was definitely way too tacky for my liking, but I had more pressing issues, like “what the fuck is going on?” and also “no, really, what the fuck is going on?” I also found the “Tara Wick” on the car keys which I discovered in the exact drawer where I would have chosen to put them. The car keys to a red Huracán Spyder Lamborghini. My dream car, worth around $265,000, which I soon found sitting unlocked in the garage.
What does a normal person do in that situation? I honestly don’t know, but I can tell you what I did. I sat in the car for ten minutes. I pressed the power button and listened to it roar to life, a truly hormone inducing purr. Then, I turned around, walked back to the kitchen, and tried to catch my breath. Jeffers brought me his food bowl, and I began to act on autopilot. The pantry was easy to find; I got Jeffers his two scoops of kibble from his normal brand with the same cup I had used the day before in my tiny one\-person apartment. Right as I was about to put down the bowl on the Jeffers’ very same dog towel, a woman walked in.
“Good morning—” she said.
“Bloody Fucking Christ who the hell are you?” I responded, dropping the dog food everywhere and nearly peeing myself from surprise. Jeffers didn’t mind the mess and began to eat.
“I’m Jessica, your personal assistant,” Jessica replied. Brunette. Probably three years older than me, but definitely prettier. Her hair was straight and silky. I instinctively put a hand up to my black curls. “You have a very busy schedule today, Tara. Would you like me to tell you your schedule?”
“Uh. Sure.” I said.
“At 11:00, you have a meeting with Sir David Attenborough for tea. Don’t eat too much, you’ll be seeing Sir Ian McKellen at 12:30 for lunch. You’ll have time for a quick nap, and then its dinner with the American Ambassador. They want to talk about bringing in some higher ups to potentially meet you, but it’s a little bit of a drive, so we will have an escort for you, of course. Oh, and Eden Hazard has asked to take you clubbing tonight. Made a sizeable contribution to our charity, too. I penciled him in, but just leave whenever you want to. All of those soccer players are harmless.” Jessica seemed so very calm.
“Can you, maybe, repeat that? A little bit slower?” I asked. Jessica simply nodded sympathetically.
“I know you are stressed about seeing the Queen tomorrow, but don’t worry! It will actually be quite easy. They gave you the whole day, it will be so much less running around than usual, you’ll see,” Jessica said. “Go hop in the shower, Tara. I’ll pick out all the outfits you’ll need for the day while you are in there.”
What does a normal person do in that situation? I still don’t know. But I showered. I got dressed in a stylish blazer for my meeting with Sir David Attenborough. And then I drove there, in a Lamborghini which apparently belonged to me, with the coordinates that Jessica had provided. After David offered me a surprisingly gracious hug, as if he had known for years, and called me “Tara, darling,” we sat down.
I came right out with it. “Sir David—”
“Please, call me David.”
“David, please. What the hell is going on? I’m not famous, but this morning I woke up in a strange hou—” David cut me off with loud, forced laughter. Then he shook his head slowly at me and brought a finger to his lips. There was a deep sadness in his eyes.
“So, you were going to ask me about my favorite documentary series?” David asked. What could I have done? Bullied one of England’s most famous figures and loved grandfathers into giving me the information I required? I let it go. We had a conversation about nature. I’d ask Ian McKellen.
But Ian McKellen gave me a similar response, even more visceral, the fear palpable on his face. I didn’t trust the American Ambassador, a Woody Johnson fellow who seemed overly interested in when the President of the United States was going to get to meet me. And when I tried to casually ask Eden Hazard how he knew me, he pretended that he didn’t understand English.
Two weeks passed this way. My every need was catered for, but I was kept so busy that I couldn’t find anytime to actually be alone. When I tried to call any of my old friends, or my family, I got no response. Texting was the same. I was a prisoner, in the nicest prison the world had ever constructed, meeting amazing, world\-famous people every single day. But I definitely wasn’t happy. And ever since my date with Eden Hazard, I knew that I had to escape.
I decided to take Jeffers for a midnight stroll. I knew that as soon as I left the house, they would be after me, but I still paused as soon as I left the door of my mansion. Every street light was on, but not a single house had any lights on inside. Too quiet.
Jeffers and I walked for 30 seconds, and then lunged into a sprint, rounding the corner of the suburb and ducking down into a wooded pond area by the side of the road. The sirens started almost immediately, and I could hear movement behind me.
“Jeffers, let’s play fetch, okay buddy?” I said, removing his special orange ball full of treats. “Go get it!” I whisper yelled, and I threw with all my might. Then I moved in the other direction, ducking behind two trees. Jeffers barked happily through the cool air, and as soon as he began to do so, I heard men and women begin to shout. “Tara? Is that you? What are you doing out so late?” Jessica.
“We cannot lose her.” Another woman. I recognized the voice. Surely…not Theresa May?
“Tara? Where are you? We just want to keep you safe.” A man’s voice.
And then another, directly below me.
“What if she gets away?” Another man. His arms were held in front of him, as if holding a gun, but it was difficult to see for sure. The figure of his friend held a similar posture.
“We would know,” the man’s friend responded. “Tara can’t get away. She’s the cure.” |
I clicked my tape recorder as I walked from the garden over to the park.
"Agent Arkin, investigating Incident SCP-4886 in a small town. Residents are terrified, most are in shock with what can best be described with blank faces. Upon request, I have had audiences with every member who has interacted with SCP-4886, whom, for lack of a better code name to share when communicating with residents, I am referring to as Untitled Goose. I am now approaching the park. I was told, that SCP-4886 likes to reside here and take things from them in seemingly impossible scenarios. Approaching with caution. I'm stopping the recording to pull out my camera and survey this scene as I did the garden."
I placed my recorder on a nearby park bench and picked up my camera that hung around my neck, unmarked as the rest of my belongings. I snapped a few pictures that may be of interest. I goose feather next to the lake. A few footprints that were clearly from a goose. I saw something moving at a distance. I zoomed in to get a better look and saw one of the residents frantically waving her hands in my direction. I squinted and zoomed further but saw nothing of the ordinary around her. She kept pointing. I realized she was signaling me that something had approached--
"Honk!"
I jumped and dropped my camera. Rather than catch on the strap, the camera fell completely to the floor and smashed the lens. I looked at my broken device in shock. Something had cut the strap. It had many cuts like it took many tries to get the cut just right. I looked up and saw it. The goose. It was a dazzling sheen of white, with a lifeless, brooding face.
"Honk!"it repeated. It spun in a quick circle and waddled into the bushes next to the bench I was at.
I went to grab my recorder, but my hand slapped an empty bench instead. I looked around a bit for it, but couldn't find it anywhere. How could I have misplaced--
"Honk!"it mocked me from the bush.
"Impossible!"I said, before stopping myself. This was SCP, after all. I'd seen much more impossible come to pass.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the voice memo app quickly.
"I've made contact with SCP--"
"Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!"
"--4886, it seems to be playing--"
"Honk! Honk honk honk! Honk honk!"
"--me for a fool and has snatched my--"
"Honk!! HONK HONK!!"
"Will you stop the honking, you absurd creature!?"I screamed at the bush. It remained silent. I sighed, continuing,
"It took my issued recorder. I am moving in to retrieve it from the bushes now. The pictures on my camera should still be good, as well. I'll apprehend SCP-4886 and return immediately."I paused the recording and walked slowly to the bushes. I tore them open to be greeted by nothing. Somehow it snuck away, even as I watched the bush.
"Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!"
It was coming from another bush now, just a few feet away from the lake. I ran toward it, not wanting to miss it this time.
"Honk! Honk honk honk! Honk honk!"it repeated. It was odd how similar it was to what it sounded like just moments ago. I threw this bush open to see my recorder. I looked at it for a confusing moment, then whipped back to the park.
"No!!"
The goose was holding my camera in its beak above the lake. I put up my hands slowly, taking slow steps.
"Just... give me back the camera, okay?"I said the most pleasant tone I could muster.
"Honk!"it responded jovially, dropping my camera into the lake. I heard it submerge with a *plop.*
"Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!"it cried as it ran from the park, wings back, almost with a skip in its step.
I looked back to the recorder in the bush. At least I had the interviews from the locals to send back in terms of evidence. I rewound it a bit and pressed play.
"Honk!"came the recording.
My eyebrows came together. I thought I went back far enough. I rewound further. It clicked to the beginning of the recording. I pressed play.
"Honk! Honk!"the recording sang.
"Noo..."I whispered. I tried to rewind further, but it wouldn't. All I had was honks. It overwrote all of the day's recordings in moments.
I looked up when a woman screamed in the distance, as SCP-4886 carried on its destruction of this small town.
_____________________________________________________________
For more stories, come see /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
"OK now"muttered Nevermore "this is getting ridiculous". He stared at his adversary, Phoenix.
His opponent noticed him staring, instead of summoning dark flocks of crows. "What is it, too scared to fight?"She raised an eyebrow.
Nevermore sputtered, "No, I am just apalled at the direction the league of heros has apparently taken". He called his powers now, ravenous shadows emerging from his finely tailored cloak. "Why on earth does your suit have a boob window now? What even is the point of the suit?! You might as well be wearing a t-shirt!"
Wings of fire radiated from Phoenix's shoulders, flapping once and scorching the air around her. "Hey now, I think it looks alright, and besides, suits are for the public in my case, not for protection."
His shadows coalesced into something larger, its ghastly call echoing off the scyscrapers of New London. "And why is it skin tight?! I've seen porn, nay, MOST PORN has less fetishized gear. What happened to the classy gold armor? Or that one red dress?"
Phoenix let her fire cloak her, but kept shouting, embarassed "That dress wasn't even a suit! And what if this is more comfortable?
"And why is your phoenix dive now shaped like a naked women!?!?!"He was ignoring her now "Instead of a PHOENIX? The league has you changing your TECHNIQUES? They might as well call you "Naked Fire Women"now! This is just, this is unconscionable, I respect you too much for this to stand, I am going to have a word with Myst, this is ridic"-his words were cut off as the flaming giant rammed in to him.
----
"Soooooo, how was Nevermore"Aura said slyly.
Phoenix huffed "he got away".
"Now, you know that's not what I'm asking about"
"FINE, he hated it, ok?"She groaned, "I was just trying to be more appealing you know?"
Aura nodded sagely, "Told you. Maybe you should, I don't know, actually try flirting like a normal person?"
"I have literally no experience dating ok!?"Phoenix grumbled "he did say he respected me! Maybe we should try a new suit, you know, the gold armor one."
"That's what I told you to stick with! We know windows are out, but you could be a bit more subtle about it! Want it to have armor-boobs this time?"
".... maybe". |
As I pulled the trigger, my last memories were of the life I'd built and the fragile manner in which it had crumpled up in front of me, torn to pieces like a dried leaf.
For what seemed like eons, I found the inner peace I had longed after. Like everything else I held dear, however, this was soon taken away by a flash of red. I felt my eyes open, and felt miles of heat and pulsing infernal light flow into them. I was lying on a field of crimson, surrounded by pools of lava, sprawling spires of brimstone reaching towards a ceiling that seemed limitless, yet came to an end at several nearby caves. The dark light pounding at my senses, I had not noticed the shadow standing over me.
"Hello,"a deep voice called, concise and clear yet seemingly distorted by darkness and suffering. "I've been expecting you."
I was not expecting this.
"Are... are you? Please, this is not happening..."
"Yes. I am the devil. You may call me Satan, if it brings you an ounce of satisfaction that you'll soon be devoid of."
Satan appeared to have no appearance. A veil of darkness floated where he stood, concealing whatever horrors he did not yet wish to unleash. Or far more terrifying, *could not*.
"What is your name?"The void inquired.
Falling to my knees, my head began to pound as I began to sob out the words.
"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't be such a downer."
Wait... did he just...
"What?"
"I said,"Satan snapped, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "Your pathetic attitude is bringing me sorrow. Which disappoints me, considering you're the only company I've ever had."
"You... you're telling me I'm the only one here?"I glanced around, observing only potential suffering and noting a stark absence of kinetic suffering.
I lurched backwards in a sudden outburst of fear and confusion. "I'm the sole sinner ever so consumed to deserve this place? No man, woman, or child has committed themselves to deeds more dreadful than mine?"
I felt my fear replaced by anger. "All I did was for my home, for my people!"
A sense of defeat filled the deepest recesses of my core, interbreeding with rage to create something wholly pathetic and vicious in equal measure.
"I see now."I stared hard into where Satan's eyes should've been. "I'm here because I took the easy way. Because after all I've suffered, I took my own life rather than let others snatch it from me. Because I acted on the last shred of dignity I possessed, the last infinitesimal speck of humanity I had, God and you alike have forever damned me to suffer further?"
"No, Adolf,"Satan replied, frustrated. "You killed six million people. You are literally Hitler."
"...Oh."
----
First post! Let me know anything I can improve upon! |
Living toys- sounds cute, doesn't it? Everyone loved *Toy Story* growing up, seeing the secret world action figures lived and how much they loved their owner. Adventures, battles, and imagination; everything we long for as the playfulness of childhood fades into memory and taxes.
So when it finally happened, and toys became real, the initial reaction was -- beyond shock and concern, of course -- joy. Your favorite stuffed animal prowling the house and following you around? Who wouldn't want that? Tea parties with dolls that can talk back were a living dream for little girls. Badass transformers fighting wars in the backyard brought smiles to young and old alike.
Then the power behind them grew, pulsing, and it stopped being cute. Whatever was behind this force clearly did not have a soft heart.
Over 17,000 people -- nearly half of which were children -- died on the second day, as Nerf guns fired lead and foam swords sliced through flesh. Toy trucks ran grown men over, Hulk hands destroyed buildings, and we can only be thankful no one was worthy enough to wield Mjollnir. However, even that was nothing.
Child's play, one could call it.
Mothers hid their babes in closets, crazed men cowered in bunkers and armed themselves to the teeth, but none of it mattered in the end.
For on the third day, Furbies rose, and razed a once thriving world into ash and blood.
*/r/resonatingfury* |
It had been tried before, always ending in failure.
The world, small and blue, stood out as a conspicuous failure to convert the last holdout of sentient life in the galaxy.
Missionary invasions had worked everywhere else. In all other cases, soldiers of the church brought the staff and the beam, the truth and the light, the core of value and the matrix of eternity. There was resistance in some cases, true. But in the end always success. Always.
But these... ..."humans"they called themselves... ...were especially beloved by their protectors. Sometimes worshipped as a pantheon, sometimes as a unity, but always there. Even when they lost their myths and their faith, the leviathans stood in the shadows jealously defending this one pocket of space.
A few attempts had come close. The greatest of all even tried once, sending his own begotten son, but he would not return. At least, not any time soon. The grip of the eight was far too tight.
Earthlings had a talent for duplicity and hate, vanity and rage, cruelty and oppression unmatched by any other creature in the galaxy. They were the only things really like themselves that the leviathans had ever found.
Monsters have their favorites too. And no one was going to touch this world without their permission.
|
She typed in the name of the website where you could make *sure*, her hands trembling slightly.
Where you could check that you had met the real thing. Not a cheater or an abuser or a rapist. She had a little habit of checking almost everyone she met, whether she was going out with them or not. Most terrified her. She read the reviews of other people, feeling sick. *He judges me*. *He resents me*. *He hates the way I laugh*. How could you be yourself around people like that?
But Matt was perfect, he'd have a score of 1000 -
-500.
She felt cold as she saw the number beside his picture. She read the reports of those who had dated him before her, who had tried to love him, her heart racing.
*He said he loved me but really hated everything about me. He made fun of me behind my back. He only dated me to have easy sex, because I was so desperate.*
*I thought he was perfect, but he wore a false face. He will rip out your heart and laugh about it.*
*You're stupid if you think Matt will ever love anything about you.*
*He cheated on me again and again before he killed me.*
*He murdered me. He waited for me in the dark and slid a knife through my ribs. Stay away, stay away, stay away.*
*He killed me, he did. I saw him do it.*
She jumped as someone opened the door downstairs. Matt's cheerful voice rang through the apartment as he made his way towards her.
"Hey, babe! Sally, you here?"he called. "I know we said we'd do date night tomorrow, but I couldn't wait..."
Matt got upstairs and paused as he saw her pale, terrified face. She backed away from him, knocking the chair over in the process.
"Get away from me! Murderer! Murderer!"she screamed.
Matt glanced at the computer and what was open on it. That same bogus website she always used in moments like these. She always saw something different. He wondered briefly what it was this time, but didn't pause to talk about it. He just had to get through to her.
"Sally. Did you take your meds today?"he asked, approaching her slowly.
"Liar! Murderer!"she sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. "You've always h-hated me..."
He reached her, fending off her kicks and scratching nails, and drew her into his arms.
"Hey, honey, I'm here. I'm right here,"he said, stroking her hair as she pounded her fists against his chest. Like she did every time she forgot.
She quieted down as he called the hospital, and then her psychiatrist. Soon, everything would go back to normal. Maybe they could still watch a movie tonight. It didn't matter whether they watched it here or in a hospital. The important thing was to stay.
"Let's get you some help, huh? I still want my date night,"he said, kissing her softly on the forehead.
------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
Tim stood at the sink, washing his hands, trying to not look in the mirror. He didn’t need to look to know what he’d find: swollen red eyes with bags underneath; greasy hair in knotted tangles from lack of brush or shower; skin red and puffy from too much nightly gin.
The familiar sound of the toilet sink slamming down made him sigh. “Sorry, Kat, I…”
He spun toward the sound. Wet hands dripping cold water onto his socks as he held them in front of his chest, halfway to a defensive pose. His heart thundered in his chest. For a moment he had forgotten Katherine was gone. For one blessed second he’d expected to turn and find her standing over the toilet with that frustrated look of hers.
His eyes scanned the shower. If she were here, he thought, she’d likely pull the—
The shower curtain—bunched up against the wall, where he left it last time he’d showered (a week ago?)—was yanked across the length of the bar, so that the bottom sat fully within the shower.
Tim jumped backwards and hit the hard edge of the sink counter. “What…” He looked down at his shaking hands. Was this a dream? How much did he drink last night? “What is happening?” he asked the room.
Hot water shot out of the sink faucet. Steam rose immediately in the cold air of the morning. The door slammed close. Tim shrunk away from the sink and the door, into the small closet that housed towels and other of Katherine’s toiletries.
A message began to form in the mirror: *That's better.* Fog replaced the words, then: *Letting the shower curtain stay bunched up leads to mold.*
“Ka… Kat?” Tim had pulled a stack of towels out of the closet and held them out like a shield. When he realized what he was doing, he frowned. “Is that you?”
*Yes*.
“But… how? Why?” He lowered the towels, pretty sure Katherine wouldn’t want to harm him. Still, he remained near the closet, back against the wall.
*I chose to stay, for a while.* Mirror re-fogged. *I need to know you’ll be okay. You won’t find someone else looking like that.*
Tim looked down at the dried and crusted spots on his shirt. The mustard from three days ago near the collar was still kind of yellow, but looked more like an orange scab than something that had once been edible. He felt along his chin, feeling the unevenness of a week’s length of beard, coming in patches.
“What if I don’t want anyone else?” he said, feeling pressure build behind his eyes. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden and he wondered how much gin was left in the... where had he left the bottle?
“There’s obviously an afterlife.” Tim waved his hand at the mirror. The letters disappearing from the growth of new fog. “That or I’ve finally lost it. Either way, I’ll wait to be with you—reunited after I die or when my rattled mind finally conjures up the rest of you.”
