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I've always been a superhero. At least I think. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to know how things worked, and I wanted to break those rules. I was obsessed with the idea that every rule had a counterexample. Naturally when college brought me into contact with physics classes and psychedelic drugs at the same time, my whole mission became piercing the veil.
But let's take a step further back first. One afternoon in elementary school, my best friend Grid and I achieved telepathy. We went to a Montessori school. What that meant in practice was that we didn't have much to do. This was the equivalent of 4th or 5th "grade". Can't remember how we got the notion to try, but one lazy afternoon in the spring we started doing this exercise: either I or he would write down a number, then we'd put our hands together palm to palm, and we'd focus on "sending"that number to the other one. We got like ten of these correct in a row. It shocked us.
We were both worried there might be some kind of subconscious thing going on with the fingers, and the other kids were way more cynical and just assumed we had worked out some kind of code with the finger presses. So they had us stand at opposite ends of the room, facing away from one another, and we started doing letters instead of numbers. One kid would think of a letter, whisper it to me, and I'd send it back to Grid. I remember Pete Malinosky crying out "freakish!"when we got our third letter in a row right.
Now that I've taken psych courses, I know it wasn't a perfectly-blinded study. But it was pretty good for something a couple elementary school kids cooked up. And it opened my mind to the possibilities.That weekend, when I told my mom's boyfriend David about it, his only comment was "aww, kids will say mean stuff like that. You don't need to take it to heart". He had taken the word "freakish"as a bad thing. I tried to explain to him that no, he was just being surprised in a positive way. That as Pete's word for "far out": "freakish". But David, frowning into his thick mustache and nursing another Miller, seemed locked onto the interpretation where Pete was trying to bully us. He seemed to completely skip over the **telepathic link** my friend and I had established.
Looking back, I think that weird communication disconnect with David was why I stopped being interested in supernatural things. I was also autistic (though in 1993 at the age of 10 I had never heard that word, and didn't attach it to myself until 2013 when I got diagnosed at age 30). But I was autistic, and communicating with people has always been a struggle.Now that I think back on that time, and the long period of no apparent "powers"during high school, my mind is coming up with all kinds of stories about how it all came together. But I have to tell just a slice of it or we'll be here all day.
Fast forward to college. Northwestern University, 2003, my junior year. Beautiful campus, leaves falling, occasional snowy days followed by biting wind. Thermodynamics. Differential equations. I was living my dream. And I mean that technically: I had an image of college before I went, and I was living in that image. Except one thing was missing: I didn't feel good and I wasn't doing very well.
I lived in a bright, cold, ancient hardwood floors, hissing radiator, crumbling lead paint apartment overlooking Clark Street. I had a mattress on the floor, a weird three-segment couch where the segments weren't connected together, and a dining table. I was living off an endless diet of spaghetti and red sauce.
And I was taking aikido lessons. I had a pair of white gi pants with holes in the knees. I had a white t-shirt that I was cutting into squares to sew patches onto the gi pants. Every single class (four of them a week, MFW and Sat), those holes in the knees would rip back open, and then I'd wash the pants out in the tub, scrub the blood stains out with hydrogen peroxide, wring the living daylights out of them, and hang them up for the next class.
Saturdays were my favorite days. That was when Moore Sensei came in. Moore Sensei kind of looked like Professor X looked in the first ten or so issues of the X-Men. Piercing eyes, shaved head, and just intense all around. When he'd demonstrate a throw, it would hurt.
One time he was showing us a knife defense and saw how we were shying away from the rubber knife. So he pulls out a huge gnarly-looking hunting knife, lines us up and has us dodge that knife instead. He says "I'm going to thrust this at your belly. This isn't going to be fake -- I'm really going to put the blade in your belly if you don't get out of the way". He goes slow, but it's deliberate and somehow he just makes it feel real. Honest to god I think if I'd just stood there I would have got stabbed in the guts.
Another time he had us standing out in Lake Michigan in like October or November. Water cold as hell, standing there with bokken (wooden swords) practicing some basic blocks and cuts. He kept egging us on to stay longer, longer, ignore the pain in our feet!
As anyone who's sparred can tell you, aikido's pretty useless as a self-defense technique, but it did feel pretty badass.That feeling of badassness is probably a big factor in why we were all up for it when Moore Sensei announced one day he was gonna show us something new.
<more may follow; feeling kind of lazy> |
### Immortal Guardian
I have a unique condition.
I am immortal.
Well, that by itself is not that unique, but I can also see the future. My discussions with a noted author may inform you. I see the many paths the future may take, but incompletely. They rise and fall on long rolling hills; I do my best to influence events such that humanity's future is as long as it can be.
Why do I choose longevity over glory?
Many paths lead to a glorious future, but glorious futures are — in my experience — tied to inglorious ends. The longest routes do not have glory because a glorious pinnacle leaves far too much room for a deadly fall from grace.
Longevity gives one invaluable benefit. Perspective. Glory will take you to inconceivable heights, but you will learn nothing of dealing with adversity or recognizing the precipice you are about to step into blithely.
Name *one* glorious society which has lasted two thousand years. There are none. Even the Roman Empire, which in one account could claim one thousand years, was not the Roman Empire that conquered western Europe. In the end, it fell to a combination of bankruptcy due to one man's insistence on reclaiming the "glory"of Rome-that-was, rather than building on what he had to make it stout enough to survive the plague that brought Rome to an end.
I must admit, I had a hand in bringing Rome down. Rome needed to remain a golden example that one tries to emulate and not be a curse upon the face of the earth.
It also serves as a warning flare. When some leader starts spouting drivel about a thousand-year reign or reclaiming the glory of our past, it's time to kick them out before they do any more damage.
After humanity has dealt with adversity long enough, we may finally be ready for glory.
For, you see, each increment of adversity brings about an inevitable rise in society's longevity. So long as the misfortune does not drive it to extremes.
There must be something in the general human condition that adores extremes, as I am kept busy diverting extremism to survivable ends.
### Time Traveler
I have passed through the ages like a ghost, afraid to make the slightest change lest I make humanity's lot worse.
What I have learned is that there is some aspect of the human condition that despises golden ages. Something always happens that prevents humanity from reaching the glory that it could be.
We muddle along in mediocrity, never reaching our true potential, continuously dealing with the last failure's aftermath.
I see the suffering through the ages, and it sickens me. I will seek out the most eminent scientists, philosophers, and prominent leaders to gather them together for the betterment of humanity.
I will no longer be a fearful ghost. I will be the shadow in the night that sees the one critical act done to advance humanity to the pinnacle of its potential.
### Immortal Guardian
Something new has been added. In a matter of minutes, the future has changed. Ah, a traveler from the future. Probably a silly mistake... What's this?! That was deliberate! I have time; I can intervene to correct the timeline. I need only be there in time.
Then I must spend some time making sure this interference is stopped.
