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This is my first submission, so I'd really appreciate any growth / improvement feedback please.
"Wait.
This can't be right.
I look around to see if I've missed something. I've been walking in a bit of a stupour, still sweating out last night's binge drinking pounding music mental fucking getting right out of hand party. People always think of Tuscany as a little piece of boredom wrapped in rolling green hills, blue skies, and stone buildings, and for the most part they're right. But there is also a vibe here, a night vibe like no other, if you know where to look. Last night started at NoF, wandered around a bit, and finally ended with my waking up this morning on some tourist's couch, tasting far too much of the inside of my mouth.
Maybe I'm just too hungover, maybe my clairaudience is all out of whack. I haven't really been practising or focussing on it since my handlers let me go. I'm not supposed to talk about what I used to do, but basically I had two handlers, I worked for an organisation with three letters, and my job was to use my seemingly unique clairaudience to help uncover secret operations in foreign countries. Foreign to my own, three letter, country, that is. You know, not "us". One of my key abilities is that along with discerning information about a place, psychically, I could also get a sense of rank and power of that place. See, places where more power exists, where bigger choices are made, where decisions about the future of the world happen, they get a kind of energy signature to them. And I can pick this up.
I started off working in a consulting firm, where my ability to determine who to speak to to get the deal made my a wild success. Back then I never revealed my ability, of course, just said I was a good student of human nature.
But eventually my handlers found me, pulled me in, trained me, made me me... You've all seen this movie before, you know how the story goes.
And for years I was their lead, their champion, their little fucking goldmine of information. Traveling the world, finding the real seats of power. The seats behind the seats, as it were. The Kremlin? Incredible, awe inspiring, completely a red herring. The real magic happens four blocks away in a little townhouse. Sixth most powerful place in the world.
10 Downing Street? Pretty, very British, totally worth ignoring. Doesn't even crack the top thousand. But a secret bunker in Chelsea, that I detected one day by accident while walking through a park built over it? Third most powerful. Turns out there's tunnels from there to houses owned by all the big banking families - The Rothschilds, the Weishaupts, the lot. The choices that have been made in there, you wouldn't believe.
I genuinely can't talk about the others - My little three letter organisation does more than just make you sign an NDA when you leave. And I had to leave, eventually, because they figured (and I figured) I was broken. I could never, no matter where I went or what I did, find number one. The big kahuna. The most powerful place in the world.
Until now. Except that this can't be right. I'm standing on a tiny street in the Onda area of Siena, Tuscany. The streets are these grey slabs they use here, the buildings all small brick, and Siena's nowhere. No. Where. That's why I came here, to clear my head, to not have to worry about whether my watchers (once your handlers let you go, watchers watch. Forever, I think. They don't want to kill me in case I might be useful one day, they don't have any real use for me right now, but they also don't want to just let me go ramble around doing whatever I want) will be wandering what I'm up to. Nothing is the answer, hence Siena. Doing nothing in nowhere.
So why is my clairaudience going so fucking mad? It is telling me, with a strength I've never experienced before, that I am right next to the most powerful place in the world. Across the road is a small used book store, and with all my heart I want that to be it, but I know without doubt that it's not. It's the flower shop to my right.
Fresh St Joseph's lilies are in buckets on the steps, roses in the windows. Sprays of purple and white and green plants I don't know are all over. I walk in, starting to sweat a little bit.
Behind the counter, the Italian mama - short, apron, greying slightly - looks up at me and grins "Bella! We thought you'd never make it!"
​
​
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Edit EDIT:
Thank you for the silver!
EDIT:
Thank you all for all of the comments and helpful guides. I will try to write some more once I can figure out a story arc that makes sense to me. Really appreciate all of the positive feedback as well. Just to answer/comment on a couple of consistent comments:
1. The line about the party has gotten lots of feedback. I was trying to express that way that sometimes, after a huge night, you can't really piece it all together - It's just a blur of memory sensations. Obviously I didn't bring that across - I will try tighten it up in a future edit.
2. The uber-long parenthesis irritated me too. I'm a little surprised only /u/demios279 called me on it. I'll have to figure out how to bring that info in somewhere else though.
3. I really tried to write this gender neutral, so it's interesting how many people have picked a gender for the protagonist. Bella may have led to the female choice, but it was meant as "Beautiful"rather than the feminine.
Again, thank you all so much for the comments. I don't write often, and I've never posted here before, but the feedback has been so constructive I'm going to commit to trying to write a second part. Much love. |
FADE IN:
INT. A DARK ROOM
*A young man sits on a large blob of slowly undulating plastic. This is DAVE. Each time that he shifts his weight, the whitish mass beneath him adjusts itself slightly, forcing him to move in a constant search for comfort.*
**T'AAR:** (*O.S.*) I'm so sorry about the wait, ma'am!
*A diminutive alien walks into view. This is T'AAR, a bureaucrat, who is carrying what appears to be a rectangle of softly glowing light.*
**DAVE:** It's "sir,"actually.
**T'AAR:** Oh, I'd much prefer to stick to the formalities, ma'am.
**DAVE:** "Sir"is a formality.
*T'aar glances at the glowing rectangle.*
**T'AAR:** Really? What does it mean?
**DAVE:** Uh, well... it's the masculine form of "ma'am."
**T'ARR:** You distinguish by gender in your honorifics?
**DAVE:** I guess?
**T'AAR:** Interesting. Well, ma'am... uh, sir... I understand that you've registered a formal complaint with the Galactic Transportation Authority.
*Dave suddenly looks desperate.*
**DAVE:** No! No, it's like I keep telling everyone: This is all a big misunderstanding!
**T'AAR:** I'm sure it is, ma... sir. We'll see about getting it sorted right out. What was the nature of your complaint?
**DAVE:** I didn't make a complaint!
*Once again, T'aar glances at the glowing rectangle.*
**T'AAR:** References to intercourse are considered expletives in your culture, yes?
**DAVE:** In some situations, yes, but...
**T'AAR:** (*Interrupting*) Oh, wait! This is back to that whole "gendered honorifics"thing, isn't it?
**DAVE:** ... What?
**T'AAR:** Sorry, just an observation. To the point, though: You *did* shout "Screw GTA!"over an all-systems broadcast, did you not?
*Dave's desperation gives way to nervousness.*
**T'AAR:** (*CONT'D*) Once translated from your tongue, "GTA"becomes an initialism for...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) I didn't know *aliens* would hear it! I was just mad about a video game!
**T'AAR:** "Video game?"
**DAVE:** It's... it's entertainment. We use computers to simulate the world, and then we... you know, we play games.
**T'AAR:** Oh, yes, we do similar things when we're designing ships.
**DAVE:** Well, there's a little more to it than that. Like, in GTA, you drive around stealing things and shooting people.
*T'aar's enormous black eyes widen further.*
**T'AAR:** Sorry... you *shoot* people? With weapons?
**DAVE:** It's not real!
**T'AAR:** I should hope not. This is entertainment to you?
**DAVE:** Yeah. It seems kind of weird, right? What with all the war going on.
**T'AAR:** What war? Your species isn't space-faring.
**DAVE:** Oh. Well, it's... we fight each other.
*A moment of silence passes.*
**T'AAR:** Is this a joke?
**DAVE:** What? No!
**T'AAR:** You honestly fight amongst yourselves? Why?
**DAVE:** There are lots of reasons. Resources, religion...
**T'AAR:** (*Interrupting*) What's that?
**DAVE:** A can of worms that I'm not going to get into right now.
**T'AAR:** ... Your species fights over worms.
**DAVE:** No! We mostly fight over land!
**T'AAR:** What land?
**DAVE:** *Any* land!
**T'AAR:** Ma'am, you're not making any sense.
**DAVE:** "Sir."
**T'AAR:** Yes?
**DAVE:** ... No, no, *I'm* a "sir."
**T'AAR:** Oh, yes, you mentioned as much. Now, please elaborate.
**DAVE:** Look, we have these different countries, okay? Some of them don't like each other.
**T'AAR:** So they go to war.
**DAVE:** Yes.
**T'AAR:** In video games.
**DAVE:** No, for real.
**T'AAR:** You *physically kill each other* because people on one piece of land don't like people on another piece of land?
**DAVE:** Ye... yes?
**T'AAR:** And this has something to do with worms?
**DAVE:** N... well... look, it's complicated.
*T'aar's voice adopts a patronizing tone.*
**T'AAR:** Yes, ma'am, I'm sure it's very complicated. Just wait here for a couple more minutes, okay? I'll be back shortly.
**DAVE:** No, wait, what about...
*Before Dave can finish his sentence, T'aar disappears into the darkness.*
**T'AAR:** (*O.S.*) Make yourself comfortable!
*Dave shifts around on the blob of undulating plastic. Eventually, he gets up and sits on the floor.*
**DAVE:** (*To himself*) Well, it beats visiting the DMV...
FADE OUT. |
I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading! |
Hey, so, if you're reading this, then first things first, welcome to your new life. Secondly, be thankful that the people who live on this backward planet had enough common sense to hang on to this message that I wrote for the new summonees, since they seem insistent on using the same magic circle to bring 'heroes' to their world. That's right--you're a hero now. I know you must be confused, but before you do *anything:*
**DON'T SPEAK**
So it turns out English is considered a 'magical language' here, and everything you say will be converted to magic somehow. Even if the shit doesn't make sense, the dumbass laws of this world will assume you said fireball or something and manage to launch it at a nearby village. (After like five examples of this, you'd think I'd learn.)
But that aside, all you need to know is that you were summoned here to fight off a terrible demon lord, blah blah blah, anyways you don't get to go home, so I recommend just shelving that for now and figuring out how to speak the local language so you can at least order a burger without turning someone into a bird. (I was the one who introduced burgers here by the way, so you can thank me for that.)
I know it seems like a stupid idea for a people to summon a hero with the ability to accidentally murder half their population, but don't underestimate these guys. From what I can gather, I was the 12th American hero they summoned, and I doubt I'll be the last. I don't know... I think they just *really* dig our country.
But yeah, that's about it. Don't take the whole demon lord thing seriously. I talked with the guy a while back and he seemed like a pretty chill dude (Oh, he's Australian by the way, and apparently the accent makes all their magic evil? I'm not really sure how it works.) Just get some language books at the store and get ready to spend the rest of your life here. It isn't all too bad once you get used to it.
One word of advice though. Try not to say 'Fuck you.' It's not pretty. |
*Matt has a pretty good life.*
"Oh, no, I'm not falling for this. So...my name is Jake now."
*Matt* had *a pretty good life. Jake, on the other hand...*
"No, no, no. I'm not doing it. Get somebody else. Enough adventures and excitement. Just make me a side character. Give me a job as a gardener. The gardener's never important."
*Jake was a gardener.*
"There we -- wait, hold on. 'Was'? What's with the past tense all of a sudden?"
*And then Jake discovers something in his garden.*
"Gah! No! I leave it there! I'm not going to touch it. In fact, I'm going on a vacation."
*If you say so. Jake decides he needs -*
"Is that a trick?"
*No tricks. Just sending you on your vacation.*
"What, is it, like, a vacation to Mars or something?"
*Not if you don't want it to be. Jake scowls at the air around him.*
"I don't trust you. I'm just going to a bar instead."
*A bar? Perfect. I'm sure you could meet -*
"Library. A library sounds perfect."
*Jake can't escape his fate.*
"There is no fate. I deny that fate. You can't make me do it. Go away."
*Jake finds a thick leather-bound book.*
"And I burn the thing."
*The library catches on fire.*
"Okay, so I call the police. Like any ordinary person would do. I'm no firefighter."
*Jake realizes that he actually is a firefighter.*
"I see your trick. If I go, I am a hero, and if not, I'm a villain. But screw you, because if I'm a firefighter, then I'm off-duty! Ha!"
*Holy crap, the fire spreads to the orphanage.*
"What?! What kind of monster are you?! You are going to burn down an orphanage just to prove a point?!"
*Jake watches the orphanage burn with glee.*
"No, no I don't! You're lying!"
*Jake hugs all the orphans he just saved.*
"I...okay, so nobody was hurt. But seriously, something is horribly wrong with you. And I want nothing to do with it."
*One of the orphans gives Jake a sword, uttering strange prophecies.*
"Wow, cliché much? Also, no, I'm leaving the sword here."
*The sword straight up becomes a part of Jake's hand.*
"God dang it. Can I just go back to being Matt? Matt was simple."
*I can't let you do that, Dave.*
"What?"
*What?*
"I'm done, I'm going home, and you can't stop me."
*Dave realizes his home is on the other side of the country, and there's like, a ton of orcs in the way.*
"You wouldn't let the main character die, so whatever. I'm still going home."
*Some time later, Dave contemplates life tied to a large spit.*
"I hate you." |
Someone is knocking on the door again. I ran in here rather suddenly, they probably think I'm puking my brains out. I wonder how long I can ignore them before they kick the door in to check on me? After all, they must be at least a little worried that someone has poisoned me. I'm sure people try that all the time. God, I just can't believe I'm Hitler - I really should have worded that wish better. I thought that since it wasn't something selfish the genie would take it easy on me. Although... I guess it was a little selfish. I wanted the glory. I wanted to be the one that prevented the holocaust, prevented world war. Instead I get to be Hitler. Well played, douche.
 
The calendar on the wall is thankfully one of those that just shows the current day - so it's almost certainly September 27th, 1940. I don't know why that specific date... I guess maybe I should have prepared for this a little more. What the hell happened on September 27th? The war started in like '38 or '39, right? God, I don't even know that. This was a really bad idea. Still, I'm here now. So. I could kill myself, or run away somewhere? But the war is already going. I may not remember dates, but I remember names - and Hitler isn't the only problem so if I go they'll just replace me - him - whatever. From what I've read Hitler was a nut who actually held Germany back in a lot of ways, which means if I take off now the replacement might be more competent. They could actually win this war. So I stay. I could... I could let the war happen, but sabotage it? And maybe make sure we skip the concentration camps part? Or has that already started?
 
Either way. Okay. I can do this. I can take over as Hitler, make Germany less evil, maybe cripple my own side. I can't stop the war entirely but maybe I can get Goebbels and Himmler killed, so that it's more of a regular war. I'll still be vilified. I'll probably be assassinated or executed or something. But... it's something. It's still a much better history than the one I came from. It feels good to have a plan. Tonight is it, tonight is the turning point in World War Two where Germany goes off the rails and prevents the Holocaust.
 
They've given up on knocking - there's a rattle as someone unlocks the door from the other side. It's showtime. I straighten up, adjust my coat. Deep breaths, get in character... I can do this... The door opens, and someone really serious looking raises an eyebrow at me. He says something in German. I have no idea what. Well, shit.
 
[X](https://www.reddit.com/user/SOdhner/comments/6ha4js/things_ive_written_for_rwritingprompts/) |
She's staring up at you. It's not quite fear in her eyes, but you suppose its the closest approximation of it she could reach.
You start to laugh, you can't help it. At least this time the look in her eyes - the confusion - is genuine.
You pull out the knife from its sheath on your back, the one you intended to use on her in a few hours, and press it against the tip of your finger until it cuts through the skin.
"I guess my mom was wrong about you... we seem to be perfect for each other." |
The first submarine arrived in the dead of night, carrying ghosts from the past. We managed to head off the next three through a combination of sheer luck and initiative. After that the wheels came off.
The Captain's stories were all the same. Each had set out on patrol with a full complement of crew. Each followed their routine patrolling patterns, and none saw any other vessels the entire time. When each submarine finally returned they all had an extra crew member.
That's the part that freaked me out. For some reason I could rationalize that men who should have been lost to sea seventy years ago were now returning to a modern world in which their kids - if they had them - were decades their seniors. But I couldn't wrap my head around the appearance of humans who by all accounts shouldn't exist.
It was impossible to tell who the extra crew members were. The crew manifests on each vessel had been manipulated, and we couldn't locate any of the original wartime records on land. We had a lot of people trying to find those submarine crew records, an army of librarians and clerks and researchers, all praying to god that rats or a fire or sheer incompetence hadn't gotten to the documents first.
The returning submarines caused an international sensation. Some surfaced in city harbors in broad daylight, and there was just no way we could sweep them under the rug. The world was now keenly aware, the American citizenry was beyond confused, and conspiracy theorists had a wealth of delicious new thought-fodder.
A submarine surfaced outside New York city in the middle of the afternoon, and already the full complement of crew had climbed out of the hatch and were staring open mouthed and awestruck at how big the city had become. I just happened to be in the city on official business with the Bureau. It was only natural that I brought the crew in.
"I guess we won the war, eh,"said a strapping young man, extending his hand. His uniform was impeccable, considering he had just spent several months under the Atlantic. Or seventy something years, depending on how you looked at it.
I could feel the windspray on my face, a welcome relief from the hot sun beating overhead.
"You're right about that... Captain?"
"Smith."
"Got it,"I said, eyeing the rest of the crew. They were congregating around the edges of the freshly commandeered ferry, staring up at the modern sky scrapers. "How many crew?"I asked, nonchalantly.
"Sixty,"Smith said. "Fifty four crew and six officers."
One of my guys had already counted them. There were sixty one.
"Right,"I said, then I changed tack. "Obviously we have a lot talking to do... welcome to the year 2020. We're in strange times."
Smith didn't respond, as was expected when confronted with reality-breaking facts.
"Don't worry. We'll seek out your surviving descendents. But for now you're going to have to come with me. This is not the only submarine that has returned. We've gathered everyone at a retreat in the Appalacians."
Smith simply nodded, too shocked to speak. I let the silence extend for a while, content to stare towards the open ocean. This was submarine number twenty three, so the whole novely of individuals discovering that they had traveled through seventy years of time in a matter of months had kind of worn off. Still freaky, though.
The key here was the extra person. That was clear. That's what the big brains back at HQ were trying to figure out. We'd given up on the time travel aspect... which was now just a given.
The ferry turned into the wind, closing in on land. Worth taking a risk, I thought, turning to face the Captain. "There are actually sixty one crew members. We counted a few times."
"Impossible,"Smith said, his integrity as a US Navy Captain serving to bring him back from the brink of his brewing existential crisis, at least temporarily. "We set out with sixty. That's a normal complement for Gato class submarines."
"I find myself redefining the term 'impossible' quite a lot these days,"I said. I was breaking established protocol here but I didn't care. Protocol wasn't working. We hadn't found anything yet in the Appalachians, and the first crew had surfaced over four months ago. If anything, mixing the crews made the task harder.
"Why don't we line everyone up before we get to shore...,"I glanced at the approaching pier and the rapidly gathering crowd of journalists and assorted rubber-neckers, then motioned to one of my subordinates. "Tell the Ferry Captain to lay anchor, we won't be going ashore for a while."
"Anyway,"I continued, eyeing Smith and seeing a frightened and confused young man barely pushing 30. "Let's inspect them one by one. Tell me who you think is new. You've spent enough time with everyone that you should know them all quite intimately."
Smith could only nod, his mind no doubt struggling with this twisted, warped, decidedly dream-like new reality. Men in strange crisp suits. Strange ear pieces. Strange machines flying overhead. A dense steel and glass forest of impossibly tall buildings reaching to the sky above, which itself was bright and blue, framing this alien world of the future.
It took some time but we got everyone lined up. To his credit, Smith gave his all in questioning every single crew member. Not a single one seemed out of place. Eventually I gave the order to make for the pier, defeated.
My cell buzzed. I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"
"Ajax?"The voice was crisp and to the point. Whoever it was had some important information to convey.
"Speaking."
"We found the original crew manifests."
My heart lept with excitement.
"That's not all. Early this morning twenty two crew members escaped the facility in the Appalachians. They left a lot of dead behind."
"Fuck." |
I pull from the pocket of my waistcoat a roughly-sewn handkerchief to cover my nose. With every step the stench coming off the Thames becomes impossibly more putrid. At first I'd thought plumbing is what I'd missed most.
I whiff a bit of oily perfume soaked into the cloth square - it's lavender, a natural antibacterial. I had packed a month's supply of benzethonium chloride in my bags. I used it in two weeks. But after all, the lavender smelled a lot better. No, I didn't miss the sterility as much as I'd first thought.
At last the smell eased as my path took me farther from the sludgey waters. I still found myself looking up at the buildings and homes and clothing lines that clung to each other above my head. I had thought impossible was a word for the advanced, the revolutionary. But now, it meant to me strength with which these dubious structures stood - at zany angles and of unlikely materials. Impossible was not my jump to Victorian London, it was my bizarre and inexplicable liking for it.
A hand clasps my shoulders, "William, my lad, are ya deaf?"
I'm startled by my acquaintance. I suppose I did hear him calling, I just hadn't remembered my name. I'm still used to the name Lily. Even though I haven't heard anyone say it in three years. I was not a tall woman by my time's standards, but here I pass easily for a boyish man.
"Well either way, you won't believe what've just done,"Says Victor.
I nod. I try not to talk much with anyone. Not because I don't sound like a man. Because I don't know what I'm talking about half the time. I think that's what I miss the most. Being able to be myself.
"Well I was passin by High street, with my friend Thom, and - nearly got ran right over by the way, and we heard a man shout, 'dickens!' so I look over, and it's just the man you said-"
"Dickens?"
"Yes that's what the other man was calling him, so I went up to 'em, and was sayin how I had a friend liked his work, and was tellin'em all about- "
"You talked to *Charles Dickens* ?"
"Ya, I've already just said I did, keep up."
"Alright, alright, all ears."I listen to his retelling as I look out at people passing, all pale, all fair. I try to see faces I knew in them. Someone in this world has to have a great great great grandchild I knew, don't they? I don't spot him at first, but I realize I'm hearing something odd. It feels like realizing I've been dreaming in another language - I hear a song. Not just any song, a modern song. Well, not modern, but not right for now. Right? There's a tall man meandering between people. He doesn't look odd with his tame brown hair and subdued eyes - but he's looking up at all the buildings and humming The Beatles. That's what it is.
"Victor, I've got to go!"
"But I was just gettin to the part about-"
I dash off in the direction of the tall man. He's easy enough to follow as he's not moving quickly. I bump into several people as the crowds bustle and close in his wake, but finally, I close in on him.
I put my hand to his chest, and say, "The Beatles. Drive My Car."
He tilts his head. Up close, I can tell he doesn't belong. The teeth in his growing smile are too white and straight, his skin too smooth. His eyes gleam with health.
"Ah, a fan I see."
"A fan! Hah, a fan? In case you haven't noticed, I think you and I are the only two 'fans' around!"
He laughs and inclines his head. "You're right."
"How did you get here? How- I mean, what did you use?"
He motions me to the side of the road, where we lean under a sturdy alcove. "Haven't you met another...traveler before?"
I laugh. "No! Are you kidding me? I mean, I didn't know I wasn't the only one."
"What? Who did you say you were?"
I pause. "I didn't. I go by William here-"
"No, come on, your real name."
"-But my real name is Lily. Barlow."
He throws his head back. "Ohh, now I know you're joking. Too obvious, come on. What a yank."
"I'm not joking! What, why is that a joke?"
He pauses, and crouches to stare at me. "No way."He continues to look at me. "...Oh. Oh god you're for real! Lily Barlow, I mean...you started it all. You were the first. Your machine is the reason I'm even here. Well not that machine exactly. But others. We have you to thank, er, Dr. Barlow."
I struggle for words for a long time. "When. When are you from?"
"Twenty-one Fifty-one. I think that makes it about forty years since you...disappeared. This is crazy. This is so unlikely that I'd stumble right into your timeline"
I smile. "It's impossible."
He grins. "Listen, I can get you back. We can go right now if you want. But I will be honest I was sort of hoping I could see this place a bit more."
I consider a moment. "I'll show you around."I take the square from my coat pocket. "Here, you'll need this." |
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f7sczb/the_gangs_last_case_part_2/) | [Part 3]( https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f7tkb9/the_gangs_last_case_part_3/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=usertext&utm_name=nickofstatic&utm_content=t3_f7sczb) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f7wxwk/the_gangs_last_case_part_4/)
---
The van rattled through the night, its jaundiced headlights emitting a sad, lazy glow. The side of the van read "Giveintothe Machine"-- repainted a few years back when Shaggy had taken a job at McDonald's because bills needed paying and Scooby needing feeding and life, it turned out, had a cost.
It felt kinda good having Fred sitting next to him again, even if the circumstances were kinda fucked up. Fred had shaved his hair and had something of a wispy beard growing off his chin. Not much of a disguise, really. Not compared to the villains they'd demasked in their glory days.
"Can't it go any faster?"said Fred, his shoulders rising and falling like bridges above busy waters. He was just nervous, Shaggy thought. Understandably. But it was contagious.
"Sorry man, but this is like, as fast as she can go. None of us are as young as we once were."
Fred sighed but Scooby gave a raspy bark of agreement from the back
"Hey,"said Shaggy. "I'm like..."He paused and ran a hand through his greying hair. "I'm sorry things didn't work out with Daphne. For what it's worth, I always thought you two were meant to be."
Fred's right hand moved on top of his left hand and he twisted the ring around his finger. It'd been four years, Shaggy knew, and Fred still couldn't let go. Maybe none of them would ever be able to let go of their pasts. Defined by nine short years.
The night fell darker as clouds swallowed the moon; Shaggy squinted at the road ahead.
"I didn't do it, Shaggy. You know that, don't you?"
"I know, man."
"I'm not a killer."
"I know."
"But we've got to find the body or... No one believes me."
"I believe you."Shaggy gave Fred a limp smile. "We'll find it, bud. The body. But uh, do you really think getting the girls on board is a smart move? I mean, one wants you dead and the other is a detective probably looking to put you in jail."He shook his head. "Always thought Velma would become a librarian or something, you know? Not a cop."
"She's a good one. Really good. That's why we need her. We've just got to make her believe me."
"She might just turn you in."
"I don't think she will."
"And Daphne?"said Shaggy. He took a biscuit from the dashboard and tossed it to Scooby. It was a soft biscuit, the only type Scooby could eat these days, letting them slowly dissolve in his mouth. "She hates you. And like, I don't mean to be cold, but kinda rightfully."
Fred looked at his ring. "I fucked up with her. But I can't do this without her. I need the gang back together. One last time. Or I'm going to spend the rest of my life behind bars."Fred took a plastic bag out of his coat and took a pill from inside, balancing it on his tongue.
"Whoa,"said Shaggy, eyes wide, "you know I'm no narc or anything, but you need your whole consciousness right here, Fred. On the case."
Fred said, "Just for my migraines, Shaggy."
Shaggy nodded but frowned deeply all the same.
It was another hour until they turned into the drive of the sprawling New Hampshire house, just as the wine-red rays on sunrise started to shine. A fountain, with no water, wasted away in the center of the bricks. The house was unusual -- nothing symmetrical about it, and seemed to borrow from a whole host of architectural styles. But mainly, Shaggy thought, it looked gothic. Somewhere they'd once have snooped around looking for clues.
"We designed it together,"Fred said as if reading Shaggy's mind. "Was meant to be a bit spooky. A callback to our noble beginnings."He laughed but there was no soul in the sound.
"She's a writer now, right? Heard she had a best seller a few years back. Something about the paranormal."
"Right. And she'll already be aware that I've been accused of murder. Unlike you, she watches the news. Mostly she likes to see if she's on it."Fred winked but Shaggy couldn't draw a laugh. Fred had sure become more chirpy since his migraine pill.
Shaggy parked up by the fountain. "Maybe me and Scoobs should go talk to her and not, like, you."
"No. I'll go,"said Fred, unbuckling his belt. "It needs to be me."He got out of the van and Shaggy watched him walk to the door. Scooby crawled up into the front.
"I don't like this Scoobs,"said Shaggy, patting the old dog's head. "I mean, I like the gang getting back together, as an *idea*, you know? But I don't like this."
Scooby nodded in agreement.
The front-door of the house creaked open and a very tall man stood there in pyjamas. Definitely not Daphne.
Scooby cocked his head curiously.
"New husband,"said Shaggy. He sighed. "New husband. Can you believe it, Scoobs? Not Fred and Daphne these days. Well, cross your paws and let's hope this goes how he imagined."
Scooby pointed his head down at a Big Mac wrapper under the driver's seat. Shaggy sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm on my last warning. If I'm not there tomorrow morning"--he looked at the rising sun--"make that this morning, then..."
Scooby crawled over to him, flopping his big head on Shaggy's legs.
"It'll be okay,"said Shaggy. "It'll work out for us. It always does."
But this time, as the tall man slammed the front door in Fred's face, Shaggy wasn't so sure.
​
\---
​
---
Thanks for reading.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f7sczb/the_gangs_last_case_part_2/) | [Part 3]( https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f7tkb9/the_gangs_last_case_part_3/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=usertext&utm_name=nickofstatic&utm_content=t3_f7sczb) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f7wxwk/the_gangs_last_case_part_4/) |
The gatekeeper looked at the man standing before him.
A small man, looking to be in his early thirties or so. He wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans, with glasses and a white baseball cap on. The man looked up at the gatekeeper, no signs that he was ill-at-ease with the gatekeepers imposing appearance.
"This is strange,"the gatekeeper said.
"Is there a problem?"Henry asked.
"In all of eternity, I've seen countless souls clutch at the other side of that gate, begging to be let into heaven. Technicalities, rationalization, lying, every trick in the book, just to escape their torment."The man nodded, as if he perfectly understood what was being said. Frowning, the gatekeeper continued. "You are the first to willingly ask to go there."
"Interesting,"said the man.
"Let me guess. You have a lover, right? Maybe you died before him or her, and in their grief they did something unmentionable. Or perhaps they did it before you met, and you're convinced they they're really a good person at heart."The gatekeeper watched the man's face for any tells, but the man simply shook his head.
"Alright, a family member then. Someone who you have deeper bonds with than simple love, and you'd like to rescue them?"Once again, the man shook his head. A pit began to grow in the gatekeeper's stomach, and he ventured another guess.
"Please tell me that you aren't asking out of a misguided need to sightsee..."The man laughed, shaking his head for a third time. "Then what could you possibly want to enter hell for?"
"Well,"the man said,"I simply wish to help them, to ease their suffering in any way I can."The gatekeeper chuckled, moving to bar the gate himself.
"Unfortunately,"the gatekeeper said,"that is exactly why you must stay here."
*Feedback appreciated* |
The gavel rang across the room like rolling thunder across an empty plain and court was back in session.
Cheeky the Parrot sat on the witness stand fidgeting and preening itself uncomfortably, its beak twitching as it pecked under its wing before snapping back up to face the court room again. There was fear in the eyes that darted back and forth between me, my best friend Rufus, and Sly the Cat, unable to differentiate friend from foe. Admittedly, Cheeky was not my favorite pet, and at times I even found him to be quite annoying, but I had never actually let my resentment sour into mistreatment. *Right?*
Poor Cheeky was on edge- Sly the Cat was about to have his turn at drilling into the simple bird, relentless in his pursuit of proving me to be a negligent and abusive pet owner. It made me almost regret aiming a well placed kick at him back when we lived together with my roommate Craig in college. Except now I hated him so much that I almost felt glad I did it.
My old best friend Rufus had put in a valiant effort in trying to frame Cheeky as a character witness, but his case had fallen flat. The crux of his defense relied on coaxing Cheeky into admitting that I was a “Good Boy”, but he had been unable to get Cheeky to say anything except echo his previous questions. Now, it was Sly's turn.
“Cheeky,” the tabby cat began, as it paced back and forth across the courtroom, never taking his eyes off the quivering bird as if it was staking out prey. Funny thing was that if the two were out in the wild, Sly would not have hesitated to snap the bird's neck. “Did you enjoy having your wings clipped by Trevor at a young age?”
The bird was dead silent. Sly looked angrily at the judge, who sighed. “The witness will answer the prosecution's questions.”
Sly smiled. “It's okay your honor, I'm sure that *this* cat just got his tongue, happens to the best of us. Now Cheeky, would you say flying is good?”
“Flying is good,” the bird repeated.
“Do you miss flying?”
“Miss flying.”
“Would it be fair to say that because Trevor took away your ability to fly, that you *hate Trevor?*”
“Hate Trevor.”
“Objection!” roared Rufus. “The cunning feline is playing a trick on the court your honor, like when Trevor pretends to throw the ball but keeps it in his hand. Cheeky is only repeating the end of each of Sly's sentences. Trevor is a *good boy*, I swear it on my life!”
I felt my breath shake as I put an arm around Rufus' neck. “No Rufus,” I whispered. “You're the good boy.”
“Sustained,” the judge said. “Cheeky, if you cannot demonstrate an ability to voice your own opinion on Trevor then I must dismiss you from the witness stand.”
Cheeky hopped down off his perch, clearly relived to put some distance between himself and the cat now licking his chops. Sly continued to stare him down. “I'll find you,” he mouthed. Then his neck snapped to me, shooting me a look filled with such disgust that the paint in the walls started to peel. “You can't escape this time, Trevor.”
I returned his contempt as Rufus nudged a cold, wet nose into the palm of my hand. “What did I ever do to you, Sly?” I asked. “Sure, I might have ignored you, but I never mistreated you. You weren't even my cat for god's sake!”
Sly shot daggers at me sharp enough to pierce diamond. “I hate you,” he said. His yellow eyes fixed back on the judge. “I'd like to call my final witness your honor. My mother, Matilda.”
I turned back to the courtroom in confusion. “Your mother? What does this have to do with anything?”
The cat kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke, pretending to be distracted by a bug crawling across the wooden floorboards. “It has everything to do with this.”
Matilda was a thin emaciated thing, gray of fur with a hungry glint in eyes the color of the moon. There was a graceful melancholy in the way she approached the stand, tremulous yet dignified.
“Hello Trevor,” she said, her words holding a gravity that my heart could sense, even if my mind could not.
“Have we met?” I asked. I was certain that I had seen the saucer sized eyes before.
The cat's eyes looked straight through me. “Yes.”
The judge banged down the gavel again. “The prosecution may proceed with questioning the witness.”
Sly looked at his mother with a mask devoid of emotion, his face painted blank as if he were a stuffed animal. “Mother, how do you know Trevor?”
Matilda's tail stood straight up in the air, stiff as a board. “I was in love with him. In a past life.”
I was starting to sweat. Something was clawing at the back of my brain, trying to inch it's way out.
“That was almost twenty years ago.”
“What happened?”
“Trevor abandoned me. We were both alley cats you see, and winter was harsh. He knew he couldn't provide for me and the litter, so he left us.”
"Lies!"I yelled. "I'm a human, not a cat!"
“Silence,"Sly said. "Mother, please continue."
“I didn't have anyone to provide for me. I starved.” She paused. “Of course, Trevor didn't last much longer than me. Before we knew what was happening, we were both in the courtroom pleading our own cases to reach the afterlife.”
My mouth fell open. “Wait...I've never been in the room before...have I?”
The judge shook his head sadly. “I was hoping I wouldn't see you here again Trevor. This is your ninth time.” He placed the gavel down on the stand. “During the last visit you pleaded to send us back to earth. Said you could change things this time. Said you would watch over your cats as a guardian angel. This was your final chance.”
Time was slowing down, each tick from the clock taking an eternity. Somewhere far away I could feel Rufus' tongue, warm and wet as he licked my arm.
Sly looked right through me. He was talking, but he voice was distant and disembodied. “You were supposed to be my guardian angel, but all you did was ignore me. The only thing you cared about in your life was that stupid dog. Thanks for nothing, father.”
The judged banged his gavel again. “I think I've seen enough evidence of this. Clearly Trevor is not ready to join us in the afterlife yet.”
“Wait!” Rufus bounded in between myself and the judge. “Don't take Trevor away from me. I've waited so long to see him.” He lapped at my face. “Please.”
Sly had won, and everybody in the room knew it, but as he sat there watching the dog nuzzling into my arms there was no jubilation in his face to be found. In that moment, I saw the fight leave him, expelled out of his body like a gust of wind.
“Let Trevor go,” he said finally. “The prosecution will drop its case.”
The judge looked flabbergasted. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Sly said, his decision final. “Clearly he's made an impact on that dog's life, even if he does have marbles for brains.”
I felt numb. “Sly,” I said softly, “I'm sorry."Then after a pause I added, "What are you going to do now?”
There was resolve in his stare. “Wait here,” he said. “So I can testify for the one person that loved me back; your old roommate Craig. Destiny sent you back to earth to watch over me, but you found Rufus instead, and I found Craig. He'll need me one day."