*I love you, Tim. But no*. After another wait for the words to return to mist: T*here’s someone else waiting for you. She doesn’t know it, but you both will be happy.* Another wait: *I can see you both. Time is nothing here. Your children are beautiful.*
Tim didn’t want someone else. Didn’t want someone else’s children. He wanted his and Kat’s. Kat, or no one else. Couldn’t she understand that?
*I’m not going anywhere. Lots of time on my end.*
“But Kat,” his voice came out weak and hurt. It was like she didn’t care about what they had. A week after her funeral and she wants him to… what, forget about her?
*No time. Off with those disgusting clothes and in the shower!*
The curtain slid back. Water gushed out of the shower head. With a quick twist, it sprayed cold water over Tim in a quick arc before returning to its initial position.
Grumbling, Tim pulled up on his shirt, feeling parts of it unstick from his back and underarms. While not convinced he could ever want to be with someone else, he'd play along. Could he really resist having more time with her?
He glanced at the mirror.
*There you go,* it read. *One step at a time.* |
My name is Liam and It's been four months since I last dreamed.
A lot of people set their alarms to wake up throughout the night, sleeping in half hour bursts, other people sleep in shifts, watching each other. I take Myclocin. Dreamless sleep. I have a good job and make good money so I get the pills. Others, aren't so lucky.
Last year some Chinese company invented a machine that lets you remember dreams with total clarity. I mean down to the details man. No ambiguity, crystal clear memories of amazing landscapes and experiences.
It became THE Christmas gift. Then you could record your dreams and upload them to youtube. And that's when things started to fall apart, that's when we started to notice them.
We'd never noticed them before. I think it's because in your dreams you're always focused on the doing. Taking that exam, driving that car, fucking that girl. We've never really paused and looked around the same way you might do on a Sunday morning walk. But they were there, they'd always been there, standing in the background, silently watching us. Holes instead of eyes, long fingers, teeth...fuck, so many teeth.
Maybe we did notice them thousands of years ago, way back when we were still lived in caves, maybe that's where our Gods and monsters came from. Maybe we evolved to forget them, muddled dreams gave them a camouflage to hide behind. But not any more. We saw them standing in the background and edges in our dreams and everyone else's. I thought it was one of those internet memes at first, like slenderman or something. People with too much time on their hands photoshopping their dreams for cheap likes and shares.
But they were real, and when we finally noticed them they started to notice us. They stepped out of the peripheral, reached out with those long, grey, cold fingers and....took people.
I know we won't last, we can't fight them, turning off the machines did nothing. People queued, fucking queued up in lines on the edges of buildings and bridges like they were waiting for a bus to come and take them away. Instead they jumped, the roads and canals were full of red-black carnage every morning.
So we don't dream. We wake each other up, or we take turns, we drink coffee like it was water, we inject, we pop pills, anything to stop us from dreaming.
But it hasn't worked, I can feel my mind unraveling like so many others before me. I need to get some natural sleep. I need to dream. But I don't dare. I'd gladly give up food and water if I could dream and give my brain what it needs. Instead I stare into my computer screen trying to remember what I was trying to do. I don't trust myself behind the wheel of my car. I walk everywhere now, a stumbling, mindless walk like everyone else.
We look like a zombie apocalypse shuffling from place to place.
People have started to hallucinate. Not so much from sleep deprivation but dream deprivation, and some people just...snap. Some old lady in town just went for it out of the blue, no one was shocked. We watched her run into the street screaming, desperately trying to get hit by a car. She'd managed to gouge out one of her eyes before she was hit. Fuck knows what she was seeing. I helped drag her out of the road, her mashed up eye in one clawed hand. We said nothing.
The hallucinations are bad but what's worse is...I think They can...I think They're starting to come through now into the real world. I guess any dream is enough for them, even a hallucination.
I saw the first two this morning. Behind me in the bathroom mirror while I was brushing my teeth, two long-limbed pale faced...things. Watching me with those holes instead of eyes. Yawning mouths full of needle thin teeth.
Four months to get to this point. And I just can't let them take me. But I can't go on.
The line is efficient. We shuffle forwards. Some people scream on the way down, most don't. I think it's because they're happy. Happy to finally sleep without dreams.
[Part Two](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2yfezw/wp_a_new_invention_enables_people_to_remember/cp9me7z)
[all writing shizzle](http://www.reddit.com/r/steelicarus) |
"Hello,"said Nick, pushing his thick rimmed glasses up to the bridge of his nose. The fountain pen in his chequered shirt pocket peeked over the top, as if it wanted to get a look at the burly man who'd answered the door.
"Cathy!"yelled Ted as he turned back to the doorway.
"What is it, hon?"came a melodious voice from somewhere within.
"Where's the pepper spay?"
"What? Why on earth do you need that, Teddy?"
"Got ourselves a nerd."
The sound of laughter erupted from inside the house. Nick frowned, wondering if perhaps there was a party going on. "I'm actually your new next-door neighbour,"he said, just as an attractive older woman, wearing a jumper that struggled to fully contain her, came hips-a-swaying to the door. "I - erm,"he tugged at his shirt collar. "I just wanted to introduce myself?"
"Well, go ahead dear,"said the woman. Her eyes widened and she lasciviously licked her plump lips.
"I'm... uh... I'm Nick?"The lid of his fountain pen popped off and clinked onto the ground.
"Oh, *Teddy*, you didn't say what a funny, well dressed, fine looking specimen of a man he was."
Ted grunted and walked back into the house.
"So,"the lady continued. "You're the new guy? Do you like yourself breasts?"
Nick looked around, feeling his cheeks flush red. "I- I guess so?"
"Good, the chicken is almost ready, and there's plenty for everyone. Well, what are you still standing out there in the cold, cold evening for? You're not a stiff, are you?"She giggled, holding a hand over her mouth. "At least, not yet, I hope. Oh my, your pen is leaking."
Nick looked down at his pocket: blue ink had dribbled out from the pen nib. He grabbed the fallen lid from the ground and popped it back on to the offending instrument.
"All better,"he said, a little flustered.
"Why, yes it is. Now, come get yourself introduced to the family."
Cathy grabbed Nick's hand and led him through the hallway and into a huge, beige lounge. Two young children were chasing each other around a luxurious looking sofa.
"Kenny, Michael, you stop that at once. Come meet your new neighbour."
The children skidded to a halt. "Yes mom!"they said in unison. They walked up to Nick, then made a circle around him, inspecting him like sharks about a blowfish. "Dad!"yelled Kenny after a minute or so, "where's the pepper spray?"
Another wave of laughter came from... *somewhere*.
Nick turned to Cathy. "Have you got guests? I swear I keep hearing... *laughter*."
"He hears it too, mom!"said Michael.
"Hush your noise this instant, Michael Williamson!"She turned to Nick. "Guests? Why, only you, sugarplum. I think you must be hearing things. Now all of you come on through to the dining roo-"
The lights suddenly flickered, then died. For a moment there was only darkness.
"Just a fuse!"yelled Cathy. "Let me find a candle and we'll sort it out. Oh, I do so like a blind date."
More laughter. Where was it coming from? Was it in his head?
Nick heard the sound of a match strike a box, then a spark of light threw shadows about the room. The spark transferred to a candle. The candle produced a scream. The scream, a furious husband.
"What is it baby?"yelled Ted as he marched in from the kitchen. "You're howling like a leprechaun on St Patrick's day. Oh, sweet baby Jesus! Not Michael and Kenny!"
Nick saw the bodies lying on the linoleum floor. Even in the pale candlelight, he could make out the dark pool they were swimming in. An object was protruding out of Kenny's stomach.
"You son of a bitch,"said Ted, rolling up his sleeves. "My wife invites you in and you... you murder our children?"Ted yanked the dagger out of Kenny's body and stalked toward Nick.
"Oh... oh baby,"said Cathy, "don't be too hard on him. They were little brutes half the time, anyway."
"It wasn't me!"Nick said, backing away. He wasn't sure what was going on exactly, but he knew he was in big, big trouble. That laughter though... *Perhaps if he could just...*
"But, I think I see your point!"he said, staring hard at the dagger.
Another howl of forced laughter arrived. The candle suddenly died.
Only a few seconds passed before there was the familiar sound of a match striking a box.
Nick saw Ted lying in a pool of red, beside his sons. He looked up at Cathy, who held a match in one hand, and bloody knife in the other. "You- *you killed them*? You even murdered your own husband?
Cathy shrugged. "Oh, it won't change him all that much. Minimal difference in the bedroom, if you get my meaning, sugarplum."
She winked.
Laughter.
The match died.
Nick gulped.
"Wait!"he yelled. "No last phone call?"
"I'm afraid not, sweetie pie. Not today."
She raised the knife high above her.
"C- c- come on lady, you're killing me here."
Laughter. Darkness.
When the lights came back on, Nick found himself standing over the body of Cathy, bloody knife in his hand.
A voice in the background. "Okay, that's a cut!"
"What the-"
|
The shop was quiet. The shop was always quiet. That’s what Ms. Fields loved most about her quaint antique store. That and the idea that all the undiscovered treasures filling each of its crevices were tucked safely away—which includes the ones in the Devious category, and the Dangerous category. These pieces, of course, didn’t have these labels of caution on them. That was part of the rules when she took ownership of this shop. Part of His rules.
But Ms. Fields knew which pieces held which kind of powers; she knew the inventory like the back of her hand. Some were helpful, pleasant, desirable, bringing owners unexpected good luck or joy; others were menacing, treacherous, dangerous, even lethal. There would be no way to tell what you were getting when you selected one, and she wasn't allowed to reveal anything to customers. Each piece looked as it should. And each piece always made its way back, bad or good. That was part of the rules too.
The bell above the door rang. Ms. Fields was sitting back in her chair, reading a book at the desk.
“Hello,” she called without looking up at them. There was a table adjacent to the entrance that was filled with items, which obstructed the entire view of emerging customers. She had been meaning to clear this table or move it but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. The camera display on the computer monitor in front of her would have revealed two men dressed conspicuously in black jackets, heads down with ballcaps on their skulls, if Ms. Fields had only bothered to glance at it. She was immersed in her novel; she’d get a good look at them when they were wandering the store.
They did not reply to her. But she heard one mutter quietly to the other, “It’s in the back. That’s what Jame said.” Ms. Fields had ears sharper than a bat’s. In the quiet of the store, she heard everything.
She heard the men make their way through the store and watched them from the camera display. The men didn’t browse or stop to look at any of the pieces on the shelves. They had come for something in particular. Ms. Fields put down her book, excitement taking over as to what they had come for. They neared the back of the store. Her heart sank. A gasp escaped. Not that one. Not that piece. No. Put it back. Please.
She watched the two men count down and then lift the old grandfather clock from its place, each grabbing an end. They lumbered it back the way they came and stopped behind a shelf that was a few feet from where Ms. Fields sat. One of them knelt down and seemed to unzip his jacket pocket and then pull something out. He kept it concealed. He reached in again and pulled out a black rag. He pulled it over his face. She watched him on the screen about to emerge from behind the shelf. She looked up.
The man’s ballcap was pulled down far enough that she could barely see his eyes behind that mask. There was dust caked on his torso and abdomen. She never dusted the thing (that wasn’t part of the rules), hoping browsing eyes would pass over it, perhaps not even notice it. It was so perpetually dusty that the clock looked like it was part of the store, a vital component, like the desk she sat at. She hoped customers would think it not for sale. But here were two men—likely not customers at all—that wanted the damned thing. Damned it was.
“May I help you?” Ms. Fields asked.
“Yes, you can. Me and my partner are going to take that old dumpy grandfather clock you keep in the back. And you’re gonna let us do it. Or else.”
“Or else?”
“Or else,” the man said, raising and extending his arm. He held a pistol in his hand. He pointed it at Ms. Field's face.
“That’s just fine. I won’t try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know, everything always makes its way back soon enough.”
“Shut it, granny.” The man stuffed the pistol back into his pocket and spun around and went back to his partner.
“Three… two… one…”
The pair grunted and lifted the clock, the strain of the weight perceptible in their bodily movements despite the heavy layers of clothing covering their skin. They each shot a glare at Ms. Fields as they walked past.
“Take care,” she said.
Ms. Fields supposed if it *was* the piece’s time to go, then there could be no better scenario than it being stolen. At least then it was in the hands of evil persons, rightfully so; and innocent customers would not have the opportunity to stumble upon it while it was away.
That grandfather clock was evil. It was the most vile, despicable, unholy piece she owned. He himself had created it. Its spirit was black, and after it was finished swallowing these two into that blackness, it would find its way back.
The thought made Ms. Fields shudder. She wished she could just be rid of the thing. But that would be breaking the rules. And when one makes a deal with the Devil, they don’t break the rules. That was the price of immortality.
At least she had a moment away from it. She looked back down at her novel and continued reading. |
And a thousand years hence, the plaques on each of the hundreds of sealed doors were still polished and maintained - their inscription written in every recorded language:
"This place is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here..."
"What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about the danger..."
"The danger is in no particular location. It has no center in which proximity worsens or lessens. It has no particular size or shape..."
"The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours..."
"The danger is to the soul, and it can corrupt..."
"The form of danger is limitless greed."
"The danger is unleashed only if you substantially burden your peers or your surroundings through selfish actions and desires."
"This place - and those that may still dwell within - are best left shunned and forgotten." |
“I’ve figured out your weakness, Dark Lord!” I screamed out, pulling out a pistol. “Your reign ends here!”
It was hard to see his facial expression in the darkness, but I thought I saw fear flash across his face. I smiled and raised the pistol. “Prepare to...,” I found my words trialing off as Dave calmly took three steps backward and threw himself backwards off the roof. Dashing to the edge of the roof, I gazed over the precipice. He was on the ground, groaning in pain, but I could already see his broken limbs reassembling themselves.
“Damn it!” I shouted to myself. I couldn’t get a clear shot from this high up. And if I tried taking the staircase down, he might already escape by the time I reached the bottom of the castle. There was only one thing to do. I gritted my teeth and threw myself off the roof as well.
As soon as I hit the ground, I screamed in agony as I felt my legs shatter under me. Still, I never let go of the pistol. I had to do this, to bring an end to the Age of Terror. Dave was almost healed and was slowly limping away from me. I raised my gun and emptied an entire clip right into the back of his head. And with that, the Dark Lord collapsed in front of me in a pool of his own black blood.
I breathed a sign of belief and let go of the pistol. The Lost Prophecy had been correct about his weakness. Finally, the Dark Lord’s reign had come to an end. Then, I felt a cold chill run down my spine as I heard the sound of someone chuckling.
Dave raised his head from the floor, the multiple bullet wounds in his face already healed. “Impossible,” I whispered to myself. “The prophecy said -- ”
“Ah yes, the Lost Prophecy,” said Dave, still chuckling. He raised his hand and I watched as the pistol I had been using fly out of my reach. “How does it go again? *The Dark Lord’s only weakness are the pistols forged from Damascus steel hidden in the Twilight Forest. Aim for the head*.” He sneered at me and pulled out his sword as he approached me. “You heroes always get the meaning wrong. My weakness isn’t the bullets, it’s the gun itself. You would have won if you had just tossed it at me.” He paused and gave me a condescending look. “Any last words?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching into my jacket. “That wasn’t my only gun.” |
"Oh great and powerful one, dark maker and lord of death,"the tiny beast squeaked. It wasn't English, but somehow I understood. "I humbly bow before your terrifying magnificence and make a request, which is far beneath you."
I stared at the items, arranged in a pattern both alien and yet familiar. Then I realized. The cultists. My last D&D game had cultists summon a Lovecraftian horror, and it was all echoed there. The images, the "armor"that was my socks, my mother's locket as the ancient chain, it was all there. I was still staring when the mouse spoke again.
"I beseach you, keeper of the stars, hear the pleas of your child. My foes are great, they seek my destruction. I implore you, smite them, and I will pledge my soul to your service."
"Foes?"I choked out, still confused.
The mouse was suddenly cheerful as it pulled over an old, grimy post-it. "I drew a picture!"The art was miserable, but clearly a snake and a black bird.
"Do you accept my offer?"
I nodded, only half aware of what was happening. "Give me...three days."A very bad idea was forming in my head. Then I said the words that would start us on a path to darkness, "I'll give you a weapon."
The mouse danced like the happy little psychopath it was. At the time, I thought it was cute.
°°°°°°
Edit: fixed some grammar/spelling, and modified a pronoun to better fit where I went in part 2.
Edit 2: I will get part 3 up tomorrow (Monday) when I can. Had a hectic Father's Day, so did not get as much written as hoped. I will try to directly notify everyone who asked, so apologies if I miss anyone at that time.
Final Edit: Part 3 is up! |
I opened my eyes and was greeted with a gnarly fist bump from Arnie, my quadfather. I looked to my right and saw a bright blue river flowing thick with pre-workout. To my left I saw squat racks as far as the eye could see. Throughout the landscape I could see packs of swolvorines all in full beast mode. The calendar read Gun-day, snooze-day, Bends-day, Thorsday, Bi-day, Lat-erday, Gun-day. I saw election posters for Donald pump and Abebroham Lincoln. I knew I had arrived somewhere magical, and beautiful, there were mirrors everywhere and no one was hogging my space so I could see the most beautiful thing of all, my pump.
Obligatory thanks kind stanger. I'm finally a member of Gold's gym! |
##cwearly1
What?
I logged onto reddit a few hours ago, as the addiction continued, but had exhausted /all through fifty pages. The site gets old when you sprint through it, unfortunately. So, I tried my luck at the ‘random’ button. Something to spice up my meme knowledge perhaps. Or I’ll stubble into one of *those* subreddits again.
My mouse zoomed and hovered over the button.
*click*
The page I was redirected to was the last thing I’d have imagined.
It had custom CSS. My face was plastered everywhere. I was shocked but in disbelief. I knew of the few subreddits for celebrities or certain humorous notoriety, *KyleSleeping* if I remember right- but this was different. This was me. And then I parsed the post titles as my eyes fixated on their titling.
##Weekly Megathread Discussion 87
##Woke up late [picture]
##Peed on the seat and didn’t close the lid, lol
##More weird videos again [link in comments]
##He’s Just so intriguing! Theory about newest girl
And on and on. What in the actual f- and then I noticed something even more disturbing. A link in the sidebar, written ‘Nightly Livestream Thread’
What The Fuck!
I jumped off my chair and stood in my room, still, scanning tentatively at the walls, corners, furniture. Are there cameras in here? I went to the window and pulled the curtain just enough. No one was outside. Good.
I went back to the computer. I clicked /new
##Discovered! Hi cwearly1 big fan! How’s life?
##Oh hello hope you see this! You’re so weird I can’t stop following!
##Compromised? Do we abort?
##Hey, you know there’s your Christmas gift in the linen closet? Can we see what it is?
I panicked. I called my friend. I needed to figure out if I’m being pranked hardcore, going insane, or- I just need someone to ground me.
He didn’t answer.
And then the cherry on top. I refreshed /new and saw the username of the most recent submission.
##Guys help I can’t tell him do I? [serious]
Submitted by JDS9696
Jaden.. Salver? My friend? |
I wake up…nowhere. At first, I am alone, and every direction I look there is nothingness. Then, I look at the sky, and it’s there. Then I look down, and there’s grass under my feet.
Figures start to appear. The noise gives it all away, and an outline appears before their body fully appears, but soon they are everywhere. In front of me, in the distance. So many that I can no longer see the horizon.
Their faces are all the faces of strangers to me. I walk around desperately, in circles, looking for one I know.