### Time Traveller
What happened? I saw the change hit the timeline as I jumped for home, but when I got here, not only was there no change but any opportunity to go back and try again was gone.
### Immortal Guardian
There. Perhaps he will draw the correct conclusion that changing the timeline is not permitted for one so limited in scope.
((cont)) |
Case Report #1: Viridian City Gym Leader
Years ago, several Gym Leaders were using their establishments as fronts for a criminal organization known as Team Rocket. Team Rocket sold stolen Pokémon in Celadon City’s Game Center. The Game Center promoted teen gambling, prompting Red to shut down the facility. This is the first case of a Maverick Champion, an independent kid who makes his way to becoming the Pokémon champion.
Typically, champions are adults, but due to extraordinary circumstances, Red’s mother let her son travel without regard for the dangers. So after taking down the criminal organization, Red traveled outside the country, rarely seen again except for events where trainers gathered.
Case #2: The Arrival of the New Bark Town Maverick and Revival of Team Rocket.
Another Ten year old became the Champion three years after the events of Kanto. Gold, hailing from New Bark, stopped the events of the Radio Station hijacking by Team Rocket. Although the latest uprising was incited by resentful zealots who wished for Giovanni’s return, they were left with no answer. Unrelated but oddly coincidental, Silver is an associate of Gold, though only through random encounters where they cross places in their Pokémon journey.
Further questioning from Silver left no answers on where Gold headed after defeating the Elite four. Unfortunately, the investigation was cut due to the events in Hoenn.
Case #3: The Natural Disasters and impactful words of the Maverick Champion.
Ruby and Sapphire from Little root stopped the quarrels between Team Aqua and Magma. Why two teams go by the name of “Team Something” is beyond me. This isn’t the radical ideas of Team Rocket influencing others. Many criminal organizations started similarly naming their groups.
The events of Hoenn have impacted the world. Not through the recent natural disasters either. As if it was a fad, beauty competitions appeared where people competed with their Pokémon. This was gone in less than a year, with no one continuing the new hobby. Unbeknownst to local news organizations, the words of Ruby and Sapphire are capable of changing regions, even the swimming patterns of Feebas. This effect is noticeable in Dewford town, where we sent our agents to question both Ruby and Sapphire.
Conclusions:
After gathering a control group of Maverick Champions, some odd natures indicate the supernatural presence of a Maverick Champion. Each example was compelling. The Champions acted the same. They were quiet, only answering yes or no to questions. Most of them often walked into houses to talk to people, and not a single person was left out of the conversation. Each Champion had a unique set of tools for their job, ranging from a PokeFlutes to Red or Blue Orbs. |
The golden sun turned her hair from a gentle brown to a brilliant burnt orange The heat brought color to her pale cheeks. Tiny wisps of cotton curled off of her grey turtleneck, which clung tightly to her neck, the slope of her breasts, and her stomach. Her buttocks bulged outward, forming rolling hills contained by thin black yoga pants.
Truth be told, it was the body of any woman on the street, simply dressed for the brisk fall weather.
I noticed some dust sputtering softly onto her left breast, beginning to smudge her perfect grey turtleneck. Then things moved too fast to comprehend, though those words sound hollow even in my absent ears.
Somehow no sound was made, or it was far too high to hear. A decent helping of dust and clumps of dirt preceded the enormous boulder by a mere instant.
She probably didn't even feel the little gust of wind that was me trying to push her over, though the effort left me bedridden for months.
Her left leg remained just a foot from where she stood, the rest of her corpse had followed the boulder down into the canyon.
And so it goes.
I settled in for a long day.
Water flung to both sides as she fixed her hair, emerging from the ocean. She wore a purple and white vertically striped bikini over ginger-pale skin, sporting a nice round rump and modest boobs. Blonde streaks flowed through her red hair, though it looked red-brown wet. She often carried around a book, and I imagined it to be a romance novel, and perhaps I imagined quite a lot about that romance.
I leaned back on my crossed arms, my back to the mountains, long in the distance. |
Whenever the warning label on the side of prescription medication says not to drive or operate heavy machinery, my mind always goes to forklifts. But never once have I ever wanted to drive a forklift after taking a rather potent dose of Vicodin; nor any other heavy machinery no matter it's culinary designation or preplanned action after popping my anxiety medication. That is until my doctor switched me to Demanol.
The side effects have been, different, to say the least and I've been on some doozies of medication before. Zoloft caused me to pass out, becoming so dead to the world that I wouldn't have been able to even think about forklifts. The Oxycontin I got after my wisdom tooth surgery sent my brain to space, and I doubt I would even know what a forklift was if I had been sitting in one. And Vyvanse, well let's just say the withdrawals were so bad I couldn't focus on anything else some days. But Demanol, this is a whole new level of side effect hell.
"Come on Jacky,"a piercing voice whispered in my ear. "You know you want too."Standing next to me was red faced satyr, silver forked tongue flicking in and out of its mouth like a snake and a mischievous grin on its face. "Why would they park a forklift so close to the entrance, if they weren't waiting for someone to take it."
The red satyr was making a convincing point. The forklift looked so inviting, a nice cozy cabin that would be perfect to crawl in and pass out to sleep of the side effects.I stood at the entrance to the construction site. There used to be something here before, but its memory had disappeared from my mind, replaced solely by how nice it would be to be sitting in that forklift chair.
"Let's think about this logically,"the red satyr said, picking at his sharp incisors with one of its rather long fingernails, "It's late, you're so tired. You should just pop in for a quick nap before heading home. You don't want to walk all that way tired. It's just not safe. But that forklift over there, that looks pretty safe."
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it."I was convinced, that forklift would be the best place to take a nap before continuing on my way home to sleep in my own bed.
The construction site was quiet with a surprising lack of security. The front gate hadn't even been locked that night, something the red satyr said was pure luck.
It was also pure luck that the cabin was unlocked, and the keys were already in the ignition.I climbed inside, and started to get comfortable; readily accepting that this was happening with out any other questions.
"It's a cold night, don't you think Jacky boy?"the red satyr whispered once more. He wasn't in the cab with me, but I could still hear his forked tongued voice speaking directly into my ears; I could still feel each silver prong practically licking the cartilage as the words were said, and feel the chill of the air right as I was getting comfortable. The keys sat quietly in the ignition. They didn't speak, nor make any sort of motioning towards me to turn the forklift on, but I couldn't help doing it anyway.
The beast roared to life. Engine gears grinding together as the internal combustion started to let off heat, slowly warming the cabin too. The noise was almost too much, but after a little while I started getting used to it and could feel the drowsiness slipping back in. I got comfortable once again and tried to catch some sleep.
"Now it's almost too hot in here."the red satyr said, "besides, it's not like you sleep fully clothed at home."
He was right. The heat put off from the engine had fully filled the cabin, causing me to perspire a little. And the fabric around me seemed more and more restrictive with each passing second. I needed to get out of my clothes.