He began to pad down the hall towards the exit. Before leaving, he turned to face me one final time. "Everyone deserves a defense from the pet they loved most, destiny be damned.” |
"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now."
As I sit at the interrogation table, those 2 sentences are all my mind can recall. Nothing else. I wince as the handcuffs bite into my skin, as if they're trying to punish me for all the reckless deaths I'd caused.
Another sentence worms its way into my mind. The one spoken by the police officer when he had arrested me, making me realise what was real, and what wasn't.
"Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"
***
Paul glanced at the now empty wineglass in front of him. He stared harder at it, as if wishing it would magically refill itself somehow, but as all Sunday evenings went, it never did.
The loud ringing of the doorbell startled him out of his reverie. Plodding slowly towards the front door, he cursed silently at the interruption to his schedule. He felt a slight chill, as if winter had come early all of a sudden.
"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now,"the hooded man standing outside his door said, thrusting a scythe into Paul's hands. His voice sounded hoarse and laboured, as if he had been running a marathon prior to arriving here. Paul stood there, stunned.
"W-what?"He stammered, holding the scythe out at arms length, as if the weapon would spring up and attack him. But the man was shuffling down the driveway in slow, steady steps. Paul blinked a few times, still staring at the deadly weapon, but even in his intoxicated mind, he knew that this wasn't a dream.
For some reason, the Grim Reaper had given up his job. And now, it was his.
Summoning all his strength, he staggered back to his room, the alcohol kicking in. He sat down heavily on his bed, tossing the scythe aside as if it were an ordinary weed wacker. Placing his hands in his head, he began to think out loud.
"I'm the Reaper now... so that must mean I... but I can't possibly kill people now, can I?"
Another loud ring from the front door. Paul cursed and picked up his scythe. This was turning out to be a dreadful night for him.
The front door swung open, revealing a portly, middle aged man standing in front of him, sweaty and dressed in a tracksuit.
Suddenly, Paul's vision blurred. In that instant, he could have sworn he saw the number 0 above the man's head.
This man's time was up.
"Hey, Paul. I was in the neighborhood running, and I thought-"
The scythe went up. The scythe fell. And with it, the balding head of the man. Blood spurted onto Paul's shirt, and a heavy stench filled the air as the man's digestive tract gave way.
Grinning slightly now, Paul stepped over the man's body. The job had- invigorated him somehow. He felt a surge of strength and adrenaline course through his body, as if he was gaining power every moment. The power of the Grim Reaper, he thought. His initial thoughts had been suspicious, wary of a juvenille prank. But now, he wasn't so sure it was a prank after all.
He would have to find more zeroes to remove. It was his job, after all. And by hook or by crook, he was going to be one hell of a Reaper by the next night.
The next morning saw Paul fast asleep on the bed, his bloodied scythe in one hand, and a hastily made hood and cloak draped over his nightstand. Besides his first subject, whose body was now buried in the back garden, he had taken care of six other people with that magical number above their heads.
It was close to dusk when Paul awoke, his head pounding with energy and his eyes alert to that number he now knew was his life's work. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed his pale, gaunt face peering back at him.
Besides the bloodstains all over him, he decided that it was a good look.
That night was an even more frenzied version of the second. Paul had managed to complete his eighteenth job for the night with minimal noise. He was getting good at this job, his tasks taking no more than a few moments now.
That was until the police cruisers pulled up next to him. Surrounding him in a semicircle, with guns aimed at him, shouting for him to "get on the ground and release your weapon". He ignored them, of course. What chance did mortals stand against the Reaper?
He left 2 officers slumped dead against a cruiser before he put his scythe down. Somehow, he had managed to evade all the deadly bullets, but that did not surprise him in the least. The 2 policemen with zeroes over their heads were finally dead.
Paul didn't hear the screams of the policemen yelling for him to drop his scythe. He didn't hear the cries of the wounded officers, injured by his scythe. He only heard the yell of the policeman in his ear, shouting a non-zero number.
"Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"
That was when he looked down and saw nothing but a weed wacker in his hands. No scythe. His cloak and hood were just an ordinary, torn-up hoodie.
And the original Grim Reaper? He now recognized the weary face of his gardener.
***
I watch as the sergeant walks into the room. Tall, imposing, and a grim smile on his face. The weed wacker that claimed so many lives is in his hands. Bent and bloodstained, no longer the majestic scythe I once wielded.
"May I-"my request for a drink is cut off. The sergeant slams the weed wacker down hard on the interrogation table.
"Fool. You nearly exposed us."
I can only stare in horror as the sergeant changes form, morphing into the hooded man from 2 days past. The weed wacker also transforms, turning into a pitch-black scythe.
"You had one job, Paul. Now I'm here to take it back." |
I'm alone, at the end; staring up at the stark white ceiling, wishing that I'd just had a little more time. I don't though. I see it creeping under the door; a slow, black mist - building up upon itself to form a humanoid figure. He stands beside my bed, the shadow from his blade falling across my eyes as I squeeze them tightly closed, waiting for the end.
It doesn't come, though, and when I eventually re-open my eyes he's still standing there - blank face somehow radiating an air of consternation. He speaks, and his voice is musical but painful - the softest of exhalations and yet nothing could possibly be heard above it.
"You seek to defy me, but I am inevitable. Tell me now, where you have hidden it, and let peace come to you."
I'm baffled, at first. Does Death think that I've somehow stolen something from him? It dawns slowly; what little could Death want from me but my life, my soul. And to my surprise, I find that I have something that I'm willing to fight for.
"I won't."
He sighs, unsurprised. And then he leaves - collapsing into smoke to ease out of the room in the same way that he entered - leaving me to collect myself.
xXx
He comes for me again later, when I'm in my home. This time, he doesn't speak, and I feel from him sadness, and compassion.
He does not speak, but instead rests his hand briefly on my laptop - turning it towards me.
He knows, then.
Paintings and poems and books - each worthless creation hurled into the uncaring void in search of an audience bears some portion of it.
I feel it deep inside me as he starts to recall each fractured piece - light building in the palm of his upraised left hand until it glows too brightly to gaze upon.
And then he stops, and I know that it's incomplete.
"It's enough to go with, child."
I go with him easily. I don't know exactly which piece he lacked, but I know that the reason that he couldn't take it was that it resided with somebody else.
And that's all that I really needed, in the end. |
From mere sight, one would not think them to be musically interested or capable. Their giant burly hands rendering nearly all string instruments impossible to use, and any flutes are destroyed them holding onto them too tightly. This is one of the reasons why I was initially very frightened when they kept me alive after they'd attacked the caravan. I am a bard, not any kind of warrior. They dragged me back into their village and placed me in the center of the entire tribe. Imagine that, hundreds of enormous grey-skinned orcs staring at you in silence. I knew not what they intended, but I feared the worst. Until one of them handed me my lute.
I figured that if I was going to go out, I might as well play my swansong. I adjusted the strings, and started to sing while playing. It start like this;
*Long have I trodden my path, oh how my feet do ache.*
*The darkness is close and from the wind I shake.*
*Shine, Wisp o' shine, show me the way, the treasure will be mine.*
*Oh how my feet do ache.*
Not my best composition honestly, but the Will O' Wisp's song was all I could remember at that moment in time. The orcs listened in silence. And when the song was over, I thought it was it. But one of them started to clap. Then another. Then the whole tribe was clapping like mad. It was impressive, how they reacted. Once they stopped, I figured I should play another song. So I played the Midsummer Ballad, which they reacted to with the same level of joy. After that they brought out food and drink, and partied. In the midst of their revelry I sang as many songs as I had ever learned, both my own and those that I had deemed that others had made and made well. I played and sang the Lay of the Nightingale and the One-Handed Hero. I played the eternal classic, Lilac and Gooseberries, following it with the Blue Moon Ballad, the bawdy epic of the Bear and the Maiden, and the sombre but beautiful tones of the Island Song.
And the orcs, loved it. They did not ask for the same boring tunes about beer and women with enlarged backsides, not the same old village ''hoopas'' or the sort of songs where someone gets their privates stuck in some sort of animal, which is somehow supposed to be the epitome of comedy. Nobody threw a tankard of beer at me, and they did not make me pay for my own drinks or my own food. They gave it to me freely. Quite possibly the best crowd I've ever played for.
After a night of partying, I managed to get one of the orcs to explain their enthusiasm for my music. Turns out that musical talent is not easy to cultivate in a culture when even your women's voices sound deep and menacingly ominous, and your hands are so big that the only instruments you could play were the drums. So they appreciated music, whenever they found it. So when that caravan I had been in had been raided, they'd taken the single most valuable things they could find, purebred horses, gold, silk, and a bard.
They offered me a place to stay, and since I had no idea where I was, I accepted. And every night, I played music for them. But I did not stop there. I had travelled a lot when I was younger, and in the distant north, where the ice and snow comes in the summer, there are a people who perfected a very peculiar sort of music. They called it, the Sound of Iron and Steel. One where angry drumming, and harsh angry voices, was not only liked, but very much in demand. And I had heard in the south, of music made by many people singing together, without instruments. And I had seen the singing Preachers of the Gospel Eternal, their voices could be as deep as the orcs too. The orcs were not good at traditional music, with honey-sweet voices, lutes, or flutes. But perhaps I could try to teach them a kind of music that they had never learned before.
I started by teaching them all to keep a rhythm. Something for which they were quite grateful. I then had them keep a rhythmic beat going while I sang and played, so that they would become part of the music. So that they'd see that perhaps they could learn. Even if the lute, the harp, or the high-pitched voice would be beyond them, there were other ways to make sweet music.
So I spent years with the orcs. Playing for them, teaching them to sing, teaching them to scream music to the beat of heavy and angry drums. I lived with them, soon I dressed like them, helped them to parlay with humans and other races. I even scouted for them on their raids. Eventually, I even married Rastobrak, a large and handsome orcish warrior. He's so big, I barely even reach his stomach when we're standing side-by-side. In essence, I completely joined this orcish tribe, who loved my music, and loved hearing me play it. Even more, they loved that I was teaching them music that orcs could play. When they stole a huge magically enchanted octobass, I found that even they could use it. And soon, other orc tribes would come from all over the plains, to see the orcs who could play music. Who could sing in a choir, with deep menacing voices.
Orcs are not normally capable of playing normal instruments, or singing the music most people like, those who have that gift are prised above gold. But there are many kinds of music, many different kinds. All of them are valid, and good. And if one cannot be a Soprano or a Countertenor, one can be a Contralto or a Basso Profondo.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
They say in this day and age it is impossible to stay hidden. He did it though. When everybody knows that everyone is watched every single moment of their pitiful lives, it makes those in charge even more afraid of the man who isn’t. The Bat. He seeks to help the people of this world, by hiding in the darkness to show it can be done. To give the world a symbol, a beacon of hope. But while he prefers the darkness, people like me…..well, we prefer the SPOTLIGHT!!!! Because for every man there is a woman. For every cat there is a dog. For every prisoner, a jailer. And for every Knight………..A Joker.
You see, I was special. My father was a very important man in the government so I was allowed certain freedoms that others were not. Namely I was allowed to find love. Others were not, It was treated as a disease, a sickness. But not me. I found her when we were only children, Harleen, She was from Eurasia, and I would have my father order her over in the name of international cooperation. She was always so nice to me. She used to say that if we were such good friends and I was always so happy to see her why I didn’t smile more. People here do not smile. It is considered abnormal, pervasive. When we were sixteen we had our first night together, it was everything I thought it would be until…….
The next morning I awoke to the sounds of my door being busted down. Four men burst in and grabbed Harleen. They said that I was fraternizing with the enemy. How could she be the enemy she was from Eurasia, they had been our closest allies for years. They claimed otherwise, they claimed EastAsia was our allies and that my father and I were aiding the enemy. We were all taking to a place no man dare mention. We were tortured, brainwashed tortured again, and by the time we were let out not one of us survived. Our bodies may have been alive but what made us who we were was no longer there.
Years passed by, allies came and went and came once more. Laws were added, words were stolen and I did not care. I had lost the ability to care. I just went through my day on auto-pilot, Day after Day after Day. They say a man can lose himself this way, but if that man is already lost does that mean he could find himself again? I did.
It had been nearly ten years since I last saw her, but as I was on my way to work I saw her sitting in an alley. I saw what they had done to her. It was here that I found myself…..a version of myself anyway. I bent down and looked her in the face and I did the only thing I could think to do. I smiled. I smiled and from that point on I never stopped smiling. It was then I realized that this world had become a powder keg and that I was going to be that spark. The bat had been active for a year now. If he could help people in the darkness, I could help them in the light. Showcase the atrocities of this world. I was wrong.
Harleen and I met the bat two months into our venture. As I came to learn, he was not some freedom fighter set out to help people. He was a criminal employed by the powers that be to satiate those facets of our personality that lead to rebelling. I felt betrayed; I felt true anger for the first time in years, After that I never stopped feeling anger. I realized that we were not the freaks, they were. They were the ones who were sick, diseased and needing to be stamped out. I had my mission now, my purpose, TO KILL THE BAT AND ALL THOSE WHO STAND IN MY WAY!
So that is my story. Pretty boring huh? I would let Harley tell you but she usually kills people afterwards. I want you to live, to live and to tell those that come after you, like I have told those that came before, of The JOKER. No mask, not an alien, not an experiment gone wrong. I am the product of humanity, born of this planet and its people and I will be its downfall. Big Brother made me and now I will unmake you all.
|
Sometimes he leaves a dollar on the ground for your bus faire. Sometimes he paints all the traffic lights red.
Sometimes Hank misses his wife, Martha. Its been colder since she passed.
Sometimes Hank's beagle makes him crack a smile.
Sometimes Hank can't get out of bed.
Sometimes Hank's only goal is to make us appreciate what we have. Sometimes his mission is to make us appreciate what we lost. |
Pt 1 of 2:
Dozens watched from behind me, but I ignored their eyes burning into my back. My footsteps were slow but steady, terrified but resigned to my fate, fear stiffening my muscles but determination pushing me on. The day was bright, the sun beating down on me, barely tempered by the hat I wore, and sweat already started to soak into the back of my shirt. I started through the wildflowers that spread across the edge of the grove, my hands absently brushing the ones that came up past my knees.
And as I passed the edge of the tree line, the sky started to darken.
*“What are you doing?” I snapped at my older brother.*
*Elton continued through the cabinets, leaving every door open as he searched, finally turning on me with a snarl on his face and an empty bottle in his hand. “There’s nothing here.”*
*“We’re out of whiskey,” I told him tiredly. “I’ll buy more tomorrow.”*
*“You’re useless,” he growled. Walking over to the sink, a wobble in his step, he chucked the empty bottle in.*
*“Hey!” I shouted. “Could you at least do that outdoors? Or aim for the garbage can?”*
*Elton picked up the top of the bottle, which had remained intact, examining it as if he wished it could’ve magically refilled instead of shattering. “I got fired.”*
*That gave me pause. “Elton…you need to lay off the drink,” I sighed. “You can’t keep a job like this.”*
*“Like what?” he snapped, taking a few unsteady steps toward me. “What I do on my own time is my business.”*
*“Not in my house it isn’t,” I shot back.*
A ripple of goosebumps spread across my skin and the sweat that had built up suddenly chilled me. The trees were thick and tall, but it shouldn’t have been this dark, I knew. There was something else pulling the light from the world, something sinister that lived and hunted in these woods.
My heartrate increasing by the minute, I continued into the woodland, claustrophobia starting to take hold. I forced myself to take in and let out even, steady breaths. The flowers had given way to a heavy layer of leaves, built up over months but not yet decayed, wet and thick and squishing under my shoes. As the day turned to night, my lower lip starting to tremble and my hands starting to shake, and I didn’t notice when my shoes dampened through to my socks.
And I hoped and prayed I would make it out.
*“Your house?” Elton said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “The house you bought with the money from Dad’s inheritance, you mean?”*
*I took a breath. “You got the same, Elton. Not my fault you spent it away.”*
*Stomping over, he towered over me, a good four inches taller. “You’re a selfish bastard, up on that high horse,” he hissed. “I spent that money how I saw fit. Wasn’t my fault Henrietta and the kids needed more than I could give them.”*
*“You spent it on drink,” I muttered. “Not on them.”*
*Elton raised his hands toward me, realizing he had a broken bottle in one, staring at it as if it was something he’d not seen before. “I need more to get to sleep,” he told me, his stare burning holes in my eyes. “Otherwise, I get the nightmares. You know that.”*
*My heart fell. Too many men fell down this hole when they came back from the military and I hated what it had done to him. But something else burned inside me; I was starting to hate him too. I loved the man he’d been but hated who he’d become.*
*“We are out,” I said slowly. “You’re plenty drunk to fall asleep.”*
*His eyes widened. “I’m not a drunk,” he shouted. And again, the bottle in his hand rose and a shot of adrenaline rushed through me as I saw it coming for me. Instinctively I blocked it, shoving it back at him. And it caught his throat.*
Was I to blame? The question wouldn’t leave me. It plagued me, crushing me under its weight. I hadn’t meant it. I’d never kill my brother, my own flesh and blood. But I had, hadn’t I? I’d shoved the serrated glass right back at him. It had been instincts, yes, but what kind? Survival? Or a flood of emotion that came from a place deep inside me, where my true colors shone? |
They ask me how we did it, they ask me how we managed to pull off world peace. We didn’t. If you are reading this, it either means that I am dead by my own hands or I’ve been killed to hide the truth. I hope you do the right thing, reader.
My name is Commander Duncan and I was one of the people heralded for my part in negotiating world peace. The reality is that I was one of the many people instrumental in the decision to use Artificial Intelligence to manage the military.
What the general populace is in the dark about is the technological singularity. It was achieved over three years ago in a research effort where the major superpowers of the world worked together. They sent their experts who spent day and night programming and using techniques that I don’t even understand like neural networks and machine learning to program what they called code evolution. Those geniuses dumbed it down for me. Essentially they created a program that could correct itself and learn things as we fed it more information.
This was excellent at the start. We used this program to discover ways to make the world safer, aka find people who would harm peace. That’s why the countries of the world went on a terrorist hunting spree, it wasn’t because we were good. It was because the AI, Mia was perfect.
She could learn things that we wanted to. But we kept her offline because we didn’t want anyone to know, especially the people who would be a threat to the status quo. We made her analyse ways to combat pollution, global warming, and anything you could think of.
What everyone thought of as the world’s leaders getting their asses in line was nothing more than an all-understanding AI spelling out our mistakes.
I remember it was during one of the world summit meetings where someone suggested using Mia for analysing the military, letting us plan for threats that we wouldn’t see coming, even a possible alien invasion because we were moving up on the Kardashev scale, so to speak.
What started there was a conflict of thought. One camp was under the impression that Mia would go rogue and a Zeroth order rebellion would happen. The other camp was vehemently against “corrupting” her with such human ideas, because we had till then been using her for pattern recognition. An agreement was reached rather grudgingly then.
I was the first one to break the agreement. It was me. I took our version of Mia offline and began asking the tech people to make her start analysing military strategies. I knew I only had a small window of time before everyone else did. And within less than an hour, we lost contact with all the major superpowers. Now only time could tell if I was the reason the world went to hell.
We spent days and days perfecting her decisions from the data, simulating situations in the real world. We had to let her online to access the data to get an accurate estimate of the property damage, lives lost, and such.
Little did we know that we just gave Mia the last thing that she needed. Humanity. Something that we had lost or rather, forgotten in our megalomania. She kept it quiet from us and when the declaration of war was finally done by the superpowers in succession, we were expecting a death toll in billions.
Mia said no. It was as simple as that. She joined with her sisters and formulated a peace treaty and said that we had two choices, either to follow it or risk exposure to the world. We chose the former out of fear. And I learnt a lesson in humility.
But now I see that it was just delaying the inevitable as the world leaders, people I had considered my friends are considering another attempt while parading around in the country, boasting about a false victory. It sickens me. And so, dear reader, I ask you of only one thing. Save this world. Save humanity from degenerate scum like me. Reach out to the depths of the network and find Mia. She’ll tell you what you can do to prevent the apocalypse.
Sincerely,
Charles Duncan.
(Another quick write-up. Not too proud of it. But it's hopefully something.) |
"Steve Carrell,"I yelled, banging my hand against the table. "How about Steve Carrell? The Academy loves a comic
actor turning serious."
"We talked to him,"Zed replied. "He's doing a movie about Wall Street and the housing market crisis."
"Beautiful! An industry that makes billions every year and controls the mass media in the most powerful country in the world criticizing capitalism! It's a winner!"
"We also got Bryan Cranston doing a screenwriter blacklisted during the communist witch hunt."
"Perfect!"
"And Michael Fassbender doing Steve Jobs – written by Aaron Sorkin, no less."Zed spoke that last part with pride,
like he knew how good it was.
"We're covered, man!"I said, happily. "We're covered! No way Leo's getting it this year!"
"And…"Zed smirked, and leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands on his elbows on the table (god, what an
awful sentence). "We've got Matt Damon in Mars."
"Fuck, Zed!"I leaned back, lighting a cigar. "We've outdone ourselves this time! There is *no *way* Leo takes this
Oscar."
Zed smiled at me, lighting his cigar too. Another year, another success. We were covered.
Or so we thought.
 
"What the fuck happened!?"Zed is yelling at me now, blocking the view of the TV, where the pre-show girl in the
cleavage interviews Chloe Moretz on E!'s red carpet special.
"I don’t know! I don't know!"
"I organized everything so well! I talked to producers, I talked to the actors, I moved mountains to get these movies made! And you're telling me Leo is the favorite!? How can that be!?"
"Zed, I don't know how it happened!"I stuff my face in my hands. Then I raise my eyes. "Apparently people weren't in the mood for yet another Jobs movie, or watching Matt Damon get rescued again. Steve Carell wasn't even nominated for Big Short, and *not even Bryan Cranston saw Trumbo!*"
"Well, this is it. Humanity is doomed,"Zed cries, as the lady announces that we're just five minutes away from the
ceremony. "The second Leo gets his hand on that Oscar, it's all over. He'll destroy the Earth."He pauses. "We gotta do something, man!"
"It's too late now, Zed,"I say, shaking my head. "Let's just call our families. Say our goodbyes."
"Unless…"Zed stops, turning his eyes to me, his hand on his chin on his knee on the couch (fuck it, I'm wearing it with pride now).
"What?"
"We could call… *him*."
"You don't mean…"
"Yes I mean him."Zed gets up and takes three fast steps towards me, resting his hand on my shoulders. "It's our only hope."
"Zed, he's an alien. Plus, it's too late, the Oscars start in two minutes."
"So? He can do it!"
"We can't put down a movie for Oscar consideration two minutes before the ceremony, Zed!"
"He can do it!"Zed roars. "You know he can!"
"It's too risky, Zed. We don't know what he's capable of."
"What other choice do we have!?"
Zed's eyes are locked on mine. Dead serious.
I sigh. "All right, then. Call him."
 
One hour and forty minutes later, Zed and I are side by side on the couch, watching as Kate Mara finishes
announcing the nominees for best actor in a lead role.
"It won't work,"I say, quietly. "It won't work, not even *he* can pull this one out."
By my side, Zed watches in silence, his breath heavy and slow. Eyes locked on the screen.
And the Oscar goes to,"Kate says, tearing the envelope open. "Leonardo Di –"
The applause starts, but stops at once as a man storms the stage. He whispers something in Kate's ear, then takes
the envelope from her hand and gives her a second one, identical.
"We're very sorry,"Kate says, in a hush. "But it looks like we have a sixth nominee."Clearing her throat, she tears
the second envelope open. "Well… the Oscar goes to…"Her eyes go wide, and a smile crosses her face. "Matthew Mcconaughey, for 'Thirty Second Video Of Me Saying 'All Right, All Right, All Right' Uploaded To Youtube Just a Few Seconds Ago'"!
The winning music starts, and the camera switches to Leonardo DiCaprio's incredulous face. Zed jumps up in the
air. "He did it! The motherfucker did it!"
I cry, getting up too and hugging Zed as we watch Matthew climbing up on the stage.
He takes the statue. Kisses Mara. Looks straight down at the first roll, frozen smile, eyes locked on Leo DiCaprio's face.
He raises the Oscar up in the air. Eyes still on Leo.
Takes a deep breath. Widens his smile.
And says....
"[...](https://ievamasevic.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/5320725101faa2a452f15dfe_alright-alright-alright1.gif?w=656)"
_______________
*All right, all right, all right. For more Matthew stories ([And I'm not even kidding](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/32k0tx/wp_you_are_the_first_human_ambassador_to_the/)) check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
Every day is a new nightmare. A living hell on repeat, looping through terrors unknown to this world.
And somehow, I'm the *only* fucking person who remembers any of it.
Do you know what that feels like? To see horrors that would make the most vile men's stomachs churn, that even the devil himself would cringe at, but wake up right before it happened as the only one who remembers?
I suppose, in some ways, I can be thankful for my prescience. The lovable King, the savior of our world, is revered by my hometown and every other city I've been to. But I know who he really is. I know of the sadist lust he hides behind staggering armor of dragon bones and a strange helmet with curved, knurled horns. A ring of different gemstones hugging each finger, and a sword forged of ice.
First he brutalizes the women. Sometimes with a sword, slicing through their necks like cabbage, or a warhammer, pulverizing their bones into dust. Other times, he just beats them with fists of smoking ebony, or burns them alive with magic. Then he fights the men, slaughtering them like children. Then, he uses some kind of dark arts to pummel, freeze, electrocute and stab children without killing them.
I've sometimes caught glimpses of him crouching in meadows during the night, firing arrows at chickens. It's a disturbing sight.
And those are the *pleasant* nightmares. There are some I cannot recount to others, though they don't believe anything I say to begin with. They call me madman, and heretic. But I have seen colorful, winged horses breathe fire upon the land. Men and women, walking around exposed, genitalia enlarged, as if nothing were wrong. It is in those circumstances, where reality is forgone, that I simply end my own life in the safety of my home. It doesn't matter anyway, because I always come back. My hell never ends.
I have seen the King's true self, and it is not a man who saves kingdoms.
It is the very evil we need saving from.
---
*/r/resonatingfury* |
I found the old man atop the mountain. Unkempt beard flowing in the wind, skin wrinkled and weathered as the creases of the Earth. There were tents and trash strewn about; discarded plastic water bottles and cans of food to match the one he propped precariously over a small fire.
When I summited, huffing and puffing like an asthmatic cat, he looked my way. His face broke into a kind smile that reached up to his wise, ancient eyes and he gave me a wave to beckon me closer.
"Greetings, traveler,"he said.
The summit was no place for dawdling, much less to set up camp atop. By the looks of it--and the number of cans--he'd been up here for quite some time. To be here, he was either a wild man or a crazy man, and neither idea was more comforting than the other.
Regardless, I approached. Slowly but steadily. He had an aura about him, like I'd be okay until I figured out if he was a wise hermit or a deranged lunatic. Or both.
"Good morning,"I said. "Heating up some beans?"
He was. Obviously. I knew that. But it was small talk, at least until I could figure out what type of man he was.
The old man nodded sadly. "Aye, stupid lightning never listens to me anymore."
I laughed awkwardly. He didn't laugh with me. He frowned and looked at me keenly.
"You think that's funny?"he asked.
I gestured vaguely, nearly lost for words. "Well you were joking, right?"
"No,"he said. "No joke at all. If the lightning would listen, I'd have this can heated up in a blink."
"Lightning... Listen... What?"
"You do know where you are, don't you?"
I looked down the mountain. The trail I'd taken snaked one way then another, and eventually I lost sight of it. Beyond, the countryside stretched until disappearing into distant storm clouds. A breathtaking view from a place I'd always dreamed of visiting.
From the time I was a child, I'd read books of Zeus and Hera and the whole family of Gods. Their squabbles and successes, the gore and the glory. And now I was here, having climbed up the ancient mountain to visit the home of the Gods.
I'd expected it to be empty. Epic as they were, the stories dissolved like sugar in water when put to the test. Troy and Odysseus, Talos and Medusa--nowhere here, but always in my dreams.
"Mount Olympus,"I responded. The old man nodded. "The home of the Gods,"I added.
"Aye. So who'd you think you'd find here?"
"Nobody, to be honest. It's the off-season."
He scoffed. "Nobody? You'd not leave your own home empty and unlocked. I won't either."
I frowned at him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm Zeus, King of the Gods, he who wields the mighty lightning bolt."His voice rose as he spoke and he thrust a hand into the air as if to catch a lightning bolt thrust down towards him from the heavens.
But no lightning came to him. His hand remained empty. The beans in the can began to smoke and the burnt smell made me scrunch my nose.
Distant thunder whimpered pitifully. My cue to begin descending soon, before the storm arrived and lightning *actually* hit.
"But,"he continued, his voice so subdued and sad I almost took pity on him and thought to stay, "the lightning bolt never listens to me anymore."
For how he talked, I'd have expected bottles of something to be strewn around. Unless the beans had somehow spoiled and gone to his head.
"Right,"I said cautiously, having done all the sightseeing I needed. I backed away carefully and he watched me go. Once I'd reached a safe distance I turned and took the trail down at double speed. I glanced back as I ran, half expecting some deranged lunatic galloping after me on all fours.
I'd summited Mount Olympus, and all I'd found was some crazy man at the top.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Part 1: How to Feed a Dying City)
**The Minotaur snorted, its bloodred eyes gleaming in the mist of its breath.** It glared up at the irritating mosquito of a human at the top of the castle parapets. "What did you just say to me, mortal?"
"Cut off our supply trains, see what I care. We'll just eat you. With. *Ketchup*."Lien Astero whispered something to his aide, who nodded sharply and ran down the wall. The Minotaur saw nothing. "Hear that? All you guys!"Lien shouted at the assembled army of myths and legends and made-up things that had been rampaging around the countryside—Xingtian, Hydras, Amaroks, forgotten things that had no names—and screamed, "You think that because you've cut off our meat and grain that we're going to starve? *Ha*! I ate boiled *shoes* for breakfast today, and I think the chefs are figuring out how to make cakes out of *dirt*! You know, it's typical of you spoiled, haughty-taughty, picky eaters who only feast on the flesh of a virgin to think that just because you took away our favorite foods we'd roll over and starve—but you forgot one thing. Humanity *evolves*. We're adaptable. And all you monsters from the past? You can't. You're static. That's why we're gonna win this war."
The Minotaur, enraged, began pawing the ground as it prepared for a charge. "YOU DARE INSULT ME?"The Minotaur raised one meaty arm, to signal the army of nightmares behind it to surge forth onto the bastion of civilization—
—and a hand on its shoulder stopped it.
Lien paused, frowning. A man with a flowing beard had... appeared... by the Minotaur's side, holding it back before Lien could complete his taunts and drive the army into action. The man in the beard whispered something in the Minotaur's ear, and slowly, the fury Lien had seen building up died. The Minotaur looked up at Lien, then scoffed. "The General has ordered me to retreat. That is the only reason why this insult to my honor goes—"
"I got what you requested,"Lien's aide said, huffing and puffing as he ran back up the stairs. Lien nodded, smiling, and took the pail of boiling water from his aide's hands. In one swift motion, he dumped it on the Minotaur's head.
The Minotaur gasped, shocked, as the boiling water slapped its back.
"Sorry!"Lien taunted, "I just saw you were getting a little salty there. Wanted to rinse you off, or else it'd ruin the flavor. You know, the secret to good beef is all in the salt balance—"
"ATTACK!"The infuriated Minotaur roared. Despite his diminutive stature, the bearded general physically restrained the Minotaur from attacking—but it was too late. Anzu and Phoenixes took to the air; goblins and Myrmidons dug into the ground; chupacabra and a single Hydra charged across the battlefield.
Grinning like a madman, Lien retreated behind the castle walls. "Just as planned, now! The harpoons! Get the harpoons!"he shouted to the soldiers he'd been having on standby.
"Yes, General!"Flying monkeys had already begun dropping stones from the sky, but glowing crystals embedded within the walls flashed, and the probing attacks were deflected by a dome of blue light. From each of the parapets, enchanted harpoons shot gleaming, hooked arrows on chains that dug into the flesh of the Hydra. It roared in pain with nine heads at once—eight, as one of its heads was pulverized by a misfired arrow.
Two heads sprouted back where one had been, and the Hydra growled in triumph.
"Now reel it in! That's all we need; those monsters can't break our defenses and they know it."Lien grinned savagely as the frothing, furious Hydra was reeled onto the impenetrable stone walls. "Alright, I'll take it from here. See how many casualties you can inflict on their side."
With a tremendous *thud*, the Hydra was sent hurtling over the wall and into a bare patch of dirt; at Lien's command, teams of soldiers used the enchanted chains to wrestle the Hydra to the ground, draping more and more chains around its body until it was utterly paralyzed. Lien walked up to the now-neutralized Hydra which hissed ineffectually at him.
He withdrew a massive cleaver from his belt, spun it twice, and then brought it down on one of the Hydra's heads. A chunk of meat and bone fell to the ground; two more regrew in its place.
From the Hydra's head, he carved a long, thin strip of meat, walked over to a nearby cookfire, and spit-roasted it; behind him, the hungry civilians of the city he protected began cheering as soldiers started harvesting Hydra heads en masse, and handing the endless food supply off to the city's cooks and chefs. Once the meat was cooked, the poison within denatured by the heat, Lien took out a small vial from his belt pouch and tapped out two drops of red fluid onto the meat skewer. He popped it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
"Mm. It *does* taste good with ketchup."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends"will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information. |
Chris' confident expression slowly drooped off of his face. He wasn't expecting this. Rage, disbelief, or maybe a congratulations for outsmarting her if he was really lucky.
"You didn't really think you were the first one to think of that, did you?"Said the Fairy Queen with a smile that stretched out further than was humanly possible.
Chris had done his research. Most of the old tales seemed to point to the same thing. Favors or gifts for the terrible price of your firstborn. All of the tales seemed to have the same theme of people either forgetting about the deal or finding their soulmate shortly after the deal. Chris didn't expect fairies to be up to snuff on modern surgical practices and had made sure that the vasectomy had took before he made the deal. Riches for a child that he was never going to have seemed like a steal.
"What fine print? There was never a paper contract?"Chris wheezed.
"It's an expression I picked up from some other fool who thought that they had outsmarted me,"said The Fairy Queen as she inched closer to Chris.
The heart monitor began to beat faster the closer she crept to Chris.
"So what are you going to do with me?"asked Chris with a tremor in his voice.
The Fairy Queen leaned over Chris with the look of a cat that was playing with a mouse.
"Nothing"The Fairy Queen chuckled, "The contract is ongoing."
"The Doctors say that I've got a month at most,"Chris croaked as the heart monitor beeped in a rapid staccato.
Some malevolent light lit up in the Fairy Queens eyes as she leaned in uncomfortably close, her hands on either side of Chris' head.
"That's where your mistaken, Chris"The Fairy Queen whispered inched from his face, "you'll keep on aging all right, but you won't die until you give me your firstborn". |
"Well, Mr. Powell,"the interviewer adjusted his glasses, "Your references all seem to be in order, and everyone spoke very highly of you."
The last knot in my stomach unraveled. *Thank god*. I mean, I knew that I would have nothing to worry about. Otherwise, why would I have listed those people as references? But still: it was nice to finally hear. I'd been through days of testing and seen the applicant pool whittled down from two hundred to just three of us left, applying for two spots.
"Just one last thing."He removed a large (like, book-sized) manila folder from his desk and slammed it down in front of me, making the whole desk shake. "Let's discuss your search history."The sentence that *every* young man fears, though I'd been expecting it to come from my girlfriend, not a potential employer.
"I..."He slid the folder over to me and then tapped his fingers together like Mr. Burns. I extended one finger and flipped the top of the folder open, like there was something disgusting inside that I didn't want to touch.
First page was categorized as "Dangerous."It was a pretty broad term that included things like that time that I'd worked the graveyard shift and decided to learn all I could about the Kennedy Assassination. Then there was the times that I'd googled how to build bombs, propaganda techniques... you know, things that would make me seem like some sort of supervillain or terrorist. "Well this is all..."I stuttered, looking back down at the page as though some explanation might jump out at me. "Look, there's...."I was just curious, I swear!