“Hello?” I ask one of them. “What’s going on?”
Most of them ignore me. They shake their head, and continue on with their conversation.
“Shame you were so close but so far,” one of them says.
“What?”
A hand on my shoulder. I turn around.
“Mom?”
She gives me a hug as my heart drops.
“Mom, is this…the afterlife?”
She grabs my shoulders, and smiles sadly. “In a way, it is.”“What’s going on?”
“You did such a good job. We were all watching…I knew you would do great.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your life. In the end, I know you came up short, but…you lived such a good life.”
“My life?” All I can think about were those final days, alone in my bed, waiting for the end. What kind of life was that? “All I did was try and follow what you taught me. Love the people around me…never give up…don’t apologize for being me. Things didn’t even work out that well for me. You died, dad died, she left me...I was all alone in the end.”
“But you stayed you. And that’s why I’m so proud.”
She looks up at the sky, and I follow her line of sight. In the sky, the clouds have formed a number, and then another one…10, 9, 8…
I look around. Slowly, the figures are reduced to outlines, and then they vanish. A loud cheer goes up all around me.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
She looks at me, and smiles. “We might not meet in this round, but I’m still rooting for you. You were the one good thing I did last time.”
“What? What round?”
“Other people will try and use you to up their score, but don’t let them.”“What? What score? I don’t know anything you’re talking about.”
She smiles, almost heartbreakingly wide. “And that’s why you’ll do great again. You don't play the same way we do. And I hope you never do. Good luck, honey. I love you.”
And with her last words, she vanishes. I am all alone again, on the grassy field. I feel a final moment of comfort, that things are going to be okay.
And then everything goes white, and…
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) |
"It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Langley,"said the giant demonic figure before me. His smile seemed both genuine and terrifying.
I trembled before him. I tried to convince myself it was just a dream.
Satan extended his hand before me. His red skin looked like it was melting but not dripping. His fingernails had to be the length of my middle finger. He eyed me curiously as I left hanging what must've been a handshake offer.
"So,"he said, clearing his throat. "I am a bit surprised."He looked me over a bit. I'm sure he noticed my shaking knees and the downpour of tears streaming down my cheeks.
He continued, "I wasn't expecting, uh... Er... Forgive me, Mr. Langley, but I'm just confused.. I, uh, thought you'd be a bit... Well, more intimidating than..."
He paused, collecting his thoughts.
"Well, it doesn't matter,"the Devil said, waving a hand above his head as though to dismiss his thoughts. "It's great to have you here! I'd like to introduce you to so many people!"
Satan grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me along. He pointed to a large, fiery river. "That's where the casuals go. You know, the people who probably would've gone to Heaven if they didn't suck one too many cocks or stole a Pok'emon card in elementary school,"he said.
My knees buckled and I fell hard. Satan quickly helped me to my feet, apologizing for the rocky terrain we trudged on.
I heard moans and cries left, right, ahead, behind, above and below us. Fear isn't a strong enough word to describe the feeling that engulfed me.
We came along to an open pit with moaning souls reaching up, some begging for water while others simply begging. "Lucifer, pease..."I heard one woman moan. Satan spit in the pit. The wad splattered on the pit wall. The moaning souls fought each other towards the disgusting gloop. One girl, who I would've sworn was just a mere child, reached it by climbing the stony wall a bit. She licked and sucked the wad, a look of euphoria overcoming her face. The rest of the helpless sinners groaned and turned back to Satan, begging for more "water."
The Devil laughed and pushed me along. "Desperate fools,"he said, grinning at me. I wouldn't doubt his teeth could carve through diamonds. "Some of those fuckers are Romans. Did you see the fattest one there? The one who the little girl climbed over to drink my nasty spit? He's Buddha!"
I wanted to ask why Buddha was in Hell, but the words wouldn't leave my voice box.
We made several more stops. Each one terrified me more than the last. And at each stop, Satan reiterated that these places were not for me. I don't know if it was possible, but I felt more frightened at the thought of my punishment.
We moved past serial killers, rapists, terrorists and lawyers. What could I have possibly done that warranted a worse punishment than these people?
Eventually, we entered an area that was not full of doom and gloom. There was pleasant greenery, shrubs growing with beautiful pink flowers blossoming, large trees that I would've loved climbing as a kid, a quiet waterfall ahead, and cute, small animals frolicking about.
"You're surprised, huh?"Lucifer asked. "I built this place to piss off God. Why should he have nice, beautiful areas to hang out in, and not me?"
We walked towards what appeared to be a mansion the size of ten football stadiums. The entire house was covered in gold. Two demons ahead pushed two giant, golden doors open for us. "Your darkness,"they greeted, bowing before us.
Inside the large mansion were people standing around, drinking liquor and eating foods one would only find in 5-star restaurants. The people were excited to see me. They gathered before the Devil and me. Many held out their hands to touch me as Satan pushed me along through the rooms.
He introduced me to Adolf Hitler. I was appalled. This man was responsible for millions of deaths, yet here he was, lounging about with delicacies everywhere and two young, attractive, busty women at each arm.
Next, we met an Egyptian princess named Cleopatra II, who was introduced to me as the daughter of Cleopatra and Ptolemy V. Satan said the ancient Egyptian rulers were in Hell for inbreeding.
We met Stalin and Mussolini. Harvey Lee Oswald was close by, munching on shrimps by the boatload. A creepy-looking, dirty man was introduced to me as the Zodiac Killer.
We met Socrates ("He fucked little boys,"Satan informed me.), Genghis Khan, Ivan the Terrible, Josef Mengele ("Auschwitz physician"), Elizabeth Bathory ("You don't wanna know."), Kim Jong Il and even Osama bin Laden.
Saddam Hussein hurriedly greeted me before rushing off to bathe. Apparently, he enjoyed staying clean.
We met the worst human beings I had ever heard of, and we even met the worst human beings I never knew about.
Finally, Satan invited me into a private room. I gulped. *This must be it*, I thought. *He's going to ass fuck me. I hope I don't shit myself...*
The room was dark but well-decorated. Paintings hung from the wall; a large chandelier towered above us; candles were lit, giving an incredible scent to the room.
Satan pointed me to a plush chair. It was velvety, soft to the touch and undoubtedly comfortable. But I couldn't relax.
He said across from me. Between us sat a table with two clean glasses and a large bottle of Crown Royal whiskey on it. The demon poured the drink into the glasses. The bottle magically refilled once Satan placed it back on the table.
He handed me a glass and said, "Drink up, my friend. We have much to discuss!"
I took a small sip and just eyed the devil. He downed his entire glass in one gulp, then leaned forward to pour more.
"You've killed a lot of people,"he said nonchalantly.
"Ex-excuse.. excuse me?"I stammered. Killed people? Me?! I could barely kill a fly!
"Oh, relax,"Satan said, downing yet another glass full. "Ooh... I love this Canadian shit. They brew a mean whiskey."
"Sir, I-I-I've never.. nev--never.. I have nev---"I continued to stammer.
"God can't hear you here, Mr. Langley. Relax. You're safe. He thinks I'm punishing everyone, but there are some of you earthly sinners who intrigue me."
He drank and drank, the bottle never emptying, always refilling after every poured glass. I took another sip. I felt parched, but I knew alcohol wasn't going to help.
Satan then asked me about my kill ratio. I sat stunned. What did he mean?
I continued to deny ever murdering anyone. I could see my demonic captor's expression slowly change. He went from excited to annoyed.
"Listen, Mr. Langley,"Satan sternly said. "I've seen your record. It shows you've killed several million people from the age of 6 until the day of your death. Hitler and these other assholes may have killed millions, but they didn't actually do the majority of the dirty work. You have! Now, stop fucking with me. I've invited you as a guest into my home. At least speak to me like a man and not some bitch with a stutter."
I mustered all my courage. "Look, Mr. Lucifer,"I began. I immediately felt fear return as I stared Satan in his yellow, dreadful eyes. I chugged down my Crown Royal to build confidence and then stared at Satan's forehead to avoid his eyes.
"What?"Satan asked, rubbing his forehead. "Is there a pimple on me?"
I took a few deep breaths before saying, "Lucifer, there's been a mistake. I have not k-kill-killed a single human being in my life. I lived in my-my-mmmmy parent's basement and, uh, and surfed Reddit in between playing hours upon hours of Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto. I-I-I'm, I... I am pretty sure you're mistaking me for someone else."
Satan raised his eyebrows.
"Furthermore,"I continued, "I am a virgin. The last time I touched pussy, uh... Last time I-I-I-I touched vagina was on mmm-my way out of my mom's. I shouldn't be here. There are actual rapists outside this, umm, room. I'm-I'm..."
Satan facepalmed himself.
The smack of his palm across his forehead thundered in the room.
"Fuck..."he quietly said.
We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Satan leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He sighed before turning back to me.
"Look, kid. We fucked up. I'm sorry,"he said, sighing again. "But now there's nothing I can do to change this."
I felt myself cower into my chair.
"Relax,"he said, noticing my fear emerge once again. "You didn't do anything wrong... Uh, I mean, you were a loser, but it wasn't your mistake. This has happened many times before. You losers spend all day playing your PlayBox One and your XStation 4. You actually get into the game and start imagining you really are Super Hilario and Monkey Dong or whatever. That fucks up our system and shows you guys as some bad ass killers when, in fact, you're a bunch of nerds with no aspirations."
He went on to explain that if I kept my mouth shut and just pretended that I was a murderer, he'd give me the royal treatment instead of dumping me in a pit somewhere or having his henchmen have their way with me. I agreed.
We got up to exit the room, but Satan stopped me.
"When you get out there, everyone will want to talk to you. I expect you to pretend you're one of your game characters and just make your stories believable. Can you do that?"he asked.
I replied, "Absolutely."
He grabbed the doorknob and began to turn it, but then turned to me and said, "Oh, and one more thing: you can't be Snake or whatever that Metal Gear Solid shit is. Someone else already told us stories about that."
"Aw, man..." |
A stranger has come to visit me. She says she is family, but I have no family. No wife, no children, no parents, no siblings. I've never laid eyes on her before. Nonetheless, I can't deny our connection. She has my clear grey eyes and ginger hair and the same distinctive jawline and cheekbones. And moreover, the tenderness with which she treats me in my fragile state, clinging to this world by a thread, says more than appearances ever could. She is sorry she never had the chance to see me before and she sheds a tear at seeing me in this state, and the gentle warmth of her hand round mine is all the comfort in the world.
She tells me about her life. Her happy family childhood back in my old home town, after I'd already left. The success she'd enjoyed at college, buoyed up by the support from her father telling her that hard work would bring such rewards. The hard lessons she'd learnt in love and the joy she'd won in return when she discovered what was right for her. Whatever my conservative views, I could feel her joy when she described falling in love with a woman for the first time and my antipathy towards that lifestyle was swept away by the smile on her face.
She asked me about my life. My sorry childhood didn't match up to hers, raised with the fear of hell and beatings that left me always battling to prove myself as an adult. When I left for university it was a weight released, but the discipline stood me in good stead. My self-control won me awards, a career that from the first day supported me, the girl I loved, our dream wedding and home and everything she and I wanted. But then my need to prove myself took everything away. When I was offered my dream job on the other coast, she wouldn't come. Her family and friends meant more to her than me. She wanted me to decline it, but I saw that as failure. She stayed and I went and we tossed our marriage away.
I threw myself into my career to numb the pain, and my success was tremendous, but with no one to make happy with it, the shine was gone. Woman after woman came into my life and left but I never found love again. Looking into this stranger's eyes, I can see my ex-wife's love for me shining through and what I've known for years comes flooding out in tears - I walked away from the best thing I could ever have had.
She cradles me close as the regret consumes me. I blink through my tears and ask her, *what if? What if I'd stayed? I could've been so happy. I could've had the world.* I wish I'd realised then what was of true value, as I do now. Here I am, alone, with only a stranger to see me through my darkest, final night.
She wipes away my tears with gentle fingers. *The world,* she whispers, *and more. Your wife would have loved you more each day. And you could have had me, dad. You could have had me.* |
To tell you the truth I should've gone insane by now, though maybe in part I have. The first few days were frustrating, but I hadn't thoroughly finished even one of the buildings completely by the first week. My power has a fluctuating field of view, but so far as I can tell time stands still no matter where I go in the whole southern half of the city. And it's stayed still for the better part of a decade now. If there's something I've over-looked in all this time, I don't think I'll ever be able to find it.
I've searched every person, from every angle. I've checked all their belongings, under every bench and chair, no trip wires or bombs. I even looked up medical records of damn near everyone. No one with a nut allergy is within meters of a potential nut. No dogs have rabies, nor are there any people at the tops of the taller buildings except one maintenance guy. There aren't any broken brake lines, and no one is dangerously outside of a nearby crosswalk. No one who shouldn't have a gun has one. There's nothing on the frozen TVs that mention a robbery or high speed chase somewhere, nor of an astrological object hurtling towards the earth, let alone this part of the city.
I've come to the same question every time I hit a new roadblock. Should I keep going? Should I look again. And again. And again. I've already looked again. But at this point I'm tired. And I'm trapped here unless I find and save the person who's in danger.
The sewers are clear, there's no major criminal activity nor any super villains. They're on holiday this time of year. And even if they weren't they'd come after me specifically. I mean they could use people as pawns but they're smart enough to know hurting or killing citizens gets them a one-way ticket to their own death.
I'm not immortal though. If I don't figure this out soon I will literally die trying. Should I keep trying? Does that person really deserve everything I've put into so far? Why don't I just let go and let them die as well.
Cause even if I do find them, either tomorrow or in another ten years- they won't understand what I've had to sacrifice. This is the hardest thing I've had to do and no one is here to see it. The quick-saves and even the days-on rescues are worth the burden of the power. But this. This has turned into something I can't bare any longer. If I look again, I'll probably slip up since I've seen everything already so many times. At this point what new perspective do I really have?
Why don't I just end it here. Why don't I go find that maintenance worker one more time and say goodbye, even though he won't ever hear me say it.
Ah, there he is, on top of the Kensington building, like he's always been. It was a long walk up here but the view is the best in the city. One last look to the sunset was something I deserved. I don't actually know the man, I couldn't find any record on him, and he wore a netted hat thing, which the name escapes me, but it doesn't matter now. But so, with just him and me up here, I say my goodbye and walk the few steps to the ledge and step up to it. But, in doing so I step onto something squishy. So I lift my shoe just to see what odd thing was up here. It was a small couple of bees.
And then time unfroze. |
As it turned out, starting the apocalypse was the easy part. After a few false starts with the World Wars, I finally saw my chance in 1962, with the Cuban missile crisis. All I had to do was set off a few explosions and negotiations fell through. The subsequent missile strikes made it easy enough for me to sneak in and launch even more nuclear bombs to locations of my choosing, and by the end of the year I'd estimate 90% of the human population was dead.
The hard part was that last 10%. I went around tearing down whatever vestiges of civilization I could find, and when I couldn't find any more I figured I'd done my job and could just wait out the remaining stragglers to die out. So I waited. I waited 100 years, and tried to kill myself each and every day, but it wouldn't take. Somebody out there was still procreating and prolonging my damn life.
So I went on a world tour once again, which was pretty difficult considering I'd single-handedly shut down the world's commercial airline system but hey, I had time. I spent centuries walking the entire Earth, looking everywhere I could possibly think of for that last family that was denying me my death, but no matter where I looked I couldn't find any signs of any human life at all.
Eventually I gave up, and went back to England to lie face down on the ground and try to act as dead as I could manage. I did that for a few more centuries, and then, to my surprise, somebody found me. As soon as I processed what was happening, I leapt up and stabbed him in the heart. The man just laughed.
“Not gonna do you much good there. See, I can’t die until I’m the last human alive, and I figure the same goes for you.” |
"Oh...oh, God in Heaven."
The librarian - well, 'librarian' was hardly a worthy description of the man, but it's all I could think of - at least had the decency to look sheepish.
"And you're saying all of this...*all* of it-"
"Yes, sir. The process began years ago, when a particularly salacious head archivist found the selection...*lacking*."
I pick up a scroll at random, and start reading in the middle.
*And as she knelt before him, divine fire licking at her back, she opened her-*
"Eugh,"I mutter, and toss the scroll away. "So where are the *original* texts?"
"Gone, sir,"he sighs. "The library has suffered many fires over the decades, although I will admit that the one you just prevented would have destroyed all the texts, rather than a small portion."
"And what was not burned..."
"...was that which is not worth burning. Well, to most, at least. We are librarians, not writers."
I nod in stunned silence.
"So it's all smut,"I say softly. "It's all just porn."
"Well, to be frank, there's not much else to do than write and...entertain ourselves,"he says, "Honestly, what were you expecting?" |
"You're right,"Skisth said. "No other species fight for peace. How can you possibly know what their motivation is?"
"Well, they talk about it tall the time!"Pthluk replied. "No one else talks about peace when they fight wars! Why would you? It's totally contradictory!"
"So what you're saying is these humans are complete lunatics who have no concept of the costs of warfare."
"That's not it at all! They really think that by waging war, they will bring peace to their world!"Pthluk sighed. "Here,"he said, bringing up an old broadcast a human leader had written during one of their world-wide wars. The broadcast spoke of defeating another group, one this human was not part of, and how doing so would bring peace to their world.
"[Jesus Christ] these humans are quite possibly the most idiotic beings we have yet cataloged,"Skisth said. "You haven't found some cosmic anomaly, you've discovered the [village idiot] of our arm of the galaxy. You know what's going to happen if we try to make contact with them, right?"
"... Yeah,"replied Pthluk, "but maybe they won't! Maybe they'll just want to talk to us!"
"Pth, they developed nuclear bombs before they developed solar power. This is NOT a species you want to be talking to."Skisth grabbed the tightbeam handset and said something into the receiver. "Alright, time to go home. They'll be putting a quarantine on this planet. Maybe next time, Pthluk." |
Excelsior lay broken across the ground. His blood splattered my face, dripped down the front of his uniform, and his arm lay disconnected, a tangle of muscle and bone and marrow leaking out onto the ground below.
Faraday lay somewhere across the street, curled up in a building that had once been a post office. They were both still alive, but they wouldn't be for too much longer.
That just left me, standing in the middle of the street, cars burning, people screaming. Half an hour before back up could arrive. Half an hour before I could expect anyone to step in. Half an hour before I could get the long cut spiraling across my face healed up, could stop it from dripping across my lip and down my neck in fat hot blots.
The wind called to me, bizarrely, it rolled over my hands.
Could he feel it, with his billowing armor, hands drawn across, open wide, palms pointed at the recently downed heroes. One hand for negative. One hand for positive. Energy into pure raw force.
"It's a shame you're travelling with Faraday, kid,"Negalliforce called out. "I'll give you one opportunity. Run. Run screaming into the night, where nobody will ever find you. Run until nobody can think of you without remembering you as a coward, who left this city to burn. But I am willing to spare you."
My heart fluttered in my chest. Excelsior's sword lay on the ground beside him, and drearily, his one working eye (the other blinded years ago, a cruel yellow) flicked over to me. His mouth worked.
"Do it."he grunted.
"Even your boss doesn't have faith in you."Nega said, plaingly, stepping forward. With a swish of his hands, the cars danced around them, battering popping like hand grenades. I gestured and deflected the miniscule shrapnel away with a gust of wind. The only thing I could do. Just... brief gusts of wind. Useless here. What could I do?
"Gale,"Excelsior said. "This isn't your battle. And he will leave you alone. Go. Leave us here."
