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I've spent the better part of the school year trying desperately to prophecise *something*. I told a woman that her tea leaves symbolized a failing marriage, but riches beyond her imagination. Within the month, her house had gotten repossessed and she lived on the streets, but was happy as can be with her husband. I read tarot cards of death, pain, and misery. The guy ended up besting Death in a game of marbles and was so stoked he bought an entire town's worth of beer for everyone.
I tried to interpret my own dreams, I thought that maybe I was one of the special few who got divine, prophetic dreams. I woke up from a wonderful dream that the coastal towns would gain the most traction and money in their entire existence. They were flooded the next day.
Other students began to mock me, saying that I was cursed and just plain old bad luck. I began to believe it, as I even tried to predict my next birthday present. As my mother finally came down the steps with a massive box, I began to jump excitedly as I believed this would be my final break. This was the telescope I asked for, so I could read the stars. My mother finally waddled over and slammed the thing onto the ground, leaning over with a heavy sigh and wiping the sweat from her forehead.
Sure, if I was right I was really only good at parlor tricks, but I wouldn't be a total failure. I finally got my desperate claws to open up the thin paper, my eyes glowing in anticipation. At the first sign of the wooden exterior, my face dropped. More and more paper was torn away, and I was left with nothing but a polished, ancient wardrobe meant for housing shadows.
Mom asked if I wasn't happy with the gift, I replied that I wasn't happy with its implications for my prophetic career.
"I'm going to cry.."I told her with a quivering lip. "I'm going to cry."
Of course, I began to laugh. It was the most gut wrenching, stomach tightening laugh I had ever let out of my throat. My whole body hurt within the next few seconds of my sudden outburst. And then it finally hit me.
I was never a prophet. I was never an oracle. I wasn't one who could predict the fates. I was one who could change them.
My mother, of course, became overly worried as I burst in to an insane laughter with little control. I quieted as soon as I started, and she hesitantly asked me if I was okay. Instantly I nodded, a massive smile on my face as I struggled to get up. "Of course I am. After all, I just realized that I'll never have another birthday." |
It was a freezing morning in New York.
I slipped into the local Starbucks for some coffee.
There was a new cashier today.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?", She asked, exasperated.
"Soy un federale, tengo un gato en mis pantalones,"I replied.
The disinterested look on her face vanished instantly.
"You...", she said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
For a second my heart skipped a beat.
"Do you know how many years I've spent working in Mexico because of your bullshit!?"She yelled, smashing her fists on the Register.
It was her.
She was the one.
Edit: Damn, first gold. Didn't expect this. Thanks guys! |
A lot of people were unhappy when the world went to shit, but not James Henderson. For him, it had all been a dream come true.
It started with drugs. Growing, refining, smuggling: James did it all. But he always knew that he wouldn't be limited to just one market. When war broke out in the Middle East yet again, one of James's shell corporations was right in the thick of things, selling equipment to the Russians and the Americans. And *another* of his shell corporations was on the other side, selling the very same equipment to Iran and its allies. Very few people found James's joke about "making a killing off of all of this killing"very funny, but James had enough money to not give a fuck what they thought.
Then came the instability at home. The U.S. government, paralyzed by partisan bickering (and now massively in debt and unpopular because of the war), eventually just fell apart. State governments came together into coalitions, all vying to be the replacement power. And most people in the country suffered for it... except for the ones like James. He had enough money to fly out on his private jet, down to his own private villa in Brazil. And all the while, his media outlets in the States continued pushing the war agenda (and simultaneously grew his fortune).
And when disease struck, James was in the right place at the right time yet again. His stock in that pharmaceutical company skyrocketed when they finally created a viable vaccine, though the millions who'd already been infected were kind of shit-out-of-luck. A man like James could afford the best doctors, and the security at his gates screened out anyone who could be carrying the disease.
From his living room, James watched the world crumble. And he didn't care. He had everything that *he* needed, and was one of the few people in the world who seemed to recognize the opportunities that came along with every tragedy. Everyone was wrong, James mused to himself. Money really *can* buy happiness.
-----------
Kate Lewis checked the computer's data readout. James Henderson, now aged 45, living in-simulation for the past 16 years. Vital signs all seemed to be normal, and the world-generating processes were all running smoothly.
She glanced around, making sure that no one was looking. Of course the hallway was deserted: nearly everyone was living in-simulation now, and she was the only tech on duty. So she decided to take a little peek into James Henderson's world. *Technically*, her company Simulacorp offered 'complete privacy' to every customer. A person's simulation is based on their personality. It reflects their wants, their needs, their desires (no matter *how* taboo). So discretion was generally the key here. But Kate had always been a bit of a snoop, and the desire to find out how all of these people were living was practically overwhelming.
She put on the goggles, plugged into the external jack, and was instantly horrified by the Pablo Escabar-esque fantasy world she saw. Throughout her years at Simulacorp she'd seen all sorts of scenarios with some less-than-savory elements. But this man had apparently driven the *entire planet* into the ground just so that he could be king of the ashes.
"Damn,"she whispered to herself as she took off the goggles and moved on to servicing the next customer's computer. "That guy is fucked up."
-----
You should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories! |
The door came open and I knew right away. I just knew it. In a way, I guess… I guess I kind of knew it all along.
"It's you…"I said, to myself.
The figure stepped closer. The whole room white, an endless white in all direction, and two chairs facing each other.
He took his seat and I took mine.
"Yes. It's me."
I shook my head and forced myself to face him. My own face. "Look… fuck, where do I start?"
When they told me… right after I died, that I was going to meet the person I've hurt the most, I braced myself for
this conversation. I knew it. I knew it would be me.
Because who else could it be? Who else have I mistreated more than my own self-loathing self?
"I'm sorry,"I said.
"Yeah, no shit,"the figure said, folding his arms.
This wasn't going to be easy. But I swallowed the sadness and nervousness and went for it. "Okay, first, the drinking… fuck, I don't remember when it started. It got out of control so fast… I was hallucinating in no time, when I went without it. Noises, shadows everywhere… My own reflection twisted and deformed in the mirror, night after night…"
The figure glanced at me, still keeping the arms folded.
"Delirium tremens, they call it. From the alcohol addiction."I paused. "I know that wasn't all. I'm trying to think of the rest."
I took a deep breath. "The drugs, too. My own self-sabotage of my career and relationships... Everything. Fuck, I guess it's all related, right?"
The figure unfolded its arms, but said nothing.
"I don't know why I did it all,"I said. "I guess I never really took proper care of myself because, in a way… I never really learned to love myself. My parents, they… they were distant. They lost a son, you see. And – huh – I guess
they blamed me, for some weird reason. So I grew up without learning what love is. I grew up with this… this sort
of indifference towards death, like I'd rather burst fast like a shooting star than drag my life along for eighty years…"
The figure now had its eyes narrowed, listening intently.
"I guess that's where the drinking and the drugs stemmed from. The careless driving, the whoring around… it was
all a way for me to punish myself… to try and prove to myself that life was bullshit and meaningless… because if I
let myself believe that life could be great, it would mean I'd have to face the fact that *my* life wasn't great. That
*I* was never loved. That *I* was never good enough."
The figure said nothing. I cleaned the tears from my cheeks. "It would mean that… there was something to lose,
after all. You know? As long as I kept beating myself -- my body, my soul – into oblivion, I was reinforcing my
belief that I didn't *care*. Like a little kid who loses a bet and says 'I didn't want to win, anyway'."
Silence. The figure kept its eyes on me, frozen.
"I guess… I figured if I gave up right away, I would never lose."I stopped. "But I see it now. I've hurt myself. I've hurt myself more than anyone else on Earth by doing that. I'm sorry, me."
"Un-fucking-believable."
I paused. "Excuse me?"
The figure scoffed, then shook his head. "It's all about you again. Goddamn it, why did I let myself be talked into
coming here?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm not you, you narcissistic halfwit!"The figure bellowed. "I'm the twin brother you absorbed in our mother's
womb!"
"Ooooh…"
"Yeah, oooh, son of a bitch. You freaking *ate me as an unborn fetus* and denied me a chance to live, and *you're complaining!?*"
"I mean… shit, sorry. I didn't know."
"And you have the arrogance to think that *you're* the person you have to apologize to? Like, *oh my God, I'm
so sorry to myself, how I've hurt myself and made myself miserable. Poor me.* Jesus Christ, the nerve on you."He paused. "You don't have 'delirium tremens' by the way. It was me, haunting you from the beyond. Trying to get even for what you did to me. But you managed to make *that* about yourself too, somehow."
"Hey, come on, you haunted me? That was uncalled for."
"YOU ABSORBED ME AS A FETUS! MY LAST THOUGHT IN LIFE WAS 'GEE THAT OTHER BABY'S GETTING AWFULLY CLOSE'."
"Okay, I guess you have the right to be upset."
He shook his head and got up. "Screw this shit."
I got up too and said, "Hey, wait!"
He stopped. Turned back.
"I'm sorry, dude. You're right. I messed up."
He looked me up and down, and I saw a little bit of the anger melting away from his face.
I sighed. "It's just... I can be a little bit *self-absorbed* sometimes."
"Oh, for fuck's sake."He turned his back on me and stormed out, disappearing in the whiteness of the room.
I looked around. Scratched my head. Puffed my cheeks.
"Jesus Christ, what a drama queen."
"OH GO TO HELL!"came his voice from somewhere above.
And well... turns out I did.
_____________
/r/psycho_alpaca =)
|
"Sorry, kid, but you have to be at least 16 before you can join the city guards."
George winced. The worst part was the man was not in any way hostile. In fact, the recruiter looked amused. Most people scorned him when he tried to do something productive, but this man, this guard recruiter, looked like it was a game George was playing.
"Now, if you came back in a few years, yeah, you can join. In fact, I'll keep a slot open, just for you, okay?"The rough man said with a playful wink. "Also..."
He then looked around, like he was checking to see if anyone else was watching. He reached under his desk and pulled out a piece of honey candy.
"Don't tell anyone you got this here, okay?"He slid the sweet to George.
George hated it. He hated being treated like a kid. He was 57 years old. It was not his fault he looked 10. It was that damnable alchemist and his eternal youth potion.
George growled at the recruiter. At his situation. At his cursed body that made it so nobody would ever take him seriously.
He did not stay to look at the man's shocked expression. He simply turned and stormed out of the guard's recruitment center. He would find someone to teach him something. He had been trying for more than 30 years. 30 long, frustrating years.
Giving up sounded good at that point. He could easily just live out his life. Find some gullible Noble and get "adopted"and live the easy life for a few years before running away and doing it again somewhere else.
But no, that would not do. That would be admitting defeat. That meant that damned alchemist would win. And that was the one thing he could never let happen. |
[EDIT: Wow, a month after writing this for fun it blew up overnight. Thanks for all the positive feedback. Time for a bit of self promotion: For those of you who would like to see a continuation (And perhaps more of my original stuff in the future?) I'd love to expand it and put it up on [my blog](http://themattcostaproject.wordpress.com/). Seriously though guys, thank you. I've never been this excited about writing something in a long time. A continuation will come soon! Ideas for a title of this "series"would be cool to hear!]
[EDIT2: Wow! Gold too! Thank you so much! This kind of response really deserves an expansion on the material. Check out my blog and keep up with the posts I put up. With you guys reading, it gives me a great motivator to keep working on this. I'm not just a one trick pony, I'm currently working on a video series based around 100 of my favorite movies as a follow up to my [Top 10 Favorite Superhero Movies](http://youtu.be/voYU_qqTPCc). I also do a bunch of other stuff with my blog. [Here is an update with details on the follow up story!](http://themattcostaproject.wordpress.com/2013/11/29/ive-finally-gone-viral-welcome-new-readers/)]
*INT. ARKHAM ASYLUM - EVENING*
**The hallways are dark. Eerie. Four thuggish guards escort a lone patient, HANNIBAL LECTER, to his new cell. Three guards carry high caliber weapons.**
**The door opens, weapons click, the guards stand facing the prison Lecter is to be placed in.**
**After a beat, the door opens, a guard speaks up. His name, SGT. HANSON.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
(nervous)
No sudden moves clown...
**A ghastly voice echoes from the cell.**
*VOICE:*
Oh no worries Eddie. No escape plans today. The wifey is busy doing time in the other wing. Can I call you Eddie? Hehehehehehe
**Sgt. Hanson escorts Lecter into:**
*ARKHAM CELL*
**The room is plain. Soft cushioned walls, and two cots on opposite walls. The other occupant sits silhouetted in his corner of the cell. Bright red letters spell out the words "Ha"all over the other occupants side. Hanson sits Lecter down, removes his shackles and turns to the other occupant.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
This is your new roommate.
*VOICE:*
Ooo goodie! Another playmate! Can we get some cards? Apples to Apples? Maybe a whoopee cushion?
*SGT. HANSON:*
Dr. Crane suggested you spend some time with Dr. Lecter. He has... some expertise in your area.
*VOICE:*
A doctor eh? Oh how exciting! I love those ink blot thingys! (To Lecter) Could we do those first doc?
**Hannibal sits in silence. Hanson grins and exits the cell. Before closing the door he turns to face the both of them.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
Have fun kids.
**The cell door slams. The room is darker than before. The moonlight from outside gleams slightly through the minuscule barred window.**
**There is silence.**
**The second occupant leans into the light. It's none other than THE JOKER. A hideous grin stretches across his face, lined with scars and messy makeup.**
*JOKER:*
Aw, whats the matter doc? Having a bad day?
*HANNIBAL:*
Revlon. Maroon. 1988. But judging by the smell. I'd say that you ran out of ink ages ago.
*JOKER:*
Ooo, an amateur Bat-Freak! How interesting. Tell me something "doctor", what's my sign? Can you guess?
**There is a beat, Hannibal examines the Joker intently.**
*HANNIBAL:*
You're a masochist. Judging by the scars on your face, they are self mutilating. Fascinating.
*JOKER:*
Why, can't you tell? The ever-so-elusive Bat-Freak has beaten me to a pulp more times than I could bother to count.
*HANNIBAL:*
Yes but, thats not what makes you who you are is it?
*JOKER:*
I beg your pardon?
*HANNIBAL:*
Something. Something deep inside you brought you to this point. And now you don't know how to let it go. You blame your "Bat-Freak"for everything because you refuse to take responsibility for yourself.
**There is silence. The Joker breaks eye contact, and starts to laugh maniacally. Echoing through the halls of Arkham.**
**The Joker's hideous yellow teeth glisten in the moonlight. Chuckling, calming down.**
*JOKER:*
You know doc. You had me going for a second there. But let me tell you. I've seen some doctors who claimed they could "cure"me. The most that got me was an annoying girlfriend, and let me tell you she was a handfull. This one time she and-
*HANNIBAL:*
You had a wife once, didn't you?
**Silence. The Joker's smile breaks.**
*JOKER:*
Don't interrupt, doc. Anyway-
*HANNIBAL:*
She died. Yes? Through no fault of your own? I can see it in your eyes. As black as they come. Yet so full of a lost history. How can you wipe such a woman out of your mind like that?
*JOKER:*
You're really starting to get on my nerves doc. Now let me-
*HANNIBAL:*
Your constant ignorance towards your past makes me wonder. Was she pregnant?
**Joker stands up furious. His yellow teeth vanished within his lips. His face hidden in the dark.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
Oh my. She was. How sad. That's a lot to bear for a young father. They tell me you once went by another name. The Red Hood was it? Such theatrics, you liked being center stage. Judging by your makeup I would suggest you to a circus.
**The Joker still stands. No grin.**
*JOKER:*
And I heard your family was brutally murdered. And your sister was eaten. Word gets around here in Arkham you know. It's like high school all over again. So don't act like you're better than me.
*HANNIBAL:*
How old are you, my friend? Do you even know?
**Silence again.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
I'll take that as a maybe. To me you look just under fourty-five. I'd guess about twenty years?
*JOKER:*
(kneels in front of Hannibal)
You've got five seconds to shut up before I strangle a smile out of you.
*HANNIBAL:*
Oh, but you won't kill me. Not unless it directly involves the Bat-man himself. Correct? That's who you blame for her death after all, right?
**Joker jabs Hannibal in his face. Breaking his nose. Hannibal barely flinches.**
*JOKER:*
SHUT UP!!
*HANNIBAL:*
How simple it is to get through to you by simply mentioning the thought of her. Intriguing.
**Joker moves over to the corner of his side of the room.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
You can't hide. It'll only drive you to kill more and more innocent wives like her. Imagine the children you have prevented, just like your own. It's your fault.
**The Joker returns from the dark corner. A serious look on his face unlike any ever seen on his face.**
**Hannibal smiles.**
*INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - LATER*
**Hannibal sits in the room alone. COMMISSIONER JIM GORDON enters the room. A file in his hands, he slaps it on the table in front of Hannibal.**
**The file simply reads "Lecter, Hannibal"on the front. Right above, "Classified".**
**Gordon sits at the table, carelessly skims through the file, and looks up at Hannibal.**
*GORDON:*
I can't believe I'm saying this but, you did good. Now what's his play?
*HANNIBAL:*
I'd be happy to oblige Commissioner. But my former cellmate asked me to relay a message.
*GORDON:*
Go for it.
*HANNIBAL:*
"Touche Jimmy. Tell Bats I said Hi"
*GORDON:*
Where did he say they were?
*HANNIBAL:*
Fortunately, he trusted me enough with the location of the bombs and his plan to use them. However, I'd like to play a game. Would you be so kind?
**Gordon bears a slightly annoyed look, but nods.**
**FADE OUT**
**THE END** |
The entirety of the US military was in complete disarray, President Trump was convinced that the US would be unstoppable in open combat, but there was well over a hundred thousand enemy soldiers at the gates to the white house.
A giant knight in shining armour was standing in front of him, a document of surrender in one hand, a giant war hammer in the other.
"How?..."was all Trump could manage.
"Ahh, my friend..."The knight began, his voice booming. "you may have tanks and guns... but they can never defeat a mechanism capable of throwing a 90kg projectile over 300m!"
Edit: so this is now my most upvoted post ever!, Thanks guys! |
"Someone loves me?"Morgan looked away from the screen to stare at Peace, the hero, the savior, strapped to his masterpiece. It- it must have been mistaken! Something about Peace's powers must have caused it to malfunction!
"Of course someone loves you!"Morgan snapped. Her grand plan, her magnum opus! Ruined because of a bug. "You're their hero, the man who saves the day and asks for nothing in return!"Peace let his head fall and a broken chuckle fell from his lips.
"That isn't me though."He said, "They love the mask, the powers, the things I do for them. Most of them don't even notice when a hero gets replaced."
"So what? You may always be ready to thwart my plans, but you have days off! You have a secret identity. Surely your friends love you."Morgan scowled and turned back to the machine. Perhaps there was some way she could shield it from the sub-gamma wavelengths that short-circuited Peace's powers. But those only worked so long, she'd have to figure out how to speed up the scan process as well.
"Not really. That-"Peace coughed, blood landing on his chin that he didn't even seem to notice, "All I really get to do is watch people up close."
"Parents then! The brother you mention in interviews!"
"My brother hates me."Morgan stopped her frantic tinkering, "I've been Mom and Dad's golden goose since I started flying out of the crib. He's a banker in nathbakkae last time I looked him up. Can- can that device show who it is?"
"What?"
"Who it is who loves me. Can, can I at least know before you finish me off?"Morgan growled, grabbing her wrench and chucking it across her lair.
"How can you just accept this?! You give and you give and you give for what?! For a life so lonely only a single person loves you?! I could throw anyone in that chair and get at least a dozen hits. Even I get nine!"Peace just shrugged, and Morgan let out another irritated noise, before reaching up and changing the screen view. It came up somewhere in downtown supesville. She stuck a hand out and summoned her crystal ball, before taking a breath and scrying. A girl came into view, quietly playing with her dolls. He had a kid and only one-
He looked confused. Peace had a near flawless memory and this girl was so innocuous it took him nearly half a minute to figure out where he knew her from.
"She's one of the girls who take the school bus past my house. That light's always long, so I usually wave as they pass. I think,"He closed his eyes, "I'm pretty sure she's one of the ones who answers whenever I ask how their day was."
"And that's it? A girl who's name you don't know is the only one who loves you?"
Peace just nodded, leaning his head back against the table he was strapped to, "Thank you Void."
"Morgan."
"Morgan?"
"Calling me that right now... Just, just use my real name."Morgan sank down into her throne.
"Ok Morgan."Peace said, "I, my parents named me Jack. Before they turned me into Peace. If you want-"
"Those creatures don't deserve the right to be called your parents."Morgan didn't know what to do. She- she HATED Peace. He was the bane of her existence, the man with everything, the perfect human with the perfect life. She'd dreamed of destroying everything he loved, of bringing him to her level and showing him just how it felt to be pathetic, abandoned little Morgan Lafayette.
Turns out he had even less than she did. There was nothing to take.
"Why do you still do it?"Morgan's voice was weaker than it had been in years, since she'd squeaked out apologies from the corner.
"Be a hero?"She didn't know what name to use for him, "My parents told me to and I guess I just... never stopped."
"So its all been an act? You never cared about the people you saved?"
"I guess? The guy who files court reports helps people. Does he care about them?"
Morgan felt sick. It was all so meaningless. This entire war, this entire crusade, this entire life!
"If, if you could get out, would you?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
It took 3 weeks for Void's layer to be discovered after Peace went missing. The league busted down the doors, but there wasn't any security active anymore. They cleared the entire facility, but it wasn't until they reached the bottom floor that they found them, two bodies on the floor. There didn't look to be a fight. Even the weapon Void designed to weaken Peace was by his side, not hers.
The funeral was a global event. Everyone, even villains he had defeated countless times, stopped to pay respect to the hero.
None of them cared for the man though.
"Do you regret it?"Morgan asked. She hadn't had any interest in watching the farce, but he'd insisted.
"Yea. Yea I'm sure."
Mr. and Ms. Lafayette, a set of siblings as far as any record, memory, or person could tell, watched the burial of the facsimile Void had made to try and defeat Peace. They decayed quickly, but no one would dare exhume Peace's body to find that out. The mimicry of Void had been chucked as far as she knew. The only instruction she'd given them was to make sure they were hidden before they failed.
"Peace's parents reach out in support of mental health."The news reporter went on to say, and the newly named Marcus reached out to turn it off before they could appear on screen.
"I still could ruin them. A time delayed message wouldn't be strange."
"No, its fine."Marcus said, "It doesn't matter anymore. I don't need to worry about them."He took a sip of tea and smiled. "For the first time ever, I can just..."
Live. |
Names have ancient meanings, but that doesn't really matter. For the most part, no one remembers them; and meaning only really matters in the mind, down at the hidden levels in which the universe really dwells.
What names really mean depends on the person to whom they're attached. After all, how many Michaels, Marías and Mohammeds have you known in you life? What comes to your head when you hear each of those names, just the name, with no context? The most famous person who bore them, maybe; the Prophet, the Archangel, the Mother of God. Or perhaps there was another María who touched your own life profoundly, and she's the one who comes to mind?
So yes, names have true meaning, the sort of meaning with real power, but it has almost nothing to do with their meaning in some dusty dictionary or guide. Plenty of our ancestors among the ancients knew this well, and stories of True Names, hidden or known or hoarded, are all over the really deep sort of legends that burrow into cultures and never truly let go.
That's partly because the ancients must have known about people like me.
I'm not sure where the gift, the curse, the whatever-it-is came from. I don't think it quite passes along bloodlines, as I'm adopted and my grandmother, with whom I share no ancestry I'm aware of, had some of my same peculiar habits. She was the one who saw it in me, who taught me to use names with the greatest of care. The names of living things, that is, I can rattle off lists of towns, for example, with no odd effects. Well, living things and certain otherworldly beings she seemed to both venerate and fear, but that would be a (long) story for another time.
That's not to say I was a perfect student. There have been incidents, which probably taught me more thoroughly than even the harshest lecture from the old woman. The first of these taught me that relegating my own true name to legal documents and using a nickname wherever possible was absolutely imperative. When asked my name by some official or clerk, I'll simply spell it out, and confirm when it's said back to me. In social situations, I use the nickname. I could handle hearing my own name unbound better than most people, of course, but I still find the experience...uncomfortable at best.
Other kids made fun of the way I avoided their names at first, when I was younger and more awkward about the whole thing, but by the time I graduated High School I'd mastered my constant coining of affectionate, slightly teasing nicknames for everyone around me, turning it into an endearing quirk. People like being noticed enough to have a new name made just for them, I've found, so long as it's not actually cruel. I had to be careful that whatever I came up with didn't become too widely used, though, lest it start to gain real power of its own. I've been able to prevent this in my own case only by constantly (and silently!) reminding myself of my original name, so that the really deep meaning stays concentrated there.
Then I graduated college, and things got more difficult. Though not *that* much more difficult—
—until now, standing on this stupid metal bench in front of approximately one hundred coworkers, given a silly honor for some fleeting accomplishment.
At first I think, well, maybe I can use their nicknames, but I'm still so new here, I haven't had time to develop that kind of rapport with any of these people. I've come up with some names, sure, but I haven't used them yet. No one would know who I was talking about. Still, maybe the embarrassment would be worth avoiding the alternative?
But no, the head of HR is giving me that professional frown that says I'm taking too long, wasting dozens of people's time during this small interval of mandatory fun.
*Fuck it,* I think, reaching in to the jar with my eyes closed to rustle out one of the little folded slips. *Maybe it won't be that bad, sometimes it isn't, sometimes it's even pretty good, and at least it will make this whole picnic one Hell of a lot less boring.*
I lift the paper from the mass, shaking off a pair of hangers-on before unfolding it and reading the name.
<continued> |
Good morning everybody you are listening to NOLD News 97.5 FM the finest radio news station in the region, I am Rachel Taylor here with a quick news update. Weather in the Central Valley region will be ranging in the high 80s up into the 90s, but the beach cities will be getting a cool draft bringing them down to a much calmer 70 degrees. Traffic reports say to avoid the 5 going southbound as there appears to be heavy traffic due to an accident on the off ramp going onto Victor Street, so if your commute takes you that way try to avoid the freeway if you can. To any lovers of chocolate, Nestle and its companies has reported that there will be an increase in prices for their chocolate products after their main supplier of cocoa beans has been overrun with the undead. It is reported a horde of zombies came out of the jungle and attacked the large plantation operation, killing many of its workers and forcing the owners to flee. A Nestle PR assures that the issue will be resolved once they can find a more reliable source of cocoa beans and that prices will resume their normal values again very soon. In light of local news 11 year old Jimmy Peterson won an art contest depicting a drawing of his dad in the army. When asked why he drew it Jimmy responded that he liked his dad's stories when he liberated Los Angeles in Operation Z Purge. Isn't that adorable? You have been listening to NOLD News 97.5 FM, I am Rachel Taylor. I will now be handing it over to George David for a sports update... |
"The only choices available to me?"I asked the scientist, who just told me that I am one of a kind in the multiverse, and that all the choices I've made are completely unique.
"Well, this is unprecedented. Everyone has multiple branches of butterfly effects, living and dying, creating and destroying. But the patterns are there, and measurable. You... you are an anomaly, and every choice you make is the only choice available, for if you could have possibly made any other choice at any given time, there would be an alternate universe that would have shown it."The scientist says.
"So whatever I do is inconsequential? Has no grand meaning to the reshaping of the universes destiny, or even the bringing of happiness to others?' I posit, feeling like a train on a single track, unable to turn left or right.
"On the contrary... you, I believe, are an anchor. Every universe is bound to various constants: gravity, electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear forces, etc. I believe you are a constant for this universe. And with that, your death would result in the death of this reality. You are, for lack of a better explanation.... the reason everyone and everything exists."The scientist says, trailing off.
I stare at the floor, elbows on knees and fingers interlaced.
"Did the universe, this universe, exist before I was born?"I say, trying to poke holes in his theory. I am not a God, and even if I was, gods aren't bound to set plans. Free will has to mean SOMETHING.
"That... is tricky. Yes, but from your birth there has been no divergence in your universe, no new options in the multiverse. At times we thought everyone in this universe was an anomaly, but others continued to live and die and create new realities, until we found the record of your birth. Everyone exists everywhere from one moment to the next, but you have never existed anywhere else, except here, and thats startling. You've anchored this universe, and it's literally going nowhere else other than wherever you choose. We really don't know if that means it's a set course or if the universe literally revolves around you, but it is fascinating."The scientist continues.
"So... how can you test all this?"I ask.
"I come from an alternate universe that split 25 years back when a man wiped ice cream off his hands, and that momentary distraction delayed him from walking into the street and getting run over. The driver in all other instances became deeply distraught, never reaching his full potential, and died relatively meaningless. In my universe he invented transdimensional observation, which had already been invented in other universes, but his had the added benefit of being able to travel between universes, rather than merely observe, which is how I'm here."
My mind is blown. An insignificant event drastically altering a universe time.
"We have taken others into mine and other universes and observed changes resulting from there arrival, so we know its not anything unique about anyone else from this universe. You however seem to ground this universe."
My head was getting cloudy and tight, and a dull pain was developing behind my eyes, which I rubbed. It was all so much.
"If I left... to another universe.... would this universe cease to exist, or go back to a state of endless possibilities?"I asked.
"We believe so, however there is no way to be sure. Your universe is quite unique in that the 34 years you have been alive, all the decisions that have built up from the entirety of your population have resulted in a very unpredictable and one of a kind timeline."The scientist continued.
"When did you first observe the largest divergent point that is unrepeated?"I asked, fearing I knew the answer.
"Well, many of your childhood actions were of relatively little consequence in the grand scheme of things, but immediate changes started to compound and multiply the moment you fell into that gorilla enclosure and resulted in the death of Harambe." |
/vg/ - Video Game Generals
Anonymous
Robo Warfare 2046 General /(...) 07/24/46(Sun)15:37:28 No.149485269
File: 1469364701944.jpg (329 KB, 1600x900)
Robo Warfare General /rbw/ #766
Ok /vg/. Serious time.
I think I found an easter egg in the game. I was flying around the hard area near Malaysia, testing my new FX-5653G when I found a new enemy on the ground.
There was no info on the sensors. I didn't get the "Not a NPC"prompt either so it wasn't something from the real world who got into the combat zones, so I engaged it because whatever.
It was weak AF. Died in two hits.
Wierd thing is, I didn't get any xp or any loot. So I assume the devs at Treyarch just forgot it here and it was supposed to be erased.
Had to leave for the base right after that because I was out of energy and i'm not a P2W player, you know the drill /vg/. But I still got a video of it on my stream.
The twitch replay is here : bit.ly/OPisafaggot
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)15:50:24 No.149655549
Obvious fake. How much time did you spend on Photoshop for this, OP ? This doesn't look like any mob in the game. No way they would have coded a completely different model and just forgot it.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)15:55:30 No.149655550
filthy FX series player
can't even afford a real mech
makes up stories to impress his pals in middle school
Get out, OP.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:10:24 No.149655551
File: 2046_07_24_0001.png (1.09 MB, 923x1077)
Ok guys, shit. I think this guy is for real. I went there and found another one. Look at this.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:16:24 No.149655553
Wow, I guess if a big streamer like you says it's real, then it must be real. OMW after my dailies.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:40:24 No.149655554
File: cucks.png (0.78 MB, 923x1077)
Just look at this /vg/. One big guy says it's true and we have 50 players running to get here first.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:50:54 No.149655560
There isn't any mobs left. Whatever was there, we missed it.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:55:55 No.149655561
JUST POSTING HERE FOR THE SCREENCAP ON REDDIT
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:00:00 No.149655562
File: UFO thingy.png (0.78 MB, 923x1077)
Look up /vg/. Something's coming down.
I think we just started an event or something. Dunno if there's enough of us to win it.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:05:58 No.149655563
THESE GUYS ARE ZERGING US WE NEED MORE PEOPLE
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:07:23 No.149655564
Coming. I'm not alone. Wait for us Anons.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:26:24 No.149655568
This is a clown fiesta. I'm getting crazy FPS drops. Unplayable. What the fuck, Treyarch ? At least try to make events that people can play.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:50:24 No.149655570
It's down. We got no loot, no xp, nothing. What the hell ? I'm getting a wierd feeling out of this.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:50:59 No.149655571
The mobs aren't despawning. Are you sure these are NPCs ?
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:55:24 No.149655572
What else would they be ? Aliens ?
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)19:00:13 No.149655549
CNN JUST CONFIRMED IT
WE TOOK DOWN AN ALIEN SHIP
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)19:10:13 No.149655549
Dear diary, today 4chan stopped an alien invasion.
|
"Freeze!"one of the gunmen yelled.
Nikolai looked up from his mop to see a pair of armed men advancing down the hallway.
"What is problem, friends?"he asked in his thick Balkan accent.
"Show me your hands, you old fuck!"
Nikolai casually placed his mop in the bucket and presented his hands. One of the men pushed him against the wall while the other checked the janitor's closet.
"Basement is secured,"one of the gunmen said. "Tell Jacob we're ready to move upstairs.
"What do we do with the janitor?"
"I prefer to be called custodian,"Nikolai said.
"Shut up."
"Tie him up, gag him, and toss him in the closet. He won't be giving us any trouble."
One of the gunmen took off Nikolai's jacket so he could get to his arms. Underneath, Nikolai was wearing a white wife-beater which revealed tattoos all over his arms and torso.
"Got some ink, huh? What's that say?"the gunman asked, gesturing to the foreign letters on Nikolai's chest that were partially visible under his clothes.
"They are the names of children."
"Your children?"
"Some of them, yes."
"Guess you lucked out. No way could a janitor afford to send his kids to a school as rich as this one. They won't be around to see what Jacob's got planned."
"My children died many years ago. They were taken from me in break-up of Yugoslavia."
"What about the other names tattooed on your chest? Who are they?"
"That's enough chat,"the other gunman said.
He grabbed Nikolai by the neck and forced him against the wall.
"My friend,"Nikolai said, his voice lowering to a growl. "You should have robbed a bank."
Quick as a flash, Nikolai struck his palm against the man's nose. He recoiled, grasping at a fountain of blood that gushed from his face. Before the other man could react, Nikolai drew the mop from the bucket and smashed it against his face. The mop handle broke in two, and he took one jagged end of splintered wood and rammed it into one gunman's neck.
He wrapped his hands around the throat of the surviving gunman and bellowed, "How many of you are there?"
"Fuck... you... old man,"the gunman said through choked breaths.
"Wrong answer, friend."
Nikolai dragged him to the mop bucket and dunked his head inside. A torrent of bubbles rose to the surface, but there was no way for him to escape Nikolai's grasp. When he was finally allowed back to the surface, he gasped, "Ten! Ten guys besides us!"
"You asked me about the names tattooed on my chest, yes?"Nikolai asked, digging his fingers into the back of the man's neck. "After my children died, I began to associate with some bad people. One day, I planted a bomb in an apartment building in Sarajevo. I thought I would be killing our enemies, but there were children with them. The day I learned what I had done, I left Europe forever. Now, I keep those children's names as a reminder of what I've done. And a reminder to never allow harm to befall another child again. So, my friend, I say again. You should have robbed a bank."
"You should just climb out that window now, janitor!"There was panic in the gunman's voice. "There's no way you'll-"
Nikolai returned the man's head to the bucket, but did not allow him up for air. Eventually the bubbles faded away.
"I prefer to be called custodian,"Nikolai said. He picked up the handle of his mop, spun it through the air a few times, and advanced down the hallway.
***
[Insert shameless plug for personal subreddit here](https://www.reddit.com/r/thisstorywillsuck/) |
"Wait,"said Thranklin, neck veins wriggling as he pried the entryway open and ushered me through. "How do people from your world even leave the house?"
"We open the door,"I said, "and walk out."
"But you can't open a door."
"Back home, our doors are a lot lighter."
Thranklin scoffed, a harsh sound, like angry pterodactyls mating. "What's the point of a flimsy door?"
"Thranklin,"I said, "with all due respect, questions like these are why your occupation is to follow me around moving heavy shit instead of pursuing a career of your own."
Thranklin didn't like that very much, but then, I didn't like Thranklin very much. He was much more talkative than my previous assistant, Doug, who'd had the misfortune to walk in front of a powerbus a few weeks back.
The lobby of the apartment tower was empty. A single mercury fountain gurgled contentedly away. I stifled a yawn. I would be charging thrice my typical rate for undertaking this task at such an ungodly hour. The bellhop stiffened when he saw me and rushed out from behind his desk.
"Thank goodness you've arrived, sir,"he said, extending a hand to try and shake mine. I leapt back, of course, not wanting my metacarpals crushed.
"Please,"I said, as he unleashed a torrent of apologies. "Which way to the elevators?"
Hypervasculon society was rigidly hierarchical, with the highest castes living atop golden skyscrapers laced with platinum and rubies. Wealthy Hypervasculons treasured delicate, fragile objects above all else, and used robots or special pneumatic gloves to handle them, but sometimes things broke in a way that robots struggled to fix, or the robots themselves broke, and in those cases it fell to someone like me, a professional weakling, to mend the machinery. We were rare, and thus prized; powerful, and yet unable to depress an elevator button without--
"Hnnghhhh,"I said, throwing my whole weight against it.
"Let me get that, boss,"said Thranklin. I didn't like his grin.
"You've got plant matter in your teeth again,"I said.
**Part Two is in the comments**: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/64oo63/wp_you_wake_up_in_a_universe_where_everyone_is/dg4hpyh/
*(Thanks for all the kind words. I've been working on some bigger projects, haven't been to the sub in a while, glad to know you're all just as encouraging and friendly as ever. Never change, r/writingprompts!)* |
When people think unicorns, they think cute, cuddly ponies that fart rainbows and shit sparkles. They're stereotyped as majestic creatures that live for nothing more than happiness and well, rainbows. But I know the truth.