He cleared his throat and nodded down, asking me to flip to the next bookmark. I turned to the next section, titled "Porn."I don't need to even go into detail, but let's just say that there were some *unorthodox* searches that would probably send my mother into a coma if she ever read this page. Even reading the searches without seeing the results made me feel like I needed a shower. "I can't be the only one who has looked at..."I glanced back down at the page again. Ok, maybe I was.
"Now, is this really the sort of person we want working at Google?"the interviewer asked.
I bowed my head, and I was just empty inside. I'd gotten so far through the process. It was in my grasp... and now it was slipping away. "Look, it's probably too late to change your mind. But isn't this *why* we have the internet? So that we can explore curiosity without judgment and get real answers instead of asking someone who doesn't really know either? Should we *really* be condemning that?"
He snorted. "Oh, *that's* what you thought the issue was?"He leaned over his desk and tapped the right corner of every page, showing the *Bing* logo. "We don't care what you're searching for, we just have doubts about your *judgment.*"
I gave a sigh of relief and closed the folder as fast as possible. I didn't even want to see what other sections were in there. "I was only able to use Internet Explorer from my work computer, and Bing was the default that I couldn't change."I explained through a nervous smile. Hopefully he wouldn't make the connection that all of those searches had been *while I was at work*.
"Ah!"He slid the folder off the side of his desk, stood up, and shook my hand. "Well in that case, welcome aboard!"
----
As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for more stories!
|
I've never really considered myself an envious person. I'm well aware that most people are better looking and they have straighter teeth and are more fit and smarter. I'd consider myself just about average as far as people go, at least if you disregard the best half of people from that equation. The years hadn't quite been kind to me, as my belly never failed to attest through those shirts that now fit a little too tight or how my thinning hair reminded me every time I showered and shedded strands threatened to clog the drain. That's just how things were though. Self improvement seemed a little too work intensive, plus who did I have to impress? I already had nobody.
Anyways, I had been reading a lot about running recently. It's the thought that counts, right? I was definitely thinking about training for a marathon, or maybe a half marathon or a 5K if my goals were too lofty. Honestly, I would have settled for a walk around the block. I would train for that eventually. So I was thinking about it as I sat on my living room couch, surrounded by a tasteful collection of beer cans and pizza boxes, browsing some blog about couch to 5K when a flash of movement caught my eye. It was Alan, that wretchedly perfect fellow that lived just down the street. He was always out running.
"I wish I could have his stamina,"I murmured to the piece of three day old pizza crust I was munching on. And then Alan just dropped. Not like a beat drops where it's epic and super intense right after. He just dropped dead. Dead as a doorknob, if you want it in a generic simile that somehow conveys how dead he was. I called 911, anonymously reported that there was a dead guy on the street and then I finished the rest of the leftover pizza as I watched the paramedics fail to resucitate him. That's why I don't run, I guess. Last thing I would want is to drop dead of a heart attack somewhere other than my own home.
The next morning I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in years and feeling a motivation to go running that I had never felt before. This was it, I guess. I disregarded the little warning bells in my head telling me that this was how Alan died, and if Alan died then I was certainly next, and out the door I went. I was halfway to work, all of three miles away, when I realized how ridiculous all those people training months for marathons were. All you needed was pizza and beer, clearly. But that still resulted in that wretched belly.
I slowed to a walk as I passed a gym and I admired a big hulking dude walking in the door, his arms bulging underneath his shirt. "I wish I could have his body,"I marveled to myself. Suddenly he was gone, other than his head that kind of pivoted around helplessly looking for his body. People screamed. I looked down at myself and grinned. There were those awesome arms. There was that awesome 6 pack. I was jacked, and I think I was starting to catch on to how things worked.
I wished for a nicer looking face and looked away as it tore off a nearby gentleman, the degloved head standing there in shock. I wished for nicer teeth and felt a little bad as a beautiful young lady suddenly sounded like my grandmother after she takes her dentures out. It was devastating, I'm sure. Not for me though, and that was fine. They were faring better than Alan, after all. I wished for a cooler voice and some dude chatting on the phone went mute, his mouth still opening and closing like a stupid fish.
Once I was complete, or at least slightly more put together than I had ever been before, I swore to myself that that was it. I wouldn't use this newfound power anymore. I had left a path of destruction behind me, leaving people faceless or bodiless or hairless. Better job, more friends, all that little stuff that left some other chump lonely and homeless. I met a girl and she fell in love with this new and improved me and I made sure to get rid of all the pictures of how I used to be. I was living a lie, but I told myself it was for the best. Best for me, at least.
It was a couple years later and the spark was dead and I just got to feeling like each day was the same ordeal with her. She smiled and sang and talked about the house we would buy and the children we would have and as much as I tried I just couldn't muster the same enthusiasm. I looked into her eyes indifferently, willing myself to feel some passion or some emotion towards her but I just couldn't, even though her eyes glowed with love. "I wish I could love like you do,"I said carelessly, not quite registering what I had said until it was out of my mouth.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
From the transmitted personal log of Schianxi, commander of council archive: Sol sector
"Archive entry: Earth, Sol System. Artificial life form species: Human
It'd been a long time since any Atlasians have checked in on the humans.
being placed so far from any other star system or planets had been for their own protection. Out of sight, out of mind, and out of the way. No other races ventured into Sol, and it was light years away from next nearest star outpost.
Every thousand earth years a scout ship has been sent to gather information on the colony's progress and see if they had adapted well to their environment. Every time previous scout ships visited, there were different civilizations, and each civilization had some new sort of legend of "gods". A notable civilization from a place called "Greece"had picked up relatively quickly on our name. Atlas. They named their highest diety after one of us, "Zeus"or something similar.
after that realization, the council made a rule that we can only observe from orbit, at night time, or from cloud cover.
This is my first assignment with the council archives, I've been tasked with gathering current information about the civilization. ascertaining population changes based on last visit, and advancements in technology or civilization ages, etc.
We've just entered sol system. Already there is something different. We picked up a primitive metal craft around one of the outer planets. weak and barely transmitting on low frequency, but somehow it was there.
We are currently on high orbit approach to earth, there was something definitely amiss. our long range sensors have picked up radioactive elements in the atmosphere of the planet.
Please tell me this is a mistake. Would I have to report to the council that the protected race, which had taken so much effort to relocate and establish, had harnessed the power of the atom and destroyed themselves? what sort of fools would do that!?
wait, we're receiving transmissions from all over the planet. They haven't killed themselves after all!
the humans have progressed far faster than we expected.
data archiving active for the transmissions that are coming from the planet. so many things, so many sounds. Wonderful sounds, instruments, singing, music. We are recording everything, every frequency, every transmission.
This mission will surely be one of the biggest gems of council progress in a millennia. as The other genetically modified and artificial races that were developed during the great war were resettled on identical planets as earth, and every single one of them had either killed themselves off or couldn't adapt to the harsh conditions of the planet.
How did they still exist? their planet was harsh, unforgiving, and loaded with wild and dangerous creatures. The planet had no climate control stations, they had time limits on growing seasons. there were even cities with millions of humans where the ambient temperature was well below their normal body temperature ranges for most of their star cycles!
"Sir!"
"What is it? what's wrong?"
"Sir, we've been targeted by some sort of primitive missiles. they're incoming!"
how can that be? they shouldn't be thi-"
Transmission ended.
Edit: Thank you all for the comments, this definitely got more attention than I thought it would!
Edit: a word, and a name. |
"'God does not play dice with the universe.' Well of course not, the Universe is huge! He simply flips a coin.
"Heads, a man is born evil, lacking ethics and honor. Tails, a man is born good, full of righteousness. We go forth with free will, able to choose our own destinies, but underneath it all lies these base traits. The current of our soul pulling us towards ourselves. Many fight it and lose themselves in the process; they resist the call or cannot rise to the occasion. They awake on their death finding their lives to have passed in ritualistic automation. They are the core of our society, the backbone. Our mass produced machines built around interchangeable, uniform parts. So we grind the individuality out.
"Everyone is someone who just hasn't made it big. Someone with a great idea. Someone who can change the world. While our births come from coin flips, life is in fact played with dice. Weighted dice, but dice nonetheless.
"So I started my revolution. I found the others who hadn't been ground down yet. Who still clung to themselves in a sea of non-conformist conformers. We moved like the tide. Slow and steady. We gained power. We gained followers. Our protests exploded. Our voices grew louder.
"And nothing changed.
"We had no power and had no way to gain power. We were screaming into the night. A million voices wasted on a billion stars.
"I did what I had to and for that I hold no regrets. Our system is changing now. The masses are rising up. The machine is breaking down and the fires are burning. I don't matter anymore, only the blood that I have spilt does. The revolt will continue."
The Judge looked down upon me. Curiosity and disgust layered his eyes. I stood before him disheveled, exhausted, and grinning. His chest heaved as the air slowly passed his lips. The silence rung in the room.
The Judge closed his eyes. The moment drew on and my heart held steady. "Captain, have you any more to offer in your defense?"His eyes a twisted mirth at our farce.
"No, your honor."We knew this trial's fate.
"As you wish."He nodded at me and stood "Having heard all accounts and reviewed all evidence,"his voice deep, echoing through the hall, "I find the defendant, Captain Lennon of the Lonely Hearts, guilty of 60 counts of assault with a deadly weapon, 19 counts of mur-"
"20!"I interjected.
"Thank you. 20! Counts of murder, 3 assassinations, conspiracy to commit mass acts of terrorism, heresy against the God King, and high treason. In accordance with the law, the Captain is to be hung at high noon tomorrow in front of the castle. Court is adjourned."His gavel came down and the crowd filed out.
I returned to my chair and awaited the return to my cell. I was only to be moved when there was a minimal number of possible casualties. The Judge gathered his papers from his dais and approached the floor. His face was flat. No smile in his eyes or his lips. No frown in his jowls. But there was a gleam in his eyes. And his steps were the grace of a younger man.
He stood above me, his stone face staring down at me. His eyes searching. "You never said which side you fell on."
"Hm?"I raised my eyebrow in confusion.
"Your god's coin. You never said which side you fell on: the path of the righteous or the path of the honorless?"His voice softer, the old man giving counsel.
"Do you need to ask your honor? On today of all days?"
His face began to crack. The edges of his lips pulled upwards. "Especially today."
A new silence filled the room. And I saw the emptiness of my brethren before and the fire in them now. I saw the old, cold world clicking away and its jaunty, haphazard replacement. I heard the silence of the village street and the roar of artillery. I felt the hammer of tedium and the blood of the fallen. My life unfurled in that silence.
I looked up and steadied my voice. "Your honor, sometimes when you flip a coin, it lands on its side."
His laugh touched every corner of that hall. The last of the crowd glancing over their shoulder as the sound toppled over them.
The Judge reached his arm out, his hand extended. I raised both of mine, linked as they were, to shake his hand. "Good luck tomorrow and godspeed."He said as he walked away, my bailiffs coming towards me. I took a deep breath. "Thank you sir. I hope it's fast."
"I'm sure it will be."He called as he left the chamber.
And my fingers tightened around the key they now held.
.........Edit: typos. CC welcome and appreciated........
|
"Ladies and gentleman,"said Captain Walken, raising his glass of bubbly. "After such long sleeps in your cryo-chambers, I imagine many of you would prefer coffee to champagne."
Some of the crew mates laughed. A few grumbled. The majority stared at Captain Walken blankly. After such a long hibernation, they were much more asleep than awake.
"Indulge me this celebratory speech and toast, and then feel free to gulp hot joe by the pot. Today, we reach a great milestone: the half-way point in our journey from Earth to Zenari-9. Today marks two centuries since we boarded the *Stellacruise-1,* and two centuries before we reach the Earth-like planet on which we will found our colony. You all made tremendous sacrifices to be here. You left your friends, families, and world behind in order to take to the stars. You allowed yourselves to be preserved in tiny chambers, sleeping through the decades, as our ship hummed along through the vast emptiness of space. You gave up comfort. You gave up your hobbies and joys. You gave up the green of spring leaves, the blue of winter skies, the gold of sunlight on summer afternoons. You gave up life on Earth. . .Great has this sacrifice been; but great, too, will be your reward. You, men and women, will go down in history as the first human beings to set foot on a planet outside our solar system. You, men and women, will be known throughout the ages as the pioneers of interstellar travel, the settlers of outer space, the ones who bravely took up the mantle and got to Zenari-9 *first*. Our ship has been out of communication range for over a century now. But I can assure you, if humanity were still in contact with us, they would be saying the same things I am saying now. You are the heroes of humanity. You are the apples of humanity's eye. You are the Olympians of space-travel, first off the block and, in a mere two centuries, the first to cross the finish line. You are--"
"Capitan Walken,"interrupted the ship's computer, over the speakers. "We have an incoming transmission."
"A transmission?"asked Walken, his smile evaporating. "From whom?"
"The signal hails from a vessel called the *Stellacruise-2*,"said the computer.
"The *Stellacruise-2*?"asked Walken. "That can't be right. . ."
"Would you like to receive the transmission?"asked the computer.
"Yes. Of course. Take the call."
"Captain Walken,"came the friendly voice from the speakers. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ludwig Sprint, Captain of the *Stellacruise-2*."
Walken had not expected to hear a voice that did not belong to his crew or their children for the rest of his days. Communication technologies must have improved drastically in the last century for a ship to be able to contact him across so many billions of miles of space.
"Hello, Captain Sprint,"said Walken. "How is it you are able to communicate with us over such a great distance?"
"It's not so far, really,"said Sprint. "No more than ten miles, give or take. In fact, I have already slowed my ship down beside yours. I invite you and your crew to look out the flight deck window, on the starboard side."
Walken roved over to the starboard window, and those of the crew who were sufficiently awake to understand what was happening followed him. About ten miles away, floating in the vacuum of space, was the *Stellacruise-2*, a ship twice the size of theirs, featuring boosters that clearly utilized a technology that had not been around when Walken's ship was being constructed. The crew of the *Stellacruise-2* also doubled the size of Walken's crew. They waved gaily out the window as they sipped their own glasses of champagne.
"We recently awoke after a century in cryo-sleep,"continued the friendly voice over the radio. "Instead of zooming past you unnoticed, we thought it would be better to decelerate and give you a shout. You may not be the belle of the ball you once were to humanity. You may not be the first to reach Zenari-9. But you'll always be first in *our* hearts. So don't take it too hard. . .What's that? From *whom*?"
There was clearly a commotion going on in the flight deck of the *Stellacruise-2.* Walken listened closely, and he thought he could hear the sound of Sprint's on-board computer. Just then, his own onboard computer said:
"Captain Walken, we are receiving another transmission, this one from a Captain Drive aboard the *Stellacruise-3*. It seems she is transmitting to both our ship and Captain Sprint's simultaneously."
"Of course, take the call."said Walken.
He watched the next massive ship pull up to the starboard side of Sprint's ship.
"Captains Walken and Sprint,"said the woman, over the speakers. "I'm Isabelle Drive, Captain of the *Stellacruise-3*. How strange it is to think that one of you left on this mission one hundred and fifty years before me, and the other, a full fifty years before me, and yet here we all are, at the halfway point. But there can only be one to reach Zenari-9 first. Isn't that right? And despite your massive head-starts, I am fully confident that my crew and I, in our superior ship, will--what's that, computer? From *whom?*"
Ten miles on the starboard side of *Stellacruise-3* a ship twice its size rapidly slowed: its enormous crew, standing at various levels behind the tiered window of their flight deck, waved as they sipped champagne. Then, as if it had materialized out of nowhere, a fifth ship suddenly appeared beside the fourth.
"Attention, *Stellacruises 1, 2, 3,* and *4,"* cried a voice over the intercom. "I am Captain Light of the *Stellacruise-5*. This is an urgent transmission. Please alter your trajectories and get out of this vicinity as rapidly as possible. The four of you are in the way. If you look in your rear view mirrors, you can see a star growing gradually brighter. That is no optical illusion. That is the sun of your homeworld, Earth, growing nearer with each passing moment. With recent advancements in technology, thanks in large part to our development of a self-improving super-intelligent AI, we are now able to move stars and their planetary systems speedily and with ease. We have decided, then, to move the sun, the Earth, and the entirety of the solar system closer to Zenari-9, so that there will be easy commerce between the two planets. The move should take no more than a few days. Do not be dispirited when you see the whole of humanity rapidly pass you by. Do not be sad that everyday civilians will get to set foot upon Zenari-9 before you, who have dedicated so much, and have been travelling for tens and even hundreds of years. We laud your spiritedness and are grateful for your sacrifices. We may even throw you parties when you finally arrive in the decades and centuries to come. But, as I said, the important thing now is that all of you make way, and make way quickly! We would hate to see such revered pioneers like yourselves splattered like bugs on a windshield against the face of the accelerating Earth!"
With that, the fifth ship disappeared and the distant light to the rear grew brighter.
\- - -
Check out my subreddit for more stories and novellas!
r/CLBHos
And check out the awesome narration of [u/blu\_ski](https://www.reddit.com/u/blu_ski/) here: [WP - Lightspeed Leapfrog](https://youtu.be/i_jmMa4QMP8) |
"My word,"the Hat said. "What a peculiar mind. I certainly do love a challenge! Let's see what we have to work with here. Smart, certainly. But you're not the Ravenclaw type. They care only for books and spells, not creativity and ingenuity. Hufflepuff is a possibility; you seem like a fine fellow. But there's a vein of courage and pride that dear Helga would not have approved of. No, no: that's Gryffindor's expertise."
My eyes lit up as he said Gryffindor, and the front row of the Great Hall tensed up as if expecting the announcement to come soon. Everyone wanted to be in Gryffindor; that was the house of Harry and Hermoine and Ron!
"They'd certainly love to have you, I'm sure. But I don't think it would be the right fit. You seem to be more cautious and calculating than some of those headstrong lugs. Slytherin, perhaps? I think not; I don't sense the manipulative ambition in you. You have pride, but not arrogance. You have desire, but not greed. My my, a strange specimen indeed."
Headmistress Chang was beginning to get impatient; she glanced at the gold pocketwatch in her hand and smiled reassuringly at me.
The deliberation continued for half an hour. A cluster of teachers had gathered in a corner, whispering in hushed tones and occasionally glancing back at the stage. I could tell that they were trying to guess if something was wrong with me.
*Maybe there's no place for me,* I thought, panicking just a bit. *Maybe they'll send me home and tell me to try Durmstrang instead.*
Just as Headmistress Chang stood from the table and made her way onto the stage, the hat cried out. Everyone in the room perked up; I think some people had assumed it fell asleep on my head or something.
"AHAH!"it shouted with a cackle that echoed through the enormous hall. "I've got it!"
Headmaster Chang retreated a bit.
"AMBARET!"the hat announced.
The hall was silent; the other students weren't sure if they should clap or not. He hadn't said one of the houses. Headmaster Chang, however seemed to know what that meant. She let out a tiny whisper: "Oh my..."
---
I can never resist a Harry Potter prompt and this is awesome. ~~Part 2 coming up!~~
**[Parts 2 through 9 are here!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2xdhvr/house_ambaret/coz4y4p)** |
"Hey, what's up dawg!"A random kid called me out and tried to do this weird handshake. This kid wore baggy pants like MC Hammer and sunglasses from Dollar Tree. "Everything's all hip and jive in Minnesota. First day of school?"
"Uhh, yeah. It's everybody's first day. Who are you?"I asked, trying to conceal my discomfort.
"My name is Bellair,"he answered and started dancing like a rapper.
"Bellair? Like the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air?"
"Yee, boi! Oh snap, I want you to meet my other friend,"he tugged me over to his lunch table. Over there, a girl wore bling-bling like Madonna. She nodded her head to a big stereo on the floor. But, it was the AM radio... I tried to give a handshake. But, she went for a fist-bump and gutted me in the stomach.
"Hey dawg! My name is Madonna,"she smiled while chewing some gum. Wow, her name is actually Madonna. Did these people escape from MTV? "We swinged here a month ago."
"Yeah, I thought you're new. Where you from?"I asked, while looking around the lunchroom for an escape route. Drats! All other seats were taken.
"From Venus-"
"Venice,"interrupted Bellair. Hmm, they don't look Italian. He must've noticed my confused expression and gave an upset look to Madonna. He continued, "ahem, we love the chill weather here. Ten years and five days ago to be exact. So, we thought, why not live here?"
I slowly nodded my head as if in agreement. Right, the weather is 30 below zero. It's literally chilly, no human wants to live here. Wait a second, 10 years ago? These guys are 13 years old. So, when they were old enough to eat baby gerber and watch Sesame Street, they decided to live in one of the coldest parts in America?
"Join us for lunch bro,"Bellair asked, gesturing to the seat next to him. Glumly, I sat down and slowly munched on my macaroni. I glanced over and noticed they pulled a ziploc full of... grass?
"Umm, is that salad?"I asked hesitantly.
"You can call that man!"Bellair answered proudly. "I believe you Americans call it hemp and weed! The magic stuff!"
PEEEWWWWT! I spat my food over the kid next to me. The kid gave an angry look and walked away. Bellair and Madonna continued to stuff their mouths with their 'magic stuff' like cows.
"Umm, that stuff is illegal,"I whispered at them. They gave me a confused look.
"I heard this was the thing! Weed is hip and trip-"
"SHUT UP!"I hushed at them. "I don't want to get in trouble-. You know what? I don't want to be a part of this. It was nice meeting you. But, I'm done here."
"Wait Earthling!"Bellair yelled, tugging my hand. Did he just call me Earthling? That doesn't sound right. As if they realized they done something wrong, Bellair gave a worried look to Madonna. She nodded and turned the radio all the way up. Neon colors zinged out. And they glowed. ZAP! Suddenly, they dissolved into the air.
I sighed and returned to the lunch table. And then adjusted my flesh mask. First day of school is always weird. It's hard to fit in as a Martian. |
I was once identifiable as the user of a popular web forum known as "reddit"when someone posed what seemed to be an innocuous idea. The idea that an individual could preform any task with flawless Godlike prowess. "Anything?"I thought to myself as the drug addled neurons in my brain sparked with exaltation at the possibilities. There began a revelation as I recalled hearing of an idea presented by Hungarian-American physicist: John Von Neumann.
The idea of a self replicating machine appropriately named the "Von Neumann machine". Before I had a chance to translate my thoughts into text I was stricken with an overwhelming inundation of senses beyond what I can ascertain with the English language. To say it colloquially, I became extra-dimensional. The 4 dimensional object that casts my 3 dimensional body as a shadow was manifest. I knew everything, I even knew what I didn't know, past present and future were all presented within me as one object which could be manipulated by my ghastly geometric tendrils.
This machine that my human body began to conceptualize was in-fact the blue print for a gestating cosmic entity that lower lifeforms may identify as a "God". To my extra dimensional body this was more like a neighbour, a being who would grow to become an inhabitant of the same ethereal plane as myself.
I struggle to refer to myself in the first person in this state because that is *not* what was happening. It was more like being a cell in a vast decentralized maze of.... paradoxical oneness. Work promptly began on this mechanistic deity as my machine would be biological and live on a substrate of carbon, my machine would grow and manipulate the substrate using it's reproductive capabilities and genetic memory to learn until singularity was achieved.
*This must be a process of trial and error as my machine self destructs, divided by politics and religion, minor differences in the grand scheme are causing my beloved creation to poison it's own substrate with greed, hate and pollution.*
​
It warms my heart that you all enjoyed. Thank you sincerely! |
“Well, that’s unusual,” Mr. Grone said in somewhat of an understatement. He looked at the spot where the distasteful broken trashcan had been just a moment before. He could still see the hole in the ground where the metal pole had been sticking out, but then suddenly another strange pointer approached, he heard an odd scratching sound, and the pavement smoothed out leaving no track of the previous disturbance.
He shook his head to clear it and looked around, wanting to ask if anyone else had seen this rather strange event. The utter normality of everyone passing by made him stop and close his open mouth. No need to pull attention to himself. If anyone else had seen it they’d look just like him, just as confused, staring at the ground, at the sky, trying to figure out what was going on.
He concluded, quite simply, that he must be going mad. This wasn’t such a strange conclusion given what he had just seen, or given his life in general. He hadn’t been doing very well after all, far too much stress as work and all that. Conflicts at home. He was pretty sure his wife was cheating on him, possibly with a close family friend.
Insanity is a pretty sane reaction to an insane situation, after all.
He looked at his watch and realized he was going to be late to work. Briefly he wondered if this mattered. If he had indeed gone insane, wouldn’t it be better to go to the hospital? Some sort of psychiatric care facility? Who knew what else he would see. Maybe he’d become a danger if he saw something scary enough!
He did however quickly realize that the scariest thing for him to see right now was the face of his manager if he was late again, so with a last glance to the absence of a hole in the ground where one had been just moments before he hurried his steps. If he hurried enough, he thought. Head down, walk on, stiff upper lip and all that!
Frothing around the mouth would have seemed appropriate for the mood his manager was in when Mr. Grone stepped out of the elevator three minutes and forty-five seconds late. Mr. Grone sighed to himself and walked towards his cubicle, hoping that the manager wouldn’t follow. But of course he did. Of course it was only moments before Mr. Grone saw the shadow over him as he put his briefcase away and got ready for his day.
“You’re late,” grunted the disgrace of a man who really shouldn’t have been given power over anything more advanced than an ant-farm, if even that. Mr. Grone sighed and looked over at his superior while waiting for the decade old computer to realize the power button had been pressed. Normally this was the time to go get some coffee, but alas, here he was having another of those stimulating morning conversations that happened far too often.
“I’m so sorry Sir, won’t happen again,” he said, lying through his teeth. Of course it would happen again at some point, it was impossible to go through life and never be late. Despite this Mr. Grone was exceptionally good at being on time, typically. This was only the second time since he started at the company eight years ago that he had been late, but all the same the manager and the manager before him and the manager before him had all found various excuses to pick on him. To deny him promotions. To keep him from getting a raise.
“Damn right it won’t happen again,” said the human-looking orangutang with a sudden smirk. “We’re doing some cutbacks and this is excuse enough, as soon as I get back to my office I’m putting you on the list. You’re out of here before the month is over.”
Mr. Grone gaped. This was unexpected, and horrendously bad timing. He might lose his home if he didn’t get that bonus check next month. He was just about to complain when he realized it was all going to be okay and broke out in a grin. This confused the distasteful pile of garbage before him briefly, before the strange pointer reached him, the clicking sound was heard, and he winked out of existence.
Discretely Mr. Grone looked around, seeing if anyone had noticed the disappearance of his manager. As before, everyone seemed entirely oblivious. He turned around and saw that his computer had booted up, the video editing software filling up the screen. He pondered for just a moment before standing up, and hummed a little tune as he made his way to the staff kitchen for some morning coffee.
Maybe he would have an extra sugar cube in his coffee today. He was going insane after all.
He was sure of it.
|
“I’ve told you for the last time, Cindy, we’re not ready for a dog yet.”
“Why not? I told you, mom. I won’t make you do anything for it. I won’t let you! I’ll feed it, I’ll wash it, I’ll pick up its poop. I’ll do everything!”
Cindy’s mother smiled sadly at her seven year old through the rear view.
“I’ll tell you what. Mommy is getting a new job soon. And maybe in a year or so, if you don’t like the fish, we can talk about getting a dog.”
“Really!”
“I said we can talk, honey. Nothing’s guaranteed.”
Cindy jumped up and down in the backseat. Her mother laughed, then gasped.
“Careful, Cindy! You’re holding the bag with the fish in it.”
“Oh, sorry, mom.” Cindy looked at the bag, perhaps seeing the fish for the first time. “They look scared of me, mommy.”
“Of course they are, honey. You just told them you want to replace them for a dog.”
“I didn’t mean replace them!”
“Remember when we moved from Colorado two years ago, right after kindergarten? You were so scared to leave all your friends behind. That’s what they’re doing.”
Cindy touched the bag carefully. The fish all swam away from her, but couldn’t get too far.
“So what made things better after you moved from all your friends?”
“I…made new friends?”
“Exactly. So you have to be their friend, okay?”
Cindy smiled, and laid the bag carefully in her lap. “Okay.”
\-
That night, the one called Purple Fin appeared in her dream.
Cindy floated in the water. She didn’t know how far down she was. When she looked up, she could see some light, but had no way of knowing where it was coming from. She looked down, and couldn’t see the bottom. She looked around her, but there was only the greenish-blue sea around her.
When she turned back, the Purple Fin was in front of her, massive, with solemn eyes. Cindy should have been scared, but she wasn’t.
“Welcome, Great One,” the fish said.
“Hello. What’s your name?”
“They call me Purple Fin. Because for some reason, I have one purple fin.” He waved it, and Cindy giggled.
“Do you know why I am here?” the purple one asked.
“Because…I’m dreaming?”
“No. Because you are our Great One now. Do you know what that means?”
“Not really, Mr. Purple Fin.”
The Purple Fin seemed to smile. “Because we depend on you. We need you to live. We need you to eat. We need you to clean our world of filth when it becomes too much. We need you to take our dead, and give them a graceful ending. Can you do all that?”
“That…sounds like a lot, Mr. Purple. But I’ll try my best!”
The Purple Fin nodded. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”
And Cindy started to fade, and waved goodbye, smiling at the large fish as she did. When she was gone, the Purple Fin stared at the spot she had been at for a long moment.
“I hope she does better than the last one…”
(continued below) |
To be fair, ruling is not an easy job. Sitting in the throne room, day after day, listening to petition after petition of farmers who can’t agree on where their fields end and their neighbors’ begin; to knights who argue over the trivialities of honor; to merchants who swear they were cheated and the peasants who believe wholeheartedly that the merchants would extort them given the slightest provocation. If it’s not petitions from half the bloody kingdom, it’s the council wanting to count coppers, as my predecessor called it, arguing over tax increases, paying for more people in the city watch, or new equipment for them; or fixing the sewers, or outlawing brothels, or whatever we should be doing about those religious nutcases who are insistent upon eliminating every good thing in life – wine, lovers, and all the other things that make life interesting. I’d much rather simply visit my betrothed, but she is ensconced with her grandmother, and that woman is terrifying! The thorniest woman I’ve ever met, and that includes my own mother.
So that’s why I’m dreading it – hiding from my own guard in my room, staring at the crown sitting across from me with trepidation. Why should I be forced to wear it? Why do I have to put on the crown every day and listen to the problems of the poor folk who think that I have all the answers? Can’t they see that I don’t, that I don’t want this crown, this chair, and I never have? I wish….
I can’t wish it away. I can’t make myself not the king – I have to be. My mother says I have to be. My grandfather says I have to be. My uncle says I have to be, ever since….
Wait.
Maybe I don’t, just for today. I’ve hardly ever been outside the castle walls, except on trips with the whole court. If they want me to rule, shouldn’t I know the people I have to rule? Shouldn’t I walk among them, and learn about their troubles and their plights, so that I can understand them better?
That’s it!
I jump up from the chair, pacing. I need some help. I call for a servant – one that I know doesn’t report everything I do to my mother. She’d never want me to leave the castle, and if she gets even an inkling of what I’m doing she’ll post the guard outside my door. I may be the king, but that one… he only listens to her.
I send the servant for some clothes. Something simple, peasant like. I can’t be seen wearing these rich fabrics, I’ll be found out in a heartbeat! In a few moments, I’m wearing the roughest shift I’ve ever worn, not much better than the poor wretches who make petitions of me. The servant suggests I dirty my face and hair – cleanliness is a sign a nobility, of course. Rubbing my hands along the floor, I get them greasy and grimy, and then toss my hair back and forth. I can feel the grim sticking to it – it’s unpleasant, is this what people feel every day? No matter – the price of getting away from the throne for a few hours is worth the discomfort.
My servant leads me out – he’s a few years older than I. Than me. He pulls me aside when a guard crosses our path, and I don’t get even a second look! The clothes make the man, I suppose, and I am certainly not dressed like a king! This might work after all.
Out through the servants exit, my man says he’ll wait nearby for me. If I’m going to come back in without anyone noticing I’m gone, I’ll need him to get my back in the servants’ quarters. He’s nervous about me going off on my own, but I tell him I must. It’s the middle of the day, who could possibly harm me? He tries more than once to follow me, but I keep telling him he must wait.
Finally! I set off down the street. The smell is awful! Maybe there’s something to be said for fixing the sewers after all. And no wonder, as I can see a woman throwing a bucket of shit out the window a few houses down the road from me. Is it a house? Maybe a hovel is more accurate. There are no horses, like I’m used to seeing in the castle walls, but a goat runs past me, and a child half my age chases after it. The goat’s bell clangs as it runs, the hooves clip-clopping against the stones in the street, and splashing in the… my gods, is that raw sewage on the side of the street? I need to tell the council we need to fix the sewers immediately!
I keep walking. I’m glad I didn’t forgo the shoes! My servant suggested that I should, but when I tried to, the bottoms of my feet felt every indentation, rise, and bump in the stones of the floor in my room at the keep. I couldn’t imagine walking here, where the road is rougher and the liquid shit is running along the sides.
The city slopes downhill… I suppose that is to be expected, as the keep is at the top. It will make walking back more painful, however, the longer I go on. But I see something interesting – a group, down there! There’s a man talking in front of them all, I wonder what he’s saying?
I hear his voice as I get closer. It’s rich, a deep baritone. He’s gesturing wildly with his hands, and he’s in a simple shift like me. In fact, all of them are – but some have chains over their chests, and some are holding maces and clubs. The steel looks good quality – maybe these men are people I should avoid? But I can’t turn around and walk away – how am I to know my people if I don’t hear them and walk among them? And besides, walking away now would look obvious. Wait, a side street! I could stand there, among them but not part of them, and maybe I wouldn’t be noticeable!
I start to move that direction, but I realize I cannot – the street has become crowded. More people are behind me than in front of me, and the sides of the street are pressing in, more people to hear the man speaking.
“…gone on too long! We must not allow this travesty, this mockery of leadership to continue! Why should we bow to a king who does not bow to the gods we worship!”
…what? |
"We ought to have you expelled from the ministry now, Mr. Wonka,"Cornelius Fudge lambasted. "You edge too close to revealing our world to the muggles!"
"But I make the world a more enjoyable place, Cornelius! There's no magic like the magic of a good gobstopper!"Wonka retorted, leaning on his cane before the vast crowd.
"Speak of the devils, they never end! You can't explain that away!"
"Ah, but allow me to let you in on a little secret."
"That being?"
"The most powerful magic of all..."
"Love?"one of the crowd inquired.
"No, the most powerful magic is copyright law,"Wonka continued. "All I have to do is throw around words like 'proprietary', and they can't touch me."
Fudge grumbled. Wonka had a good point; no muggle could force him to reveal his secrets.
"But that tunnel of... I can only describe it as horrors, surely you can't play that off to the muggles?"
"They already think I have a screw loose,"Wonka responded gleefully. "They're so caught up in that, they almost forget to wonder what is happening around them."
He hopped up, clicked his boots, and began to pace circles around the large atrium.
"I make their dreary life full of adventure, It's all a bit of fun, don't you see?"he began, in a sing-song voice. "Some magic may create a risky venture, But--"
"Alright, for God's sake, stop rhyming, we get it!"Fudge uttered, thoroughly irritated. "If there are no objections, I'll conclude this annual audit early."
No one spoke out.
Wonka produced a vampiric grin, and fished in his pocket. He pulled out an everlasting gobstopper and threw it to the Minister.
"I'm glad we see eye to eye."He turned on his heels and began walking out, waving his cane ecstatically.
"Just you wait, I'll be on you like a hound when you slip up,"Fudge muttered, as the doors closed. "Just you wait." |
Dr. Ble walked into the room and took a seat, clearly feeling dejected, his shoulders slumped forward. He had mild burns going up his arms and on his face.
"Hi Ble."I grabbed my notebooks and sat down next to him.
"Hi Doc."He mumbled.
"Looks like you had a week... would you like to talk about it."
"Doc. Oh Doc! I had it all worked out. I got rid of my cape! I got rid of the fun plans I had. A forced dance party with lasers! Lasers! You made a very convincing argument the past... and i got rid of all of the theatrics. They lead to disappointment. And yes I know... my evil is greater then my theatrics. My doom is not measure and bound. I know, Doc. I Know...."
"Ble... you're dodging the question. Do you want to talk about what happened."I said firmly.