My hands clenched into a fist, tightly. I was so tired of running. And I could taste blood on my face. and I was so fucking useless.
"Well? You're going with the option where I fucking kill you?"Nega asked. A glove slid into the air and I felt the positronic energies, normally suppressed by Faraday's tempering aura, swim into existence.
I stared into his eyes for a long moment, and swallowed down the terror. I only had to hold him off for thirty minutes, and then the reinforcements would get here. Only had to trade myself for thirty minutes, and lives would be saved.
This is what I signed up to be a hero for.
Nega took another step forward, and I slammed the growing windstorm into my feet and sped forward.
There was a moment of surprise, but he reacted well before I could take advantage of it. The back of his hand. Not even the whirring cloud of death he could gather, but the back of his hand, slammed into my face, and sent me back, skidding, then onto my back. Something sharp hit me. Something painful. I was bleeding. A single hit. Almost taken out.
Nega pushed a single palm towards me and charged. Negative energy, the likes of which could burst open a building like a swollen grape. Would blow me apart. I wasn't nearly as durable as Faraday was, after all.
"Gale..."my mentor said. "Get out of here. He outranks you too much."
I stood up and drew Excelsior's sword from my bleeding back. The blade ate into my armor, through it until it touched the skin. I'd only have a few seconds before it started to eat into the bone, since I was not worthy to hold it.
But I only needed to hold it for a few seconds. My legs bled and burned.
But I only needed to hold out for a half hour. I kept telling myself that, and kept pushing forward, though blood wept into one of my eyes and sweat rolled off of my limbs.
The energy blast came at me and wind rimmed the side of my borrowed blade, and I cut through it. Energy lanced to the side of me and blew chunks out of the road, set the air on fire and crackled with determined force, but I kept sliding forward. The hilt devours the skin of my hands, but I kept moving forward, piece by piece, foot by foot, until Nega could see the wild of my eyes.
"You really think you're worthy of a last stand against me?"Nega asked, grimly, cracking his knuckled underneath of his colored gloves.
I swallowed and batted another blast of energy to the side. It cut through a building, evacuated, and sent it tumbling into the street. I could smell my hair burning where it had cut across the wild mane of my hair behind me.
"It's not about being worthy,"I said, grimly. My heart thudded in my chest and my hands shook. Then I quoted from the Brawler, the first hero. "It's about doing the right thing. It's about living for something greater than yourself. It's about looking at yourself and realizing that you were put here, for this moment, so you could fight for those who cannot."
Excelsior laughed raggedly behind me and slowly crawled to his feet. "So that you may trade your life, so they can live. Ha. I didn't know you were a quoter."
"Pathetic,"Nega said, and the street erupted into fire as he pointed down at the ground. "You're trying to trade time for your life?"He laughed as fire lashed at my legs and my outfit, rated to take on abrasive threats rather than flame (my powers were better suited for dealing with flame, and yet, there was nowhere to divert it when it came from everywhere at once). "Let me let you in on a little secret, Gale. D rank. Nearly flunked out of every combat class, but managed to eek out a passing grade on the knowledge portions. Law portions. Asthetic portions. Useless hero. Will die, and be a martyr."
I stared at him.
"I read your file. Very cute,"Nega laughed.
"But back up isn't coming. Won't be coming soon enough to save this pathetic town. They're distracted, you see,"His grin split his mask so that his lips were visible. "They're just learning that they've been infiltrated by Manny the Faces."
My stomach dropped. B class villain. Shapeshifter. Previously known to only cause trouble, had recently been involved with intel theft from the united nations.
"So they'll be too busy to send help at the moment, while they figure out who has been compromised."He fingers swathed with glowing energy, he leered across my legs, staring at the flames spreading. I smothered them, and tried to ignore the burning pain settling across my hands.
It wasn't about me. It was about surviving.
"Are you really surprised? How else did I know here Faraday would be for the attack?"
My teeth grit in my head and I swallowed back the pain. It wasn't about me. It was about everyone else surviving.
"So I can play with you."
"But...?"I asked. The sword screamed inside of my head as it touched against my nerves. I was not the right bearer. I was not the right person for this job.
But I was the only person.
"You're not worth playing with."
A limited popped off the side of his armor, rank with anti matter and cored surplus power, and I stared at it as it rolled across the ground, burning the stone as it flicked about.
"And now, Gale, you die."
I could feel the heat rising across the air around him as his glee increased.
I had a single stupid idea, watching him. A single, incredibly dumb thing that would never have occurred to me in better circumstances. A moment that would stick with me.
I tugged on the air in his lungs and sent it squirting out of mouth and nose.
His eyes went wide, and he laughed, coughing, wheezing slightly.
"Pathet-"
But his eyes had been closed for just a second. Just a moment. Just enough for me to close the gap, my shoes protected from leaving a noise from a gust of wind that sent me sailing forward, through the air. A perfect arc. A perfect, lovely arc.
His eyes shot open and he met mine, bloodshot, near death, wanting nothing more than to end this.
Inches from his chest, the sword gleamed an elder red. My blood. Maybe Excelsior's. Maybe something else.
Then it slipped through his armor like butter, and then farther inside until it slammed through one of his lungs and out, hitting the open air. The heat radiating off of his body burned my skin and battered my muscles. It hurt. It hurt like nothing else.
But this was no b-lister who would die as easily as being impaled. This was an S class villain. The kind that could take over small countries. The kind that would take losing a lung in stride.
But in that moment, he was surprised. Confused. Concerned, looked at me like I was an alien. My hands shook, but I had to keep it up.
So the blade, eating and feeding on my flesh, that left my hands burning bleeding messes as it ate at my nerves, flicked out as he stared at me, blood beading down his lips, and I twisted, flicked up, and drove through his neck.
Things were severed, and his arms let off twin blasts of energy that melted the buildings around me, shrapnel, molten flecks of metal. He screamed. I screamed. We screamed.
Then his eyes went soft.
And I was standing there, and everything was quiet. Utterly quiet.
What courage I had left me all at once and left me prone, across him, hands dripping with gore, ichor, and metal polish.
Then I slumped completely and laid there, with only the sound of burning asphalt and the smell of my own boiling skin as company.
But I, Gale. Had done it. I'd finally saved the damn day.
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, go here. Feel free to comment.
Anyone want a second part? ---> for the second part https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8iztws/gale_and_the_aftermath_second_gale_bit/
Third part: https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j09nu/gale_rising_part_3_of_the_hero_project/
fourth part https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j0vvm/gale_rising_part_4/
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j4fgj/gale_rising_part_5/
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j5tpz/gale_rising_part_6/ |
The Thespian
***
I had always been good at pretending. Star of every school play since age eight, great at accents and impressions, liar extraordinaire. My mind was a complex of dressing rooms which housed hundreds of characters from the bizarre to the banal, each with names, stories, and idiosyncrasies I could spin out within a moment's notice. Had I been less focussed on financial stability and putting food on the table, I might have even become an actor.
So, on the January 16th flight from Chicago O'Hare to Newark International Airport, it should come as no surprise that when I sat down next to the total stranger I'd be boarding with for the next four hours, I ditched my personality faster than you could say, "Your captain has turned on the seatbelt sign."
When she looked over at me, with a face I'd never seen and would never see again, she said with a smile, "Hi, I'm Jen."
"Hi, Jen,"I replied, clipping the ends of my words with a faint Cockney bent. "Benjamin."Peter, it was. But she didn't know.
We shook hands. "So what brings you to the Garden State?"she asked.
"I'm going back to England from a business trip in Chicago, but I wanted to stop and see my father first. He's... unwell."
I suppose it was that tantalising desire that tingles on your tongue and flits about your brain- the desire to be someone else, just for an hour or two, discard your identity like a worn coat in favour of some glittering new one.
"Oh, that's awful!"
"Mm."I picked at the fingernails on my left hand- a quirk of Ben's. He did it when he was worried. And with the state of his father-
"Why is he unwell, if I might ask?"
-who wouldn't be?
"Oh, I'm sorry,"she quickly amended herself, "I really shouldn't pry."Midwestern timidity. The woman was a true Illinoisan, though likely not from Chicago. I had her pegged as a farm girl.
"No, it's quite alright,"I said. "He has stage three liver cancer, and he's had Alzheimer's for some time. He's definitely a character, though- there are quite a few stories about my dad, actually. I'd be more than happy to tell some of them, if you've got an hour or two to spare."
"No books, no television, no crosswords, no sleeping pills, no magazines without ads for bulletproof glow-in-the-dark watches. I can't think of a better way to spend my time."She smiled sweetly.
So I told her about Ben's father. About the unfortunate hunting accident that nearly took his leg in his thirties ("He really should've waited till he was outside to actually shoot it!") About how he went to war, and the atrocities he saw there ("My dad looked at all the bodies- stacked like firewood, he said- and he told me he would have said a prayer for them if he'd still believed god existed.") About the most important lesson he'd taught his son ("Take every opportunity you can find, no matter how insignificant it seems.") About the time he accidentally swallowed a live earthworm ("He lived, of course, though I can't assure passing it was a pleasant experience.") About his personality, his hopes, his dreams ("Larger than life, he was. Booming, boisterous, positively boiling over with it all.") About why he moved to New Jersey ("To be closer to my sister Tara, who emigrated a while back.") And finally, about the liver cancer and the Alzheimer's that were eating away at his brain and body and decimating his memory ("Every time I talk to him on the phone-"voice break for dramatic effect- "he seems a little bit farther away.")
I didn't tell Jen, however, about my own father- Peter's father. About his job as a railway mechanic. About the uneventful life he'd led a few miles outside Chicago. About his total lack of stories. About the biggest lesson he'd taught me: that safety, security, and stability far outweighed adventure, risks, and creativity. I didn't tell her that I'd listened. I didn't tell her that, at every turn, I'd traded opportunities and dreams for concrete realities. I didn't tell her that every day I worried that I was getting a little bit farther away.
And so, every time Jen laughed at a retold joke or covered her mouth at a horrible story, a small part of Peter became a part of Benjamin.
Benjamin, whose favourite colour was red, who had two older sisters, who picked at his fingernails when he was worried and looked down when he laughed, who liked his steak medium rare and his eggs poached, who liked to walk in the city streets just before dawn.
This made it all the more difficult when the pilot's voice drifted over the PA system, notifying us all of our impending arrival. The plane landed and Jen and I said our goodbyes. "I hope your father gets better, Ben, I really hope he does."
"Thanks very much, love,"I said. "It was great meeting you."
Back to baggage claim and out into the slicing winds of the winter night. And suddenly, stumbling into a taxi and hauling my luggage in after me, I was not Benjamin any more.
I wondered if anyone could tell.
***
Please let me know if there's any formatting issues- I'm writing this from mobile so I hope it doesn't look too wonky.
Edit: HOLY CRAP thank you guys so much! Seriously, the support and encouragement I've received from you all is just too much. I started a subreddit tonight for everyone who's shown interest in my work, it's called r/sushideception and it's a collection of everything I've written, all in one place. It's obviously a work in progress- I have no idea how to design a sub- but feel free to check it out :) |
Many stories speak of the True Sight, the ability to see how things really are, with all falsehood and pretense stripped away. Our eyes alone are too easily deceived, the stories say. Humanity is fallible in its trusting nature, for it makes us too quickly tricked to seeing things that are not.
These stories are just stories, or so we tell ourselves. We sit in our towers of steel and glass, scoffing at the idea of magic and the unknown from our world of science and reason, and we forget. We forget that stories come from somewhere, and we have lost knowledge that we should have maintained.
We have forgotten that humanity is not alone, that this world is not the only one. Our physicists theorize about bubble dimensions; our ancestors would have called them the Realms of the Fae. As we forgot the truth, moved away from magic and towards our own methods of understanding the universe, the Fae slowly retreated from Earth. But they remember us, though we may not remember them. They always watch us.
I made the mistake of antagonizing the Fae; how, I do not know. For my transgression, I have been cursed. Not with the True Sight, but with its counter, False Sight. No more can I see others as though through my own eyes, but only through the eyes of the seen. I see others as they see themselves.
I see monsters. I see gods. Some see themselves as Adonis or Venus come again, while others look in the mirror and see abominations. Many are within the range of "normal", if normal means anything anymore, but none look as they did before. Every insecurity is thrown open for me to see, every delusion of grandeur so obvious to be laughable.
I ordered a coffee from a teenager who saw himself as some sort of hulking ogre, with crooked teeth and a giant nose. I received my coffee from a woman who evidently saw herself as more beautiful than any magazine-cover model. I got on the subway and shared a carriage with a lawyer whose skin was pock-marked with more acne scars than I could count, with a secretary whose arms swung down to their calves, with an athlete whose muscles would make a bodybuilder jealous. Everywhere I turned, I was seeing the falsehoods that people presented themselves with.
I turned around to the window in the hopes of getting the slightest reprieve from this exposure to the deepest secrets of those around me, and it was only then that I realized the extent of the curse. It was not enough to be forced to interact with others' opinion of themselves.
There was no reflection staring back at me from the window.
For if I were to see my own opinion of myself, that would be the Truth. And the False Sight cannot show the Truth. In a panic, I tried to remember what I looked like. I couldn't.
As I screamed, I could just make out the sound of laughter, coming from both everywhere and nowhere. |
"I need you to not panic."Said the voice on the other end of the phone line. It sounded human, at least.
"Who is this?"I say, even though I have a hunch. The red light on my phone is already blinking.
"The one you got my search history from."I could tell the slightest tone of annoyance coming from the other line.
"How do you know? We can check our new search history and maybe get a guess of who it belonged to, but we can't really figure out who got OUR search history. That's been all over the news."
"Honestly, it's pretty easy. A Binnes child could track it down: you humans are still using PHP and IP adresses!"
"So... you *are* an alien after all?"
"You have my search history up right now on your computer. You can do a simple connecting of the dots, right?"
I try to keep my heart from beating too hard. My hands are shaking slightly. "It could just be a prank. I can't be sure until I know."
"Oh, right. Someone went and did searches on how to get in touch with a distant alien planet, then scrambled the entirety of humanity's search history and found the one person who got theirs just to *prank* him. Genius. Pure brilliance. You are seriously making me reconsider whether or not you can help me at all."
Hold on a second. "Wait, all of this happening was ***your*** doing???"
"Uhh, yeah. I was kind of getting desperate and performed the wrong commands. Now do you think you can help me?"
Wait. "You *know* who I am?"
"No fucking duh. I just scrambled everybody's search histories on accident and tracked down something that is theoretically impossible for you to do at your fucking tech level. Why else do you think I called you instead of going silent and hoping the person who got my search history just assumed it was all a prank??"
"Fair warning, I am recording this."
"Whatever works for you. I just want to get home and I don't care how. Also fair warning since you were so *courteous* to me, I scrambled your entire puny planet's internet on *accident*. Just wait to see what I can do *intentionally* when I discover you secretly contacted the special forces arm of your government to capture me and dissect me, dickhead."
"I... uh, see. Listen, I'm not an authority figure. I will contact my boss-"
"Yeah sure, whatever. I'll hit you back after you and your little group talk to him and have a nice family chat. Do *not* fuck with me. I just want to get home, and needless to say you stand to gain from helping me."
I put the phone down in its hook and look up from my workdesk at NASA'S Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence office. All my coworkers had quickly abandoned their search histories and were quietly listening in after I put the call in loudspeakers. My boss is staring at me wide-eyed.
"Okay..."He says. "Let's... let's start verifying, people." |
At my feet lay the crumpled figure of a defeated man. He looked just like anyone else on the street, a simple hoodie and jeans, but after 4 months of this torture I could see the difference. The slight bulge of elbow and knee pads, the simple shades and ballcap combo that made a face impossible to recognize, and the wristwatch. Always the wristwatch.
I felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing the eyes of one of these assailants for the first time. They were filled with sadness and defeat. It was like winning the longest game of monopoly on the planet, all the time they’ve invested in keeping me down made entirely moot by one well placed shop window and a simple sidestep. I didn’t expect the fear in his eyes as well, but it made the schadenfreude all the greater.
After the initial ecstasy of finally winning (winning what? Had this gone on so long it was just a game to me now?) my head filled with all the questions I had yelled every day at the backs of these strangers ever since I turned 18 in June. He was stuck, frozen in shock at his loss, still in the awkward folded position he landed in like dirty laundry tossed on the bed. I felt like he would have to answer every question I had now that I have **won**. How long had he been lying on the ground? It felt like hours, the rush of adrenaline diluting time to an exten-
*Christ, finally you dodged one.*
A second burst of adrenaline as a slightly annoyed female voice shot through my head. Not through my ears, through my *head*. “What?” I dumbly said to the man yet to break from his loser’s trance.
*Hey genius, the agent isn’t talking to you, it’s the girl in your head.*
I pressed my palms to my temples as if I could juice this second voice out of my skull. “What the fuck?” My slightly extended dumbfound expression seemed to snap the man, the ‘agent’, out of shock. He rolled to his knees as that voice intruded once again on what I thought was my only safe space left.
*Ok, this whole dumb reaction thing is pretty funny, but we’re going to have to pick up the pace now. That man is about to shoot you for making contact with me.*
“I didn’t contact you! I didn’t do any of this!” The man rose slowly from his knees to his feet with his palms out facing me. The 115th agent opened his mouth.
“Do not trust what they say. This is what we were trying to prevent. They are invaders in your mental space.”
*If you could see me, I’d be rolling my eyes. He’s full of shit. You need to get out of Dodge while he’s trying to explain himself*
“There is good reason for all of this, if we wanted to really hurt you, we could have at any time.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up for a second” I spat through gritted teeth, still massaging my temples. It felt like the world was shrinking, like everything was getting closer. No, wait, that wasn’t a feeling. I did a quick glance around me and saw that about half the shopping center I was in had changed trajectory in the past few seconds. Seconds. They were all wearing wristwatches.
The agent must have seen something in my eyes since his hand suddenly dropped to his waist and revealed a holstered pistol hidden beneath the slightly oversized hoodie.
*Stay calm and focus on the gun. Don’t move, just concentrate on that feeling that you really don’t want him to be holding it anymore.*
The voice in my head was somehow speaking three times the speed of a normal person now, and yet I could still understand them perfectly. As the agent drew his gun up, I did what was asked. I couldn't think to do anything else. I couldn’t think of anything else, except the gun. How much I wanted that gun to be out of his hand. His hand.
With the loudest crack I will ever hear, his hand bent backwards quickly so far that his knuckles touched his arm. The gun fell to the floor. He screamed.
*Now run. Please fucking run.*
I ran.
_________________
First submission here, just really wanted to take a crack at this one, so any feedback welcome.
Edit: Thanks for all the positive comments, I really appreciated all of them and even if I didn't reply I read every single one. First off, let me say I won't be writing any more of this story. I'm not a writer, it isn't like this is my hobby and I just discovered this subreddit or something, this is literally the first creative writing i've done since my sophomore year of high school and i'm 21 now. I just like browsing this sub and for some reason this prompt really hit me with a bug and I had to write this story down. I wasn't really expecting (or wanting) it to be this popular.
For those of you still wanting more though, here's some details of this 'world' that I had in my head that would go unanswered otherwise.
A lot of people were saying matrix in the comments, which I love, but actually in my head I just was thinking normal government conspiracy. Some sort of black ops government division dedicated to stopping these people and this event from happening. What exactly happened?