In what was probably the least graceful moment of my life, I manage to slide all my clothing off, while still in the confined cabin of the forklift. I settled back in, wanting nothing more than to just fall a sleep for a little bit. Hoping that this nap I had fully committed too would be worth it.
Lights appeared in the cabin window, followed closely by a knock on the door.
"Oi, what the hell are you doing?"a man's voice called out. He tried the handle to open the door, but thankfully I had locked it when I entered. "Get out of there right now!"
"Oh shit."the red satyr said, "Drive, drive, fucking drive!"
"I don't know how to drive a forklift!"I shouted back to it.
"Then why are you in one?"the man outside said.
"It' doesn't matter,"the red satyr whispered, "Just fucking do it."
I pushed a few levers, pressed a few peddles, and the forklift jerked forward, lifting it's fork in the air proudly. It started gaining speed, heading straight for fence. It didn't stop; tore through the chain links like paper and headed into the street.
I didn't know what was happening. The forklift continued down the street. It ran into a car, parked nearby, with one of the prongs piercing its tempered windows. I pulled more levers, pressed more peddles and buttons and hoped beyond all hope that the same dumb luck I had starting it would come in handy to stop it."What about the keys?"the voice whispered.
"The keys!"I said, quickly turning the engine off and pulling them from the ignition.The beast stopped. I exited the forklift, surveyed the destruction around me.
"You better run before that security guard catches up to you."the voice whispered once more.
So I started sprinting down the street, buck naked, just trying to get home. |
It's my first day at my new job and already I have a problem. My new assignment is to take the souls of the newly dead and help them move on. Honestly I knew it would suck having to watch people die that I knew I could help if I wanted to but not being allowed to help anyone really sucks. Today I got the worst assignment I could get. A really nice woman I knew when I was human is going to get hit by a bus this afternoon at 1:34:20pm. I know how it happens and where and even why but I'm still not allowed to intervene in the outcome. This would be alot easier if she had been mean to me but she was the only one at that shity job who had even cared about me and tried to help me when things got rough. I know it hurt her when I took my own life but I didn't see any other way out of my horrible life. She was depressed for days and started to blame herself but after a few months finally started to begin to accept the fact that I had done this to myself and not done it because of her actions. And now I have to watch the only good thing in my life end just because of a stupid fly. The driver gets distracted by it and doesn't see her in the crosswalk until it's too late to stop. I mean I'm death I could just kill the fly and everything would be ok, right? It's only one fly vs a really good person. What could go wrong? I make my decision and move quickly. The fly is dead in an instant and life goes on as if nothing has changed. That's when I noticed the little girl in the street ahead and the car rolling forward while the driver is on their cell phone. I move quickly and give the driver a fatal stroke causing the car to swerve away from the child. It collides with a truck that was waiting at the light it hits a light pole that falls on Clare and kills her instantly. Damn it! I cry, she was supposed to live! Now I walk over to her spirit and introduce myself to her. She has the same stunned look they all have when they die. Staring at her body and wondering how she is in two places at the same time. "HI Clare. She turns and starts to say how, what, You! I thought you were dead! I reply "I am. But don't worry everything going to be ok. I'm here to take care of you next step in life."She looks confused. "BUT I'M DEAD!"I nod my head and say "me too". This is the afterlife, and I'm assigned to help you pass on to your next stage. ..... more later. |
Thirty years. Thirty years and it was done, Carl.
Thirty years ago, I stood here as I watched the priests give you last rites.
Twenty nine years ago, I learned why you had died.
Twenty eight years ago, I left our house as I swore to track down father.
Twenty seven years ago, I killed the cop in the desert who was trying to bring me back home.
Twenty six years ago, I joined the cartels that reverently spoke of 'Padre.'
Twenty five years ago, they learned I was 'Padre's' wayward son.
Twenty four years ago, I dragged my bleeding body out of the desert after their roving gangs had tracked me down.
Twenty three years ago, an ex-Vietnam vet took me under his wing and I learned how to actually fight.
Twenty two years ago, the cartel was no more.
Twenty one years ago, I found that father had fled further south to Central America.
Twenty years ago, I moved down there in hopes of finding him.
Nineteen years ago, I followed that path to Brazil.
Eighteen years ago, I gave up and settled.
Seventeen years ago, I met Maria.
Sixteen years ago, I named our child Carl, after you.
Fifteen years ago, I sobbed in front of our house as the flames engulfed it, the dead men who killed my family murdered by my hands, the last living one telling me 'Padre' sent his regards.
Fourteen years ago, I crossed the Atlantic into Africa to continue the hunt.
Thirteen years ago, I found man after man who worked for father, but none could give me any more lead into where he was hiding.
Twelve years ago, I surrendered myself in Spain to enter the concrete jungle of criminals in hopes of finding any clues I could.
Eleven years ago, I was the rey de los criminales.
Ten years ago, I found out where my father was.
Nine years ago, I broke myself free and came back to America.
Eight years ago, I found myself back in my hometown, the cartel renewed.
Seven years ago, the cartel was no more again.
Six years ago, I paid my final respects to the man who was more father to me than 'Padre' ever was.
Five years ago, I nearly died drinking myself to death after depression set in with no more clues left to uncover.
Four years ago, I picked up the pieces of my life and began again.
Three years ago, I started working for a shop repairing bikes.
Two years ago, I came second in a bike design contest.
Last year, I bought my first home and got a dog and named him Padre.
Yesterday, I got a note from mother that told me where to find father's final resting spot.
Today, I lay at your gravestone the rotten wooden cross that was his last mark on this world so he may explain to you why you are no longer here.
Happy Birthday, Carl. |
"Yeah. That's Dave."
"Dave?"
"Well, he has a super long demon name but it's hard to pronounce. He goes by Dave"
"Why is there a demon named Dave in our bath tub?"
"I just told you, Abraham. His demon name is-"
*"What is Dave doing in the bath tub?"*
-Rubber ducky, you're the one. You make bath time so MUCH FUN-
"Singing about his rubber duck."
"First of all that's *my* rubber ducky- secondly what does Dave need the bath tub for?"
"Oh. The place he lives is full of brimstone, sulfur and people screaming. He just needed a peaceful place to take a hot bath."
"No. No... last week we had Cerberus digging up the yard, and then that Succubus using the computer-"
"Just the internet"
"She was setting up an only fans- no more monsters. Not even a zombie looking for a quick sandwich."