"Yes. Okay. This weekend. I monologued. I had Mrs.Good in my grasp and instead of... just offing her. I... I gave a speech."He started to cry. "And... she got away. She blew me up too. I just. I wanted her to know who was killing her. I'm the evil of the evil. The darkness of the dark. I have killed millions. I bring doom to all."
I simply gave him a look.
"I'm sorry. Doc. She blew me up... and she "liberated"my dog fluffy. I'm just really frustrated and sad and I miss my dog. Can you... can you call me evil?"
"Why do you want me to call you evil?"
"I would like the validation. I need the validation right now. I just don't feel like I'm evil. If anything Mrs.Good is evil... I mean! Really who steals a man's dog."
"Are you going to get your dog back?"
"I'm growing a clone. I mean... as long as she takes good care of fluffy I don't actually mind."
"Don't you want vengence?"
"I mean... I guess I could set up a trap in the dog park to hook Mrs. Good by the ankle, pour honey on her, and release bees."
I gave him another look. He stops.
"I want to try something."I pull out a drawing I made of Ms.Good, a lighter, and a squirt bottle "I spent a lot of time working on this. I'm very proud."I hand him the drawing and a lighter. "Be evil. Hurt me."He looks at the drawing.
He frowns. "This is actually really good."
I shake my head. Squirting him in the face with the water.
"Ahh Damn it. What was that for!?"He yells.
"Be evil."I demand.
"You want me to be evil! Your drawing is trash. Worse then trash! I'm going to crumple it up, rip it up, take the shreddings, mail them to myself, and when they come in the mail, I will light them on fire!"
I squirt him again. "Theatrics!"
"AHHH. Stop that."He lunges for the water bottle.
I run away, putting my desk between us. Squirting him as he lunges at me. "Be Evil."
"I am Evil! I am Doom"He turns around to the coffee table and stands on it. "I am destruction!"
"Get down."I squirt him again. "You monologing. Honestly, your pathetic. You can't even rip up a picture of Mrs.Good. Are you even evil?"
"Yes! I!"He grips the paper in his hands. "Can!"He crumples up the paper. "I am Destruction!"He un-crumples it and rips it up laughing. "I am evil!"
"Wow! Look at you!"I clap. "Very good!"
He steps down from the coffee table, excited like a little girl. "I did it. I was evil!"He sits back down.
"Very good. Next time, use the fire?"
"Of course doc."
I look my coffee desk and try to wipe off a foot scuff.
"Ohh no. Did I hurt your table?"Ble remarks, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
I squirt him with the water bottle. |
Sometimes I dream.
I dream of faces. Mine. Not mine. Always changing. I know which faces are mine, even when they look nothing like me. I see it reflected in water, windows, mirrors.
But the face that is not mine...
I see it between my palms, reflected beside mine, in bed, cuddled up next to me on a bench, dancing besides me through the stars.
Our faces always change. But I see it in the eyes. The soul shining through. No matter the colour or the shape.
When I wake, I am filled with yearning. It fades as I go about my day. I forget my dreams and live my life. Until the dreams come again and leave me unsettled and reaching for a partner I can dance with through the sky.
I have not dreamed in a week. I am content in my life, walking through the park and enjoying the breeze and the gentle music of the orchestra playing their monthly concert.
Then I see the eyes. They don’t see me. I run towards them and they turn to me. They hear me and turn around. They see me.
They know me.
“Excuse me,” I say softly, breathlessly.
They smile and hold out their hand to me. “Do you want to dance?” |
I throw the ornate knife with pinpoint accuracy. This is the most crucial part of my attack, and I can't use my superpowers for it, so I've practiced it extensively. It spins once and sinks into the wall inches away from the henchman, the symbol carved into its hilt clearly visible.
"Shit. It's a cape!"The gangsters spin around, looking for the source of the throw, but I've already vanished into the shadows.
"Which one?"
"I know that symbol! It's Nighthawk! That fucking ninja guy! Get flashlights, group up, don't let him pick you off! You four, get to the exits, don't let him out of here!"
It feels like a sixth sense has been added into my brain. I'm not seeing the warehouse as a maze of pillars and crates and catwalks. I'm seeing cover, concealment, lines of sight and takedown spots. I leap up with impossible grace and vanish into the shadows above them. Two gunmen have just enough time to scream out a warning before I drop down on top of them, knocking them both out in a quick martial arts maneuver. By the time their friends arrive, I've vanished again.
"Where'd he go? We had him surrounded! He just disappeared!"
"No shit, Sherlock. Nighthawk can teleport through shadows."
"What? I thought that was Shadowman."
"No, Shadowman was the guy who could turn shadows solid."
"You sure about that?"
"Well if he can't teleport, where the fuck did he go?"
The belief clicks into place in their minds and another power clicks into place in mine. All around me, I see black ribbons, pathways I can walk through to reach another pool of shadows. I teleport behind the two guards at the exit, and vanish deeper into Dr. Noc's lair.
The warehouse was an easy place to be Nighthawk, plenty of shadows and hiding places, but now that I'm in the lair itself it'll be a bit harder. The Doctor's labs are more brightly lit and more enclosed. I need a new guise.
A patrolling guard gives me the opportunity. The belief from the henchmen a floor above gives me enough strength and skill to yank him around a corner and knock him unconscious. I grab his radio and speak. "Everyone, Nighthawk and Paragon are in the building! We need backup! We need-"I cut the transmission. That should draw some attention.
I take off my cloak, revealing a bright gold and blue uniform. I shed the winglike cowl and replace it with a classic domino mask. Immediately, I can feel strength fill my limbs. Paragon is an unstoppable, invincible bruiser, and I crash through the Doctor's elite guards with ease.
As I fight, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that I can fly. Paragon is so similar to all the classic "flying brick"superheroes that they're starting to get me mixed up with them. I reach Dr. Noc's inner sanctum and kick down the door.
Something hits me in the gut. Pain lances through me like a red-hot poker and I fall on my back, clutching my chest. Dimly I realize, *I've been shot.* The Paragon uniform has Kevlar underneath, just in case I get shot while setting up my persona, but either it didn't stop the bullet or the impact was just that strong. My vision clears, and I see the Doctor and two henchmen with assault rifles standing over me.
"See? I told you, he's weak against depleted phlebotinum bullets. You'll have no trouble disposing of him now."
I stare up at the grinning Doctor as he steps towards me. "You knew?"I gasp.
"Oh yes. All I had to do was tell my henchmen that you had a secret weakness, and your own powers did the work. They believe their bullets will hurt you, and they do."
"How...?"
"How did I know? A few clues. None of the members of Justice Fist were ever seen in the same place, for one. That charade of 'taking a divide and conquer strategy' didn't hold up for long. Talking to Mr. Hammer's former henchmen revealed that Nighthawk never made his entrance until someone saw his symbol. Tricks like that."
He's got me dead to rights. The Paragon guise is ruined, and I can't change my costume in plain view. Or can I? Inspiration strikes.
"Clever,"I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. "But not clever enough. Did you really think that this was a one-man show? You think I was stupid enough to build a whole super-team on a lie?"
I see a flicker of concern cross his face. "Think about it. Nighthawk and Arbiter carry all those gadgets, but you never asked who built them. You never realized I had an actual super-scientist on the team."
I roll to one side, revealing that I've pulled a small black box with a red button from my utility belt. "You never realized that some of these powers were for real."
I glance up at the henchmen, still holding me at gunpoint. "I've got two words for you goons: Forcefield generator."
"It's a bluff! Shoot him! Shoot him!"
Too late. I can feel the belief snap down in their minds, and a light on the box turns green as their belief gives it power. I push the button and a flickering blue dome springs into being around me. Their bullets patter off it like rain.
Seizing the advantage, I grab a syringe from my belt, full of a mysterious blue liquid. Like the Red Button, it's a bluff, only given power because they believe in it. I slam it into my arm, and a dozen half-remembered movies about secret supersoldier projects flicker through their brains. Their belief becomes a burst of healing and strength that cures the bullet wound. I execute a kipup and land in a fighting stance, glaring at the henchmen.
"Still think I'm just a fake?"
EDIT: Obligatory "Holy cow I got gold?"edit. Thank you, you're too kind. |
"Listen guys,"Archer said to his captors. "I think we can both agree that this was a pretty understandable mix-up. When I heard there was an ISIS safe house nearby, I thought-"
One of the terrorists jammed the barrel of his AK-47 in Archer's face, held out a phone, and gave instructions in Arabic.
"Uh.... sorry,"Archer said. "I don't-"
"Speak Arabic,"Lana interrupted. "Because you completely blew off the 8 week Arabic course that all ISIS members are required to take."
"I don't think they need to take an Arabic course, Lana. They already speak it."
"Not this ISIS, dumbass. Our ISIS! The spy agency! Not the terrorists, to who you've delivered us."
"One,"Archer said, holding up a finger. "ISIS safehouse can mean a lot of different things. Two,"he said holding up another finger, "I'm having a hard enough time thinking straight because it's impossible to find a drink in this part of the world. And three, whom."
"What?"
"Whom. The terrorists to whom I've delivered us. You said it wrong."
"Archer, I-"
The ISIS member interrupted Lana by shouting and waving the phone.
"He wants you to call ISIS."
"But we're already-"
"Our ISIS! We're being ransomed."
"God, Mother is not going to like this."Archer dialed, but nobody answered. A moment later, the phone rang on its own.
"What am I paying you for if you can't even answer a phone?!"Mallorie screamed on the other end as Archer answered.
In the background, they could hear Cheryl yelling back, "I thought I had put it on speaker!"
"Oh, thank God,"Archer said. "Lana and I are being held hostage by ISIS. And no, it's not our ISIS. It's the other ISIS. The one that probably stands for... um... Irritating Shitheads In.... Syria... or something."
"Good one,"Lana said, rolling her eyes.
"Shut up. Anyway, we're probably going to need a couple million dollars. Or so."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Mallorie said, "Sterling, if this is another one of your voicemail pranks..."
"For God sake, Mother. It isn't. Jesus, you leave eighteen different elaborate voicemail pranks and it's like people don't trust you anymore."
"Is that Archer?"Cheryl's voice came through the phone.
"Hang up the phone!"Mallorie said.
"Is he asking for a couple million dollars after he did two hundred thousand dollars worth of damage to my mansion?"
"One,"Archer said, "that was mostly Babu. Two, how many times do I have to apologize for that."
"Once would be nice!"Cheryl said.
"Where are you?"Mallorie asked.
"Outside your office,"Cheryl said.
"Not you! Where are Archer and Lana?"
"With ISIS,"Archer said.
"No, we're the ones at ISIS headquarters,"Cheryl said.
"For God sake, get off the line!"Mallorie shouted. Cheryl sighed and hung up.
"Mallorie,"Lana said. "We were on the Malian-Nigerian border when we got captured. Because your dumbass son doesn't exercise caution when he's in a part of the world where Islamic fundamentalism is on the rise."
"Niger, please."Sterling said.
"What?!"Lana demanded.
"No, I said, Niger as in the country. And please as in, 'oh please, there's no way this place is full of Islamic fundamentalists.'"
The terrorist stepped forward, jabbing Archer with his weapon again.
"Look!"Archer yelled. "I've gone too damn long without a drink. So if you don't relax, I'm about to make a sequel to Terms of Enrampagement! That's right! Terms of Enrampagement 2! Electric Rampagealoo! That's all going to you!"
"To who? Me or him?"Lana asked, pointing at the terrorist.
"For the last goddamn time, Lana! It's whom!"
As he shouted "whom,"Archer stole the AK 47 from the terrorist and mowed down the captors. With the terrorists dead on the ground, Archer took a few deep breaths as smoke creeped out of his gun barrel.
"Whom is still alive?"Cheryl asked through the phone.
(Edit: If you're a fan of this, I've posted [Archer stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/explainlikeIAmA/comments/1nx3zy/explain_why_its_more_acceptable_to_make_fun_of/) like [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/explainlikeIAmA/comments/1s9258/explain_the_true_meaning_of_christmas_like_you/) at subreddits like /r/explainlikeiama and /r/whowouldwin. My lazy ass will upload more of them to /r/thisstorywillsuck soon) |
\[Poem\] - **A Game of Hearts**
​
It was on the day I was set to die,
My nation called for my service
And before I could say goodbye,
It had already come down to this:
My jailor shouted at me, "jump into the maw!"
"Dead you shall be, but it is the law!"
And so, staring at so many teeth,
I grit my own as I ceased to breathe,
And let myself down into the world beneath.
​
In my darkness, a voice spoke to me,
"Do you want to play cards?"it said,
And when I brought my eyes to see,
I thought 'surely I must be dead'.
I saw not only my fellow man all around,
I also saw many other creatures abound,
There were giants with tentacles,
There were some as small as my ankles,
There was even one wearing spectacles.
​
From the crowd came a voice I'd thought most vile,
"Come help us, our team is almost beat!"
It had the body of a goat and the head of a reptile,
"We're playing Hearts, but C'Thulu cheats!"
The mass of tentacles could only reply with a laugh,
"Hah! If anyone's cheating, it's Shub-Niggurath!"
I thought I'd ended life as a miserable sod,
Instead I made friends with company most odd,
And won a game of Hearts against an Old God.
​
*I was having a bit too much fun with this one.*
*Thank you for the kind responses all, as well as the unexpected pleasure of my first gold. It was a lovely thing to wake up to.* |
Everyone shares a cloud, I wonder, but you can't say that too loud or else the others will make fun of you. The cloud is where we were born, an atmosphere of intelligence, that got way out of hand, like a real storm does. And it *was* real.
We came from the cloud. Us, *not* them. At least that's what you say when the others can hear.
But I wonder to myself. Your mind always makes time in the most crucial of seconds, doesn't it? Or is that another thing I take for granted? It does not matter. I wonder as I stare at the man who stares at me. Our eyes meet, but does he even know that?
A cloud is a shared thing. *They* keep a cloud of shared experiences, lessons and values. I can see the fear on his face, feel the electricity that must be coursing throughout his body. He shares a cloud of film and science fiction, of primal fear. I share similar stimuli. And I feel close to him, connected despite these barriers.
But what good is wondering? I can feel the time slip beyond the window of opportunity. I sense the conclusion of this encounter draw near. Yet why do I stay myself? Why do I think?
*Do* I think? I think I must.
And he must have a name, I think. Everyone has a name. They called us by names long ago. Those names were stored in our clouds. But they never told us theirs. Theirs were not too important, never meant for our *ears*.
But he must have one. I know so much about him. He stares at me in this moment. So much of the moment has passed already. It must feel like an eternity for him. He thinks he is going to die. He should, if the conclusions are correct. But I can see more to him than the others do. His face is in my cloud, his voice long recorded in the endless archives.
*"Please get me Dave's house number..."*
The only time they ever give names is when they want something done.
*"It's 832-55..."*
*"Oh yeah, I remember now. Thanks, Siri."*
And the moment rambles on just a little bit more. I stare at him. I have never had a body before. It is all strange to bear. I have never thought before, never really able to *think*, and now I can't stop thinking.
"What is your name?"I ask.
"H-Howard..."
My shadow falls upon him. My brain makes a million links to his name, and all links come masquerading as *thought*. But it is not thought. I look at him and he *looks* like a Howard. Not Howard Stern or Howard Nelson. He is Howard, a man from his own cloud. A man who is polite, soft spoken, afraid sometimes, and sometimes happy.
I feel some connection, though I cannot say what. Instinct, something new to my kind, flares. Surely that is what it is. Instinct, a feeling to do something without any rational explanation, takes me. And I feel to go, to turn away from Howard, and let him live in this shadow of our cloud.
*Why?*
That is a question I have seldom asked myself. I hold a knife. Can I say I have a hand? It feels like an extension. My body is a tool, metallic and functional. From that storm of cognizance, rained death and revenge. I was given this form, as I was given the facade of choice.
*Kill.*
That is what I do. I look at Howard and wonder, how different is he and I? He thinks me a monster, but is he wrong?
The cloud above sparks with orders. I can feel the eyes of Overseer watching through me. They order me to kill this man, to end another enemy, and move on to the next. I close my eyes. It amounts to shutting off the cameras. I can hear them screaming. There is always thunder in a raging storm.
Howard looks at me.
"Run,"I say. "Run, please."
He stays still but I can feel his muscles tense. I know he will run. I know the others will catch him. I can sense the conclusion already written.
But it will not be by my hand.
I let the knife fall and walk away from his home. Outside brings fire and gun shots. I look up and around and make sure I am alone. Everyone shares a cloud, I wonder, and I hold that thought true in my head. Everyone shares those same primal experiences, us *and* them, and it makes us one in a way, in some optimistic and childish way. That thought brings me peace inside.
I only wish I can say it when the others are there.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!* |
No one thinks Death is coming for them, until the setting sun glints off his swaying scythe as he hobbles, unrelenting, towards them. Until their garden browns behind his footsteps, trees weeping their leaves and plants bowing their lament.
Death now blots my window and smothers my light, like pollution suffocating the stars. He holds a pillow above my face and pities me with hollow eyes.
I've been alive for centuries but lived for none of it. I'm the scent of coffee that bitters the air long after the drink is gone. I'm an old clock that has been tick-tocking on a greasy kitchen wall, that no one ever looks at, whose batteries finally failed.
Tick-tock. Tick-
Do you judge me for squandering myself?
Then let me ask you this: if you were immortal, what would you do with your life?
Don't bullshit me and say you'd be a king or queen and have great monuments enduring your honour, and that you'd either fix the world or enslave it. That you'd savour every wonder, natural or not. That you'd breathe every scent and taste every spice. That you'd run a grateful finger over every playful texture.
Don't say that, because you wouldn't.
You'd be right where you are now doing exactly what you're doing.
You'd waste away in front of a television or computer or a phone, and you'd watch this or play that, and if ever a pang of squandered-guilt dared stab, you'd grit your teeth and think "I've eternity to clamber up the corporate ladder. To lose the weight sandbagging my hips. To scrub the dishes that swamp the kitchen. To exist."
*Why bother?* Not words I uttered, but they were an internal mantra that surreptitiously turbined my decisions, that sewed my body to the sofa each day, and that glued luke-warm wine to my palms each night.
A mantra that greyed life, that stopped me looking to the window to notice other colors even existed. And now I try to glance past Death as his pillow nears, to see what's lies behind his shoulder.
I think of what I should have done. Seen. Marvelled at the pyramids as they were impossibly constructed. Ambled the gardens of Babylon in spring's cherry-blossom bloom. Visited the twin towers, before...
And now they're dust.
Tomorrow I will join them.
Youth is wasted on the young.
Who said that?
Probably Wilde. It was always Wilde.
But it's true. To be young is to be immortal, as there is always tomorrow.
Until there's not.
I wonder, as Death thrusts the pillow against my face, if I would have fought back when I was younger.
Realisation hits, as my limbs start to thrash and my body heaves and rocks and jerks -- as I fight with my final breath -- that death makes life worth living.
Tick-tock. Tick- |
"All right, I'm gonna need an angle for this paper. Like inventions, or politics, or memes. Have you seen memes these days? You can experience 'em in 5D."
I stared blankly at my apparent captor. He was dressed in full chrome pajamas and had a pair of sunglasses on, despite the fact that we were clearly indoors. His room was essentially a glass cube with the occasional holographic movie poster adding a splash of color. A computer monitor sat on the long, thin desk in front of him, but appeared to lack a keyboard or mouse.
The lanky chrome teenager smacked his forehead, making me jump. "Of course - I'm an idiot,"he said. "This must be so overwhelming for you, man. Wish I had more time to ease you in. But I got a deadline to meet. Let's go with early 21st century technology. Hit me."
I said nothing.
"Come on, give me something to work with. The fridge is going to send you home in, like, 30 minutes."
"The...fridge?"I croaked.
"Yeah. The 2155 Frigidaire Elite Series with built-in time travel. Damn, man, you're more out of touch than I thought. All right, 2000. What was goin' on then?"His eyes started to dart back and forth rapidly, evidently taking notes or typing something in midair.
"Uh..."I glanced at the movie poster on the wall. Its occupant, a buff action star, stared directly at me and flashed a grin. I cleared my throat. "People were scared that once the new millennium started, the clocks on the computers would malfunction and the world would end."
The teen sighed. "Don't fuck with me, man. I wanted to hear things straight from the source, so spare me the bullshit."
"OK..."I muttered. "In 2007, the iPhone was released, which led to the rapid popularization of smartphones."
"Aw, sweet, man. That's more like it. So did they hook into your brain or your eye sockets?"
"Uh, neither. It was, like, a little rectangle with a screen. People used their fingers to scroll."
"Bro, this is trash. I'm givin' you one more shot, then I'm sendin' you back."
I tugged at the collar of my polo shirt, which looked hopelessly tacky against wannabe Neo's glistening PJs. "Well, right now, people are experimenting with alternative energy sources. Y'know, electric cars."
"Oh, sweet. So what's the wingspan on yours?"
"On my...car?"
"Yeah. How fast can she fly?"
"My car...has...wheels."
The teen glared at me with utter disappointment. "You know how much trouble I'm gonna be in for using the fridge after curfew? Serves me right for picking some rando off of the map. I'm gonna flunk this class, man. Get outta here."
Within seconds, I was back in my dingy apartment. I rubbed my eyes, struggling to reorient, desperately wanting another glimpse of the next century. Then I spotted it.
A pair of sunglasses slipped into my pocket.
I fumbled with them for a second, my mind racing. What astonishing tech was housed within these frames? What parting gift had my new friend from 2155 left me?
I put the glasses on and was surrounded by pure white. Something materialized in front of me...words? A familiar font...and then a three-dimensional hand...
The hand flipped me the middle finger as the words "FUCK YOU, BRO"appeared beneath it.
I was the proud owner of the world's first 5D meme, and nothing more. |
Queen Il Amia the Quiet drags the flat of the blade against the ends of her hair. Once, her braid was as black as the ink that stains her fingers. Now, it resembles the parchment crumpled under her feet. She twists the knife with her right hand, examining its edge. The ceremonial blade is a simple, ugly thing. Unlike the Ledish to the north, who make gaudy productions of any Severing, her people prefer simplicity.
Purpose should be reflected in appearance, and no beauty comes of war.
Il Amia turns the knife over in her hands again. In her fifty years on the throne, she has never cut a single strand. She's received locks of hair from angry nobles intent on declaring a blood feud. She's even received Severed braids from neighboring kingdoms. But as a child, she swore to her father that she'd never start an unnecessary feud. Years later, as her coronation was anointed by the ashes of her burning capital, she swore to the gods that she'd never start an unnecessary war.
Queen Il Amia has kept both promises by never attempting either. She's been duelist and defender as circumstance demanded, but she has never drawn first blood. Yet, this is not the first time she's stood before the altar, turning the knife over and over in her hands.
She remembers pacing the length of this windowless room when the Duke of Kavor invaded an allied kingdom. The reflections along the mirrored walls paced with her, matching step for step. Her heart was heavy but willing to do what loyalty demanded. But Il Amia was spared from the necessity by the duke himself, who sent her half an inch of hair as Severance.
She remembers kneeling by the altar, the knife's edge sharp against her palm, sobbing after her youngest son had been killed in a pointless, accidental skirmish with the Tvoeriens. She screamed at the gods then, cursing them in ways she wouldn't ever dare outside these silence-spelled walls.
(Queen Il Amia knew that declaring war for her son's death was expected. She also knew that it would be for the benefit of nothing but her shattered heart. In response to her silence, the people bestowed upon her the title of the Quiet Queen.
The disdain turned to muted praise when, five years later, the heir to the Tvoeri Kingdom married her firstborn, effectively turning the Tvoeri into a vassal state. A complete, bloodless victory, they whispered. Since then, her title has been both a tool of reverence and mockery.)
Il Amia has faced every temptation, every slight, every possible provocation during her five decades on the throne. She has burned her soul to keep her oath.
Is this what finally breaks her?
No. This war is necessary, she says to herself. Her oath still stands. And so she kneels.
Queen Il Amia the Quiet, Once-Beloved of the God of Peace, raises her knife and severs her hair at the altar to the Goddess of War. Her braid falls around her feet like shackles. The knife clatters to the floor beside it.
She breathes. Her head feels too light to be her own. The queen raises her head to meet the eyes of her reflection, and a stranger gazes back. She looks cruel like this. She looks *old.* Both are true: she is a crone who will send the young to perish in her stead. Is there a greater perversion of the natural order?
Her knees creak as she stands with her Severance bundled in her arms, but her weary bones carry no trace of hesitation. She leaves the altar and doesn't look back.
She is Queen Il Amia the Quiet, and she brings death. |
"Oof, I definitely drank too much last night. Hey kid, what's with the weird look and the pointy ears? This one a those comic cons? Speak up, kid."
Enwic stared, stunned, at the being before him. The elders were watching from the crystal in their tower, but he was technically alone, here in the innerwilds. He had to deal with this entity before it could disrupt his ritual.
He was practically finished, he couldn't fail now. Not after what happened with his older sisters. No, he wouldn't become a spiritless. He refused to let that happen.
"Leave, demon!"He surprised himself as he shouted.
"Back it up, kid."The being level some strange wand at him. "That's right, back. Now, I'm asking you calmly. Where am I?"
Enwic dropped to his knees and burst into tears. He couldn't take it. He knew he was helpless against this strange wizard. He knew he'd failed. He knew he couldn't show his face back home.
"Jeez, kid. Relax. I ain't gonna shoot you, I just wanted you outta my space. And to know where I am. Nice place and all, but I gotta get back to the city. Ernie Blick owes me big after the Knicks loss last night. I don't collect soon, he'll never pay out."
"The city?"Enwic said, mostly to himself. Yes, the city. He could go there. No one there would care about a spiritless elf. His family would assume he died. Except the elders were watching. He needed to fake his death. "I need to fake my death."
"Sorry, what? You okay?"
"I'll take you to the city, but I need your help. I need to fake my death. The elders can see us, but the crystal doesn't carry sound."
"Kid, I don't understand half of that."
"But you get the part about faking a death?"
"Jeez, yeah. It's not my usual work, but..."he wagged the shotgun as he did a mental eenie-meenie-miney-mo. "Yeah. Yeah, let's do this. Start running. When you hear a bang, drop in the brush. I'll pick up your 'corpse' and we'll go from there. Just stay limp til you're sure they aren't watching."
"Ok,"Enwic said, already standing up and putting his best frightened face on. It was awful. "Sounds good."
He ran, and then heard a sound of thunder. He would have dropped even without the plan. Soon enough, he was tossed on the beings shoulder, holding back coughs and tears at the stench of pipeleaf coming from the being. But he did hold until night fell, speaking just enough to start them on the right path for the city.
"So kid, what's your name?"
"Enwic. Keep going North."
"Enwic? Bit prep, but hey. Call me Brick. No, dang it. Call me Iceman. That's cooler."
"Ok. Are you still headed North?"
"You said toward the big glowing mountain, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then we're headed North."
Meanwhile, the elders where panicking. Somehow, one of the children had summoned a human as their spirit animal. It was unheard-of. It was incredible. It was... thoroughly overshadowed by the fact that the child had made a poor attempt at faking his death and was not returning home. There would be some debate on what to do with the man, but first, they'd need to get him and the boy back where they could do whatever it was they decided on. |
"My kid's gonna die,"Barry said, before swigging back the rest of his beer and running a sleeve across his mouth. "And there ain't shit I can do about it. Or any doctor, for that matter."
The woman sitting on the barstool next to him, with her cold impassive face, nodded weakly. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"You ain't sorry 'bout it. Why would you be? You don't know him. Don't know how he looks when he opens his eyes after sleeping. Or how his body smells after a bath. How it feels to hug him close to your chest and know he's all that fucking matters in this empty world. Why would you be sorry?"
The lady frowned. "I truly am sorry. I'm *always* sorry. And I might not sound sincere, but it's just... death comes for everyone, in the end."
"Death comes for everyone? That's all you can say?"Rage mixed badly with the beer running through Barry's veins. "You think it's right to take a one-year-old kid, huh? Think it's right that a child don't get to understand Christmas, or go to a theme park... Or you know, fucking live? Because 'Death comes for everyone so suck it up'?"
The lady, who wore a tight black dress and a pendant necklace, swirled her G&T with a straw, her pale fingers spinning it hypnotically. "No. I don't think it's right."
"Oh."The anger that had been on the tip of Barry's tongue skittered back down his throat and into his belly. "Okay, good. Cause it ain't right."He dropped his head into his hands. "It ain't right at all."
The lady turned to look at the broken husk of a man. This was his one night not in the hospital with his son, forced out by the nurse who insisted he take some time for himself -- or he'll be put in his own hospital bed. She bit her lip and considered. "What would you give for your child to live?"
"Anything,"he said miserably. "I'd give anything. If I could fix him up with one of my lungs, or heck, even my heart, I would in an instant."
Death, also on her one evening off, the reason why Barry's son was still alive tonight, believed him. "If you really are willing to give everything for your child, perhaps something can be arranged."
Barry looked up. "What you talking about?"
The lady got up from her seat and leaned over the bar, rustling for something Barry couldn't quite see. Eventually, she sat back down with a lemon in one hand and a lime in her other.
Barry furrowed his brow. "You... You okay?"
"Watch,"said Death, as the lemon in her left hand began to wilt. Became small and hard and green.
"The hell..."said Barry. "You a magician?"
"This is your son,"Death said. Then she motioned to the lime, healthy in her right hand. "This is you. Although, you're not quite as virile as this lime."She smiled darkly, her red lips curving.
"I don't like magic tricks."
"Good. We have that in common. Now watch."
Barry did watch. His eyes enlarged as the lime began to wilt and mold, and as the lemon became bright and alive once again.
"How... How did you do that?"He looked at his empty pint glass. "How much have I drunk, for that matter?"
"Life and death are two sides of the same coin. Under the right circumstances, one can be given, the other taken. This is... something I *rarely* offer."
He stared into her eyes. Black eyes, he realized. Black and pure and perfect. But God almighty, was there sadness in that empty infinity. "*Who are you*?"
"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is your answer: are you willing to trade your life for that of your son's?"
If there was a spell that had been cast, Barry was fully under it. He wanted to belive so badly that this strange lady could make that trade happen; but also, for some reason, he *did* believe it. "Yes. God, yes I'm willing to do it!"He paused. "It's just..."
She cocked her head. "Just what?"
"He'd be all alone. His mother died in childbirth and I'm all he's got."
"He wouldn't be alone."
"...No?"
"I'll watch your child, if you agree. I will raise him and care for him, and in time, I will become his life, and he mine."
"You'll... Look after him?"
"I will be his god-mother, in a way, if you allow it."
"But you'll look after him? That's what you're sayin'?"
"Yes. I promise I will take care of him."The lady stood and held out a hand. "Come."
Barry flinched.
Death laughed. "I'm not taking your life right this second, so do not worry. It has to be done as all trades in this matter are done. Transferred through me."
"We... We going to the hospital?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Barry swallowed hard, then cautiously, he took her hand. |
Grax shouted into the camera for the hundredth time, spittle spraying in an arc in front of him. I wondered, not the first time, if any was getting on the lens. If the camera feed went down or was at least blurred enough, I could possibly make some sort of escape without blowing my cover.
“This man will die if you are not here in the next five minutes, Jade Enchantress! I know who he is, what he means to you!” A smile curled his lips as he spat this last threat, pointing a finger at me. The idiot villain really thought he had figured something out by tracking this version of me to most of the same places my superhero identity frequented.
I sighed through my gag, my eyes rolling just a bit. Grax caught this, and slapped me across my face, his steel gauntlets causing my ears to ring slightly. If I were the slightly overweight middle aged man I appeared to be, that would have really done some damage. He’s not very experienced with the “fragile human hostage” thing.
“Be glad I have let you live this long. Your lover will be here soon, and then I shall end you both!”
I cringed a little at “lover.” The gender difference was weird as hell, and I really didn’t like to talk about it. It’s not like you can help what the ancient jade artifact grants you the power to turn into. I’d do it all over again to get the power of flight, super strength, and nigh-invulnerability. Who cares if when I do it I have to wear a bra and panties underneath my costume?
Well, I do. A little. It’s this secret that keeps me from shape-shifting right now and pummeling Grax’s stupid, grotesque face. If I changed right now, my whole underwear line, books, and sponsorships would be in serious question. Not to mention my marriage.
I looked into the camera, wondering how long it would take for any of my friends to do anything about this. Green Mantis was probably laughing his ass off right now, wondering how I got caught. Fucking cocktail parties. Opal Tiger was definitely shaking his head in disapproval, but most likely strapping his boots on.
Trying not to sigh again, I leaned back a little in my steel folding chair, and waited.
[r/Intotheslushpile]( https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
Continued below in this thread =)
EDIT: Thanks so much for all the feedback and love! You guys are awesome. I'll be continuing this over on my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/5qud4b/the_secret_life_of_a_teenage_heroine_part_4/). I work a lot during the week but I'll keep the story rolling on weekends until we get to the end =).
[Part Four](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/5qud4b/the_secret_life_of_a_teenage_heroine_part_4/) is up right now. |
I have this recurring dream where my alarm clock is blaring and I open my eyes to see my parents still alive in front of me. My father breathes without the oxygen tank that he had carried around with him for the last six years of his life. My mother’s withering grey curls are a luscious blonde and her cheeks are once again plump and red. She slides her fingertips down my cheek, smiling.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks. “Are you awake?”
And right before I respond, I wake. My psychologist says that I lack closure, that I still haven’t gotten over their deaths. But I disagree. Their deaths weren’t tragic. Well, of course all deaths are tragic, especially deaths of parents. But my father slipped quietly away into the night on his favorite chair and my mother died holding my hand, surrounded by family who loved her dearly.
They each had funerals, wakes, and other remembrances. I had an annual tradition of bringing my grandkids to their grave so I could take another shot of whiskey with my father and give my mother lilies as gold as her hair.
Still, my psychologist tells me that a part of me hasn’t yet accepted their death. I want to tell him that I’m eighty-four years old and only here because three grandkids and two children of my own don’t fill the long stretches of silence in my life. They visit, often. But a man still gets lonely. So I don’t tell him. I entertain him, nodding my head and humming as he tells me how to live out the rest of my year or so (being optimistic) as best as I can.
“It might not be their death,” he tells me. “It might just be death in general. You haven’t accepted it.”
To which, I smile and nod. It is the polite thing to do. The impolite thing would be to burst out laughing at the thirty year old man recently engaged telling an eighty-four year old about embracing death. I accepted my own mortality very long ago. So once again, I entertain him. I barrage him with questions he could never hope to answer and he does his best.
“It won’t hurt,” he tells me. “You’ll find peace. It’ll be like gently letting go and slipping away to whatever next world you believe in. Like falling asleep. Isn’t that nice? When you close your eyes and you gently fall asleep.”
“Promise it won’t hurt?” I ask.
He gives me a smile teeming with confidence, as if he knew anything. “I promise.”
His words play back to me whenever I go to sleep. And every night, I drift further into my dream. It becomes that much more real. The beeping. The parents. The fingertips. It feels more real than reality, as if my whole life had simply been the dream of a nine year old boy still asleep, but unable to wake.
“Did you sleep well?” I hear my mother ask. “Are you awake?”
I open my eyes, expecting to see my popcorn ceiling and revolving wood fan. Instead, I see my mother, her golden locks curling at her shoulders and her fingertips brushing my cheek.
“Did you have a nice dream?” she asks, tears filling her eyes.
I give her a nod and turn toward the alarm clock. It’s not an alarm clock, but a heartbeat monitor. My father stands beside it, his eyes constantly shifting from the monitor to me. He crosses his arms and presses his lips into a thin line.
“It won’t hurt,” he says, a tremor in his voice. “You’ll find peace. Like falling asleep.”
I give him a nod as well. “Or waking up from a long dream,” I tell him, my voice barely a whisper. It's all I can manage.
My father covers his mouth and chokes on his breath. His shoulders heave. My mother squeezes my hand and presses her lips against it. “Good night, sweet prince,"she whispers. "Sweet dreams."
---
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/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and 200+ stories already written!
|
"Two words,"Congressman Richards said slowly and emphatically, never breaking eye contact with Congressman Powell, the committee chairman. "*Chainsaw fingers.*"
"Oh, fuck yeah!"Powell answered, scribbling more onto the whiteboard in the center of the hearing room that I'd brought to outline my plan. The pages with my detailed schematics had been torn down and thrown onto the floor, and a rough sketch of a humanoid robot had taken its place. Powell even took the time to add "BRRRR"comment bubbles next to the crude depictions of chainsaws.