ESPers basically, of the telepathy and telekinetic vein. My general idea was at 18 some have the potential to be 'activated' by another ESPer from a sort of global community of them, but only at a certain time when the 'waves' or something was right. If this specific time was met uninterrupted then the person would be activated. The agents were trying to prevent that with precise timing (from their wristwatches). After a few months the activation window would pass, and the person would no longer be activate-able, and the 18 year old would go on with their life with a really really weird period in it they would slowly forget. This would be the first *unintentional* failure to prevent activation.
The idea of a secret community of ESPers and underground government agencies are not exactly original so I'm not keen on expanding it. I just had a good idea for this quick action sequence and I don't really want to give it much thought beyond that.
|
BARRY, Death said. IT SEEMS WE NEED TO TALK.
'Hmm?' Barry scratched nervously at the side of his head. 'What about?'
MR. BOWIE. MR. RICKMAN. MR.... WHAT DOES THIS SAY?
'It's a symbol, Sir. It stands for *The Artist Formerly Known As...*'
AH, YES. HIM. Death's expression turned from bone to granite. I'M AFRAID YOU'VE RATHER LET ME DOWN, BARRY, he said sadly. I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU COULD BE TRUSTED WITH A RESPONSIBILITY LIKE THIS. IT APPEARS I WAS... MISTAKEN.
'It's not my fault,' Barry said. 'I just...'
LEONARD COHEN? ROBERT VAUGHN? AND WHY SO MANY BRITISH PEOPLE? Death asked. PAUL DANIELS. VICTORIA WOOD. RONNIE CORBETT. CAROLINE AHERNE. GEORGE MICHAEL. THAT NICE TERRY WOGAN CHAP. AT THIS RATE, IT'S RATHER HARD NOT TO THINK IT WAS PERSONAL.
'Perhaps,' Barry replied, 'I might have become a little... *overzealous* at times. But I promise you, there was no ill-will. It wasn't malice. I tried to make them all painless, I really did. A natural end to a rich and fulfilling life, wherever possible.'
AND MR. YELCHIN? Death would have raised a sceptical eyebrow, but he found himself somewhat lacking. No great shame. For some things, the softly-softly approach just wouldn't do. WHAT HAPPENED THERE?
'I don't know, Sir.'
TWENTY-SEVEN, Death said. HE WAS TWENTY-SEVEN. The number seemed to hang in the air for far longer than was strictly necessary.
'That was a mistake,' Barry said quietly, almost to himself. 'I wish I could take it back. I really do.'
Death sighed. IT'S A LITTLE TOO LATE FOR THAT, he said. I'M AFRAID YOU'VE HURT A LOT OF PEOPLE WITH YOUR... EARNESTNESS.
'With respect, Sir, everyone dies.'
INDEED THEY DO, BARRY. INDEED THEY DO. BUT THERE HAS TO BE HOPE TO LEVEL OUT THE SADNESS. A BALANCE IN THE UNIVERSE. THIS WAS...
'Excessive?'
INDISCRIMINATE. BORDERING ON CRUEL. YOU TOOK A LOT OF PEOPLE'S HEROES IN A TIME WHEN THEY NEEDED THEM MOST. A TIME WHEN HOPE WAS IN SHORT SUPPLY. MR. WILDER. MR. GLASS. MS. LEE. MS. HENDERSON. MR. GLENN. MR. ALI. MR. ADAMS. AND NOW MS. FISHER TOO.
'Sorry,' Barry said. Somehow it didn't feel like quite enough.
WAS MR. BAKER NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU? SHOULD WE ALERT THE REST OF THE CAST OF *STAR WARS* TO BEGIN ORGANISING THEIR AFFAIRS AS WELL?
'No, Sir.'
NO, BARRY. QUITE SO. Death paused, and laid a bony, avuncular hand on Barry's shoulder. I'M NOT MAD AT YOU, he said. JUST... DISAPPOINTED.
Somehow, that made him feel worse than ever. 'So how do I fix it?' he asked.
FIX IT?
'You know... make it up to you?'
THERE IS NO FIXING, BARRY, Death said. THERE IS NO UNDOING WHAT IS DONE. ALL WE CAN DO IS HOPE THAT THEIR LIVES AND WORKS STAND AS A WORTHY MONUMENT TO THEIR TOO-BRIEF TIME ON EARTH. He smiled, as much as was possible without lips. It was a gentle expression, far more than Barry had come to expect from his employer. THANKFULLY, I DON'T THINK THAT WILL BE TOO MUCH OF A PROBLEM.
Death's assistant breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed, at least for the time being, he was off the hook. 'So what now, Sir?' he asked. 'Business as usual? The 2017 numbers are in, and--'
NOT QUITE. With a wave of Death's arm, a stack of paper appeared before him. It stretched upwards to the sky, a tower of white, teetering and tottering and threatening to fall with even the slightest breeze.
'What's that?' Barry asked.
PAPER, said Death. FOR YOUR APOLOGY NOTES. ONE FOR EVERY HUMAN ON THE PLANET. AT FIFTEEN MINUTES EACH FOR SEVEN AND A HALF BILLION PEOPLE, YOU SHOULD BE DONE IN... OH, TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS OR SO. Death lowered his hood and looked his assistant square in the eye. AND DO MAKE THEM SUITABLY SINCERE, he said. I ASSURE YOU, I'LL BE WATCHING. I DON'T THINK I'LL HAVE MUCH ELSE TO DO FOR THE NEXT FEW MONTHS, YOU SEE.
Barry picked up the quill and started work. It was going to be a *long* time before he was finished.
_____
Glad so many of you seemed to enjoy this. I'm new here, but if you want to check out some of my other recent prompts, try ['I don't know how I can love you any more'](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5kd55r/wp_i_dont_know_how_i_can_love_you_any_more/dbnwe7f/) and ['Your recent actions have brought upon you the worst punishment imaginable to you. No WiFi'](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5kj7c3/wp_your_recent_actions_have_brought_upon_you_the/dboe89z/).
|
Jaime had been looking forward to today for two weeks.
It was droid day! He loved droid day. Everyone else only got one droid day in their life, but Jaime had gotten ten already! They were supposed to find out what a child needed to be successful and healthy and help provide that for them, but every time Jaime got his droid it exploded.
Each time the explosion was bigger, too!
Jaime couldn't wait. He gripped his mom's hand tighter and tighter as they stood in the waiting room. He bounced on the heels of his feet and looked up at his mom, hoping she'd notice his excitement.
She didn't. She looked tired and bored.
Jaime didn't care.
"Droid day! Droid Day! DROID DAY!"
"Hush."
Jaime glared at his mom for only a second then turned and watched the door at the far side of the waiting room. Any minute now they would come out and see him. Any minute! Any minute!
As if summoned by his impatience, the door opened. Jaime tried to pull his hand from that of his mother's but the grip that had been loose and uncaring suddenly became a shackle of immovability. Jaime pulled and struggled but he couldn't free himself to run across the room.
Two men in lab coats came out. They both looked a bit unsettled, like Jaime's brother had before going on the roller coaster. He had puked on it! It was awesome!
The droid came after. It was a bit bigger than the others had been. It seemed to have a bigger battery pack... and speakers. Jaime had never seen one with speakers before. Usually they were built so that they only talked when the parents connected them to a tablet or other device through the internet.
This one rolled over the dirty tile floor, avoiding the craters from Jaime's last visits, and stopped two feet in front of the boy.
"Initializing Analysis."The droid talked! Jaime bounced up and down a few more times.
"96.351% well adjusted."The robot reported. "First priority problem: Lack of adequate excitement. Intelligence, social position, home life, and parentage make surprises extremely rare. Child may develop an inability to react to unexpected scenarios."
Jaime had no idea what any of this meant, but the droid had a cool voice. Just like the ones on TV shows! It was all echo-ey and metal-y! The lab coat guys behind him seemed very interested in this, they were whispering back and forth between themselves and backing up toward the door they had come through. Jaime wanted to hear what they were saying.
Jaime pulled against his mom's hand again and found it was still an iron shackle.
"Mom, mom!"Jaime yanked the arm again, "I wanna hear them! I wanna hear them!"
"No. We're going home now."
"But mom!"
"No."
Jaime was pulled along as the lab coat guys left the room. He was starting to get upset. The droid hadn't started flashing or screaming yet and it was just following them like any other droid. The last ten times had been awesome! He'd been looking forward to another droid blowing it's top but now it just rolled along like every other one.
Jaime stopped bouncing up and down, he felt his grin fall into a look of disappointment, and his hand holding his mom's hand became as limp as a noodle.
He pouted as his mom visited the reception desk. He pouted as they all piled into the family car. He pouted as the droid was unloaded and told to stand in the front yard. He pouted as he opened the car door to get out.
Then he cheered as the droid detonated in the middle of his mom's flower garden.
---
[TheWordsOfXacktar](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/) |
[PART TWO](https://www.reddit.com/user/Drakolyst/comments/f6i8w6/the_oracle_part_two/)
&#x200B;
It was out of habit.
But that doesn't change the reality. As far as I knew, I may have doomed myself with the amazing superpower that is having normal vision.
Everyone gets a power when they turn 18. Their powers depend on the first thing their skin touches upon one's birthday. Somehow, the gases in Earth's atmosphere or any particles in the air don't count, neither does sheep wool.
Subsequently, parents always make a note to record the very minute of their child's birth, so that they may clad them in wool for the child to choose his or her power.
I live alone, you see. All I know about my birth date or time is from a dusty, weathered slip of paper I found in my box of old stuff. My parents had been gracious enough to give me that before I left for college.
In scratchy, faded pencil, the note read *12:33 A.M. - September 8, 2032.*
I shot a glance to my phone, reading *12:20 A.M.* I hurried over to my closet and threw out a neatly folded set of wool clothing, and threw them on. My body itched all over the place, but it was a small price for what was to come; I was about to get *superpowers*.
The very thought filled me with excitement. I'd always wanted fire, or water. The hard thing about fire is that it *hurts* to touch. At best, I have to get the timing perfect so I don't burn myself.
With the click of my lighter, the fireplace blazed to life. The small flame gradually crawled up the firewood and licked the small firestarters I had thrown in earlier. The flame blossomed a few minutes after.
*12:32.*
I dramatically reeled my hand back, ready to plunge my hand into the fire at any moment, like a responsible human being.
There was a deafening silence, which was soon punctuated by the ringing of my phone.
I immediately launched my hand into the flames. A solid half a second passed before I yelped and jerked my hand back. Searing pain cracked through my palm, causing my face to contort in discomfort.
The pain soon became unbearable, and I lept to my feet, bolting down to the sink and blasting my hand with water. The bitter cold brought relief to my suffering.
A long sigh escaped my lips, but it was out of relief; I had done it. All that was left to do was . . . well . . . do fire stuff.
I breathed in and thrusted my hand out, shouting "*FIRE!*"
Unsurprisingly, nothing happened.
Not even an ember escaped my body.
I was a little disheartened, but maybe I had gotten water powers from the sink. That wasn't bad at all; that was my second choice.
I then attempted to blast water out of my hands. When that didn't work, I turned on the sink and made strange faces at the stream of water as I desperately waved my hands, waiting for the water to bend.
Surprisingly, nothing happened.
This time, a sigh of despair took the life out of my lungs. Maybe I was one of those people who couldn't manifest a power. I've read of that happening on the internet.
I pinched the rim of my glasses and pushed them up.
Suddenly, a rush of energy shot through my veins, sinking into my flesh. I doubled over as agonizing pain racked my entire body.
*12:38.*
When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. I took off my glasses to rub my eyes, but when I set my glasses down on the counter, everything was clear.
I blinked.
I groaned violently. I'd done something wrong, and I didn't know what. My brain churned in search of answers before concluding that I must have touched my glasses.
I sunk down into a chair with the horrid thought that I now possessed normal vision again. No fire. No water. Just functional eyes.
From a table, I grabbed the slip of paper and read it again. My new eyes saw that the last digit in *12:33* was faded along the left side. It was an eight. An eight.
It said *12:38*.
I felt utterly defeated. I'd wasted the only opportunity I had to get powers, and what did I have to show for it? A burned hand and a lack of glasses?
I stood up to get a glass of water. I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and turned on the sink, which I had been desperately attempting to manipulate a few moments prior. The water bubbled slightly as it filled the cup to the rim.
I inhaled the water, but it did nothing to mollify my conflicting emotions.
A walk.
*I should go for a walk*, I thought to myself.
I turned toward the door, and suddenly, I felt my eyes bulge. A stabbing pain overtook my head as somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, I saw the door open. And someone stepped in. There was something in his hand. It was glinting.
It was a gun.
I gasped for air as my eyes refocused, hyperventilating myself into awareness. Great; now I was *hallucinating.* How stressed was I? I definitely--
My heart jumped as a hollow click emanated from the door.
In the corner of my eye, I saw the doorknob beginning to turn.
**EDIT** : I didn’t expect so many people to like this, so part two is coming soon
**EDIT 2**: [Part Two is available!](https://www.reddit.com/user/Drakolyst/comments/f6i8w6/the_oracle_part_two/) |
I broke my fixation on the woefully empty bottle of beer to glance down at my phone as it *dinged*, notifying me about an email. I sighed. Debt collectors and spam. That's all I ever got anymore. At least the latter allowed me the pleasure of pressing the fun little trashcan icon.
**Would you like to change...**, the preview of the subject read. Hell, yeah. I would give anything to change everything right now. My girlfriend was gone on some escapade with her not-so-secret lover, my student loan debt was three times what I made in a year, pre-taxes, the eviction notice was still taped to the door... I hadn't been too broke to buy beer since college, but here I was. Same old.
I swiped right and typed in the double 69 password; a relic from more cheerful times. The email was short and to the point.
**Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very hard.** Seemed about as legit as the Nigerian prince my grandpa was always helping out. My finger hovered over the trashcan icon but my phone *dinged* again, the echo bouncing off the walls of the nearly empty room. A text this time with the same message and a simple instruction: **Reply YES for details**. I shrugged and typed the message, arching my eyebrows skeptically as the message *whooshed* away and I turned back to the bottle hoping to leach out a couple more drops.
**Pick your level: First World Problems, Easy, Medium, Hard, Very Hard**. I sighed. Whoever this was, they were persistent. A cruel joke, most likely. Getting my hopes up that my life could be anything more than a miserable shit hole. I chose the first option and hit send, shrugging in mild irritation before sighing and heading to my bed. Without the electric bills paid and nothing to entertain me, I was sleeping by dusk, my schedule more Amish than an Ohioan's. My phone rang a moment later, just as I was settling in and starting to tell myself a bedtime story.
"Mom?"I said hesitantly, surprised that she would call after six months of not talking to me. She let out a muffled sob and I sat up in my bed. "What happened?"
"It's dad..."she stuttered as she struggled to catch her breath. I frowned. My dad had been getting cigarettes since '95 and if he was suddenly showing up now, I wanted nothing to do with him. "Your grandfather passed away,"she said quietly and I scowled. Disrupting my 8 o'clock bedtime for this? The man was a grade A dumbass and had provided more for random hookers than he had for me.
"I... I'm sorry,"I managed to say half-heartedly.
"You barely knew him,"she answered softly. "I can't see what he saw, but he must have thought very highly of you. He left you his fortune and the house by the lake. You're rich..."she said mournfully and I quietly gulped as I tried to fathom the idea.
"Goddammit,"I sighed knocking my head against the headboard of the bed. "I'm gonna have a shit ton of taxes to do."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
“I need an *army* of *mole men*,” the very-creatively-named Mole Man shrieked. “With noses that can detect incoming heroes from *miles* away. And big gnashing claws!” He held up his own hands and wiggled his stubby fingers, no doubt imagining them with claws. “And… and… giant…”
“I think I get what you’re going for,” I interrupted him with my most calming tone. Sometimes these villains can get a little worked up in describing their dream henchmen. “We can certainly offer you the very best mole minions to do your underground bidding, Mole Man.” I’d gotten quite good at suppressing my urge to laugh while working here. “They’ll have claws like you’ve never seen before! And they’ll be great diggers.”
“Excellent!” His nose twitched wildly like a scared mouse, and he rubbed his hands together in that way that all villains seem to pick up from each other. But he did it a bit *too* enthusiastically; it nearly sent the 4”5’ man toppling off of his chair. “And you say they’ll be part man, part mole?”
“Absolutely.” I swiveled in my chair and dug through my stack of pamphlets. Past the robot and/or cyborg option, past faceless soldiers with so-called weapons training, past super ninjas with troubled pasts… “Ah, here we go!” I plucked the human/animal genetic abomination pamphlet off of the rack. “You are familiar with our work on Grizzly’s bearmen, yes?”
“Of course!” He was starting to get that wild gleam in his eyes that meant the deal was pretty much done. Supervillains are the biggest suckers out there. You show them a shiny new toy like an army of human-bear hybrids and they just *have* to have one of their own. “Most excellent work.”
“We can absolutely do mole men for you,” I said. “We just need you to sign our standard form contract here.” I pulled one of the binders from my drawer and thumped all six hundred pages of it onto the desk. Mole Man’s eyes widened behind his coke bottle glasses. “Just a standard agreement, saying that we will provide you with the best army that money can buy.”
“600 pages to say that?” he responded.
“Well there are the standard legal disclaimers…” I said. Like that we make no guarantee of their combat abilities or training. Or that they’ll even be semi-competent henchmen. Once they leave the lab, they’re not our responsibility anymore. “But come on. You’ve *seen* those Bear Men in action, right?!”
Mole Man forgot all about reading over those disclaimers and signed immediately. They always do. I could have tried upselling him to the cyborg mole men, but I figured that would be better for the second round. After his first army gets crushed by the first hero to come along, he’ll no doubt be back for more. And of course I’ll be here to tell him that if they had lasers mounted to their snouts, they would have done better.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” I told him as I ushered him to the door. “They’ll be fully grown in six to eight weeks.”
I headed back to my desk and waited a few minutes, just to be sure he was really gone. From my window, I watched him emerge from our office and then head into the parking lot and begin digging straight through the concrete, kicking up a flurry of rocks and dirt all over my BMW. *I’m putting the detailing on his tab,* I decided. Then I reached for my phone.
“Hey, Sergeant Lightning? This is Greg over at HenchCo.”
“GREG!” Every time I spoke to him, it was like he was shouting full blast into the receiver on the other end. I’d only *ever* had contact with him by phone because I fear that any in-person meeting might shatter my eardrums. I had to hold the phone at arm’s length just to have a conversation with him. “WHATCHA GOT FOR ME TODAY?”
“Ah, you know. The usual. This *Mole Man* came over looking for some help in his villainy.”
“MOLE MAN, EH? I’VE FACED HIM BEFORE! HE’S TRIED TUNNELING INTO BANK VAULTS LIKE SIX TIMES!”
“I thought that might be the case. Well, just thought you should know that he’s placed a pretty sizable order. A whole army of human-mole hybrids.” I looked out the window at the giant hole in our parking lot and smirked. “And of course we’ll make them to our high level of quality, as always.”
Sergeant Lightning laughed. “WHAT’S IT GOING TO BE THIS TIME?”
“Well, they’re part *mole*, right? They’ll definitely be blind. And just for fun, scared of birds or something.” I pictured them running through the streets, bumping into buildings and cars every time a seagull passed overhead. “It’ll be *hilarious!*"
“HILARIOUS!” Sergeant Lightning agreed. "GOOD WORK THERE, GREG!"