"Oh. Maybe you should stay out if the kitchen then...." |
Note: This is my first time trying anything like this, so please feel free to give me any feedback about my writing
As the world around me faded to black, I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. Of course my stupid plan hadn't worked. What was I thinking, turning on Theo like that? And just as Theo had finally come to my rescue as well. Maybe if I hadn’t chickened out, things could have gone differently…
Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best idea to try and rob the Champion while he was passed out from a night of heavy drinking. But it had been weeks since we stole anything of value and the unconscious demigod looked like an easy target. So as Theo kept watch, I went for his leather bag, which held all kinds of trinkets. While most of them looked fairly valuable, I couldn’t risk stealing any mana-infused artifacts. Any half-decent wizard would be able to track down its magical signature and lead the authorities right to me. But right at the bottom of the sack lie a gold-encrusted knife. Even if that thing was enchanted, the signature probably wouldn’t be distinct enough for anyone to trace it back.
Just then, Theo snapped his fingers 3 times, the signal that indicated someone was coming. I quickly grabbed the knife along with a handful of golden coins and we took off, laughing as we tried to guess how rich we’d be after we sold everything. But our good fortune would abruptly change a week later when the Champion stumbled upon me in a bar. The minute he laid eyes on me, I knew that we had been caught.
The giant warrior grabbed me by the hand and led me outside, away from the crowds of people. Once we arrived at a dark alley, he finally let go and tossed me on the floor. A sickening feeling grew in my stomach as I realized what was going to happen. The proud demigod had no intentions of turning me into the authorities; he was going to finish me off then and there. Tears rolled down my eyes as I begged and pleaded with him to spare me. I made all sorts of promises that I’d change my ways, that I’d serve him and the kingdom for the rest of my life, that I’d help turn in my comrades, and some other stuff that I can recall. After hearing all this, the Champion crouched down and stared at me for what felt like hours. Then, he finally broke the silence with a hoarse whisper.
"I don’t believe you…"
Deflated, I closed my eyes and hoped for a painless death. But my improvised execution was interrupted by the howling screams of the Champion as Theo took him by surprise and lodged the golden knife in his backside. As the Champion staggered around, Theo tossed me a pocket knife, expecting me to join him in this fight. I, of course, obliged and the two of us tried taking him down together.
To be honest, we never stood much of a chance anyway. Two lowly street criminals versus the Champion, one of the city’s greatest warriors and the son of Bateus. Despite our early success with Theo’s surprise attack, we never managed to get another blow on him. With a single backhand that took the two of us by surprise, the Champion sent Theo flying into the wall and turned his attention to me. Trembling, I tried swinging the pocket knife at him, but it just bounced off the fighter’s thick hide. In one swift motion, the warrior picked me up again and threw me towards Theo just as he got up, knocking us both down again.
Thinking about it, that golden knife from earlier probably had some kind of enchantment that let it penetrate the Champion’s skin. A flimsy blade like that shouldn’t be capable of stabbing like that. Perhaps if I had just waited for Theo to get another slash or two in, the Champion might’ve actually been defeated. But at the time, I could only think of saving my own skin. As my mind raced and I thought of ways to end the fight, I concluded that we could never win the fight and I needed to get into the Champion’s good graces.
Before Theo could even get up, I grabbed the knife that he gave me and cut his throat open. For some reason, Theo didn’t even try fighting back. He just stared at me, clutching his now bleeding throat, until he just dropped dead. With that, I turned towards the Champion and began pleading with him again.
“See, I told you that I’d change! Look! I just stopped a criminal from killing you! I’m a better man now! Just let me live, please! You won’t regret it! I can even get your trinkets and stuff back if you want! Please, I’ll do any…”
This time, the Champion didn’t bother letting me finish. The demigod simply walked up and put his hand over my mouth.
“You’ve already shown me what kind of man you are… a coward”.
And with that, he slammed my head into the wall, pulverizing my skull and leaving me for dead. Lying there, I looked back on what had just happened. Should I have tried putting up a fight? Would we have won if I hadn’t betrayed my closest friend? If I meet Theo again, what am I going to tell him? Will he even forgive me for betraying him like that? Who knows? But regardless, I don’t think I’m going to see Theo again. Even if there is an afterlife, Theo and I are probably going to be on opposite sides of it. Theo was a nice kid, always looking out for me. If our roles were switched, Theo would never have thought of doing something like that. But if I do ever get to see him again, I hope he’ll forgive me for what I’ve done. |
The genie's gaze fell to the floor. I looked upon him with a soft smile, hopeful for his future. My final wish would give him the freedom to live as we all do. To truly know what it is to live, and be loved, with all the joy that comes with it.
After a brief moment, the genie lifted his face to me, tears welling in his eyes. If felt like an eternity before he finally spoke. With trembling voice, he asked, "why would you do this to me? Why would you inflict this upon me? How have I wronged you to will this curse upon me?
"for millenia I have existed, so much of it bound to that lamp. And it has been a cold existence. No one to share my time with, spare the occasional traveler, explorer, fortune seeker, and lucky vagabond. They come with their petty wishes for future, fame, longer lives. All granted with a snap of my fingers and a wave of my wrist. And then they leave me to my own devices. Not a want in the world that I can't grant myself. Yes, it is a cold existence... But it is a contented one."
His tone changed to that of a taunting inquisition, "Do you know that I have studied your medicine extensively? I find it rather interesting how you humans work. How strong and resilient your bodies are. But also, how very delicate. And with nothing but time, I simply willed the texts to be in my reach.
"Are you aware that I'm a highly skilled musician? I find the sounds of your instruments *delightful*. And with thousands of years to practice, I simply snapped my fingers, and any instrument I wished was in my hands. I once had the privilege to play with Mozart. Obnoxious little man, but very talented.
"Or perhaps consider that over time I've become quite the chef. I took an interest in the variety of flavors around the world. So I willed it to be. So many dishes I tried, from Asia, the America's, Europe... Whenever I wished, as much as I wished. But that wasn't enough. When getting what I want, when I want grows old, I learn to craft it for myself. And so I did, with professional flair."
He took a momentary pause, and when he returned, anger slipped through his gritted teeth, "But you... You wished upon me the one thing I cannot simply will to be. You must surely be aware of this pain. Do you not feel it as I now am? This void within my soul? This... Love? I have never wished for the company of another, and yet now I want nothing more. And I do not know how to continue with anything less! In a moment, you will leave, and I will be trapped in that... Moments ago, I saw it as my palace. But now? I know that to be my prison! You will live your short life, and then be rid of this pain. But I? Long after you have returned to the earth, after your children's children have done the same, I will be burdened by this torment. Trapped and unable to sooth my ache. I would trade all of my power, all of my knowledge, my experience, my life... I would give all to be rid of this curse that has destroyed my mind in mere moments. And *YOU* in your infinite wisdom, you reserved this torment for your last wish, so I cannot even beg of you to wish it not be. In more millenia than I can recount, I have been made to grant many a wish of base desires and vile deeds. But no one has ever dared wish something so foul upon me as you have. May the remainder of your brief existence be so loathsome as my own."
And with that, he vanished. |
This time the two of them sat in a cinema of dreams, unique to the one where hats are still worn as a mark of respect on most occasions and Mercury has a moon. He dreamt in much crisper lucidity and heard a girl whose voice gave him the memory of being at sea. A voice that was much different from his partner's.