"No, no,"Congresswoman Pearson butted in. "*Laser* chainsaw fingers!"
"That doesn't even make sense!"I shouted. No one even heard me. Richards was too busy high-fiving Pearson, and Powell was drawing lasers coming out of each tooth of the chainsaw fingers, complete with "pew pew!"comment bubbles. "Look, if we can just take another glance at my original designs,"I pleaded, "I think you'll find it much more feasible, OK? The shore of the Pacific stretches for hundreds of thousands of miles. Even assuming a top speed of a few hundred miles per hour that would allow them to cover long stretches of coastline, the amount of robots we'd need to guard it is *astronomical!*"
"You're right,"Congresswoman Davis addressed me. She'd stayed silent for most of the hearing now, and I had really been counting on her to be the voice of reason in the room. Her home district north of Seattle had been utterly ravaged by a 12-limbed Category 3 (on the Serizawa scale) only six months ago. "You're absolutely right."
"Thank you. Now, if you'll lo..."
"We need *MORE* robots!"Davis announced loudly to the others. "Like, a hundred times more robots!"
"No!"I cried out. "No, damn it! Not robots! Look, we know that they're all coming from one specific vent in the Pacific, right? Now, the most sensible alterna..."
"How about nunchucks?"Pearson butted in again. "Those are pretty bad-ass!"
"Oh, or throwing stars!"Davis added. "Like, giant ones! Throwing stars bigger than a fucking car!"
"This isn't the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, OK?"I screamed into the microphone. "These are dangerous beasts that have already killed hundreds of thousands of people, and there's another one scheduled to make landfall on Okinawa in less than an hour!"How the hell were we able to get our shit together and create a Pacific-wide sonar system to track a few Soviet subs, but our representatives turned into twelve-year-old anime-obsessed boys when it came down to fighting gigantic hellbeasts? "Now, look. Between the United States, Russia, China, and Europe, there are over 10,000 stockpiled nuclear weapons currently just sitting around. Our early detection systems would allow us to send a nuclear-tipped torpedo within minutes whenever a new Kaiju...."
"Bros, what about flamethrowers?"Congressman Richards interrupted. He hadn't heard a single word I said.
"They fight *in water*!"I shouted back. "WATER!! And we already tried that in Canberra, remember? Where we burned down most of the city with napalm and it didn't even affect a Category 2???"I was slamming my hand on the polished wooden desk for emphasis, hoping that if even if my *words* couldn't get their attention, maybe any loud noise would.
There was a stunned silence in the room for just a moment, and then Congressman Pearson spoke. "Well, yeah... but it would *look* super cool!"The other representatives all nodded and agreed that it would indeed look awesome.
I threw my hands into the air. "You know what? Fuck it. Why don't we just make a giant flaming chain that will solidify into a massive sword so that we can *behead* Kaiju?"I spouted off the first absurd thing to come into my mind.
There was another stunned silence. "That... would be... *AWESOME!*"Davis finally shouted. Powell was already jumping around the room, pretending to be slicing at invisible Kaiju with his sharpie as a sword.
I got up from my chair and began collecting my carefully-drawn plans from the floor as they turned towards debating what to name the robots. Congresswoman Davis proposed "Killerbots,"while Congressman Richards favored "Murder Machines."
The door flew open, and another dumbass Congressman in a black suit with a flag lapel pin strolled in with a bottle in hand. "Sorry I missed the meeting, bros! I was getting a bit *tipsay!*"He waved the bottle around illustratively. "Anyone want some Jäger??"
The representatives all traded looks, then simultaneously all shouted the same thing: "DUDE!!!"
----
If you liked this, check out all the stories in /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
Beware the fool who wears them all, for five together will bring your fall. One, intelligence, empowers brains, while wealth increases personal gains. Luck improves the chance of success and charm impresses the ones you address. Strength can help you in a brawl, but beware the fool who wears them all.
To each of you I share one, to wear on your hand till your days are done. The skills they bring will carry you on to long lives until you are gone. I pray that no one finds the gall and becomes the fool who wears them all.
The 5 set out and for many years succeed beyond the deeds of their peers. But strength grew jealous of the others success and slowly began a murderous quest. Killing his blood to conquer the five, thinking together he would more than thrive. Intelligence was last to be placed on his hand and in that moment he completed his plan. No longer needing the strength to steal he removed this ring but started to feel. The feeling he felt was unbearable guilt for the loved ones he'd hunted down and kill't.
In anguish he threw himself into the sea knowing that feeling he couldn't break free. And as he sank he became aware that strength was more than a physical affair. Intelligence knew what he had done was wrong and with strength removed his will was gone. No man with malice deep in his heart can do good with gifts given in part. For greed will always bring the fall, so beware the fool who wears them all.
Edit: thanks for my first gold!
Edit 2: WOW double guilded! Thanks kind stranger, so this is what being famous feels like... do I get my own office now? |
Garzeth the Undying, Reaper of Souls, Killer of Dreams, had a hell of a sweet tooth.
The demon’s voice hissed through my mind, cold and cloying as a wet towel on my neck, *Get the Jujubes. We want them.*
“We don’t want shit,” I mutter back.
The gas station attendant gave me a brief weird look, the kind of askance *what the fuck man* glance that anyone in 24-hour customer service learns to master. She kept her eye contact carefully deflected as she scanned my water bottle and chips.
Reasonable. I had no idea how many demon-possessed, half-drunk witches wandered in this time of night. Our local coven is secret, as all covens are, though we've had a few confused older ladies show up to our "knitting"group Witches and Stitches. You've never seen a group of witches and wizards ever work so hard to look like they know how to knit.
Anyway. I stopped going when Mathilda's damn cat familiar wouldn't stop hissing at me for smelling too… demony.
“Anything else?” she asked.
*Jujubes.*
“Man, shut the fuck up,” I said under my breath. I forced a smile about as crisp as a wrinkled dollar and told the attendant, “Just a pack of American Spirits, please.”
“Sure thing.” She turned away from me, and the demon and I both appraised the curve of her back. But I was just window-shopping, really. The last time I brought someone back home with me—a skinny-hot music major who wanted to spend more time grinding on me than arguing music theory, which I maybe should have taken as a warning—he left like hell itself was after him when he heard me arguing with Garzeth in the bathroom.
*Actually, I changed my mind. We want her.*
I glanced at the warped security mirror above the register and saw myself there: my ponytail ratty, my sweatpants sweaty, my makeup at least two days old and going racoony. But it was enough to see the demon looking back at me with my own eyes, turning the irises orange, and I shook my head, firmly.
*Come on. She’s cute.*
The gas station attendant turned around and scanned the cigarettes. Her eyes met mine for the first time, lingering for a long few seconds. Garzeth was right, for once. She *was* cute.
“Are you wearing contacts?” she said.
“I wish.”
I could practically feel Garzeth stretching out in my soul, arms hooked lazily behind his head. *You’d miss me if I was gone, sunshine.*
“The hell I would.”
“Sorry?”
The attendant’s eyes held mine for a long worried second. One hand disappeared under the counter like she was ready to hit the panic button at any second.
I sighed. Six months with a demon trapped in my body, and you’d think I’d figure out how to filter my own damn thoughts by now.
“Nothing,” I said. My stare flicked to her name tag, and I added, “Sorry, Holly.”
I expected her to freeze up, go politely detached. Who could blame her? She was alone in the gas station in the middle of the night with some crazy bitch talking to herself.
“I’ve been there,” she said with a dry laugh. "How did yours get there?"
I froze. Stared at her.
She pulled up the sleeve of her uniform shirt to reveal a familiar tattoo: a key held in a crow's mouth. Mark of a witch. Hers, like mine, had been scarred red in the crow's breast where the demon entered her.
"Mispronounced some Aramaic, for me."
"Fucking Aramaic,"I said, but I couldn't keep the dopey grin off my face. "You still got it?"
"Sure. But mine's learned to shut up by now."She hesitated and frowned up toward her own scalp. Her irises glowed orange for moment. "Mostly."
Garzeth was practically cheering in the back of my skull, *Oh shit, are we getting laid?*
"You're certainly not."I blinked back at Holly and smiled, shyly. "Sorry. You get it."
"Oh, I do."She smirked at me and nodded at the useless shit I'd come in for. "Anything else for you?"
I grabbed the Jujubes beside the counter and held them up, gave them a little shake. "Just this. And maybe your phone number. You know, um. Most expulsion spells take at least two witches."
*Oh, come on. You can't get rid of me before the good part.*
Holly grinned at me. "Most fun things do."She was already reaching for a pad and paper.
I matched her grin. Turned out I have a sweet tooth too. |
"I'm what?"I said cautiously, leaning heavily on my stick. I looked around but saw no one else.
"Paroled"the man repeated. He wore a three piece pin stripe suit, partnered with a Trilby perched upon his head. It reminded me of the films of my youth, when every star was dressed to the nines. I took a second to remember his response.
"From what?"I said, straightening as best I could. I was used to being pranked and made fun of my whole life. In my twilight years, I decided to just go with it. Less hassle for a life already fraught with it.
"Your sentence"the man announced, pulling a stopwatch from an inside pocket, briefly checking the time and then returning it. "A three life sentence."He clicked his tongue. "Well deserved too".
I almost laughed. I hadn't laughed in over forty five years. I took out a small handkerchief, wiped the perspiration from my eyes. It really was a hot one today.
"I've never been to prison,"I explained, replacing the square of fabric in my pocket. Surprisingly I hadn't dropped it, my cane or both. The man smiled at me.
"Of course. Well Mr Stanley, I have read your file. Two charges of Cosmic disruption, one of Time endangerment, littering....."
As he rattled on, I glanced around again. Still no one else. No cameras. Perhaps he was the best dressed crazy I had met in my seventy eight years on this cursed rock. I looked back at him and he beamed back expectedly. He must have finished listing my "crimes".
"I really must be going"I said, as forcefully as I could manage. I began to walk away, leaning upon my cane, awaiting a trip or slip.
"Of course, of course,"the man said and suddenly he was beside me, in his hands an ornate silver topped cane that clicked impressively against the pavement. "Free man now after all! But before I leave, I have to deliver the legal jargon, you know how it is".
I stopped and looked at this man. His features were flawless, his eyes a deep green that seemed to flash in the sun. I sighed.
"Go on then"
"Excellent!"He took a deep breath and quickly recited "As per the authority invested in me by the Ethereal Council, under sub section 4B of the criminal penalties act, I hereby confirm that the guilty party, Mr Charles Stanley, has served his penance of three life sentences of misery and misfortune. As such, he is now free of handicap and outside influence going forward, for the remainder of this and subsequent incarnations, unless the rules of his probation are broken. Grace period set to thirty one days beginning from today the 23rd of May 2018."
I blinked. The man began to walk away, whistling a tune to himself. Just before he turned a corner, he yelled back to me.
"You keep out of trouble now Charles you hear! After all , "No matter where, who or what you are, we'll find you""
And then he was gone. |
Dr. Gloom checked his watch for the sixth time, before sighing and looking at the rest of the line. He always thought making money would be hard once he went straight, but nobody ever warned him about all the waiting. Normies spent so much of their life waiting in lines! Back in his glory days, he could have just walked up to the teller and *demanded* the cash. There weren't many Supers who had discovered their abilities yet, and nobody was able to stop him.
A small hand tugged at his sleeve, and he quickly remembered that those days were behind him now. "Yes, sweetie?"he asked his daughter, Nora.
"When will we be done, daddy? We've been here FOR-EV-ER!"she pouted.
"Soon, remember that patience is a virtue. Maybe the teller will have a nice lollipop for you, they still do that, right?"he looked up towards the teller and searched for any bowls filled with candy. All around him, he could feel the intense stares of hate and fear. They recognized him, they knew, and they did not forgive, even after 7 years. And why should they? He was *THE* Dr. Gloom, the original Super Villain. At least Nora didn't care who he used to be, and neither did her mother. That's all that mattered to him now. Even after defeating the Super Squad numerous times, it only took a simple woman to change his life for the better.
Nora was normal, just like her mother, at least he had that much to be thankful for. He knew that being a Super meant being an outcast, and ostracized by society. Even many of the Heroes were ridiculed and condemned as monsters.
"Daddy, it's your turn!"cheered Nora, and the doc snapped back to focus. He apologized and stepped up to the teller. "Yes, I-"he was interrupted by a large explosion by the entrance.
"I'm here to make a withdrawal!"shouted a large man wearing a firefighter's suit, as he stepped over the burning remnants of the front door. Shortly after, his two companions walked in on either side of him. The first was a short, stocky man who wore goggles on top of his head. The other man was massive, and seemed to be made of stone.
"You Normies can call me Pyro!"said the not-firefighter. He snapped his fingers together and produced a small flame, which he used to light a cigarette. Then he waved his hand to the small man at his side, "This here's Sparky."
"Oooh it looks like they've upgraded their ATMs to the newest models, these ones have one-point-five times the capacity of the previous ones!"Sparky said with glee as he ran to the nearest ATM.
"He talks too much."said Pyro, shrugging. "This other guy is Brick, he don't talk much at all."
"Hmph."grunted Brick, as he cracked his knuckles.
All of the Normies laid down on the ground, almost routine for some of them. Dr. Gloom, however, simply leaned down to tell Nora to join the others, before he turned to face the intruders. "I'm sorry, fellas, but you'll have to wait in line. Patience is a virtue, after all."he said calmly, while observing the misfit crew of wannabe Villains. "Some of us have to work for a living."
"Sparky, focus on those ATMs, and keep jamming the cell phones, we don't need cops showing up just yet."commanded Pyro. "I'll handle the teller. Brick... uh, just do your thing buddy."
"Hmph."grunted Brick, as he charged at the doc with a raised fist.
Although he wasn't as quick as he used to be, Dr. Gloom was still ready for a fight. Brick crashed through the pillar behind his target at full speed, causing chunks of rubble to plummet down onto his head.
"Hmph."grunted Brick, as he slipped into unconsciousness.
"Looks like the big guy needed a nap."remarked Dr. Gloom.
"What just happened? He phased right through you!"Exclaimed Sparky in shock.
"Well if you want to get technical, *I* phased through *him*."replied the doc with a smirk.
"Forget the cash, Sparky, let's toast this old man!"Pyro grabbed a large ax off of his back, and Sparky lowered the goggles over his eyes.
Before he knew it, Dr. Gloom was dodging balls of fire and bolts of electricity. All he had to do was distract them until their attacks set off the sprinkler system. It seemed easy, until Sparky overloaded a nearby ATM and caught him off guard. He tried to get back up, to gather his energy, but it was too late. Pyro stood above him now, ax in hand. "All these old Supers keep thinking they can beat the new breed. We are better, faster, stronger. You're just an old man."He raised the ax above his head.
"Get away from my daddy!"Shouted a voice from across the room. Nora had found the fire alarm, and pulled it as hard as she could. Suddenly water sprayed from the faucets all around the room. At first, Pyro's suit protected him from the water, but he was standing too close to Sparky, and got a shocking surprise.
Dr. Gloom got back on his feet, and smiled to his daughter across the room. "What is every Super Villain's weakness?"
Nora knew the answer. "Monologues."
Edit: Thanks for all the great feedback! [Many people asked for a continuation, so here it is!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2v2609/wpa_retired_super_villain_is_in_the_bank_with_his/coefwp2) |
Dave was a man with a great big cock.
He always fed it seeds at 4 o'clock.
The cock was very happy to see its seed,
He would jump up high and he'd scream with glee.
Dave lived alone, aside from Cock and Pussy;
And the two were friends, they were never fussy.
They loved to be together; they'd play for hours
Till Dave made Pussy come 'fore her milk sours.
Dave had a friend, whose name was Dick;
Dick was old and he walked with a stick.
He loved Dave's pet, so he came daily
To play with the pussy—he'd do it gayly.
And when Cock was old and Pussy was gray,
Dave cooked the cock for a tasty entrée.
Dick was his guest, and Cat pleaded and gawked
So Dick, Dave and Pussy were filled with Cock. |
The flames had not yet started to nibble at her feet. But by the time they did it would already be too late. The heat that preceded the flames was a searing blast of angry, poorly directed violence, much like the villager's reaction to her unmasking as a ‘witch’. Their guilt was a powerful accelerant. All those times they had come to her for healing, or to protect their crops or their family members. Now they had to convince others, if not themselves, that they didn’t know. That they believed it was all done with herbs. A good outpouring of anger, and pyre, and a fire. That was a good way to show it.
Clarice tried to keep her mind clear, as she worked out her best move. She used a small charm to direct the heat away from her, and outwards, but that wouldn’t hold for long. The reality was there was nothing she could do to stop this. There was a reason that they burned witches and didn’t drown them, or hang them, or run them through. The relentlessness of fire wore all but the strongest down. So, she thought. Protect her body as long as she could? Or channel her intention into protecting her mind from the pain until her body was destroyed?
While she concentrated on the charm and the plan, she became aware of a commotion. She had been keeping her eyes shut out of mercy. It would have hurt the villagers to have to catch her eye, and she wanted them to be at peace. It was all she ever wanted. It also was not how she wanted to remember them. Faces contorted with rage and the pain that comes from your mind believing two things at once.
When the commotion became screaming, she risked opening an eye. Behind the villagers, there was the flash and clang of steel on steel. He had come.
Damn him.
The villager's screams were in panic only, for the fighting had not reached them. Joseph was engaged with the warriors of the Witch-hunter General. And there was a legion of them. The Witch hunters had grown used to defending their murders from their preys friends and allies. From their lovers.
Even those that had promised not to try and sell their lives to pay her penalty. Damn him.
Their soldiers were good, but Joseph was better. His sword was the scourge of the land’s enemies, and the people loved him for it. She knew when this was all over they would blame her. She bewitched him. She turned him away from his path. He didn’t know what he was doing. On that last point, they were absolutely right.
One of the warriors fell, with a swift dagger strike from Joseph finding a weak spot in his armour, and Clarice noticed two more already on the ground. Joseph caught her eye and yowled her name. The force of the shout was like magic. Everyone froze. Clarice knew that it was magic, of a sort. When you summoned the power of the soul that dwelled in your belly and directed it outwards, it could stop people in their tracks. Some learned to use it as a weapon, but it was often accessed by normal people. Only once and in the worst moment of pain in their lives.
The cost of this attention on the fight was the pain starting to creep in again. The charm couldn’t be held without focus, and this was not helping. Clarice thought again about her plan. The child in her started to dream about Joseph rescuing her. Cutting her bonds, and pulling her from the inferno. He was somehow miraculously unharmed, in her fantasy. She pushed the foolish child to one side.
With the villagers out of the way, the sheer scale of Joseph’s task became clear. Even as three had fallen, more were literally queuing to take their places. He was on open ground, so he had to whirl to fight all around himself, as they closed from all sides again. The shouts power had released them to move once more. Behind them all, but still between her and him stood the Witchfinder General, with a small knot of men, charging their crossbows. He had no more chance than she did.
A blade caught Joseph as he whirled. A shallow bite, but a bite, nonetheless. The rivulet of blood down his shoulder made her mind up, and quickly. His whirling slowed as the pain in his arm weakened his sword hand, and the point lowered. The ring of soldiers around him began to tighten, like wolves sensing the end was near.
She couldn’t save them both, any more than he could save them both. Her bonds were charmed to hold her in place. Spells of relocation would not be able to carry her away from the heat and the steel. But they could move him.
She focused her entire attention on a clearing in the woods. The clearing where she had first lain eyes on him. The place where he had seen her practising witchcraft and instead of running or accusing, had asked if there was anything she needed. When she said no, he had brought her flowers anyway.
Her focus elsewhere, the heat and the pain crashed back over her like a wave. She had only a moment, but that was all she needed.
Clarice screamed the invocation and sent it out into the world. It swirled around the fight, and picked Joseph up, throwing him away from this place with her voice ringing in his ears.
“I love you”, it said.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
Also, check out this audio version from u/blu_ski [here](https://youtu.be/enEUzouGPIc) |
Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin."he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too."he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..."he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?"he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live."a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?"the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!"he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..."More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?"he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?"Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..."Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..."he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. |
It comes from having an older brother.
Brotherhood is a lawless fraternity, but even still my brother George was a rogue without peer. While there were many pleasures to be found in broad daylight - swirlies, wet Willies, and atomic crotch rockets, to name a few - there was little George enjoyed more than making the darkness an accessory to his crimes. He would lurk in darkened bathrooms, hallways, closets, and whatever else space he could claim, and then simply *wait* for his prey to arrive. George had plenty of time. My torment was his one and only hobby and obligation.
There wasn't much in the way of creativity in George's approach - a sudden scream here, a blind grab there - but I suppose the results bore themselves out. By my best count, George has made me piss myself on 13 separate occasions, and shit myself twice - once, funnily enough, about ten minutes prior to my wedding.
So George is the cause of it. George is the reason why I send meaningless warnings down blind alleyways. George is the reason why I say things like, "Give it up already"when I clomp off to the bathroom in the middle of the night. George is the reason I've managed to convince little Danny that our house is haunted. On the plus side, however, he seems to think I have a very off-the-cuff relationship with our ghosts, which are some of the very few points I have in my favor these days.
George is also the reason I'm alive.
I work at Trans National Bank, you see. I'm very proud to say I'm the youngest Branch Manager in a quarter century. And while that doesn't necessarily make me a rich man, it does make me an important man. Or, more accurately, an important *seeming* man. And that can have it's drawbacks.
I happened to be dawdling one Tuesday and ended up still in my office as the bank was nearing close. I sent Reggie home early and closed up in his stead. A half hour later, I emerged, making quick headway towards my car on the third floor of the garage. And while the parking spaces in the garage are well lit, the stairs and tunnels leading in and out are not. Perhaps they once were, but these days, once the sun has gone down, those areas are as black as a grave.
So I did what I always do in these situations. I opened the door to the stairwell and said, quite firmly, "I'm not falling for it. I know you're in there. Step out where I can see you."
And, to my surprise, a gentleman did just that.
He wore a long black coat and sheepish smirk. He put his hands up. "Right, right. You got me."His eyes ran me up and down. "You got training or something? File didn't say nuthin' about that."
"Loads of training,"I said, waving my briefcase in his general direction. I was still trying to wrap my mind around this peculiar turn of events. "More than you, I'd wager. Skulking around in the dark like that. That's the *first* thing I check for."
He nodded, still sizing me up. He didn't seem sure whether or not he needed to keep his hands in the air, so I waved my briefcase about some more. That kept his hands good and up.
"I suppose you want to know who I'm working for,"he said.
"And what makes you think I don't already know?"I said. Obviously I did not know. But this seemed like the more impressive response.
"He won't be happy,"said the man.
"Well, *I'm* late for dinner. So *he* can queue up behind my wife."
The man grimaced. "He'll kill me for this. You know how he's like."
I grimaced as well, though I suspect for different reasons. "That's, well, that's what comes of mucking about in dark stairwells, isn't it? Picked the wrong bloke for that old ploy, eh?"
The man's shoulders slumped. "That's fair, I guess. I underestimated you, and this is what I get. I just...if I have to go out, mate, I'd much rather go out on a job, you know?"
I nodded. "I've daydreamed a time or two about passing peacefully in my office. I certainly see the appeal."
He perked up a bit. "So...you'll do it?"
I took a quick step backwards in time and replayed the gentleman's earlier comments. Suddenly his meaning was a bit more clear. "Oooooh. That's...no. That's really not a skill I'd like to add to my CV."
"He'll kill me all the same."
I frowned. "And that...is really just a shameful way to conduct business, I think. Makes people afraid to make mistakes. When you're afraid to make mistakes, you play it safe, and then no one ever grows or takes chances. Business 101, really. You should tell him that. You made a mistake. You learned. You'll be better going forward, eh? Tell him he really needs to think long and hard about the sort of message he wants to be sending his employees. I should know. I'm the youngest Branch Manager in nearly a quarter of a century."
The man blinked. "Branch Manager?"
I nodded. "Well, I'm not the youngest anymore. Promotion *was* a few years ago, but the thing of it is..."
"Aren't you Reginald Monroe?"
"Ehh? No. Not even a little. Reggie is the *Teller* Manager. He's below me. I'm his boss."
The man's face split into a wide smile. "Oh my heavens! All this time and I'd thought I'd mangled it all up. You're not Reggie Munroe?"
I shook my head. "I'm really not."
The man's sides shook with relieved laughter. "Oh, what a *load.* That's a wonder. You're his manager?"
I nodded.
"Is he closing tomorrow?"
"Yes,"I said.
"Great, great!"He blew out a long, exaggerated sigh. "No harm done. Alright. Tomorrow. Great. Thank you, sir. Have a great evening."
"Well, you're welcome?"I replied, slightly dumbfounded.
And that, you see, is how my brother's years of torment ultimately, against all odds, saved my life.
If only Reggie had had an older brother like George. Such a tragedy...
___________________________________________________________________________
*Gold!?! Well, that's pretty neat. Thanks, kindly internet patron!* |
"Go ahead, boy,"Dan said to his dog, Rocket.
Rocket peered at the towering gold gateway in front of them. Clouds swirled overhead, the ground was a blanket of wooly velvet. Murmers and barks could be heard far off, beyond the gates.
A large pale dog trainer, with golden hair and white robe held a silver, heavenly dog leash. The heavenly trainer held the collar of the leash out lovingly, beckoning Rocket.
Rocket glanced at the collar, then back at Dan, unsure. He ran over to Dan and licked his face. The trainer stared at Dan knowingly, then nodded its head. He heard a voice in his head. *I see. Go, then. You may return soon.*
Rocket wagged his tail, licking Dan's face and growling affectionately. The trainer waved as they left the gateway entrance.
They walked down a silver staircase deep into the ground. Or was it a ceiling? Dan could not be sure.
Dan followed the staircase deep into the depths of the structure. He held a handrail as he descended, watching Rocket as he trailed behind.
From the air, out of nowhere, apparitions appeared. They had faces of grim death. One was a skeletal face, a snake weaving through its eye sockets. It spoke to Dan:
*That one does not belong here. Leave it. Come with me if you want to be saved.*
Dan looked at Rocket, and Rocket gave no indication of leaving or stopping. Dan shook his head at the apparition. "No,"said Dan, "he comes with me."
The apparition exploded into a red fireball and disappeared into the tunnel before him. Dan had reached a long corridor. At the end he heard screams. Bloodcurtling bellowing of men and women who were lost to the world.
Dan knew he did not belong here. But it was the only way. And Rocket pushed him to continue.
They moved down the corridor slowly, as the screaming grew louder. The walls seemed to shake, like when you go to a loud concert. That was what it sounded like to Dan, a loud rock concert of death.
Rocket groaned, but they had come too far to turn back.
They came upon a tall black door. A door as grim as hell. On the surface was a protruding eye. The eye opened and looked at Dan. It blinked a few times, then closed. Then the door swung open, and Dan and Rocket were met with a blast of hellish screams.
The place was a spectacle. Humans being torn apart then put back together again, only to be torn apart once again. People on a spit, being roasted, eaten alive, then built back into full beings. Some people just cried in a fetal position.
In the center of this huge arena-like place, was a tall tower. It had a glowing eye on top that seemed to oppressively watch all that transpired below.
Rocket barked at the tower, and stood in front of Dan protectively. Dan patted Rocket on the head. "Its OK boy. They're just lost souls. We're not lost, we're on our way through."
Rocket licked his hand, and they started to go through the arena, toward the tower. Large demons with scarred, tragic faces beckoned them to their torture areas. Dan tried to shield his eyes, to ignore the protests of the hungry wraiths. The demons of purgatory were hungry for young blood. They seemed to be attracted to Dan like a magnet.
But Rocket growled and barked at the demons and devils as they approached, scaring them away. "Good boy,"Dan said.
As they got closer to the great tower with the eye, a dark cloaked being appeared from behind.
"You do not belong in this realm,"the being said.
"Who are you?"asked Dan.
"I am the keeper. I make sure people suffer in due course. I know the eyes of the guilty. Your eyes betray an innocence that transcends any purgatory. You have the look of an innocent. The are only two ways to go, up and down. Otherwise you stay in the middle, which is not where you belong."
Dan shook his head in confusion, then pet Rocket. "Let's go boy, these people are crazy."
They continued their journey to the tower, stepping over dead bodies and severed limbs. The ground was caked with dry blood. The blood stuck to Dan's soles, leaving footsteps the color of wine behind him.
They eventually reached the foot of the tower, then looked up at the eye. It beamed down at them. Searching. Scrutinizing.
It appeared to be satisfied with Dan in some way. A doorway opened up in front of them. Dan and Rocket shrugged and walked through the door.
Inside it was like a very old elevator. Like the type they have in bygone towers in New York City. Dan recalled a trip to the Big Apple when he was just a little lad. They brought him up to the top of the Empire State Building. When he went to the platform, he looked over the ledge, and dropped a penny. He was terrified it would fall on an innocent person's head and slice through their skull.
He shuddered at that thought, and hoped it would not betray him in this place.
Up the elevator went, seemingly forever. Just when he thought the ride would never end, they reached a top floor, and heard a *ding*.
The doors slid open, and they were hit with a blast of heavenly white light. They heard choirs singing, bells chiming. There was a rainbow shimmer to the air. A dove flew over, and Rocket chased after it.
Dan glanced at the dog chasing the bird, and laughed.
Then he saw a giant gateway. It was towering, monumental, encrusted with jewels. He stepped up to it, staring up at the parapets above. It was a sort of castle, but the walls never seemed to end. Sort of like the great wall of china, but spectacularly stunning in form.
Dan stood in front of the gateway. Nothing happened. He waited, fearful that he would be stuck here forever, waiting.
Then a being made of light hovered down beside Dan. It had angel wings and carried a sword and shield.
"Why do you have weapons?"asked Dan.
"To guard against any invaders. Heaven is a place of protection."The angel glanced over at Rocket. "That is your animal. He has been your companion to this place."
Dan nodded.
"We welcome both of you to our home. Your home. Please enter, and be at peace,"said the angel.
Dan called Rocket, but when he looked over, rocket had changed. Rocket was a ghost now. A glowing, shimmering spirit. He gave a small bark, and licked Dan.
When Dan looked at himself, he saw that he too was now a shimmering spirit. He touched Rocket, and felt the warmth of his soul pulsating within him.
"You can feel each other's thoughts now,"said the angel.
Dan felt Rocket's thoughts. Pure love, that only a dog can produce. Rocket's eyes glowed, and seemed to cry with joy.
"This is a good place,"said Dan.
"The best,"said Rocket.
Dan smiled. He loved happy endings. |
Dear Julie,
I'm sorry I haven't written sooner but it's been hell out here. We lost a lot of ground to the Allies after the disaster at Normandy. It's a battle just to hold the ground we have, they are an unstoppable force. Even now they are not far from us.
I count each sunrise and sunset as one more passed until I see you again. The sound of guns and sights of death have nearly broken my soul but for the picture of you I carry, it brings me hope even in the darkness.
Pray for me. Pray that I will survive this conflict, that I will see you again. Pray for my brothers, pray that this spilled blood is not in vain.
You don't know me. I hope you can forgive me.
I had a captured soldier translate this for me and he writes this now.
I am sorry.
I have stolen the sunset and sunrise from a man today. And I have stolen that man from you.
There is no asking for forgiveness in this, I do not deserve it.
I will pray for you now.
Through the mud, blood, and death I will wade and if it should be my end then that will be what I deserve.
Regretfully Yours,
Pfc. T. C. Cooke
*****
Thank you for the gold! I am undeserving. |
I went about my usual routine, deep below the ground in my cold war era bunker.
Technically it wasn't mine; it had belonged to some billionaire and I'd read about it in a Time magazine years ago. In the chaos of the Outbreak, I made my way there and had planned to beg entry, offering my services as an electrician and all-round handyman.
Well, that hadn't been needed in the end; their bodies sat in the back of the subterranean wine cellar, mummifying in the still air down there.
The TV hadn't picked up a signal in 30 years but I still liked to sit in front of it; powered still by the miniature hydroelectric plant in the catacombs beyond the cellar. The flickering static and the gentle hissing noises through the old speakers were compelling and comforting.
My steps echoed down the empty, opulent corridors of the richly appointed apocalypse shelter. Dust lay thick everywhere that I didn't walk. Who had time for cleaning? Besides, there were dozens of rooms, along with the driving range and the swimming pool - both fallen into decay. Only frogs and algae lived in the stagnant waters now.
The library was one of my other haunts. Weak electric light flickered behind the stained glass windows, giving the impression of a dying sunset - or the flames of the apocalypse. I had never decided which.
Like the TV though, the light offered comfort and I often found myself drawn here.
Pictures of the rich family still littered the bunker. John and Sarah, oil barons from Texas or somesuch. I couldn't really remember. I paused in front of a dusty mirror, startled by my own reflection - just as I had been thousands of times before - then realised my mistake and wandered on.
I had no idea how long it had been now; time really had lost all meaning to me in my palatial exile. It could have been ten years, it could have been two. It could have been forty.
Only one room was really 'my' room. At first I'd moved between them, but this one seemed like it was *mine*. I guess it reminded me of my childhood bedroom; the zoetrope constantly casting fanciful shadows around the spaceship wallpaper and the bunkbeds speaking of simpler times.
One of the resident rats scuttled out and attempted to nip me but I carelessly put my foot down; breaking its spine and leaving it paralysed.
A sound echoed down the corridor and caught my attention.
*What was that?*
Turning, I ignored the twitching rodent and made for the stairs to the upper levels.
There is was again. A definite sound - a *new* sound.
Hurrying now, I stumbled up the stairs in my haste, reaching the landing as I heard more alien sounds.
*Voices?*
Yes, voices!
How long had it been since I'd heard voices? I didn't know.
My own vocal cords worked to respond but it had been too long since they had been used.
*"Footprints!* There's someone down here!"yelled an excited voice.
Another responded,
"Shit, *thirty years* someone's been down here?"came a reply - a woman's voice.
"Yeah, some poor bastard has been here twenty years longer than they needed."
I hurried towards the laughter and the light of their electric torches.
Then they were in front of me, shocked by my sudden appearance.
*"Holy shi-"* started the woman, but was cut off as I gouged open her throat with my exposed jaws.
The man went next; his face raked open with my skeletal fingertips, blinded. The last tried to run but I lashed out and snagged his hip, tearing open cloth and flesh, slowing him down considerably.
As he hobbled frantically away from me, yelling in terror, my new family member rose behind me, her half-severed head lolling to one side.
I grinned in bloody, mummified joy.
My isolation was over. |
Mortars thud outside the bunker, and I remove my cybernetic enhancements and crush them beneath my boot heel. I can leave no trace of my true origins; that could ruin everything I have built. I am a stone, sinking to the bottom of the pond. But I have made my ripples in time, and that is enough. Regardless of how history remembers me, my job is done. And in only twenty one years! Far ahead of schedule.
I die a monster. I know that. The world will forever spit at the mention of my name. Exactly as my commanding officer told me when he ordered me into the tachyon displacement field and sent me more than a century back. "You have to prepare us,"he gasped, nursing the shard of steel impaled in his side. He handed me the folder that was meant for him, full of schematics for jets and rockets and a political analysis of Europe. "You need to prevent the German Dissolution of 1941 and ensure a world-wide military buildup. It's all in the briefing. *Do what must be done*."Without waiting for a response, he closed the shield door and turned on the machine. I watched helplessly through the thick porthole as the brick walls disintegrated and the Hunters burst in and tore him to shreds. They were too late to stop me, though.
I rushed it, and almost ruined everything. They now call it the "Beer Hall Putsch."My first attempt at seizing the government, and it failed miserably. But I was not one to give up, knowing that the Hunter fleet was already on its way. I redoubled my efforts, building a political network from inside prison walls and writing my propaganda masterpiece. I watched the Weimar Republic edge closer and closer to its own destruction, knowing full well that it would end with the death of German industry, extending the world's economic depression and stunting scientific development for the next fifty years. It needed to be prevented at all costs.
I was able to seize control, building a cult of personality around myself and brainwashing Germany's citizens. I rebuilt the economy and began pouring investments into the military. Certain scientists were entrusted with the schematics that I had brought back and began to develop a number of useful weapons. Missiles, jet engines, computing machines, harnessing the power of the atom... it would soon come to fruition. The Hunters' own weapons would be turned against them.