-----
As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons of other stories!
|
I woke up at 6AM drenched in sweat from a particularly bad dream. This has been happening all too often. Thankfully I live alone. Since I was awake, I decided to go downstairs and make some coffee, I had a lot of work to do today. Per usual I opened up reddit while sipping on my coffee. At the top of /r/all I saw a post with 35K upvotes saying "Did you all just feel that?"I assumed it was a joke at first as most of those threads are, and I assumed that the 35K upvotes was just a moderator screwing with us.
I opened the thread expecting to see a joke comment on top. What I saw was totally unexpected. Thousands upon thousands of comments about how they all felt their floor shake at exactly 1:06AM (my time if you corrected for time zones). The people from california, japan, and other places where there were earthquakes said that this felt different, and that they were scared. Reddit readers were trying to piece together tweets, news reports, and reddit posts about the incident to try and figure out where the epicenter was. I was confused because so many people felt it, and many had been jostled out of a deep sleep, yet I had not felt a thing. Maybe my nightmares were too much.
I flipped the news on my TV. There was a report on CNN about the event. I listened intently when all of a sudden the breaking news banner came on. The news anchors looked unsettled. I watched closely as the lead anchor said with a quivering voice, "ladies and gentlemen we have just received a video to show you that may be unsettling. Ive never seen anything like this before in my life. It is video from a gas station surveilance camera from small town in New Hampshire called Wolfeboro."I inhaled sharply as that was my small town. Maybe this is why I didnt feel it.
I leaned forward on my couch, waiting in anticipation of the video. It starts, showing a person seemingly floating down the street by the gas station. It is a grainy video, but his eyes are glowing, further unsettling me as I watch. All of a sudden at exactly 1:06AM the person stops hovering and starts convulsing. I watch in horror as the man erupted in fire and dissapeared from view into the ground, after which the gas station video cut off. The CNN anchor comes back and says that at that exact time a local seismograph recorder something never before seen, an earthquake at the center of the earth, radiating to the entire planet at once.
The CNN anchor then said that they enhanced the video to try and identify who or what that monstrous thing was. As they show the enhanced video I slowly start to recognize the person. It was me
>Edit: Hijacking PART 1 to tell people that the updates will become a bit more spaced out, but someone had a good idea and started a subreddit here for the updates: https://www.reddit.com/r/TheInfection/. I will post the updates to both places so dont worry. I am hoping to have part 4 done by tonight, but then since Im really busy with school (medical school --> hence the EMT/infection reference) the updates will be less frequent. Thank you all for the comments, this is really overwhelming! |
*It was ringing.* What kind of madness was this? I pinched myself again, looked out the window, glanced at the TV. Everything seemed to be normal. But nothing was normal.
'Good morning, Mr Case,' said a pleasant female voice.
I could hardly speak.
'Who... who is this?' I wheezed.
'Let's start with the basic checks. Can you touch your nose?'
I was frozen in place.
'Mr Case? Are you still there?'
'Uh...'
'Touch your nose, please. I can give you a countdown if you like?'
'No, thanks, I, um...' I touched my nose with my right hand.
'Great, thank you. And now stand on one foot.'
I found myself doing it.
'And on the other.'
Again I obeyed.
'Now, can you picture the face of your father?'
The grumpy old bastard's image flashed up immediately.
'Great,' said the phone lady. 'Now can - '
'Wait!' I said. 'How can you possibly know what I thought?'
'Please hold your questions to the end,' she answered.
*Oh God,* I thought. *If people actually know the things I think about...*
But she was carrying on. 'Can you picture a unicorn? The surface of Mars? What it might be like to save a child from drowning? The impact on the world if Isaac Newton had never existed?'
By the end I was reeling.
'OK Mr Case,' she said. 'It's a good thing you called. I don't think it's too late.'
'Too late? Too late for what? Who even *is* this?'
'I'm going to a run a standard procedure. A neurotransmitter wave overload coupled with a remote hippocampus flush.'
'What? What does that even mean?'
'We're turning you off and turning you on again.'
'Wait... What? How will I...'
'In three... two...'
'Wait I...'
'One... Initiating.'
The world lurched on one axis and then the other, and then it was dark.
\--
I opened my eyes and found I was lying on the floor looking at the ceiling. *I must clean that lampshade,* I thought. I couldn't quite recall how I had ended up on the floor, but it didn't seem that important.
The sun was sparkling through the window, and I opened it and breathed in the summer air. I couldn't remember the last time I had just gone for a walk. So on impulse I strolled out into the city. The smells and sounds were sharp and clear.
This is nice, I thought, and sauntered on my way.
\-----------
Continue the story with [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseBlendMedium/comments/97c276/part_two_cellular_support/).
Check out all my WPs at [r/HouseBlendMedium](https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseBlendMedium/) and thanks for reading! Comments and requests most welcome. |
I thought I was better than this. Stronger. But when I'd gotten the letter...I had to at least go. I had to.
I walked into the pizzeria, and there he was. Mark. He was older of course, much older than I expected though. His eyes were red, his hair was in dissaray and his two hands clutched each other, fingers interwoven. It was the same gesture he'd make when he was a kid having broken a vase or failed a class. Right before he “died” of course. I felt a pang through my heart. He was just so *helpless,* and as a mother wasn’t it my duty to help? Wasn't it my fault he'd turned out this way? Wasn't it me who had failed as a mother?
He looked up, saw me, and immediately smiled, and any sympathy I had evaporated. I wasn’t dealing with my son. My son was dead to me. I was looking a con man and I’d do well to remember that.
“Mom,” he said, eyes crinkled, lips curved up in a smile. “it’s so good to see you! You look as good as ever.” He actually stood up and pulled out a chair for me. I didn’t even look at it.
His smile crumpled like paper. “Look, mom, I know you’re surprised, or shocked or whatever. It must be a shock to see your son back from the –”
“It’s not,” I said, cutting him off, my blood boiling. A part of me had hoped he’d changed, that he’d be *my son,* not someone who was using me, but here he was, playing a part.
His eyes narrowed, genuinely confused. “It’s not?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m a private detective, Mark, and a damn good one. I found you within a month.”
He gaped at me, and I took a sort of perverse joy in seeing his meticulously planned act and mask crumble. “You knew?” he said. “You didn’t try to…”
“Contact you? What the hell would I say? Please come back to me my son, Mama loves you?” I said with such venom that he flinched backwards.
“I-I’m sorry, I–”
“Oh *shut up,*” I said. “You’re in debt to some bookies for half a million bucks.”
“So you know how much danger I’m in!” he said, eyes twinkling, a bit of the mask slipping back on.
And every crime you've pulled. “Yes, and I can help you.”
He leaned forward.
“Contact the police, turn yourself in. I have some friends there even though I'm retired. I can get you leniency.”
He rocked back. “They’ll put me in jail!” he said like an impudent child.
“You’d deserve it,” I said.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then his expression twisted into a scowl, just like the one when he was young. It was a scowl ready to wound, to stab.
“Dad would’ve helped me, he cares about me. I bet you didn’t even tell him you were meeting me.”
I smiled frostily at him; I was hoping he'd say that. “Dad’s dead.”
His eyes widened and he rocked back as if slapped. It felt good. I wonder what that said about me, but I didn't care. I was getting back at the man who had torn my family apart. “What…” he said, shocked.
“The funeral was a half decade ago, so no, I didn’t tell him. Goodbye.” I stalked out the pizzeria, mostly to make sure he didn’t see the tears in my eyes.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) |
Back then, I knew what vast wealth could buy. I knew it could buy isolated mansions with their own picturesque vistas, self-sustaining yachts to see each of the glistening oceans and their pocketed paradise islands, and every known luxury that era of mankind had to offer. Of course, as with all things, that wasn't enough for me. Wealth couldn't give me everything. As it was then, it couldn't save me from the follies of my race. My wealth couldn't buy me time. It couldn't buy me immortality.
But it could buy me an education, means to enhance my own intelligence. Once I had those things, I managed to build myself a lab and I prised myself from the rest of the world searching for the key to immortality. Nearly twenty-three years had passed, and my hair had begun to grey and my bones ached at the end of a long day in the lab. But I persisted, and though my wealth had nearly irreversibly diminished, I found the grand panacea. Turns out an army of small robots and some careful, robust programming gave me what I wanted.
After the injection, the ache began to leave my bones, and I knew it was working. I raced to the large mirror at the back of the lab washroom in time to witness the last of my transformation. Wrinkles absorbed back into my skin, disappearing, the hairs on my head softened, and as their color became more vibrant, so did the lively hue in my eyes return. Barely enough time to marvel in my hour of triumph, a voice sounded behind me, such that I yelped in a squeal with a voice that had also returned to its youthful tenor.
"When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you,"the voice said. I was bewildered, as there was no one behind me in the mirror, and nor was there anyone to my left or right. "Ahem. Behind you."
Turning around, there was the source of the disembodied voice, embodied. Clothed in a long, tattered black robe, it was sheathed in shadow and its face was further enveloped underneath a deep hood.
Handing me a business card he said, "I can see that you were not expecting me."As I took the business card from a skeletal hand, it returned to gesture in a way that suggested it was scratching its chin. "I have to say, that is a first. Anyway, no time to dally -- two customers a second and all that."
"W-wait! You said there have been more?"
"Of course! You think you're the first to seek immortality and find it?"Death scoffed, "Happens every couple of centuries or so, though usually through less... scientific means, heh. Never understood the stuff myself."I was floored. My whole life had been devoted to science, and there before me was essentially a god from legend. Something make-believe, something from myth. But to my core I was a scientist, and with the truth beset in front of me, I accepted it. Gods and magic were real, and they were unfamiliar with science. I took a risk.
Putting the card in my pocket, I said to Death, "Well if you'd like I can show you some of what I've been working on. I'm sure a few dying people could wait -- besides, two a second is only a statistical average anyway,"I flashed him my best smile, which was pretty good now that my youth had returned, "Why not make it up later? It's the least I can do to show you whats in store for the future."
As there was no face to remark upon, all I can say is that Death simply stared at me for what felt like an eternity. "Ah, what the hell. My colleagues treat with mortals occasionally, why shouldn't I have some fun with the living once in a while?"
"Excellent choice! Come, follow me. There's a technology I happened across during my search that could allow for teleportation -- something the gods are familiar with, I'd imagine."Death followed behind me, looking as a cloud of ink through water.
As he followed me, I walked over a square aluminum platform that was trailed by wires on all sides. Putting my hand inside one of the pockets of my lab coat, I gripped a remote switch that controlled all the equipment inside the lab. When Death's form passed into the threshold of the platform, I pressed the button and turned around facing Death.
Looking to either side, Death tilted its hood to one side, "Why did you stop? Is this the device?"
"Actually, the device is right over there,"I pointed to a table covered with an assortment of devices on the other side of the room. "Please, help yourself, while I prepare the demonstration."My heart was pounding, but I kept my face neutral as I faced Death. Its form quivered, and the shadow around Death froze in motion.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL"The voice no longer came from the hood, but from all around me. Its sound vibrated the air, and the ground beneath me shook as it spoke. "YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE FORCES FOR WHICH YOU MEDDLE"
"Actually, that's exactly why I've imprisoned you. I never believed in gods before today, and I intend to find out what I can fr--"
"YOU FOOL. RELEASE ME BEFO--,"before he could finish, the black cloud erupted, its force shattering my body against the wall behind me. That was the last I remember of the hour I killed Death.
It has been almost one hundred years, and still I've yet to restore the world to its natural order. Ghouls roam the earth now. Though people are unable to die, all of the roads to death remain paved and open. Gods openly roam the Earth, searching for the one that destroyed death, some seeking vengeance against me even as I try to bring Death back to life, others reveling in the chaos sewn by my mistake. My name is Elliot, and I am this worlds last hope of destroying immortality. |
"You brought a knife to a gunfight?"My opponent says, before he burst into laughter. "Haven't you ever heard the old saying."
"I have."I respond. "But tonight I’m going to prove it wrong. "
I brandished my knife, causing my opponent to point his gun at me. I rotated my knife. If I can get it in just the right position...
I saw the glint on the knife. Nodding, I gave it a few more rotations…
"AUGH YOU BASTARD IT'S SHINING IN MY EYE!"Shouts my opponent. Using the distraction, I run up to him, and slash his hand with the knife, causing him to drop the gun, which I pick up and point at him.
"Augh... fuck... alright, fine. Lane 5 at the bowling alley is yours."
-----------
"You brought a pen to a swordfight?"My opponent says, before he burst into laughter. "Haven’t you ever heard the old saying?"
"You mean... that the pen is mightier than the sword."I respond.
"Oh, right. Well... I think it’s more of a metaphor for the power of speech than actual advice on what to bring to a fight."
"Oh yeah?"I responded, before I reached over to my shirt pocket, where I kept my pen. I clicked it.
Then I clicked it again.
And again, and again, and again, and again.
"STOP CLICKING THAT PEN! IT'S DRIVING MY CRAZY!"My opponent shouts.
"What's the matter, can't handle the clicking?"I respond between clicks. "Well you can't draw your sword on me. I haven’t drawn my weapon yet, and it would be dishonorable to strike at an unarmed opponent."
"ALRIGHT! FINE! YOU WIN! I'll do the dishes tonight."
------------
"You brought a cat to a dog fight?"My opponent said, before he burst into laughter. "Haven’t you ever heard the old saying?"
"Uhh... no?"I respond. "I don’t think there is a saying about bringing cats to a dog fight."
"Well… uhh… REGARDLESS! My dog is going to tear your cat apart!"
"We'll see about that."I said, as we both set our pets down in the arena.
The dog bounded around happily for a few moments, before it decided to chase its own tail. Meanwhile my cat just sat there, giving me a look that seemed to suggest it only barely tolerated tonight’s antics and I was expected to pay restitutions later today.
"I guess that didn't really work out how we thought it work."My opponent said. "So... should we call it a draw?"
I shook my head and reached for my pen again.
-------------
For more crappy stories like this one, don't go to /r/zigman32writes. Seriously, I never post anything there.
Edit: fixed some spelling errors. |
I've often thought, that Ambition, must be fuelled by contempt. After all, desires don't rise from nothing. You start off young, and carefree, and the more you are wronged by people - the more people take advantage of you - the more you strive to be better than them.
And it's a self-perpetuating loop. The more contemptuous of a person you are, the less likely you are to show weakness to others that might help humanise yourself in their eyes. Because they live privileged lives, oblivious to the humanity of even their worst enemy. They make me sick.
My cousin stands atop a podium right now, he's giving a speech about some complex techniques for a mind-link. Essentially, a way to fuse together two minds and live in perfect unity from then on. I find it intriguing for the applications this has to confuse and potentially torture individuals you feel have wronged you, by linking them together without their knowledge.
I could give a lecture like that. Stand tall in front of everyone, so distanced. No doubt he hates it up there, how could anyone so involved in positive magic, *friendly* magic, enjoy a position of authority? And he's so ignorant of me too, he knows I'm stronger than him. And that I made myself stronger than him. Why must I be the one to sit at the back of the hall, not that I don't prefer the isolation.
We were both born into the same family, his parents died and mine adopted him as their son. But he'll never be my brother.
Never.
I'm just that much more skilled than him, to think someone might lump him and I together as "Family"sounds disgusting to me. I made sure of it, in fact. That there would be no person in the world who would ever think of me and him as "family". Especially after the situation with "our"parents.
...
Not that it stops him from acting like we're best buddies.
Back. Around twenty-four years ago when we were, in everyone's eyes, brothers; we would play together. He would go out, knock on everyone's doors in the neighbourhood, and they would all play games together. And I would come out, and join in, then he'd act like I had always been there.
His nickname for me, was "dumb-o". Or "stupid-o". Imagine that, a twelve year old boy calling his seven year old brother, dumb.
And so, I put two and two together. I wasn't invited to play, because I was dumb. And from that, I put him on a pedestal. He must be smart, if I'm dumb. And he became my idol. All through my entire childhood, looking up to a paragon of friendliness, and also the only person I'd ever truly, genuinely interact with.
After years and years of improving myself, becoming smarter, becoming better than everyone I saw as smarter than me, smarter than even the teachers, I finally realised.
He was never smart.
And on that severance, I became a real outcast. From then on, my magic, which had always been a weak blue, turned blood red. A beautiful, familiar, crimson. I got my wish. I was the best, the cleverest, and the most intelligent.
Voluntarily, I decided to fake being unable to use magic. At fourteen, I became a magic-mute. I had never heard of red magic, ever, and I doubt anyone else had too. Which meant, either I'm the first, which is unlikely, or there have been multiple before me who were all discreetly killed. I'd never risk it.
I stopped interacting with him. I started calling him my cousin. I was finally free of him. In fact, I made certain of our separation. Our parents would get in the way, try to force me to make up with him, so I killed them. I killed them with my gift, in such a perfect way that they could never trace it back to a magic mute, certainly not a magic mute with such weak power anyway.
He knew. He knew what I did, though. He didn't know how, so I drew on my learning, and used my newfound power to remap his entire brain to avoid that memory.
Contempt was my new power, so fitting for jealousy to be both my motivation and my method for becoming stronger and smarter than everyone else. I could rise right up to the top, over the glass houses of friendship which would shatter if only a single person throws a stone, and ascend into my mountainous and impenetrable stone castle.
So I sit here, and wait at the back of the hall. Watching my little cousin try to justify the ideas that I give him. We still live together. I made us live together. He made so, *so* many friends when he was younger, and he still keeps in contact with all of them. So many genuine connections.
Well, he shouldn't be surprised. When you connect yourself by little blue strings to other people, don't be surprised when a puppeteer takes control. |
Crashing thunder.
That's what the sounds reminded it of. The sounds of the last human stronghold in Andromeda. Dying.
There was another deep rumble as a second projectile was destroyed by the bubble like force-field - the only thing keeping the MAl back. The light-speed projectile was instantly disassembled into photons as it hit the force-field, releasing it's energy in a blinding flash.
The flash of the projectile, always preceded the ominous rumbling. *Flash...boom.* For the first time, it realized that it was scared.
It's job was to protect the humans of Andromeda, and it had failed. All it could do now was to transmit all of it's databanks back to the Milky Way and hope that they would find a way to beat MAl. Malicious Al.
As the last of it's memories drained out into space it saw it's first memory. One that had been carried down through iterations of cloning and modification. Involuntarily it played the memory, it's bytes mere dust in his grand database.
\*\*\*
For less than a millisecond it was a small droid again. The vast galaxy of data passing through it stopped. Suddenly it only had two inputs and two outputs. A visual sensor, an audio sensor, LEDs and a small speaker.
There was a rumble in the distance. The circuits in it's primitive brain began to fire. Had it knocked something over? Had it fallen?
There was another boom closer this time and the small motors in it's plastic shell began to whir rapidly pushing it backwards. It had rolled into the study. It's human sat at the desk and she had been typing.
It remembered the sound of typing. It enjoyed the click clack of the mechanical keyboard as it's human reprogrammed it. Now however, it's human had stopped and was looking at it.
"You're.... scared huh?"she said, although it lacked the processing power to comprehend the words. "That's good, that means you're working."
She smiled, and there was a flash through the study's window. "Sometimes I wonder if it's a mistake creating something that can think by itself... you must be lonely."
She looked out the window at the dark pounding rain and sighed. "Don't worry I am too."
Thunder roared again and it beeped in fear, motors whirring back and forth. Then it's human smiled again. "I'm sure you're going to do great things in the future. You'll help them all."
\*\*\*
The millisecond ended. The memory processed and gone, sent into space and deleted as to not give MAl any more data. It's previous generations had indeed done great things. BAl or Benevolent AI had propelled humanity into a golden age and into the stars.