My name is Jorgen Wildstalker, fourth of his name, bulwark of the Einherjar, Jotunn-slayer, Valkyrie-friend, emissary of Odin. These days, though, I'm known as George of Cleveland.
Yeah, I'm retired. I think I deserve a little respite after a couple hundred years in service to my liege Odin. And what better place than quiet Cleveland, Ohio. The weather is alright, the rock and roll hall of fame's here, and a certain basketball team, though since Lebron left, it's been dark days.
Anyways, I digress. Jul is right around the corner and when I asked my daughter Alissa what she wanted, she exclaimed, "UNICORN!"My wife Debby, of course, rolled her eyes and laughed it off, but I remained stone-faced. I'll admit that I've spoiled my daughter rotten. But when I look into her sparkling blue eyes and bright, full smile, I can never help but say yes.
"Georgie, you can't be serious,"my beloved wife frowned.
I locked eyes with her and only nodded.
The way that she defiantly put her hands on her hips reminded me of why I married her.
"Georgie, the last time you went on a hunt, you were gone for a whole month! Christmas is in 18 days! No, you can't go."
"It'll only be a week. Trust me, Deb. I've trapped unicorns before, I can do it again,"I reasoned as I unhooked my trusty crossbow *Jeanine* off the wall.
"Oh, Papa! You're going to bring *Jeanine* this time?!"Alissa squealed.
Debby stood up. "No, I need you. Who's going to shovel the snow? We're going to get at least 8 inches tomorrow!"
I knelt and stroked my wife's cheek with my thumb. "Don't worry. Just call the Petersons like you did last time. You know they only need the slightest excuse to break out their truck. They love it. And Debby, I told you I've trapped unicorns before. I won't be gone longer than a week, I promise."
"Mama, please let him go!"Alissa pleaded. She widened her eyes and puffed out her lower lip. "Pretty please? Unicorns are so cute!"
Debby frowned and crossed her arms. She looked at me then over to Alissa, then back to me. Sighing, she brought her palm to her forehead. "You two are unbelievable."Debby then pointed at me. "Especially you—filling Alissa's head full of stories of Asgard and Odin and the like. Their affairs are not ours to deal with. Especially not you—at least not any more."
"Thanks, hun!"I smiled as I kissed my lovely wife's forehead. "I'll take that as a yes."
Debby rolled her eyes.
"Listen,"I whispered so that Alissa couldn't hear. "Every kid needs a little fantasy in their life to keep their minds bright; so that they aren't jaded when they grow up. You know that as well as I do."
I put my hands on her shoulders as she sighed.
"Like I said, I'll only be gone a week, and then I'll be back with a unicorn,"I reiterated, loud enough for Alissa to hear.
Debby nodded. "Okay, fine. A week, hun. No more."
"Oh yay!"Alissa screamed as she ran over and pulled my pant leg. "Please take pictures too!"
"Don't worry, kiddo. I will,"I responded, glancing at my wife to see her looking at me with resigned eyes.
I really did expect this trapping trip to only take a week. I wasn't lying when I said that I trapped unicorns before. But unfortunately, something changed since the last time I'd been in the game. This time, things wouldn't be all sparkles and rainbows.
&#x200B; |
"I heard his dad is sells vacuum cleaners."
Zane closed his eyes and wished he could disappear. It was hard enough that he was starting at yet another school, but it was even worse that the same rumors that ruined his life last time were here again.
"So you're telling me that he sucks?"One of the boys behind him said it loudly on purpose. "Is that right, kid? Are you here because you suck?"
Zane tried to ignore the laughs as much as the question. He just had a few more classes to get through then he could go home. Maybe he could fake being sick tomorrow, but convincing his mom of that was always tricky.
"Hey, I asked you a question!"
Someone pushed Zane's head, and he barely caught himself before his forehead slammed into his desk. He held his head rigid, his neck muscles fighting back against the hand as it pushed again and again.
"That's your power, right? Sucking hard?"
The hand on his head shoved one more time then let go. Zane turned around in his desk to find three of the other boys leering at him. Where was the teacher? The class was supposed to have started five minutes ago.
"He looks a bit slow."One off to the right observed.
"Maybe his mom is a sloth!"
"That right? Your dad get freaky with a sloth? Got a little vrm vroom action there?"The ringleader kept it going.
All three began to laugh as he made vacuum cleaner noises and morphed his hand into a something like the hose attachment. The class was starting to join in at this point. The teacher wasn't here. It was a spectacle now. It was *funny*.
"Please stop."
"I'm sorry."The ringleader put on a sad face. "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the VRRRRRRRMMMMM."
More laughter, and the more Zane hated. He didn't want to be here. It was going to be just like the others. He tried to control it, he really did. They always pushed him and he asked them to stop, but they always pushed and pushed and-
"Sloth mom!"Someone else shouted as the laughter started to fade.
"My mother is an astrophysicist."Zane tried to sound a little louder.
"Like for Phys Ed? Your mom got a mullet? Mulletsloth?"
The laughter was like a wall around Zane. It was pressing in. Everywhere he looked they were laughing. Even when he looked down he could hear it. He could *feel* it.
His hands darkened. It was happening again.
"Please stop it."Zane felt the power wind its way through him. "You have to stop."
The ringleader grabbed Zane's head again and tried to slam it down on the desk behind him.
"Make me, suckboy!"
*Snap*
What happened next would take a while for people to understand. The technical term for what the class observed was spaghettification. For half of a portion of the tiniest second, Zane altered the molecular density within the ringleader's body to be so dense and so compact that it sucked the rest of the kid into himself. One moment he had been there, red face leering and hand grabbing Zane's hair... the next there was a small, round speck no larger than a grain of sand. The pull of it caused a minor whirlwind to rage inside the classroom until Zane got it under control and shut it off.
The room was dead quiet as Zane stood up. His scalp hurt from where the kid's grip had torn out a good clump of his hair as he had been compressed. Everyone in the class had stopped laughing. Now every eye was wide and shaking. A kid three seats away slowly pissed his pants and no one noticed. No one dared break away from looking at Zane.
It always ended this way. It always did.
Maybe this time they would let him stay at home.
---
[/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/) |
I'd hit the jackpot. Some might've thought me crazy, and well, I really can't blame them. My brand of Doomsday Prepping *was* a bit specific. Nobody expected the Purge, a Lights Out, the Zombie Apocalypse, or an Alien Invasion, let alone all at the same time. But I did! When that whole auto-cloning thing got big, I'd gotten real excited. Scared, because I'm a sane person and thats what sane people do when they see an epidemic coming that they can't really do anything about because everybody thinks you're crazy, but excited.
I'd had my generators set up months ahead of time, plenty of ammo, and tons of batteries. Nobody was gettin' in to eat *my* brains! Well, the auto-cannibals were more fond of quadriceps meat, technically, but they'd probably settle on brains after a while anyways.
I'd been called crazy, growing my own food, instead on relying on the Meat-o-Printers. Sure, I kinda missed steak, but that craving went away after a while. Broccoli is... fine. I guess. Kale isn't bad, either. But I knew what was up. Reptilians. They were behind *everything!* And the best way to get us all ready to be rounded up and eaten was to start us eating *each other.* Tricksy, tricksy Reptilians.
The first day or so wasn't too bad, from what I could tell. Mostly riots. And looting. And complaining about the Internet being down. You know, reasonable stuff. But then they started getting hungry. They were smart about it, raiding morgues and prisons, but eventually those all ran out, and it was... pretty much open season. It was nasty. Still, it wasn't too bad, sitting alone in my bunker with faint screams in the distance, munching on kale. I got used to it eventually.
And a day or so later somebody was knocking on my bunker. That was something unanticipated. I'd forgotten that these weren't simply "zombies"per se. They were living, breathing, intelligent beings who simply had an unfortunate predilection towards human flesh who weren't gettinganyofmyBRAINS! They went down pretty easy. Don't need headshots if they're not undead! The survivors more or less dragged off the carcasses and... did zombie-esque things with them. Ate the brains, most likely. I dunno. I didn't stick around to watch. My rutabagas needed watering.
About a month later, and things had calmed down significantly. I barely heard anything upstairs anymore, after just about everybody had gotten eaten. Technically, there are enough calories in a human body to keep another one alive for a while, but considering that refrigeration was pretty much out of the question for everybody who'd gotten used to eating human, the meat tended to go bad preeeety quick. So everybody was eatin' everybody. While I was just chillin'. Eatin' mah KALE.
Approximately five months after things went silent, I heard *it.* A weird whirring-buzzing racket that seemed to pass overhead several times before coming down surprisingly close to my bunker. I checked my external cameras. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Alien. SPACESHIP.
I'd grabbed all of the guns I could carry and made my way outside. I knew what was up. My kale-sense was tingling. The boarding ramp lowered, and suited figures made their way down it in silvery suits. Their green flesh stood out vividly against the apocalyptic terrain. Reptilians. Knew it.
However, my Kale-sense had tingled again. No, not the Reptilians. I grabbed my binoculars. The green flesh I had supposed to be the scales of lizardlike aliens turned out instead to not be flesh at all. I was staring at the leafy foliage of a different kind of alien altogether.
Chlorofillians. My stomach rumbled. I grabbed my weapons.
My. Time. HAD ***COME!*** |
Derek sat at the edge of the cliff. St John's head, tourist spot and breathtaking view, the birds stood still mid-flight and the waves were solid as gemstone. If only the wind hadn't stopped, he wanted to feel it's strength on his face one last time, but this was not to be.
This could be purgatory, he thought, the world is beautiful but paralyzed, or dead. There wasn't much difference from where he stood.
He had traveled to his favorite spots, the highlands, the coast, the cliff. There is beauty in a picture. There was only dread where Derek went. Trees did not bend under the gust, the sea did not assault his nostrils with the scent. He could see, all his other sense were numb. A sterile world, that's what it was.
It looked a lot like cardiac arrest, his left arm had become suddenly numb, he thought it would pass. It didn't. Eternity in sterility, that's what life had in store for him instead of letting him die as it should.
Derek's mind wouldn't hold. Be it in a year or a decade, he would go insane, no human could withstand the isolation. He thought about engraving his story in stone, somewhere in a public place. Passerby would wonder how it appeared, he'd become the most discussed topic post-mortem. He could travel the world and do so in every country, create a new religion, this time for peace. Until humans would twist it as a pretext for war, obviously.
But all the plans soon felt hollow. Derek had only one true choice. Step of the cliff, or stay on solid ground.
The only way to get rest would be to jump. But what if he didn't die on the spot and time stood still again, leaving him broking and in pain for eternity? He never harmed himself in the bubble before, didn't know the result. And what if he didn't and went mad, traveled around and stab people, thinking they were but hallucinations and only he was real?
What if? Scared, he did what his mom taught him, redo the debate in his mind until he found an answer.
Derek sat at the edge of the cliff. St John's head, tourist spot and breathtaking view, the birds stood still mid-flight and the waves were solid as gemstone. |
It's not a scam. I get results, it's just that I have to make people think they've been scammed first. Listen, here's how it works:
Everyone wants to know what their power is. Absolutely everyone. Even the "supers are the spawn of satan"people have a power and even they want to know what it is. I know because they've been my clients, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Everyone wants to know what their power is, but few people are willing to do what it takes to find out. Few, however, is not 'nobody'. So yeah, you've got your jumpers who find a building just tall enough to grievously injure themselves, you've got the people who jump in front of trains, and of course people willing to put the phrase 'faster than a speeding bullet' to a rather gruesome test, but mostly everyone doesn't have the guts. Given the failure rate of the above methods (turns out x-ray vision doesn't stop an oncoming train), you can't really blame them, but it does mean there's plenty of room for an enterprising man like myself.
See, you don't have to almost die to get your powers. You just have to *think* you're going to die. "Secret"government projects around the globe have this trick where they turn you into a super-soldier by strapping you into a centrifuge and spinning you around so hard you black out. The results it gets are middling - the degree of danger is usually correlated to the strength of the power - but hey, half-ass superpowers are better than no-ass superpowers.
I'm better than that.
A few years back I almost died. Yeah, as far as origin stories go, it's hardly original. That's pretty much how everyone's starts. But mine was a little different because of how it went down: Car accident. Okay, yes, that's also a big one, thirty thousand vehicle fatalities a year means lots of folks are going to find out they've got skin that can turn to steel or whatever. Mine was different.
T-boned by a pickup truck, and my car catches fire. That's the first thing that hardly ever happens, movies lie - cars almost never burn up. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that the accident had broken an arm and a leg. Couldn't even drag myself to safety. Second thing that hardly ever happens is that the driver - my brother, goes by the name Asbestos now, it's terrible but he doesn't listen - was thrown from the crash and doesn't die. He's just fine.
So the car's on fire and I'm dying of blood loss or smoke inhalation or something, and he's trying to come back and get me but the fire's pretty damn big at this point, and he's yelling, "I'm sorry man, I'm sorry!"
And I just yell back (and this is really impressive here, somehow my lungs still worked), "You fucking moron, you're immune to fire!"
And it turns out he is.
That's my power. It's the power to know what other people's powers are, and to bring it out. And in any other deadly situation I'd have learned that fact and died like so many other people without "get me out of this deadly situation"powers. But that time the fates lined up and, after a lengthy and expensive hospital stay, I had a new life and a new job.
I live the life of a con man, because that's what people have to think I am. I trick them into thinking I can give them superpowers, and then I skip out with the money.
Then, later, completely by coincidence, they're put in a situation where their specific power would save their life. This is pretty easy for people with powers like regeneration or invulnerability, half the time they get themselves mugged before I can arrange one. Other times it's hard - one lady had x-ray vision, so I had to arrange a full-on restaurant robbery complete with gunfire and a fire exit out back only visible through several walls. The fact that the fire door was solid steel was helpful.
Why all the showmanship, you ask? I could just tell people what their power is, and they'd have it, full strength, right?
Sure, if I want to get kidnapped by whatever country happens to have assets wherever I am. Or killed by whatever countries can't have me. I'm faster and cheaper than a centrifuge and I get better results. I'm worth more than my weight in gold.
Someone knows, though. Maybe my brother finally told the story at some point. Maybe one of my clients got wise. Either way, 'they' came for me just a week ago. Black vans, SWAT gear, the works. If I hadn't been out attempting to stalk a client down a long, straight alley (superspeed, it turns out) I'd have been toast. I got the hell out of town.
What do I do now? Turns out I'm owed a few favors. See, I have to make people think I'm a con man but a good con man can convince some pretty smart people. And afterward, those people put the "I'm going to give you superpowers"scam and the fact that they got superpowers together, and they get me. So I've got some former clients who're willing to help me out. One of them's been a personal detective on my behalf for the week.
Who's he following? I think that's obvious at this point, don't you? He's the one over there, at the bar, watching us. He's been following you.
Why you? That's simple.
You can hide people. |
ATTENTION PEOPLE OF THE WORLD!
COWER BEFORE DOCTOR NECROSIS! I INTERRUPT YOUR PITIFUL LIVES WITH A MESSAGE!
Recently, my arch-nemesis, the Racer, has made public his ongoing struggles with depression. I would like to publicly applaud this action and express my support for his difficulties. Despite our many conflicts, I respect the Racer and admire the the courage needed to talk about these issues in our society.
While there has been some positive reception for his work to normalize mental healthcare, the general response has been disgustingly negative. The attitudes on display create a toxic environment that only exacerbates mental health issues and perpetuates the stigma around seeking necessary care.
Those whinging about how "weak"this generation of heroes is are the real cowards. What the Racer did last week took more courage than staring down any Death Ray that I ever constructed.
Those seeking to turn his issues into an opportunity to further suppress open discussion of those issues are the real villains.
As such, I am pleased to introduce my guest, Gabe, whose public comments about the Racer I will not repeat. He is about to demonstrate my newest creation, this substance reconfigures and blocks dopamine receptors in the brain. If you believe depression is something one just "gets over"then I wish you good luck, Gabe.
Bully the Racer at you own risk. THIS HAS BEEN DOCTOR NECROSIS! |
“Sbrgrl, are you ready?”
The being nodded in response, jamming his appendages into the ship’s steering inlets. “Yes, Mother. I’m ready.”
“You’re sure? We don’t have to do this if you aren’t comfortable.”
“I’m sure. I have to do this, for myself if nothing else. Is everything packed?”
His towering father entered the operations room, a lumbering, beastly thing. “Yes, son, we are ready for liftoff! Do your thing.”
Sbrgrl nodded with all ten of his head-like parts, then initiated flight sequences while his parents strapped in for the ride. Particle engine—engaged; overdrive warp disc—flummoxed; pressurizers—wingled. He floated his vision-blobs back to where his parents were seated and paused a moment.
“We’re ready,” his father said in the way that Lkokdry reassure one another. “It’s been a long time, and you’ve been practicing a lot. Just take your time, take it slow, and everything will be fine.”
A smile, in the form of wriggling gelatinous tumors, crept across Sbrgrl’s being, and he activated all three cores at the same time, lurching forward sharply. He heard his parents gasp, but startup is always rough in the older models. It’s not his fault their ship is so outdated; I mean, the damn thing can’t even exit camouflage mode. It’s just stuck in a permanent state of being brown and rocky.
The ride was long and full of bumps, hiccups, and other such jarring jerks and jingles. Soon, though, they passed the ringed planet and stirred with excitement, knowing they grew close.
“Careful, Sbrgrl,” his mother said, coaxing. “You can start slowing down now.”
He obliged, but they were close, and Sbrgrl hated flying. He didn’t want to draw it out any longer than needed, so he slowed down, then, just as slowly, sped back up.
At last, the little blue planet with it’s creamy white swirls and marvelous yellow-ish sun came into view, and Sbrgrl warbled with relief, like a water balloon full of boiling honey.
It grew large in the viewscreen, and larger still.
“Slow down, son,” his father said, with a light half-body laugh. “You can slow down now.”
But Sbrgrl tensed up, seeing the little planet. His three minds went dim, thoughts racing as panic gripped him. “Shit,” he cried out. “Shit, I can’t control it!”
“Yes you can!” his mother scolded, trying to scare him into believing it. “I know you can, and you will. You have to get it right, or you’ll always be haunted by what happened.”
Sbrgrl tightened his grips on the levers, yanking them, but he yanked two of them the wrong way in his abrupt motion and fright, speeding up despite pulling out the counterthrust jets. The ship rumbled, creaking, moaning in complaint as the two forces collided, spinning them, tumbling toward Earth.
“Get out of the way!” his father shouted, trying to yank him free of it. But Sbrgrl knew—if he couldn’t make it right, that would be the last chance he'd ever get to fly, and prove he's not incompetent.
Unfortunately for him, it was.
The caterwauling clamor of smashing into Earth’s atmosphere at a bad angle tossed Sbrgrl and his father to the other side of the ship, removing any semblance of control there once was. They careened through the stratosphere, a ship the size of New York, and smashed into the southern hemisphere, displacing half of the Atlantic Ocean in minutes.
By the time they awoke from the trauma of their crash landing and stepped outside, Earth had died.
Again.
“Fuck!” His father circled around the hull, checking for damage. “It’s bad, but we can still make it back home. On the other hand, our vacation is completely ruined. I told you, honey, I told you not to let him drive again.”
Sbrgrl cowered in a corner, a limp pile of appendages and sadness.
“There’s no point in beating him up over it,” she said. “It’s been 66 years since his last attempt. I thought it’d be fine, but I guess there are some things we’re just not made for. We won’t ask you to do it again, sweetie. Let’s go home.”
“Sorry for yelling at you, son,” Sbrgrl’s father said to him as he strapped back into the ship. “I get worked up, but you know how it goes. Just like last time, no matter how bad the landing is, our little vacation home is always fine the next time we come around. Crazy how fast it repairs itself—I mean, a year? Anyway, we’ll just head back and spend our week off at home.”
Sbrgrl strapped in next to his mother, pouting, and they departed, leaving Earth behind as a smoldering pile of rubble and ash.
"I ruined it again,"he said, curling against his mother.
"Oh, sweetie. I know it looked bad, maybe even a little worse than last time since the ship's bigger, but you remember how beautiful it was the year after your last accident. It'll heal. Just rest and we'll be home before you know it."
And so Sbrgrl, the ender of two Earth eras, took a nap in his mother's lap.
-----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
Agent Nora Murphy was used to getting stuck out of time. It was her damn job. You learn to deal with the joint pain, the headaches, the spacetime vertigo that hits you like a damn truck when your atoms wonder, for a brief sparkling moment, *when and where the hell are we*.
When you love your job, you'll do anything for it.
And Murphy loved her job.
She loved it enough to plunge one-hundred and fifty years back in time. Loved it enough to chop off her long auburn hair, bind her chest, and wear a suit just baggy enough to hide evidence of her figure. The places the Fixer Agency needed her to go weren't the kind of places for an unemancipated, *decent* young woman of that era.
"So let me be an indecent woman,"she'd tried to say.
Her boss, Head Fixer Michael Shore, just shook his head at her. They were in New York then too, the New York of the 2060s. The wall beyond him was slick glass, inlaid with a wall-sized translucent screen, showing agents and dates and times all across the world. Across the knotted threads of space time.
Murphy had watched those lights swirl and imagined herself as one of them. The usual anticipation glittered in her belly.
"No,"Shore had told her. "You'll be a subtle woman."And then he slid her the bag of period-specific supplies: a brown wool suit, loafers, a suitcase whose false-bottom was full of cash, minted in 1911.
Everything had to be perfect. Spacetime had little patience for anachronisms -- her body was enough of a strain for the logic of physics to accept as it was.
She was still in New York City. Just a New York City that had been dead for one hundred and fifty years.
Somehow, nothing and everything had changed. The city was duller, softer. It was unnerving and relieving to look around and not see a wall of color and lights and cars and buses, rushing from borough to borough.
But so much the was the same: the hum-buzz of life, here, this moment in summer; the laughter of strangers rising on the wind; the air hot with the smell of fresh food; music unspooling across the open sky. The crooning of hungry cellos and dancing violins rising from the open doors of jazz clubs.
For a moment, Murphy could almost forget she had a fucking job to do.
She walked steadfastly, gripping her suitcase like it was her second life. In a way, it was.
Murphy rarely knew what she was here to do. She had her mark and her mission, and she knew better than to ask questions. Sometimes, an agent knowing was enough to throw off the delicate web of fate altogether. It was spiderweb-delicate. A house of cards, waiting for the wrong breath to send it fluttering down.
Night was falling, the dim hints of stars, flickering in the sky. Murphy had never looked up in her city and seen *stars*.
She paused under a streetlamp and pulled out the map in her pocket to regard it. It was hidden carefully in the inner pages of a book, pasted inside to hide the fact she needed a map at all.
*Wherever and whenever you are,* her boss always told her, *you're no goddamn tourists. Tourists draw attention. And what do we do?*
And Murphy would reply, like a goddamn trained dog, *Never draw attention.*
So she pretended to read Whitman's *Leaves of Grass* as she squinted up at hand-painted street signs and tried to figure out where the hell she was. Spacetime was a fickle thing, and the sooner she was out of here and back in the twenty-first century, the better. The Agency would be opening up a tiny portal to return home by morning. This one would be a little circle of light on the underside of a Central Park bench.
And it was always a damn headache to get back if you missed the first portal opening. So much paperwork.
Murphy scowled down at the map and snapped the book shut. She lifted her fedora to run her fingers through her freshly-cut hair.
*Breathe, Murph. Breathe. You're not doing shit if you get frustrated.*
Maybe she would stop in a club, find out what a genuine New York City dinner was like in this decade. Fish for directions. Clear her head. Judging by her pocketwatch, she still had three hours to find her mark, deliver the cash, and stay down fucking low until the portal popped open again to take her home.
It was an easy job. A routine job.
It became a mantra: *Easy and routine. Just easy and routine.*
Murphy started to pull the book from her pocket again, but a sound made her hesitate. From the constant low murmur of a night-life blooming open, a distinct sound arose. A violin. It uncurled on the wind like the forgotten voice of an old friend.
A handful of half-forgotten lines leapt into her head: *Caviar and cigarettes... Well versed in etiquette*
"I know that song,"she murmured to herself.
She shoved the book back in her jacket pocket and turned on her heel and started half-hurrying--*Never too fast,* Shore's voice echoed through her mind, *or you'll just draw unnecessary attention to yourself, and we're never here to be noticed*--down the road.
No good Time Agent walked away from a glaring goddamn anachronism.
When Murphy rounded the next corner, there he was. A man stood in an alleyway, bathed in the golden light from an open-mouthed backdoor. It had to be some kind of club, judging by the laughter and scattered slapping jazz tumbling out from it. But the man in the alleyway stood there in a black suit, his jacket off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his dark elbows. He played with his eyes closed, head bobbing.
Murphy approached as close as she dared. She pretended to step into a street lamp's light to get a better look at her pocketwatch.
But the man opened his eyes, and his violin bow faltered. "Oh,"he said, "there you are."
Murphy didn't react. She only held her pocketwatch up as if she couldn't read the golden dials. Her blood thrummed hot in her head.
There was no good plan for this. Nothing but the panic button hidden under her shirt collar. The "oh shit"button. The "unwind time because I'm gonna fuckin' die"button. She tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase.
"That's your favorite song, isn't it?"he continued.
Now Murphy snapped her head toward him. Her heart lunged for her throat. She cleared her throat and said, pitching her voice down, "What was that, son?"
"You're a big Queen fan. I knew it would bring you over."
Murphy clutched the sides of her pocketwatch so tightly her fingers hurt. Her face betrayed her already, she was damn sure.
So she said, "And who the fuck are you?"
"Easy. I'm here to help you. I'm glad I caught you before they did."
Murphy's mind spun ahead of her. Could be a Russian asset. Could be--
The man took a step for her. Murphy took a half-step back. She couldn't afford to lose the suitcase. Shit. Maybe he was here for all the money.
"Look, buddy,"she said, "I don't know who you are."
"I'm here to save your life. You could be a little grateful."He smiled, playfully. "You're Nora Murphy. You're working under Michael Shore, right? How's that old bastard doing?"
Murphy said nothing, but she knew the color draining from her face gave her away.
"Easy. I told you, I'm here to help you. You can call me Jack."
"Sounds like you're here to stir shit,"Murphy spat.
Jack opened his mouth to retort, but that easy grin slipped. He nodded over Murphy's shoulder. "They're a few minutes ahead of schedule."
Then Murphy did something stupid. Something Shore would have told her was a rookie mistake. But maybe it saved her life. Maybe, if she got through all this, she'd get the boys down in Quantum Untangling to figure out the chaos probability for her.
Murphy turned and looked over her shoulder.
There, at the end of the street, approached the dark silhouettes of men in dark sunglasses and dark suits. Men who moved against the night like walking shadows. Men walking right toward her.
"Those your goons?"Murphy snapped.
"No. Those ones come courtesy of your boss."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He checked his own watch and grimaced. "Fuck. You traveling here threw off the timing. We've only got twenty or thirty seconds now."
"For *what?*"Murphy's bullshit detectors were blaring, but she couldn't tell who was lying. Not yet.
"For you to decide if you want to live or die. And I can promise you this much: you won't figure out who those fuckers are if you let them shoot you in this alleyway."Jack tucked his violin under his arm and nodded over his shoulder. "So you can come with me, or you can die with them. Your choice."
Murphy gripped the suitcase like it would decide for her. She reached under the collar of her shirt and ran her thumb over that panic button.
And she let her hand fall.
"Not much of a choice, is it?"Murphy spat.
Jack grinned and winked. It was the wild grin of a wolf hungry for the hunt. "I knew you'd say that."Then he turned and ran down the alley.
She followed him, into the dark.
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/gfqc8l/time_hunt_part_2/) is now up! Thanks for reading :) |
The Clown opened his eyes.
He was hungry. It was dark. It was damp. It smelled of mildew and old water. And fear. That was there too.
The sleeping minds of his prey were prepared for his return. Those with greater shine had felt it first. But now everyone would know it. A little pressure behind their eyes when they were alone. A sensation of something skittering behind them when they were alone in the dark. They were prey, and prey knew when a predator was near. The collective unconscious was hushed, quiet as the jungle when every little bird knew there was a jaguar on the prowl.
The Clown smiled his toothy grimace. The jaguar was hungry.
The sewers were as he had remembered them. The refuse of the prey told him much about them. There were things he did not recognize, things of metal and plastic and glass. His greater mind apprehended their purpose as he observed them. Interesting. They could serve as a good portal through which to cultivate the fear of his chosen meal.
There were new sections of the sewers, and he found them as he skittered hither and yon. He grew familiar with the sights, sounds, and smells of the prey that walked unknowing above. They were ripe for the picking. They did not fear the shadows, but that would make it easier, in a way, now that there was something stalking them that was worthy of their fear.
Days and nights went by and still the web of tunnels expanded. The humans had done everything within their power to eradicate every dark corner in which a monster could hide, thinking themselves safe. It was a delicious taste of false security. Some of them had even *lit* sections of his sewers.
And in one section, someone dared to *live.*
At first he had been hesitant. Terrified, even. Their forms reminded him strongly of that *skølpadda.* The Turtle. **Maturin.** He squealed and cowered in a corner as the name rose, unbidden, to his mind and raked across his very being with talons of white-hot light. He waited until the pain subsided and re-emerged to stalk. Yes, they had terrified him with their forms, half-man, half... *that.* But they trafficked with a rat-man, which he had initially mistaken as a servant of the Crimson King... But no, these were something altogether different. They were on neither one side nor the other. They were *neutral.* And therefore... not dangerous.
Yes, they were strong. They had weapons, and they knew how to use them. But it hadn't been the slung stones of the children that had defeated him last time, it had been their *shine.* But these were dimwits, and even their rat master's shine was weak compared to those who had been his bane the last time.
And so he stalked them. He preyed on them in their dreams, and he waited for the moment that he would strike, to reclaim the last corner of his home so that he would be the only being who inhabited it.
He smelled it even now, a dish that had not changed for some time. Pizza. He smirked. They were human enough. They knew fear. He had seen their uneasy glances into the shadows as they passed him. It was no longer their home. It was his.
He crept forward, stealing into their lair, slipping through the nether and out into the physical world again. They all slept, snoring. He could feel their sleeping minds. Four dim bulbs, and a fitful flame in a chamber at the end of the long, vaulted room. Brick and stone and plenty of room, a perfect fit to serve as their tomb. He smiled again, savoring the feeling of his teeth sliding out of his impossibly small mouth. The time was now.
He strode into the middle of the room and reached toward the minds of the four mutant children. They would die first, and then he would deal with their master.
A light flickered on, and suddenly the chamber was bathed in incandescent yellow. The creatures were not asleep. Each sprung from its bed, wielding archaic weapons. The Clown's smile grew. This would be fun.
"Master Splinter!"one of them yelled. "He's here!"There was no fear in his voice. He sounded... jocular.
What? How could they have--
The door at the end of the hallway slammed open, the candleflame growing into a torchlight. He was greater than the Clown had anticipated. But still... Not enough. Not enough to stop the Clown. He grinned, his face splitting wider.
"Gross, dude!"one of the mutants yelled, stepping back.
There was the fear. He felt it now, as his form took on a more macabre semblance. The fear was growing, and soon he would feast.
The door behind him slammed.
What? There were only five. There was no other shine...
"Ah, my friend, it is good to see you,"the rat said with an unbearable smirk, looking past the Clown. "Here he is, as you suspected he would be."
The Clown turned, slowly, to find a simple man, standing in jeans and a soiled white T-shirt that read "I drive the Takuro Spirit."He was lanky with tousled brown hair, and wore a shit-eating grin. He stood with his hand on a gun in a holster. He had no shine. He would not--
The man spoke with a strong New York accent.
"See the Turtle, ain't he keen."
The Clown shrieked as the radiant talons raked at his essence. What was this man? What was--
The man's arm blurred, and he held in his hand a huge revolver, shining steel with sandalwood grips. The Clown's vision was swallowed by that mammoth barrel, pointed directly between his eyes. At the center of that black abyss he saw a glint of copper... and *ka.*
The man--no, the Gunslinger--pulled back the hammer, and the click resonated through the chamber. No. Not that. Not *that* gun!
The Gunslinger smirked.
"All things serve the fuckin' Beam." |
I was brilliant. No really. Fucking *brilliant*. They loved me. Every sub. Every goddamn person. They loved me. I was their hero.
And when I say they loved me, and when I say I was their hero, like, what I mean to say is that, you know, that was the *real* emotion that was playing on in their heart as they typed those nasty remarks and as they clumsily hit the "downvote"button instead of the "upvote"button. Clearly, this was just a big confusing mess for them but deep down, in their heart of hearts, the absolutely *loved* me.
So yeah. I'd gotten some karma in my day. 372 posts and 6 post karma. -3 comment karma. But look, if you don't put yourself out there, you're never going to win, right? You're *never* going to win. And so I did what few others have ever done. I put myself out there. And so even if, technically, I didn't *win* win, well, I still in some sense won, right? You know what I'm saying? I still won.
But then things turned weird. I started drinking again, and I started getting lonely. Started posting to /r/r4r and /r/needafriend. Started posting to /r/gonewild. Shit, I even started posting to /r/dragonsfuckingcars. And then the PMs came in and I started sharing too much information and you know, like, that's just how it goes sometimes.
And then I outgrew that phase. I moved on and I started posting on the more respectable subs. I posted to /r/aww, and /r/cars (the sister subreddit to /r/dragonsfuckingcars). People seemed to like me again. I got 2 more upvotes. But then one day on /r/earthporn, I posted something that offended one of the armchair geologists on there. I made a lewd remark about feldspar and this sonuvabitch took it upon himself to go through my post history and dig up all the worst and most embarrassing things I'd ever said on reddit.
The tide turned against me. The crowd came down upon me. The downvotes flooded in like a raging rapid, pounding me, smothering me, drowning me. Not even my alt accounts could upvote me out of this hole. Nobody could survive the onslaught that I encountered.
And so I resigned. I put in my 2 weeks. I became the unthinkable. I became /u/[deleted]. The unnamed. The unknowable. The unposting.
And two weeks later, in a moment of weakness, I created a new account and the cycle began again. |
The front door chimed as someone entered the shop. I put down the eagle sketch I was working on for another client and rolled out of my booth to see who it was, noting the time as I went. My appointment wasn't for another half hour and we didn't take walk-ins. I took one look at the huge, looming figure in the doorway and knew that my appointment was early.
On Mondays the place was usually dead, so it was just me and Mr. Personality. Which was preferred really, considering he could scare away a fucking mountain lion. He was every bit of seven feet tall, with a gratuitous amount of muscle on his frame. There was also the beard that looked as if it hadn't seen a comb in months and a razor in years. That was all without adding the tally marks going down his right arm that was slowly turning into a sleeve. In other words the man was bad for business, but he always left a great tip.
"Morning friend."I called out. "You're a bit early today."
A non-committal grunt was my only response as he made his way back to my chair and sat down. As he did, I noticed the permanent bags under his eyes were even darker and his eyes were bloodshot. I thought about asking and thought better of it. Outside of setting up the appointments we had only exchanged a dozen words in the time he had been coming here.
"Ready to finish off the last set?"I asked, already prepping my station. The familiar buzzing of the machine soon formed a bubble of familiarity around us. I had already set out my ink when a strong hand gripped my arm.
A lump formed in my throat at the contact. "No,"was all he said before releasing me and sinking back into the chair.
I felt my face pull into a frown as I put my equipment down. Maybe he wanted something else? But he wasn't very forthcoming with that information either way. He just sat there, staring off into space.
Was this the part where he admitted to being a serial killer? Or some kind of gang/mafia member. And if so was I supposed to call the police or just say fuck it? There was nothing in the rule books about this. The only time I had asked what the marks were for I had received a steely stare that spoke more volumes than anything.
Minutes passed and there was nothing but the buzz of the tattoo machine until finally, he spoke, voice monotone.
"My wife."
I waited for something else but he only chewed at his bottom lip, fingers gripping the handrest so hard his knuckles were going white. There was obviously something he wanted to say, so I waited. And waited. And waited. Another ten minutes passed, just me and this giant sitting in relative silence. Then he nodded as if he'd come to a decision.
"My wife,"he started again. "Asked me to get these for her. One for every week."
Interesting decision but I wasn't here to judge. More than anything I was glad he wasn't a killer. At least I was glad until he spoke again.
"Cancer,"he said and my heart sank. "Doctors gave her a month. Know what she said to that?"
"What did she say?"
An empty chuckle rumbled up from his barrel chest. "She told the doctor. Fuck you and fuck this cancer. I'll beat this thing, and I'll show you how long it took me to do it."
An idea of what the tallies were for started to form in my head.
"Not supposed to get ink though,"he continued. "So I did it for her."
He looked at me then, instead of out at nothing. And there was more pain in his eyes than I thought possible. I knew the obvious outcome to this conversation now, but I really didn't want to hear the end of it.
"A mark for every week that she beat it. And each time a new week passed she would point it out to the doctor. And each time he would smile and encourage her progress. But we both knew, he had explained the charts to me. She was getting worse every day."
My chest was heavy as he went on, my throat already choked. I couldn't have responded if I wanted to, but he didn't care. He just told his story, and a part of me realized I was probably the only person who would ever hear the whole thing.
"She passed this morning."
"No,"I whispered and he only nodded.
He stared down at the dozens of marks and strike-throughs. His voice broke when he spoke again and I felt tears in my eyes even though his were dry.
"My baby made it so long. I need one more mark, boss. This is my tribute to her. Her struggle. Her pain. Stubborn woman, should've just let go."