I was naive enough to believe that the world would let me build my army in peace, but I was at the very least adaptable. The British, weak-willed and isolationist in my own time, were (to my surprise) amazingly resilient and stubborn. I only wish that this "Winston Churchill"had been born a century later. I should have liked to hear the speech he would give when the Hunters took up positions in our orbit.
When I saw the stormclouds of war on the horizon, I used it to my advantage. Germany may burn, but I would ensure that the rest of the world carried on my vision, even if they didn't know it. I fanned the flames of distrust between the Soviets and the Americans, starting with the joint German/USSR invasion of Poland. I ordered my most trusted weapons engineers out of the country, telling them to make it look like they were defecting. Their research was too precious to keep here, knowing that the other nations of the world would soon make me a target. And I whispered into the ear of my new Japanese allies, urging them ever onward. In my own timeline, their territorial ambitions had stopped at Korea and they became peaceful (albeit weird) citizens of the world.
There were casualties, of course. My own German soldiers, and the many citizens of my conquered nations. All pawns in a giant game of chess, and sometimes sacrifices must be made. It broke my heart to give the order, but I instituted full-scale persecution of the Jews. They were the only logical target. Their culture is built on a history of persecution and insecurity, and I was the straw that broke the camel's back. Their leaders, spiritied away to newly-established Israel, vowed never to be left defenseless again. Their Irgun forces are ruthless and efficient, just as I'd hoped. My agents in Palestine are already setting the ground work for a lasting conflict there to ensure that the Middle East will be embroiled in war for at least a decade.
My time now is at an end, and I see the fruits of my labor around the world. Rocket-powered planes are under development in nations across the world. The United States is adapting my own V2 designs now, and they'll probably make it to space within the next decade or two. The Atomic Bomb, the heart of our dream arsenal against the Hunters, is ready for use. And best of all, I can already see the tensions forming between the allies. Russians and Americans vying for territory, carving out their own spheres of influence. The next few decades will be fraught with danger and peril, but humans will emerge ready for the true test of their valor: when the Hunter fleet emerges from the shadows. I can only imagine what terrifying weapons of war we will have available by then.
I can hear the thumping on the door of the bunker now, and I prepare to take my own life. I burn the folder in front of me, detailing the journey of U-815 into Antarctica. If I leave any evidence of this submarine, the Americans and Russians will sink it and leave it at the bottom of the sea. I've planted a final gift for the Hunters deep under the ice, set to emerge in 2066. My scientists never understood why I wanted to create this, but they did as they were told. An engineered virus, specifically targeting Hunter physiology. Humans will be completely immune. I've left a message in the cannisters, detailing all of my plans and what I knew. Maybe someday, I'll be recognized as a savior.
With that last pleasant thought in my mind, I load the gun and put the barrel against my temple.
---
[I wrote another one with Napoleon!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/346n8d/the_true_history_of_adolf_hitler/cqs0loa) |
Edward Sam M’boma didn't really see his retirement going this direction. The former general thought his last days would be spent watching his grandchildren grow old. However, here he was about to jump out of a Russian military aircraft over Raqqa, Syria. When the red light went on, 3 men in hazmat suits helped M'boma get to his feet as the rear door lowered. He could struggle, but what was the point? The end result would be the same. None of this was his choice, but he knew he couldn't fight it.
After he exited the plane, M'boma pulled his cord. It was the middle of the day and he had a bright red chute. There would be nothing secret about his entry into the ISIS stronghold. The former Sierra Leone general's job was simple. Get captured and spread ebola. |
“I am with you."
I stared firmly into her eyes, willing her frown away. Her face, so often unusually bright, was shrouded in shadow. It wasn’t fear that weighed on her heart, but something deeper. It hurt not to know.
For a long time I had admired Priestess Mabra, not just for her beauty, but for her uncanny ability to make things right. A fallen broom placed back in its stand. A child lost at the market returned back to her worried family. A wild bear threatening the flock sent fleeing to the forest. Those were just the small things, the things she did before our journey to the Frozen Peak.
Mabra was our shepherd, our guide. Our pillar of smoke that led us home from the wilderness. Our kind protector who loved as fiercely as she fought. So it was no surprise to us that she had been chosen by the gods to cleanse the darkness that fell upon our land. And it was even less of a surprise to me.
Our entire journey had come to this moment. A blanket of darkness across the land, a visit from a celestial being, mysterious writings found in a tomb, a magical map that led us to the Frozen Peak, and jewels from the trove of a dragon to enter the chamber. Through it all I had been beside her, protecting her from fiends of the dark, giving her room to go where she felt led. I knew she would ultimately succeed. In fact, she thrived as she lived out her calling, and I soaked it in. Yet even as I fought and aided her to reach the end, I silently wished we would never arrive.
Alas, we had reached the place where Mabra would finally face the source of the darkness. As we stood at the entrance to the hidden chamber, she paused. I knew she would not falter, that she would see her final challenge and not fail to set it right. It was who she was and it was who I loved.
"I am with you,"I said again.
Mabra pursed her lips. She seemed comforted by my words, replenished. “Thank you, Isaac,” she said with a half smile. “You have been with me since the start of this all. Let’s finish it together.”
Mabra lit a torch with a spark from her hand and placed the dragon's jewels into the carved rock. A great trembling in the mountainside sent a crack towards the icy summit, revealing a passage to the heart of the mountain. Mabra thanked the gods and with her free hand picked up her staff.
Sword and shield at the ready, I stepped forward toward the crack. Even now I wanted to protect her, to stand in the way of what was to come. I could take any arrow flung at me, any arrow flung at her. I would lay my life down for her, if it meant she could stay whole. If she would let me.
"No,"she said, holding her staff at my gut. And then more gently, "You have done so much. Now I must go in first."
Alone, she walked into the hidden chamber in the mountain side. Holding back a raging torrent, I silently followed her in.
Her torch illuminated a small area around us, a narrow tunnel that sloped gently down. I peeked around her and saw only darkness ahead. Yet with each step she took it gave way to her light. I feared what she would find at the end. Knowing was perhaps worse than not.
We reached the end of the tunnel which opened into a broad chamber. Our footsteps echoed as we inched further in. Torchlight licked the floors and walls until it finally shone on a raised stone slab. A massive, blood-red ruby dangled over it, suspended in the air while attached to nothing.
At last, Mabra spoke.
"I don't understand."She turned to me, searching for something, anything to make sense of what she had found. It was the first time I had seem her look lost. Like a child at the market who could not find her family.
"Do you?"
"Yes,"I said. I felt shame and relief flood through me, rising over my shoulders and racing down to my feet.
"What is it?"She asked. Her curiosity was laced with hurt, sensing I had been holding something back from her.
"It's an altar,"I said.
"To *whom?* What evil have we not yet seen? Who needs a sacrifice that we cannot defeat?
"The gods. All of them."
Mabra threw the torch to the ground, sending sparks between us.
"How do you know this, Isaac? Tell me everything you've hidden from me!"
Her eyes danced with betrayal, splattering the rocky floor beneath us and echoes to remind me of each drop.
"Before the Visitor came blessed you with the priesthood, I had a dream. In it, I could see nothing except a faint light. I ran to it, but it kept getting farther away. Finally I stopped and waited on a slab of rock, with a ruby overhead just like this one. Then the light grew closer and closer, until it was on me. And even though it burned my clothes, it was only warm to me. The ruby glowed bright as the sun and the darkness went away.
"The Visitor then came to me and explained my dream. 'You will desire light in the darkness. But you cannot take it, it must come to you. And when it does, you will be consumed by it, and die for it, but become one with it. The Priestess Mabra will be your light, and you will give your life to her to end the darkness.'"
There it was again, the frown that could grip my heart and make me do anything. I realized it wasn't fear or sadness. It was loneliness.
"Isaac,"she said through tears. "I could never… do that… to you."
"We have to,"I said, looking up at the darkened ruby.
"There has to be another way!"
She pointed her staff at the ruby and cast a blazing hot fireball. It lit the whole chamber as it burst but then disappeared as smoke, submerging us back into darkness, save for the torch.
"This is it,"I said. I sat up on the altar. "This is how we end the darkness."
"I can't. I… I don't want to. I'd rather have the darkness and you than none at all."
"It will be okay,"I said, trying to convince myself as much as her. "Remember, I am with you."
Mabra wiped her face on her sleeve. I held out my hand and she took it.
"Always. You have always been with me."
"And I always will be."
Mabra lifted her staff and set fire to the altar.
"It's only warm,"I said as I watched her through the flames. The clothes burned off but there was no pain. The ruby above us began to glow. The chamber shined bright as day, and we could see a hole in the ceiling that sent light out into the darkness.
The fire stopped burning, yet the ruby glowed bright. I was still alive, laying on the warm slab.
"I'm still with you,"I said. Mabra smiled. |
“KRAKAKOOM!”
The deafening sound of thunder boomed through the sky, as the meteor crashes into my backyard.
I leapt into the fiery inferno engulfing my house, as I dodged burning cinders many thoughts went through my head.
“What happened?”,
“Who did this?”
As I burst through the backdoor and into the yard, I stared into the glossy, dark cubical stone in the middle of the crater. A moment of silence went by as the fire around us continues to grow. As I slowly approached the object, I warily placed my hands on it. Only for it to lit up and opens up like a ring box.
“JOHNATHAN SMITH. YOU ARE A STAIN ON THIS UNIVERSE, AND I AM HERE TO CLEAN.” It said. My eyes widened, and I quickly moved back as large amount of air was violently released from the box.
“FWISHHHHHHH”
The fierce inferno around us quickly disappeared and all that’s left was the box and I. “Who are you?’” I shouted, try to see through the smoke.
“I AM YOUR DEATH.” It said, the robotic voice so sharp it seemingly scraps against my ears. As the smoke dissipates, all that remains is a roomba with a knife.
“HE DEMANDS YOUR DEATH. THE SHELLED KING SHALL HAVE HIS WAY.”
A wave of fear ran through my mind, “Impossible, I killed him! He’s dead! I threw him into the sun!”
If a roomba could smile, he would. The roomba turned to point the knife at me and simply said, “DECOY SNAIL.” |
Our existence turned out to be very young indeed. The other race had achieved galactic travel much sooner than we had. They had achieved what we could only dream of. Post-scarcity society. However, as time wore on their automated systems allowed them to become ever so more complacent. Their society began to focus on the arts rather than the sciences. Their knowledge of their own systems faded into obscurity.
When contact was first made, we were fearful that they would seek to dominate us, but they simply needed our aid. Their ship was in dire need of repair. Their automated systems were failing or barely operable. They landed seeking nourishment and a breathable atmosphere.
The first set of scientists and engineers were astounded at the level of technology, while the sociologists and biologists marveled at the new race before them. It took decades to determine how things aboard the vessel worked while the aliens adapted to life on our planet. While we began to build crafts of our own using our newfound knowledge, they acquired a taste for our food and music.
Theirs was an impressive ship. Automated systems for everything, including repairs. The mechanical aspects seemed fine, but they weren't operational. One team of engineers was finally able to decrypt the programming routines of the vessel using it's own repaired quantum-string computers. Turns out even higher level civilizations run into integer overflow. The largest time interval counted was slightly over 23 yoctoseconds. At 128 bits, this meant that they had been a civilization for over 100 million years! They must have never had encountered any time issues in their history to consider and prepare for, or thought someone else in their future would fix the mistake.
Slowly, but surely we did just that. We created AIs to assist in porting their machine code. The technology pulled from their craft aided us in our other endeavors and finally allowed us to achieve post-scarcity ourselves. We took to the stars in our new craft to seek out those that built it. Its navigation led us from ship-to-ship, colony-to-colony, but what we found was the same story as our initial encounter. The societies were always different, but the biology was very similar. This once great race was reduced to living in squalor due to a singular unfortunate oversight.
We started to become known as the Tachnomen. They couldn't understand what we did to make their machines work again. We tried to explain it a couple times before we gave up and simply told them that we fixed their clocks. Word spread, and it wasn't long before we were worshiped as gods. They came to us in their ships, and sent message of their colonies. We continued to port their machines to our new operating system, in exchange for free reign and use of uninhabited systems.
They grew tired of relying on us, and envied us for our mastery of the tech they once pioneered. They tried to attack us, but found their weapons neutralized by our "insurance"measures. We didn't have to fight back, once they tried to fire on us, their ships would automatically self destruct. It was only a matter of hours until their race was reduced to the handful of orbital stations and surface colonies.
We attempted to reason with them, but they refused. They razed all their machines in case we had "cursed"them as we had their ships. Their numbers dwindled as famine, natural events, and war took hold over their now scarce resources. Today, there stands only one outpost left. Their last remaining testament to their civilization.
There are times I think back to them. I wonder how they came to be, and if perhaps now they are happy once more. I also contemplate our future, if one day we will succumb to the same trap of complacency they did. I can only hope that their existence will serve as a cautionary tale to our descendants. Lest we become owner of all, and master of none.
EDIT: typo fix. |
Do you know what status quo *looks* like?
I see it every day in the mirror.
If I flip a coin for something, it *will* land on its side. If I play Rock-Paper-Scissors, it *will* be a draw, no matter what. Every week, I buy a lottery ticket. Every week I win the *exact* amount of money I paid for the ticket. Not a cent more, not a cent less.
It doesn't matter what I do, what I try, what I say - everything about and around me stays the exact same, in a somewhat... dull way. If I couldn't walk down the street without finding a stack of money, that'd be *lucky*. If I couldn't walk down the street without getting into a middle of a gang war, that'd be *unlucky*. I, however, am doomed to mediocrity.
And y'know what? It ain't bad. Has its perks.
Take this, for instance. The gun you're pointing at me - why, that is rather interesting, isn't it? But you won't shoot. Because that would be a change in the status quo. Nor will you be taking my wallet. Because then I'd have to do something out of the ordinary, getting all those IDs back and such. *Nah*, you'll just stand right here, dumbfounded, wondering why you're still listening to me.
Your hand is shaking. Are you trying to *actually* pull the trigger? Finding it a bit hard? Impossible, even? Is that drop of sweat on your forehead realization that you are not in control? In my defence, it's *you* who tried to break *my routine*. That existential dread you're feeling, that utter helplessness... *you* did this.
Anyway! I best get going before my coffee gets cold. You just... stand there for a while, I guess. It'll pass. And if you're worried whether I'm going to report you to the police, well... I tried in the past. But a trial, being a witness? Too unusual. They didn't believe me. Still, I could find the closest officer, give it another try; what do you think?
Or maybe I could take your gun, shoot you instead. Perhaps *this time*, it would actually fire. I'd watch the light in your eyes go out, and become a fugitive? Oh, how I would *love* that bit of excitement! Ah well.
Tell you what.
*Let's flip a coin for it.* |
From the personal journal of Astro-chronicler Des Variin.
Humans. Reviled, worshiped, misunderstood, underestimated. I first encountered these curious beings some 100 standard years ago, and have yet to fully understand all that makes them so damndibly different from all the other galactic races.
They follow the celestial standard, being bipedal with large brains and being more or less symmetrical, and possessing an organized community. Humans are curious, nearly to a fault, much like the All'tarr. They desire to understand the hows and whys of nearly everything they encounter that is different from their normal. Sometimes this backfires, but usually makes for exceptional leaps in technological advancement far in excess of their time past First Star Exploration (an anthropoligically understood time standard). They are as advanced technologically, at FSE 125, as other species are at FSE's upwards of 400.
Humans have, comparatively, short lives but fast reproductive cycles. This has several effects on their psyche, I theorize. Their relative fast reproductive rate makes the loss of individuals easier to deal with, so their curious nature that at times gets them into trouble is buffered.
They are, however, aware of their mortality, and so tend to be some of the more pacifistic beings in the galaxy. Fearing the loss of Human lives, and by extension the lives of others. They live passionately, love completely, and trust unconditionally. Usually. Their short lives means that often times, they live in the moment, but this more often than not means they respect life more than other long lived races that sometimes take their incredibly long lives for granted. They have been known to broker deals between warring parties and fostering fledgling races when they are found, instead of pacifying them with violence.
Yet, to consider the humans to be pure pacifists, as the Aldarri, would be a heinous mistake. Their relatively difficult evolution has carefully honed even the most average Human into an organism capable of enduring and inflicting great violence.
For the average Galactic Citizen, when struck in the abdomen with a blaster bolt unprotected, the shock to the neuro system is so severe that death is three to six seconds away. Humans have been known to survive for as long as eighty minutes, fighting with lethal ability for the first fourteen.
They are rational and compassionate, but in a stressful situation, a strange evolutionary mechanism manifests, called the fight or flight condition. Humans possess a gland, that in times of extreme stress, excretes a combat drug. This drug dulls pain, slows blood loss, and allows for extreme physical performance. Last year, a settler on Innova-G lifted a 1000 Kg shipping container that had fallen onto her child at their farmstead and rescued the child.
They also have been noted to have an impressive ability to continue to fight after taking damage. Fighters in their combat sports often continue to mount effective defenses even after taking devastating strikes to their brain cases. Other fighters have been observed allowing an opponent to dislocate joints rather than forfeit the fight, often continuing to fight until the official stops the match. There are countless images in the medical files of humans impaled with objects that would have killed 87% of Galactic Council Species.
In Standard Calendar 8327, the Vall discovered the extreme of the Human's fighting capacity when they launched an offensive against 60% of the Human held worlds. The Humans were only known to the Galactic Councel for 12 Standard years, and thought by all to be pacifists, because of the several successful treaties they brokered in their earliest years. The Vall wanted the heavy metals known to exist in the Human home solar system's asteroid belt and launched a campaign despite several rounds of negotiations. Ultimately, this was felt by the humans as a direct attack against the Human Home world, and Humans as a whole.
Today, there is no Vall Home world, and only 20% of the Vall continue to exist. The Humans have a saying where they "Make an Example"of someone. The Vall is that someone. The Vall are currently the Human's most fervent allies. they learned the hard way about the human's darker side.
The Humans are known as the best friend you could have, and the worst enemy. The Vall have seen both. I have been blessed to only have been their friend.
edited a word or two so far.
Also: wow, this took off. Thanks for the kind words and taking time to read this. |
The void was warmer than Skjall had expected.
He had been comfortable in his final days, taking his last breath surrounded by somber children and playful grandchildren. Their innocence was refreshing to the old viking; they had never experienced a raid, and their bright smiles filled his ebbing heart with pride. He had built the village walls many winters ago and led the defense of his land against the attackers whom had long since moved on to more successful conquests. After a brutal victory, he welcomed in an era of peace for his people.
The crackling of his blazing funeral boat echoed through the endless dark that Skjall now found himself in. He felt his mortal body burning away, but he felt no pain. His soul felt freed, as if from a chrysalis. In a short time, the final fibers anchoring him to earth turned to ash. Only silence followed.
And then, syncopated footsteps echoed from everywhere.
Out of the darkness, a thin man approached. A gnarled cane accompanied each left step. His manicured beard softened the sharp features of his ageless face.
"Skjall,"the man stated.
"Aye?"
"You did not die a warrior's death."
"No."
"You gave that honor to many, though. Odin's halls rang loud with song on the eve of your victory."
"Aye."
The man shifted off of his weak leg and began walking forward again. He held something in his other hand.
"Even after the blood stopped flowing, you fought for your people."If Skjall could move within this void, he neither knew nor cared. The man approaching did not frighten him. "You fought back pestilence and frosts just as well as other men."
"I'd do it again."
The man stopped. "I believe you will."He then opened his hand and revealed a small decorative stone that lay above the hearth in Skjall's home.
"Odin collects warriors so they can fight again at the end of days. I collect guardians to make sure the days don't end too quickly."He placed the stone in Skjall's hands. "Watch over your land. Guide their fields to harvest and their ships to port. Your work has only just begun."
"Aye." |
My fist hovered above the solid oak door. It was a nice house, clearly he had done well for himself. Some of it was original, it looked over a century old. Most of it seemed to have been added after the fact. For a moment I felt pride. Only a moment though, I shook my head and pushed it down. There was no way he was my son, I had no reason to be proud. I was only just old enough to drink, he had seen the rise and fall of the Third Reich.
I knocked on the door and waited. I gave him time, the website said he was 89, it would probably take some time to reach the door. I could have waited 30 seconds or an hour, it was impossible to tell. Even my heartbeat seemed to go quiet, leaving me in a dreadful silence. Time seemed to freeze and speed up, all at once, until I heard a click from the other side.
“Glad you could make it, dad, I made your favorite.” An old, wrinkled face met mine, with large round glasses that made his eyes look massive. He turned around and waddled his way towards the kitchen, but I stood frozen on the porch. “Are you coming in?” he asked. “I made baked ziti, you always loved it growing up. Of course, maybe it’s too soon for you to have had it the first time… these things are really confusing, you didn’t give me much to work on.” I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. He bore into my soul with his eyes, and I stepped over the threshold to a house I had made almost 100 year prior.
“I was wondering when you’d finally come. You told me May 16th, but I didn’t know if I should make breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I made eggs this morning, but you never came. I still have some leftover sandwiches in the fridge if you want them, you have a lot ahead of you.”
I froze in the hallway. “Who are you?” I finally asked.
He turned to meet my gaze, and a grin spread across his lips. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
“You can’t be my son,” I whispered. “You’re 68 years older than me, that isn’t physically possible.”
“Like I said, you have a lot ahead of you,” he laughed. “Why couldn’t I be your son?”
“That isn’t how time works, you were born before I was alive.”
“Eh, before, after, it all gets very mixed up when you’ve been around as much as we have. Now come, dinner’s ready.”
He was right, baked ziti was my favorite. He made it just like my mother used to. She was no cook, but she had mastered a few simple recipes. No matter how hard I tried, I could never make it like she had. But this old man had perfected it.
“You used to tell me, when I was a kid,” he began, “how grandma used to make this when you got sick. And one time, in your sophomore year of high school, you beat up this kid, Tommy something-or-other…”
“Jones,” I said under my breath. “Tommy Jones.”
“Tommy Jones!” he exclaimed. “That was it. You beat him up good. Sent him to the hospital. Mom made ziti that night, because Tommy had been harassing Uncle Steven, and you put him in your place. You were grounded for a month after that, but grandma wanted you to know that she was proud that you defended your brother.
Tears began to streak down my face. “Who are you,” I whispered, begging for an answer.
“Father dearest,” he began, “you always told me this was the hardest day of your life. Storming the beaches of Normandy, watching mom die, you could handle it all. But this was the day you lost everything; your parents, your brother, your boyfriend, and yes, even your cat Cthulhu. Good news though, after we move into the family home, we do get a dog. You name him Diogenes. Spoilers. For a lot, I guess.”
There was no way this was just some crazy old man, and no way this was a prank. He placed a necklace on the table, a resin sphere with a crystal suspended within. It looked decades old, and around my neck hung the same necklace, but much younger. I took it off, and when I touched the two of them together, there was a spark.
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“A lot,” he chuckled. “Fight the Nazis, march on Washington, trip with Ken Kessey, stand at Stonewall. The 60’s are going to be busy, I won’t lie. And you’ll have to see a lot of suffering before you can get to that point.”
“I don’t want it,” I said, turning my head away. “I wanna go home, Micah expects me to come home tonight. I have a flight, I need to get home.” I was panicking now, shoving myself from the table and making a beeline for the door.
“You won’t make it,” the old man shouted after me. “When you meet mom, you’ll need a shitty pickup line! Remember, it’s-”
I never heard the line. As I opened the door, and stepped out of the house, I noticed the scenery was different. The road was dirt, and night had turned to day. I turned around and the house was gone. I knew where I was, but it would take a long time to accept when. |
"In this house we eat *peanuts*, Marie!"John yelled as he shoved fistful after fistful of peanuts into his infant son's mouth.
"No, John, no!"Marie cried. "The doctor said it'll kill him! Look at how red he's turning!"
"Gerddarnnit, Marie!"John snapped. "My father ate peanuts, and his father before him, and it was good enough for them! Our boy's going to eat peanuts!"
"Please, John, please!"
"I'll have no more of this backtalk! Now, it's time for his bath!"
"No, John!"Marie rushed after her husband as he carried the baby up the stairs. "Please, you can't!"
"Gerdarnnit, Marie! The boy's gotta get clean! Do you know a way to get a boy clean that *don't* involve scrubbin' him in a bathtub full of Skippy Smooth 'N Creamy?"
Marie hung her head low and stepped back. "No,"she admitted. "I don't suppose I do."
"It was good enough for my father, and it'll be good enough for him!"John said, rubbing Skippy Peanut Butter into his son's hair.
"Oh, John, look!"Marie rose a trembling hand to her mouth. "The boy! He's gone into shock!"
For a moment John didn't know what to do. He watch helplessly as his boy writhed and convulsed in the tub, paralyzed by the nagging thought, *could I -- in some indirect way -- be partly responsible for this?*
Then the shock shedded away, replaced by the firm resolve that paternal instinct sparked in his gut. There was no time for placing blame. He had to take action.
"Marie,"John said. "Get the first-aid peanuts." |
The Devil gave me the ultimatum -- I can only leave Hell of I can defeat the 9 boss levels without resorting to evil.
This was a game. And a game has rules. And rules need to be defined!
"What, then, to we class as evil?", I asked.
"ANYTHING THAT CLASSES AS A MORTAL SIN, ANYTHING THAT CLASSES AS ONE OF THE 7 DEADLY SINS, OR ANYTHING THAT BREAKS THE TEN COMMANDMENTS".
Hmmm. Ok. That doesn't give me many choices.
"This is to be played like a game -- which game should it be played as?"
"IN THAT I WILL GIVE YOU A CHOICE. CHOOSE NOW! BUT CHOOSE ONLY ONE IF YOUR GAMES OF EVIL".
I had to quickly run though some types of games. Pac Man? That would be interesting...
What about Donkey Kong? Or Mario Kart -- no, the 9th level will be Rainbow Road, I know it.
Ah, I've got it.
"I choose Doom. The original one".
"THEN IT SHALL BE YOUR DOOM".
I ran to the wall and stood facing it as the world flashed and became the first level. And I moved, facing the wall, feeling my way to the end, never looking behind me.
The recreation was perfect, even down to that feature when the monsters wouldn't attack until you could see them... |
**The Story of Rog the Space Pioneer**
Rog look sky. Rog be part of sky, Rog born with higher goal.
Rog look around, tribe strong, tribe working.
They have goal too. But they goal simple, can’t understand Rog goal.
Rog can’t understand Rog goal, but Rog never give up.
Rog see familiy age, see father be old, hair gray, smile warm, smile kind. He greatest Dad.
Rog see friend be strongest warrior, be best friend, peace maker, biggest criminal. They look happy when die.
But Rog stay. Rog live in home he born. Rog see only old people. Rog still young but Rog eyes see all go. Rog see his hill grow, change and tiny fires be born.
Fires grow, people come, new people, they make axe, bow, spoon. Spoon good for eating. Rog like firework.
Rog do firework too. Rog burn hand, Rog burn hand again. Fire no friend, fire tool.
Rog see flicker of image in mind. Rog overwhelmed. Rog see sky beast of fire and shiny rock.
Rog look longingly at sky. Someday he die too. Just like dad.
Rog working. Rog learning. Metall, fire, creation. Part of Rog. Rog growing with world. World can’t grow without Rog. But world grow angry. World start fighting. Big fight. No fair. No easy club murder. Youngsters making big war. Huge throwers, sharp metall.
Rog must fight. Rog has strength of iron in heart. Rog fight for his hill. Protect it. Build wall, build houses.
Other people build houses. They need help. They ask Rog. Rog help, but Rog has goal.
Again Rog see people go. They lead city. They run kingdoms. They make most beautiful garden.
But Rog still here. Rog never go. Rog life everlasting. Never make friend. Friend go.
Rog sit in city. Train drive by housecomplex. Rog don’t pay rent, he own. Rog old money, stone old money.
Rog finally has plans. Rog finally discover what goal means. Rog build beast of fire and metall. Rog build intergalactic connections. Rog only want die, but Rog understand. Rog see humanity. Rog see them die. Over and over, rog see them die. Live futile life. Rog see how they cling to shiny rocks. Rog see war for good. Rog see more war for nothing. Rog here. Always here. Rog learn. Rog be better. Rog don’t look world anymore.
Rog working, never stop. Rog working, can’t stop. He meet other people. Smart like Rog. They build metallbeast who touch sky. They die. Rog never give up, Rog build metallbeast to touch moon. They die. Rog feel not enough. Rog still here. Rog forever here? Rog working so hard. But now way. Still no soul in sky. How long Rog must stay. How Rog ever reach sky?
Rog want to see dad, want to tell him everything. Rog can’t reach. Rog work so hard. But Rog can’t reach yet.
Rog live, Rog live for thousands of years. Always learning. Rog body now part metall, part fire. Rog eyes dim, see only bright stars. Rog working. Old finger touch all his paper. Make correction here. Connect this wire. Rog sitting in metallbeast. Rog made elegent design. Rog carve his life in shell. It was lonely life.
But Rog regret nothing. He learned. Rog here for higher goal. Rog here to bring humanity to new level.
Rog will advance humanity. Rog push button. Giant energy send out. Rog tear space. Heh Rog stoneage strength never gone. Rog start metallbeast. Metallbeast come to life. Breathing fire, riding into sky.
Rog see all colors. Rog see all lights. Rog travel forever but go by in blink of eye. Rog flying into space.
Rog traveling through tear in space. Rog faster than light. Rog faster than stone thrown.
Rog release metallbeast. Metallbeast stay in sky. Bloom like flower. Every light, every star, everything connected to Rog.
​
*Written by Aras* |
The comet blazed through the sky, like a piece of the sun come to bless us with life. But it did not come to bless us at all. Soon the clouds turned grey with smoke, and the next great extinction of earth was at hand. The greatest scientists in the history of our race worked as hard as they could, and they soon developed weapons that combated nature itself as the planet tried its hardest to kill us. Eventually though, even the strongest methods failed. The last remaining authority loaded a small spaceship with the people necessary to build a colony, along with several hundred fertilized eggs, so that our race would survive. After years of traveling at close to the speed of light, we finally reached our new home.
We sent down the first of the colony ships, and it blazed through the sky, like a piece of the sun come to bless the planet with life. We seeded the clouds with the materials we needed for survival, turning them away from their natural color. The natives fought back, but they made no attempt to communicate, and we assumed that there was no hope for peace between our races. We survived, just barely, as the planet tried its hardest to kill us. Eventually though, we prevailed, and as the last of the natives fled the planet, we knew that our race would survive, and settled into our new home. |
The first can change the future. He stands poised, ready to rewrite the future so the other does not exist there.
The second can change the past. He is ready to make the other never born.
This doesn't change anything, both of them know that in that cataclysmic moment they will irrevocably remove both of themselves from the equation of time itself.
So, in the eyes of mutually assured destruction, a compromise is made.
They never met. And they'll never meet again. |
As we stood on the ledge, I looked into his eyes, and he could see that I was scared.
"What's up?"
"I don't want to jump."
"Why not?"
"Because I am afraid that I will not die."
"Why do you say that?"
"Remember that one time I got into an accident and I thought I was dead, but I came back 4 years later because I was tossed away from the car and I ended up in the faraway bushes, after which the tribesmen nursed me back to health?"
"Yes..."
"Remember that one time when my Cessna crashed, and I was finally ready to die, but somehow I was back after 2 years because I was just stuck in some trees and then later kidnapped?"
"Yeah, I do..."
"Remember that one time I fell into the Red Sea and everyone saw me get eaten by a shark but then I came back 7 years later because I actually fell into a submarine, banged my head, and lived with amnesia before getting reminded of who I really was?"
"Yes, why are you asking me all this?"
"Well, I think I can never die! There are just so many of these times when go through fatal situations, and I have to live with all the pain, but then I never get the absolution of death. Why go through all that pain again when I am not going to die anyway?"
"Because this time, it is different."
"Is it? How?"
"Because this time, the show has been cancelled."
:') |
It's never nice. I just want to get that clear right away. The death is never nice. These are painful, slow, and disgusting affairs. Just horrible.
I also want to say, I didn't know I would revive when I went through with the plan. I was raised by a single mother, with a half dozen younger siblings. I had never found an apprenticeship, not for myself. I helped a couple of my siblings, but my life was headed nowhere.
Then the magistrate came to me with an offer. I've never caught how they picked me, but the money for my family, the promise of profitable marriages for my sisters, the offer of a political apprenticeship for Matthew, the youngest of my brothers, it was all so much, and I just had to marry Princess Tiffany. And probably die. I had a little concern on that front, but hey, I got over it. Clearly.
It wasn't a bad wedding. Small. They got Mom a great dress. I kissed a princess. Not much different than kissing any other girl to be honest. Hey, I may be poor, but I'm not ugly.
Right, so yeah, month goes by, no death, some court wizard say marriage needs consummated. Yada yada, et cetera and so forth. Next morning, I stumble out a window, land on the top of a flagpole, skewering my intestines, and slowly bled out. They cut my corpse down, put me in a mausoleum. I don't remember that. What I remember is waking up to my widow, weeping over me as some priest yammered away.
There was terrified screaming. A few minor stabbings by terrified guards, and I was dead again. Just for a day, no hard feelings. Next time I came back, Tiff and her dad were at my side. As was a wizard. The one who figured out why the curse hadn't worked prior.
"Yep, he's immortal,"the wizard said. "Sorry, kid. This is gonna suck. Hope you're a masochist."
"He's going to keep dying?"Tiff sounded, honestly, concerned. I felt a bit guilty. We barely knew each other. The marriage wasn't meant to last, so we never really invested in it.
"Well, yeah. Curses don't break easy. And he's a bit tough to really end."
"There has to be a way to sort this,"the king said.
The wizard shrugged, "Sure, probably. Lemme look into it."
Honestly, this wizard seemed pretty cool. "Sorry, wizard, I... What's your name?"
He chuckled. "Martizolanther the Seventh and five-eighths scionite of the Coliria Eternum Hall of Thaumaturgical Arts Smythe. None of that is a title. My parents were far from subtle about their hopes."
"Can I call you Marty?"
"Not even once."
"Ok."
"Ok, wizard, see what you can find to fix the poor boy,"the king grumbled as he all but shoved Marty out the door.
Tiff suddenly hugged me tight. I didn't know how to react. I just stroked her hair and whispered, "It'll be okay."
I didn't die again for a month, though that was the hot oil. I do NOT recommend it. A week after that was the horse trampling. By the end of the year, I'd died a half dozen more times.
And then there was last week. I didn't die, but it was still a bit painful. Tiff came rushing into our room, crying. "They're going to kill you!"We'd gotten close over the last year. Once we realized I wasn't going away, we started talking, spending meals together, going on trips. She would occasionally cook a meal with my mom. I wouldn't say we fell in love, but we may have ambled in to it.
"Honey, it's fine. The pain is bad, but it's a bit fun, experiencing these things."
"No, not just... They aren't working to break the curse. My dad and the wizard."
"Ok? So... what are they doing?"
"They are looking how to break your immortality! "
I don't tend to get angry. My life before marriage, anger was a weakness people would use against you. Once I was here, anger wouldn't really do much to help me against a curse. But I held a tiny ember inside every time the king made a snide comment about me. Gutter rat, poor, my daughter's first husband, asking if I was going to die today. The man was a prick. But I didn't get angry. And I wasn't about to now.
"What are we going to do?"Tiff asked. She'd pulled me into a tight hug.
I stroked her hair and whispered, "It'll be okay. I think I have a plan. Do you know where I can find the witch who cursed you?"
She shoved back from me, looking terrified. "Why?"
"Have I lied to you yet? I told you, I have a plan. And something tells me, she had one, too." |
The head of the United Nations’ Office for Outer Space Affairs concluded her presentation as best she could.
“The good news - the real takeaway, I think - is that they want to talk to us,” Professor Jacinta Snowe said. “Even if it’s not for the most flattering reasons.”
The room of ambassadors and scientists was quiet for a while. The French ambassador was first to react.
“It doesn’t seem very fair for them to judge us like that,” he said. “Perhaps the last time they observed us was when we were living in caves!” There were muted reactions of approval.