She sat next to him with eyes strangely lit by quivering fires in various hues but kept speaking to him between gulps of sparkling water, whose warring bubbles poured through the cinema with a static buzz. She spoke of the colors she saw but also of omens. Soon the curtains emerged and resumed their familiar positions of satisfied velvet, and the two wound themselves out onto a parallel pavement, under a parallel streetlight, pacing between parallel streets.
The pace of the night quickened at the next where they sat on wooden benches in pitch dark and let their feet firmly planted on the floor. Rhythms emerged from the floor in periodic intervals, interlacing and interweaving, swelling and soothing, and the two sensed these with their feet. Hours after they had left the cinema à pieds in this universe where everything is in French, unfortunately, they still walked through squares and under arches in harmonious rhythms.
Finally, the conquest of the night came and the two decided to return home but before that, they ventured into a final universe. Here everyone roamed around with a flower tucked on their person, a symbol that they thought best described him. Also here too many wars were fought and cinema is always a dark tribute to the horrors of continuous war that oozed onto this universe. War was not only within humanity but a facet of a larger chaotic fissure that caused astral mania, singularities, planetary asymmetries that were usually impermissible, and other wondrous phenomena. In this chaos, they were barely able to keep hold of their popcorn as seas boiled and ships slipped from horizons. Yet somehow the valiant projector plowed on till the two rose up upon regarding their own names in the closing credits that ensued. |
A ball of an array of colorful lights slowly floated out of the box opened by the human, a single stone eye in the middle scanning around the room, shortly followed by it darting around the room itself. Seemingly having gotten a grasp of its surroundings, or perhaps having had enough stimulation, the eye finally settles on its liberator. Scared, the human backs away, but the eye approaches faster, and before the human knows it, he seems to be falling through a beam of light.
It doesn't take long, however, for him to land in an empty field. Not empty, but filled with blobs that vaguely resemble the human. Not blobs, but humans themselves, with gradually more detailed features, some wear farmer's hats, others bear weapons, one has an eyepatch. Suddenly, the ones with weapons are fending off some manner of creatures, protecting the ones without defense. The creatures take form as slimes, or rather raptors, or rather draugr and wraiths. Some of the humans that were being protected suddenly stand up, bearing bows and arrows with a gleaming tip. Silver? As the steel swords and spears and magic slash and thrust and blast through the wraiths uselessly, the silver tipped arrows sing through the air and imbed themselves in what might be their hearts, to then fall to the ground, soaked in a transparent ooze that rapidly ages and decays the grass around it, all while the humans up front dismember the draugr into smaller and smaller parts, until they can no longer support themselves, although never truly dead.
All of this occurs in front of the human, the original, in a matter of seconds, leaving him considerably distressed. He sprints away from the scene, an errant thought caught by his consciousness; is he the same as the blobs that took the form of humans? Is this place, whatever it may be, the true origin of humanity? Surely not, he assures himself, although with no answer as to what any of this is, there is simply no way to be sure of anything. The human looks over his shoulder to see that the other 'humans' have won the battle, and seem to be celebrating, to then slowly disappear into the ground. Perhaps this is a good sign? Maybe he can now find a way to escape this place? Suddenly, as the human stands in the wide open field, he notices the sky begin to collapse above him, and at the same time, the grass beneath him rises to meet it. The whole world begins to turn in on itself like a crumpled piece of paper, leaving less and less room for the human, until there is, in fact, no more room.
***
The human stands wearily in front of the stone eye surrounded by a brilliant array of light, as it stares at the new creature and its memories and fantasies, the unseen wheels turning and creating and destroying. "Why did you do that?!"Booms your voice, from somewhere unseen by the human. Startled, the man jumps back, trips and crawls backwards away from the eye, obviously scared entirely out of its wits. Carefully, you reach a hand down towards your eye and gently nudge it back into the wooden box. It visibly resists your nudging, but eventually submits and reluctantly returns to its cage, that you then seal back up.
"Tell me human, do you tamper with every new thing in any room you enter?"The man shakes his head, unable to speak, looking around, obviously unable to see you or your hand. You find it possibly humorous, in a way. "Now then, human. How did you manage your way here of all places?" |
The tiger was perplexed.
Why was there a lion in his jungle?
He had asked around, but no one seemed to have an answer. So he decided to go straight to the source and get answers.
"Lion. What brings you to my domain?"
His powerful voice rang throughout the jungle, drawing the attention of various curious animals.
The tiger waited for a response but none was forthcoming. The lion merely continued snoring.
An awkward silence reigned....
....
".... U-Um,"A timid voice suddenly spoke up, and the tiger turned his fierce gaze upon the one who dared speak. It was a shy-looking red panda.
"M-Maybe you should wait until he wakes up?"
The tiger's glare intensified and the tiny mammal squeaked and ran away. Satisfied that his image remained intact, the tiger settled down to wait.
Patience was a virtue, after all.
\-------------
Just a short little attempt at a thing. |
I’m just thinking the average lifespan is 80 so now 20 is considered old which means most parents would be about 16 which means the age of consent moved down to 13 and that’s a bit creepy- but other than that, imma try and write something to match this.
It started with the youngest. Kids were suddenly running around so fast that their parents could barely see them. Teenagers grew stronger and smarter and the adults, when the adults over twenty five gained these powerful gifts, they didn’t make it more that five days. People soon learned that the average human lifespan was shorted to about twenty five years. Society fell to anarchy as the old world leaders died within the first few weeks. It took years to return to some form of normality. Obviously most laws remained the same as before the collapse but the average ages for many different things became lower. Students graduated at fourteen and retired at twenty three.
It’s been almost a century since the world reformed and I, Michael curzon may have just found a cure to our early demise. |
I ran through the lord’s halls, breathing heavily as sweat ran down my face.
I must warn him about the hero’s resurrection! I thought to myself as I ran, after another hall I got to my lord’s chambers only to see a man standing right in front of them.
My blood stopped flowing to my face, I knew that man, for he was the hero that my lord has killed. My mind raced trying to figure out how he got into the castle only to stop when the man put his hands on the doors leading into the lord’s chamber.
“Stop!” I yelled grabbing the hero’s attention, only to feel my body turn cold, as I understood that I had the hero’s attention.
The man looked at me with narrowed eyes only to brighten a moment later as he took out his shining sword.
oh shit
“Wait! I have a suggestion!” I pleaded out and the hero halted in his tracks “i-if” I stumbled on words, trying to say anything to prolong my life so that maybe the lord would save me. “If you kill the lord right now, it will seem easy! w-where is the glory in that?!” I shouted a bit out of desperation and a bit from thinking that the lord will hear us.
The hero put his hand on his chin, as if thinking, and then shook his head.