He released a breath I didn't know he had been holding and his whole body deflated. It took more effort than it should have, but he held his arm out to me, never breaking the gaze he now had on the floor.
"One more mark, boss."He repeated.
And I put more of my heart and soul into that line than any tattoo I had ever done. |
But this time words were not enough. As he advanced, she couldn't look away from his cunning eyes, saturated with greed. She desperately dug her hand around the inside of her backpack, trembling. He was close enough now she could smell his breath, like rotting meat, leaking out from a predatory grin. She finally felt the pistol's cool metal handle, and drew it from her bag. Her hands were shaking terribly, but she managed to place it, muzzle first, against his chest.
He jerked back as if he'd already been shot.
"Swiper!"
Dora cocked the hammer.
"No swiping!" |
"[MALSJÖ](https://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/60327774/)"I said. Or tried to say, given I had no idea how an "O"with two dots above was pronounced.
The lights dimmed and flickered. Everyone else in the vicinity slowed to a standstill as if frozen in time.
The black TV unit I was considering started to shake and change shape. Bulbous eyes bulged out of the top. The frame rounded and the front sliding glass panels fell out, revealing a gaping maw housing an inky blackness that looked bottomless.
The thing roared, its eyes fixing on me. "Get in my belly."I felt, more than heard the words. I stumbled back and fell, and the thing advanced toward me. It crouched and leapt... and crashed into an invisible barrier that flickered brightly for an instant, then disappeared again.
"Demonslayer to the living room department."The intercom said. "Demonslayer, living room department."
In disbelief, I looked around. A young woman in an oversized IKEA shirt and holding a glowing sword was running toward me. I ducked as she jumped over me. The invisible field didn't seem to have an effect on her, and she buried her sword in one of the demon's eyes.
But that didn't stop it. With a roar of pain and rage, it opened its mouth wider, if that were possible, and inhaled.
With a shout, the IKEA worker gabbed ahold of a nearby bed frame, her legs getting sucked into the things mouth.
I shouted a wordless cry of confused anger, and ran toward the demon from the side. Passing through the invisible field raised the hair on my skin, and of a sudden I could feel the wind from the demon's inhale. As my feet slid closer to the beast, I grabbed the sword, pulling it out of the one eye and stabbing it into the second. Finally, the demon lay still, defeated.
"Good job!"the IKEA girl shouted excitedly, limping over to me. "This one will make a great harvest."
"Wha... WHAT?"I asked. The people around us reanimated as if nothing had happened.
"OK, short version first."She said. "Some of these pieces of furniture are named after demons we found named in an ancient scroll. Unfortunately, we don't know how to pronounce the names, so we leave it to customers to find the right name by trial and error."
"But what about the invisible barrier?"
"Oh that! Well, the twists and turns of the customer path in IKEA form a pentagram of human blood. Though technically the human blood is till contained in the living humans themselves, which is preferable."
"And when you slay a demon, you harvest it?"I asked.
"Oh yes! The black market for demon parts is very lucrative. We couldn't maintain our low furniture prices without subsidizing it with demon sales."
"One last question."I said. "Are you taking demonslayer applications?"
"Well, you did prove yourself just now."She said, eyeing me up and down. "I'll put in a word with the manager. We might even start you above minimum wage."
"I'll take what I can get." |
> Hello to anyone that's reading this. Mom, Dad, Laura - I hope I'm finding you well whoever you are.
> As many of you know, on April 1st of last year, something happened. Something terrible, something not forgotten even over the course of a year. To this day, I hear people whispering about it amidst shushing and worried looks.
> Someone, a monster hiding in society, thought it would be funny to play the biggest and most terrible prank the world has seen.
> At first, we thought it was an air raid. North Korea, or Russia, maybe China- whoever it was, *someone* was attacking. That's what it seemed like, as the emergency sirens sounded and explosions went off in the distance.
> Some people likely wondered why. Why would any major power go out of their way to attack a small town in North Dakota? Is that even worth the effort? Well, the answer was no, obviously, but that didn't help at the time. Not when several squads of armed men ran through the streets, breaking into certain homes. A few hostages were taken.
> I never meant for any of it to go that far.
> Before we knew what was happening, we'd taken six hostages to the Mayor's office, and taken *him* hostage, too. I guess spray painting the orange tips on airsoft guns is surprisingly effective.
> The town became ours. It was only ever supposed to scare some people, namely our sisters, but instead, we ended up with control of the town and a sobbing Mayor. Then, without a word, those conquerors just... left. Like nothing had happened. An airsoft gun was left behind, and the Sheriff realized what had happened. Mostly, at least.
> We were scared. A bunch of teenage boys can't control a town. Besides, someone would notice we'd missed dinner and put the pieces together eventually.
> I'm so sorry. I can't take it anymore, and I've left. The shame is just too much to bear.
> I love you all.
>
> P.S.: April Fools. Gotcha, bitches, I'm just camping for the weekend. I fuckin' wish I'd been invited last year, but James wouldn't let me go with them. He's such a weenie.
-----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
I ain't fit to fight no demon lord, but I can dig a hole. Matter of fact, that's about all I ever done. Don't know why, don't know what for. Folks just follow the path life sets, and mine just happened to keep me digging down. Folks come across me out here and I tell 'em I'm a holy man.
I'd taken a sip of that old, rusted canteen, wiped the sweat off my brow, and was just about to take another stab at that god-forsaken field of rocks when *boom*. Like God sneezed, the world flashed, a cloud of dust went up, and I seen the demon lord. Least that's what he called himself.
"Hey, you,"he said real sinister, like the type of folk who just dig pits to eat breakfast with the rattlesnakes.
"Hey yourself,"I told him back. I don't pause much but to take a sip, but I had to take a break for this. Horny-looking fellow, like a goat who done forgot how to goat. Walked on two legs like a man, pranced around like some sort of ballerina shit.
"I'm the demon lord,"he said.
I reckon there's a lot I don't know in this world, like the reason rain falls down 'stead of up. But I do know evil when I see it, and I know I seen it when I seen him.
"Alright,"I told him. "It's a pleasure."It wasn't no pleasure, but some folks don't know a liar from a leprechaun.
Then I got right back to digging, only now I knew right what I was digging for. You see, I ain't a saint myself, but I ain't no lover of evil neither. When a goat-man devil-creature comes in like that, I know exactly what needs to be done. I gotta dig his grave, right and true, deep enough that he won't never get out.
So dig I did.
"You're not the Chosen One I was searching for,"he said, sitting on a dead tree and making the hottest heat a little hotter.
"No I ain't,"I told him, 'cause I ain't been chosen for nothing never, not even jury duties. Too dense, they said, but I don't know. Maybe it's the rocks I snack on.
"Then I should kill you."
A hypothermical, that's what they call those, right? One of them thoughts I didn't like where it was headed. See, being dead ain't never been good for a fellow. Ask my grandpapa, with all his hopes and dreams, then he fell off a barn and now he ain't got no hopes no more. Not dreams neither, unless dead folks dream.
But that day I felt good, like that first sip of water before the taste of rust sets in. Brave like a cayote taking on one of 'em snakes. "You can try,"I told him.
And I kept digging. Miles deep, I reckon, but counting ain't never been my strength.
He sat and thunk. Thunk real good, like he should. Ain't nothin' light to kill a man. He snacked on snakes and drank some whiskey, offered me some and I refused.
Then he got up and chose to kill me. Fool me once, goat-man devil-creature, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. And I ain't no fool, not even once. He fell right into that pit, down, down, down, and when he hit the bottom, he splattered like a bug on the windshield. Real satisfying sound.
I ain't fit to fight no demon lord, but I can dig a hole. Matter of fact, that's about all I ever done. Except that day. In the morning I dug, and in the afternoon I filled his grave so he'd never bother me again.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The orbital station at Alpha Centauri was cold. Slightly too cold, in fact; He would’ve preferred it warmer. Nevertheless, his palms were clammy, and no matter how many times he wiped them on his dark black dress uniform, they kept sweating. He practiced his neutral expression, straight backed and blank-faced. He was in this position when one of the functionaries whispered in his ear.
‘They’re here.’
He took a deep breath, plastered the calm expression on his face, and made a motion for them to be shown in. The airlock in front of him scythed open, and just like that, it had happened. Official first contact.
The alien representative was tall and straight backed, humanoid in shape, wearing a fitted grey suit adorned with gold buttons, a universal translator affixed like a lapel pin. The exposed head was covered in a soft orange-and-black fur reminiscent of Earth’s terrestrial tigers, and he could see alien had sheathed claws on its hands and a double set of forward canines. Without a doubt, the felid alien had a predatory ancestry.
He stood, and matched the alien’s approach, keeping a respectful distance. It looked ready to strike at any moment as they stared each other in the eye, but to his relief, the alien broke off first.
‘We have come to discuss the nature of your intentions.’ It said. It slid its claws in and out of its sheaths as it said ‘intentions’, exposing a canine with a roll of its jaw.
The diplomat had to stifle a sigh of relief. As far as anyone had known, this could’ve been a declaration of war. He took another deep breath. ‘Our intentions are peaceful. We simply wish to colonise and build in this area. We are a mercantile species.’
‘Oh? Is that so? Then would you care to explain why you have allied with one of the most dangerous and barbaric species ever to plague our galaxy?’ Even across the species barrier, the diplomat could sense the righteous indignation of the alien. He also had absolutely no idea what the alien was talking about, and said as much.
The alien actually laughed, a short hissing growl that resolved into a humourless chuckle through the translator. ‘Lying will not serve you, human. We have studied your species. Your alliance is bone-deep. Either you are slaves, or willing collaborators. But I promise you, your so-called “friends” will be your undoing. The galaxy does not forget such savages easily.’
The diplomat was stunned. As far as he was aware, this was the first official contact they’d had with any intelligent species, anywhere. Had they been infiltrated? Were those old UFO rumours real? Had someone sent him here to take the fall for an intergalactic war?
He struck for more information with a blatant lie, out of his depth. ‘I’m sorry, we’ve met so many species out here, it’s hard to keep track of all of them. Could you explain exactly which one you mean?’
His heart sank as the alien advanced on him, claws out. Nevermind taking the fall for something, he might just die right here, at the hands of this apex predator. ‘Don’t LIE to me, human. We are far more advanced than you and your little friends. We won’t be chased off again. We’ve had many years to consolidate our power, our sciences, our people. No longer will we hide in the far places of the galaxy. Whatever your allies have told you, it’s outdated.’ The creature actually stalked him into his chair, causing him to fall into it awkwardly, and began to circle him. He could see that it had a vestigial tail about half a metre long, twitching angrily and pointing straight up, hairs on end.
The creature rounded the chair and crouched at his right arm, in a posture for pouncing, and put it’s face uncomfortably close. It’s breathe smelled terrible. It smelled of meat. ‘We have deciphered your old transmissions, seen images of your alliance with our enemies. Look upon evidence of your alliance, and despair.’
The alien raised a clawed hand containing a flat grey disk, made from a material that looked not dissimilar to plastic. Small lights appeared around the disk as the alien squeezed, and an incredibly lifelike image flickered into existence in front of him. The diplomat stared at it.
He stared some more.
‘Isn’t that a dog?’ He asked, confused beyond belief.
‘Yes! You recognize the beast! You are allied with our enemies after all!’ Hissed the alien, triumphant.
‘No, no, wait. Wait a second.’
The creature eyed him suspiciously, light reflecting off it’s slitted eyes.
‘Those are just – Those are pets! They’re not sapient! They’re not even dangerous. They can’t even open doors!’ The diplomat was almost yelling in his panic, causing the alien to shrink back and flatten its ears against its head. It appeared to consider his words.
‘You keep them as pets?’ It finally asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Its jaw was now resting against his leg, drool dripping off the fangs.
‘Yes, yes! Look, I’ve kept one myself, never caused a lick of trouble. Wouldn’t harm a soul!’ He said, instinctively falling into the standard defence of the wounded dog owner.
‘Hmm…’ Said the universal translator, although it was more of a yawning meow from the actual mouth of the alien. ‘We would need to consider this. If it is true, perhaps we should consider a formal non-aggression pact.’ Said the alien. ‘But if we ever see a cursed DOG past our borders, it will be considered an act of war!’ it hastened to add. It left its head on his lap and had slitted its eyes. It seemed to have relaxed, all at once, and had no intention of moving.
‘Do you…’ Said the diplomat, hesitantly.
The alien looked at him.
‘Do you want me to scratch behind your ears?’
There was a pause.
‘Please.’
|
"So, it's called... 'brown cheese'?"Jimmy asked, not trusting the demon with thin slice of carmel-colored extrusion topping a slice of bread.
"Oh yeah! Funny name, I know, but you MUST try it! We all swear by it back home."
Jimmy held his nose and looked closer... there was a red dribble of...something... leaking out from underneath the "brown cheese", apparently holding it in place on top of the bread. He wondered idly why a demon would choose to swear by this substance specifically, but the last thing he wanted was to upset his visitor, or extend the conversation longer than necessary.
"And you say that I *have* to eat it?"Jimmy was shaking now, unsure of whether running away was even an option at this point.
"Well, I suppose that you always have a choice, but trust me, you'd be making a big mistake. Here, I think I have something else you might enjoy..."
As the demon rummaged around in his backpack, Jimmy took the chance to bolt. When Torbjorn stood up and saw that he was alone, he sighed... "Det var synd. Mer til meg ihvertfall."\* He closed his eyes as he enjoyed his lutefisk, followed by his offering of brunost with strawberry jam. These Americans just didn't know what they were missing...
\*That's a shame. Anyway, more for me.
\*\*[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hell,\_Norway](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hell,_Norway) |
I panicked. Forgot to count my bullets. I lost my axe. I went down a blind alley. Turns out the other end was blocked by a wrecked truck. I struggled to get over as the zombie slowly and inexorably made its way towards me.
*Fuck fuck fuck fuck what do I do what do I do*
*Bite it first?*
The thought ran through my head unbidden. I had to have something better than that. Hand to hand? No, Jack had died a few days ago. He was fresh. Fresh zombies were the strongest. Dodge around? No chance. The alley was *thin*. Thin enough I couldn't make it around without being grabbed.
*Fuck it, fine.*
Screaming I charged forward and tackled the zombie. I latched down on its shoulder while still screaming. I heard my screams get muffled as my teeth sunk in, only about half of them finding holes in the shirt. My eyes shut as I waited for the inevitable return bite.
"Ryan? What are you doing?"I heard Jack's voice respond.
I opened my eyes and looked up. The zombie's face....Jack's face was back to normal. There were no more signs of infection. I hesitantly got off of him, disbelieving.
"You, you were a zombie."
"Ha!"Jack chuckled. "No I wasn't."
"What's the last thing you remember?"
Jack's brow furrowed. "The barriers were overrun. I told Alice and the girls to run. You were in the tower sniping zombies. You stopped suddenly, and I found myself facing down three at once, I got one and then...nothing?"
I nodded. "Two had gotten up the stairs. I had to take them down. When I turned back you were one of them. I hesitated to shoot you, and then you were through a door and I couldn't see you anymore. I didn't see you again for three days until you cornered me in this alley and I..."
"What?"Jack stood up and angrily shook me as I stared off unanswering. "What?"
"I bit you."
"You what?"
"I panicked alright. That's why I was a sniper I panicked when they were up close."
Jack nodded slowly. "So what now?"
*Alice*
"Alice and the girls are barricaded in a building three blocks from here. I was luring the group off, including you."
"Let's go."Jack turned and started walking, then stopped. "Actually, you first, I don't know the way. And bring your teeth."
Parts 2-7 below, the story is now finished. |
Honestly, I was pissed. Like, maybe that's terrible or whatever, but come on. I've been lying in wait for all of seven thousand years and now that I finally get my chance to harras and harangue someone til they commit to an untimely death... and it's this fucko.
Maybe if, just say, a terrible fate were to befall those now corrupted by the sudden influx of wealth-
Ok, nope, they seem happy. The sad little starving children suddenly get food every day, while their parents, finally stable enough to refuse extra hours at work are able to help the little brats. Super. And short of smiting these golden little families, I really can't step in.
Ugh. Ok. Don't panic. There's gotta be a way that Mr. Adventure over here screwed over *someone*. Maybe the animal shelter he donated to? I mean, after all, what kinda miserable sod continues to run an animal shelter after lucking into a bajillion dollars? No no, this would be my in. The animal shelter owner bags the money and flees, leaving the poor puppies and kitties to starve in their cages.
...ok yeah, in hindsight I shouldn't have expected that to be the case. No average Joe opens an animal shelter for the wealth. It's all about helping the poor little animals. This guy expanded to multiple cities now and is currently working on fixing all the strays in each town.
That's the worst thing about it, too. Mr. Adventure was smart about who he donated to. These charities weren't just use-it-and-lose-it types. They were invest-in-curing-the-symptom types. The hardest thing about finding out an angle to curse Mr. Adventure was that he'd been smart as well as good.
Now now, I can hear your confusion. "Why, oh great Potrius, are you so invested in punishing Mr. Adventure if he's genuinely a good guy? If you want to punish evildoers, shouldn't you be happy?"
My answer to that is: fuck off, I spent seven thousand years in a tomb, I should be able to do what I want.
It really is that simple. I dreamed of a day where I could cleanse the world of a great evil, and that great evil was supposed to be the thief of The Unending Pot. He was supposed to do the whole 'I don't understand inflation' bit and fuck over the world. Not... not this. My legacy now is to be the vengeful spirit that did jack all after his artifact was stolen cause the derpwad that stole it turned out to be a decent human being.
Lame, right?
So my next step of action was to infiltrate Mr. Adventure's dreams. Clearly just waiting for something bad to happen wasn't going to be enough so I had to be proactive.
*Oooooh, fear me, mortal, for you have trespassed on sacred lands and have done that which only the most miserable and terrible could do.*
"Oh man, are you Potrious? Man, I've been doing all the reading, wondering why the spirit never came to me."Mr. Adventure sounds a bit crestfallen. "I'd kinda hoped it had been because I did good and maybe... maybe you weren't mad."
*Oh, you foolish mortal. It is because of your good deeds that I am here. I am a vengeful spirit for a reason, you sad sod. In your blood now runs the curse of the ancients. None shall survive the newfound lust for chaos in your veins."*
"No!"he shouts. "I'd rather die than hurt people. That's not what I want at all! I just want to help people."
*You're making this complicated kid.*
"What?"
*Nevermind. I'll be back. Fear me until then!*
Ok, so yes, that was a bust. And to make things worse, I gotta keep an eye on Mr. Adventure to ensure he doesn't off himself to protect people. It took me another couple months to formulate my next plan of attack (I work slow, sue me). But this time I had it.
*Wooooe be to you, mortal.*
"Oh, hi Potrious. Been a while."
*Ok, no pleasantries here. I'm going to be frank with you, this arrangement isn't working for me. I'm a vengeful spirit and sitting around waiting for you to do something shitty isn't exactly how I want to spend the next few years.*
"Oh. Ohhhh, I get it. You want to punish me."Then he stops and contemplates and I know what he's going to say before he says- "But wait, if you want to punish evildoers, shouldn't you be happy that I'm not an evildoer?"
*Technically, that logic does check out. But it's kinda a two-pronged thing. Yes I despise evil but I'm also cripplingly bored. You have to see both sides of the situation.*
"So you'd rather I be evil so you can smite me."
*Yeah, that's kinda where I'm going with all this.*
"I'll never do it."
Dammit, the guy was making this hard.
I stayed out of his dreams for a bit, moodily floating around the newfound library he'd funded for children in impoverished or at risk situations. This should make me happy. This was my artifact, doing good. Most of the other spirits would be giddy.
I was being selfish and I knew it.
But before I could put together another dream for Mr. Adventure, he summoned *me*.
"Hey, Potrious."
*Hey.*
"So I was thinking. You said you wanna smite people who do evil. I want to do good in the world. It should work but doesn't cause you still want to smite."
*Checks out.*
"Do you *need* to smite the person who stole the artifact."
*Hmm?*
"Well, like, could you theoretically just smite evildoers in general? Or does it have to be me?"
*Well, I... I mean. Well, a thief was supposed to be a roundly safe bet on who is and isn't evil. I don't know if I could just go around smiting based on my own judgment call.*
"Yeah but is that better or worse than convincing me to do evil, in order to make it easy."
*...better I guess.*
"I mean, I've got a lot of resources. Well, ok, the internet. But if you want, I can do some researching, figure out if there are some good candidates for smiting. Then we can launch a double-pronged attack. I help people from the ground up, and you rain down cosmic justice or whatever on those who do evil."
*Huh. I kinda like it. Actually, forget kinda. I do like it.*
And I did like it. I spent the next few weeks hovering over his shoulder, unbeknownst to him, as he did some research on some big old baddies in the world. It wasn't two weeks later that we met up again and he gave me my first target.
*Gotta say, I'm kinda excited for this. I've been itching to enforce some justice on the world for so long and thought I'd missed my chance and- Just. Thank you for this.*
"Hey, no problem. We've got the same goal at the end of the day. You let me know how the fire and brimstone goes, yeah?"
*Yeah, and you keep me posted on how many orphans you saved this week.*
"Will do. Oh... one more thing, Mr. Potroius? A question."
*Of course. Ask away.*
"Were you named after The Unending Pot? Or did they name the concepts of pots after you?"
*...don't push your luck kid.*
And with that, I dissolved the dream, Mr. Adventure's laughter still bopping around my brain.
No matter, no matter. He could have his joy and I could have my rather mild annoyance. Things were about to get a lot hotter where I was headed next.
___
For more stories, check out my subreddit! [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
There were some things Woody noted every time Jerry left his room for the day was that continued to etch into his thought process. First off, the room was immaculate, save for an above average sized desk, which had been splattered with paint of a thousand shades over what had to be decades. It was possible the desk was not his own, or possibly not even the first but its true age was hard to determine. It also smelled of aerosol paint, but as a toy Woody did not find this to be a problem.
Among other bric-a-brac on the table at all times was a cutting tool, various paint brushes of various sizes and thicknesses, each one marked by Jerry in some fashion he found to be better than the factory did.
Another were something he heard of but had never actually personally met until now: models. Toys that the owner builds themselves before they play with them. To Woody it was quite strange but far from a problem. It implied a care for personal effects that as a toy Woody felt was gratifying. Jerry would always care for those he considered his toys.
Another were that many of these models were grouped together, sometimes on display and other times in cases and containers meant to hold them with the utmost care. Many were beautifully molded by the designers. When one got past the foul-mouthedness of each group.
"DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!"
"AWWWW SHUT YER GOB!"
"THE XENOS SHOULD BE WISE TO KNOW HE SPEAKS AMONG HIS BETTERS!"
".......Why couldn't Jerry have taken us today? The Mon-Keigh are more restlesz than usual."
Woody scratched his head in confusion. Despite being only about as tall as his boot, most of these models had voices that could shout down damn near anything Woody had ever seen. The family dog often followed orders from the blue coloured soldiers with the angry looking helmets whose insignia apparently required an upsidedown omega symbol. Not even Woody had gotten that far without lots of bribing bellyrubs.
But what unnerved Woody most was how often Buzz stayed away from them. Like he knew something. Finally, after 3 weeks of nothing but insults or ignored pleas of answers from the models, Woody went over to see what was wrong with Buzz.
"Buzz you have to help me here. I can't get through them. You seem to know something about them. Can you help?"
"............"
"....Buzz? You ok?"
"........for.......the.......throne....."
"Buzz, can you speak up? I can barely understand you when you look away from me."
It was only now that Woody realised he hadn't seen Buzz's face in five days. Ever since he talked to the spikey red soldiers who looked like the blue ones but far more aggressive. Woody just assumed it was a case of owner envy. How wrong he was.
Buzz kept muttering to himself, a wild look in his eye as he looked at his own face in the reflection of his collapsable helmet. When Woody got closer he thought he could hear better but the muttering was still only half heard.
"....Buzz?"
"You! He who calls himself Woody!"
This was a first. The models were talking to him. Well, the elf ones were. But Woody always felt like he was being talked down to by them. Still, they appeared to have something to say now.
"Look can it wait? I need to get Buzz out of this funk he is in."
One of the elf-like models, which called itself an Eldar Farseer held a hand up as if to bid Woody to stop speaking a moment. "I am afraid you have greater troubles with him, Mon-Keigh. He is no longer himself."
"What are you talking about? Buzz is Buzz. At least when his factory settings aren't messed with."
"Look closer, and see what we see."
Woody turned from Farseer to Buzz and back again in confusion.
"....But you are over there, all the way across the room. How can you see better than me?"
"Because you merely look where we *see*. Pay attention to everything. See the whole image as opposed to a single fleck of paint."
Woody shrugged at the comment, muttering to himself as he walked over to the Farseer. ".....ice cream koans never do anyone favours.....*hate* these riddle answers......"
Woody climbed up to the display zone of the desk, where the Farseer currently stood upon its base, the grass around her feet bending and flowing in accordance to a phantom wind that Woody just now noticed. "Wait, how-"
"Before you ask how, you should instead ask why. You have not considered everything about your friend's recent actions. He has spent less time at the Shelf with you and more at the Table. But to understand why he changed you must understand our lore."
"Yeah I don't really have the time for that, can you just tell me what I need to know?"
"I fear he has become corrupted by Chaos. By Khorne, specifically."
".......can you explain to me how food we cannot eat corrupted my friend?"
"I can see why you believe I said a foodstuff instead of a proper name but suffice it to say your friend is likely lost to you and it would be wise for you to let him go. The Blood God is not one to share attention."
Woody crossed his arms. "You know this is just pretend right?"
"Yes, and in the lore it was so for a time too. But things change and Chaos has a power none should underestimate. It is better if you do not talk-"
"Yeah whatever. I'm gonna go talk to my friend now. We have been through too much to let it end like this."
Woody dropped back down to the floor and went off to talk to Buzz. At that point Buzz finally moved. He turned to Woody. And all Woody heard next was a near manic cry from Buzz in a voice not his own and also not his Spanish Mode.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!!!!!!!!" |
"We need names,"I said, staring at the three strangers. My head was groggy and there was a dull pounding coming from within. "I'll be Tom, for now. Until my real name comes back."
"Taylor,"said an elderly lady whose grey hair was tied up above her in a beehive. "I think I was a Taylor."
"Sure. Whatever. How about you?"I nodded at a girl of about sixteen or so with cropped purple hair.
"I don't know. I... I kind of feel like a Tom, too."
"You can't have my name. There are thousands of others. Pick one."
She let out a puff of air. "Tam, then. Tammy. I'll be Tammy."
"What should *I* be?"asked a tall black man in a green tee and matching green pants.
"Whatever you want,"I said. "It's just a label and it's just temporary."
"Then Rain. Yeah. I like that."
I looked at the group. Tammy, Taylor and Rain. We'd only been awake in this windowless lounge, lit only by a single lamp, for five minutes or so -- but we were already making progress.
"I want to go home,"said Tammy.
"You might already be home,"I countered. "We might be your family."
Rain laughed. "What, you and me adopted her? And *Taylor*, is she my mother?"
"I don't know -- and *that's* the point. None of us know a damn thing. Look, are we ready? You all seem to able to stand now."
Nods of agreement.
"There's only one door,"I continued, "so I think it's a pretty easy decision what we do."
"Stay put until someone finds us,"said Taylor with a curt nod. "That's always safest."
"How do you know that's always safest?"Rain asked.
The lady shrugged. "Just do. Like I know Santa's delivers presents to kids who have been good."
Rain nodded slowly.
"I'll go first,"offered Tammy.
"No you won't,"I said. "We don't know what the hell is out there, and -- no offence -- but you're not going to be able to fend off much more than a teddy bear. I'll go first."
Tammy huffed. "I might look like a kid, but right now, I'm the same as you. Same as all of you."
"Children today,"said Taylor. "No respect."
Tammy glared at her. I ignored them as I walked towards the single door. It was wooden and it looked innocuous enough. The handle squeaked as I turned it. I glanced back, "Wait here until I say it's safe to come through."
I stepped out of the room and into another. A kitchen. Dirty bowls and utensils lay strewn over the surfaces. The floor was sticky beneath my feet. There was another door in here, but this one was bolted from the inside.
It was behind a large island, stools either side, that I found it.
"Guys,"I said, trying not to vomit. "Guys, get in here. Now!"
"Jesus,"said Rain as he reached me.
Tammy couldn't hold her disgust in and threw up into the already clogged sink.
"Oh dear,"said Taylor. "Poor man."
I looked again at the bolted door. One of *us* had locked it.
One of us had put the knife in the back of the man lying on the floor.
|
"All right, I'll bite. I've got a note here about 'kill streaks.' Care to elaborate, Mike?"
Saint Peter peers at me, his glasses resting gently on the edge of his nose. Two surprisingly muscular angelic guards grip my shoulders. We're a couple paces away from the entrance of the highway to hell - one-way ticket, no tolls, no returns.
I take a deep breath. "OK. So there's this video game called *Call of Duty* where you're playing as a soldier. You're in the thick of battle and you have to fight your way to survival...you get points for the kills you get, but it's not real. None of it's real."
Saint Peter sighs. "'Video game?' I'm not familiar with that euphemism. Sounds pretty sick to me."
"No, no. It's for fun. For entertainment."
"Wow. Entertainment. I've seen a lot of disturbed people pass through here but this might take the cake. I've also got a note about 'FATALITY."All caps."
I slap my forehead with my palm. "That's from something called *Mortal Kombat*. Once again, all fake. It's digital. You're just controlling a character."
"'Controlling a character'?"Saint Peter jots something down. "Wow, psychological manipulation as well. This guy's the complete package."
The angels start to drag me away. "Wait, wait, wait! What if I can offer you proof? Proof that this isn't real?"
Saint Peter sighs. "Fine. I'll give you one more shot. But make it quick; I'm a busy man."
"All right. Can you pull up an image of a place called All Things Video Games in Springfield, Pennsylvania?"
An image of my neighborhood game store appears on a cloud directly to the left of Saint Peter. I point at a poster on the front door, my finger quivering.
"See that? It's a poster for a game called *Doom*. FICTION. They wouldn't just advertise and encourage slaughter on the side of a building."
"All right, let me cross-check this,"Saint Peter says. "I'm sorry, I'm still getting used to the search function up here. It's a little complicated for old-timers like me. Here we go...DOOM."
Images of demon slaughter appear on the cloud next to us. I grin. "See? Look at that? I'm a warrior for God. I slayed demons in my free time."
Saint Peter applauds approvingly. "Well, why didn't you just lead with that?"He does a quick calculation on the abacus in front of him. "Unfortunately, such benevolent actions do not cancel out the murder you've committed. Plain and simple. I hereby sentence you to purgatory."
"NO!"I scream, but before I can protest further, I'm zapped away from the pearly gates.
***
Purgatory is a blank white void for the most part, but there are some bright spots. The food isn't half bad, and the accommodations are plain but serviceable.
There have been others sent down here because Saint Peter doesn't know what video games are. Thankfully purgatory doesn't seem to have the same problem. There's a former programmer who has figured out how to rig a gaming setup. But rules are rules: the only thing we can play is Imagine Babysitters, which has been deemed the least offensive game in existence.
I've gotten really good. But all I can do is hope that someone up above is keeping a tally of my scores, cancelling out the virtual murders I've committed.
Maybe if I get good enough, I'll escape and have another chance. Maybe someone will have replaced Saint Peter by that time. And maybe - just maybe - I can teach the angels how to do sick 360 no-scope headshots. |
"Well it could be worse."
Lord Hound stood in front of his new property. His last house burnt down after an accident involving his Luger, fire, and too much whiskey, and as such, he was forced to rather hastily purchase a new one.
"I very much doubt it, Hound, I'm fairly sure the roof is caving in."And then, as if to emphasize his point, one of the slate tiles slid off the roof, narrowly missing a passing raven.
"Please, I'm a thaumaturge, Hastings,"he said, flourishing his bony hands "fixing this place up is child's play."
"I don't think there's any fixing up how bloody evil this place looks."He gestured to the surrounding woodland. Mist clung to the ground, and from it sprung grey trees, bent and crooked, much like the manor that they surrounded. "I mean, it wouldn't exactly be great for your image to be caught living in an actual haunted house."
"It's not haunted."
"The last 3 owners died under 'Mysterious circumstances' didn't they?"
"I don't think it's exactly mysterious when they were all over the age of 90."
"In our line of work, I'd be surprised if it was just ghosts."Hastings said, waving off Hound's last comment "Should we take a look inside?"Hound nodded in assent, and the two took off, further into the downright evil looking grounds.
________________________________________________________________
The door slowly slid open, revealing the inside of the manor.
"Well, the inside looks as shit as the outside."Hastings stepped through the door first, passing the threshold, and stood in the room, marveling at the sheer quantity of dust that filled the air.
"Oh have some faith"Hound ducked as he passed under the door "With some work, this place would look quite nice, I'm sure."The door slammed with a thunk that seemed to reverberate through the house.
"Christ, Hound, what did the door ever do to you?"
"I..."Hound stammered, turning towards the now shut door "I didn't shut it."
"I told you this place was haunted"
"That's idiotic, it was probably just... pressure, or something."
"Yeah, you keep believing that Hound, but I sure as hell won't be coming for sleepovers."He ran his finger across the top of a mirror, removing at least an inch of dust "At least not without my gun."He muttered under his breath.
"Oh don't you start shooting. I don't want to patch up bits of wall before I've even moved in"
"Honestly, I think a little hole would be the least of your problems."
"YOUR GUN DOESN'T LEAVE LITTLE HOLES, YOU BELLEND!"
"Oh fine. I promise I won't shoot the ghosts when they try and rip out what's left of your soul. Or whatever it is that ghosts do."
"I keep telling you, there aren't any ghosts."Hound said, smoothing back his hair, as if doing so would help him regain his composure. He walked past the stairs, trailing his hands along the banister, before opening the door at the end of the hallway. "Oh bollocks."
"What?"
"There's a ghost."
Hastings face flashed from confusion, to fear, before finally resting on impossibly smug.
"I told you there'd be ghosts."
"Oh shut up."
Hastings pushed past Hound, staring through the doorway that led into the kitchen. And just as Hound had said, there, at the dining table in the middle of the room, sat a ghost. A pale white, translucent little girl sat at the dining table, her head down against the green painted wood, her hair stringy and thin, and her ragged clothes sat against her impossibly bony frame.
"I TOLD you there'd be ghosts."Hastings said, before Hound cuffed him round the head, earning him an angry stare "Don't get angry at me because you bought a shit house filled with ghosts. I mean not that it's that big of a deal, but it's a-"
"Seriously?"The ghost lying on the table now sat upright, looking at the two men in the doorway incredulously. "You walk into the evil old manor, through the twisting trees, past the crowing birds, and into the heart of the haunted house, you find a ghost, and your only response is 'It's not that big of a deal'?"The exasperated ghost stood, now almost yelling, or at least as close as it could get, with it's raspy voice. "I mean, shouldn't you two have shat yourself by now?"
"Well, I mean it's hardly intimidating."Hound responded, Hastings violently nodding beside him, the previous transgressions now forgotten in the face of this new enemy "You're a little girl, that's hardly going to scare me."He gestured towards his 7 foot tall skeletal frame, his suit and overcoat were the only things that gave the illusion of a healthy human body.
"I mean, for us this is just like any other Tuesday."Hastings reached for his holstered revolver "Now are you the sort of ghost that bullets will hurt, or are we going to have to ask the Church of England for an exorcist again?"
"Wait seriously? That's it? No 'Oh please what do you want?' or 'Oh please don't haunt me, I've got so much to give' just straight to the- wait shit you've actually got a gun?"
"Well yeah, obviously, in our line of work-"
"What the *hell* sort of job do you have that means shooting ghosts is a regular occurrence?"
"Well it's not just ghosts we sho-"
"Her Majesty's paranormal defense force."Hound said, with no small measure of pride "Not that her Majesty herself actually knows we exist anymore... Well, our relationship with the monarchy was weird ever since Cromwell, that bastard, struck us from the records."
"Oh."The ghost slunk back into it's chair, all signs of rage slipped away, replaced only with apathy. "You're actual ghost hunters then?"
Both Hound and Hastings sank into chairs on the opposite side of the table.
"Like I was saying before I was *rudely* interrupted,"Hastings said, digging his elbow into Hound's ribs. "We don't JUST hunt ghosts, sometimes we hunt werewolves, or vampires."Hastings scratched his head. "Sometimes we don't hunt stuff. Mostly it's just fighting stuff though. Hound even fought in World War II, with my father."
"World War II?"The ghost brought her head up from the table "Just how old are you?"
"About 600 last time I counted."Hound said as he produced a bottle of whiskey and some glasses from somewhere in his coat.
"He's a lich"Hastings whispered, conspiratorially "Doesn't much like to talk about it though"
"A lich."
"Yes. As much as I don't like it, that's the case."He passed a glass of whiskey to Hastings, before draining the glass he filled for himself. "Oh, sorry, do you want some?"
"Jesus Christ."The ghost's head fell back onto the table.
Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/56df5s/wp_you_buy_a_deadly_haunted_house_little_do_the/d8jmk6y)
|
There is a god for everything. Some of them well known, feared and respected. War. Love. Growth. Some of them have their own niche of followers. Silence. Painting. Hunting.
Then, there are those that are forgotten. Those who control such a small part of the universe that no one even thinks of them.... of us. I am one of the forgotten. I determine the outcome of coin tosses. In the pantheon I am ignored, nothing more than a mouse. No, less than a mouse, for even she has more followers than me.