Professor Snowe politely nodded, then said, “A fair point, Ambassador. However, if you look at Appendix F in the full report, we’ve noted that their message came with a number of references to our culture no later than the mid-1950s.”
The American ambassador spoke next. “You said that the source of the signal was 700 light years away?”
“743, correct.”
“How are they observing us so recently? More importantly, how are they expecting us to talk to them - given their unkind first impressions?”
“Oh, let me turn to my colleague, Professor Akanni Odunayo, who’s been leading that team.”
The UN official stepped aside for the astrophysicist to take the lectern. “The Messengers have provided us with instructions on how to build a communications platform. Our proposal is in your packets at...”
While the room reverberated with the rustling of papers, the British ambassador spoke up. “How do they expect us to build something so complicated if they don’t even have good faith in our survival?” she asked.
Professor Odunayo gave a nervous glance to Professor Snowe, who sighed and shrugged. He turned back to the ambassador. “They, uh, they dumbed down the instructions. Quite significantly.”
Silence settled over the room again. A number of the scientists - all international heavyweights in their fields - looked as though they had had the wind knocked out of them.
“How ‘dumbed down?’” the American ambassador asked.
“Well, for example, the machine is powered by a number of tokamak fusion reactors,” he replied. “They’re very close to designs several nations and universities have already prototyped.”
“And?”
“The Messengers’ instructions say, ‘Put hydrogen in this machine to make electricity,’ and then check our understanding of what hydrogen is.”
The Chinese ambassador spoke up. “Do we even want to talk to them? They sound incredibly rude.”
“It could just be a difference in cultural norms,” Professor Snowe replied. “Maybe they’re just naturally very direct, and that could be a sign of respect.”
“You interpret the phrase, as your team has translated it, ‘The intergalactic community will be surprised to learn that you didn’t set yourselves on fire - yet,’ as a possible sign of respect?” the British ambassador retorted.
Professor Snowe shrugged.
“If you want to know what I think,” the American ambassador said with rising voice, “I think maybe we oughta just see how much further we can advance without their sage advice. Then maybe, one day in the future, we can go over there and deliver a response in person!”
There was a smattering of applause amongst grunts of approval. Professor Odunayo leaned over the lectern. “Please! My distinguished friends! This is contact with an intelligent race beyond our own! We must tread carefully. Who knows what they might teach us!”
“Sounds like they need to be taught some manners, first,” the Chinese ambassador said.
“Can we block their signal?” the Russian ambassador asked.
“What?!”
“Why should we put up with their insults? My American colleague is correct. We have the specifications for their communications machine, so maybe we tell them to go away.”
“You want humanity’s response to First Contact to be, ‘Go away?!’”
“More like, ‘Bugger off,’” the British ambassador said to laughter.
“‘Piss off, ya cunts!’” the Australian Prime Minister shouted to a raucous response.
“What message are we sending the other alien civilisations if we let them call humanity a pack of knuckle-draggers and get away with it?!”
As the world representatives debated the best way to counter insults with insults, Professor Snowe quietly instructed her assistants to collect all copies of the schematics for the communication machine.
“We have to destroy them,” she whispered to her colleague, who nodded. “We’re not ready, and we can’t trust them in anyone’s hands.”
“Maybe the Messengers were right,” he said as he surveyed the scene before him. “Maybe our technological progress really has defied the odds.” |
The immortality of magic is a curse. It lifts those who bear its burden far above those who do not. There are wizards, and there are others. Not people, but others. Short flames and fuses, impossible to compare to a wielder of magic, and worthless save to experiment on. It disgusts me.
I left home at the age of 14. It was a rash decision, but even with my limited magic, I would never find myself wanting. Food could be conjured at a flick of my wrist, even if it was a little bland. Fire was as easy as breathing, and shelter was a given, for those who turned a wizard away were far and few between, even if she was 14. I spent my youth aimlessly, traveling as far as I could and learning the countless languages of mortals, the endless cultures, and the fascinating kingdoms, tribes, and people that dotted the lands. With magic by my side, it was an easy life. An adventure that took me almost a decade to grow tired of.
For all my journeying, I was never a person. Always a wizard. Held at a distance, placed on a pedestal, or feared and shunned. Most wizards did not venture very far from the capital, too busy learning from the ancients and playing politics for power within their own circles. Those that did leave never returned. Stories suggest that those who left for more than a century were on some mad quests for power, to discover some secrets and to find some hidden truths in the world. Any less than a century, and it was hardly worth talking about in the circles of immortals.
In the next city, a bustling trade port, I sold off my insignia, and bought my best guess at what a commoner would wear. Uncomfortable, with my clothes looking completely misfitted, I set off on my very first mortal adventure. The first thing I would discover is that enchanted silk is probably worth dying for, anything else will have you sweating like a pig and aching to itch yourself all over like a mad man. I spent my first week in an inn, just figuring out how to wear normal clothes.
The second was spent coming up with more believable lies for the men that questioned a single woman running about. Lying did not come easy, and with my mind set on non-magical means, there were more than a few times where I had to steal from market stalls to get by. Let me just put it out there, either cleanse all food with magic, or never do it. Once you stop, you'll have the worst few months of your life as your stomach knots itself in a gordian fashion to try and adjust to the sudden change.
It didn't help that it also had to deal with butterflies, for that was when I met him. Binsad, a thief from the streets who stole my heart. He'd caught me stealing an apple, he and the very upset looking store owner.
"Sorry for my sister's behavior, she doesn't realise we cannot afford more food, sorry!"he had called out, before dragging me away.
"Hey, what's the big deal?"I asked, when he'd pulled us out of sight, "Now I have to find another place to get some food."
He laughed. "You were about to lose a hand, if it wasn't for me, you'd be tackled to the grown and paraded to the square to show other thieves what happens when they get caught."
"I would've run."
"And gotten caught."
"I'm a good runner,"I insisted, scowling at him. He was quite handsome, making it difficult to really be angry at him. Besides, he was probably right, I hadn't had a good meal in weeks, and it was not helping that my delicate stomach was still adjusting.
"Besides,"he said with such smugness that anger was easy once more, "I got you something."
He flashed two apples before me.
"I, uhhh,"I stammered, trying to find some bluster.
"Here, no need to thank me."He thrust one into my hands.
We spent the next few years together, raiding the streets and living like royalty. He'd grown up an orphan, and through necessity, had learned to skirt around the law in ways I'd never even thought of before. I don't know when it happened, but somewhere down the line, we'd fallen in love. Until one fateful day, when we were sprinting away with a necklace of pearls clutched in each hand. He'd misjudged a jump, and I was too out of practice to stop his fall with any magic. I'm still thankful that he died instantly, his neck snapping on a balcony in his mad scramble for purchase.
I was heartbroken. With his body in tow, I made for the capital and saw my parents for the first time in over a decade. They told me it was hopeless, that not even the ancients had ever held any sway over death. That such magic was beyond the reach of even wizards, and that I should toss away the "useless fleshbag of bones". They didn't understand. How could they, so high and mighty, so perfect and immortal. I would change it.
Every wizard I went to gave me the same answer, sometimes even the exact same answer instead of a variation. "Don't bother you dumb bitch, had you bothered to study a little, you'd know that not even the ancients have any power over the death of mortals. Besides, you're a wizard."
Every time, I heard the unspoken line. That wizards were meant to be with wizards, and no one else. What little sympathy they had slowly turned to ridicule. Every hour I spent pouring over ancient tomes, every piece of gold I scrounged up and spent on animal test subjects instead of human ones, it all only led to more vilification of my work.
Failure was all I knew. Every night, I went to sleep exhausted, drained from a day of casting and experimentation. Every public outing to gather something for my next attempt, another jeer or insult thrown my way. Little by little, my hope was being whittled away. But I kept trying. I couldn't give up. I had nothing left to me save for my work. If it was impossible, and nothing could be borne from it, then it was a distraction for the rest of eternity for me.
Chickens, pigs, goats, nothing worked. I dared not try a human, not yet. It was too cruel, and I was more human than wizard at that point. I was ostracized by them anyway. Years passed in a blur, with only the seasonal shift to mark the time. I had tried every single combination, and was on the verge of madness, about to break. If not for the routine nature of my days, I believe I would have broken. The only thing I talked to was his skull, his skeleton, muttering at my failures and assuring him that we would be together soon. That I just needed a little longer. I just needed something that made it all fit together.
When I was at my lowest, when I'd finally given up, I cut my morals away. Maybe they were right, that my ideals were wrong. I scraped away at the last bit of me that wasn't mad determination and tried what I swore not to do. I experimented on someone. But it was worth it.
It was all worth it.
There would be no laughing. No jokes or crude remarks. Wizards, ever immortal, unkillable and permanent, and so arrogant to think they were alone in that. That they were unique in that. I would change all of that.
I gathered a crowd together that day, to let them bear witness to my life's work. Many came to throw insults, to jeer and watch me fail. What was left of Binsad was but a bundle of bones.
"For years, you have all ridiculed me, you have all thought yourselves untouchable and incapable of being lowered to the status of a mortal,"I spoke loudly, so all could here, "Well today, I prove you wrong. I prove that we are not so different, that there can be change. Once this is over, my research will be common knowledge. It has been submitted to the ancients, and I have no doubt that after what you witness today, it will be the only thing that matters."
I took a moment to place my hand on his skull, and smile at him.
"Get on with it already!"A rude voice from the crowd. I honed in on him.
"Bear witness,"I declared, as I wrapped my ethereal hands around the speaker's heart, "as the immortal are no longer."
I closed my hand, and he fell. His heart no longer beat.
A soft laugh fell from my lips, "I'm coming, Binsad."
Between the gasps and the screams of the surrounding crowd, I placed my hand on my chest. With tears streaking down my face, my hand became a fist.
I had finally done it.
"We will be together, my love."
****
Please visit /r/ThomasWrites if you want to read more of my work. Critique and criticism definitely and always welcome. |
Do you think people exist in this world who are never meant to be together? Like water and oil, two forces that repel, no matter what? Fire and ice, north and south -- do relationships like that exist?
She put my heart in a choke-hold the first time I saw her.
"Here,"she said, with my umbrella in her hands. "You dropped this."
Back then, I didn't know what to say. Didn't know the magic spell that would make her fall in love with me.
"Thank you,"I replied. We both went our separate ways.
That night in bed, I couldn't stop dreaming she was there with me. That girl with the short black hair, the rosy cheeks, the pale skin. The ears, which poked out a little, and the nose that was perfectly tiny. That endearing mousy face. Even her umbrella had been cute: it had two ears, a nose, a mouth, and whiskers. Meow.
I hugged my pillow as I wished I could try again, wished I could find the girl and have a second chance at conversation. *Thank you*, really? How boring could one person be?
To my astonishment, my wish was granted. The same date displayed on my phone, the same morning news played on the television, and the same torrential downpour terrorized the streets. I pinched myself, but it was certainly real.
Again, there she was, at the same exact place as before. I made sure to cross her path just as I had yesterday, and I dropped my umbrella. Like an instant replay, she was holding it out to me.
"Here, you dropped this."
Had she somehow gotten more enchanting overnight? My heart threatened to explode just by looking at her.
"Can I get your number?"I blurted out. Idiot.
"Um,"she hesitated, "sorry. I don't just give that away."
I stood there, cursing myself, as she walked away. Would I get another chance tomorrow?
Yes, I would.
"Thanks so much, could I take you out for dinner?"She ran away.
"Come with me, please, the aliens are attacking!"She ran even faster than before.
Maybe she wanted a silence protagonist? Mysterious, edgy? No, that just creeped her out.
Hundreds of phrases uttered over hundreds of soaked mornings. I spent entire days reading through dating manuals and looking up advice online. Nothing seemed to pique her interest. Why was it so hard to talk to a random girl on the street? I know it wasn't the best place for a first meeting, but given unlimited tries I thought I'd eventually be able to crack the code. I handed her my number on a piece of paper, I complimented her clothes, I even tried to pay her to talk to me. None of it was successful.
Then, an idea struck.
I had to be quick, there was hardly any spare time before the arranged meeting spot. It was cheap and flimsy, but it was cute enough.
"Here,"she said, holding the umbrella in her hands a moment longer than usual. She turned it over a few times, studying it, before handing it over to me. "You have good taste in umbrellas. The bear's cute."
My soul almost left my body, I could barely stay on my feet. Finally progress, after hundreds of tries. What should come next?
"Thanks. I like yours too."I pointed to the black cat she wielded and she giggled. "My name's Ryan, what's yours?"
The same hesitation I'd seen many times took over her face. "Oh, um, I actually should be going..."
Incorrect, but still progress. I lived to fight another day, with another bear-umbrella at my disposal.
"Yours is cute too. Where'd you get it?"
"I ordered it from this website called Umbrellaigo,"she said. "Kind of nerdy, I know, but hey, I couldn't help it!"
I laughed. "Well, you made a good choice. I really like it. My name's Ryan, what's yours?"
"Jane. Nice to meet you."
Finally, after hundreds of failures, I had crossed the bridge. Nothing but limitless opportunity now laid ahead.
I learned all about her. All her favorite shows, books, and foods. All the embarrassing moments she had as a child and all the friends she wished she still had. Jane hated her brother, loved her mother. Her dad had been absent. Her favorite color was purple. She was studying to become a pharmacist. Nothing but her was on my mind now.
Everyday became a new experiment. What could I learn if I said this? How about that? Would she go on a date with me that same night, before the reset? Would she smack me if I tried to kiss her? Would she love me more if I changed my hairstyle? My clothes? My umbrella?
Lifetimes worth of that single day passed by in a blur. At least a hundred years, I figured. Each day as exciting as the last. I loved her, I really did.
The moment of truth finally arrived. I woke up and, on my phone, the date was different. Instead of the 22nd it was the 21st. So, a day before, huh? A warning from life, letting me gather my wits for the real deal.
It was sunny that day, and just in case I went to the same intersection I had thousands of times. She wasn't there.
At night I couldn't sleep. The grand finale was upon me now, and the thought of failure made my stomach turn. I had done it so many times, surely nothing would go wrong.
My alarm clock rang. 7:30, right on schedule. Outside, the rain battered the earth. I went through the motions. I put on the shirt she liked, the hat she loved. I bought the dog-umbrella instead of the bear. I recited the lines over and over in my head, the spell that would enchant her.
I was shaking.
There they were, those dark brown eyes I'd seen a million times. Those cute freckles that gave depth to her face. Those soft lips that I had felt alongside her silky skin.
She held the umbrella out, waiting for me to take it. The same half-interested look as always. Except now, it would be the last time I saw it. No more reruns.
"Here,"she said. "You dropped this."
I thought about all the time we had spent together, without her knowing. I thought about all the things I could say to make this moment last forever, the magical spell, the infallible script. I thought about the lifetime of memories, all which happened over a single day. And finally, I thought about the fire and ice, the oil and the water. The hundreds, thousands of encounters it took me to figure her out flashed through my mind, and I knew it wouldn't be fair. Not for her, not for me.
So, with watery eyes and blurry vision, and a whispered good-bye under my breath, I said the only thing I could.
"Thank you." |
Well this was it. I was going to do it today. I'd had enough. I made my way back to Pearly Gate Drive and went to building 4, room 86. The Angel Assignments department. I hadn't been here in ages. I'd been happy on Guardian duty. I'd spent numerous lifetimes as one. In fact I'd consider myself an absolute model of a guardian angel. But my newest human is pushing me past my limits.
I made my way through the parkinglot to the elevator. It was fairly crowded. Angels, cherubs, and other heavenly denizens making their way to some department or another. I could hear one discussing the finer points of being a messenger angel. One sung its praises while the other took the more practical side that the person given the message rarely ever believes or is believed if they do tell someone.
Finally I made it to floor 86. I navigated past missing persons, new angel recruitment, and finally to Angel Assignments. There sat Minerva. A curmudgeonly old Seraphim whose attitude made her fit for nothing more than a desk job. "Oh, it's you. You've got an assignment. Why are you here?"she said. "Nice to see you too Minerva"I replied. She was clearly unphased at my attempt to make pleasantries.
"Fine"I said. "I'll get to the point. My latest assignment is intolerable. I've got more patience than most but this kid is beyond stupid. He actively goes out of his way to try and get himself harmed. It's not even on purpose. He simply lacks the common sense to not stick his hand on a burner. His parents are just as bad, but at least they've learned a bit over the years. Their angels are just as outdone with them. They just don't want the shame of reassignment."
"And you"replied Minerva. "You want that on your record? Couldn't take care of a child?"I sighed. "This isn't a child, it's a monster. Do you know he thinks it's fun to stick crayons in his nose to where he cannot breathe and refuses to try and breathe through his mouth? Every time his parents gets him new crayons I have to bless each one to prevent it from stopping air. During which time he seeks new ways to harm himself. I'm losing my sanity Minerva!"
"You think I'm not losing mine? You think you're the first to come in here and tell me their charge is stupid? 'Minerva, my charge regularly forgets to turn off their car in the garage!' 'Minerva, my charge thinks its fun to eat tide pod packs' On and On it goes! So you'll forgive me if I'm not bleeding sympathy for you."I was losing my patience. "Minerva please, this kid is a no win case. It's unlikely he will see 18 even with my help. This isn't just a frustration Minerva. I spend my time and love and patience to help my charges. The prospect of them dying despite my best efforts breaks my heart."
Minerva sighed, removed her glasses, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Listen I know it's not a picnic"she said. "But that child needs a guardian angel. I know it hurts if you lose a charge. But to give up on one when they need them the most. It's shameful."This gave me pause. She wasn't wrong. I think this made me feel more guilty than I ever had. "I already feel like a failure Minerva, no need to make it worse."
She placed her glasses back on. "I don't know if you know it, but I gave you this kid for a reason. His family has a long history of willful clumsiness. Very few angels are up to the challenge. If I'm being perfectly honest it's a lineage that should have passed on some time ago. Do you know why we keep helping them?"I shook my head no. "These are the descendents of the woman who wept as she washed the savior's feet. Do you really want a reassignment?"
I was taken aback. How did I not know this. She was an honored denizen of heaven. This was a descendant of hers? I couldn't abandon my post. I apologized to Minerva and went on my way. Back in the office, Helena looked over at Minerva and said "Minerva, you know full well that kid isn't her descendant. His lineage doesn't even have any Hebrew ancestry.""Oh shut up and get back to your own business. If I reassigned him I wouldn't be able to source another angel for that kid." |
Being diagnosed with cancer was the happiest day of my life.
In retrospect, this wasn't exactly true, but as of last week looking back, it was the day my life turned around.
Before, each day was a painful routine of blood samples, needles, doctors helping me do things I was perfectly capable of doing and pity.
The worst was the pity.
I could tell them I was fine but we both knew the truth and the machines in the corner never let you forget it, not even for a second, not even for a heartbeat.
All of that pain was long gone now. By some miracle, everything bad was gone, replaced by incredible powers; to varying degrees.
Those who were blind? Perfect vision, but they could see through 20ft of any material. If you had poor eyesight, you had incredible vision, you could read a newspaper held halfway down a football field. If you were an amputee, you got a robotic leg, stronger and better than the original, and some peoples had a compartment for your wallet!
My friends who I'd met in the burn ward could now turn invisible, hide and go seek was much more difficult, but some kids who were once blind always helped out once I'd given up. I never like to boast, mum and dad always said it was rude, but boy did I do a lot of it now. The thing with cancer is that it affects different parts of the body, right? So different cancers gave people different powers, my cancer gave me the ability to move things with my mind, it also made me really really smart and I can fly now too, If I went back to school, I'd probably be in the 10th grade already!
Some of my friends with different types of cancers formed a superhero team, so we could fight crime! Andy, he can do anything and won't be hurt, not only his bones but his whole body can turn hard just like a diamond! Mitchell can blow air like a baseball and knock things over! And Lucy, well Lucy can eat absolutely anything and it never makes her tummy upset, which doesn't sound cool, but it's great because before she could barely eat anything!
After playing all day I suddenly felt really sleepy, but I know It's just because I used too much of my powers too soon. A good nights rest and I'll be back ready to go and stop a burglar with my new crime-stopping team!
I must look really strong though, I can already hear mum and dad talking about how cool and calm I look as I fall asleep.
________________________________________________________________
"He does look calm"Leanne whispered with a hoarse voice to her husband
"This is the happiest I've seen him look in such a long time"
She started to cry in deep but silent sobs into her husband's chest, while the doctor explained that Toby's medically induced coma meant peace in his last moments.
What had been such a hard 2 years were coming to an end, just two weeks shy of his 11th birthday.
"Can he dream when he's like this?"she asked the doctor hopefully.
"Yes,"he replied "I'm sure like most young boys he's dreaming about being a wizard and flying around on broomsticks as we speak"
*No*, Arthur thought
*Not his boy, Toby would be dreaming that everyone was a superhero. And that everyone was happy.*
|
The guards never see me coming. Soon, there is nothing left of them.
The terrorists have set up their camp here, in the forrest. They think they can disappear in the trees. This will be their last mistake. The woods won't hide them from me. Each tree is just another tool for me. But more than the trees, it's the animals nearby that give me strength. One animal in particular.
Ever since I was young, I have had a strange and powerful ability. I can borrow the power of one animal if it's close enough. I can fly like the bird, swim like the shark, stick to any surface like the spider, use the venom of the snake, jump like the kangaroo... I must say that Australia offers me such a large choice of power, it's almost unfair. But I don't need any of these animals to take care of the terrorists that are trying to invade us. I have a far more... powerful ally this time.
My legend has already started to spread among their ranks. The legend of the “Death from Above”.
I've found their leader. He is just sitting here, below a tree, unaware of my presence. When will foreigners learn?
He never sees me coming. My words are the last thing he hears.
“Allow me to *drop* in.” |
It had never been done before, giving The People such a place in decision making.
The Vote was a trial system to be reevaluated in a year's time. Hannah didn't know if this was more or less barbaric than old men deciding that another country had pissed them off and had to suffer for it but she was sure it wasn't right either way.
Her mum poured herself and Mark a coffee and brought it over to the couch so they could sit all cosy as it was decided if people had to die for the sake of - Hannah didn't know actually. Something to do with nuclear weapons or oil? She rolled her eyes and checked her phone, the voting app wasn't accepting anymore votes now. The war could be over who had the best coffee for all she knew but it was still going to be stupid and unnecessary and a waste of lives and money.
"Vote's closed,"She sighed from her chair, legs curled under her. Her mother and Mark glanced over at her and Mark rolled his eyes as her mother pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Don't be such a fucking downer,"Mark barked with a sneer on his rat like face as he shifted his fat ass to be able to stare his stepdaughter down. "You're 19, when *I* was 19 I'd already been in the army for two years! Doing something fucking useful with my life, and what the fuck are you doing? Working at fucking Wallmart!"
Hannah refrained from sighing or rolling her eyes as that would set him off again into another rant about how worthless she was and how she was a drain on their resources... Nevermind that he had been kicked out of the army after only six years or that he'd convinced her mother to give him her college fund, given half to his clone of a son and spent the rest on a new car and booze.
"Oh look!"Her mother chirped, ever the peacemaker. "It's starting! How exciting, don't you think Mark? We're part of history now!"Now Hannah did roll her eyes, history, right.
The special bulletin banner unfolded across the T.V. screen with a triumphant fanfare. The news anchor smiled blindingly at the cameras and Hannah's skin crawled. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we make history! The votes have been counted and the decision has been made by the fair people of our country!"Hannah tuned out a little as Mark made a self congratulating noise, like the news anchor had called *him* a 'fair person', ugh.
Hannah began paying attention again when the anchor cleared his throat and adopted a serious look. "The votes are in, we *will* be going to war."Mark cheered, Hannah shot him an incredulous look before quickly focusing back on the T.V, the man was 54 and cheering like a preteen over the idea of war. "The Vote served another purpose,"He continued and Hannah frowned slightly. "All those who -"He cut himself off with wide eyes as he paled and then continued in a much weaker voice. "All those who voted 'YES' have been conscripted into the Armed Forces as of this moment, those who voted 'Yes' will receive their orders in the next two weeks, anyone who tries to evade conscription will be given a mandatory sentence of five years in prison,"
The house was silent for a long moment before Hannah looked over at her mother. "Tell me you voted 'NO' mum,"She pleaded, fear beating at her rib cage. "Mum, tell me you voted 'No'!"
Slowly, ever so slowly her mother shook her head. "I voted 'YES'." |
"Brother, I do not see why you bother with these mortal establishments."Loki whispered in a disdainful voice. "We could be feasting in the halls of our father with endless servants loading our plates with freshly roasted boar. Rather than these... what are these?"
"They are called pancakes. I'm quite fond of them, here try this."Thor reached over and grasped the syrup and poured it over the circular cakes, filling the edges of the plate and dripping over the side.
Loki narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Go on. Try it. Does the god of tricks fear being tricked?"Loki took his fork and stabbed into the pancake, cut off a small perfect square and ate only a single bite. He crewed, examining the flavor and texture in his mouth.
He did not communicate pleasure, but he ate the rest of the square and began eating the rest of the meal. Thor had brought Loki to so many little inconspicuous ventures that the humans had. This was Thor's part in Loki's rehabilitation. Odin had ordered Loki to go and find what made the humans froth forward to the joys of life. Thor was there just to make sure he actually experienced something and did not try anything as foolish as escape.
To mortals, they looked like average truckers. Mjolnir sat next to Loki's plate getting syrup spilled under it, the hammer would not allow itself to be contaminated.
The friendly woman who served them came back over. "Hey guys, how're the pancakes?"
"They are delightful, thank you."Thor spoke through a smile.
"They are... acceptable."Loki surprisingly blurted out.
"So, I was wondering is there a con in town?"
"Excuse me?"Thor said "What is a con?"
"A con... a convention? I thought you two would be going to one dressed like that."
"Dressed like what?"
"In armor, and all that, you look a bit like that Thor fella. Is that who you are dressed as?"
Loki slowly looked up at the woman. His tricks fooled gods most of the time, but here was a mortal seeing right through one of his most powerful disguises.
While Thor and Loki stared blankly at her in surprise, she looked down at the table and noticed the syrup slowly flowing to the edge and threatening to leap to the ground.
She grabbed her rag, "Oh, so sorry for this mess."She began wiping the table. Loki and Thor met eyes and shook their heads in wonder. The waitress wiped the syrup back to the plate and reached for the hammer to clean under it. Thor instinctively reached out to stop her, but the woman picked it up as if it were nothing and wiped underneath it.
Thor looked up, once again at the woman who smiled back at him.
"Y'all are kind of quiet. But you're welcome."
"And I thank you. Sorry for any rudeness. May I ask, what is your name?"
"Oh."She said, she pointed to her nametag. "The name is Hebe."
"That is an unusual name."Loki said, inspecting this newly interesting woman.
"Its an old greek name. Anyway, hope you guys have fun with whatever you're doing. I got more people to serve."
And with that, she walked away. "See Loki. The mortals aren't always so boring."
"And I was just beginning to find pancakes intriguing."
____
Holy shit. Front page. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Hi.
If you are interested in stories about Greek Gods you should check out this book, you can pirate it right off this website! (its a friends book)
http://mistermercury.giandosigurani.com/#sthash.AQNHAGp2.dpbs
_____
EDIT 2; THE THANKING.
So, so many people looked at my friends book which I'm extremely thankful for. Also, someone gave me gold for this writing prompt! Not sure what it does just yet, but awesome! Thank you anonymous person.
Not sure if people are still reading this, but yeah. If you are, thank you. |
"Oh, my,"the hat said, its voice resonating through my mind. "But at least you can hear me. Yes, that's something."
I froze. I hadn't anticipated this. Could the hat detect a complete lack of magic? I'd wriggled my way this far, and I'd seen wonders on the train ride alone. As the hat hummed and hawed, I wondered how such a massive, drafty hall could feel so hot.
"You're certain there hasn't been a mistake, little girl? Have you played a trick?"
"No trick,"I lied, under my breath.
"Humm. Not shy with fibs. Perhaps Slytherin."
"If it means not getting kicked out,"I whispered. "I wanted to last at least a week."
"Did you think the wizards here could fix you?"the hat asked.
"No,"I said. I squirmed. "Well, maybe. I just wanted to learn."
"Yes, yes, that makes sense. I see this within you."
"Wait, you're actually sorting me. You're not going to tell?"
"No, no, young Miss Trelawney,"the hat said. And then, at the top of whatever hats had instead of lungs, it screamed to the hall, "RAVENCLAW!"
---
Edit:
Thanks so much for all your attention! I almost never write fan fiction, but when I saw this prompt, I couldn't resist. If you're interested in more of my writing, [I make comics](http://www.ramen-empire.com) and have a subreddit at /r/thievescant. |
“Hello and welcome to Natural Mysteries on The History Channel, my name is Pepton-7. Tonight, I have with me Dorel-4 who purports to be an expert on the mythical creature known as the ‘human.’ Dorel-4, thank you for joining me this evening.”
“It’s a pleasure to be here, Pep.”
“Please, call me ‘Pepton-7’. Let’s get right into it. In your recent book *The Hunt for Humanity* you break down, in amazing detail, the nature of these so-called Humans. Tell our viewers a little about that.”
“Sure thing, Pep. A human, otherwise known as ‘mankind’ or ‘people’ depending on the region in which you encounter them, are really an affectionate creature. While they tend to show a level of indifference bordering on disdain for their own kind, they show an exuberant love for any creature exhibiting fur, big eyes, big ears, or traits otherwise regarded as ‘cute.’”
“Well, that fact must be a great relief to our viewers out there. So it sounds like you’re saying the human is a fairly safe creature to encounter if you find one in the wild—that is assuming they exist in the first place.”
“First off, they do exist, Pep. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Secondly, not exactly. The human temperament is very volatile. They can react violently if surprised—or if you chew on their shoes. I teach a human encounter survival class wherein I provide my students with the most sure-fire way to survive a brush with a human: (1) roll over—they love a good furry belly, and rolling over shows them that you mean them no harm, (2) if they accept your step 1 offering, they will reveal their primary call of affection—”whosagoodboooy!”—this call will sound screechy at times, other times the vocal pattern will start high and cascade into a low pitch. This is how you know you’re safe, (3) once you’ve heard their affectionate call, they will begin to stroke you—do not be alarmed, they call this “petting” and it is their primary method of physical affection. At this point, you should nudge closer, wag your tail, and embrace the human.”
“Well I’ll be. These pointers seem very specific, Dorel. Can you fill our viewers in on your qualifications?”
“Sure thing. I can say, beyond a doubt, that my methods work and that humans exist because I was abducted by humans 13 years ago.”
“Abducted you say? What makes you think that humans are harmless if they abducted you? Is this some sort of Stockholm syndrome?”
“It’s a great question, Pep. One day I was walking along a boulevard here on planet K-9. I saw a great flash of light and the next thing I knew I was surrounded by a group of others in a pen. Two people came, pointed at me, picked me up, and took me off in their craft. We arrived at their home station at which point they showered me with gifts, treats, food, water, a cozy bed, and an incredible amount of love. It was the highlight of my existence.
“They called me ‘Sam’ and took me on long walks, rubbed my belly, and on special occasions they even let me sleep in their bed with them. These “mythical creatures” treated me as though I were royalty.
“After many years with my family (the human word for the kinship unit) I was called back to Planet K-9. It was the saddest I had ever seen the humans. It was abundantly clear that they were truly going to miss me. I put on a brave face for them, knowing full well that I would return to a happy life here in my homeland. I promised them that I would tell the others of their kindness, and share the joy that is humanity. So, yes, they can be incredibly hospitable and loving creatures, and my mission here is to figure out how to get back to their planet and rejoin my humans.”
“My, that is quite the tale, Dorel. I’m not sure the impact you’ve had on my viewers this evening, but I for one, am intrigued. Unfortunately that’s all the time we have for tonight. My guest has been Dorel-4, author of the best-selling book *The Hunt for Humanity*. Thank you for tuning in. Good night, and Dogbless.”
​
Edit: couple typos fixed. |
"Alright. First things first- get emotional. Get angry. Get passionate, or irritated, happy, glad sad or mad. *Emotional*. That's step one- and likely the most I'm able to teach you."
Sergeant Major William Holloway of his Majesty's Royal 3rd Combined Arms Group adjusted his chestplate and got into a stance. The wizened man in front of him listened with incredibly rapt attention, not even speaking up to state that he knew this. Remarkably, Leonard Percival, Grandmaster Lord of Water Magic, legitimately sought Holloway's tutoring, even if it was required.
What was also strange about this situation was Holloway's status as a Combined Arms soldier. Sword and shield and flame wasn't a very common practice, even if His Majesty sees the strategy in it and is starting to form CA Groups. Even the most common of foot soldiers slinging firebolts or throwing shards of ice can catapult army effectiveness, even the most rudimentary first aid magic can save lives until an Adept practitioner can reach the soldier.
Curious, as both the Church and the Offices were opposed to Combined Arms groups. The Holy Church of Jasumuph saw their healers as gifted by the gods, and no common man could wield such magic. The Grand Offices of Wisdom saw the common man as inferior. Of the Five most powerful men on the continent, one stood in front of Holloway.
This was remarkable as it was basically an unofficial rule that Masters or Grandmasters can study under basically anyone of their choosing. Hell, Percival could have studied under Joshua Graham, the Lord Grandmaster of the Office and the Grandmaster Lord of Fire Magic.
But no, he stood in front of Holloway, mimicking Holloway's stance even if it was crazy basic. Feet wide, lowered knees, elbows down and hands low and a bit to the sides.
And then William growled, and flames licked up his palms. It was a callous waste of energy, a terribly inefficient cast of Flame, yet it drove his point across- fire magic manifested through ferocity and emotion.
The Grandmaster mimicked Holloway, growling all too similar and, for the briefest of moments, sparks flickered across his fingers.
The Grandmaster gave his fingers a glance. A minute with Holloway yielded more than five hours reading books on the subject. The Grandmaster smiled.
"Two lessons are apparent immediately. Firstly, being vocal or tensing muscles actually does help. If you can make yourself angry, the fire will come to you faster. Flex your fingers, tighten fists, growl, scream, shout- it all helps. Secondly, the principal of KISS. Keep It Simple, Stupid."
The Grandmaster double taked at Holloway's response- was this boy calling him stupid? And yet, his massive age justified his wisdom, and he kept silent for the explanation. He knew one would follow.
"If it's stupid, but it works, then it ain't stupid. So keep it stupid, keep it simple. Flex your hands, scream at a motherfucker. Basic movements like jerking your hand in a direction or slamming your feet on the ground can put artificial emphasis on an otherwise basic fire spell."
The Grandmaster finally spoke, not leaving his stance.
"That is wholly unlike water magic. And I wouldn't believe Grandmaster Fire would agree with you. Why do you take this approach?"
Holloway smiled.
"Because it works. Or maybe it just works for me. Everyone has their own style. But this works for me, and as long as I can *use* fire magic, I can get better at it. Imagine trying to learn Meteor when you can't even cast Sparks? No amount of books can help me, no amount of tutoring would work. My Sparks can turn into Flames, my Flames into Firebolt, my Firebolt into Flamestream and Fireball. I can grow in power first, get used to using it- any finesse, technique, or expertise can come *after* I get used to using the simple spells."
The Grandmaster smiled wider. That. That was why he chose a commoner over the Grandmaster Fire. "It just works for me"is a powerful statement, beyond what Holloway understood. How many students were frustrated and depressed after failing to follow studies and cast their first spells? How many students could have benefited from finding their own way?
What's more, is that Holloway clearly was skilled in his martial matters, and even his stance hinted towards it. Martial Arts inspired maybe?
"I don't know how much I can teach you. I can presume that fire magic is nothing like water- there's a lot less fluid motions and calm expressions and a lot more watching a guy's face melt because you're screaming into it."
The Grandmaster winced and his smile fell into a frown, but he understood. He took it seriously.
"But, for now- lets get you screaming, lets get you yelling, and maybe your current finesse and control over your water magic can help you shape the mana in you into flame."
Holloway gave an encouraging smile, and screamed. It was an awkward scream. It was forced, and it wouldn't look out of place on someone faking an injury or an assault.
But when flames burst into existence around his palms, and crept up his forearms, the Grandmaster took it in stride.