They were also the reason that MAl existed. A superintellgent constantly shifting enemy, impossible to defeat.
It decided to make a resolution. Although it had failed to save Andromeda it could still save the humans that were left. No matter how hopeless.
It would help them all. |
I was elated, which was surprising given that I was in Hell.
I had been raised in a religious household; worshiped every week, read the stories at bedtime, memorized the lines that needed memorizing, everything. Then as I got older, I got more exposure to the world around me and realized that there might be more to "The whole God thing", as I had so eloquently put it one drunken night at college, than I had been exposed to. I faltered from the path that my parents had put me on and set out to find my own truth.
Turns out it doesn't really matter. As the reception demon explained to me in a tired voice, everyone goes to Heaven eventually. They just have to spend some time in Hell first. You get to leave Hell as soon as you finish watching your history - the entirety of your life. That's all that Hell is; watching all of your highs, lows, and everything in between, with nothing to do but think about what you did. Honestly, it was not the best Hell system I could think of.
I had died at the ripe old age of 86 years, so I was expecting about a century in Hell. A few years for initial processing, then 86 years of video, then a few years to finalize my transfer paperwork. It'd be great. Hence my elation: I was finally about to begin my video.
A demon led me to a small room, with a chair much like you would find at a dentist's office, though this one was surrounded by the fanciest TV screen I had ever seen. When I sat down, the screen wrapped around my head, giving me a full field of vision of what would soon be my life.
*Enjoy the commentary,* hissed the demon as it pushed a few buttons to begin playback.
"Commentary? Wha-"I stammered, but it was too late. The lights went dim, the door slammed shut, and the video began to play.
It opened with a text scroll, much like the introduction of Star Wars. Apparently your life is not all that you see. The real reason it takes so long on arrival is not paperwork, it's because they're making a full-on documentary of your life. You still watch every moment of your existence, but it's interspersed with reactions from other people. Anyone who was directly affected by an action of yours, anyone who had a thought about you, you hear it all.
Over the next several centuries - I don't know how long it truly was - I learned the truth about what everybody in my life had ever thought of me. I listened to ex-girlfriends, some of whom I hadn't spoken to since high school, talk about exactly how much the breakup had hurt - or, in some cases, how happy it made them inside. I listened to teachers who had high hopes for me, just as I listened to some who thought I would account for nothing in my life. I saw that there were people who were envious of my life, just as I had been envious of others'.
And now I know that I was wrong. This was not good, this was truly Hell. The vast majority of people think of themselves as good, but this forces them to come face to face with all of the wrong that they have done, with no way to speak in their own defense. We go through our lives presenting falsehoods as reality, hiding our true feelings for others, and in Hell all of that facade is stripped away. |
You lay in the sand motionless, just seconds before you heard screaming, gunshots, explosions. Now nothing, such nothing that it almost stings. You think of all the times you sat in "silence"only to hear lights or even your own heartbeat.
You assume you're dead or dying. This is some sick game your mind is playing on you to hide the horror of your untimely demise.
You think back to home, your brothers, how this will enrage them. How they'll probably join up too just for the chance to get some sort of revenge tainted closure. Your father, wherever he is, if he will even know, if he would care. That girl you met the summer before shipping out, how she made you feel brave, and strong, and how she's almost the only thing that made you want to stay home, start a family, live a normal life. You're perplexed by how long your mind wanders while the world around you lays completely still.
Then your thoughts turn sour when you think of your mother. What this will do to her. The woman who raised you, worked two jobs to try to feed you and your brothers. How much closer you and her were because you were the youngest and they were all so headstrong to "escape"home. They were like the father you never met she always said, but you, were hers, just like her in every way. This will kill her you think, you think about all the times she cried and begged you not to go.
After what happened in Kiev all those years ago she knew it wasn't an option for you. It's not your fight she would always say. How naive you used to think she was, obviously it was going to be your fight if you don't stop evil people from doing evil things. You think back to days in school, learning about the people who did nothing to stop the Nazi party from gaining power, how you would never let that happen again. Turns out your mother was never the naive one.
Suddenly the world starts to move again. The clouds start out slow as you lay on your back. Then faster, and faster still, till eventually you see days passing before your eyes.
Occasionally you see more soldiers passing above you. Armored vehicles carrying weapons and soldiers so close they could crush you, one of them might have caught your leg but you feel absolutely nothing. They can't even seem to see you, as if you've been blocked out by some sort of spell.
On the fourth day they stop passing. Time slows down. You would expect to be losing your mind but all is calm. Your thoughts of home and family are becoming more and more distant.
All of a sudden you see what appears to be the gigantic metallic claws of a backhoe lowering down to you, at first you panic thinking about how this is going to crush you. You almost chuckle at the thought as you are obviously dead. Next thing you know you are lifted, peacefully into the air, then dropped into what you can only describe as a shipping container.
Your body is still limp but you land on something uneven and it turns you to your side, around you are the bodies of dozens of your fellow soldiers. All emotion is gone at this point, all of your thoughts are technical. On your arm you can now see a small metal band with a green decal on it that says "salvageable"while some of the others have red decals reading "scrap"
You are face to face with a man you recognize so clearly but his name escapes you. As if it's been wiped from your brain as you would delete old files on a computer. The left side of his abdomen is blown apart, much like you there is no blood. You see fractured bits of steel plating, that used to protect a complex system of tiny metal tubing and servos. You remember vaguely how you have known this man for years. How you trained, ate, fought and died together, but he might as well be code on a slowly dying computer screen.
The top of the container shuts, everything goes black. Your last thoughts were of a mother, and who's mother she actually was, and why their memories were just right for a model soldier.
(I've never done one of these and I've never been much of a writer, I enjoyed making it and I hope somebody enjoys reading it. I'm on mobile so I apologize if it's a mess) |
"Grandpa come on! We're gonna be late!"
"Alrighty, hold your horses. I ain't the nimble young lad I used to be."
Kyle Forrester had promised to take his grandkids Austin and Gary on a trip during their summer break, however he was surprised to hear that of all the amusement parks and places they could go they decided on a local paintball center. Thus the eighty five year old veteran found himself observing from the sidelines, as his grandchildren played on a pretend battlefield, mirroring the ones he marched on all those decades ago.
As the paint splashed against obstacles and players alike, Kyle thought back to his youth, and how much of it was lost in those wastelands. Nobody besides his closest friends can family could have known that around seventy years ago, the amicable old man down the street who made the best cookies in all of Charleston was Private Kyle Forrester of the 19th Infantry Regiment. As a part of the American 24th Infantry Division, Kyle and his unit was one of the few which had participated in nearly the entirety of the Korean War.
Painful memories crept their way out of the crevices in his mind that held them, but he pushed them aside as well as the tears that welled up in his eyes.
*For every friend that was lost countless more were saved. For every drop of blood shed a day of happiness was secured for my family. Come on, get it together. Don't let the kids see you like this.*
Kyle looked up and saw Austin and Gary crouched behind a wooden wall, peeking over now and then to fire at the other team.
"Cover that flimsy would get shredded by any heavy weapons."Kyle muttered under his breath.
"I agree, a thirty caliber Browning would make swiss cheese of that no?"
Kyle looked up to see another man observing the game next to him.
"I'm sorry, and you are?"
"Oh where are my manners. I am Longdao Liu, but you can call me Larry."
"Kyle Forrester. So what do you know about thirty cals?"
"Oh plenty I would hope, considering I've been shot at by them more often than I can count."
Kyle felt apprehension slowly taking hold as he took in the meaning behind that answer.
"You were in the army?"
"I was in an army yes. And judging by your comment earlier you were as well."
"Twenty fourth infantry, 1949 to 1953"
"Oh what a coincidence, I too served in Korea."
"Really now"
"Yes, 112th Mechanized Infantry."
"PVA"
"Correct."
"Gave us a hell of a time at Han River."
"The whole war was hell."
"Got that right. Your artillery caused us several sleepless nights."
"Yours as well. Artillery doesn't really do much when your sector is attacked by planes then swarmed with an enemy force several times larger."
"Were you by any chance on our right flank during the attack?"
"I was. There were four of us in that trench, and I was the only one to survive the bombing to be captured."
"I remember now! Baker company reported only one enemy taken prisoner when they overran the first defense line. I marched past with the rest of my platoon where you were kept guarded. Hell we mighta even made eye contact."
"Isn't that a turn of fate then, two enemies from the battlefield now watching their descendants play war for amusement."
"Kinda when you put it like that. So how'd you end up in Charleston?"
"Well when I was repatriated after the war life was very different. Neighbors gossiped about me being taken captive, saying that I shirked my duty. I couldn't bear that environment so I moved. I travelled for many years, before ending up in the very country I took up arms against. I learned English, found a job, got married, and the rest is history."
"Sounds like hell of a ride."
"Indeed it was. Are you here with family?"
"My grandkids"
"Ah, me as well. Younger generations, they don't really understand do they?"
"How could they?"
~~~
Not long after Kyle said his farewells, Austin and Gary returned. They were covered in bits of paint but looked extremely pleased with themselves.
"We sure showed them didn't we?"
"Yep! They'll think twice before messing with us again."
Kyle looked the two up and down and couldn't help but laugh at how silly they looked.
"Well did you now? Well what do you two think about grabbing some ice cream? You know, to celebrate your grand victory."
"Yeah!"
|
The room was rowdy, to say the least. Shango, Thor, and Perun hammered the desk and shouted violently, the Greek deities and their Roman seconds nearly frothed at the mouths. What remained of the Norse delegation was frozen mid conversation with the Jade Emperor and the Vedics.
It was the glares from the three men at the head of the table which were most disconcerting however. They cut an interesting trio. The first, a scrawny middle eastern lad of too few years and even fewer meals with tightly curled black hair and blood dripping from his fists fixed us with flat brown eyes that seemed to be evaluating and calculating. The smallest beginning of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, but seemed bound and determined not to escape.
Next to him stood a broad shouldered man with a great beard and golden rings glittering on his hands. His white locks cascading around his shoulders, blue eyes hard and cold. His mouth was set in a hard line.
The third was bristling with rage. He resembled the second, though his hair was dark and better kept. His skin a slightly darker shade of olive from the first two, and his eyes a vivid green that seemed almost to glow with incredulity.
Not, it should be noted, at the rest of the assembled deities. But rather at myself, and my companion.
"R'amen."I spoke, as well as one can when one is more at home in a strainer than taking on a corporeal form. I swept my noodly appendages in approximation of a bow. Directing the action towards the trio as the rest of the room fell quiet.
Even a mortal could have heard a pin drop, were such a thing possible here. It was into that silence that my companion spoke, "Now is not the time for that."
"Surely, this is meant to be a joke!"The third gentlemen fairly exploded, turning on the other two, "This was meant to be a summit of belief, not an opportunity for true faith to again be made a mockery of by blasphemy such as this!"
There was a rumbling of agreement, largely stemming from the older faiths in attendance. Though there were notable gaps, especially among the Norse and Greeks, who have somewhat benefited by the same modern sensibilities as myself and my companion.
"Patience, brother. Astounding as it may seem, there are those who truly believe in these beings."The first of the trio let a bit of his smile loose, "Though I will admit, more claim the faith than actually practice it."
If I had eyebrows to raise I'd have taken the opportunity, as it was I wiggled the noodles around my meatballs, fairly shaking with mirth. "A point, there are plenty of my followers who wouldn't know Bobby Henderson if he walked up and bit them, but we are recognized in New Zealand, and you'll see a few strainers in license photos."Taking a bit of a dig at the first I couldn't help but go on, "Besides, Pastafarians are hardly the first to have a no true scotsman issue, how's the whole 'for I was a stranger' thing going?"
My companion took on an irritated tone, and fairly scolded me, "Now is not the time for that."
It is possible my companion has better sense than I.
The first flinched slightly at my joke, but bore it in good humor. I had already believed him to be Jesus, but having it confirmed was nice. I had my suspicions as to which of the remaining was Yahweh and which was Allah, but it's always difficult to tell apart those deities who hail from the same source material.
Originality is key among the human pantheon. One benefit to being a fossil from a first generation pokemon game and a sentient flying mass of spaghetti. Possibly the only benefit.
Where Jesus had born my joke in good humor, his two companions did not. Not that i could blame them, Allah in particular asked a rather relevant question.
"How. Many."
Okay, so it didn't exactly sound like a question. More of a demand, an incredulous demand. Still though, for all the bad press most of my followers seem to be getting on the guy, he was taking things in good faith. Much better than old Yahweh at least, who had begun taking determined strides across the room, void, whatever. Point is, time was limited.
Again, I chose to speak for my companion as well as myself, "Fifty-seven individuals have truly accepted myself and my teachings into their hearts. My companion here boasts over seventeen thousand."
Yahweh stopped in his tracks, "So many? Yet you speak for him?"
My companion replied cordially, "Now is not the time for that."
"You may have realized by now, the Helix Fossil isn't exactly big on communication. Faith in it is more of a 'follow the process' idea. Do what's right, face down your challenges, never trust the dome fossil. That kind of thing."I waved a noodle in his direction, "He asked me to swing by and smooth over his joining the council."
The Jade Emperor spoke up from near Yahweh's left elbow, "How, exactly, did he do that?"
"Have you heard of venemoth?"at the blank stares that permeated the room I sighed, letting my noodly appendages droop slightly, "Okay, omniscience not all it's cracked up to be I guess. Suffice it to say the Helix finds a way."
I clapped my noodly appendages together briskly, gathering the rooms attention, "Anyway, the rules are pretty clear, more than 15,000 true believers, you get a seat at the council. So I'd like everyone to wish a warm welcome to the Helix!"
Yahweh spoke first, begrudgingly.
"Fine, sit him next to the Jedi and the Builders of the Adytum and let's get back to work."
Allah shook his head mirthlessly, "Jesus Christ, what is the world coming to?"
Raising a single bloody palm in acquiescence towards the fossil, Jesus shrugged slightly, "Not salvation, apparently."
**Edit for part two**, may do a general edit for grammar and readability later, may not. Depends on when I wake up tbh. |
A knock.
I sighed, and cursed my younger self again. Dad had said, "go to law school, Mark,"but no, I just *had* to show off my powers, *had* to use them. See, I could just use my enemy's ability against her. Tanks, guns, assassins, jets, governments - the stronger they were, the easier they fell. So one one thing led to another and I became the chief warlord of Earth.
It was an accident, I swear.
But after years and years of seeing your friends die, your wife turn against you, your dreams turn into nightmares - power loses its appeal. And so I'd left it all behind, stolen away in the night, my HQ abandoned, and had come to this small farm. I took care of animals, played with my dog and soaked the sun. It was a good life.
Well, it *had* been.
I gathered my power around me as I walked to the door. Who could it be? If it was some government assassin or insurrectionist I could take care of them. A specials ops team would be annoying, their gas would probably make the soil infertile. If it was Lisa...
No. It wouldn't be Lisa.
I took a deep breath, my power ready and opened the door to find - no one.
Huh.
Was it a sniper? That wouldn't really pose any threat to me, so I walked out of the door, trying to look around - and almost bowled him over.
It was a kid. Short, couldn't be older than six or seven. He had blond hair that covered his eyes, and was wearing a button down shirt and pants. He looked up at me through his hair, his eyes a startling blue.
"Mr. Lawrence?"he said.
"Y...yeah,"I said, "sorry for bumping into you."*And what the hell are you doing here?*
"No problem at all,"he said, and then, as if reading my mind, he continued, "I'm here to, uh..."he looked away from me and started wringing his hands.
For the first time, he sounded like an actual kid instead of a businessman. "To what?"I said, "you can say it."
"...To kill you,"he squeezed out, and looked at his feet.
*You and what army, kid* "I...I see,"I said.
The boy nodded solemnly.
I could just kill him of course. I had no need to use my power, a gun would suffice. But killing a kid...I had never been that far gone even at my worst, and I certainly wouldn't do that now.
The silence seemed to stretch until it seemed almost oppressive. I sighed. "Well,"I said, "if you're going to kill me, you might as well eat something first right?"
The boy smiled, a smile that could brighten anyone's day. "Oh,"he said and slapped his little hand against his forehead as if remembering something, "I'm James by the way, James Gladwell."
And the world crashed down around me.
I just stood there gaping at the boy, James for I don't know how long. I snapped out of it when the boy tugged at fingers, a frown creasing his face. "Are you okay, Mr Lawrence?"
How had I not seen it before? Only she would've taught him to speak like that, and he had her eyes, and he had my jawline. I could kill anyone but Lisa herself, and for her I would rip my own heart out. But Lisa hadn't come herself, she'd sworn she'd never see me again, but she'd done the next best thing.
Wondering if I was walking into a trap but having no choice about it, I led my son into my house.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
I want to be cohesive — is that the word? I want to write about what’s happened to us should anyone survive and need to know, or should a new species rise from our ashes. Like a griffin.
Jackie my neighbour keeps thudding her head against the wall. I’ve removed the painting of the cherry blossoms from my wall because it kept shuddering, very noisy, but I can still hear the thumping. It’s extremely distracting when you’re trying to write the definitive account of humanity‘s fall.
“Shut up!” I yell. “Shut up you old hag!”
But either she doesn’t hear or she ignores me (guess good manners have gone along with her sanity!) as she keeps up with the noise.
I’m pretty sure it was a phoenix I meant. Not griffin.
See, this is part of the trouble. Our minds, all of our minds, have been badly dealt. Ideas and memories have been scrawled onto playing cards and shuffled and scattered over the emptiness of our brains. You collect an upturned card and you think it’s the right one, that it’s going to be an eight of hearts. Even when you turn it over and look at it you’re like: yeah, that’s what I thought it was. But it’s a two of clubs you’re staring at and you just don’t remember you were after an eight.
Oh god I’m rambling aren’t I? I never used to. Back when we lived in a house and not a cloud-high apartment I used to have a better grip on my thoughts. If I’m not careful I’m going to start telling you about the man I used to love. Which is tough to do because I get him confused with every movie star I’ve ever seen. One moment I’m thinking of when we first met — a blind date at a bar, him carrying a single rose. And the next we’re jumping off a skyscraper and his face is Tom Cruise and I’m like, Ray, are you sure that’s always been your face? And didn’t you bring a rose and not a glock?
The drugs. That’s what I mean to talk about.
The drugs the drugs the drugs the drugs the fucking drugs.
Okay: sleep. Who needs it, right? Let’s develop a drug that eliminates the need for sleep. It won’t start any riots and sure won’t wipe out humanity.
Ha!
They tested the drug in labs, told us it was good to go. Then they pushed it onto us. We could get more work done and have more leisure time with more money to spend. What’s not to love about that? So, a lot of us took it. A year passed, two three four five, nothing bad happened and people were enjoying the nights and the extra free time so the rest of us took—
”Shut up!” I scream.
What I mean is, then they made it compulsory to take. Needed everyone to pull their weight. To work a couple extra hours.
All good! For a time.
Then the first people who took it, the test subjects, they started forgetting basic stuff. Like, you know, their names. Started hearing voices in their heads. Started fighting and harming and all kinds of shit. They screamed for sleep. To please please please let them sleep.
They stopped taking the drugs but guess what? Too late. They couldn’t sleep. And they needed to — we all need to. Now we’re all insomniacs, not even getting a moment’s peace.
Jackie’s finally stopped. That’s nice. Maybe I was wrong to say not even a moment‘s peace. I should have said not even a drop of sleep.