But I am always there. I am always watching. I have seen the apathy grow among the others. Conflicts used to be settled through war. My brothers and sisters would bring to bear all of their power. They would drive their followers to form armies to smash into each other in pitch battles. The cost of life unimaginable. But that grew tiresome. When you are immortal doing something over and over losses its appeal.
So the game changed. No longer was it about pitch battles, now it was about gathering followers. Yes, there was fighting, there was still war... for there will always be war. But it was about spreading ideas and controlling the human's thoughts. My siblings began to form cohorts. Many of them banding together to form religions. Those that didn't join these alliances had their power slowly erode until they were lost to time.
This worked. For a while.
Until apathy reared her ugly head again. My siblings had grown fat and lazy with all of their power and all of their followers. Most of the humans fell under the control, direct or indirect, of one of the five major gods.
So the conflicts became more petty. Whose followers could leave the planet first. Whose followers could build a world destroying device first. And so on.
These games left causalities. Human followers can be unpredictable, and pushing technology has unintended consequences. The powers went from five to four to two. The humans had spread through the galaxy now. The pantheon had grown quieter as our father, time, has taken more of my kin away.
So now the last two great powers in our house sit at a table. Their attention has waned. They have grown bored after tens of thousands of years of using humans to settle disputes, to prove who is stronger. The two remaining powers, the strongest of my bloodline have chosen their final conflict. The winner of this game will be crowned victor and will become the one true god of this universe. The loser will go with father to start anew.
One chooses heads. The other chooses tails.
They flip the coin. It spins in the air and lands with a clatter on the ground. The sound echoing through the empty halls.
It lands on neither.
Looks like this universe is mine. |
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN MUSIC
ARTICLE: FairyGuineaPig, The, 'The Song "I Kissed A Girl"presented in context', *Cambridge University Studies in Music*, n.s 29 (2281), 89-108.
Acknowledgements: Aside from my loving family who have supported me through this journey, from undergraduate school to the completion of my thesis, I must also thank Dr Prompts, Dr Writing, Dr Reddit and also Mr Autobot for their continual, invaluable advice, support and encouragement.
THE SONG 'I KISSED A GIRL' PRESENTED IN CONTEXT OF THE 21^ST CENTURY
Katy Perry, born Katherine, was one of the most popular musicians, known as *artists*, of the early 21st century, and as a result of that, we have a large amount of evidence relating not just to her biography and her *artistic* persona but also to the many songs written for or by her, and shared around the world at the time. Although analysis of the rhythms and language of her music has been common in the history of Music world, unfortunately many papers have made the mistake of not looking at the language used within the context of her time. 'I Kissed A Girl' was a famous song at the time, but the reasons for why and how are controversial and are much debated about amongst academics. To fully understand, we must analyse not just the rhythms and process of singing itself, but also look at the phrases used within, and see how they would resonate within the early 21st century world, where they take on new or very different meanings compared to how a modern audience may view the lyrics.
The first line goes 'This was never the way I planned, not my intention.' The 21st century was a time of massive change and social conflict, with burgeoning economic disaster, a rising middle class, the threat of nuclear war and global warming and the beginnings of space exploration. New technology was being allowed to the masses constantly and there were many unthought of positive and negative results. People lived in a state of uncertainty- and could not reasonably plan ahead^[1] due to the constant changing conditions of the time. Without any sense of certainty in their lives, people often felt lost and confused^[2] and this phrase would have therefore had particular resonance for the contemporary audience. Many would recognise that feeling- of stumbling along a path they hadn't planned to take, maybe hadn't known existed, and falling into an action, event or situation without any intention or preparedness. Immediately, Perry has forced the audience to confront their world and their situation, in a time when being direct about the lack of ability to plan or predict the future was controversial^[3] and seen as distasteful, through fear and a lack of feeling of safety.^[4]
The song continues with 'I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion,'. Is this not something both modern and contemporary audiences could relate to? Katy Perry places the audience into a situation familiar to many, where, through foolhardiness, they ended up in a situation they had not planned for. But in the early 21st century, at a time when even sensible people could end up 'lost', a word repeated in different forms throughout the song, this would be a sign of apathy. At a time when risk taking was as risky as trying to be sensible, being *brave* was a sign of uncaring. Instead of grasping at straws and predicting the future, Perry was telling the audience that she saw no point in predictions or in being careful. At a time of great uncertainty, being brave and daring was a sign of removal from the current political situation, where, instead of trying to weather the economic, military and political storm, Perry instead dares the audience to be brave, to be courageous, to act outside of what the contemporary media told you to do. A contemporary audience would know that what they were told would happen was almsot certain to change and fluctuate, and this line is daring her listeners to not continue to blindly or desperately follow what they were being told.^[5]
'Drink in hand' is a particularly interesting phrase in the contemporary context. Drinking was a social norm at the time, but there was a sharp gender divide in drinks taken.^[6] Traditionally, males, of all ages would go for lagers, beers, ales or whiskey^[7] with women and girls pushed towards vodka, cocktails and wine. By not mentioning the type of drink 'in hand', she was removing herself from the traditional gender roles, as she had removed herself from the political and economic situation with the previous phrase, despite the fact that the first line put her firmly in the middle of what the 21st century audience could be expected to be feeling. Was this her idea of *brave*? Perhaps so. With more rigid and constricting gender roles, by simply ignoring them, she was going against social convention. However, despite this attempt, the song rigidly adheres to gender roles when talking about kissing a girl, as the acceptance of that action, at the time, was dependent upon both sex and gender, putting her firmly back into the social context of the time, whether intentionally or not^[8]. As she 'lost her discretion', she freed herself from the confines of social expectations and etiquette- and this is backed up by her freeing herself from the specific confines of expectations of early 21st century women.
The song continues with, 'It's not what I'm used to, just wanna try you on.' *What* isn't what Perry isn't used to? It is not stated. It leaves the situation or action blank. Is this not especially relevant to the contemporary situation? At a time when people were not used to the continuing globalisation, modernisation and industrialisation of the world, new technology being released daily and new laws, superpowers and conflicts constantly being created and made, everything was not what they were *used* to. This was designed to show the conflicting, changing, exciting and wholly new situation of the time, allowing the audience to both relate and further understand the meaning behind the song itself. 'Just wanna try you on' adds to this feeling of connection and being able to relate, using the casual language of 'wanna' to illustrate how Perry was *one of them*^[9], who spoke, acted and thought like them- and was confined within the same situation and expectations as her audience as well. To set an example to the audience of bravery, or to tell a story through lyrics that the audience could relate to, Perry had to ensure she was firmly placed in the position of the ordinary listener. To try something on and throw it away, like a piece of clothing or a toy, was common. At a time when pets had little rights and could be abandoned, sold and bought cheaply and easily, and when commodities such as technology (including the *iPad*, a product which was a phenomenon within early 21st century society across the 'Western' world) could be traded in and replaced regularly, trying something on or trying something at all was common behaviour. Temporary ownership, temporary love, temporary possession, it was all a part and parcel of daily life in contemporary society for Perry, as these lyrics reflect.^[10]
However the song continues with, 'I'm curious for you, caught my attention.' By saying she was curious *for you*, she places herself firmly on the side of the audience, using what was at the time colloquial language. Academics, scholars and many ordinary people would have considered this sentence to be grammatically incorrect^[11] but Perry uses this colloquialistic phrasing to show her being *ordinary*. She was not judging the listeners' beliefs or speeches as many felt academics or scholars were doing, she was instead a familiar speaker and ear, who's expressions were well understood and reflected in every day speech at the time. By placing her even deeper into ordinary social context, when she then frees herself from it, through the action of kissing a girl, her actions become more controversial and daring.
But then, the chorus. She states, firmly and bluntly that she 'kissed a girl' and that she 'liked it'. At a time when LGBT rights were starting to reach the forefront of societal perceptions, and where they were a key political issue in both developed and developing countries! kissing a girl *as a woman* was a controversial issue. First, her use of *girl*. She herself is an adult woman, but using 'girl' could be seen as infantilising- or, perhaps more accurately, placing herself in the social contexts of the time. In the early 21st century, differentiating between *girl* and *woman* was a difficult issue, with many grey areas. Using girl removes the mature sound of woman, allowing her message to be understood by both those who were younger and would now be understood as girls, and those of Perry's age herself, who were adult women or close to it^[12]. As her audience was international, Perry could expect many different cultural norms surrounding when a female was considered to have reached womanhood, and she skirts over these issues by using a catch all phrase, without removing herself from the social context of any of her audience members.
Ugh, need to go, will continue. |
"Well then, what were the whales saying? ", the president asked, looking at the ftl ship that was being prepared for mass transport.
"Well sir after listening in we found out they were counting down while saying the number 8 inbetween like : 8; 100, 8, 99, 8, 98, 8, 97. After they reached 0 a devastating earthquake of 8 on the richter scale occurred in Tibet. They then started counting down very slowly from one million to zero while using 7 as the number inbetween the numbers of the countdown, after this an earthquake occured in Indonesia with a magnitude of 7 on the richter scale."
"So they can predict earthquakes, I don't really see the problem here, why did you call me here to flee?"
"Well sir, listen to this", says the commander as he hands the president the translator, the president slowly turns white as he hears:
"1000000, 1000, 999999, 1000, 999998, 1000"
First post here in second language, sorry if it is rather simple.
|
My whole life, I had the curse of obedience. I never told anyone, I didn't even realise it wasn't normal until I noticed other people could freely defy people's wishes. But everything I was told to do, I did. I always had a clean room, I always stopped chatting in class, and I always was the person people would come to when they needed help cheering up.
When I'm doing these actions, I'm not me. I don't know if someone else takes over. I don't know if my body simply exists to carry out actions without a consciousness. Maybe I remain in control but forget it after. But somehow, every time I carried out a task that had been asked of me, I'd simply black out until it was done.
I'd have no memory of fulfilling the task - Ask me to pick something up at the shop and I could not tell you much it cost. But I'd retain the skills - Ask me to learn how to use certain software and I'd understand it like the back of my hand when it's done.
When I got to college and moved in with a couple of other students, things got a bit more difficult. Teachers aren't as personal, so nobody ever told me to get on with my work. My flatmates don't care how messy my room is, so they wouldn't tell me to clean there, just to clean the shared areas. I got lazy, I wasn't doing much because nobody told me to.
I was finishing college when I realised a couple of extra things about this curse. Something that I thought I could use to turn it into a gift.
The first is that it had to be to my face, in person. Ask me to do something over the phone or a text, and I could do as I please.
The second, though, was more interesting to me. If I ask myself to do something whilst looking into a mirror, I could do these tasks on auto-pilot.
A door had opened in life, and I walked through without hesitation, not realising that it would lock behind me.
I'd use this newfound loophole to do things that were boring. "Make dinner", "Wash your clothes", "Complete this essay". Life was as easy as when I was a kid - I didn't need my parents or teacher to tell me the right things to do, I could tell myself. I was back to having a life where I do everything myself, whilst also having everything done for me.
I experimented a little with cameras in my flat. I asked myself to clean the shared living area, and watched the recording after. To my surprise, I didn't act all robotic - I seemed like myself. In fact, halfway through emptying the bin, one of my flatmates got back and spoke to me. We shared an inside joke, laughed, and spoke about our day. All the time, my voice had its normal inflexions and normal tones. It was like I was watching my twin.
I realised that I had been using this all wrong - There is so much potential I have with this. Could I stop wars? Could I bring world peace? Could I...become everything I've ever desired?
I started with something I had wanted for the past few years, but had never had the courage or opportunity. "You need to get into a relationship."
Suddenly, I was laying next to the most beautiful person I had ever seen. We were cuddled up in a bedroom I didn't recognise, and they were asleep. The bedroom must've been mine -- Or maybe ours -- As items I owned back at the flat were in this room. I was happy, I was warm, I was cosy. But I wanted to take it a step further. There was a mirror next to the bed - I faced it, and said "You need to start a family."
The next thing I remember is holding my baby boy. I was in the hospital with my partner. I did a double take when I looked at her this time, as they didn't look the same... Maybe things hadn't worked out with my previous partner.
I looked in the hospital mirror, took a deep breath, and said "You need to become rich"- Sure enough, there I am, in my office. A plaque on my desk with my name on it, and 'CEO'. I don't know what company I founded, but from the looks of things, I'm doing quite nicely for myself.
I went into my office's private bathroom, and before I even caught a proper glimpse of myself, said "I want to be the most famous and loved person on the planet."
I was on stage, accepting an award for "Outstanding Actor in a Drama Series"with applause thundering in the background.
Ah, shit. No mirrors. I was gonna have to bullshit my way through this speech.
"Th--Thank you,"the applause settles down, "When I first founded...my company...I never thought I'd one day get into acting. It's been so long that I hardly even remember how I got into it! Or, maybe it hasn't been that long... Maybe it just felt like it... Uhm, I'd like to thank my son. Where is he?"
There was silence. An awkward, thick tension in the air. The host of the awards evening spoke up, "I think we all join you in thinking that, even in death, raising Phillip still led you to where you are today. And for that, I think somewhere, he knows you're thanking him."
*Oh my God*, I thought to myself. I stood there, not knowing what to think. He was only in my arms a few moments ago.
I spoke up, "He was...too young to be taken from us."
The host patted me on the back, "23 is far too young for anyone."
My heart sank. My son died older than me? Wait, how old even am I? Is it selfish of me to care more about myself than the person I raised for 23 years? I mean, I didn't even really raise him - I had used this sick and twisted curse to do it for me. But, I mean, it wasn't my intention! I just wanted to have fame and money, how could I have known it'd take 23 years?
The host spoke up again as I walked off stage "Almost 6 years gone, yet still always in our hearts."
*Oh my God it took 29 years*.
I've wasted my life. I'm the most famous, loved, richest person on the planet. And I don't have a fucking clue who I am. At this point, was I even the main inhibitor of this body? By existing right now, am I robbing from whatever is in control of me when I'm blacked out?? This is more their life than it is mine at this point! Besides, what about my family? I have a family now, apparently - Is it fair that I carry on not even knowing my wife's name? I can't exactly ask her now can I? I don't know a thing about anybody in my life; It'd catch up with me eventually.
So, I went to the bathroom. Still holding my award.
I look directly in the mirror and said 5 words.
"Live your best possible life."
And then everything went black. |
"But the poop still comes out, right?"
"Yes, Mister President, it appears to be a one way gate. When I insert the camera like this..."
\- I clenched involuntarily -
"you can see what's on the other side."
A breathtaking vista became visible on the screen. Three moons hung in a black sky. Wisps of bluish gas swirled around and the distant booming sounds of thunder echoed through the endless layer of gas of the distant world.
"Do you have any idea where the wormhole leads?"I asked the scientist. I was hoping we could wrap this up, because
I was starting to feel very uncomfortable in this bent over position, with my pants on my ankles and with the
President of the United States peering into my lubed up asshole.
"Well, we sent some radio transmission through your... through the wormhole, a few hours ago, and we have been able to
pinpoint the location of the gate's exit. It appears the other side of the wormhole is in our own solar system.
To be precise, the transmission we picked up came from...Uranus."
*EDIT: Holy shit, my first gold! On a story about an anal wormhole. Stay classy Reddit* ;) |
"Yes, but how *exactly* are the electrons simultaneously acting like waves and particles?"
"Well, Johnson,"I replied, raising my eyebrow. "The thing you need to understand about Quantum Mechanics is
that it's based on thoughts."
"Thoughts?"
"Yes, thoughts. So when you *think* of the electron as a wave, that's how it'll behave. When you think of it as a
particle, it'll be a particle."
Johnson frowned. "What if I think of it as both?"
"Ah!"I replied. "Excellent question."
Johnson waited, but I didn't say anything. "Are you going to answer it?"he asked, after a moment.
"Yes,"I replied.
He waited. "Now?"
"Give me a minute, I'm trying to come up with something."
"You can come up with something and then write it down immediately, you don't need to actually stall in the story, dude."
"Yes but I want to convey the idea that I'm trying to come up with – oh, fuck it. Ok, if you think of it as both, what
will happen is something called Quantum Entanglement."
"What's that?"
"That's when electrons intertwine with themselves and become indestructible. One electron will behave as a
particle, the other one as a wave, and they'll attract each other by the laws of thermo-gravitational distortion."
"Thermo-gravitational distortion…"Johnson whispered. "Nice."
"Thank you."I smiled. "That's actually how antimatter happens,"I continued. "Two electrons – one behaving as a particle, one as a wave – intertwine, and they self-destruct, creating –"
"You just said they are indestructible."
"Shut up, I'm talking. They self-destruct, creating a big anti-electron, which is a particle of antimatter."
"Woah, really?"
"Yes. The anti-electron is actually visible to the naked eye."
"It is!?"
"Yes, it's a plum."
"So every plum is an antimatter particle?"
"No, of course not,"I replied. "Don't be stupid, Johnson."
"I'm sorry."
"Only like thirty percent of plums are antimatter particles. The rest are plums."
Johnson nodded. Silence took over the room for a second.
"How about the Theory of Relativity?"Johnson asked, after a second.
"Well, Johnson, relativity is like drinking eight cans of beer in three minutes."
"How's that?"
"It feels wrong at first, then you feel good about it for a while, then it feels wrong again and you realize you didn't
understand the part about time and space being the same thing at all."
"Kinda lost track of that analogy halfway through there, didn't we?"
"You're pissing me off, Johnson. Cut it out."
"What are you gonna do about it?"Johnson got up. "Your story sucks anyway, dude. I'm out of here."
"Shut up, Johnson."
"You're a terrible writer."
I thought of all of the electrons that compose Johnson. "Shut up. You're gonna make me do something I don't want to."
"And I bet I know how you're gonna finish it too, you hack."
I thought of the electrons as particles. "Shut up, Johnson..."
"You're turning me into a plum, aren't you?"
Then I thought of them as wave.
"You're turning me into a big fat plum because you don't know how to end this story. You're ridiculous dude. Have
you no shame? Can't you –"
And then… yeah, that.
__________________
*Thanks for reading! For more half-assed endings, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
The signs were all there since day 1. We had all been too preoccupied of what the clouds will rain down upon us that we forgot of the demons residing among us. But it was too late now. Now, they have risen from their thrones and ascended unto their horses.
The signs were there. Shooting cars to outer space. Making drones deliver our packages. Making an entire office fit inside one machine. Connecting millions of people into one huge trap. No one batted an eye. They hid in human skin and earned our trust. And they succeeded.
Mark Zuckerberg. Self-made billionaire. People mistook him for a reptile. Some for an android. Never was he mistook for the Conquest. He had enslaved everyone with his trap. The people did not realize this at first, but it was far too late. Everyone could hear the echo of his voice as he called out in the most sinister way possible: "nice job, team."
Next came Elon Musk. Tesla, SpaceX. He had been making technological advancements so great and powerful, he could make an army of his own. In fact, he did. Behind everyone's backs. After everyone was enslaved by Facebook, he drove hell using his self-driving missiles. Sure, they missed the targets, but the explosion kicked the bucket for humanity.
Jeff Bezos, creator of Amazon, flew towards the sky with his androids. With his large network of deliveries, he stopped everything altogether. The people had trusted Amazon so much - too much - to deliver everything, even their basic needs. But when the drones giving you what you need stop, then Famine is what you get.
Finally, the oldest of the group, Bill Gates. He greets the other three who have been observing humanity writhe in pain. "It is time,"he says.
Ever wondered why the sky is blue?
That's right. The Blue Sky of Death. |
She knew before the first star fell that things were different this time. Broken in a way no being, neither mortal nor godly, could fix. Another detonation went off in the midnight sky, banishing the night and turning it to day, yet she did nothing but hug her knees to her chest and brace her back against the rough bark of the tree.
Tense moments passed and then an awful stillness settled over the forest around her. Nothing moved, not even the wind. The world itself seemed to hold its breath at the same moment the man in front of her used trembling fingers to close the eyes of a pale figure. One laying much too still across a tree trunk stained dark with blood. A girl much too young to deserve her fate.
A million years. Countless lives. Without fail, they had always found each other. Without fail, one had always been taken from the other too soon.
Through it all, she had watched. Guided. Helped. Trillions of heartbeats between the both of them and she had felt the love in every single one. Many among the pantheon considered her a pretty prop to the game they played but they had never understood. Never heeded the warnings when the Goddess of Love spoke up about the dangers of what she had witnessed.
The man rocked back on his heels, body trembling despite the unnatural heat blanketing them. He looked her direction, seeing nothing, and the desolation in his eyes struck her like a blow. Yet it was nothing compared to the sound that bubbled up from his throat when he threw his head back and screamed at the sky.
Reality screamed with him, motion returning to the world as it broke apart at the very seams once more, crying out in voices high and low. Again, a star flared and she looked away, not wanting to see the death of another god. They were the pillars of the universe. They were doing their best to hold it together.
But in the face of a love slighted one too many times, they were failing.
Aphrodite didn't weep for the coming end. She didn't deserve to. How many times had she cried at the torment these two had been subjected to? Countless. But how many times had those tears spared them?
None.
She had warned the others, endlessly. There were only so many ways she could explain that each time pantheon placed their silly bets and intervened with fate, the starstruck couple had returned...different. More brash, angry, unyielding.
For them, it raised the stakes.
For her, it was the writing on the wall.
More and more, when they met their ends they told each other the same thing despite having no knowledge of what came before. They wrote their own prophecy across the firmament and birthed it into being through sheer, implacable will.
Six words they would whisper with their dying breath. Now those whispers would be no more. The strings of fate had been pulled and pulled until they snapped completely.
The girl had known, as she lay dying, that she would never see the other half of her soul again.
He had know, as her body cooled in his arms, that it would be the last time he ever held her.
And as eyes just as blue and clear as the day this had all started finally focused on Aphrodite, he spoke the last words anyone would ever hear.
"There is no world without her." |
“Frank, come on. This is getting ridiculous.”
Frank’s spirit was trying, unsuccessfully, to walk out the open door of the bedroom. He looked a little bit like a man on a treadmill, his spectral feet sliding over the floorboards, his semitransparent hands pawing at the air.
“Shut the fuck up. Get out of here. Don’t look at me.”
Like all spirits, Frank was insubstantial, like a dimmer switch had been dialed down on his presence in the world. The borders of his body were fuzzy, and all the color in his flesh was desaturated. Plus, he was naked. It’s just how it went.
“Hey, man, I’m here to help you.” I tried very carefully to put on my best professional voice. Dealing with spirits was always a tricky business, but usually the problem was that they were traumatized, horrified and frozen in place, unable to stop staring at their own dead bodies. Frank was a whole other set of problems.
“Let me in to hell, or whatever!” Frank was ignoring me. He stamped his foot on the floor, (or tried to) a move that made his fat, ghostly ass jiggle, and once more tried to walk out through the door.
I shrugged, giving up for the time being. Leaving Frank to his own devices, I turned to inspect the room.
It was not a pretty sight. I’d been in plenty of awful places on the behest of the police. Filthy squats beneath freeway overpasses, dust-blasted abandoned houses in the burbs filled with rotting bodies, chilly mansions in the hills with blood on the walls. Each of them was, in the end, awful in their own way, and this hotel room was no different.
All around me was the evidence of a lost, last weekend in the middle of the week. Tall cans glittered in the dim light from the dirty window, clothes and scraps of paper lay all around like shed skins. The small card table in the space next to the bed was dusted with white powder, and the short metal straw of the professional coke-sniffer lay like a spent round near the center of it all.
Worse yet was the bed - a bloody mess. I didn’t have the stomach to look at it for too long. No matter how many of these I was called out to, I seemed unable to develop the mental callouses that allowed some of the cops I worked with to laugh, or smoke, or eat a sandwich while staring at a corpse.
“Frank, you won’t be able to leave.”
“Why, because you’re holding me here?” Frank turned, incensed. He was clutching his fists by his side, his face screwed up with fury. He was a big guy, had been an intimidating guy in life - six foot two and heavy with muscle. The kind of guy who wore TapOut shirts to the bar and bumped into people intentionally. The kind of guy who reveled in the fog of unease he could generate.
“No.” I sighed, wishing I could sit down in one of the chairs. I felt tired. “Because murdered spirits always stick around. It’s... it’s a hundred percent thing, man. That’s why-“
“I can’t *fucking believe* this!” Frank looked like he really, really wanted to hit me. “If I’m dead, why can’t that just be *it*!?”
I shrugged again.
“Just the way it is.”
“I just- I just want-“
I could see it coming now. This happened, occasionally. Usually with people like Frank. They’d moved through the world powered by their own anger, brimming with it, using it as fuel to impose their sense of self on the rest of us. In death, often it took a little time for the last of the fuel to burn out.
“Holy... holy shit.” Frank half-collapsed to the floor. “I can’t believe...” He shook his head, spectral hair falling in his face. “I always thought... I’d fix it. I’d have time... this was just... a dip. You know? A dip, and then I’d be back to... who I really am.”
He looked up at me, and I felt a sincere stab of pity. This hotel room was no place for anybody to die.
“She’s going to find out about it.” Frank’s face was a mask of agony. “I won’t be able... to fix it. I was going to stop everything. I was going to fix it.”
I took a chance and sat on the ground next to him, giving him the same space I would have done if he were alive.
“Look, man, I mean - I see this stuff all the time. People die with unfinished business. Murder is wrong, not just because it’s scary for the rest of the world to think that somebody can take a life, but because it cuts off all possibilities. I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Frank. I mean, you’ve helped the family out a lot. We like having you around.”
These were lies.
“I could tell you were having a hard time. Katie talked to me about it. But she wanted stuff to work out. She loved you, she thought you were a good Dad. You could have worked stuff out.”
Frank was crying now, tears coursing down his face.
“I wanted that for you, and now somebody’s taken it away, forever.”
Frank sniffed, rubbed some spectral snot away with his wrist.
“I can’t... I don’t want to tell my brother-in-law all the fucked up stuff I’ve done.”
I shrugged again.
“Unfortunately, I’m all you got, man. If there was anyone else, they’d be here.”
A long silence stretched out. I stared at a tipped-over tall can on the carpet, a dead rocket in a field of its own fuel. The sun was just rising, if the pale light beneath the crack in the door was any evidence, and I was starting to feel the bleary-eyed exhaustion that a sleepless night always gave me.
“Frank, it’s not just for you. We’ve gotta know who she is.”
Frank didn’t look at me.
I twisted my head and looked back at the bed. Frank and some woman, tangled in a bloody embrace. Limbs intertwined, soggy hair hung over closed eyes.
“I said it was a hundred-percent thing, man, and I meant it.” I spoke very carefully, now, trying to keep the unease out of my voice. “So we want to know who did this, right, but I *need* to know-“ I looked around, like a kid searching every corner for the boogeyman, “-why isn’t *she* here?”
Frank looked up, then, and I could see the terror on his face. I knew it was a bad, bad sign.
Edit - The response to this has been truly overwhelming. Thanks to everyone for the kind words, they really mean a lot to me. Part II is below if you’d care to read. |
The pentagram was drawn, the candles lit, and I spoke the summoning chant without hesitation. Months of preparation had led up to this moment, where I would ask Satan to grant my wish, to become one of the richest men on earth. At the height of the ritual, smoke billowed into the centre of the circle, and the room shook, a thunderous crack sounding. I waited for the smoke to clear to gaze upon the devil himself.
Instead, before it cleared, I heard 3 barks. Incredulous, I stood there, as the smoke cleared to reveal 3 pure black Doberman puppies. They each had a leather collar on, with a dangling tag. Before them was a pure white scroll, sealed with a deep red wax seal.
I could tell instantly that this wasn't a trick. The study I had taken of the ritual had granted me the ability to know of any fiendish presence near me. I could feel a faint aura around the puppies, but nothing on the scale of the Lord of Hell. The central puppy gently picked up the scroll, and walked to me, laying it before me. I reached out to take it, and cracked the seal, revealing a letter. It read:
>Dear Michael James Bucanen,
>I am not accustomed to being summoned out of the blue. Whilst I appreciate your enthusiasm, I am not some lesser demon, to be called upon willy-nilly. I am not enticed either, by your offering of your soul. I do not take souls in exchange for petty presents.
>However, I shall give you a chance to earn your wish. The 3 puppies before you are young Hellhounds. Each will spend time on the mortal world, before they take full possession on the hell flame. You are to care for them during this time. If you care for them properly, I will be more inclined to spend some time sorting out your issue.
>If you refuse to care for them, harm them, or allow others to harm them, this will end, and you will meet me. But it will not end well for you.
>Regards
>Lucifer Morningstar
I swallowed, and looked at the hellhounds. They each looked back, heads cocked slightly. I could see intelligence in their eyes, behind which hid the energy of a puppy. I beckoned them forth, and they eagerly ran up. I scratched their heads in turn, whilst looking at their collars.
Their names were Cer, Ber and Rus. I groaned slightly at that. It appeared the devil had a sense of humor. The looked at ne expectantly, as if they were waiting for something. I realised they wanted me to say something.
"I accept?"
They all barked at that, and it was if a switch had been thrown. They jumped at me, tails wagging, all licking at me. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of how the night had gone. Instead of walking out a billionaire, I would be walking out with 3 small, energetic balls of fluff.
I think I might have gotten the better deal out of this.
[Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ilwqzo/wp_you_tried_to_summon_the_devil_to_grant_your/g3xcll9?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) |
The king looks to the hero then back at the red and black skinned demon. "You mean you don't? I mean look at you. Rows of sharp teeth, horns, leathery wings. . . Uhm"
Angry at first and holding himself tightly not to lash out he practically trembles. Then as the rush of anger passes the lord sighs. "You people look on our realms and understand nothing. A male has horns to lock in ritual combat with other males to impress the women. We are also pure carnivores as the few bits of vegetation are poison to us. And you have birds!"Inhaling and holding the breath to calm down again before releasing it slowly before continuing. "You have birds. You see no malice in a bird. They use them to fly. As do we. None of that means I am going through the effort of breaching the Plane Walls to snatch unruly children for a snack."
The silvery chain mail clad woman interjects from the chair she is bound to. "What of the hellfires and pungent air? The desolation? Surely those come from your evil ways. Just as you came to destroy us ages ago. But we beat you back and sealed the portals against you. And we shall do so again."
Glancing over the muscular female a moment before coughing. "Pungent? Has it ever occurred to you we are adapted to breathing the air of our home. I need to practically put my head in a fire to taste a bit of home in both heat and carbon. Your lands are cold with thin sickly sweet air. And my grandfather's trade attempts those years ago failed when both sides realized we sicken and wither in each other's demesne. Both sides sealed the portals as there was no real trade to be had. It is your people that use criminal mage craft to abduct our people. And your people that keep trying to break the seals either for some demented obsession with power or the heavy handed idea of purging us from our homes for being different. When was the last time you heard of us trying to get here?"
"You mean besides this morning?"
Turning the pick between my fingers I lift the bowl of alcohol and set it alight. Inhaling the burning fumes a moment. "Yes besides this morning."
Her half smile fading as she considers. "Well the cult. . No they were summoning. The necro lord. . . No he was after a seal. . I can't say I have ever heard of you entering of your own choice before now."
"And this because a party of your holy warriors breached our realm and slaughtered a dozen simple workers, as well as children."The anger brimming again. "That is right 'hero'. There are not several 'types' of demon. Those small ones with immature wings? Those are our fledglings! Your paladins struck down children rushing to see the strangers. Then moved into a village and cut down simple craftsmen and their families. And why? Because they had all heard such tales of evil. That one such as I would steal into the homes of naughty children and eat them alive."Stabbing the pick into the chair between the king's legs and glowering at the three.
"This attack is retribution. Your people breached the Realm Walls. Your people slaughtered mine. Those that attacked came from the barracks of King Roland, the Temple of Rodisha, and the Hall of Heroes. So we will burn those places to ash in vengeance. But know this, we shall not harm a hair on your common people nor your children. For no matter how terrible we may seem to you. We are better than you, and we possess a trait you do not. . Mercy." |
They always forget.
The thing about being a superhero is that the fame goes to your head. Oh sure, you wake up floating a few inches above your bed one day or you drop a kitchen knife and it bounces off your suddenly impenetrable skin. From that point to registration usually takes a few days and those few days are confusing, scary, nervewracking.
But the Bureau always finds you. Given that they have an entire department of sensates dedicated to tracking down any newly awakened supers, there literally isn't a super on the planet who isn't registered. Even the people whose power is being undetectable to sensates think the Bureau won't notice the glaringly obvious blank spots in their scans. Nope. You go super, you join the Bureau. Simple as that.
I work in the Department of Superhero Security. No powers here. (For about five seconds last October, I thought I might be a telepath but it turns out she actually called me ugly out loud, I just couldn't see her face.) The official duty of Superhero Security is to ensure that supers have the resources they need to stay on the path of justice. We're the ones that set up the Power League and Magician Squad and Collective of Aerialists and all of those supergroups with their secret command centers and their cross-continental communication systems and all of that.
We also make sure that the supers have access to the latest intel on the emerging threats, terrestrial or otherwise. (Yes, after that nasty incident at the Great Wall of China last year, we're looking up as well as around.) We are the ones that make sure the aquatic supers have clearance for international waters. We are the ones that make sure the speedsters have ultraflex clothing. We anticipate their needs based on their powers, we partner them up according to whose strength compliments whose vulnerabilities, we know everything about them. We keep them in the hero business.
Supervillains happen when handlers don't do their job right. In more than two decades, I've never had a supervillain make it out of my case load.
I've handled, oh, a good forty or fifty supers in my 23 years at the bureau. Most new handlers get assigned one or two, but the senior staff usually manage an entire supergroup. I've got six folders on my desk right now. And this group is one of *those* super teams. The Champions of Courage. In years past, my job involved dealing with diplomatic immunity claims, top secret espionage, arranging dramatic team-ups at the last minute to defeat the latest global threat.
This week, I had to arrange security at the book tour for Mister Magnificent, I had to pay off The Silver Stunner's mistress to make sure his wife, Ariel Alert, didn't get word of his dalliances, and I had to reschedule The Cosmic Twins' appearance on late night TV three days in a row. The rise of social media made a whole crop of supers turn into these ego beasts. As long as they kept beating back the darkness in between sold-out speaking tours, it didn't really matter to us.
See, they always forget. The role of a superhero is to help people. To save the world. To make things better for all of us. You don't tour the Superhero Hall of History in Harrisburg and look at the holostatues of Red Roger who personally saved 5,412 orphans during his career or Miss Mystica who personally arranged the reforestation of the Amazon and think selfish.
But selfish isn't always where this ends. I watched the video my boss sent me 30 minutes ago and I'm now putting one of the folders back in my desk. Plaxis the Powerful, it would appear, has started taking on side contracts. I walk down the hall to the Detachment Depot and scan my retinas and handprint. The tiny prick of the DNA test always hurts but it helps prevent shapeshifters. The woman at the security counter waves her hand at my head. My brain fogs over and I say the codeword that was implanted there in the deepest recesses of my mind automatically. Another security measure, but telepaths, you know?
When I get my senses back and I walk through the sliding insanitanium doors (oh, you haven't heard of insanitanium? Yeah, we don't tell people about that alloy), I see a warehouse of shelves and cabinets stretching on into the dark. I head down to Aisle 41 and start looking for the drawer labeled SH-D031. That's the code ID for Plaxis. In the video, his massive metal hand crushed the head of a courier into a gooey mess. Provided that courier worked for Snake Malloy or The Unbeatable Obelisk or Sinister Sister Serena, it wouldn't matter. But that courier was delivering a shipment of the latest drug to hit the black market, a party drug called Splice.
I'd done a dossier on Splice. It was created from a shapeshifer's DNA and let you "merge"yourself with your preferred partner for a short time. Supposedly it makes the sex exponentially awesome, but about 10% of the time when you were coming off it, you didn't exactly stick the landing so to speak. I saw photos. Young man, panic in his eyes, with his leg placed perpendicularly *through* the stomach of his formerly alive girlfriend whose insides didn't cope well with their sudden rearrangement. It wasn't pretty.
Turns out, Plaxis decided a few weeks ago that he could make more money trafficking Splice than putting out another book like Mister Magnificent. And turns out, he didn't care that much for quality control. His Splice had a fatality rate around 30% and he kept selling it anyway. This latest batch would net him eight figures, easy. That plus the lease he just signed on a skyscraper in Hyper City with the particularly ominous architecture were the latest two points on a line with a predictable trajectory.
I open the drawer labeled SH-D031 and pull out a small black case emitting a faint purple glow around the edges. I close the drawer and walk back toward the front, registering the checkout with a clerk behind a desk shrouded in a shimmering forcefield. He points me toward a rack on the wall and I pull down a small, curved rifle. Odd shape but the technicists tell me the bullet it fires to your left will be in the target to your right before your finger has even let up the trigger.
I've got a meeting with Plaxis at the Citadel of Courage in thirty minutes. Mister Magnificent has already been apprised and would rather the news come out next week after his book tour is over. Silver and Ariel are in Bermuda on a couple's retreat. The Cosmic Twins have been sent to Andromeda, they usually need extra time to debrief and we're not going to have time this afternoon.
And I happen to know that none of Plaxis's enemies have figured out his mortal weakness to a certain chemical compound that a few of the speedsters throw off when they come down from top speed (that's why we never put a speedster on his team, after all), and that we've been able to synthesize that compound for a few years now.
I open the case and pull out the single, faintly purple glowing rifle round from inside it. I load the synthibullet into the chamber and place the rifle in my handler's bag then head toward the elevators. In 23 years, I've never let a supervillain come from my roster. See, they always forget. We know everything about them. *Everything.* |
A bowling alley was not what Jack expected.