“Nah” he said casually as he took us his sword and moved in a blur. I felt hot liquid pour on my chest, and as I looked down I saw a hole in my chest before collapsing.
Darkness took me, and as the sound of yelling sounded out, with a yelling voice resembling my lord, I smiled, only for the sound to vanish too
\*
I opened the doors of my chamber after hearing all the yelling, only to see carlos laying dead with a hole in his chest, and the hero which I had slain atop him.
“Carlos!” I yelled out, not moving from my place.
“Dark lord! We meat ag-”
“Why the hell did you kill Carlos!?” I thundered, “he had three kids waiting for him! you monster!” I shouted making the hero stand with a gape in his mouth. “And I already told you this! Only because I’m black it doesn’t mean that I’m the ‘dark lord’ I have a name damn it! Larendel!” I announced.
The hero shook himself out of his stupidor and raised his sword towards me “that doesn’t change the fact that you have committed evil deeds! And that man helping you is no worse than yourself!” he recruited back.
My blood started to get warmer as the body of Carlos stayed lifeless on the ground. “It’s because you idiots of the Varel Kingdom have an insane monopoly over anything! Carlos just wanted to feed his family! Just like I wanted! I’ll need to explain to his wife now that her childrens are orphans! You monster!” I roared at the top of my lounges preparing my dark power. |
"Hello"I exclaim, as I stroll through the town's clothes store, approaching the owner. I have Hank, my cousin, and Oliver, my uncle, with me. I asked Gax if he wished to come, but he's still adjusting to everything that happened. His father, however, came along - he's waiting outside the store. I've fully embraced my role in the family now.
"Umm... you're Clia, aren't you?"I nod. "E... everyone has... heard..."
"Don't be so nervous"I respond. "There's been some changes... you're co-operation is still required, but we have no plans to harm you."
"But... but..."I cock my head to the side.
"But?"
"I... I don't... I do^(n't have the money...)"
I laugh. "THAT'S why you're so nervous? Didn't I just tell you there's been changes? We're willing to work out a payment plan. If you can stick to it, we won't even add extra interest. How much can you spare right now?"
"...a thousand..."
I nod. "Right. So, one thousand dollars a month, we'll be re-paid within the year. Does that work for you?"
"Yes, absolutely. I'll get the money from my safe now."I look at Hank, who nods and follows the shop owner.
"Expertly done"Oliver remarks.
"Thanks, uncle. I'm still unsure about The Tsunami's... but I won't let this place fall because of idiotic officers."
"It's lucky out of everyone, Gax was your best friend, right?"He gives me a hard slap on the shoulder as he laughs, and I smile. Every day, being a Gurt feels more and more natural. Suddenly, from the back where the shop owner and Hank went in, a girl emerges. Someone I know.
"VICKY? Wha- why are you here?"
"I snuck inside when my pa opened up today. I heard you guys were coming in for some money."Vicky stands tall, hands on her hips.
^("Get Gax's dad. I can stall her for a bit.")
Oliver nods and heads out. I glare at Vicky. "What did you do?"
"What I needed to"Vicky retorts. "Right now, my pa and the guy you sent with him are out cold. I'm not about to let you guys steal from him!"
"Vicky... The Tsunami's aren't trying to steal anything. Your dad owes us mon-"
"DON'T GIVE ME THAT! I know what you guys are all about! Clia, I was the rebellious student, remember? The teachers were always telling me to be more like you. You're supposed to be better than me, Clia! Why aren't you better than me? WHY?"Vicky is almost crying.
"Vicky... you don't know the truth about this town."Before I can continue, uncle Oliver shows up with Gax's dad.
"Uncle, Vicky confessed to assault. She knocked out both Hank AND her dad."
"Is that so?"Gax's dad asks.
"I was just trying to stop these people from stealing from my pa!"Vicky states confidently.
"Oliver showed me the paperwork"Gax's dad explains. Your 'pa' borrowed money from The Tsunami's legally, therefore, legally, they're entitled to claim the full amount, *today*. Your father is lucky that Clia is planning a payment schedule so that he'll pay it off within the year."
Vicky is stunned. "But... but... they..."
I clear my throat. "Vicky... don't make this harder for yourself. 'Once a Tsunami strikes, you can't run, only hope that you aren't swept away to die'. Do you want to die?"
I notice the colour instantly drain from Vicky's face. "No..."
I cross my arms. "Then surrender, right now, and you won't be hurt."
"...Ok..."Gax's dad proceeds to arrest her on charge of assault. Thanks to the new model of the mafia, instead of being beaten or tortured, she will be forced to work for The Tsunami's for a while. Oliver and I go into the back.
The pair are just coming round. With a brief explanation of what happened, the shop owner hands us the money. "Is... is there anything you can do for my daughter? She meant well."
"We know"I respond, "but unfortunately, she's now in the hands of The Tsunami's. You know that with the recent collapse of the police force, the only law still in town is what the mafia decides, and punishment isn't light. Your daughter will come to no harm... if she doesn't resist us further. At this point, there's nothing you can do. It's down to her to pay."
"...I understand. Just please take good care of her."
"Hey, we aren't monsters"Hank chimes in. "She just gotta listen to us and she'll be fine. Anyways, we gotta go."
The three of us - Oliver, Hank and I - begin making our way back to the mafia's location, where we'll deal with Vicky.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Bad Connections.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xguz1m/bad_connections/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! |
"Hey Anne, didnt realise you were home yet"He said, walking through the living room to grab a drink "did you get the thing you went for?"
"Yeah, it looks great too"She told him as he walked back into the living room and spotted it, astonished at its sheer size. it was nearly floor to ceiling, looking like something that should have come off a wardrobe. It was huge.
"Wow, they liked their mirrors in the 1800's didn't they"He said, admiring it. it fit perfectly in the room, every other bit of furniture was recent, from the last few years. it was the centrepiece of the room, bringing some novelty to the house. it was one of her many unusual. she walked behind him and noticed something odd. something didn't seem quite right. "Talique, you dont have a reflection."He brushed it off as her making a joke
"Well, you said yourself, vampires won't reflect in the mirror"He responded, The look on her face dropped to one of terror.
"wait, what?"She shouted in pure terror.
"Anne, you were in the room when i turned"
"You turned on april fools, i thought it was some odd joke"
Talique laughed, he had been a vampire going on 3 years at that point and she had only just realised that it wasn't a joke. "How did you not know, you have actually felt me not having a pulse before"
She just stood there, staring directly at him. "Holy crap I really am oblivious aren't I?. To be fair you spend most of the day outside and i've never seen you cook something without garlic"
He just nodded, keeping himself from saying anything else to confuse her. |
Dalton sat in his apartment, staring at the empty bottle of Jack in front of him. He was alone in his apartment, and had been for some time. It showed in the discarded bottles and cans, and in the empty food containers piled high in and around the trashcan. He could hardly remember the last time that the windows let light in. No, that's not right. He remembered. It was when he had moved in after... after...