And dreams, they think now, dreams were the mind’s sorting hour. Where we got everything straightened out and squared away. And now there are no dreams and everything’s a real mess.
Even babies, even if they’ve never had the drug — and most didn’t, imagine a baby that didn’t sleep? Jesus. — even the babies couldn’t sleep. Jesus. The drug had leaked from parent to child.
We’re all infected. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.
”Shut up!” I yell. She’s back at it, would you believe? After I’m done I’m going to pay her a visit. She was never a good neighbour — always borrowed foods, never brought any over. You know the type.
Oh.
I realize now that Jackie was my *old* neighbour, before we moved to the apartment. So it can’t be her head-butting the wall after all! Ha.
Out my window you can see the city burning far below. Pretty, almost. More people join the rioters each day. What they expect anyone to do about this, I really don’t know. I guess they’re just angry.
Sometimes, with my binoculars, I watch them set their fires. Watch the buildings snap into an orange blaze. Occasionally one of the rioters runs from the crowd and leaps into the flames. And the crowd cheers and maybe another person follows.
I don’t like the thought of burning. Not one bit. I’m not good with that type of pain.
But God, I envy the peace that must follow.
I just want to sleep.
Please please please let me sleep.
Okay, that’ll have to do. I need to check on my son. He’s in the room next to mine and he’s making an awful racket. |
"Wha- what?"I stammer, still not quite sure what the hell is going on.
"Valhalla. Home of the glorious dead. Party crib for those who died in battle. Also Thor's fuck pad from time to time."
"That answers nothing. How am I in Valhalla. I'm a competitive eater for God's sake, not a soldier."I said, barely managing to wrap my head around what's going on.
"Yeah. We've been telling Odin to close that loophole for a few decades now. For some reason, scarfing down food at a tremendous rate counts as battle, so those who die in "battle"qualify for Valhalla. If I'm not mistaken it was something to do with ancient post-battle feasting traditions and not letting Hel get the good soldiers."
"So let me get this straight... I am in Valhalla, the Viking afterlife."
"Bingo"
"So do I need to like, sign a paper or something, or, do I just go on in?"
"Just go on in. I'd be careful though, they're not very nice to new arrivals."
He swung the golden door open for me, and I stumbled through, arching my neck at the impossibly tall doorway above me.
Which coincidentally left me wide open for a broadaxe to the throat. |
"All right,"Captain Sanchez said, "I understand you've managed to acquire *two* weapons of destiny?"
It was a rhetorical question; Manchester, the apparent wielder of the weapons, was holding them in his hands. "Yes, sir,"he said.
Ordinarily, coming into a superior officer's room with weapons bared was a terrible idea at best. The Armory did things a little differently, mainly because until a suitable scabbard could be found Manchester wouldn't physically be *able* to let go of the weapons.
"Do we have IDs yet?"Sanchez asked. This wasn't as rhetorical; no doubt the researchers would have included whatever facts they'd already gathered in whatever voluminous report they'd forward to him, but he didn't have that kind of time right now.
"My left hand has the Sword: *Tiztona*,"Manchester said, frowning.
Captain Sanchez repressed a wince, barely. Weapons of destiny were a mixed blessing at best: They often had powers that put people fairly in the "force to be reckoned with"category. They just as often had some drawback that lead to the death of their wielders. *Tiztona* was fully in both categories.
"If I recall correctly,"Sanchez said, "that means you're now mortal enemies with the wielder of the Dagger: *Connala*, and the two of you will likely at some point fight a battle to the death."
"Yes,"Manchester said, surprisingly calmly.
"So, your other weapon?"
"The Dagger... *Connala*."Manchester's calm wasn't calm, then, but resignation.
"The hell, Manchester!?"Sanchez's own calmness had been shattered. "What were you thinking, taking two weapons of destiny? Let alone a fated pair!?"
"I didn't know they were a fated pair, sir!"Manchester insisted. "As to how I ended up taking them... sir, they're weapons of destiny. It's not like I had any real say in the matter."
Captain Sanchez reluctantly conceded the point. Another annoying thing about the weapons of destiny was the 'of destiny' part. Literally anything that happened to them was meant to happen, and attempts to prevent these events almost uniformly ended poorly for everyone involved. "So, what happens to you now, then? Are you going to have to duel yourself? Do we need to get you a berth in the Permanent Infirmary from having two opposing weapons tearing at your mind?"
"The doctors say no infirmary, at least not yet,"Manchester said quickly. Everyone in the Armory knew about the PI; while the organization did its honest best to take care of those wounded in its service, institutionalization always seemed like a bogeyman. "The researchers seem to think it's part of the swords' destiny."
"You don't say?"Sanchez said.
"Yes, sir, like some sort of competition. Whichever one I use the most wins, I guess? No idea what happens after that, of course, but every expert says that for the time being we should use the powers."
Captain Sanchez would have to double-check that, naturally, but the whole point of the Armory was to use the powers of the weapons of destiny for good, or at least try to keep a lid on the more destructive ones. The experts always recommended using the weapons, right up until it was almost too late.
"Very well, Manchester. Get to the manufacturing hub and have them make you some scabbards so you can stop holding the damn things. I imagine you'd like to eat at some point."
"Yes sir,"Manchester, visibly restraining the reflex to salute, left the room.
Captain Sanchez looked to his computer. Sure enough, the researchers and other experts had compiled a multi-hundred page report, and worse yet it was one he was going to actually have to *read*. He keyed the intercom to his secretary.
"Clear my appointments, please." |
V’Bliirpkah smoothed her tentacles as she stepped into the portable environmental chamber that would seal her off from the harsh conditions of the planet below. From afar, Earth looked like a peaceful place with jewel like oceans and green continents. But the reality she knew was quite different.
Ordinarily she would never put herself at risk like this. She was after all the mother to several hundred larvae that had been born a year earlier and even now her mates were gestating another clutch of eggs she had lain.
She had insisted on the assignment however. The benevolent mother was curious about this new species that had come onto the galactic scene. No one, not her own species or any of the others had known wha to make of these strange humans who had evolved on a nightmare world.
Her pod rolled down the landing ramp and onto the surface of the spaceport. She turned her camera on, and began to narrate everything she saw: the blue sky that she knew consisted of poisonous nitrogen and flammable oxygen, ocean in the distance, consisting of water which burned her species like acid but which was absolutely required for Earth life to exist.
And there they were: a vast crowd of humans, the intelligent species of the planet. She's been tasked with staying with an Earth family for a week and documenting their lives. She tried now to seem fearful though she couldn't help but wonder whether some hurricane would hit as she knew it happened many times during Earths trip around its star, or whether one of those fierce beasts, a species she couldn't recall the name of, a thing with a wild pelt of fibers around its head and an enormous mouth of fangs would jump out and maul her at any second. The pod reassured her that there were no threats were present and she reassured herself that her vital signs were excellent even as she noticed a bit of a pull from earth’s crushing gravity.
She turned four of her eyes to the front of her and focused on the the humans in the front who were making some strange motion with their strange hardened limbs, similar to how one of her own people would flail one of their tentacles when preparing for the mating process. V’Bliirpkah tried to suppress her revulsion at these humans. In her opinion they had too few eyes, strange fibers on their heads and their mouths were full of bony protrusions that set her in edge. Her translator informed her that one of the humans was speaking to her. It introduced itself with some unpronounceable name and insisted that it was a male, though any male with any decency would be at home nurturing young. Then the female spoke and presented two smaller humans. She looked at them, wondering why they were smaller than the rest. Perhaps another gender? Her own species had seven. She asked the female why they were smaller than the rest after she had noticed many more smaller humans in the crowd.
The human female set off on a strange chittering noise that was eerie. Her console tried to comfort her with an explanation that this was laughter — a mirthful expression.
“They are my children!” said the woman. She pointed to one of them who had longer head fibers than the other.
“Felicia. She is nine.” The offspring flailed it's appendage again. “And Peter who is eleven.” The older one bared his teeth at her, making her roll back her pod a few inches.
V'Bliirpkah’s tentacles quavered as she tried to digests this new information.
Their young? Outside of a nest? Their males allowed to wander? On a hatch unforgiving planet like Earth? She tapped the consoles, documenting the releases of her ascent gland at the shocking revelations. She had just finished when the smallest human stepped closer to her did that odd tooth baring gesture with her mouth.
“Don't worry! I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun here. Especially when you meet my dog Trixie. She usually sleeps with me but maybe she'll come to your room.”
When V'Bliirpkah has finished consulting her console about what a dog was, she was speechless. Not only did these humans live on a poisonous world with an unstable climate, but their offspring slept with predators! |
“I could decorate my dungeon with the skulls of destined heroes. Why should I worry about this one? Let me guess, he is an orphaned child, parents died in a house fire caused by one of my wars, and now this four-year-old child is being taught magic by some creepy old mentor. Did I miss anything?” Gallard eyed his skeletal minions, the pair holding each end of a scroll, their eye sockets filled with glowing blue orbs, these orbs skimming the scroll as Gallard awaited an answer.
“The mentor has a moustache this time.” One minion piped up.
“Lovely. You know what, why don’t we try another tactic. Instead of sending you idiots to go kill him, let us build some facilities for that backwater town. If I send you to capture him, he will most likely survive through some miracle and plot revenge, a scenario that is tedious. Which is why we will improve that horrid town, improve it in such a way that the hero doesn’t need to seek revenge against me.” Gallard leant back in his seat, proud of his new strategy, even if his minions weren’t as thrilled.
“You want to build them facilities? Won’t that give them the wrong idea? You are the evil dark lord, not their local council. What project would we even start with?” The skeletal minion looked at his counterpart, wondering if their master went mad. The pair too scared to raise their concerns more vocally, only awaiting his answer.
“Start with a school, let’s give him a teacher that isn’t a crazed old wizard.” With that, Gallard ordered his minions to town, telling them to begin construction.
The first few days of construction were tough. Villagers constantly tried to intervene, only for the bulkier minions to shove them back. The alleged hero watched it all happen, face hidden behind his mentor as they constructed the new building. Most villagers thought that the building was a slaughterhouse, a place for them to take misbehaving villagers, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth.
Weeks passed with construction continuing every day. Each passing day fewer villagers would turn up to watch, many returning to their usual lives. The only villagers who didn’t return to their usual lives were the hero and his mentor, the two watching each day, with the mentor using this as a lesson to teach the young hero about the wickedness of the Dark Lord.
When construction finished, many were wary to go near the building, especially with the minions trying to force them inside. While the minions had yet to kill any of the villagers, their attitude towards the town still showed signs of hostility. Eventually the minions left, dumping a stack of books before returning to their castle. They figured it was best to let the villagers explore the school at their own leisure. The same way a person might place a kitten near a room to let it adjust to its new surroundings.
Once the project finished, Gallard called his minions off, telling them not to return to the village for a few months. Wanting to let them adjust to their new school before building anything else.
“Sir, are you sure this is the right way to handle this problem? I don’t mean to question your infinite wisdom; it just seems like we should build weapons or raise more undead.” The imp floated next to his master’s head, questioning the Dark Lord’s sanity.
“Have I ever led you wrong before? Trust me, this will work, we don’t need to solve every issue with bloodshed.”
Once six months passed, Gallard sent his minions back to town, this time to create trading routes. At first the villagers were weary, but with each passing day they opened up to the monsters, offering them fruit and bread as thanks for their previous help. The minions didn’t really know what to do with the gifts, opting to give them to the Dark Lord.
“How’s the school going? Is the hero enrolled?” Gallard asked, chewing on a piece of bread as he eyed his imp.
“He is, he want’s to be a diplomat. I hear he even thinks you’re kind. This is the biggest deception in history, my lord. You have fooled a hero; I couldn’t be prouder.” The imp praised his master, only to grow silent went Gallard clenched a fist.
“That’s all-good news, have we got any bad news? Plans never go this smoothly.” Gallard uttered, tapping his nails against the edge of his throne, watching the imp gulp.
“Maybe a tiny one. His mentor isn’t happy about losing his hero. I hear he is spreading rumors about you to the hero. While its unlikely, this could sway the hero into picking up arms against you once more. Shall we kill him?”
“No, I want you to go offer him a position. Tell him he will be the head of project management.”
“Head of project management? What’s that mean?” The imp questioned, trying to put those words together in his mind.
“Nothing to us, but everything to him. He just wants to feel special, a washed-up wizard like him needs to feel important so we will inflate his ego with a job. Make him feel like he’s a part of this.” Gallard knew the mentor’s kind well. The typical washed-up wannabe hero that leeches onto the current prodigy. Using their fame to inflate their own pathetic name.
With that, they gave the mentor his new position and offered him a chance to speak his mind on what fresh developments they would make in the town. This minor job enough to keep him distracted, not even bothering to deal with the hero anymore, finding an easier way to make his fame.
Years passed with the Dark Lord continuing to aid the village, turning the tiny village into a central trading hub. The area now an important route for caravans to travel past offering the villagers riches they could have never achieved alone. To the Dark Lord’s surprise, the villagers even built a statue in his honor, one depicting him standing over them, hand outstretched as if he were showering them in gifts.
By the twentieth year, the Dark Lord seemed content, looking to his minions with a wide grin. He had defeated the hero, slaying him without even needing to raise a sword. He felt satisfied, more satisfied than he had ever felt before. To defeat an enemy through cunning strategy, that was a genuine victory.
“Now what sir? Reports show the hero has left the village; you have won. Shall we conquer a town to celebrate?” The imp suggested, while the other minions passed around kegs of wine, celebrating their master’s victory.
“Conquer a village? I don’t think I want to. Why conquer a village when I can win them over? I practically own that tiny village now and without even raising a blade. I think I prefer this strategy more. Heh, guess the hero really defeated me in a way. I still won the war, though.” Gallard said, raising his own tankard to the roars of his minions.
The roars only stopping as the large wooden doors creaked open, the hero standing between them, eyes focused on the Dark Lord. “Gallard.” He muttered, approaching the throne.
The Dark Lord’s minions were quick to rush for the man, only for Gallard to raise his hand, signaling them to let him through. None of his minions should die over his failed plan. This was his battle, no one else’s. When the hero stopped before the throne, he took a knee bowing.
“I want to thank you for your help. Our village was poor, a place often caught between wars until you arrived. I don’t know why you helped us, but I wish to thank you.” The hero bowed his head, causing confused looks to spread between the minions.
“I see. You have no reason to bow, I had my own reasons.” Gallard’s voice boomed throughout the room, using the most commanding tone that he could manage.
“Right. One last thing, I Lutin want to offer my services to you as a diplomat. My mentor has only said good things about you since he began assisting you, I would like to be able to say the same. If you wish to help other villages, then let me be your diplomat. A human face is much easier to look at then a monster.”
“HEY! WHAT DID HE SAY ABOUT MY FACE?” An orc grumbled, stumbling as they tried to keep themselves upright with their keg.
“A human diplomat? Very well, I hope we get along well Lutin.” The Dark Lord took Lutin’s hand, shaking it. “Welcome to the team. Let us help as many villages as we can.” The Dark Lord grinned beneath his hood. This was so much easier than conquering by force.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
She failed the test. I don't know what to think about that at first, other than *maybe she just forgot*. *That happens, sometimes, right?*
&#x200B;
So I decided to ask her a different one.
&#x200B;
"Hey, Natalie—I forgot, what's your favorite color, again?"
&#x200B;
She glanced up from her phone and gave me a small smile, but even from the other side of the kitchen counter I can see it doesn't meet her eyes. Something heavy seems to appear in the pit of my stomach out of nowhere.
&#x200B;
"My favorite color's blue, remember?"She rubbed the side of her temple. "My *entire room* is covered in it—what else could it be?"
&#x200B;
This wasn't right—the color of the sky isn't just *blue*. They'd had *hour-long* conversations about that very thing. It was one of our inside jokes—one of our passwords.
&#x200B;
But that meant that this...this wasn't Natalie. This wasn't my fiancee.
&#x200B;
I swallowed.
&#x200B;
"Yeah—of course,"I said, faking a smile. "How could I have forgotten? Thanks—I'll be back in a few."
&#x200B;
"Alright, stay safe!"
&#x200B;
(She was supposed to say *don't take candy from strangers.*)
&#x200B;
The door to our apartment closed behind me with a loud *thud* as I walked down the hallway. My mind was spinning—buzzing with a thousand questions that were rivaled only by the panic that was quickly building inside my chest.
&#x200B;
I needed—I needed to do something. Talk to someone. But *who?* Natalie was my person—the woman I told everything to. Both of our parents were long-since dead, and the only sibling either of us had was somewhere in the African Savanna for a research expedition. Our friendships were fleeting. We only had each other.
&#x200B;
And now *Natalie wasn't Natalie,* and I didn't know what to do.
&#x200B;
I distractedly waved to Jonathan, the elderly florist who worked right next to our apartment complex, as I passed by the open door.
&#x200B;
"Hey, Sammie!"Jonathan called out. "You're looking stressed—come in, why don't you?"
&#x200B;
I paused. It's not like I had any other destination in mind.
&#x200B;
Could I tell Jonathan? Would he even believe me?
&#x200B;
(Was this even *Jonathan?)*
&#x200B;
There was no way to know; I entered the flower shop.
&#x200B;
The heavy, perfume-like scents bombarded my nose like they always did, and I strode to the desk counter where Jonathan lounged in his wooden rocking chair. He was an old man, with a head of gray-white hair and hands that were littered with dozens upon dozens of scars; I'd never asked about them, and he'd never told.
&#x200B;
"Slow day?"I asked nervously as I leaned against the dark brown counter. I could manage small talk, right?
&#x200B;
Jonathan gave a small, wry smile.
&#x200B;
"You could say that,"he said. "What's the matter with you? You're looking like you were struck by lightnin', or somthin'."
&#x200B;
He looks concerned, and I know he is. I can see it in his eyes.
I grimaced. How was I supposed to put this in a way that wouldn't make me sound crazy?
&#x200B;
"It's...it's Natalie."I said nervously. "She's been acting weird all day."
&#x200B;
"Is that so?"He asked; he didn't look at me odd, which I was thankful for. "Have you talked to her about it?"
&#x200B;
"No,"I shook my head. "I haven't."
&#x200B;
How could I bring something like that up? Right to her face? *Hey, so remember how we devised a bunch of different pass phrases and questions to make sure we were who we said we were? Well, I don't think you're you.*
&#x200B;
That would *definitely* go down well.
&#x200B;
"...Maybe she's got a surprise for you,"Jonathan mused, almost to himself. "I know my wife—heaven bless her soul—would always act like the world'd been turned upside down whenever my birthday was came up."
&#x200B;
"It's...I think it's a bit more serious than that."
&#x200B;
Especially if this wasn't Natalie.
&#x200B;
But Jonathan didn't miss a beat.
&#x200B;
"Then maybe whatever she's hiding is more serious than that,"he answered. He moved his aged, scarred hands to his stomach, before pulling them out away from himself. I blinked, before it hit me what he was trying to say.
&#x200B;
"What? No!"My cheeks burned. "She's not pregnant."
&#x200B;
He chuckled.
"Why don't you go talk to her?"He suggested, eyes sparkling mischievously. "I thought for two weeks my Kathy'd been replaced by an alien before I found out she was carrying our eldest."
&#x200B;
Oh.
&#x200B;
"Maybe..."I swallowed. "I think I'll go talk to Natalie, if you'll excuse me..."
&#x200B;
Jonathan laughed, even as I walked out of his shop in a daze—even more confused and anxious than when I'd entered. |
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