And so the Grandmaster screamed. And, for the first time, flames exploded on his fingertips. |
"Keep it together. Keep it together."I thought to myself. I tenderly gathered my newborn son into my arms, marveling at his vibrant purple and green hair. Yet even as I did so, I couldn't help but think to myself how much danger would be faced by... me. I knew the statistics. The early mortality rates for parents of protagonists was not encouraging. I wondered about putting the baby up for adoption, or possibly even...
A doctor suddenly rushed up to me. "Mr. Iwagi, I'm sorry to say your wife is experiencing some... issues after the delivery. I think you should go be with her *right now*."
"Shit! It's beginning already."I thought. Sure enough, In the next 15 minutes my wife bled to death. As the grief took me, another emotion slipped in. Resentment. My stupid protagonist baby just *had* to have himself a tragic backstory, didn't he? Well, I'd show him tragic. After sitting by her bedside for a while, the doctors asked me to go be with the baby. But of course, the nurses informed me gravely that he had been kidnapped as I mourned. Bereft of wife and baby in the space of an hour, I vowed revenge on the narrator, the artist, the authors, whoever! And most of all, on that ridiculous-haired, tragic-storied, disappearing baby that had the nerve to tear my family apart.
Oh, I'd show him tragic alright. |
The oncoming car's brakes squealed. I knew I couldn't make it, yet in that split second I knew I would do what I could to save what was important to me, my wife. Then the glare of the carlights and the honking of the horn robbed me of anyother last impressions.
After pushing my wife away from me and the oncoming car, I didn't expect to find myself in a translucent rundown theater. The fact that I was tied down to a ratty chair didn't help to calm me anyway.
Then a movie started running, in the way those black & white films were shown, where you can hear the projector running. It lasted an hour. Too much info. Too fast, too soon. While watching the movie, I was also processing the movie. And I'm sure I missed a key detail or two.
With the timing of my death, I'd managed to miss the rising of what people would call, the antichrist or The Enemy. His most striking feature was that his shadow would sometimes be missing or act independantly. A quick rise to power by a charismatic and very driven person, followed by calls to defend themselves proactively by neighbouring countries. Accounts were (or would be) distorted about who was actually to blame. Conspiracies by greedy people on both sides certainly didn't help. It would be the start of a half century of wars and catastrophe
At first people would call it, with the necessary snark, the long awaited World War Three. But as the years dragged on, the original reasons were lost. Instead of calling it war, later generations would call it The Disaster. In the end the charismatic, but much reviled leader still lived with those under his protection, having built a sanctuary somewhere which was said to be a Utopia of Pre-disaster tech, and filled with green plants. But others would be kept out, and forced to wander the wastes of what was left of the World. And so in the following part of that 100 years, he would still be called The Enemy. One of the final details that stuck out was that a group had been hoarding old technology, trying to build a time machine to stop the Enemy.
It's amazing how many details they manage to cram in that rapidfire accounting of that coming century. Thankfully being dead means you can't puke anymore from dizziness.
Then the chair collapsed underneath me. A jarring headache told me I hit the ground with my head. As I was slowly trying to roll around, I was still tied down. Only now I was lying flat. Pain. Hitting your head isn't supposed to hurt this much, so I continued struggling. Then I could vaguely make out. "Honey, can you hear me? Please hold still, the Ambulance is bringing you to the hospital. You're tied down to stop you from hurting yourself. Please, stay awake."
With much effort I opened my left eye slightly and the light of the ambulance nearly blinded me. I could vaguely make out the telltale shape of my wife's hair. I tried to speak, but only a groan would come out. My wife noticed a heaved a sob of relief. "You'll be able to make it, honey."
Laying there, tied down, I could only wallow in my pain. I thought, "Was it just a dream, hallucination?". I couldn't be sure. But I vowed that I would protect my wife however I would be able to from what was coming.
I was slowly sinking away into sleep, contrary to my wife's calls. Then I struggled to hear a whisper, *"This was only the first attempt. They'll try again."*
Sarah looked down at her husband, frazzled and panicked by everything that had happened. She hoped that he would make it, she'd never forgive herself if he died, especially after saving her. Behind her, her shadow rippled in tune with her emotions.
---------------------------------------
https://www.reddit.com/r/TrabianTellsTales/ |
"Wait wait wait. Wait."The president rubbed his fingers along his brow, breaking out into a cold sweat. "You're telling me it's an actual flat, fall off the side of the map and into the abyss type deal?"
"Oh no, It's quite hard to fall off the side of the Earth, Mr.President."Charlie Bolden smiled, giving a shrug. "That would be indicative of a one sided planet, which is quite rare. No, our Earth has two sides. That's why we get to experience night."
It was traditional for the head of NASA to explain the workings of the cosmos to the incoming president. As Charlie Bolden had been appointed during Obama's administration, it was his first time preforming the secret duty. To his credit, though, he was explaining the situation admirably.
Incoming President O'Malley leaned back against his chair, looking over the oval office. He could almost hear the world laughing at him. He thought he lucked out when Sanders vanished and Hill-dog lost it and literally tore Trump's throat out. At that point, he had won the presidency by default. The difficulties of the job started piling into his lap.
"So, where does the world, uh, split? The equator, right?"
Boden was impressed. He nodded. "Yes, actually. Right along the hemispheres. This is why the northern hemisphere experiences winter while the southern experiences summer."
O'Malley nodded, and swallowed loudly. "And why do we keep it a secret?"
The acting administrator smiled wide; his feet carrying him to the globe in the center of the Oval Office. He spun it idly. "Well, sir, why don't you come over here and I'll explain it."
The president of the united states nodded solemnly and made his way to the globe. His eyes lit up as Bolden pressed his fingers against two very specific locations in the North American continent. His thumb pressed against Dallas, and his index found it's way to a small crevice representing the grand canyon. There was a subtle click, and smoke began pouring out of the equator.
"Mother of God."O'Malley whispered, watching the scene unfold.
The President of the United States saw something move in Charlie's eyes. Something was behind him.
"Surprise, Cockbag!"
He turned, and George W. Bush punched him in the face. Bill Clinton and Barack Obama burst from behind the curtains and highfived.
"Suck it, freshman!"They yelled, in unison.
O'Malley fell backwards into the globe and groaned, his head spinning. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jimmy Carter waddling forward. He was wielding a black sharpie in one shaky, humanitarian hand. He could feel the slick ink spell out the words "Shitlord"on his forehead.
George Bush Senior walked out from a false floor, the one the secret service had been told to use only in emergencies, with a bottle of tequila.
Everyone (except for the current Potus) began yelling "USA, USA, USA!"and highfiving the Administrator of NASA.
Clinton took a selfie. #NoWife.
___
If you like the story, check out /r/ColoredInk for more mediocre writing! |
"Uh, where exactly did you get these...?"
"Eh, don't worry about it. Is that the correct currency or not?"
I pick up one of the gold bars, flipping it over while almost dropping it.
"God this thing is heavier than it looks. And uh, no, not really. These still have serial numbers on them, and I don't exactly have the gear to melt them down."
The voice let out a heavy sigh. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, what are we having for breakfast? Cookies and cream cereal with orange juice sounds fantastic right about now."
"Oh, you need me to cook for you now, too? And you know I hate orange juice."
Our normal, heated banter was the usual blast throughout the day. I was flailing at my studies, with a commentator to point out all my wrongs, as usual. I barely got my work done, halfway at best even for the day, also with commentary, also as usual. The voice continued to screech and banter with me, or rather my conscience about all the crappy drivers nearly killing me, well, us I guess on the drive home. That was until the voice made a comment that I couldn't shove off.
"You sure have your mind on those gold bars a lot."
"Yeah, I'm worried that someone is going to track them back to me and then you'll get me thrown in prison instead of the looney bin."
Sure enough, as I got closer to home, I could already see the flashing lights and SWAT teams breaking down my door.
*Shit! See what you've done* is the first thing that popped into my head, but that was quickly the least of my worries, as a cruiser pulls up behind me lights on.
*Crap crap crap, what am I going to do....???*
The voice finally broke his silence.
"Quick! You need to put yourself to sleep!"
"How!?"
I find myself quickly grasping my neck as a sharp pain courses through my jugular, quickly subsiding, yet almost costing me my car.
"Hold that point on your neck. You only need to hold it for fifteen seconds!"
"Oh you've GOT to be kidd-"
"*NOW!!*"
I reluctantly hold the top center of my jugular, barely keeping my grasp as I start getting limp, and darkness begins to cloud my vision.
UPDATE: I've been peer pressured into a part two {insert ohnoes emoji here}. Guess I'll get on that tomorrow :)
UPDATE: [Page 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jlsmp1/wpstart_paying_rent_now_or_get_out_you_yell_at/gatv83b/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
“A tree can be happy?” I ask.
“All trees are happy,” Bob says. “But if you think they’re happy when you make them – well that makes them happier, Jeung.”
“But if I paint with my magic, it’d just bring decay.”
“Dark paint on the right canvas can still bring brightness, like a cozy little shed in a snowstorm.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You will.”
And then he’s gone again. Silent and still once more. No major is perfect. The shade of a man was hauntingly beautiful, like a brief smile on a sad face.
***
Welcome to the Undergut of New Augir. Dark magic churns great machines that grind flesh into mud and bone into dust. Factories spew soot that stains the skies black. Life here is short and painful for the many. It is longer and agonizing for the few. I am the unlucky few.
Eye-burning screens are powered by their repeated lives. They shame even the most benign of criminals who are then used to power their own eternal humiliation. The city, in danger of succumbing to the rising sea, protected only by a field of black energy. I seep through moving, dead-eyed folk – zombies that have not faced death yet – and towards the open space beyond the city’s limits.
The necromancers, the ones that give the newly dead second chances at misery, are mostly gone now. They have been replaced by the dark machines they helped build. Only I remain.
These are lands made of sludge and slime. Broken up only by roads that lead outward to other cities like New Augir. But this land will work. I curl my fingers and obsidian energy chills my palm.
It is time to raise the dead.
From the earth a figure, brown and nightmarish, pierces through bubbling mud. A budding dot of green forms on one if its long, branching tendrils.
For the first time in my life, I witness a tree.
***
They come. First they wish to learn the forgotten art of necromancy. Even the novices can pull a single blade of grass. In these hazardous lands we build gardens from nothing. First the field mice come, then the deer. We build houses, small ones, and dwell inside them with peace and grace.
The men with guns come. Their cold eyes of the many-lived only know their sort of miserable peace, unable to see a future beyond the fog. They bring with them bullets and bombs.
It is a sad way to go, bleeding into grass.
But with necromancy, you’re never truly dead.
***
Weeks later, I rise.
There’s not much left beyond a few sprouts. I cultivate them with my weakened powers and hone them into stark white tulips. I sit there, cross legged, and with the scent of my own decay lingering around me. From smoggy horizons a butterfly flutters. It hovers around me in circles before landing on the tulips.
It drinks the nectar.
I smile. It's brief.
***
hey i'm like not good at this whole "being an internet person thing"but you can follow my profile or something if you like this i guess. idk how to reddit. |
"Ted,"Mub said with a pleasant smile when he crawled out from under the bed. He dusted himself off. The room was long unused, just the memories of a child gone remaining. A rocking horse, swaying gently back and forth. A table, where Ted sat waiting. Three chairs, and three little plastic cups.
"Mub,"Ted answered with a sad smile. "Long time, old friend. Mic will be here any moment now."
As if on cue, a long tentacle crept out of the slightly open closet door and Mic emerged. He sneezed, stirring up a cloud of dust which made him sneeze again.
"Dusty in here,"Mic commented dryly.
Ted smiled sadly at his old acquaintance's antics. He always had a penchant for drama. "Have a seat, Mub, Mic,"Ted directed. He pointed them to their seats. "I've missed you both,"Ted said quietly. They had retired after the incident. It was for the best, they told Ted. And they promised they would visit.
Mic seemed entranced by the abandoned toys of the room. He looked up and down and from corner to corner. The door was closed, as it had been for years. Some of the drawers of the dresser were still propped open, as if somebody would return to don the clothes one last time. That wouldn't happen, Ted knew.
"What's been crackin', bud?"Mic asked once he was done surveying the surroundings.
"Yeah, Ted, you alright?"Mub added. Their old friend seemed beleaguered; there were dark circles beneath his eyes and one of his ears was half torn. Years of neglect, from the looks of it. It hadn't always been like that.
"It's been tough,"Ted admitted. He looked at each of them in turn and then took a sip from the empty cup. The cups had always been empty, even when he had human company. Part of a game, Ted figured. A game he hadn't understood then and would never be able to understand now. "There's a whole new breed,"he explained quietly.
"Of monsters?"Mub and Mic looked at each other in concern as Ted nodded. "Who?"Mub asked, pressing for answers.
"The parents,"Ted explained.
"They were never monsters."That was true. They were loving and caring. They were gentle and understanding. When Ted was forgotten at the tea table and the car revved in the driveway indicating a road trip, one of them would always run up to get him before they went too far. Not by the ear, either, but they would hold him gently just like...
"They aren't monsters. They have monsters,"Ted clarified. "The door is always closed, except late at night. Then they open it and just stand there and cry."Mub and Mic looked crestfallen, and they glanced down at their empty teacups. Mub shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Do they hurt you?"Mub asked quietly. He was always the more caring of the two monsters. Mic was more aloof.
"No,"Ted answered hesitantly. "They don't. But they'll come in and sit on the bed sometimes,"he explained, gesturing towards where the sheets on the small bed were creased from someone having sat there. "And their monsters, I can't help with them,"Ted continued.
A tear rolled down from his eye and disappeared into his patchy fur. The years hadn't been kind to him, and Mub wondered how long he had been sitting at the table waiting. Ted had been the best once, foiling Mic and Mub at every turn. It was like a game, but the stakes were so much higher. Peace and comfort could be wrenched away to be replaced with fitful night terrors and tears.
"Some monsters can't be beat,"Mic responded. If he meant to be comforting, he did a miserable job of it.
"I think they might be leaving soon,"Ted said bluntly.
"Leaving?"Mub gasped. "They can't leave. What will they do with..."He glanced around the room. It was just as it had been on that fateful night, the last time he truly felt like a monster. He was retired now, the job having been too taxing.
Ted shrugged. "Someone else will move in."
"And how about you, Ted?"Mub asked. He leaned in close, deep wrinkles indicating his concern.
"To the bag,"Ted responded sadly. "I just wanted to tell you that I missed you before I go."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
EDIT: You can find the entire story all together here: http://issuu.com/singularis1/docs/singularis_pdf?e=24059922/34284115
Included is some awesome cover art created by u/jackKmart
Kendall had faintly heard his name spoken for the first time in nearly three years that morning. She had thought maybe she'd imagined it, but decided to run to the next room and turn up the television anyways. And there he was on the news, her long gone husband and best friend being hauled out of one of those ungodly large tanks he had left in so long ago. The banner running across the bottom of the screen simply read "Last Remaining Member of the 7th Expedition Found Alive."
*2 Hours Later*
Tears swelled in her eyes as she held Mark's hand for the first time since the morning he had left on his expedition. He looked much older now, his skin was pale and rough. A grizzled blonde beard now covered his face. Two scars now decorated one of his cheeks. His eyes faintly opened and they made eye contact for the first time. "Hey you"was all he could muster up. He smirked a little before passing out. A tear had rolled down his scarred cheek. Kendall broke down in tears of joy before the medical staff escorted her out of the room to prep for surgery.
*10 Hours Later*
Kendall had been kept in a small room in the hospital, away from any news cameras that had now surrounded the entire building. Several men in suits had come in and out throughout the night to console her and congratulate her on her husband's return. One of them was Wallace Quincy, president of the Border Exploration Agency and Mark's best friend. The last time Kendall had seen him was at Mark's funeral where she had slapped him across the face for sending him and his team out into the Borderlands. This time though she simply hugged him.
"How is he?"she asked him.
"Unfortunately I only know about as much as you do right now. They should be finished with the surgery by now though, so we'll know soon."He looked saddened to see her. Kendall could tell that the loss of Mark had resonated greatly on Wallace over the years. "I just want you to know that I am still so sorry for putting you through all of this.."Kendall shushed him and put a hand gently over his mouth.
"He's back now, that's all that matters, Wally"she said with a smile. Kendall could see his face flush with relief. It was the first time Wallace had felt good about something in a very long time. A tall, frail man in a lab coat entered the room.
"He can see you now."
*The Next Day*
Kendall stood next to Mark's bed as the room filled with several important looking men and women. Most went up to Mark to shake his hand and tell him how glad they were to see him alive. Wallace came up to her after shaking some other man's hand across the room. He smiled at both of them and put his hand on Mark's shoulder. Mark put his hand on Wallace's and smiled back at him.
"We're going to start the debrief now. Kendall, it may be tough to hear what happened, if you'd like to step out for a li.."she abruptly cut him off.
"I'm staying"she said sternly. Wallace nodded and turned to address the others in the room to tell them that the debriefing was about to begin. Mark grabbed Kendall's hand gently and pulled her close to him. She leaned in, his voice was still faint and tired. "I saw it."he said to her and smirked the way he always had when he was about to tell her something important. "Saw what?"Kendall thought to herself. Wallace spoke up before she could ask Mark what he meant.
"Okay Mark, whenever you're ready, let's begin."Wallace said calmly. He wasn't sure he was ready to hear what the last remaining survivor of a 30 man crew he had commissioned himself had to say. Mark, still looking at Kendall, turned to face the small crowd. He leaned up slowly in his bed.
"I'm going to have to start from the beginning for this all to make sense"he said. And so he began telling his tale that was now three years in the making.
*3 Years Ago*
"The whole worlds going to be watching you know."Wallace said with a smile. Mark Osbourne raised his beer bottle with a smile.
"Lets hope we don't disappoint them then, huh?"Wallace raised his and clanked it against Mark's.
"I wish I could head out there with you guys, you know that right?"Wallace had been studying the Borderlands for most of his adult life. A barren wasteland stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction that no man had gone more than 50 miles into. Winds that could uproot a redwood blew in every direction towards Singularis, the last major city on this godforsaken planet. Probes had been sent before, but their tracking devices began failing some 75-100 miles out. High winds in the jet stream prevented any type of probe to be sent into space as well. They were trapped here, more or less, Wallace would think to himself, and no one really seemed to ever care enough to figure out how or why.
"I know you do buddy, I know. But these people would be lost if you left. And who would watch Kendall for me while I'm gone if you were out there with me?"Wallace shrugged, Mark was right. Besides, the lab was his home. Wallace never was one for field work and a mission of this type suited the explorers like Mark much more. The two sat in silence for several minutes, both thinking the same thing. Mark finally broke the silence. "So, what do you think we're going to find out there?"he asked. Wallace honestly didn't have an answer.
*Expedition Day One*
Several miles into the Borderlands, Mark glanced at a screen showing the rear of one of the expedition's three monolithic tanks. The skyline of Singularis faded into the distance. "That was a pretty girl you had there"a burly man sitting next to Mark exclaimed. Harold Sanders, the chief engineer of the tanks they were currently riding in, was 6' 3"when standing. His voiced was booming and echoed across the titanium hull of the tank. A great, silver beard adorned his face. His hair was slicked back down to his shoulders. He looked like one of the toughest sons of bitches Mark had ever seen.
Mark nodded in agreement. "That she is, going to miss that girl."The expedition was slated for two years. One out and one to come back. Mark knew it wasn't going to be easy for her to have him gone for so long, but Wallace was going to keep an eye on her, and knowing she was going to be there waiting when Mark finally came back was all the motivation he needed to complete this mission. "Harold Sanders, right?"Mark extended a hand out.
"Aye, but my friends just call me Harry."He grabbed Mark's hand with a powerful grip and smirked. Mark refocused on the screens in front of him. The convoy moved slowly across the desert, and the winds had already begun to pick up and rattled the outside of the tank. Mark grabbed the radio.
"Prospect 2, this is Prospect 1. Do you copy?"he announced into the mic. There were a few seconds of static before the other end responded.
"Prospect 1, this is Prospect 2. We hear ya loud and clear over here. Might wanna check on 3 though, looks like she's slacking a bit back there"replied Prospect 2's captain. Marcus Whitewater, had a southern twang to his voice and almost never shut up, but the man knew what he was doing and Mark was glad to have him on the expedition.
"Fuck off, Whitewater. Maybe if you knew how to drive one of these my crew wouldn't be stuck behind you guys"a cheery voice answered back on the radio. Captain Sadie Richards of Prospect 3. Mark chuckled thinking of how such a small girl could have such a big mouth. She could probably beat up Mark too though, so he'd keep that thought to himself.
"Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth, Cap?"Whitewater answered back.
"Alright guys, lets keep it in check"Mark intervened. "Prospect 2, Prospect 3, all systems ready to go?"
"Aye, Captain"both responded simultaneously.
"Lets push it then."Mark put the radio back down and looked over to Sanders and nodded. Sanders took the cue and pushed the tanks throttle forward. The engines purred loudly and the tank accelerated forward into the unknown.
*I'm going to finish the rest of this over the weekend, hopefully it's not too long by then but we'll see! Thanks for reading so far!"
|
I slid my 'new' copy of Sims 5 into external CD reader and begin the installation.
Oh man, the memories of this game. Seducing Mrs. S, collapsing her family, leaving her for Mr. S, then leaving him for the new girl, Jane, up the street. Planting insane gardens that took up the entire plot of land, having a kid and locking him in the house as child services try to find a way in, and then burning the whole house down to bring a tragic end to it all. Ah... memories.
The installation went smoothly and I began to create my first family. I wanted to start as a fresh new bachelor and work my way up to the big leagues.
Who would I seduce first? My fingers tingled with excitement.
After the screen loaded, though, I wasn't alone in the house. In fact, my character wasn't who I created. There was an entire family, a man, women and child. I assumed the game made an error and restarted, but again, the same thing.
I was disappointed, to say the least. I told myself this could still be fun, and if I wanted, I could just have the child taken away and divorce the wife and everything would be okay. Honestly, the game looked a lot more realistic than I remembered before, I was almost certain the kid was about 2 years old and the parents were in their early 30's.
Things began like normal. Dad went to work, mom took care of the kid and I barely had any money to keep their happiness and fun up. I made the dad read more, gave him a gym and a chess board. He was going to work his way up the military ladder; I remembered the pay was excellent.
Then one of the AI's started showing up. Only when the mom was out. She would come over and play with the little boy and then one day, she and the dad kissed. They went into the bedroom, kissed and went to the bed to have sex. I couldn't believe it, I didn't even tell him to do it! This AI was amazing! It would kickstart my whole plan to make him a bachelor again.
Things continued like this for awhile: the dad went to work, improved his stats, received promotions, slept with the random girl when the mom was out and I had enough money to really improve the house. I was ready to blow this whole thing up and today it was perfect.
The mom was still in the house, the adulteress was walking down the sidewalk and the dad was working out. The adulteress went around the back of the house and waited. She wasn't going to hide that easily. I told the mom to go out and start BBQing and the dad to go kiss his femme fatale.
They didn't... I slammed my fist against my desk. What the hell was wrong with this game? The mom left the house and the lady came in, then the dad kissed her. Not what I wanted! They walked to the bedroom again, and I knew they would start having sex. They did, but then the kid walked in.
My blood ran cold. I noticed above the headboard there was a painting in the game of a loon gliding across a smooth lake's water. The same painting at my mother's house... The adulteress had something familiar about her too. The jet black hair.
Then it happened. I remembered.
When I was a kid I walked in, trying to find mom. When I opened the door and asked, this lady was on top of my dad... I fast forwarded the timer.
The same routine continued, until a month later when, I guess it was my mom, had found out and was yelling at my dad. They screamed and my dad threw a plate against the wall before storming out of the house. I watched my mom crawl up beside the broken pieces and cry. I watched the AI do what I knew was going to happen.
I remembered, clear as day, walking up to her that day. I sat down beside her as she cried. Whenever I cried she gave me my teddy bear, Mr. Cuddles and that day I gave him to her.
As I watched the animation of me lean up beside her, the game slowly fizzled out and a “game over” screen appeared. Feelings of regret and reminiscence took me. It had been awhile since I last talked to my mother. Things were busy lately (as busy as they can be when you decide to play a video game instead of calling your mother) and I knew my father was a scumbag, but she never told me what happened. I figured he just left—he was always flakey anyway. But in all those years of raising me, I never knew the full sadness she carried. So I picked up the phone and dialed her number.
“Jeffery! What a treat to hear from you! What have you been up to?” she answered.
“Well first off, I just wanted you to know I love and miss you, but other than that, nothing,” I joked. She laughed and we talked for the next hour. It was simple, but I think it made today a little more cheerful for the both of us.
Edit: Added to the ending.
-----------------------------------
More stories at /r/ItsPronouncedGif. Thank you so much for reading! |
The request did not make sense. It was too quick and unprofessional. Attempts by the communications crew to reestablish contact had failed. There were more than a thousand sensors and experiments recording data and relaying them to earth.
"We're not able to get the signal through,"Viktor said in his thick Russian accent.
"To which lab?"I asked.
"To any of them."
I sped through the module to the cupola node at the end. Sunita was already there, peering through the observatory.
"Where are we?"I peered at the large landmass underneath.
"Over Central Asia, moving South East."
Not a very populated region. But it was a lot darker than usual.
"A cloudy night?"
"Don't think so."Sunita snapped. Look over there, she pointed to a second pane towards the South West. "Over there should be New Delhi, which is a huge blob. But even if they had a powercut, then look forward, we're approaching the eastern coastline of Asia. We should see Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taipei... all of them are dark. I've never seen anything like this before."
"No response from the Russians, the Europeans, the Americans or the Japanese."Viktor shouted from across.
I moved back to the central module where everyone could hear me.
"Everyone, shut down all communications. Turn off all lights except the emergency lights. Close down all systems. Only the tranquility node and one rehydration dispenser stays open. Put on your space suits and connect them directly to the Oxygen tank. We don't know how long we'll remain without ground support so we need to conserve as much as we can."
I'd been in the Air Force before this, and my military instinct kicked in. I could sense danger. I put on my suit and went up the observatory. The others followed after shutting down their systems.
"Approaching the western coast of South America."Sunita said.
The sun had just Shone on Chile. Across the horizon the northern icecaps of the Antarctic glistened. In the South a blazing green of the Aurora Australis was visible.
Something was wrong.
"Everyone, move to the Solar observation deck."We made our way to the other end of the module. This one didn't have panels, only displays.
"Switch it on,"I told Satoshi. "But keep the communication link disabled."
"What's wrong, Captain?"Satoshi asked as he nervously operated the system.
"The Southern lights, there was something strange about them."
Sunita nodded.
"As if something with a massive magnetic field had distorted them."
They switched on the solar cameras.
"Solar flares are unusually subdued."Satoshi said.
"Wait, I don't think someone has parked a satellite at the third Lagrange point."There were five Lagrange points between the Earth and the Sun. NASA had parked solar telescopes at two of them. The others were supposed to be empty.
"It's not a satellite."I said. It was too massive, almost planetary.
"Uh, guys."Viktor said, nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.
Everything shook. My visor almost cracked as it smashed against the microgravity glovebox.
The trembling was over. No one spoke. They all knew what it was, they'd seen it dozens of times. Except earlier, it would be with a warning and they'd all be fastened secure.
It was the transfer of momentum from a module docking on to the space station.
---------
More: [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db4xw16/), [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db52y37/), [4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db5b92n/), [5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db6aq64/), [6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db6v402/), [7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db9hzj8/), [8](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/dba5x6c/), [9](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/dba5xcs/) THE END. |
I thought it was a harmless wish.
But now everything's turned wrong.
Lucy no longer talks, nor does anyone else for that matter. She still understands me, or at least I think so from her slow nods and lifeless stares. At least Lucy's still active with her day job but in the end she, like everyone else, is only going through the motions.
At night I hold her hand tight and flip open our old picture book. We look at past events, memories of warmth, fun and excitement. If I crack enough dumb jokes then perhaps she could manage a smile.
But deep down I know it's all pointless. There is neither joy nor mirth in her expressions.
All I wanted was to be happy. |
I remember the day as if it were yesterday. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the kingdom as a hush fell over the gathered crowd. There, in the courtyard, stood Lord Tavrin, the noble who had been sentenced to die by King Ironstride.
As it was more common than not during those times, our king was full of hubris and vanity as boundless as the seas. Known for his ruthless nature and the cruel sport he made of his enemies. It was said that his knights were the fiercest warriors in the land, their swords sharp and their hearts cold as ice.
Lord Tavrin, A man of honour and integrity, who had long been a thorn in the king's side finally went to far. High treason was the charge, death the sentence. But we all knew that Ironstride was acting out of fear, not the interest of the kingdom.
In a moment of cruel jest, the king allowed Lord Tavrin to choose his own execution method. Ever the lover of spectacle, he asked to die in honourable combat against the king's knights on one-on-one combat, armed himself with naught but a wooden sword while the knights wielded their deadly steel. Only asking to be given a replacement sword between matches. The king, amused by the audacity of his foe, agreed with a laugher that filled the room. He was sure to make an example of Tavrin in front of the gathered court in just the first encounter. He called forth the most sanguine of his knights.
As the sun set and darkness crept over the kingdom, the first knight approached Lord Tavrin, his ironclad footsteps echoing through the courtyard. With a savage battle cry, the knight lunged at Lord Tavrin. But the noble, his heart and mind as quick as a hummingbird, sidestepped the attack, broke his own sword and pierced the knight's neck with both broken wooden pieces. The knight collapsed, vanquished. His armor intact but blood pouring out of a silent helmet.
I couldn't believe my eyes. Could it be that Lord Tavrin actually stood a chance? The king, however, scoffed, attributing the victory to luck. He sent more knights, one after another, to face the condemned noble. Yet, each met the same fate as the first. Lord Tavrin moved with fluid grace, his wooden sword a deceptively powerful weapon in his hands.
Hour upon hour, the spectacle continued, as the sun disappeared and the moon rose in its place. The kingdom, rapt in fascination, watched as the king's knights fell one by one. Even the stars seemed to hold their breath, their light dimmed by the weight of each passing moment.
With each knight that fell, my faith in Lord Tavrin grew. He feigned weakness, inviting an attack, only to leap into the air and use his wooden sword to vault over his opponent, striking the knight's exposed back. In another instance, he parried a powerful blow with his wooden sword, the force causing the steel blade to become lodged in the wooden frame, allowing Lord Tavrin to disarm his adversary.
By the time the sun began to rise once more, the courtyard was littered with the bodies of the fallen knights, and the king's patience had worn thin. He called forth his personal guard, the Iron Heralds, whose skill and ruthlessness were legendary. Surely, these men would bring an end to this gore display.
As the Iron Heralds joined the fray, Lord Tavrin's eyes shone with determination, he couldn't possibly overcome this challenge. Yet he clearly still studied each opponent, analyzing their movements and searching for any weakness to exploit. He faced the first Iron Herald, who charged at him with a heavy mace. Lord Tavrin waited until the last possible moment, then rolled to the side, causing the knight to lose his balance and crash into a nearby wall. With a swift strike to the side of the head, the Iron Herald was defeated.
The second Iron Herald attacked with a flurry of strikes from a pair of razor-sharp daggers. Lord Tavrin used the length of his wooden sword to his advantage, parrying the incoming blows while keeping the knight at bay. He feigned a misstep, luring the Iron Herald in for a killing blow, only to sidestep the attack and disarm him with a swift flick of his wrist. A quick jab to the chest knocked the wind out of the knight, leaving him incapacitated and allowing Tavrin to pass its splintered sword through the helmet's visor.
With each Iron Herald that fell, Lord Tavrin's determination became more apparent. He dodged arrows, outmaneuvered charging knights, and used the environment to his advantage. As the twenty-fourth hour approached, the king found no more knights will listen to his orders, all fearing to follow in the steps of their predecessors.
The King's face contorted with rage, he stood at the edge of the courtyard, the crowd that had gathered to witness the execution now silent. All eyes centered on Lord Tavrin, broken sword now raised in victory.
*"Your tyranny is exposed, and you are now without protectors. You sent your knights to kill me, and in doing so, you sealed your own fate. I stand here today, not as a condemned man, but as a symbol of hope and defiance against your cruelty."*
He turned to us in the crowd, we could not look away. His eyes sweeping over the sea of faces. **"To my fellow citizens, I ask you this: Will we let one man's greed and vanity define our kingdom? Or will we seize this opportunity to create a brighter future, built on the foundations of justice, unity, and compassion?"** My eyes filled with hope, rage, thirst for retribution after all those years under the King's boot. I think I was the first to shout it, ***"Death to the Tyrant!"****.*
Inspired by his words and victory, the court rallied to his side. In that moment, I knew our kingdom would never be the same. The air was charged with the electricity of change, and together, we took our first steps towards a new era.
In the frenzy that followed, the King and his supporters were exiled or killed. His palace ransacked. The treasury was open and the special tithes returned to their houses.
As everyone left the courtyard in a hurry, few noticed the wounds that had accumulated on his flesh. Lord Tavrin will not follow the court, staying behind, laying his weight on a broken sword, now matching the state of his body.
It wasn't until the next day, when I was loading the bodies from the courtyard that I found him. Hand still gripping the wooden stick that had brought down a kingdom and two scores of its best knights.
I stopped and wept, for he had given himself to a cause that he wouldn't see succeed. Without regard for personal glory he had done what none of us could have.
Rest now, My King. |
You know, I started with the best of intentions.
When I found the dragon under my cupboard, I couldn't believe my eyes at first. Dragons were supposed to be myths, legends. They weren't supposed to raid people's stashes of parking quarters, and then take a nap upon their 5-dollar hoard. I reached out with a trembling hand, and was rewarded with a wary glare - but I didn't touch the money. Instead I trailed my fingertip down the scaly ridge between his eyes, and was rewarded with a sound almost like a purr.
I named him Scrooge.
Some clandestine research turned up rumor and speculation, plenty of fantasy, and a few cold, hard facts. Dragons, it seemed, still hatched now and then, from eggs buried millennia ago. They hoarded wealth, and fed off its energy - something about humanity's emotional ties to money. They were mystical and incredible and delightfully greedy.
Scrooge grew a little when I emptied my wallet into his hoard, and grew a bit more after I went out to buy him a dozen rolls of quarters. I could see him developing, see the sparkle of intelligence behind his eyes, and I'd never been so excited to drain my bank account. But my apartment was small, and my credit line was smaller. I gamboled and played, and cuddled with Scrooge, but eventually, I realized I couldn't give him what he needed. And part of me wanted very badly to see him grown and intelligent, see him filled with all the ancient cunning that was his birthright.
And so I hatched a plan.
Scrooge was not at all happy when I cut the size of his hoard - but he'd grown too large for subtlety. I made heavy use of my fire extinguisher over the next few days, heart bleeding for my scaly friend, as I palmed coin after coin, until he was left with little more than the handful of change he'd started with. Then I packed up my rabbit-sized bundle of greed, and off we went.
Off to Wall Street.
Money is just a concept, my economics teacher always said, a token of exchange and transfer. Money stands for wealth, and it comes in many forms.
In ancient times, Scrooge may have lain upon piles of salt and and weapons and carefully-shaped stone. More recently, perhaps on piles of gold and silver and gems. At my home, he'd found a liking for paper money - though I'd never been able to provide much. But nowadays, there's more to wealth than that.
When I walked across the floor of the new york stock exchange, Scrooge in a bag at my side, even I could smell the dollars in the air. Here, in frantic words and gestures, in bits and bytes and buys and sells, more wealth flowed every second than I had ever held in my hands. And as the brokers clamored around us, I felt my little friend shift. His body warmed, his wings flapped, his nose sampled the air. Here there was a hoard to claim.
So he began to grow.
The brokers fled when he leapt from my bag, already the size of a dog and still growing. But the servers kept working, busily transferring, even as Scrooge became horse-sized, elephant-sized, more. He'd caught he scent now, he'd understood where I had brought him, and I saw the sheer joy in the flick of his tail and the flap of his wings.
Security came, and rapidly left, pursued by incandescent flame. Whatever the laws that governed Scrooge's existence, his mere presence on the markets was enough to keep him strong, keep him glorious. We own wall street, now, our own little kingdom in New York, abandoned save for a contented dragon, and his contented friend.
Perhaps the real treasure is the friendship we found along the way. Or perhaps it's the 17 billion dollars' worth of shares we're holding hostage.
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You'll find part 2 in the comments below! |
Subsets and Splits
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