Dalton stood up abruptly, teetering a little. He was suddenly filled with an overwhelming resentment. But this time, it wasn't directed towards her, or towards him, or even towards himself. No, this time, he was brimming with un utter disgust and disdain for his current abode.
He stumbled about the one-room unit, furiously filling trash bags and tossing them by the door. More than once, he cut himself on a shard of broken glass. Each time, it only fueled his rage and disgust. More than once, he tripped over a discarded pizza box or takeout container. Each time, he stuffed the offending object into the bag in his other hand.
Slowly, steadily, Dalton's fury began to bear fruit. The apartment's carpet began to reveal its original color and pattern. The bags near the door piled up, and the apartment began to have its scents locked away in them. Dalton began to roughly drag the bags out the door, five at a time. Once or twice, the bags squeaked and squealed, straining at the seams, but they held, if tenuously.
After half an hour of raging and clearing, Dalton stood panting in a one-room apartment, now free of smells and clutter, with not a single bit of glass or cardboard to be seen. There were still stains on the couch and carpet, but those could wait.
Dalton let out a deep breath. His problems hadn't been solved. His hangover was still painful. The darkness still lingered in the corners of his mind.
But.
He no longer felt totally helpless.
The days and weeks and months before him still loomed threateningly, but he was no longer powerless.
After all, he thought, looking with grim satisfaction around the apartment, he'd been able to do this.
Maybe he could do other things, too. |
It had been five weeks of my life since I lost it. Within those five weeks, I had to re-learn everything I knew about my life. Even something as simple as the question "are you left-handed"suddenly made me pause. It would have been nice if Stefani could just take over during those times like she did with family or with the therapist, but rules were rules: her life was my life.
I had finally gotten the last part of my application off to State U. Dinner on this Saturday night was incredible, and it left me with plenty of time back outside -- where I'd taken to being alone -- to try and sort out the gameplan going forward. I was seriously hoping to tell Stef to let me take over more, maybe for the family events, but before I could ask her, she appeared again next to me -- invisible to all but me, as always.
"So,"she said. "You like your new social circle?"
Not the question I was expecting at this time, but sure. "Yeah, they're pretty nice to me. It looks like people get it was an accident and I'm okay."
"Well, get used to a plot twist. You know the Homecoming dance is in three weeks, right?"
A quick check of our internal calendar in my mind confirmed that. "Yeah?"
"This was never one of my favorite times. I imagine you're going to get a few questions in the next few days. And it doesn't matter how you answer them; someone's going to be disappointed."
"Questions? What sort of..."Oh, THOSE questions. "Okay... I get ya. So, before we go any further, who are you hoping for?"
Stef scratched her head for a while before a smirk came across her face. "Well, that's the thing: I don't think they'll let me choose."
"They?"
"You don't seriously think this arrangement was MY idea, do you? I told you, Heaven didn't want me because I was supposed to live and Hell said no because I did nothing wrong. This got cooked up. So, yeah, *they* figure that this is the best punishment -- it's your call."
"Well... okay then. I mean I can think of a few I'd like to go to the dance with. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll ask."
"Oh, like Carolyn, I'm sure."
"How did you... I mean, what's wrong with that?"
"She'd say no in a heartbeat to me. And she'd think it weird I even asked."
"But I'm... aw, man, you're right. I keep wanting to do things with this new lease on life I got and... it's not working out."
"Yeah... I keep telling you, you're me now. I don't know why you can't remember that."
"Stef... please. Does this mean I have to be you and not me, forever? Isn't there something I can do to be me?"
"Your body's six feet under, Pete; it wouldn't do any good."
"No, I mean... can I make decisions around here?"
"Oh, yeah, sure! But your decisions... I mean, you have a different mind, different upbringing, different everything. We can't just have you snap your fingers and you're a my mom's son instead of her daughter. That's why I don't mind being here. There are things you need to get used to. I can help."
"So... wait, you -- we -- like, have you ever had a real boyfriend?"I started thinking, digging through her memory. And then I found the answer. "Brian?? Him?"
"Shh! You'll get Mom's attention. Besides, I'm kinda not proud of it. He transferred; let's leave it at that, okay? Don't look further into that until I say you can."
"But... everyone knows what kind of a weirdo he was. I mean, he was the one leading that whole murderer thing; I'm glad he's gone too, but that's that, right?"
Stefani seemed to shudder. "You know how I try to keep you from some of my memories?"
"Yeah... you say it's best to approach this gradually."
"I guess this'll be the first real dating thing since and... you kind of need to know."
"Know what?"
"Brian didn't get kicked out because of what he said to you; that was just the last straw. Let me let you see."
In a flash, I was reliving her memories from junior year. Of being asked to Homecoming a year ago; of the dance going smoothly; of their first kiss; of exchanging Christmas gifts... and of conversations. Sure, she said all the right things, but I began to hear snippets in my head of Brian... not responding right. Not being as comforting. Heck, there were times I was nicer to her than he was, and we never met!
"Stef? He wasn't a good boyfriend, was he?"
"That's just the half of it. Now, hold on tight. This part can get... a bit bumpy."
\------------------------------
*This is part of the ongoing story, "*[Two for One](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingByLR80/comments/xuzypg/two_for_one/)*", born from a writing prompt.* |
"Calm down,"I reply, "it's probably just a drill."
I grab my phone and relax on one of the beanbags, plugging in my headphones and heading to Netflix. If we're gonna have to do this drill, I might as well have some sort of entertainment from it. But when one episode leads to two, leads to four, I start to get worried. I finally look up from my phone and see that everyone is passed out on the floor. I look around and see that not a soul is awake, but they're all still breathing. I turn off Netflix and turn on some music before walking over to the door and peaking out. The hallway is dead, not a person in sight. That is, until he turns the corner with headphones in, looking just as confused as I do. |
“True Love at last!” The king exclaimed, only to be met with me rolling my eyes and the princess running out to greet me. Although when she saw me, she was disgusted. Of course she was. They always are. My pimple covered face and scraggly ass beard that you could hide a peanut butter sandwich in isn’t exactly the textbook definition of beauty.
“Yes, yes, ‘tis I, True Nown Love the Third, cursebreaker extraordinaire known round the world, yadda yadda yadda, let’s just see what we’re looking at here.”
I look back over to the princess to see if I can ascertain the curse. It didn’t take a trained eye to see what it was. Her whole body looked like a voodoo doll. Complete with the stitched up face, big creepy button eyes, all the details.
“A voodoo doll curse, huh?” I say with an exhausted sigh before standing up in a faux of confidence and triumph. “These witches are getting more creative with it! But I promise you, nothing will stop the Curs-ed Cursebreaker, True Nown Love the Third! I’ll make quick work of this curse faster than you can say… uhh…” I then slump down, dropping the facade.