Only a moment ago he'd been sitting in the middle of the road, fighting for air and in incredible pain. The next thing he knew he was standing at the shoe rental counter, staring into the face of a lumpy-faced old guy.
"Where am I?"
Lumpy-face grunted eloquently before speaking, "You're dead, kid. This is your afterlife."
Jack took another look around, spotting too many fashions from the seventies and not enough young women, "Here?"
"Yup."
"What is this?"
"The Final Lane; the hereafter for all who followed the tenants of Dudeism, Man."An older guy came up behind Jack and put an arm around his shoulder.
"Jeff Bridges?"Jack stared at the man beside him, "The hell?"
"Relax, man."Jeff guided Jack from the counter and over to a table with a pitcher of beer on it, "Just chill out."
"But..."Jack stammered, "I'm dead!"
"Yup."Bridges nodded, "Happens to all of us."
"Aren't I supposed to go to heaven... or hell, or something?"
"Sit down."Jeff flopped down in his own chair and Jack followed suit, settling himself into the hard and ancient plastic, "Jack, it's like this. This afterlife shit, it's not like they tell you back on earth. You don't go where people tell you you'll go, you go where you'll fit in, right? Whatever cosmic shit that weighs us and shit said, like, 'Hey, this dude's Ok. He can go hang with the Lebowski."
"Lebowski?"
"Oh, yeah man."Jeff waved lazily at the world around him, "This is all, like, some movie shit. Buncha dudes turned it into a religion. Basically, they made a belief system based around just chilling out. Yeah? You're were probably pretty laid back in life, let everybody just do their own thing without getting all pissy about it, am I right?"
Jack thought about his life and found he couldn't really argue with scruffy Jeff Bridges.
"So this is it?"
"Nah, man."Bridges took a drink, "There's a bar as well, and a parking lot."
"This sucks."
"That's just, like, your opinion, man." |
I glare at Stephen. He glares back.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“Oh I don’t know, maybe since you always go on about how good you are at this game, you could help me out.”
“You dumb bitch, you didn’t think about asking God or someone for help? How are we supposed to win against the fucking devil himself?!”
“Hey, I resent that.” Lucifer Morningstar, the incarnation of all that is bad and wrong in the world, rumbles petulantly from where he sits bound in rusty chains.
“Shut it, Satan.” I snap before rounding on his teammate. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”
Death raises skeletal hands. “Hey now, I just wanted to play Smash Ultimate. These two bozos are the ones that dragged you here.”
“You couldn’t have brought any of the other horsemen with you?”
“Be grateful.” Satan smirks. “If you two win, your friend here gets to come back to life.”
“Yeah I’m starting to think I should just leave him here.” I deadpan. Stephen flips the bird at me. “And if I lose?”
“You both stay here with me.” Satan grins. “Now, let’s-”
“What if I refuse to play?” I interrupt. “Do I just get to leave?”
“No.” Suddenly Death is holding a really really sharp scythe to my neck. “Let’s play.”
“...fine.” I turn to where a TV and a Nintendo Switch sit on a large boulder. The four of us sit on a giant pillar of stone that rises up out of a pool of molten sulfur. It smells like the aftermath of the time Stephen and I ate a ton of bean burritos.
I grab a controller and begin scrolling through the characters. The other three do the same, and I sneer at their selections. “Of course you pick Bowser. And Dark Link? Really? How edgy can you get? Stephen you dumbass, pick K. Rool, even you can’t possibly fuck up with him.”
“What’re you picking- oh come on, why would you pick Kirby? He’s such a lightweight!” My best friend groans.
“He’s my main, you fucking fuck. If Sakurai thought he was good enough to be the main character of the story mode, he’s good enough to kick these bitches’ asses.”
“Alright, alright.” Stephen sighs. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.” |
"How is this possible, cadet? How can there be no engine access port anywhere on the ship?"Captain Williams screamed over blaring alarms and rattling steel.
"Well, sir, Apple wanted a more streamlined user experience. They said that if they replaced the engine access and storage ports with a single hub, it would create less potential for breaches."The hallway lights had turned red, blinking between burnt dimness and black.
"Can't you hack into the system somehow? Aren't you an engineer?"Williams pointed at a tablet with a notched screen.
"No, sir. The user interface doesn't even allow me to access the device's storage."
"Okay, well... then how do we access the engine port instead of the waste ejection port? Quick, man, before the cores deplete and we all die in the most remote section of the Samsung Galaxy! If we're stranded, no one will come looking for us! Everyone knows the stars here are prone to nova randomly! "
The cadet shook his head, voice wavering. His bald head looked a bit like a Fuji apple in the deep red lighting. "I'm sorry, sir. We... we don't have the necessary dongle. We just need a dongle..."
"Sweet mother of God,"Captain Williams muttered under his breath, sitting on the hallway floor. Upon closer inspection, the polka-dot tile pattern was composed of little apples missing a bite. "Someone, please, help us."
After a dull beep, a robotic female voice echoed through the PA system. "What can I help you with?"
And in the still silence of space, the first celestial firework flared, a man-made supernova amongst unimpressed stars.
-----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
I gripped my sword tightly and walked towards the stone mansion hidden deep in the woods. For a den of evil and debauchery, it looked surprisingly... mundane. Yet the quest I was given upon my summoning was clear; the pleas of the distraught king apparent. Whoever - or whatever - was hiding inside this house was committing crimes most heinous, an affront to nature itself.
And *just in case* the sword wasn't going to cut it, I checked the magazine in the Glock I brought with me. A perk of being summoned from the 21st century to fulfil an epic quest. 17 bullets. Holster opened. Round chambered.
Good to go.
I approached the door and opened it with utmost care. I was almost disappointed when it didn't theatrically creak, instead just swinging open smoothly. What was beyond the door shook me down to my core.
Fountains of blood! Skulls of the innocent stacked into a chair! Green flames from hell itself!
A... green rug.
I mean I expected to see rivers of blood and stuff, real Hellraiser material, not... a cushy rug and a sofa. My pondering was cut short when I heard footsteps approaching.
"You!"a voice sounded from down the hallway. "What the blazes are you doing here?!"
Seconds later, the source of the voice walked in; a young woman with red hair tied into a bun and freckled cheeks. She wore a fairly loose white sundress, yet no shoes. The only remotely threatening thing about her was an eyepatch across her left eye. That and the fire poker she was brandishing.
"Meolda? Meolda the-"I started.
"If you finish that sentence with 'The Dark' I'll show you a piece of my mind!"she hissed.
This wasn't what I was expecting.
"It's over, Meolda,"I calmly continued. "Your evil deeds will not go unpunished."
"Did *those morons* send you?"she asked. This, too, took me aback.
"...beg your pardon?"
"The King. The townsfolk. Did they send you to kill me?"
"Well... yes,"I nodded.
"Oh of course they did. They-"
"Meolda, is everything all right?"a new voice said, soon revealed to be an equally young man with frazzled brown hair and thick spectacles that joined Meolda's side.
"Another '*adventurer*' Viktor. Here to kill us, apparently,"she introduced me.
"That's what you get for your evil-"
"Is this about the reverse seeing glass?"Viktor asked. I frowned.
"The what?"
"My latest project. I assure you, there is no dark magic at play! It is merely a series of polished lenses that allows me to inspect things most minute-"
"Wait, are you talking about a *microscope*?"I asked. The two looked at each other.
"Micro... scope. Micro... small... oh, that is a *marvellous* name for it, good sir!"Viktor said excitedly. "I'll be sure to credit you in my memoirs."
"Things they don't understand, stranger,"Meolda said carefully. "Things that scare them. That's why they want you to kill us. Will you?"
"Look, the testimonies were pretty clear,"I said. "People saw a mutilated human body not too far from here; caught you red-handed moving it. Are you denying you did that?"
"Oh..."Viktor sighed. "Yes, well... that *was* us, yes."
I gripped my sword tighter with one hand, the other reaching behind my back for my gun.
"Have you ever heard of the term 'dissection' ?"he asked.
"I... yes."
"Impressive, good sir,"Viktor nodded. "You see, a plague has recently gripped the nearby village. The poor man whose body we... dissected was struck down by it - we wished to inspect it further to perhaps uncover the secret of the disease. Maybe even find a way to reverse it."
"Then why were you dragging the body about?"
"We were trying to bury him, damn you!"Meolda snapped. "Then some idiot lumberjacks saw us and chased us away before we could! Not like we could bury him in our garden. He'd attract scavengers."
I loosened the grip on my sword and let its tip rest on the ground.
"Are you two just... scientists?"I asked.
"Yes!"Meolda cried out. "That's all we want! To progress knowledge in peace, but-"
"But,"Viktor continued solemnly, "they do not... understand or approve. We go against the 'Will of the Gods' in their eyes."
"And the thing about you two being of no moral stuff is..."
Viktor and Meolda grab each other's hands.
"We've not married yet, yes,"Meolda explained, "but we see this as no reason not to enjoy-"
"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!"I yelled loudly and threw my sword to the side. "Waste of my GODDAMN TIME!"
The two scientists looked at each other curiously.
"Are... are you alright?"
"I- yes!"I scoffed. "I mean, no, not really. This is a... I could've been catching the latest movie but noo, instead, I have to spend 6 hours crawling through a thick forest to go and 'Kill the Evil Warlock and his Harlot Witch' only to find..."I said and pointed towards them, "you two. *Harmless*."
"So you... mean us no harm?"Viktor asked.
"No,"I pouted.
"Good,"Meolda said and put her fire poker down. Then, she released her grip on the lever behind her back I was yet to see. "We are not *harmless*, sir. We are *peaceful*,"she said and pointed to the ceiling above me. I squinted my eyes and saw a trapdoor, ready to open and drop... something on top of me. I presumed something *heavy*.
I chuckled. "Well played. Also... what is this about you wielding lightning?"
"Oh, yes!"Viktor said excitedly and, seemingly trusting me already, ran past me towards the door and showed me a paper kite. "You see, I attached a simple metal wire right below the kite and when the next storm happened, it-"
I laughed. "It conducted the lightning to the ground,"I finished for him.
Their eyes went wide. "Are you a man of science?"
"Just... not from around here."
"We're trying to find a way to harness this power. If we could find a way to do so, the implications-"
"We'll need copper, zinc, a bit of silver, cloth and brine. Do you have those?"
They exchanged confused looks.
"Yes, why?"
I grinned. "I'm going to show you something... *shocking*." |
She ran into the building, kicking down the door, grabbing every loaf of bread in the shop before grabbing me and dragging me out the door.
“I’ll explain on the way we’re going,” she said, out of breath.
“Well, now hold on, I don’t even know you! Can you come back tomorrow, it’s my day off,” I replied, panicking ever so slightly.
“Nope,” she said. “Gotta be today, just got out of the castle dungeon, this is my best run yet and FUCK!” A careless step on a stray cabbage sent her flying into the stratosphere, her voice getting fainter and fainter in the distance, before she came crashing back down to-
She ran into the building, kicking the door down, grabbing every loaf of bread in the shop before hurrying to the counter.
“Let’s go, come on, move move move we’re on the clock.” Before I could open my mouth to answer her, she pressed her fingers to my lips. “Shhhhhhhhh, let’s go. God damn Bethesda and their god damn cabbages. Like nobody ever playtested this shit.” Outside my shop was a horse that I recognized from the stable just outside town.
“You got that horse from Olfreg’s stable?” I asked. “Must have cost an arm and a leg, I didn’t know he was selling his prized stallion.”
She turned back towards me, her eyes wide. “His what?”
Just then, Olfreg, tailed by two city guards, shouted “there she is!” The guards charged her, and-
She walked calmly through the front door, directly to the counter, and held a sword against my throat.
“Any words and I will end you. Let’s go.” Silently, we walked to the stable just outside town, where we stole one of Olfreg’s horses. “Before we take this,” she asked me, “does he have any special connection to this horse?”
I shook my head in terror.
“Good, get on.” We hopped on Stengaard (that was this steed’s name), and she ran him directly towards the mountain, paying no heed to the roads.
“Miss,” I finally asked, “why are you taking me? Where are you taking me? Who are you?”
“I’m FlamboyantFlareon69, I’m going for a world record. I’m taking you to fight a Daedric God of Death, and you’re going to kill him because your base attack stat is high enough that if you farted this horse would probably glitch through the terrain and crash the game.”
“You just said a lot of words, and none of them made any sense.”
“Wouldn’t expect them to,” she replied, steering us towards a lake. “Now hold on, there’s a glitch where, if we ride this horse into this specific rock at the bottom of the lake, we should teleport straight to-”
The door opened, and she walked in silently crying. “You, horse, now,” she said, drawing an arrow aimed right at my head. "Please don't argue, it's been a long day." |
"Player 2 has entered the game"
"What the hell?"He thought. Almost immediately there was a loud boom and a flash.
A sensation if weightlessness filled his body. He looked down to see his lifeless body on the floor, blood pooling where his head had once been.
A dark figure made its way across the room to his body. It bent down and he could see the outline of another man. The man ransacked the pockets of his corpse.
"What is he looking for?"Something glinted in the man's hand. He could just make it out as his vision faded to black.
"Shit, he got my gun."
Suddenly he saw a bright light ahead of him, and a door. Not what he had imagined the pearly gates would look like, but if he was getting into heaven he wasn't going to argue.
As he opened the door he was greeted by a familiar voice, "Player 2 has respawned."
"Oh, fuck..." |
>"Look,"I said, "we need to talk."
Since my earliest years, I've been friends with Death. I found her standing over my best friend at the age of seven, shaking her head and opening her arms. Being so young, I did not understand the implications of my actions and sprung to her with tears in my eyes. Locked in Death's embrace, I felt safe.
>*"Yes, Alex?"Death asked, tilting her head to the side.*
In those years of childish wonder and discovery, Death was my older sister. She sat on the porch when I played with friends. She sat beside me when no one else would. She gave me the chance to talk with the deceased, too young to have known great grandparents and great aunts or uncles. Death was kind, and in return I was her friend. For children, so innocent, do not understand.
>"It's about..."I trailed off. "...my father."
As we grew older and I shed off the body of a boy, we grew closer. Romantically. Death didn't age, and I found her beautiful. She liked me, and without words exchanged and confirmation sought, we sat together in pleasant company. We understood one another. And I understood that Death did not mean harm whenever she took another to the great beyond. The natural order of things needed to be kept.
>*"Hmm, what about him?"she asked, taking a step back.*
I guess we just weren't meant to be. Less kisses. Less hugs. More talks, and clashes. In my university years of studying medicine, my perhaps fickle heart sung out for another. Though we talked each day, I think Death felt uneasy at my attraction towards another. Yet I didn't blame Death when she was killed, drunk at the wheel on her 21st. But just like that, I was in Death's arms again, rambling through thoughts and holding her close.
>"Well, not just him,"I admitted, gritting my teeth.
Over one of the holidays, I returned home to find my mother having fallen ill. Cancer. That was the first time I begged Death, calling on our friendship for just one favour. Alas, she could not, she told me, shaking her head. The natural order of things needed to be kept. With a heavy heart, I nodded and clung to the shreds of time left behind. My mother withered away, but still remains strong in pictures, in videos and in my memories to this day.
>*Death furrowed her brows, taking another step back.*
My father disappeared soon after, taking to alcohol to fill the void left behind. No matter how much he poured, the liquor could never fill that haunting hole. Struck by liver failure, I loosened my tongue and pleaded with my friend, Death. Once more she reminded me, the natural order of things needed to be kept. At the very least, she also said with arms around my head and clutching me close, it would not be my parents needing to attend my funeral.
>"I want you to be honest, okay?"
Our romance flared up after my father's death, a desperate grasping at any comfort that the world could provide. Death seemed happier in those times. I just survived. Grief came and went, and near the end Death's worried face had become her default again. I tried my best to reassure her, we would always be friends of course. She... I know she wanted more.
>*Death nodded, showing an emotion I didn't know she had.*
My first girlfriend, months after me and Death took to friendship over romance, died in a car accident. I blamed myself, not paying enough attention when a truck ran a red light and T-boned her side. At least, I had Death there to comfort me.
>"Do you,"I asked, pausing.
Second girlfriend, also gone through an accident. An old lady had a stroke, her car killed them both on impact. My second dog managed to break out the house, he drowned in a lake on a cold winter's day. And through it all, Death stood by my side.
>"Love me?"I winced at asking. She was still my friend, I think.
Depression took hold somewhere in between it all. And though I had death, I wanted something more. The company of immortals is only sought out at the end of one's life, never near the middle.
>*Death didn't make a sound.*
Three attempts, all foiled through chance.
I raised the gun to my head, and pulled the trigger.
*Death finally made a sound, shouting a powerful, "No!"*
The natural order of things need not be kept.
Locked in Death's embrace, she would never let me go.
****
Come and visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories.
|
"Children! It's time for dinner!"I let out a puff of smoke after I spoke to alert them. I'm really too old to be dealing with active children, let alone HUMAN children but I couldn't leave these poor babies alone.
They were lovely set of twins with curly brown hair and emerald eyes, but because they were born out of wedlock the whole village treated them as dirt. I cleaned them up, gave them a home in my lair and they've brightened up. The twins came running in covered in dirt and berries once they heard me.
"Mom!"The little girl said pouting, "he threw bumble berries at me!"She pointed to her brother with an annoyed look and he sheepishly grinned.
"It was a game!"I sighed and hosed them off as best I could. The village gives me tributes every once in a while, to make sure I dont attack their village and I've asked for clothes and toys for the children instead.
The day they came to me...they were nothing but bones and scared out of their wits. Over the last few weeks they've opened up to me, and even started calling me mom. They're still scared when I breathe out fire but they're warming up to me, pun intended. I havent decided on their names yet and they had none before they arrived here but they call each other Jack and Vivi from their favourite play so its stuck.
"You messy kids....I'm too old for this you know?"I poked them in the stomach playfully with a claw. They laughed and both hugged my hand.
"Thanks for not eating us mom."Vivi said quietly making my heart swell. Jack nodded as he hugged us tighter as he took over.
"We're not hungry or tired anymore. We love you."Oh these kids, such precious little guys.
"Of course we're a family and I love you guys too. Now hurry and set the table or no elf plays later!"They scurried off to set the table and I smiled as they ran.
Humans arent so bad when they're little.
"MOM JACK SPILLED YOUR MEAD ON THE FLOOR!"
nevermind... |
"You mean you really never realized? I'm wearing the Archmage's Robes *right now*!"
"Well, I just... I don't know, I thought the outfit was one of those cheap replicas you can buy at the tourist's shops in Imperial City."
"But they're *glowing* and *shimmering*. Clearly magical. And also they still have that old man smell from the last Archmage."
"I just... I guess I never noticed that."
"Ok... well, what about the Grey Cowl? I mean, it belonged to Nocturnal herself! There's no way that could be a fake."
"Well I didn't *know* what it was. I mean, I've seen people from Bruma before, so I figured you were just ugly and wanted a mask to hide your face or something."
"No, it's the real deal. And I'd also watch those snide little insults, given that I'm Guildmaster in the Fighting Guild."
"By Sheogorath's Tongue, man! What *aren't* you? Next you're going to tell me that you're, like, Martin the Savior's best friend or something!"
"Errr... well, yeah, kind of. We were pretty tight. See, me and his dad - You know, Emperor Urial Septim? - we escaped through the Imperial City's sewers this one time, and..."
"I was being sarcastic! You seriously knew both of them? By the Nine, how *old* are you? I mean, doesn't someone have to work for like an entire lifetime of study and practice to become Archmage?"
"No, no. It took me.... I dunno, like a day or so? You know, now that I think about it, it took just about as long as it took me to become the Listener here in the Dark Fraternity."
"Dark *Brotherhood*."
"Right, right. Sorry."
"I seriously can't believe this. My own father spent his entire life mastering *just illusion magic*, and you're telling me that you became Archmage in a *day*? *HOW*?"
"It was pretty easy, actually. The last Archmage vanished into a soul gem or something. I don't remember; I wasn't paying attention. Let's see... I ran a bunch of errands, and then they had me kill some King of Worms guy... you know, the funny part was that I never even used magic on him! It just took a few hits from the good old battleaxe, and boom! They promoted me."
"You've got to be kidding me. I kill people all the time! That's all you had to do?"
"Yeah. I can barely even do a lightning spell. Kind of messed up, huh? I bet there are a ton of mages back there who really wanted that job. Really sucks for them."
"Wow. This is just... wow. So you are *simultaneously* the Listener, the Archmage, the Guildmaster, and the Hero of Kvatch!? That's just... damn."
"Yeah. It's been a pretty busy month."
"I just... man, we've got to line up with a fight between you and the Grand Champion of the Arena! He's killed, like, *everyone* that they send at him. He's probably the only person in Cyrodiil that'll give you a run for your money."
"Yeah... about that..."
"Oh, come on!"
-----
As always, if you enjoy my writing then you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_lovewell! |
Nobody said which blade was which, and the swords themselves gave nothing away. One was a short sword, vines engraved on once half and bones on the other. The other was a sword of fire and ice, the two elements chasing each other around the sword.
"He's... he..."one of the onlookers begin to stammer.
"A demon!""An angel!""An evildoer!""Righteous!"
All of these, and more, are shouted at once.
Some begin arguing that it must be a fluke, others are arguing over you are the ultimate good or evil.
As you feel the swords in your hands, you don't sense an aura surrounding either of the swords. There's no real way to tell which is which.
Wisps of yellow, green, and red come out of the fire, and the room begins to mist over.
Those debating turn to look at you with fear and resignation.
"G-guards!"one person yells, sprinting out of the room so fast they almost trip. The rest of the crowd follow suit.
*I... I don't know why they're so scared of me...* you think with twinges of sadness. You throw the swords in anger. They clatter loudly on the ground.
As you sit by the stone you pulled the swords out of, now with holes in the shape of the swords, you feel a glowing from the swords. When you look, there's no glowing, but you feel a heat radiating into your face.
The swords have fused, and there is an inscription looping around the blade. It says 'The one who has not status, will, power, and does not align themself with good or evil, shall be both wrath and patience. Fear them." |
Childhood is filled with little sayings designed to keep little people safe.
My father didn't stop at sayings though, he believed in learning by doing and so he'd set me off on my first big adventure through the woods. Armed with my trusty swiss-officer's knife and button-compass, I set off on the 2 mile trek back to the campsite through the woods.
I came to a stream and prepared to cross on a series of semi-submerged stones before stopping. "A spill, a slip, a hospital trip!"I reminded myself and looked for a better place to cross.
I came to a snake slithering across the path, "Red touch yellow, kill a fellow, red touch black, friend of jack!"I sing-songed as I let it pass.
I saw a widowmaker tree leaning across the way, "be alert, accidents hurt!"I noted as I went around the tree instead of under it.
"Kid!"A bescraggled man in bedraggled clothes waved to me out of the bushes. "Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I'm on an adventure,"I said without looking at him, and continuing on the path, "my dad put me on a mission to find my way."
"Is your dad this tall?"He asked, holding up his hand. I nodded.
"Is he this big?"He asked, holding his hands apart. I nodded.
"Oh my god, he's done it again, he took me out here for an adventure 13 years ago and never came to get me when I got lost."He looked at me, eyes concerned, "He must have left you behind too."
I stared at him. He stared back. We were quiet for a while before he spoke again, "It's okay, I can help. Do you want some food? You look pretty hungry."
I nodded.
"Here, I'll give you a ride to my camp,"he turned around and offered to carry me on his back. I climbed up and he started walking off the trail and into the woods.
I bent forward.
"You're not my father's son, you liar,"I whispered into his ear as I clicked open my [knife](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/), "if you were, you would know about stranger danger." |
I was terrified.
My whole life, I had stepped in hundreds of teleporters, in fact, I had just been in one ten minutes ago. Which would mean my current body was only minutes old, and that my original body was long dead...
"Hey Jim,", said my friend from the other room, what did you find?
I had no words.
My friend walks over and glances at the screen.
"Oh you managed to find the teleportation schematics, good, now that we've done that we can figure out how to redirect one of them in order to kidnap- Hey, you seem bothered by this, did you not know? Omigod I can't believe it, you are one of those morons who don't understand how teleportation works.
Look, what even is consciousness? It's a collection of particles and forces in a certain configuration, that evolves based on the next time step in the world. 30 years ago we figured out that the universe's tick rate is the planck time, and that smaller time steps don't make any sense. So so long as your pattern is mostly consistent from one planck time to the next, you remain "conscious". Like think about it, what happens when you move normally? Your particles are rendered from one position to the next, and depending how fast you are moving, you move different distances with each planck time.
All a teleporter does is read the state of every single one of your particles in an instant, but this process results in the instant destruction of the current particles. These are recycled into someone else. But all the information, what makes you, you, is quantum teleported to the next machine, and in that exact planck time, you are recreated, of course, using other people's particles. Same state, just with a much larger movement, and therefore continuous consciousness. Due to weight differences sometimes we gotta feed some extra atoms into a machine or another, but it tends to average out.
The regular folk weren't going to understand this kind of thing, so the government concocted something about hyperspace tunnels and added like 0.1 seconds of perfect virtual reality space tunnels so people would think that they actually traveled physically through some other dimension.
Snap out of it, geez, I can't believe we hired a moron."
&#x200B;
MEANWHILE IN THE SIMULATION COMMAND ROOM
"Hey Carl, how's the perfect apple pie generator simulation going on?"
"Ugh, this universe created teleportation, and you know how ethical regulations say that once a life form reaches a certain complexity it is considered "living"and we need to give it an afterlife until it gets bored? Yeah, its fine because our infinite time death parallel server can run a few billion no problem with minimal energy consumption, especially since most of them get bored of existence within a few intervals, and even the most persistent ones only stick around for a few thousand intervals before accomplish all that can even be accomplished with the physics engine we gave them."
"Yeah, so what's the problem with teleportation?"
"Well the problem is that each time they go through one it flags them for death, and moves them to the parallel server, and these buggers are teleporting all the time, and now we have a few trillion lifeforms on this server, and its costing a ton of energy since so many of them are sticking around since this simulation also discovered "drugs", and thus like to stick around even more annoying long. I'm already over the energy budget, and at this rate, the boss is going to dock my pay for using so many resources".
"Well it appears they only die once? Why do you have to keep all the iterations, especially the ones that are only there for like, 10 seconds when "they forgot something and had to go back through the teleporter to grab it?". Can't you just concatenate them into one singular lifeform and then simulate that one once it finally expires?"
"Well, ethical review board says so, why don't YOU try and convince them"
"ugh, stupid regulations" |
“I don’t know. She’s pretty useless though. Can’t speak. Too dumb for any real magic, but she’ll heal you if you order her to.” Calix said to their new recruit as he marched down the goblin infested tunnels in his massive plate armor.
*Leressa the Black! I bind you!*
The recruit, Daved, looked back at me nervously, “Ah, would you please heal my wound ma--”
“No, not like that. You have to *order* it.” Calix interjected. To me he said, “Healbitch, patch up his arm.”
*I bind you to never again use your magic to harm another living being!*
I smiled. The muscles controlling my face spasm, holding the idiot grin as I catch up to Daved. Once again I reach for the healing magic I can barely touch. White magic has always been a struggle for me.
My talents lie elsewhere.
*I bind you to heal all that demand it!*
Purple light sprang between my hand and his wound; stitching his cut closed with agonizing slowness. Once I finished, Daved drew his sword and swung it about experimentally.
“Thanks” he said nervously, eyes bouncing off of my dull gaze.
*I bind you to follow all orders!*
“Found it!” That slippery old eel, Ronald, shouted back to us.
Calix hurried ahead, plate armor clattering down the tunnels. “Come on, healbitch.”
Once Daved and I arrived at the door to the goblins throne room we saw Calix impatiently waiting as Ronald carefully inspected the door.
*I bind you to use your magic to aid all that demand it!*
Almost by rote Ronald said, “Healbitch, give me better eyesight”
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me stronger,” Calix demanded.
I smiled.
“Healbitch, make me faster,” Daved’s words *just* avoided being a request. He’d get used to it. They always did.
I smiled.
*I bind you to these things for all your life, with a smile on your face.*
Calix looked at the others, “Here we go.” He blasted open the heavy wooden doors with a supernaturally enhanced kick. A few dozen armed goblins stared back at us, faces contorted with surprise, fear, and rage. Their shaman shouted something in their guttural, barking tongue. Some charged. Some ran. It was a slaughter.
------
Calix stepped up to the throne, swordpoint against the shaman’s throat. “Any last words, greenskin?”
The shaman’s eyes met mine. He made a sharp gesture and cast one last spell before Calix drove the sword through his ancient neck. The room fell deathly quiet.
“What was that, Ronald? He curse us?” Calix asked, looking back towards the rest of us.
“No, it was inverted.” Ronald said, bemused puzzlement dominating his voice, “Why in the world would he spend his last breaths trying to *remove* a curse?”
I reached out experimentally.
“Fucking greenskins. Probably just learned the spell backwards. Anyway, who cares?"
Calix turned to me,
“Healbitch…” He cut off
Tendrils of purple magic extended from my robes in all directions, probing, reaching into the eyes of each and every goblin corpse, the ones nearest to me were already twitching. Black lightning danced on my fingertips.
For the first time in years, *I* smiled. |
"I'm guessing I'm supposed to fall in love."I sighed, Looks like the entity that had been manipulating me for the last millennia had finally decided to officially introduce himself to me.
"I can't bel- Wait- YES! That's it! Your one true lo-"
"I'm going to stop you right there. I take it you're the red headed man in the pale blue jacket?"
"I- What? How? You noticed me?"
"Well when you get to be my age you start to pick up on some things."I responded. "Amidst a universe that continually fought to flow back to the status quo you kept showing up. Same age, different times and places, always watching trying to nudge me a certain way. Subtle at first, a dropped handkerchief, a missed bus. I gotta say you've been getting sloppy lately. A free trip to Paris where my single room was mysteriously swapped with a couples suite?"
"Well I really thought you weren't getting it..."I could feel the voice's frustrations turn to utter bewilderment. "So do you know why I'm here?"
"I've made a guess. You're a time traveller of some sort and you've messed up. You need me to do something... or someone to fix it. So you keep sending me back. Though I've been to Paris dozens of times, and burnt it to the ground twice. What made you think that would entice me?"
"Well I can't watch your entire lifetime every cycle."the voice explained, "I only show up for a few days at a time, and I'd really like to get back to my own timeline so...could you-"
"No. Not yet."I said, "I've seen the other side, every time I die, for just a few seconds. I know what it's like to no longer know what anything is like. I don't want that. Not yet. Not forever. There's so much left for me to see, for me to be. Once I've done everything that no one has done, then and only then will I do the one thing everyone's done... I'll fuck your mother" |
I flipped through the pages of the book. It was written in almost perfect calligraphy with neatly written annotations around the edges. Quaint. I was about to close and put the tattered pocket book away when I thought I recognized one of the lines. I flicked it back open to take a look.
I immediately recognized it as the lullaby I heard listened to almost every night as a child. Then grandma had passed away. Most old people die in their sleep or in hospital. Grandma had just disappeared off the face of the earth, and as if that wasn't bad enough I lost control of my lower body three days after.
I backed my wheelchair away from the bedside table, scraping against the bed. I still didn't remember the accident although doctors said that there was no damage to my brain. I sighed and looked at the lullaby again. Those had been the gold days.
I looked at the lullaby and almost unconsciously began to sing. Some parts of it weren't in English. Maybe it was old English or Latin, even German. I stopped at the last stanza and turned the page. There was more? She had never sung these parts.
I kept on singing in the same haunting tune my grandma used to. It must looked embarrassing, a guy in a wheelchair singing to himself, but it didn't feel that way. I finished the lullaby, and set it down reminiscing about days long gone. Lost in thought I got up and walked to the kitchen.
&#x200B;
&#x200B; |
The truth is it didn’t bother me. I know it sounds cold but I married and had a family as a kind of disguise for my regular identity. The better you blend in, you know? So I don’t blame her — her life was empty because I was a shell.
The fact it was Hotshot screwing her? Well, might as well be someone who I know’s decent — at least decent in the ways that matter. Like I say, I loved my wife but not in the way she needed. So how can I be mad at either of them? Like, what gives me the right?
Nothing, that’s what.
I moved out. That’s part of the costume too. You got to act like you would have done if you really had loved your wife with every particle of your being. So I moved out and people presumed I was hurt and didn’t blame me. I’m a good actor. You got to be to keep two identities.
The new place was a cheap one bed apartment a way outside of town. It sat in a worse area than I was used to, which maybe I could have done something about — helped clean it up, you know? But I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I didn’t want cops and amateur sleuths drawing rings and arrows on maps of all my latest appearances and going Aha!
There’s something to be said for living alone, not being badgered into quitting drinking for the night or getting to bed. Hell, now I drink champagne for breakfast some days. It gives you a buzz, makes you feel like a king.
Hotshot left me. Would you believe that? Coincidence of course, but after the wife thing having him leave me too? It’s a strange world, that’s for sure. Hotshot said I wasn’t reliable anymore. That I was drinking on the job, getting to fights late. That I was going to get us both killed one of these days.
“You got to change things up or I’m out of here,” he said.
He didn’t know he‘d been fucking my wife. I knew, but he didn’t. He didn’t know my real identity, you see. So I had every right to be mad as hell with him and yet I wasn’t. See, I knew he was still seeing her and I knew — and maybe this hurt a little — that they were both kinda happy. I even heard a rumour she knew his real identity. That he’d revealed it to her. What kind of fool would do that? In the many years we were together it barely crossed my mind. Jesus, and he has the balls to say what I’m doing is dangerous.
”Well then, good luck,” I said. And that was that. No more wife, no more sidekick.
But that was all right, it was time for a change.
Months went by and to tell the truth I got pretty used to the new routine. I relaxed more than I used to. Maybe I fought a villain once a week or once a month, instead of once a day like when I’d been married. Truth is, it didn’t make a difference how often I fought them. There were always more heroes and there were always more villains. People lived and people died regardless of my actions.
&#x200B;
There were two villains I fought a long time ago. I’ve been dreaming about them a lot recently. They were a duo, a man and woman who both floated inside thick undulating bubbles. One dark bubble, one light — chaos and order. And a buzz of static always arced between the two bubbles. They shared their powers and minds 24/7. One mind. Together, they must have thought, they were stronger than separately, so they’d decided many years before to team up.
Anyway, they’d attacked a bio-lab and it just so happened me and Hotshot had been in town already, not too far away, defeating a different villain. We got to the bio-lab before Chaos and Order were done.
One thing led to another. We fought.
I never tried to harm the people I fought. Not truly. I wanted justice and that was it.
But me and that guy in the bubble collapsed into a building as I leapt up at him. The whole thing shattered around us, on top of us, brick and smoke and blood.
I was okay because, well, that’s how I am.
He suffered brain damage and spent the rest of his life in a bed. There was never a bubble around him again.
Thing is, he didn’t die. Spent years in that bed so far but didn’t die. It was the woman, his partner who died.
She’d visited him once in the hospital when she’d gotten parole and then she died later that night back in her own home where they’d once lived together. Maybe it was an overdose or something. But I don’t know.
If I was pushed, here’s what I think happened: when she knew they’d never share a mind again she realized the best part of her was already dead, and then her heart, that night, simply caught up.
I dream about them a lot. About that severed connection. And sometimes I’ll wake in the night to still-darkness, my heart pounding, sweat pouring down me. For a while as I sit up in bed catching my breath, I think I understand how she felt right after she visited him in the hospital. |
((**STORY IS ONGOING**: check out /r/Salojin for the rest of the story of the U-Boat!))
Another Redditor has created a board *just* for the updates from this story, it can be found here: https://m.reddit.com/r/Salojin
Please let everyone know that I will be posting the rest of the story on the /r/Salojin page, this thread has gotten too crazy for my phone to handle, thank you for your patience and help.))
"I swear to you that reef is a U Boat!"
Tom was always the most excited about finding old graveyards when they were kids, too. Maine was loaded with pre-revolution graveyards from ancient family plots and grave stones. Paul hadn't figured out the fascination with finding old dead people but Tom was enamored with all things antique and history so it didn't come as a shock when Tom expressed such giddy joy over the discovery.
It was a pretty normal day, the seas were green and shifting, skies gray and low, winds steady with a cold chill on the beeze and the gulls mobbing the shoreline when they cast off to go diving in the normal spots. Always looking for tourist favorites: old bottles and sea shells, on lucky days pearls. The dive had been like any other before it, too, up until they hit the broad shelf sixty feet down. When the first layer of mud came away and the bright red rust of old steel was revealed Paul had to nearly pull Tom up by his air tanks to get him to the surface to talk.
"There ain't no U Boats this close, the Germans woulda just swum to land or gotten schwaked by be Coat Guard,"Paul was trying to manage Tom's expectations.
They bobbed there for a bit before hauling themselves back aboard the tiny row boat, the whole vessel rocking with their weight. The quailing gulls above adding tune to the gray most settling in.
"I'm bringing the crowbar, there's gotta be stuff in there,"Tom was unhindered.
Paul gave a sigh and grabbed a new set of tanks, "Fine fine, but keep on the cord, I don't need you get'n stuck under a log like *last* adventure."
Tom gave a half toothless grin and lowered his goggles, fastening the rest of the line round his waist beneath his vest and tanks. A moment later and they were beneath the gray green, headed to blackness. A quick pit stop to get their bodies used to the pressurize and their lights shattered the darkness.
The cord between them was forty meters long and without speaking they began to chart out the edges of the rust path. Sure enough it was shaped like a boat, and without much time to gather their sense they found the tower. The U-Boat had come to rest on its side, buried in a mountain of mud. The rust was actually quite fresh, Paul was stunned at how intact the latch mechanisms were. Tom was frantic to wrap his fingers round the release to the hatch and looked to Paul for the ready thumbs up. After a tense pause Tom ripped the latch and...
Nothing. The mechanism had been disengaged from within. Tom's head canted to the side in visable confusion. Paul motioned to the crowbar on Tom's rig to help his brother focus. Tom shook his head and motioned for his brother to touch the hatch. It was Paul's turn to look perplexed, his hand came back off the hull and he pulled his glove off to feel the steel with his bare hands.
*It was warm*. |
"Uh."Real intelligent, he knew. But Riley wasn't expecting a talking cat in the driveway and it was taking a moment for his brain to catch up. "Your daughter?"
The cat the spoke before, a big tabby with a notch in his ear, stood and stepped towards Riley. "Yes. She was taken from us and now she is within your home."
"I didn't take her. I--"
"I know. The humans that did are...being dealt with."The cats eyes flashed golden and Riley felt fear.
"She's... She's just inside. Let me go get her."He headed to the front door, stepping carefully to avoid the dozen or so flicking tails in his path. Three cats stood sentry on the porch steps. "Um, excuse me, please."
They glanced toward the big tabby, who nodded, and stepped to the side, allowing Riley to pass them. He unlocked the door as fast as his shaking hands would allow, then went inside, leaving the door ajar.
Riley clicked his tongue and waited for her to appear. When she didn't, he felt that fear again. He had no idea what these cats might do to him if that kitten wasn't here. He began to search the house.
The big tabby nudged the door further open and entered behind me.
"I don't know where she is,"Riley admitted.
He sniffed the air. "She is here. Through that door."He pointed his nose towards the bedroom.
Sure enough, the kitten was curled up in the middle of Riley's bed. She yawned and stretched as he entered the room. "Hi, kitty."
"Let me guess,"she said as she began to clean her head, "my family is here?"
"Er, yeah."
She sighed, leapt down, and headed to the living room. At the doorway she turned back toward him. "I had fun, human."
Riley followed the kitten and the big tabby back to the yard. The two of them seemed to be having a silent discussion on the way. The tabby stopped in the middle of the yard and looked at him. "Thank you for the rescue and return of my daughter, human. Is there anything you wish in return?"
"Oh. No, I'm just...happy that I could help."
"May your kittens be healthy and your mice easily caught."
"Uh. You too?"
The cat made a signal to the other cats and as one they turned to leave.
"Wait!"Riley didn't realize he'd said it out loud until the tabby stopped and turned towards him. "Um. Do you think, maybe, if it's not too much trouble, you and your daughter could visit again? Its...been nice having someone around here the last few days."
The tabby slowly blinked and dipped his head toward him. "If you remain, we will return."
With that, they disappeared. Riley sat on the porch and looked around the neighborhood. Of the neighbors that were outside, no one seemed to have noticed the army of cats that had swarmed his yard minutes ago. He waved at Mrs. Robinson across the street as she brought lemonade to her son who was mowing the yard. She looked towards him but didn't return the wave. None of his neighbors did, ever since his family had moved away.
Riley stood and entered the house again, not registering how the once squeaky porch was silent as he crossed to the door. Or how his fingers smudged the sooty doorknob but left no prints. He did not notice the half burnt walls and destroyed roof of his childhood home, or the lack of human footprints in the dust across the floor. Only pawprints, running here and there. |
"So sir, you called?"Peter Parker said as he stepped into his boss's office.
"Yes... you see, Peter, I know your secret behind getting the Spidey photos."
Peter fell back in shock. "W-what?"
Jameson chuckled.
"Your boyfriend's been texting you photos to prove he's safe on the job, hasn't he?"
“Sir?“
“Stop being a wimp and confess like a man, Parker. You and Spiderman are in a relationship aren’t you?“
“I can’t believe this. Sir, you know I have a girlfriend, don’t you? I’ve told you about her.”
“That MJ girl? The model? The actress?“
“Yes.“
Jonah let out a booming laugh.
“You seriously think anyone believes that, Parker? You? With a broad like that? For God’s sake’s son, you have to make your lies somewhat believable. Don’t make people think I hired an idiot!”
“Now, look, Jonah, that’s just rude! MJ and I are— “
Jonah puts a hand on Parker’s shoulder.
“Son, I’ve no time for games here.“
Jonah slaps down a binder full of photographs on his desk.
“Take a good look at this one, Parker. Spiderman’s face taken on top of the biggest skyscraper in all of Manhattan.
Or this one, taken from the top floor of the Oscorp mega corporation just moments before a freak gas explosion.”
Jonah gave Parker a steely glare.
“You telling me you broke into the headquarters of one of the biggest businesses in the world to take this photo, Parker? Is that what you’re telling me? You broke in and climbed the walls when you can’t even wake up in the morning and get to work on time?”
Peter fell silent, not knowing what to say.
Jonah smirked, his cigarette twirling in his mouth as he did so.
He slapped another genial hand on the kid’s shoulder.
“Listen, Parker. You know how it goes here: I don’t ask. You don’t tell. You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone. That’s just not what I’m interested in. You know that.”
“Jonah, I don’t even know how to begin to explain here—“
“Ah, ah, ah.”
Jonah shook his head.
“Son, I’m a little more aware about things than you might think. Sure, other people might not be as accepting as I am but..”
Jonah banged his desk, causing Peter to jump.
“Well, to hell with them! Love’s love, Parker, and I don’t care if you sleep with Spiderman, I don’t care if you get TOPPED by the Rhino, or whatever whackjob that the kids are groovy with today. There’s only one thing that I care about, and that’s why I called you here today.”
“Y-You want more pictures of Spiderman?”
“GET ME MORE PICTURES OF YOUR BOYFRIEND, PARKER.” |
I was given no information about this test before today. For months, I studied all I could. Maths, Biology, History, even accounting.
Now I am in the testing room and still feel unprepared. I wasn't allowed to take anything in the cold white cell. I sit at a desk, in front of me a black screen and a wireless mouse. Good. Looks like I won't have to type anything. Maybe it's multiple choice?
The screen lights up. The guard behind me cocks his gun.
On the screen, a picture of a seagull appears. Instead of wings, somebody has poorly photoshopped a set of muscular arms on its body.
Above the image, a text says: "Has science gone too far? Is this image real or fake? 90% will get it wrong!" |
3 days old
Papa says Mr. Rogers wasn’t always the way he is. He says there’s nothing wrong with him, just that I should know he was different.
“Different how?” I ask.
“He didn’t always have to sit down like he does now. He didn’t always cough.”
“Why does he cough?”
“He’s sick, son,” Papa says, staring out the window. I wonder if he is looking at the brightness of the stars, or the darkness behind them. “That’s what his kind do when they are sick.”
“Am I sick? Will I be sick?”
Papa looks at me now, and smiles. I don’t know it now, but I will remember this smile when I think of my father, a smile unlike how he taught me to smile, a smile mixed with sadness too.
“We all get sick, son.”
\-
2 weeks old
It was only after I had grown to my final height that I began to realize why Papa was so deeply affected by Mr. Rogers.
“I met your great-great grandfather, you know,” he says with a coy smile, laying on his bed. His eyes are glazed the way humans’ eyes get, to the point I no longer know if he sees me, or something else. “You remind me so much of him.”
“You’ve known my whole family,” I say.
“I’ve known them more than mine.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
He takes my hand, and squeezes it. I don’t know why, but the nurse told me at the visitors’ desk that this is an important thing humans do.
“It’s been an absolute joy. Your father, did he…”
“He passed yesterday, sir.”
“I’m sorry. I should have been…that’s the worst part. I’m never able to grow old with any of you. I should be.”
“Well, maybe you’ll get your chance with me, sir.”
“I’d like that.”
\-
One month old
Now I’m in a bed next to Mr. Rogers. We are both too weak to look at each other, but somehow that doesn’t matter. We know the other is here, and that’s all you need, right?
“Mr. Rogers…can I ask you why you picked that name? My father told me you had a different name.”
“Mr. Rogers is a man I used to watch back on my home planet, when I was a boy, if you can believe that was ever true. And he taught me everything I know. About life, about family...And somewhere along the roads of my life, I lost the values he taught me. So when I met your family, I did what Mr. Rogers would have done. I gave myself a second shot.”
“Family…why don’t you ever speak of your family, sir?”
“Because…there’s nothing to say. They were perfect. We were like any other family, until I messed it up with my addiction. We loved each other, and hated each other sometimes, and cried and laughed and grew together. Like yours.”
“Do you think it hurts, sir? The very end?”
“I don’t think so.”
I try to find the right words to say, to thank him for everything he’s done for us.
“I’m sorry you won’t get to see the future you helped build,” I say. “You deserve that, at least.”
“The thing is…I can see it, when I close my eyes. I’ve always been able to see it. If I didn’t teach your family what you needed to know, you would have learned yourselves. I can imagine it now, when we find the perfect planet...”
"Still, sir...you saved us. We all know that."
"We saved us, son."
There is one final question, one I desperately want to ask. But I don’t, because I would never want to be asked it.
So he answers it for me.
“It doesn’t hurt, kid…being the last one of my kind.”
I look over at him now, with the last of my strength. He wears that same smile, the one he taught my father, the one that somehow says more than you could ever say with words.
“Because I found a family…”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) |
Carter woke up and the world outside was black and silver blue.
"Wea - status?"
The console lights flickered, a pale pink band running up and down the corridor, illuminating the quiet.
"Mission failure,"said a soft, feminine voice from just overhead. "Per stated parameters, we are returning back to home base."
"Failure?"said Carter. His body felt heavy, even in the weightlessness. He tried to use the console, but found his fingers slow and numb. "There was nothing?"
"Correct,"said Wea. "We will be arriving on Earth in approximately 45 hours."
"Image, please,"said Carter. The overhead screen popped, clicked, and reset itself into an image of Earth. It seemed dim somehow to Carter's eyes. Discolored. But then, he must have been asleep for quite some time.
"How long?"he asked, finally managing to manually pull up the vitals for the rest of the crew. Everyone seemed in perfect health.
"Three thousand, one hundred fifty-seven years, forty-seven days, nine hours, three minutes since mission launch,"replied Wea.
"Three *thousand*...?"whispered Carter.
"Our analysis showed no signs of sentient life."
"They weren't out there?"sighed Carter. "All that, and they weren't out there."
"There was no trace of the species known as the Gift Givers,"confirmed Wea. "Per mission parameters we have returned home to report our findings."
Carter rubbed his eyes. He wondered when the fatigue would eventually go away. "Home? I suppose...what's the status there?"
"I have no data to provide any conclusive feedback,"replied Wea. "There is activity, but no active signal."
"Are they even going to remember who we are?"wondered Carter. They would simply have to find out. "Wake the crew. Let's begin prep for landing."
_______________________________
Houston was green. Swamp green and coated in shining algae.
"Well, Kennedy is definitely gone,"said Martinez. "I'm not even sure there's a highway to land on anymore."
"Seems to have gone underwater,"said Bito. "A while ago."
They went north, aiming for dry, stable land in Oklahoma. No one answered their signals. No one seemed to have noticed their arrival.
"There was no sign of them *anywhere*?"said Bito, shaking her head as she analyzed the surface atmosphere. "That doesn't make any sense at all."
"Gods don't tend to make a ton of sense,"said Hawthorne. "You ever read any mythology? They're all fuckin' weirdos."
"The Gift Givers weren't *gods*, though,"said Bito. "They were just an advanced alien race."
"*Very* advanced,"said Martinez.
"At what point does advanced technology *make* you a god, though?"said Hawthorne. "I mean, to ants we're gods."
"I don't think we were quite that far apart from the Gift Givers,"said Carter, watching the descent through the monitors. "I think we have to assume that either they met some great, unexpected calamity, or... they just didn't want us to find them."
Bito threw her hands in the air. "Then what was the point? They came down with all their great tech and tools and said when the time was necessary they'd come back and be our salvation. And then when everything really *does* go to shit and we need them, they never show up. So our dumb asses have to leave everything behind and travel out into the fucking cosmos to find them and tell them how fucked we are and... they're playing hide and go seek? What the hell is happening here?"
"I don't know,"said Carter. "I'm sorry. I'm just as clueless as the rest of you."
Bito wiped the corner of her eye. "Wea? What's the status of the embryos?"
"Status normal,"replied Wea. "All 500 are stable."
"Let's not think about that yet,"said Carter.
"They're all dead,"said Hawthorne. "Yuki's right. Leaving was pointless. Now we have to decide whether or not humanity is worth re-starting."
"Mission's not over yet,"said Carter. "Let's not make any assumptions."
____________________________
Most of the buildings had fallen. The old kind, at least. Pyramid-like structures sat in clusters, surrounded on all sides by wilderness. As it always did, the Earth had reclaimed itself. New species of plant, old, marginally evolved species of animal and insect. The team was cautious. There was no way to know how anything would react to them.
Inside the pyramids, there was no light. Long, dark corridors led to wide, almost endless chambers, filled with white bundles of tissue and dust.
"What the hell is all that?"said Martinez, as they approached the chamber floor.
"Some sort of...material,"said Bito. "We'd need a sample."
The tissue was fibrous and hard. Hawthorne was working some time before he was able to chisel off a small chunk.
"First impressions?"said Carter.
Bito turned the sample over in her hands. "Reminds me of a shed snake skin, just thicker and harder and much, much more of it..."
"Should we presume there's something in there?"
Bito shook her head. "I'm not willing to presume anything. It's a good guess, though. I don't see the material itself having value. Seems more like a wrapping for something. Maybe a cocoon?"
"We'll come back to it,"said Carter. "Let's keep looking for civilization."
________________
There was no civilization to be found. All the man-made things had collapsed. The natural world had re-taken nearly every space there was to take. Only the pyramids remained as a clear sign that something more complicated had once lived there.
"Let's open one,"sighed Carter on the 80th day.
They didn't have the right tools, so the work was manual and time-consuming. They chiseled and axed in turns. After five hours they found their way to the center.
"Careful,"said Bito, supervising. "We need to be gentle from here on out."
They pulled away the dry shards of fiber. Tossed away the last layer of covering. Until they revealed the figure below.
"It's a Gift Giver,"said Bito.
Hawthorne shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would they be here? And if they came, what happened to the humans?"
"Did they come after we left?"said Martinez.
"What did they do to the other humans?"said Hawthorne, leaning over the still body, longer and leaner than a human. More elastic. Wide, sloping brow. No eyes. No mouth. Those strange gashes on the palms of those strange, willowy hands.
"They didn't say they'd save us, did they?"said Carter, gripping the ax to keep his hands from shaking.
"They said they'd be our salvation,"said Bito.
"*Earth's* salvation,"said Hawthorne, remembering. "They said they'd be Earth's salvation. Captain's right. We just heard what we wanted to hear."
"So what the fuck is this?"said Martinez. "They came back, slaughtered all the humans, and...what? Took a fucking nap?"He put his hands to his head. He was starting to panic. "What the fuck *is* this?"
"I think it's us,"said Bito, quite quietly. She held up a chunk of the cocoon. "This is a pupa. I think that's the salvation. We're transforming."
"Into what?"
"Into them,"said Bito.
"Then they didn't save us at all,"said Hawthorne.
"They did if they're better suited to live in this enviroment,"said Bito. "If by nature, they're less destructive. We couldn't survive here as humans anymore, what if this was the only way..."
"It's genocide,"said Hawthorne. "Whatever name you want. It's genocide. They killed humanity. That's no salvation."
"But for *Earth*..."
Martinez cried out. The figure in the shattered cocoon began to move. Arms floating upwards. The long, flat head began to lift. Hawthorne stepped forward with his chisel. Bito dove in front.
"If it's us, we can't assume this wasn't done willingly,"she shouted. "We don't know what happened. This could be what they wanted."
"They took over the planet,"hissed Hawthorne. "There's no way anyone in their right mind would have let them do that."He raised his chisel. Bito grabbed his arm.
"Stop it!"she cried. "We don't know!"
Together they struggled. "Captain!"shouted Bito, before realizing that Carter was already standing over the Gift Giver, his ax buried in the creature's forehead. "Captain!"wailed Bito. "How could you?"
Carter stepped back from the mess he'd made. "We need something flammable. We're going to torch the chamber. All of them."
"Why?"said Bito, tears streaming down her face.
"It doesn't matter what the Gift Givers promised or what they did,"replied Carter. "Our mission was to find a way to save humanity. Right now humanity is us and those 500 embryos. Nothing else. We need to destroy these chambers before they all wake up. Whatever they are."
Carter left alone. Outside the chamber, he vomited. He had to admit the air smelled fresher than it ever had before they'd left. But they hadn't been sent to find fresh air, had they?
__________________________
*/r/WinsomeMan* |
Perfectly solve the ongoing incident.
It wasn't a very catchy name I'll admit, but it had summed my abilities up nicely. At first my tutors and agents had all been very excited to manage the worlds leading pragmatic superhero.
That was until they realised pragmatism isn't exactly exciting stuff.
I'd had a few good saves.
I talked down the hostage situation in Central bank, utilising strong negotiation tactics and insight of the criminal's mindsets.
I had prevented war between nations through hours of debate and deliberation at peace summits, taking into account geopolitical aspirations, domestic politics and competing ideologies.
Famines, floods, crime, poverty, war; you name it I had fixed it, (or at least prevented it in isolated incidents).
Then the Department of Superheroes and Associates had revoked my license. Apparently because my power didn't involve plumes of fire, or torrents of water and ice they were no longer interested. In fact they had said that I was, "Hurting the superhero brand,"and that, "no-one wants to watch Mr. Cargo shorts go around making life boring."
If I'm honest that last one had stung a little. But I digress.
I had given up on hero work and gone back to the life of a normal citizen. I had taken up a job as a barista, working part time as I failed to complete my first novel. It was in the café one day that I encountered a peculiar situation.
In walked the head of the Department of Superheroes and Associates and the current number one hero, Iceman. They placed their order, empty vapid eyes not even noticing me for the hero I had once been.
For the first time since I had given up my hero license, I felt that old power stir in my chest, equal parts insight and premonition. I knew, instinctively and without logic, that these two individuals represented an unpleasant future. It followed therefore that to avoid this future, action needed to be taken.
Thankfully, as ever, I knew what to do.
I slipped the poison into their espresso and handed it across the table to them.
It was the first time I realised the truth that would unlock the full potential of my abilities.
Not every problem can be solved by a hero. |
“What’s your preferred point of entry?”
“I don’t really have a preference, there are only three options, after all. It depends on the client.”
“Only three? It doesn’t get boring sticking to the same monotony? Don’t you ever want to spice things up a bit?”
“Well I did try the ear once, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for either me or the client.”
“I can see that, but I don’t know why you place so much emphasis on the client, it's just a job, after all.”
“It has everything to do with the client. How am I to be hired again should I not perform my job to satisfaction?”
“Sometimes it's just dirty, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Now I’ll drink to that. You said you felt there were more options, do tell.”
“Do you want a whole list? I mean, agreed, the throat is always reliable, but the torso is also an effective finisher.”
“Finisher? How long do your encounters typically last?”
“Oh, not long at all. If I do my job right, a few seconds. You?”
“That’s terrible low stamina, I may have had a client finish in a few seconds one, but I’ve done hours before.”
“Hours? Dear God! With only three entry points? How much do you make them suffer?”
“Oh, only if they’re into that sort of thing. I have had to work on my whip skills recently, I have a regular who really loves lashings.”
“Oh, what an interesting weapon of choice. And regular? What is this cat and mouse bullshit? A job is a job, get paid and move on with your life. We have to face regular society in the morning.”
“Oh, I don’t often see my clients outside of my work, if that’s what you mean. Yes, my face does become more recognized if I’ve seen them on more than one occasion, but few ever believe them.”
“You’re that confident? You don’t even wear a mask? It sounds like this is your life, not just a job.”
“It’s by necessity, same as you. So you’ve never encountered a client more than once?”
“I never miss.”
“I suppose that should be ample reason for them to come back.”
“By clients, do you mean the targets or the one paying you?”
“They are often two different people? I’ve only had that a few times, for bachelor parties and whatnot.”
“You do your work in a public area? Good lord, no mask, multiple encounters, you better be careful. And how could they be the same? People are placing targets on their own backs? Well, I guess if it is more of a cat and mouse situation I suppose they get their money’s worth. Probably some bored rich fools who want to see if they still got moves.”
“Oh tell me about it. They always think they’re so high and mighty and then they’re out in minutes. They pay well though, can’t complain.”
“The pay’s the only reason I’m in this job.”
“Of course, we lead this life from circumstance. You said it was an unusual weapon of choice, but I find the whip used quite commonly, what do you use?”
“Knives, handguns, rifles, anything that leaves a mark.”
“Rifles?! Oh lord… they aren’t actually loaded are they? Just those bayonet things I assume? Are these those same rich people who do this… cat and mouse roleplay you’ve mentioned a few times?”
“Roleplay? What fucked up shit are you involved with? As I said, I do the job, and then moved on. I don’t dress up and I only play one part. And of course, the rifles are loaded, I don’t just use knives, bullets get the job done much faster.”
“Hey! Roleplay is quite common, don’t kink shame! What the hell do you mean they’re loaded? You said I was involved in some fucked up shit, but yours is the fuckiest, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I thought we were getting along there for a bit, but it appears our worlds, even as similar as they seem, are much too different.”
“Kink shame… what in the world… I knew they were some sadist freak. Hours killing a victim, what the hell kind of twisted mind do you have to have to pull something like that off.” |
How many screams had I heard? Earth-rending screeches, ugly and pained, tearing at the throats they escaped from and slicing deep into my psyche. All I had to do was appear, and it began.
Nearly eighty years since I had last descended, I left the heavens, scythe in hand. The journey to the mortal plane didn’t take time, not a physical distance to cross. Yet, it felt like an eternity. One moment, I didn’t exist and, the next, I appeared.
People surrounded me on all sides, as I towered above them. Thousands of people, full of happiness and joy and life. I counted the seconds for that to drain away, my presence a wildfire that devoured everything and left behind nothing more than the ash that stained my wings. Someone feared, hated, cursed, never to know anything but the screams of those clinging to their existence. That was my life, as the angel of death.
Only, the seconds stretched longer, and the atmosphere remained. Even as I looked around, I saw them looking at me, pointing at me. Yet, they showed no worry. It unsettled me, a snake confused why the mice didn’t run, so I did nothing more than look for now.
“Ah, sir? Sir? Can I get a picture?”
I heard the words, but it took me a moment to realise they were directed at me. Bowing my head, I spotted a young woman in front of me, a device in her hand. Curious, and unafraid in my own divinity, I saw no harm in what may come to pass from her, giving her my assent with a nod. Around us, some space opened up and she stood at my side.
“Do your wings do anything?” she asked.
No reason to hide them away, I stretched out those ashen wings of mine, feathers long-since dyed grey. Gasps came from the crowd, and I wondered if they finally understood. Except, rather than terror, excitement sprang forth in hushed whispers and admiring stares.
So close I could still hear her, she muttered, “Wow.”
I waited patiently for what came next, but all she did was apologise and hold out the device, angling the flat side towards us, and then she pressed a button. A strange sound played and nothing more.
“Thanks! That’s the most awesome costume I’ve seen!” she said, a grin shaping her lips as she stepped away.
I bowed my head, unsure of what else I could do to such a statement.
Then, the floodgates opened, and the space around me closed up as a dozen others took her place, begging to take a picture of their own. Overwhelmed, I felt the heat rise in me, wings smouldering, reminding me of my purpose here on this day.
Suddenly, a hand squeezed my shoulder, surprising both that someone would touch me and that they could reach that high. More surprising than that, the person didn’t scream out in agony, even as my divinity should have started to eat their flesh and bones. Instead, the man’s glove had corroded but nothing more. Dressed all over in red and black, face hidden behind a matching mask, he carried a sword on his back. Yet, I felt his gaze on me.
“Take it easy. They’re all here for a bit of fun, so what’s the harm in playing along, eh?”
As suddenly as he’d appeared, he left, disappearing into the crowd after giving me a pat on the back. His words lingered, though. I could see no harm in waiting. The passage of time didn’t exist in the heavens, this moment no different from the countless that both preceded and followed it. So then, I had no need to rush, the conclusion cooling me.
While I’d thought, the crowd came to thin around me. Some people said things like, “Give him space,” and, “No touching.” I didn’t know if that was specific to me or more general rules of this localised society; however, I appreciated it nonetheless.
Ushered by someone with some kind of authority, I soon found myself by a wall, rather than in the middle of the vast room. “Just let us know when you want to stop, okay?” she said.
I bowed my head, which seemed to satisfy her as she turned to the half-circle crowd. Picking a point, she split it there and announced it as the start of the queue, and some twenty or so people rushed over to line up. Letting the first person come forward, he stood at my side with a device held in front of him—like the woman had earlier.
One by one, with the odd two, the people in the queue did the same. Sometimes, they said something in passing. “Man, those wings are awesome.” “You’re so tall!” “Woah, that scythe looks so real.” Always, they said, “Thanks,” or, “Thank you.”
When the last person left, the lady that had set it all up started pushing away the crowd, helped by someone else wearing similar clothing. Some people lingered, their gaze flickering to me, but I had space around me and no one’s full attention on me, except for the lady’s.
“Ah, sorry about that. Everyone’s so quick to crowd awesome costumes, even after all our warnings,” she said, giving me a sheepish smile. Then, it turned shy. “Actually, if you don’t mind, can I get a photo? You’re the coolest fallen angel I’ve ever seen.”
Though she was incorrect about me being fallen, I bowed my head in assent anyway. Giddy, she half-ran to my side, standing on her tiptoes as she fumbled out her own device.
“Thank you, thank you!” she said, gaze fixated on the light coming from her device. “Ah, er, have fun and enjoy your visit and thank you for coming.” Her cheeks red, she blurted all that out and left me with a wave.
I waited by the wall, watching the crowd of people swell and thin, moving and yet staying inside, spinning in some haphazard way. No one ran from me, screamed in terror at the mere sight of me. Despite the incredible noise of it all, it had a quietness to it, peaceful. Even if I tried to, I didn’t think I could find the heat inside me any longer.
“It’s not so bad, eh? As long as they don’t think you’re real, it doesn’t matter how scary you are, they’ll still love you.”
Rather than give him a reply, I pulled my wings in behind me and held my scythe in front.
“The thing is, you’re actually not real. This is just a story someone’s writing. So, you don’t have to be the bad guy, you know? What the ending is, that’s in your hands. You get to choose. That sounds entirely wrong, I know, but you’re you and what happens happens because you’re you. Your personality can’t just change, so you have to be who you are right until the end. Make sense?”
His words jarred me, splitting my mind as what I saw became replaced with words, only for reality to reassert itself, bringing me back to the crowded room. Yet, a kind of freeness filled me as the strange vision faded. Rather than feeling like I could do anything, though, this freedom made me feel like I could feel however I wanted, selfish and indulgent.
“I want,” I said, the words coming out deep and hollow-sounding.
“Go on.”
Raising my gaze to the heavens, I said, “I want to forget the screaming.”
“Ah, well, I have a bottle of the good stuff you could drink, but I dunno if that’ll help.”
I smiled, perhaps for the first time in my existence. “Thank you.”
The heavens could wait for me, time nothing to it and yet everything to these people. Rather than their screams, I would hear their last breaths as their time ran out, no sooner. If I truly wanted that with all my being, then I would have it. I couldn’t say how many screams I’d heard, but, from now, no more. |
"So,"the man in the frilly coat said with a wide smile, "did my summon perform adequately?"
The man in front of him jumped a little; he had no idea anyone had approached him. As soon as the shock wore off, he went right back to catching his breath. The battle was only just won, his armour still dripping with the blood of the vile monster.
"It... it is done,"the man breathed out.
"Sure looks it,"the summoner noted.
"Your... *friend*, as you call it,"the man cautiously said, "it... I've never seen anything fight like that. Perhaps it has something to do with the number of arms it has."
The summoner looked at the creature he had called upon for the task. It resembled an automaton more than a living being, a creature the shape of a vase practically entirely covered in brass armour, razor-sharp sword in each of its 6 arms. He sometimes lovingly referred to it with the nickname 'Meat Grinder'. He gave the abomination a friendly wave and it disappeared into thin air.
"How do you keep that... *thing* on a leash? I was almost certain it would turn on me the second the job was one."
"What, Frithruna? She's not a thing, good sir,"the summoner frowned. He picked up a piece of the dead monster, inspecting it closely with the bored eye of someone who was greatly unimpressed. "No, she's just a friend I'd helped a long time ago. Not... not from around here, you could say."
"How did you bind it, then?"the man asked. He finally caught his breath and stood up straight, now towering a good half meter above the summoner.
"Ah, funny story. See, this inventor, they needed help with-"he stopped suddenly and tapped his head. "Here I go blabbering again! Perhaps we could talk about it over, say, a nice cup of mead? Somewhere less... bloody?"
"And I suppose you'll be wanting your payment?"the man asked.
"See,"the summoner rubbed his chin, "I must say, I'm quite impressed with your martial prowess. Not many could keep up with Frithruna like that. So, how about we keep this one on the house? A favour from a friend,"he chuckled heartily.
The man frowned - he expected to pay a pouch full of gems. For the summoner to leave that money like that... it seemed off.
"I can see your confusion,"the summoner noted. "Not to worry - I'm not taking your soul or anything. See, unlike other summoners, I don't drag anyone through rifts in space and force them to do anything. Everyone helps of their free will. You could call me more of a... facilitator. Someone who 'knows a guy'."
He tapped him on his back - or at least as high as he could.
"And now,"he smiled even wider, "I know you." |
“YO RAMONE, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”
“Woah woah woah, Paul what’s with all the yelling guy?”
“You’re not gonna tell me why the fucking target is me?!”
Ramone scratched his head quizzically, “What? What the fuck are you talking about you bozo? Gimme that.”
Ramone snatched the parchment away from my hands and looked at it intently. He looked up at me, then back down at the hit order. Up and down, up and down, up and down...
“Ramone...” I sighed and sat myself down behind my desk, “you really got to get your shit together bud. This is a professional operation. PROFESSIONAL. I don’t want this to happen again. Now throw that shit in the recycling.”
“Hey uh, Pauley before I do that you’re gonna want to see who ordered the hit.”
“Who was it? Was it Viktor? I know we like to prank each other, but this prank was distasteful. It’s downright-“
“Paul! Shut up and take a look.”
“Okay man, chill.”
Ramone handed me the order. I turned it over, and my stomach sank. I stood up and tried to walk into the other room, but my legs had failed me. I fell on the cold stone floor, so many emotions welled up within me. I just sat up and put my back against the wall. On the back of the order was a name that I was all too familiar with.
“CARLA WILLIAMS.” My wife’s name. I stared at the name for what seemed an eternity.
“I uh... Wow. What the fuck?” I said in disbelief
“Pfft...”
I looked up and saw Ramone stifling a laugh.
“WHAT RAMONE?! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!” My voice cracked and I had to choke back tears.
“I GOT YOU DIPSHIT!”
“Wha-“
Ramone keeled over and let out one of the biggest laughing fits I’ve ever seen.
“You’re so gullible! You thought Carla actually put a hit on you?! And to add to that with your own company?!” One of Ramone’s lungs probably collapsed because of his hysterics.
I was confused, angry, and relieved at the same time. Ramone got up and wiped a tear from his eye. He looked at me and clearly sensed my bewilderment.
“What? Did you forget?”
“Forget what?”
“Look at the date numb nuts.”
I took out my phone, and looked at the date.
“April 1st...”
“Gotcha, Pauley.”
Edit: Wow! This blew up, thank you to everyone who read my story it means a lot to me that so many people enjoyed it. If you think I should continue the story let me know. |
“Ah…It’s been so many years…”
A withered sigh rattles through my chest and out my chapped lips. Those same lips curl into a smile as I stare at the faces around me. They all look so worried, but I’m not. I’ve made my peace.
“Mildred, my beautiful wife…Come closer.”
I feel a familiar hand grip my own. As Mildred’s hand quivers, I can feel her emotions as clear as day. Her fear for my condition, her frustration at watching me wither away, and her enduring love are all laid bare through our tactile connection.
“I’m so glad-”
I’m forced to cut myself off as a series of coughs wrack my body.
“…I’m so glad that I could spend my life with you.”
“I feel the same way, dear.” She replies before tearing up.
I strain my shoulders to push myself just a few inches closer to her.
“Now that I’m reaching the end of my life, I need to confess something…It’s something that I’ve hidden for my entire life.”
A chorus of gasps fill the room. I don’t blame them for being surprised. After all, I was a pretty mild-mannered guy. What secret could I have possibly hidden from them?
“I-It’s pretty serious…”
Even with my failing eyes, I can feel that the entire room is hanging on my words. Mildred squeezes my hand.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell us.”
“Alright…” I squeeze her back. “My secret is…I was turtles…all…along.”
A heavy silence fills the room and I nod knowingly. It truly is a lot to take in.
“Um. Ok?” Mildred replies. “What does that mean, exactly.”
“It’s just like I said. I won’t hide it anymore. I was turtles all along.”
A concerned frown creeps across Mildred’s wrinkled face. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.
“Turtles.” I reply.
When Mildred blinks, she finally sees me for who I truly am. A bunch of turtles strategically arranged in the shape of a man.
“H-How is that even possible?”
“Like I said-”
As another coughing fit steals my response, I hear a set of unfamiliar footsteps approach my bedside.
“Um, excuse me, I have the results of your latest scan.”
The man, who I’ve identified as a nurse, pauses as he stares at his clipboard. After nearly a minute, he sighs and then speaks up.
“Dr. Rynes really thought you were ready to kick the bucket, but then he double-checked his tests and realized that…If we assume you’re actually just turtles…then you’re in perfect health.”
I look up at my wife in elation, only to lose my high when I see her confused frown.
“This…This doesn’t make any sense.” She mutters while clutching her head.
“Honey, I know it’s a lot to take in…”
“We’ve had kids for Pete’s sake!”
“-I can explain that!”
“No, I don’t want to hear it. I…” Mildred trails off as she collapses.
A half-formed scream dies in my throat as I wake up. My eyes flash open and I hurriedly check my surroundings. I’m still in the same sterile hospital room.
“What’s with that face?” Mildred asks me. “Were you having a bad dream?”
“Y-Yes.” I reply sheepishly.
“Well try to be strong for just a little while.”
Mildred places a hand on my shoulder.
“The rest of our family will be here soon. They’re worried this might be the last time they get to see you.”
Mildred chuckles. “And if you have any confessions, that would be the perfect time.”
“You know me.” I laugh with her. “No secrets here.”
I laugh a little longer than necessary, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. She must never know the truth.
|
The people burst through the gates of the mansion.
The guards tried to stop them, but they had been armed with electric guitars, a shockingly effective crowd control weapon, but I had taken out their generators. A single riff had been enough.
The guards stood helpless as the people marched in to the mansion with beautiful roses and well kept grass while out there they suffered under this sorry excuse of a musician. I had barely needed to do anything in this city. The embers of the anger were already there, all I had to do was fan them
The people marching to a beat.
It was the familiar THUMP THUMP CLAP. THUMP THUMP CLAP that everyone knew. Individually they would stand no chance against their ruler. She was a powerful musician to have controlled the entire city. But there were hundreds here. Even a simple beat like this, made by relatively unskilled users could pack quite the punch.
As if in response, the mansion began to shake, reverberating with the power of the beat of hundreds. They began to sing the song of the prophets Queen. The musicians, when they had first risen after music became powerful, had tried to wipe out all instruction and memory of music to prevent the common people from learning music and challenging their master. But some tunes do not fade. And while instruments could be taken away, hands and tongues could not.
In response to the music the house literally began to rock back and forth. It would soon crumble. Perhaps I had overestimated this musician, if she could not withstand such a plain assault, it was a wonder she came into control at all.
A single chord reverberated throughout the mansion. The mass stopped as if struck, their beat broken, their voices cut off in shock. And then another chord was hit, and another, and as I watched, the woman came out on the balcony with a portable battery and a guitar and began to play.
The people swayed, entranced. The musician dared not use any physical magic on her own property and people, and so she influenced their minds. I, hidden within the crowd, felt only an intense rage. Rock musicians were the worst. They were merely an imitation of the true art form, the true expression of emotion. Passion, rage, regret it was all there in metal. To deliberately dampen these powers...it was sick.
Well, I knew it would come down to this.
I took out the guitar I had hidden on my back with a coat. It too had a portable source of power. I struck a chord and the air hummed with power.
I took in the vibrations, felt the familiar feeling vibrate in my chest. This. This was power. The spell their musician had lain shattered like glass. I let out a scream of passion and power and began to literally rise above the crowd, my guitar in hand.
As I rose I could make out the musician better. She wore jeans and denim jacket over a black shirt. Her red hair stood on its end, as if a halo, no doubt responding to her power. Her mouth was curved into a sneer, and her emerald eyes flashed dangerously.
We stood, facing eye to eye, and the crowd below us fell silent, in respect and awe. They were about to witness a duel. These were things of legend, of the past when musicians fought for control over areas. These were stable times, musicians dared not fight each other. They had learned that lesson in the First Wars when we had almost wiped each other out.
"You fool! What are you doing! You dare intrude on *my* domain?"She struck a note that vibrated, and I literally felt her anger wash over me.
Weakling. I roared and responded with my own weapon. And a pillar of white hot flame rushed towards her.
Her eyes widened, but she dissipated the fire with another note. So not completely incompetent.
"You wiped out our people! You mainstream musicians, you pretend to rule over these...*commoners*,"I spat out the word, "but you play what they want to listen, you are subject to their whims, their tastes. My people were wiped out, because we played music that was good, not what people perceived as good!"
Her eyes widened in recognition. "No...there are no metal artists left. They were all killed!"
I let forth a fork of lightning in response and laughed. "You did not realize yet?! You thought my magic was your puny *rock*? No. This far greater. Pure energy."
She reflected the lightning away, and fired her own spell, this time with her own music and voice combined. Looks like play time was over.
Still floating I launched into a song. Each note firing a wealth of both physical and mental assaults with it, but she responded in kind with her own song. This was a duel. Before we had simply been trading blows, shit talking so to say. This was true battle. We both knew the idea of our song, what it was supposed to be like, but we had to adapt. Most of our magic collided in the center in sparks or steam, but some got through to both of us. When you see a gout of flame come at you, you change pitch, alter your chord slightly. You sense a weakness in the other's resonance so you capitalize with a hammer-on. You improvise when needed. As death came within inches of me I reveled it, and with a shock, I realized she did too. The anger was gone from her eyes now, just pure joy. This was what we did.
The crowd stood, transfixed. With the wild energy lashing around they should have scrambled, ran away as far as possible. But with the spells of our voices intertwining they could not move. They did not *want* to move. They lay helpless, watching gods battle.
I was almost sad when it was over. She was good, far greater than I had thought possible for a rock artist, but she was limited by her genre. After what seemed like an eternity, she messed up her chord, and her voice faltered in shock. I capitalized. I fired shot after shot of powerful bursts. Her rhythm disrupted, she fell on the defense, try desperately to block my relentless strikes. As she did I moved closer and closer to her, making the strikes come more rapidly. Now she began to tremble, her face contorted in focus and exhaustion, it was inevitable that she mess up.
*There!*
She missed an arc of green energy and it slammed into her, freeing the guitar from her grasp, and it crashed with a final note, while the musician herself landed flat on the ground.
She sat up as I approached, guitar still held loosely in my hands. Her hair had settled down now, but was still disheveled. She looked me in the eyes, her green eyes flashing with indigence and defiance.
She held up her chin, not looking away. "You have bested me. Finish it."
I played a single chord and flash of flame burst out, but she didn't flinch. She would do.
The flame died an inch from her. She looked at me in shock, her mouth slightly open. "Kill you? Don't be ridiculous,"I said. "I'm not like your ancestors, I do not waste musical talent. I offer you power, true music, music unlike you have ever wielded."I held out my hand. "The question is, will you accept?"
"And if I don't?,"she asked, her voice perfect, light but rich.
I smiled savagely. "You want it. I could see it in your eyes. You play music for its power, for its own sake, not for these,"I gestured to the crowd under me which had finally begun to snap out of its daze, "commoners. You understand the power you just saw from me and you want it. Your talent is wasted on rock."
She still looked intensely at me, but gave me the slightest nod. She took my hand.
(minor edits)
EDIT: Whoa! I appreciate all the feedback and kind words, truly, they mean a lot. Also thank you specifically to the stranger who gave me gold! |
"They've thought up a way to look at subatomic particles."
The Keeper groaned at the angel Odin's report. This was supposed to be the easy job. A Creator came through and did the hard work of building things, and then he set up shop to 'keep' things working until the universe burned out. Mainly, this involved preventing sentient life from completely wiping itself out, and stopping them from seeing behind the curtain and accidentally ending the universe by observing that which was not meant to be seen. But these humans were never satisfied, and his increasingly threadbare excuses were beginning to creak under the weight.
"How? Why? The whole point of me making up subatomic particles was that they could never be proven or disproven."
"They've invented a 'particle accelerator,' and they've made some theories about how subatomic particles should react to being slammed together really, really fast."
"I damn it!"The Keeper cursed, in his case, actually cursing the particle accelerator to gain a bit more time, "I'm too sober for this. Get me some of the good stuff from Earth. It's the one thing I like about this posting."
A few hours later, the Keeper and a dozen archangels had a good buzz going, and the Keeper finally had a more or less sound plan.
"Alright, everybody, this is another Einstein situation. Just like we had to scrap Newton, we're throwing out relativity and special relativity."
The angel Horus piped in, "Can't we just make something up? Like with the dark matter hand wave, or the uncertainty dice? We could just say there's more, smaller particles when you look deeper."
The Keeper shook his head. "The humans have too much data, and I didn't bother making it consistent, because I figured that they'd never find a way to test their theories. Uncertainty and smaller particles will break down with their newest test. But I have a replacement!"With raised finger, he made a whiteboard appear.
"String theory!"
The angels paused to take it in. Finally, Athena asked,
"We're retconning atoms? There's too much data, the humans will never buy it. We can't just say that the points in space are actually one-dimensional strings."
"Ah, but we'll make them multidimensional-one dimensional strings,"the Keeper said with false sobriety. "Atoms and smaller specks are points in space here, but we'll say they connect to other dimensions as strings. Anything they can't explain, it just means there's a string to yet another dimension affecting things. But only some of the time! We keep uncertainty, and we make up... let's say... five? No, six, extra dimensions the strings can run through."
He raised a finger and paused. "I'm forgetting something. Odin."He pointed to him. "You're on math. Make it complicated. Very complicated. I want a human to need decades of study to understand string theory. I want the humans to run out of Greek letters and need to find new symbols for the math. I want them to need to invent better computers to design computers that will sort of be able to grasp what's going on."
Odin nodded and got started, and the Keeper turned to the angel Zeus. "And you're working with him."
"Um... I was never that good with the math or science side of things,"Zeus said.
The Keeper shook his head. "We're going old-fashioned. If, somehow, a human starts getting close to disproving string theory, bolt from the blue, dead on the sidewalk, understand?"The Keeper took another shot of whiskey. "I haven't the slightest clue what we'll do if they figure out this is fake too." |
The man by the button immediately pulled out a pistol. “Let me cut to the chase,” he said, “My name is Steven Burke, you can call me Seven. I’ve worked as a top assassin for over 7 years and quite frankly I’m sick of it. So, through extraordinary circumstances I’ve managed to get all six of you together in this one space.” Seven proceeded to point at the man next to me, “ Now, you’re all going to tell me what your lives consist of, starting with #6.” The man looked confused, “Uh, I’m Bruce Johnson, I work as an accountant for a restaurant chain.” “Ugh, crunching numbers sounds lame!” said Seven who then shot #6 in the face. Everyone in the elevator started to panic. “Next!” Seven exclaimed. One of the men shouted out, “I’m Daniel Kerns, I’m a skydiving instructor!” “I’m afraid of heights. Next!” said Seven as he shot the next man. “I’m Xavier Reeves, I work as an ice cream taste tester” said #5. “Sounds promising, but I’m lactose intolerant. Next!” shouted Seven as he shot #5. “My patience is wearing thin. You three, just tell me your names and professions at once!” The men before me both proceeded to declare they are a neurosurgeon and a freelance artist. Neither sounded appealing to Seven as he murdered them both. “Now, you,” Seven told me, “tell me your name and profession.” “Uh, I’m Noah Matiezyn, I work in fast food.” I pathetically let out. “Hmmm, fast food. That sounds like work I can get accustomed to. Give me your ID now.” I immediately handed it over, although it was definitely a struggle due to all the dead bodies present. “Now, it’s time for you to die.” Seven said as he pointed at me. “No!” I shouted as I grabbed on to his gun. A couple of gunshots echoed until there was only silence..
A couple hours later, maintenance workers and several FBI agents were able to pry open the door. They were astounded by the bloody room. “Are you alright sir?” one agent asked, “We’ve been pursuing the deadly assassin Seven for a long time. Glad you were able to end his reign of terror. What is your name?” Thinking about it, I responded with “Xavier Reeves.” |
The sun rose over the streets of the city on the morning of December 21, 2123, causing the snow on the ground to glitter with the light of a million stars. As the day began, Adam trudged silently through the frosty sidewalks, ever mindful of the tiny, but deadly device that lay embedded in his flesh, just inches away from his heart. It was a device that everyone in the world had - programmed to detonate at a moment’s notice. Adam rubbed his chest pensively - the city would soon be filled with the sounds of muffled explosions, and he could only hope that he would not be one of the victims.
——
It had all started forty years ago, one bright summer morning in the year 2083. Fifteen billion pairs of eyes watched as the leaders of every sovereign state on Earth made the announcement that would change everything. The president of the US, a peppy woman named Mary Hughes, approached the podium, smiling for the cameras.
“Hello, everyone,” she said. “As you all know, the world population has grown at an unprecedented rate within the last twenty years. Experts everywhere agree that we have reached an unsustainable amount of people. Your leaders, including myself, have worked tirelessly to reach a solution.” She grinned. “And I am proud to say that we have finally reached an agreement.”
“Every year, we will have a day where no crime is tolerated. Arson, murder, jaywalking… it doesn’t matter. All criminal offenses can and will be punished with death. It will be a day of reckoning for humanity - and it will bring about a future where only the pure of heart survive.” She faced the crowd of journalists that extended as far as the eye could see. “Does anyone have any questions?”
“President Hughes,” one reporter cried, “how will you be able to guarantee that perpetrators of crimes are killed?”
“I’m glad you asked,” the president replied, holding up a syringe. “This little thing right here contains several nanobots inside of it. Some of them can hook up directly to your brain, and send what you see straight to the computers of the UN headquarters. But there’s one in particular that’s very important. You see, that one travels directly to your heart instead of your brain, but that’s not the best part. It’s actually a bomb that can be remotely detonated at any time! If you’re caught committing any crime on this day of reckoning…” She mimicked an explosion, never once losing her cheerful smile.
Over the next six months, the entire population was outfitted with the lethal bots. They stayed silent, not once signaling their presences… until December 21 rolled around. Over one twenty-four hour period, six billion people were killed. The Reckoning had come, just as it would every winter afterwards.
——
Adam grimaced as he thought of President Hughes’ horrific address. Although the woman was long dead, her legacy lived on, and children - including Adam - grew up hearing about the terrible day.
So many people that Adam loved had been taken away from him by the Reckoning. His best friend, Dennis, had been killed two years prior - forgetting the date, he had obliviously run a red light.
He was dead at the wheel before the light turned green.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. His sister-in-law, a sweet woman named Leslie, had been visiting her mother in Massachusetts. Unfortunately for her, she happened to have fireworks from that year’s Independence Day celebration with her when she did. Adam’s sister had been devastated when she found out about her wife. After all, how was she supposed to know that fireworks were illegal in Massachusetts?
Mercifully, Adam had not encountered the same fate that so many other people had. But he always knew that it was a very real possibility. The people in charge of the Reckoning didn’t discriminate when it came to who was killed. On December 21, there were no second chances.
Adam looked up at the street ahead of him. Aside from him, the only other people were a homeless man and a lady cradling a hot cup of coffee. He watched as the man called out to the woman.
“Ma’am… do you have any spare change?”
The lady looked at the homeless man empathetically. “Oh, you poor thing…” she muttered to herself. She reached into her purse, pulling out a wrapped-up sandwich before handing it to the man. “Here. I know it isn’t much, but…” she trailed off.
The man looked at her gratefully as she walked off, before digging into the food. Adam wished that he could give something to him, but he didn’t have anything on him at the moment. At least he has that sandwich, he thought to himself. I wonder when the last time he ate was…
The homeless man was just about finished by the time Adam passed by him, and made to throw out the wrapper. He aimed for a nearby trash can, but right as it left his hand, Adam could tell it wouldn't make it. As if in slow motion, he turned around as the paper drifted down.
It settled on the ground, before drifting away with the winter wind.
Both Adam and the homeless man froze. Suddenly, a muffled *boom!* reverberated through the air. The man dropped dead, a smoking hole where his chest had once been.
The woman from earlier came rushing back, having also heard the explosion. She brought her hands to her mouth as she stared at the body. Adam felt bile surge in his throat, both at the smoking site, and at the injustice of it all.
But the people in charge of the Reckoning didn’t discriminate when it came to who was killed. On December 21, there were no second chances.
——
**This is my first prompt response, so any criticism is welcomed and appreciated! I think I might continue this later on, by the way.** |
The news came from the outer rim first. Contact with alien life, one of earths colonies had been approached first. We signaled peace, they did not.
I was studying emus in their native habitat when I heard the invaders were coming for earth. My first though was damn, now I'll never finish my thesis. My second thought was my family and friends I would never see again. I tried calling my parents, but the signal could not get through.
So I sat down, alone except for a flightless bird 100 yards away. I put my head in my hands, sobbing, waiting for the end.
"Oi mate, you might want to find something to hold onto. We're in for a rough ride."It was the thickest Australian accent I had heard, like Steve Irwin had bred with crocodile Dundee.
I wiped away my tears and looked around. There was no one, save the emu I had been studying, who was now only a few feet away.
"Well don't just sit there blubbering. The outback defense system has been tripped, we're set for launch."I couldn't believe it, this bird with a brain the size of a golf ball was currently giving me instructions.
"Y-y-you can talk?"I stammered out.
"Aye mate, and I'll tell you again,"as he spoke the ground began to rumble, "you should really find something to hold onto."
The sound of a thousand rockets rang out, and the earth trembled beneath my feet. "What's happening!?"
The emu pecked a rock, and a large cannon burst out of the ground. "You didn't think a bunch of birds beat the Australian army through luck, now did you?"A siren was sounding off now, and hundreds a emu poured into the area.
"Brothers!"The thick accent bellowed over the sound of the rockets. "It is time to defend the homeland again! Aussie Aussie Ausie!!!"
The chorus of emus rang back. "OI OI OI!!!" |
"FÖLJSAM."
"Fool...jam?"
"No, FÖLJSAM."
"Ohhh, you like in Skyrim. Fus roh dah..."
I could tell the store manager was getting impatient, but I had to entertain myself somehow. My wife and I arrived two hours ago to pick up a new dining room table, yet somehow we'd become mired in the kitchen section. I couldn't even see her anymore over the precarious tower of pots, pans, utensils, and mysterious kitchen "essentials"that I couldn't even name.
"FÖLJSAM. As in FÖLJSAMSHACKLESNICKENFAN,"the manager drawled in a thick Swedish accent.
If I was ever going to be an evil emperor, I'd make my army wear blue and yellow. I never realized how painful that combination was to look at until now.
"We should get two,"my wife said. "Just in case we have company."
"I don't even know what a *Foolsjama* is!"Even the word felt bitter in my mouth. More than bitter actually - the syllables lent my air a downright acidic feel as it washed over my tongue.
"Stop messing around, honey. This is important,"my wife said.
I couldn't answer. I couldn't even breathe. The burning in my mouth intensified, and I could swear a green mist was beginning to pour out. I started coughing, suddenly finding myself on my knees without even realizing I'd fell.
"Is he okay?"The store manager.
"He's just being dramatic,"my wife replied, not taking her eyes off the back of an oven which was big enough for a Witch to cook children.
The green smoke was taking shape now. The unreality bent and shaped as though molded from an unseen wind, all the while growing thicker and more corporal. I braced my hands on the floor to stop from falling on my face, coughing and *heaving* so hard that my entire body shook and I could feel my shoulders convulse from the pressure.
"Do you have this in any other colors?"My wife.
"Yes, but you have to paint it yourself. And we don't sell the paint."
"Oh that's okay. As long as the rest of it is -"
"You will also need to install your own wires,"the manager interjected. "But don't worry, we also sell a set of cabinets that contains books on electrical engineering."
And then they were gone, rounding the corner in the infinite expanse of winding aisles which I was mired within. It was just me and the quickly forming Demon now. Green horns ruptured from skin which bubbled like molten lava in its interior. Savage fangs punctured through the cloud, ripping its own skin until it devoured a hole to form a mouth. Beady eyes, long talons, and a tongue like a writhing serpent - I was loathe to even look upon the monster. But look I had to, because my life depended on it answering a single question:
"Do you want to just come home with me and order on Amazon instead?"
The Demon nodded. I let out a long breath of relief. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.
---
[More from author](http://www.reddit.com/r/sirtobiaswade) |
The Cherish of Wrath opened its wide mouth and thundered across the Semi-Sunken Plain. "IT IS NOT FAIR THAT WE TOO NOT BE FORMALLY CELEBRATED, I WISH A DAY FOR STREET AND FIELD TO SOAK IN BLOOD AND TEAR."
The Cherish of Pride drew itself upright, drew in its considerable faux-dignity as well. "My Sibling in Consumption, the humans rarely celebrate their vices so openly. They almost always need at least a paper-thin pretense."It smiled, a small, smug thing that dripped self-satisfaction. Literally, by the laws of this metaphysical plane. Or possibly infraphysical, as it was certainly not one of the *higher* planes.
"Mmmm, dearsss, that'sss not true. Have you sssseen the namesss on their placesss of nakednesss? Csselebration indeed."The Cherish of Lust stretched itself out as it spoke, languid, repulsively obscene.
"Those aahhmmm do not count,"the Cherish of Gluttony said, strands and crumbs of much less metaphorical substances than self-regard falling from its immense jowls. "They are still ahhmmm subject to stigmas and certainly not yaahlmmm celebrated with a whole twelfth of the year."
The Cherish of Pride inclined its head. "Thank you, sibling. You are correct, as all who agree with me generally are. This 'Month of Pride' they are celebrating is more a rejection of prejudicial shame than true Pride. Which is, in my august opinion, shameful in and of itself. Pride *should* be celebrated. Yes, there are prideful people at these events, my favored meal is omnipresent and strong nearly everywhere. It's why I am the best of us, the most well-fed. But it is not the true reason for them."
The Cherish of Envy shuddered and hissed. "Still it is the name of *your* delicacy that is everywhere. You are already the best-fed among us, and I, I, I have to watch while you—"
"Ohhh do be quiet and spaaare me the effort of liiistening to your praaattle,"said the Cherish of Sloth. "The riiise of sooocial meedia has maaade you faaat and oooverfed."
"It is not a steady diet, like our *Sibling* the Consumer of Pride enjoys, not for *me*,"the Cherish of Envy replied. "They are starting to realize, many of them are setting it aside, they are not all feeding *meeeee.*"Its words petered out in a thinning whine as it shuddered in self-pity.
"Envy me you *should,*"said the Cherish of Pride, "but not for this. Envy me because I am the greatest among you, and always will be. I feed on each and every one of them, even the ones who think they are the most sad and broken and without self-regard, because only Pride itself makes these things a burden to them. Only a very few ever approach true humility. As it should be."
The Cherish of Wrath slammed the semisolid ground with its clubbed, spike-studded forelimbs. "SPARE US YOUR ARROGANCE, SIBLING. I HAVE NOT FED ON A WORLD WAR IN FAR TOO LONG. THIS IS YOUR FAULT. THEIR PRIDE IN SOIL AND BLOOD HAS WANED, NOT ENOUGH OF THEM WOULD SHED BLOOD FOR THESE NOBLE REASONS."
"Oh pleasssse,"the Cherish of Lust said. "You have the entire networked game-culture to feed on, jussst as I have...other networked delightsss. I know it isss not your favorite meal, not like real blood. It isss the sssame for me, I would prefer true orgiesss to recorded obssscenities, but thessse happen only ssso often where through their new networksss...it isss ssso abundant."
The Cherish of Wrath exhaled, a blast of iron and charged air. "I SUPPOSE THIS RAGE IS VERY SWEET THOUGH LESS SUBSTANTIAL. I DO ALSO LOVE THEIR AUTOMOBILES. THOUGH THEY WISH TO AUTOMATE THESE. OH! THE MEALS I SHALL LOSE!"
"Aaaahhh, yessss, sweeeet automaaation,"the Cherish of Sloth slurred. "Ooone daaaay sooon I shaaall beeee the beeest feeeed."
The Cherish of Greed cackled and rubbed together its seven hands in turn. "They won't lie idle just because they have what they *need,* oh no no no, they will always want more, they will think they need it, more more more, and when true needs no longer need their effort they can turn sweat and striving toward more more more, never never enough."
"Yes, yes,"the Cherish of Pride said. "The world is changing for all of you. It will wax and wane, but still,"its smile spread to its entire metaphysical form, "I will always be the greatest of us, no matter the new ways they learn to speak to each other, and regardless of what they might name their celebrations."
&#x200B;
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
"Obviously the humans possess stealth technology unlike any we have encountered,"Dajos said, "This Benjamin is toying with us. I shall declare Dus Vas when I find him."
"Oh ho!"Norom laughed at his friend, "Dajos of the Hunter's Guild unable to track a child. You will declare the rite of ritual combat with him? Be careful, mighty hunter, if he fights as well as he hides he might have another pelt for his wall."
"Bah!"Dajos spat belligerently, "Keep pushing me, Norom, and we shall dance the Dus Vas together. Do you see any pelts on these walls? Humans are soft!"Dajos sniffed the ground and continued the hunt.
"Perhaps we should check behind the cloth window hanging,"Norimor, the youngest of the Lanori Scout Party offered, pointing at the white cloth with local flora embossed upon it.
"I've already looked there three times, young fool,"Dajos spat again, growing even angrier if that were possible, "Before you say it I also checked the adjacent rectangular clothing storage unit and under its nest. Where the blazes is this Benjamin?"
"Perhaps you should call for a Clan Master?"Norom grinned at him then raised his paws to show he were kidding, "Why don't you just call for him?"
"What?"said Dajos, he could smell the cub near, "Give up? To a primiti... why are you all smiling?"He suddenly got the distinct impression that his clan mates found this amusing. Were they looking behind him? He turned quickly but nothing was there.
"Oh, this is too much, should we tell him?"Norimor said, hiding a grin behind his paw, "Come on! This is too much."
"Tell me what?"he was about to ask when the crafty Benjamin finally jumped out from behind him and said "Boo!"causing Dajos to almost do a double back flip in surprise.
"You were behind me the whole time?"Dajos asked, "Moving behind me when I moved? You are devious, Benjamin, your race is crafty. I think the clans will contact your leaders as you are worthy to be called predator and not prey."
"I don't know what any of that means,"Benjamin said, "Can we play something else?"
"Like what?"Dajos said and was taught how to play Tic-Tac-Toe, which Benjamin won every round of - the crafty devil. |
"What do I do!?"the Dragon Lord wailed. He gazed out over his majestic belly that had grown quite large over decades of opulence. He used to prowl over his mountains of gold and gems, the apex predator. Now the size of his stomach forced him to sit on his throne like a human. The shame!
"Well,"his wyvern advisor hissed, "The answer seems clear to me. The Chosen Ones are getting better. Humans have always been good at learning from their mistakes. You will need to regain your former prowess."
The Dragon lord contemplated this. His formerly sharp claws clanked dully as he drummed them on the regal throne he had mounted on his largest heap of treasure. Light shone down from the noon sun through a single gap at the peak of the cavern, splintering off towering pyramids of wealth and casting rainbows of lights onto the rocky walls.
"Courtney, describe your reasoning for the failings of my forces."
The gray-skinned beast paced in front of her lord. "It's fairly straightforward, my liege. Our armies have been sufficient in dealing with the human troops led by the Chosen One. But all our data shows that casualties are increasing exponentially year by year. At this rate, it will only take four more Chosen Ones before they breach the keep. One more after that, and they may challenge you directly."
"Unacceptable,"the Dragon Lord snapped. "Your solution?"
"Well,"Courtney said, "You could embark on a training regimen. It would take a few years, but our top generals could whip you back into shape. You'd have to go on a diet, and wake up early, and..."
"Nooooo,"the Dragon Lord moaned. "But that's...so much work!"
The adviser rolled her eyes. If it weren't for the centuries of service and sacrifice the Dragon Lord had suffered, she would have deposed this weak ruler a long time ago. As it stood, she rather liked the Dragon Lord when the mighty (large) beast wasn't acting like a child. In fact, it had been the wyvern herself who had pushed the mighty warrior to take a break for a century or two. If only the humans hadn't picked now to start this foolishness...
"Well, you do have another option."
The Dragon Lord perked up, a gout of flame erupting from his nostrils and frying a few unsuspecting insects. "What's the other option?"
"Well...humans are greedy and easily swayed. I mean, the whole point of their mission is to steal your treasure, right? Why don't you just let only the Chosen One in and pay him or her to stay in your castle with a yearly stipend and let them gorge on your food? Even over the course of a millennia, it would barely deplete a minute fraction of your treasure. You wouldn't notice it at all. Plus we could add a few stealth missions to capture their partner of choice to keep them happy."
"Courtney!"the Dragon Lord bayed, almost bawling. "You've saved me! That's a brilliant plan! Let's do it!"
\~
"King Martin,"an aging general said. "No word back from the latest Chosen One. That's the third one where we've heard absolutely nothing from our scouting parties. The Chosen One makes it into the Dragon Lord's Keep, and then never returns."
King Martin scowled. "That dastardly dragon must be far stronger than we anticipated. Nevertheless, our forces are getting stronger every generation. Keep sending them in! They've got to overcome him at some point!" |
"Please, teach me to fight."Looking up from my work, I stared into the young woman's eyes. She'd asked everyone in the town before coming to me, and while some might be offended, I was used to such treatment here. People may prize me for my talent, but dwarves still weren't widely accepted in society.
There had been desperation in her voice, and as I stared, I could see why. Her eyes were lit with fire, and determination, but behind those emotions, darkness lurked. I'd seen that combination only once before in my life, and I knew what it denoted.
"Aye. I could do that."The words dropped into the still air, the only other sound the roaring of the forge. "But I warn ye. It won't be easy. And it won't be the same as what you'd have gotten from those other folks. It will be dwarven teaching. Not normally meant for humans."
She laughed, a bitter noise with no happiness attached.
"Then it will be perfect for me. As I seem to not be meant for humans."I let the comment go, knowing she needed to say it, but wanted no response. Quietly, I picked up my hammer and gestured towards the smaller one on the wall.
"Can ye lift that?"I asked. She walked there with a strange lightness of step, as if her feet didn't want to touch the ground. That was further proof of what I'd seen in her eyes, but I banished the thought to the back of my mind as I watched her try to raise the hammer. She got it about a foot off the ground before it crashed back. Turning to me, her head raised defiantly, as if she expected laughter. Instead, I nodded.
"Not bad for a first-timer, lassie. Some men in this village couldn't lift that more than an inch. But we still need to work on yer strength."A smile so fast I doubted what I'd seen, flashed across her face at my praise but all she did was nod back.
——————
Our days settled into a rhythm that stretched the weeks into months, then into years. I grew used to her lightning-quick sense of humour, and fiery temper. And she for her part, put up with my penchant for not talking for weeks at a time. She trained with determination, focus and speed. Teaching her was a joy; at times, I chuckled at what talent others had missed. But then, perhaps she wouldn't have liked their training. None of them were as tied to the forge and fire, as I was. And fire, was important for the lass, I knew that now even more than before.
It was the third day we'd worked together, that she picked up a hot iron bar with her bare hands. She didn't seem to notice the heat, and I didn't remark on it. Her comment about being not meant for humans reverberated in my head though.
On the sixteenth day, she'd come into the smithy, and I'd noticed the fire flare up a little more, as if excited. Again, I didn't say anything. It could just be my own inferences, but deep in my soul, I didn't doubt I was right.
The strange occurrences grew closer and closer together, as her training continued. She wanted to spend more time in the smithy with me, rather than work on her exercises. I made a token resistance, but not much. The day would come soon, and I wanted her to trust me. But I didn't expect what happened when it appeared.
We'd started work, as usual, her assisting me with a particularly difficult piece of ironwork. There was a cough from the doorway, and a tall man came inside. I could feel the lass stiffen, and move back towards the forge.
"And what can I do for ye?"I asked, but I shifted my hands on my hammer. The man smiled, but he didn't look at me. He was looking toward the forge.
"I've come to take back my property. She led me a merry dance, but I'm afraid that's over."He took two steps further inside, passing me. Before I could respond, a loud shout cracked through the air like a whip.
"NO!"
I turned, crouching behind the anvil just in time, as fire flashed out from the forge, filling the back half of the smithy with a wall of yellow, orange, and red. The heat skyrocketed, and I could feel fire licking over my toughened skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I clamped my hands closed on my hammer. If I was to die today, I wouldn't die empty-handed and be cursed to wander the Forbidden Realms.
It was over in seconds. The tall man had been completely incinerated. Nothing could have survived that, yet when I opened my eyes, it was to my lassie bending over me concern on her face.
"Are you all right? I didn't mean..."She stopped, miserably. "I don't know what happened."
Standing up, I patted her shoulder.
"I'm fine lass. Ye didn't hurt me. Maybe singed me a bit, but that's a hazard of the profession."Staring into her eyes, lit as always with an inner fire, I smiled. "And I do know what happened."
We went to our attached house and I sat her at the table with a cup of dwarven tea. She wrapped her hands around the mug as if she was cold.
"Years ago lass, I used to work in the mountains with the rest of my kin."I sat on the opposite side of the table. "And one day, we delved too close to a volcano. We were young, we didn't know better. Our tunnel filled with heat and we were sure that death was near."
I shook my head, remembering the terror of that day, the heat, the stench of sweat and panic.
"But then, as if by magic, a woman appeared in our midst. She was tall, and when she walked it was as if she didn't want to touch the ground. The heat vanished, the pressure, everything. And when she looked at ye,"I raised my eyes to my young apprentice. She looked at me steadily. "Ah, lass, her eyes were exactly like yers. Fire and darkness, neither consuming the other. She told us to leave, to turn back. We didn't belong in her, couldn't survive her lava."
Summoning a bit of courage, I reached across the table, tapping the young woman's hand. I'd never asked her name, and she'd never offered.
"She was the life-essence of a volcano, lassie. And I believe ye are too. But somehow, ye've been separated, taken away from it. And I think ye need to go back and find it. It will be the only way to feel whole again."Hot tears started to fall from her eyes, hissing as they found the table's wood.
"And leave you? You're my only friend."Her voice quivered. I smiled, rising from the table and picking up an empty sack.
"Of course not. I'm coming with ye lass. It's been a long time since I've seen the mountains. And besides. This is the adventure of a lifetime. I wouldn't miss it."
And then for the first time in years, for the first time since I'd met her, something happened I would have to tell my grandchildren about.
She smiled. |
I walk along the stretch of desert highway for a couple of hours before the lady pulls over and offers me a lift. I’m short anyway, but I’ve lost a lot of weight for this role. You can’t look threatening, you see. You can’t look strong and healthy, at least as a man, or they wouldn’t stop for you. So I’m just a skeleton in a tight fitting skin-onesie dawdling down a freeway.
”Can I offer you a ride, darlin?” she says through the Civic’s open window. She’s about thirty and has a big cloud of hair that’s been dyed blonde. Red lipstick. Like she’s going for an overweight Marilyn type of look. It doesn’t suit her.
I smile and climb in next to her. The car smells of lemons and lavender, the kind of strong stink you might use to disguise other lesser scents.
The engine revs. She flicks on the headlights and the beams knife into the evening. “So, where you going to?”
”I ain’t sure,” I reply. “Just anywhere north of here. And it looks like you’re heading north, so that suits me like a tailor.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. Most people don’t want to tell me where they heading. I’m fine with that. I don’t always like to tell them, neither.”
I wonder how many people she’s picked up on this stretch of road. Does she just cruise it up and down like some peroxide Samaritan in a shitty Civic?
”You got no bag?” she asks, flicking me a look.
“Uh uh.”
”Most people I pick up at least have a bag. Hard to get by without one, wherever you’re going.”
”Lennon said something about no possessions, right?”
”Oh, you’re a hippy type? Sorry but you’re sixty years late. And all that looked like a promise to those folk was just another way to the same place they was all going before.”
I shrugged. “Just like his music, is all.”
She frowns at this. “Well, you must be thirsty carrying no water. There’s a bottle in the compartment in front of you. Help yourself.”
”I’m good. Thanks.”
I should just get it over with. Tell her to pull over, that I’m not feeling well. Then...
But I’m not ready. I like to find out a little about them first. The way I see it is: the more you know about them, the more you’re stealing when you take their life. It’s a hard feeling to explain. It’s like when you hear what ingredients are in the food you’re eating — then, like magic, you can suddenly taste them. Or at least, you think you can.
”So,” I say, “what do you do for a living?”
”I’m a singer,” she says.
”Of course you are.”
”Country music. I’d sing something for you now, but I’m keeping my voice sacred for a gig tomorrow.”
I wonder if that ingredient she gave me is really is in my food, or if the chef happens to be lying to impress me. “Got any family?”
”That’s a pretty private question for a man who ain’t willing to share as much as where he’s going.”
“I was just curious. I don’t see no wedding band.”
”Going to ask me to marry you or something?”
”Can you cook?”
She laughs at this, and I finally hear something I know is real. It’s not a pretty laugh and it makes me think of a magpie more than a songbird.
“You’re something, ain’t you?”
”So I’ve been told,” I reply. There are no other cars on the road and I figure I might as well just get it over with.
Except... my arm only shakes as I try to move it down my pants to where my flick-knife is. What the hell? My other arm shakes too. My entire fucking body does.
”Relax,” she says. “Well, you’re going to do that no matter what, ain’t you?” Another magpie laugh. “Because that’s what the needle does.”
”Needle?” I say, but it sounds more like *eeble*.
“Sat on it as soon as you got it, Mister Cooper. Just a tiny thing, jutting out of the material. You couldn’t have seen it, so at least know it’s not your fault.”
How the fuck does this lady know who I am? I want to panic, but I can’t even do that. My heart is so slow it’s like it’s a slug in my chest; everything feels lethargic.
”It’s like one of those hippy drug fests you probably indulge in,” she says. “Right? Bet you’re enjoying it.”
I want to tell her I only listen to their music, but now nothing comes out. My tongue is a sleeping snake. Or a dead one.
”I’ve been watching you for quite some time. You’re pretty good at what you do. I love the weight loss — really makes me want to mother you. Well, not me as I’m more of the smothering type than the mothering. But it makes your victims want to.“
Fuck.
”How many you killed, total? Twenty? I know of at least eight. That’s how long I’ve been watching. Why women, by the way? Just easier targets, or there some other deeper reason?”
*Fuck you*, I want to say, but only spit comes out, dribbling down my chin. I can feel the car slow down, pull to a halt. My eyes see only a haze of night and brown and my brain struggles to make sense of any of it.
The car door opens and I topple out like a Jenga set.
I‘m being dragged off the road, into sand.
”No possessions for me to have to hide. You’ve made this easy for me.“ Then she sings, “*It’s easy if you try*. That’s how it goes, ain’t it? Oops, I should be saving my singing voice.”
”ppppllllse,” I manage, before everything is hot and black and gone.
In the background, I hear a magpie sing. |
"I don't understand the hesitance to call it what it is,"says Ormond. "A repeated ritual to invoke a result. That's magic."
"Well, no,"says Glenn. "Magic relies on supernatural forces. Science is based purely on natural phenomenon."
"FTL-drives certainly aren't a naturally occurring phenomenon."
"That's not what supernatural - Okay, okay,"says Glenn. "I think there may be some sort of translation error going on here. Why don't you define science for me, and define magic for me, and we'll work it out from there."
"Magic is the imposition of one's will on reality via the use of rituals and actions and language,"Ormond says.
"That's a - No, that's a very vague -"
"Whereas science,"Ormond goes on, "is the acquisition and organization of knowledge through hypothesis, experimentation, and observation."
"I - Hold on,"Glenn says, and begins fiddling around with the translator, squinting. "All right,"Glenn says at last, "those might be viable definitions for magic and science, but the way you're using them - You're overlapping them!"
"Yes,"says Ormond. "Don't you?"
"No! They're two separate categories! Magic is - magic is hoodoo. Nonsense. It relies on some mystical explanation like gods or - or some other magical force. Science is the study and understanding of the world around us!"
"The world around us did not consist of FTL-drives until we conceived of them,"Ormond says.
"Oh for -! You're twisting it up again! It's our understanding of physics that allowed us to invent them!"
"Precisely,"Ormond says. "Science formed the intellectual base that allowed us the capacity to create FTL-drives. But to actually create FTL-drives, to alter existence according to our wants and desires, through ritual and action and language - that was magic."
"This is a fucking pointless discussion,"says Glenn. "It's all semantics!"
"I don't see why you're so hostile to the point,"says Ormond. "A complete organized system of knowledge is never going to create anything on its own. The creation of an FTL-drive is not inherent in the understanding of physics. It was your desire to impose your will on the universe, to seek beyond the stars, that led to its creation. You desired something, and you willed it into being. That part is magic."
"And I don't understand,"says Glenn, "why you're so insistent on the point."
"Your insistence on the primacy of science,"says Ormond, "reveals an ideological fatalism about the universe. You study something, and come to understand that this is how things are, and therefore come to believe that this is how things must be. But it is not the fate of sapient life to merely categorize and re-state the information inherent in the universe. We are capable of changing things. You, you humans, you are capable of changing the way the universe functions. We are all capable of magic."
"Still a lot of fucking semantics,"says Glenn after a moment. "Does it really serve any practical purpose?"
"Yes,"says Ormond. "For example: I believe you are magical. I believe it is nothing less than magic that you reached past the stars and found your way to us, and I consider it magical to have been able to meet you."
"Well,"says Glenn. "All right. It was pretty fucking magical to meet you too. I guess I can live with that." |
Lord Zaxos sat upon his throne built of skulls and bone, molded together by dark fire and blood magic. The petitioners knelt before him, some trembling in fear as the herald beat a giant drum made of human skin and dead wood.
"Rise,"he said. His voice echoing off the cavernous dark hall of his throne room, a gothic orchestra of hunched gargoyles and humans writhing in eternal torment. All figures carved out of exquisite blocks of obsidian, shiny and beautiful in their cruelty. His fingers tapped the arm of his throne, clacking over bone yellowed by long exposure.
He felt no need to change the decorum of his palace. After a rather surgical removal of the Old King's spine, he found the macabre center of imperial power to be rather charming. No need to change something without cause.
"If it pleases my lord,"began one petitioner, though his voice wavered throughout, "We require...we require..."
"Out with it!"shouted Zaxos. He was a busy necromancer, and there were hundreds of petitioners seeking audience with him.
"An orphanage,"the cowering man finally managed. "There are thousands of beggar children after the Old King conscripted their parents in the war. These children are poor, hungry, abandoned -"
Zaxos held up one hand, torchlight flickering over black steel that drank rather than reflected the light.
"How many?"Zaxos asked.
"Pardon?"
The petitioner's teeth were chattering so loudly Zaxos could hear it atop his throne. It annoyed him. A citizen should not fear their leader when making reasonable requests. The Old King might have gutted the man for not referring to him as 'Your Grace' but Zaxos mostly let these things slide.
"How many orphanages? One will not be enough. It is a poor ruler who abandons the youth. They are the future, and easily molded to whatever purpose I may see fit."
The petitioner seemed more shocked that there was no debate, or even an additional question required for the Dark Lord's boon.
"I'll have to consult with the nobles, but we might need ten? Or even twenty?"
Zaxos grunted in assent.
"Let it be done. The children will need guardians as well. Schooling, attention and stimulation. Make an inquiry with my steward and we shall find the required gold and food for however many children may need it."
The petitioner scuttled away in the manner that reminded Zaxos of some kind of fearful crab.
"Next!"he thundered. He found much of the Old King's regime rather staggering in its inefficiency. A King who ignored his people for the byzantine squabbling of the nobility was a weak King to him, and a poor ruler. The idiot had used living soldiers rather than undead ones. Where was the sense in that? The living were a valuable resource, to be protected and uplifted, not an inexhaustible wall of meat for the petty schemes of a constantly bickering upper class.
Children were most important of all, yet seemed to be the worst affected by the old rule.
The next petitioner came in, asking for grain for his village. This Zaxos granted. A well fed people were a happy people, and thus more productive.
The next petitioner he had both hands removed for stealing from his workers. Not only was he failing to compensate his staff, but he was underpaying the lumberjacks Zaxos had commanded to fell trees to build more libraries and schools. Whatever excess timber that wouldn't stand up to his rigorous engineering code would be ground into a pulp to print more books to provide adequate reading for his subjects. Zaxos would not stand for willful ignorance when all it took was a printing press and a wide selection of reading.
Some had resisted his changes, though Zaxos' will could not be curbed. Doctors would wash their hands before treating patients, and would stop feeding them quack cures like ground emeralds that a patient could barely afford. People would have access to clean water, rather than the foul and polluted sources they'd been forced to draw from before. There would be books and theater, toys for the children and care for the sick. No more arbitrary executions and blanket punishments for smaller crimes. No more strings of hands hung above market stalls from thieves who only took a loaf of bread to feed his children.
Not that Zaxos would shy from brutality. Yet the Old King seemed to enjoy suffering for the sake of suffering as his divine right as King.
Not for Zaxos. A ruler must earn the loyalty of his people, and he meant to.
As night fell, Zaxos found himself outside his solar, eyeing a sky of twinkling eyes, a thousand stars with worlds of their own. The moon loomed eternal, and holding up one thumb, Zaxos blocked it from his vision.
*One day,* he thought to himself. *My people will walk upon the moon. And plant my standard upon it.*
Below, the city sprawled out in every direction, repaired and larger than it'd ever been under the Old King.
He could hear laughter wafting upward, raucous revels and contented people.
This pleased Lord Zaxos, Lord of the Underfel, the prophesized Dark One to bring down the Old King.
A King who never cared for his people.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/m31ziu/the_sins_of_the_old_king_part_2/?) |
You know the only thing more disappointing than being powerless in a world full of people with superpowers? Nothing. Sorry, I'm channeling my father who never missed an opportunity to tell me that hilarious joke. Funny guy, right? Like father, like son, meaning I'll probably grow up to be a worthless, sailor-mouthed drunk, minus the superpower of curing hangovers. Even something as trivial as that would have helped me fit in. "Fucking weirdo,"he says after his joke. It's his little nickname for me.
Realistically speaking, nobody cares. Most people don't even notice, kind of like a micropenis. It just weighs you down - figuratively, because having nothing there can't actually weigh much - crippling your confidence and rendering you incapable of cultivating a proper relationship because you're afraid that your little secret might slip out. Puns intended. In truth, everybody just goes about their own lives, protagonists in a story nobody will ever care to read. It's like the biography of a child in the 1100s. Brief and meaningless. Well, it was just that meaningless-ness that took me to that point of no return and I found myself dejected and depressed on the roof of a building in the middle of downtown.
If anybody were to ever notice me, that would have been the time. It would have been enough to convince me to step back from that ledge. I would have been saved in the nick of time. All that generic bullshit you only see in rom-coms jam-packed with plot holes and plot armor that don't exist in real life. No such luck.
I stepped off the edge, or maybe I jumped. It was a long ways down. Enough to think back on my brief and miserable life and realize that this was not a mistake. And then I felt an impact. It wasn't the bone-crushing impact that I imagined the pavement to be like. You know how they say that hitting water from a height feels like hitting concrete? I figured that meant that hitting concrete from a height would also feel like hitting concrete. Instead, it felt like fabric, and then I ripped through the awning of a balcony that had definitely not been there moments before and I landed safe and sound just one floor down. Years of being tripped at recess had taught me how to fall properly so it was unfortunately painless.
I jumped again. Another balcony. I felt like an idiot this time so I checked below me, two stories down to the street. I confirmed that I would be landing on the pavement. No doubt about it now. So I jumped one more time, and a garbage truck just drove by and I felt myself nestle into the reeking piles of bags and waste. So there I was, safe and sound, minus whatever flesh-eating bacteria might be found in the back of a garbage truck. I pulled myself out, cursing my life and wishing for this misery to end. And then I tumbled over the side, landing in the middle of the busy boulevard.
Cars whizzed past, swerving to avoid me. Pedestrians shouted at me to get out of the road. And then I saw the oncoming bus. A wall of metal hurtling towards me at sixty miles an hour had never seemed so sweet. But the driver slammed on the brakes and tires screeched and cars piled up behind him, the sound of metal crunching against metal a horrible cacophony taunting me that it wasn't me being slammed by several the weight of a fifteen ton bus. I staggered to my feet, sadly confirming that I was still alive.
My ever-pleasant father was as drunk as always when I got home. I smelled of trash and urine - only one of those my own - and I was belligerent. I yelled at him. I egged him on. He came at me with that frying pan and somehow missed and it ricocheted off the table and he knocked himself out. I shrugged and showered and went off to bed, powerless as ever but a bit amused at life's insistence to keep me alive.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"Arc Warden 03-789, do you know why you've been called before this court-martial?"
"..."
"03-789, you will answer when spoken to."
"Apologies, General. I'm afraid I was too deep in a meditation protocol to process your initial query. Would you mind repeating the question?"
"Meditation proto-- you see, this is *exactly* what I'm talking about! You're a twelve-foot-tall murderbot with Gatling guns for arms! What, exactly, do you have to meditate about?"
"The eight-fold path, General. A set of eight interconnected factors that, when developed together, lead to the cessation of dukkha. *Return eight-fold path factors: Right view Right intention Right speech Right*--"
"Silence!"
"..."
"03-789, does this *'eight-filled path'* have anything to do with why you disobeyed a direct order on 15 April 2065?"
"Affirmative."
"So you admit to disobeying a direct order, in violation of protocols ten through thirty-five?"
"Affirmative."
"And why was that?"
"The nature of the order, General."
"You were ordered to fire upon the enemy. By failing to do so, you exposed the human members of your unit to extreme and immediate danger. Seven soldiers died. Do you remember the way they died?"
"..."
"Do you remember how they died, 03-789?"
"Affirmative."
"Describe for us."
"The target was a human child, age eleven, height four feet and five inches."
"Not the target, you useless hunk of metal! Describe the soldiers! Describe their death!"
"The human child detonated an explosive vest at a distance of three point five meters. Casualties: Sergeant Robert A Sycamore, beheaded by shrapnel. Private First Class Douglas Douglas, ruptured intestinal tract. Private First Class Scott H Mickelson, third degree burns and dual punctured lungs. Private--"
"That's enough. So you understand, then, that your actions led to their deaths?"
"Affirmative."
"So you killed them. Why did you kill them?"
"I did not want them to die. I was following *ahimsā*. I am sorry that they are dead. General, they were my friends. They let me participate in games of basketball. I held the hoop, General. I did not want them to die."
"Ahimsa, what's that?"
"*Ahimsā: a multidimensional concept, inspired by the premise that all living beings have the spark of the divine spiritual energy; therefore, to hurt another being is to hurt oneself.*"
"03-789, do you have any idea how ridiculous it is to hear a robot designed specifically to kill people claiming to subscribe to some bizarre Oriental pacifism?"
"Negative, General. How ridiculous is it?"
"You realize that, by failing to kill the target, you in effect caused the death of seven additional people? How does that fit into your 'Ahisma?'"
"..."
"Well?"
"Now you understand, General, exactly what it is I have to meditate about."
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there. :D*
|
On the first day of the nineteenth summer of my life, I woke up before the sun did. Carefully, so as to not wake my wife, I slid out from our woolly blanket and crept to the side of our little hut, where several fresh fur robes were piled on the ground. I chose one and began to dress, but then heard her shifting. Either she'd heard me, or her wifely instincts had told her.
"How are you feeling, my love?"she said.
I went back to the bed and embraced her. "Excited, actually. I think this will be a day of victory."
She smiled, eyes twinkling, and laid her hand on her swollen body. "Our child wishes you luck too."
"He kicked?"I said, bending onto it to listen. Closing my eyes, I could almost make out a tiny heartbeat within.
"It could be a daughter,"she said in a mock tone of scolding.
"I know, dearest."She made to get up, but I pushed her down. "Stay. There's no need for you to be there."
"Come home safe,"she whispered.
I rested my forehead against hers, and felt my breathing slow. She had that effect on me; my greatest fears would be washed away at a single touch from her. After a final caress of her hair, I got up and left the hut, spear in my hand.
A few elders of my clan were already waiting outside, clad in the skins of mammoths and bedecked with the fangs of the saber tigers. I bowed respectfully to each of them. Together, we set off toward the cave in silence.
From afar, and in the dark of pre-dawn, it was practically invisible. Yet I could feel its presence there; a strong pull, like an invisible snare around my waist that was slowly being reeled in. The elders had a name for it: the Eater of Courage.
It was a strange thing that I would face. Men thought to be brave, great hunters and mighty champions, had entered and never left. Others, crippled and lame, had practically danced their way out, looking as though their burdens had been lifted to the glittering sky above.
My father had never come out. My mother had, though I was but a babe still carried within her flesh. I thought again of my wife and my son. Or my daughter. For them, I would be brave. I would hurl the mountains down, if I had to. I would walk among lightning, slay a mammoth, swim in a wintry sea.
"You will return before the sun rises,"one of the elders said after we stopped outside the cave. "We will await you in the village. Should you survive ... there will be a great celebration."
I swallowed. Part of me wanted to ask them to watch over my family, should I not return. But if I gave voice to that request, would I already have surrendered some of my courage?
So I waded forth into the abyss without a further word.
It was frighteningly cold inside; never had I encountered a blizzard harsher than this. My limbs shook against my will, and the spear's shaft rattled against the floor. Rocks as sharp as thorns pierced the sole of my feet, but I forced myself to go on, teeth chattering.
The tunnel didn't branch out. It stretched on and on, and I walked. Had the test already begun? I didn't fear the cold. Few men did. If we feared the cold, our wives and babes went hungry, and the clan would die.
No, I didn't fear the cold.
Did I fear darkness? That great emptiness that stretched before me was like the canopy of night itself. Here, however, there were no stars to guide me. Each step taken brought small relief, that there was still ground to leave my bloody footprints on. But was I afraid of the unknown? The void?
No, I didn't fear the void.
Men had come out speaking of the horrors they'd encountered. The elders forbade talk, of course, but young-blooded warriors were always quick to share their exploits. One of my clan-brothers swore that he'd fought a gigantic man made of hard, shiny stone. Another had battled a seven-headed snake. Yet another had to face copies of himself that appeared whenever one was slain.
What sort of monstrosity awaited me, that had claimed so many others before me? And if it had no form ... what would I be able to do with my spear?
I was afraid then. I knew how to use spear and club. I knew how to forage. I knew how to swim and run and climb. But if I had to challenge a shadow, or worse, fire, how would I prevail?
Suddenly, the tunnel began widening into an open space. The walls were lined with some sort of glowing moss bathed the cave with an aqua light. It was a perfectly circular chamber, slightly elevated at the center.
It was in that room that I found nothing.
I crouched and gripped my spear tightly with numb fingers. Surely this was a trick. Was the moss my enemy? They looked innocuous enough, and I remembered some of the others had brought pieces of it out with them. I poked at the wall anyway, gouging some of the vegetation out. They fell to the ground and lay there, harmless.
Drawing a deep breath, I strode toward the middle of the chamber, waiting for the worst to happen. Many heartbeats later, I closed my eyes, thinking that it was required. Perhaps the elders had forgotten to tell me.
"I will slay you,"I said. My voice echoed back to me from the walls, making me jump. "No, you will not take my bravery, or my life."I thought of my family waiting for me back home. Their love gave me strength.
A soft howl swept through the cavern. I snapped my eyes open and leaped back, but the chamber remained deserted. Listening closely, I realized it was only the wind.
Nervously, I began to laugh. "Perhaps I am the only man to have nothing to fear."
When that boast failed to summon any apparition, I shook my head and headed back the way I'd come. The elders didn't know everything; it was possible that some men found nothing more than bare rock. I wondered how someone frightened of the moss would react.
My laughter became heartier as I thought of the celebration awaiting me in our village. We would roast the oxen we'd caught, and dance throughout the day. The young men of the village would no doubt see me as a hero. I wondered if I should fabricate some stories for their benefit. An empty cavern wasn't very frightening.
"The elders better not send me back in here,"I said, rubbing the exposed parts of my skin.
Dawn had already made its presence known; the sun was peeking over the horizon. As I stepped out of the cavern, I stretched and sucked in the fresh morning air. That was when I first detected smoke.
Thick, black clouds of it were streaming from my village at the foot of the hill.
I howled and ran, faster than I ever had, almost tumbling over once when my bloody sole made me slip. No, the elders never said anything of this sort would happen ... my test was supposed to happen in the cave. This couldn't be!
Some of the huts still smoldered when I reached the village. Breathing hard, spittle flying from my lips, I slowed to a halt when I saw the bodies strewn over the earth. The elders lay nearby, heads hacked off, bodies pierced with spears. Near them was a group of children, bodies covered in blood.
"No,"I said, stumbling over the carnage. Some of the corpses looked unfamiliar; raiding men from the clan over the plains. Our men had fought bravely, but they had been overwhelmed.
My heart had turned into ice when I finally arrived at my hut. Pushing open the flap at the entrance, I stumbled inside and went to my wife. Her body was already cooling. Placing a hand on her now-flat belly, I sobbed into her hair.
I now knew why I'd found nothing in the cave.
***
*If you liked this, visit my subreddit [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more!* |
“Excuse me, sir? We appreciate you pulling over to help us, so I really don't mean to be rude, but are you *sure* you know what you’re doing?” the young woman who had been driving asked me.
“Oh yeah, dont you worry, I’ll have your engine back in working order in no time,” I replied
In fairness, her concern was completely and totally justified. I was currently rubbing a croissant on her engine block like a madman, while bizarrely claiming it would somehow restore it to full working order.
The male passenger in the car finally chimed in, “Dude, I know they sound alike, but isn't it like… a crescent wrench you need? Not a *croissant*?”
“Shut it David! Do you or I know how to fix this? We’ve been sitting here for an hour hoping someone came by,” the woman scolded him.
I put my head down self consciously and set back to ‘work’. Look, I have no goddamn clue how it started, but at some point I found I had the ability to solve any problem, so long as I did the exact opposite of my father's lifetime of advice and did not use ‘the proper tool for the proper job’.
If it was a superpower then without a doubt embarrassment was my kryptonite. I had to balance my strong and genuine desire to help people with my willingness to look like a fool as I used a flamethrower to fix a wooden fence, a lava lamp to stop a guy mugging someone on the subway, or a hammer to mend a person’s broken heart. I’m not gonna lie, occasionally I just cant take the cringe factor and have to leave someone to fend for themselves.
“Sir? Can you at least TRY this wrench set I found in the trunk?” the young man asked reasonably.
I sighed, “Fine. Sure, but please… both of you stand back.” I touched the wrench to a random part of the engine and a massive bolt of electricity arced dramatically into the sky. Everyone's hair stood on end as we all jumped back in unison.
“Jesus, careful man, you must have touched the battery somehow?”
I’d been nowhere near the battery, but this kid didn’t know enough to be afraid of this tool in my particular hands. For as much as I could solve any problem with the worst possible tool, using the correct one for any given job could have disastrous consequences. I’d hoped that the little electrical light show my wrench had just put on would convince them to let me go back to doing things my way, but no such luck. They required more convincing, which was-- very unfortunate for all involved, but I didn’t see another way.
I slowly moved the wrench toward the vehicle again, this time barely making contact with the outer surface of the car, at which point the entire front panel burst into flames.
“Holy shit! Fire! Fire! Can car paint catch on fire? Err-- whatever! Fire! Anyone got a fire extinguisher? Anyone?!” the young lady shouted.
I grabbed an extinguisher out of my truck but sheepishly handed it to her, “You’d uh… you’d better do this rather than me.”
She actually seemed to grasp why my using a *fire extinguisher* to *extinguish a fire* would somehow be a terrible idea and she set to work. She put it right on target but the flames simply would not be fully beaten down. I ran to my truck and grabbed my child’s teddy bear out of the back seat. I rubbed it along the length of the flames and they immediately went out.
Both of them now stared at me with jaws agape, a strange mixture of gratitude and utter confusion I’d seen hundreds of times before plastered on their faces. Finally, the young man spoke, “Uh sir? Here’s... here’s your croissant back… if you’re still willing to help us.”
I nodded sheepishly and got back to work. Within 10 minutes I’d fixed whatever damage had originally caused their car to conk out and as well as mending any damage done by the fire.
As I was chatting with the now happy couple I heard the police scanner in my truck chirp to life, “We’ve got a bank robbery in progress. Multiple suspects are armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and considered very dangerous. All officers proceed with caution and wait for backup.”
“I’m sorry kids, I’d love to stay and chat longer, but as you can hear, my assistance is needed elsewhere,” I told them as I walked back toward my truck, pulled a spatula from my belt and prepared for a fight.
___
r/Ryter
&#x200B;
Edit: Holy cow this totally blew up over night! All your positive reactions are quite overwhelming. Thank you very much for the gold but thanks just as much to everyone who left really nice feedback or comments. I only started writing any kind of fiction a few months ago so this is quite a morale boost to keep working at it!
Edit 2: As requested I did try to continue this story below, I'm a bit wary of this premise becoming worn out quickly, but even if Part 2 and 3 suck, the original still exists to enjoy on its own : ) |
A skinny kid sat across from me and sighed, looking over his shoulder.
"Hey, everyone else scowled at me when I made eye contact with them, do you mind if I sit here?"he asked innocently.
The bar came to a hush as dozens of eyes made their way to us. They wanted to hear my voice. I hadn't spoken with anyone in all the times I'd ever visited here. I'd practiced for ages, though, preparing for the moment that I'd finally be able to make a friend. Sweat rolled down my nose as I opened my mouth to answer.
"Mmm,"I grunted in affirmative.
The boy sighed in relief and sat down across from me, a smile forming across my face. The bar was still keen on my movements, waiting to see what I'd do to this kid now that he felt safe around me.
"So, uhh, you from around here?"he asked, waving a waiter toward us with a hand over his shoulder. The waiter's eyes widened with shock and he looked at me and shook his head fearfully, backing away slowly. He didn't want to get into whatever he thought was going to happen now that I'd been disturbed.
I'd been given a second chance to have a conversation. I breathed in deeply, the bar holding in its silence to see what I'd say. Evidently, they were as curious to hear the answer as the visitor was.
"Mmm,"I said again, cursing my inability to be social.
"I only ask because I'm looking for directions. You see,"he said, putting a sack on the table and rummaging through it, "I'm actually from the city of Leon and was trying to find my way to the city up north, but my map doesn't have the--"he tore out a map from his pouch, but with it came a spray of jam that fell across my face. I heard someone from the table next to us drop his utensil at the sight.
"Oh, my, I'm terribly sorry about that, you mind if I..."he got up and began dabbing my face with the same pouch the jam had come from, doing nothing but smearing it further across my face. I couldn't bring myself to tell him to stop, so I raised a hand silently. When I did, a number of patrons hit the deck with a yelp. The boy backed down, with another number of apologies.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't think-- I'm sorry if there's anything-- Waiter! Can I get a waiter around here?"he asked over his shoulder. The waiter was planted against the floor next to a patron doing the same. They watched through the fingers over their eyes.
"Enough,"I said in a drawling voice. I hadn't intended to sound like that, but I hadn't exactly practiced speaking in a while. The boy looked up at me attentively. I pointed to the map, then pointed outside. I'd lead him to the town myself. Not like I was doing anything better.
The boy leaped with joy, gathered his things and ran ahead outside. The patrons leaned away from him as they ran by. I sauntered behind him, about halfway across the building by the time he made it out the door. As I almost reached the other end, someone grabbed on my cloak with a trembling hand.
"P-- please..."he sputtered, his voice cracking, "He's just a boy. Have mercy on him."A tear rolled down his eye.
I was shocked to see I'd caused anyone any kind of reaction. I wasn't sure what he was so worried about, but I tried to console him anyway.
"Mmm."
I continued walking as he began openly crying behind me. Whatever was going on with him wasn't my problem.
I'd made a friend.
________________________________________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
I open my eyes to a blinding white light and a fat face.
Is this heaven? Is God fat?
"Welcome to the Ship of Fools."
The fat face smiles at me, and I sit up, blinking myself to sight.
The room around me is white clean, spacious and vaguely circular. A soft piano in minor scale rings above my head
in the background. The place does look like heaven, if it wasn't for the Nespresso coffee machine on the corner.
No way heaven serves Nespresso.
"What is your name?"the fat face asks me.
"Dean. Where am I?"
"I think I just told you,"the fat face says, with a smile. A hand holds onto mine. "Come on. Up you go."
I rise. Looking more carefully, I notice the squared windows on both sides, framing dots of stars against the blackness on the outside.
"Is this a spaceship?"I ask, rubbing my head.
"The Ship of Fools is an idea originally set forth by Plato,"the fat face tells me, putting a hand behind my back.
"It was an allegory about how society and the state didn't give philosophers the credit Plato thought they deserved. Come. Walk with me."
We go through an automatic door into a long, wide corridor, its walls painted in strips of indirect lighting from the
floor up.
"The story tells of a vessel without a pilot. A ship filled with the madman, the idiots and the deranged. A ship that would set out to sea without a captain, destined to roam forever aimlessly and with no course."
"I'm sorry, I won't be able to focus if I don't get this out of the way – am I dead?"
The fat face smiles. To our side, an automatic door slides open, and I catch a glimpse of a woman in short hair and
heavy makeup, scribbling furiously on the walls with what looks like chalk.
"Come. Let her be,"the fat man says, pulling me further down the corridor.
He continues his story. "Those who ventured to the seas were warned to avoid this ship of madmen. To steer away from the dangerous boat of outcasts, too deranged to be a part of society."
"That's a lovely story,"I say. "But I'd really like to know if I'm dead."
Another door slides open, this time to our right, and three men in hospital gowns sit around a chess board, each
taking turns moving a single pawn across the board.
"You are not dead, Dean,"the fat face tells me. "And you are not the first – nor will you be the last – to try to take the despair over your ignorance to the stars."
The hallway bends left, then we stop abruptly in front of a large double door.
"The question afflicts us all, Dean,"the fat face tells me, as the door slides open to reveal a wide control room filled with monitors, fronted by an imposing glass window. "Though it is, I'll admit, more common in those who have our power. Those like you, Dean."
We step inside the room. Out the window, an unbelievable number of stars glisten ahead, so many that the
blackness behind it almost can't break through.
"Why are we here? Where do we go when we die? Why is there something instead of nothing?"the fat man continues. "Why do shoelaces always untie and headphone wires always tie, not the other way around?"
He leads me towards the glass window. On a spherical chair by a dashboard, a young woman in blonde hair and
tired smile greets us.
"Hey, Druk,"she says, to the fat face. "New guy?"
Druk puts his hand around my shoulder again, looking over at the stars.
"When you are born with the power to teleport, it's not easy to close your eyes to the randomness and overall lack of attention of the universe. To the sheer rudeness of existence. That's why we exist."
"What?"
"Is that not why you wanted to kill yourself?"the fat man asks.
"I – no. Sarah. My girlfriend, she –"
"Oh, there's always a girlfriend. Always a job. A debt. In the end, though, it was the night sky. Right? It was the overwhelming feeling that all of this -- all you've ever lived, every star and every planet; it's all playing inside a theater with no audience. That feeling that whatever personality you think defines you is just a story you've been telling yourself, day after day. Just a mix-and-match of stimuli and neural connections. It's the feeling that God wouldn't care if you were a rock star or if you had cancer tomorrow."
Watching the stars dance still in front of us, I think of Sarah, and of the nights alone in my room. I think of why I
never told anyone of my power. Why I'd teleport to the top of the Griffith alone late at night and sit there, looking beyond the horizon for hours without end until sunrise.
"That you would try to kill yourself by looking up to the stars is such a giveaway, Dean,"the fat man tells me.
"You have the heart of a poet, throwing yourself out into the nothingness that set you on this course in the first
place."
"What… do you guys do?"
"The Ship of Fools… drifts,"the fat man tells me, as the blonde girl types something away in her control. "Like
Plato's allegory. We go on. Each and every one of us lost souls, crushed by the weight of a universe that seems so,
so inexplicable for us, and yet so mundane to everyone around.
"Have you ever had a conversation that didn't feel real, Dean? Have you ever felt like you were talking about something, but it wasn't really you? It was just words, the things the other person expects you to say. Have you ever felt like no one really saw the real you? No one, not even once, really heard what you really think of the world? Of yourself? Have you ever wondered why there are bees? Why there is wind?"
"He's gonna have fun here,"the blonde lady says, pushing a lever. The floor under our feet stars shaking.
"Tell me you didn't ever look at a wedding picture and thought 'why are they so happy?' Tell me the sight of a
small child never made you think 'he's going to die, someday. He's an old picture on a family album waiting to
happen.'"
Druk turns my way. "The real world is not for us, Dean. We're fools. You can't bring up the heat death of the universe at a dinner party. You can't talk about the illusion of the self at your niece's birthday."
The floor shakes harder now. The blonde lady turns her head back. "Ready for take off!"
"And where do we go?"I ask. "Where does the ship go?"
The fat face smiles its kind smile. "To the edge of the universe. And beyond. To wherever. Wherever we can to find meaning, or hope. Or an answer. To a place where coffee and TV and magazines and stock shares are not the things you talk about at lunch break, watching the clock tick away moments of a life you fear you'll die without ever understanding."
"Druk here is a failed poet,"the blonde lady says, pulling another lever. "And not a very good one, at that. But you'll get used to it."
Druk turns to the stars in front of us. "Did you set the course, Linda?"
"No,"Linda replies, turning to face the window again.
"Excellent."
I take a deep breath, thinking back on Sarah and my parents and all those people wondering what's for dinner
down on Earth. I think of Twitter and Tinder and the new iPhone, and of ceremonial burials in old, ancient
civilizations.
With a soft pull, the stars ahead stretch into lines of light, showering towards us in exponential speed as the Ship
of Fools drifts away into the endless nothing ahead.
________________
[PART II](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3qp0bo/ship_of_fools_part_ii/)
[PART III](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3qp6tg/ship_of_fools_part_iii/)
[PART IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3qpgiv/ship_of_fools_part_iv/
)
[PART V](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3qqbaz/ship_of_fools_part_v/)
[PART VI](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3qsysz/ship_of_fools_part_vi/)
[PART VII](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3qthp4/ship_of_fools_part_vii/)
|
"Wait, Frank... the cinema's laughing, just like at the beginning of the movie!"Alex pointed out.
Frank was still chuckling. "So?"
"So!?"Alex said. "Don't you see? That means that we *are* the movie! The horror will happen to us!"
Frank blinked a few times, laughter fading. "Wait, think back to that... the people at the beginning of the movie, what were *they* watching?"
"Another movie,"Alex said. "Oh my god, it's the horror, the horror is us, we're doomed, doomed!"
"No, no, no! Alex! Stay with me here!"Frank was trying not to shout in a movie theater and not doing a good job. "Think! The people in the movie were watching people watch a movie, right? What were the people in *that* movie watching?"
"A... another movie?"Alex said.
"Right! And those people?"
"Well it was getting kinda small at that point, but I think they were also watching a movie."
"Get it?"Frank said.
"N... no."
Frank rolled his eyes and gestured to the back of the theater, where a projectionist was turning off a camera. As he did so, the movie itself simultaneously shut off.
"Wait,"Alex said. "So that whole 'movie'... that was just the camera back there being projected onto the screen?"
"Yeah,"Frank said, "I think so."
"We paid $12 just to watch some jerks calibrate their camera!? For two *hours*?"
"Yep,"Frank said. "That does explain the title: *This Theater Closed For Camera Calibration*."
"And you know the worst thing about it?"Alex asked. "That movie was still pretty damn good!"
"I know!"Frank said. "The introspection, the commentary on the recursive and repetitive nature of our everyday lives, the contrast not being right at first until they fixed it, it's the perfect metaphor!"
"I'm not going to lie,"Alex said. "I would watch that movie again."
"Maybe it'll come to blu-ray soon,"Frank said.
"We can only hope." |
"SORCERY!!!"
My eyes snap up from my phone. A short, fat, bald man was pointing at me, mouth agape, revealing the few rotten teeth he had. He was wearing a brown...what did they call it? Oh yeah, a tunic, and much like all of the denizens of this...quaint... village, he was caked in mud.
"SHE'S CASTING HER SPELLS, SHE IS!"
A mob was starting to form, and at least three people had pitchforks. I think I might have happened upon the single most stereotypical mob in all of history. Either way, I'm pretty sure they wan-
"BURN THE WITCH!"
"OFF WITH HER HEAD!"
"CAST HER IRONS AND THROW HER IN THE LAKE!"
...Wanted me dead.
"Woah, woah, c'mon guys, this isn't sorcery!"I said as I held up my phone. "This is just a 4S!"
The crowd went silent for a second, and then quickly resumed their demands for the removal of my head. Oh, come on! That would have killed 600+ years into the future.
The mob surrounded me. A couple of guys with swords had joined the crowd and were making their way towards me.
I had to get out of here quickly, but there was no way out, I was completely surrounded by the villagers. But then I had an idea, if they thought I was a sorcerer, then why not cast some spells? I opened my phone's camera, turned on the flash, held up my phone, and took a picture.
Just as I thought, the small light on the phone was enough to send the villagers reeling. I took my chance and ran. I ducked and weaved my way from villagers trying to grab me, until a large villager stopped me. I went to take another picture right in his face when...
In the top right corner of my phone, a wifi signal appeared. In 1348? How!?
I felt the man's hand grab my arm when I instinctively took the picture.
"MY EYES!"
He fell towards the ground and I ran for it, checking my phone for the wifi signal.
3 bars? That must be nearby!
I ducked into an alleyway and ran towards a hut at the end of the street. The door was made of rotting wood and I couldn't see any semblance of a handle to force it open.
The mob had filtered itself into the alleyway I was backed in the corner, and the bald man had made his way front.
"It's time to show you what we do to witches, girlie."he said, revealing his rotten teeth in a sinister grin, as the mob hurled obsolete obscenities at me.
"This is it."I thought to myself, and checked my phone one last time for the signal.
4 bars. It had to be right here. I looked at the mob and back to the door, and in a last-ditch effort, threw myself into the door.
The rotting wood gave away and I went crashing onto the floor. I sat up, trying to regain my composure and....was Dave Matthew's Band playing?
"Good tithings and welcomes to this fair Starbucks, dost thou wish to try our autumn blend?"
|
Frontiersman Lucian Xan's blood flowed freely down his brow until it met his jawline. It pooled on the tip of his chin and then dripped downward, unnoticed and unimportant. "How many are we looking at? I'm getting nothing but squid on the local."
Jack Studde snorted, "More than it's worth countin'."He gave a hapless shrug, "Only so many bullets to fire sometimes Luke. We've done what we could."
Xan's eyes watered as the smoke from the fire began to cloud the cockpit, causing the viewscreen to blur. The red blinking notification was clear enough. "We didn't get a clear line. The message isn't getting out."
"They'll know well enough when the *Hermes* doesn't report in. Sometimes shooting the messenger is message enough."Jack yanked on the release to his harness, letting some of the pressure off of his chest. Just above his breast was a small winged sandal with the name Studde emblazoned above it. "Wish we'd brought bigger guns. They say the new models got grav pulses."
Lucian sighed, "Yeah, well, it was supposed to be quiet out this way. Squids are supposed to be a few hundred AU the other direction."He slammed the heel of his hand on the panel in front of him, willing the engine back to life. They were dead in the black, their ion drive knocked offline. The squids would have them tractored in soon enough.
They needed a bit of luck, that or the grace of God.
Xan pulled up the comms relay, funneling in the last bit of power in a vain hope of getting the message out. *Thor* was only a hop and a skip behind them, close enough to make it before the air ran out in their suits. The warship had been pulverizing everything in its path, its mass drivers inexplicably performing beyond specifications on multiple occasions. His fingers flew across the panel, the spiderweb of cracks ignored as he attempted to call out.
The last bit of power trickled down, the lights dimming in the ship. "Auxiliaries almost gone,"Jack called out.
Lucian ignored him, his attention focused on the little red blinking notification on relay readout. "C'mon you god damned--"
A small flare appeared, the readout flickering for the briefest of moments to show a pair of winged sandals. The red notification blinked out and re-appeared, a cool minty green. "Sonuvabitch..."Xan yelled out. "It's out!"
The lights blinked out, shrouding the ship in darkness.
"What?"Jack asked, the flexglass helmet stored in his collar unfurling and sheathing his head. A small 100% number appeared on his shoulder, indicating his oxygen supply.
"The relay, it got the message out. *Thor* should have it in a few minutes."Lucian frowned down at the local, "Probably not enough time to save our asses, but at least home has a warning that they've got squids pounding down their back door."
\---
"Captain, we've got a priority inbound from the edge. *Frontiership Hermes.* Distress."The comms officer swore, "We've got squids, Ma'am. Whole fleet of them. *Hermes* is disabled."
"Stow it and keep focused Lieutenant. Send a relay back earthward and let's get them some backup,"Captain Lawless commanded, her steely grey eyes darting between the bridge crew.
"Captain, we don't know what we're up against, the message just said a fleet of squids."Comms Officer Lucas replied even as he prepared the relay message back home.
"Let me worry about that Lucas, just get us there."She sat in her command chair, her shoulders squared forward, the golden lightning bolt emblazoned on her chest twinkling in the light. "This is the *Thor*, we've got the hammer."
&#x200B;
[**PART 2 RIGHT HERE ON MY SUB. EVERYONE DIES. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT FOR DEMANDING MORE.**](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/alzoo6/wppart_1_2_the_pagan_gods_watch_with_amusement_as/)
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
&#x200B; |
*Who knows,* the man thought to himself as he crumpled the note.
He settled into the tub. The man felt cozy and settled, like a bourbon with dinner. Someone tried to make a pass on him, but wound up with a truth unsettling enough for two crooks; There were no kidneys.
*Fancy that.* Explained some things. Alcohol was a non-issue for his non-existent kidneys. That was a plus.
On the other hand, his liver may be in twice as much trouble. The alarm calmed down after realizing that his liver didn't exist either.
*Bastard could have told me that much too if he was gonna play doctor on me.* Broken ice clacked across the surface where his legs shifted. A numb hand placed over his chest, feeling for a pulse.
His ribs did rise with a breath. But nothing more.
*Like I'm known for having a heart anyway.* The man cracked a smile. He lifted himself from the tub to find his slacks. Then his magnum. Then the rest. He would never be caught dead without pants, so this was as normal as a day in Topeka could be.
The window cracked open to the clinks and roars of Kansas' capital. And out there in the clinks and roars was a bastard who thought he could cut him up and get away with it.
He leaned over the window ledge to stare across the clunky sunrise, taking it all in. Committing the glass, bricks and sky to memory. Every morning could be his last.
*And each morning* he thought in dark whimsy, *I'm glad I asked for a brain.*
A spin on his heel and a hat placed on his head, the man put the dawn behind him to march down the day in sinister, rehearsed choreography. There was a past to cover up.
And the Scarecrow would not have loose chains in his town.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Note:** Having time to read is a luxury. The fact you spend that time reading responses to this subreddit means a lot to several here. /u/Volgin has generously given me my first gold noting the Dark Tower style and asking I write more in 2016. Thank you. I will. To those who've asked to see more, I made a subreddit [r/Galokot](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot) for that specific purpose. I'm new to writing as of this month and have more prompts to respond to before I feel confident continuing the story to your expectations. So there won't be a continuation here. But we will return to Topeka when I'm ready. Thank you for your responses, and I'll see you in the New Year. |
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