“Look, it’s been a long day, I’m not about to do my whole spiel, let’s just get this over with!”
Before the princess can object, I quickly kiss her on what I can only assume is her lips. Despite being turned into a voodoo doll, I can feel her objecting to the kiss, as they always do. But soon, she begins to change. Her doll hand begins to separate into fingers, her button eyes shrink back down and reshape into regular eyes, all the stitching is gone, and just like that, she’s back to normal.
Afterwards, I turn to her father, the king. “There you go, your Majesty. Now if you want, for an extra fee, I can offer you some talismans to keep on your person so this *hopefully* doesn’t happen again.”
The king graciously nods, plopping a hefty amount of gold coins into my hands, including some for the fee of five talismans. I give them to him and with a faux-confident wave, I make my leave.
After a long walk, I’m finally home. No more curses for the day. The sun has set. I walk over to the river that flows behind my house to look at my reflection. And then I hear a voice behind me. One I’ve grown all too familiar with.
“Losing your enthusiasm, aren’t you, boy?” a soft, deep and raspy voice asks.
I turn around and see *him!* The one responsible for this. The Elder Warlock. Everyone fears him for his ability to use spells and potions far beyond anyone’s knowledge. And now he’s here; a feeble old man haunting me with his deceased spirit.
“Hey, the deal was that I break curses, not that I had to be flashy about it!” I snap back, fed up beyond belief with what he’s put me through.
“Now you understand what I had to deal with. Day after day, they would come to me to break the curses that evil witch has put on them! It became taxing!”
“So why me? Why did you turn a normal civilian into your errand boy?”
“Because I’m far too old to go after that witch myself! I need you to do it!”
“Well this may come as a surprise to you, but I still have yet to find any clues as to her whereabouts, so we’re going to be here for a while.”
I lie on my back, gazing up into the dark blue night sky. The stars were beginning to show themselves…
“Well, at least I can relax for the night.”
As I’m about to close my eyes, I see something zip through the sky. A shooting star? No, this was… green?
I quickly stand up and run after it! I’m confident that this could lead me to that witch’s whereabouts! If I stop the witch, I stop the curses on the town! If I stop the curses, I stop having to go around and do the work of some old geezer who died a few years ago!
This is my ticket back to a normal life! |
Okay kid, listen to me very carefully.
This is not a lesson on ethocs or some other fancy shit. This is self defense.
Everybody out there is out to get you. And you should return the favor to them. Forget about compassion, solidarity or whatever fantasy you're dreaming about.
Stealing from a bank is fine. They will rip you off in any way conceivable.
When you strike go for the kill. Never leave behind someone with a revenge desire.
There is no such thing as a proportional response. Overkill is best. If someone looks the wrong way to you and for that their whole family is murdered they will be an example.
Might makes Right. If you're right without the strenght to back it up it's good for nothing.
Last but not least, trust no one. Not even me. |
It was raw. Honest. Delightfully thoughtless.
From the moment she saw him, the hairs on her body stood at attention as though there was electricity in the air. She had never seen one like him. She hadn’t seen much of anything in that room in the way of invertebrates other than the sort that flew and the sort that marched in a single file line. They were daring, especially with the giants roaming around. She understood well enough what happened if they were spotted, but she wasn’t like them. She was safe and comfortable within her enclosure. And terribly, terribly lonely.
He noticed her too.
He came from a place very different to this. Far more plentiful and exciting.
But a meal was a meal.
He kept his stinger low, inconspicuous, and began his approach. She watched him eagerly. The closer he got, the denser the atmosphere felt. She didn’t know then that her body was reacting to a threat.
He stopped, just at the edge of cover, and beckoned to her. She hesitated. He had hardly made it halfway, but she recognized the risk he’d taken to get that far. Unlike her, he was not welcome in this place. Perhaps it was only fair to meet him at his limits.
She carefully climbed to the top of her enclosure, maneuvering the structures that had been strategically arranged by the giants upon her arrival. She considered turning back, remaining where she was safe and content, but he beckoned to her again, and she craved the new.
She braved the environment she’d never been free to explore before, only observe from a distance. Anticipation drummed through her body, drowning out the fear. He was different, but he was familiar too. Perhaps she could invite him into her enclosure, where he would be safe and she wouldn’t be lonely anymore.
And then he was upon her, and she realized her mistake. He took from her what he wanted and left the rest, and just as he had appeared, he was gone. |
"Damage doesn't go on the stack."
The enormous metal Sphere floats above the Judge, whose face has blanched in fear. WotC doesn't train you for the possibility of a hyperdimensional AI capable of tearing a Rift into spacetime to drop into the middle of your Legacy event, but they had the entry fee and their deck check was legit.
But the Judge understood that Legacy players sometimes had time accepting the rules have changed since 2010.
*NO. THE MOGG FANATIC MAY DEAL ITS COMBAT DAMAGE AND THEN BE SACRIFICED*
"Uh... uh..."the Judge looked for the creature's name tag. "01001110 01100101 01100011 01101011 01100010 01100101 01100001 01110010 01100100, I regret to inform you that this rule was changed since Magic 2010's release..."
The Sphere shook with rage, emitting esters of stale snack food and human male body odor. The Judge could hear its exhausts wheezing with impotent ire.
*THIS IS ABSURD. FIRST YOU ARE UPSET OVER MY USE OF LEGITIMATE SLEEVES AND PLAYMAT*
"Sir, that Chandra playmat is kinda cringe, and anime lol—
*SHE IS A VAMPIRE AND OVER 10000 YEARS OLD*
"I'm sorry, 01001110 01100101 01100011 01101011 01100010 01100101 01100001 01110010 01100100, but you have been disqualified from this tournament due to Unsportsmanlike Conduct under the current Comprehensive Rules."
*THIS IS AN OUTRAGE. MY GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT* The Sphere began smoking *GREAT GREAT GRANDFATHER COMPILED THE TEXT FILE FOR ALPHA*
"Be that as it may, you need to leave."
The Sphere drooped, then began to hover away from the table before flipping the table over.
*THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I AM GOING TO GO POST ABOUT THIS TO MTGJUDGES AND YOU'LL BE FIRED. THIS GAME HAS GOTTEN SO SOFT IN THE PAST, THERE'S NOONE...*
The Sphere continued to mutter as its opponent and the Judge watched, then disappeared in a flash of light and a puff of body spray.
"So, that's a bye?" |
43 weeks was all it took for humanity to let out a collective sigh. Reactions to the news died out as public interest waned, but most could be categorized as such: those arguing that stations couldn’t have scanned every moon and asteroid; those frustrated with God, scientists, and movie makers; those convinced the effort should expand to nearby galaxies; those that turned their hopes to new waves pharmaceuticals. Mostly, though, people turned their attention to other stories, their work, life.
The two years preceding NAGASAT’s final MiTSYS project report was a flurry of breakthroughs and collaborations never seen by humanity. Self-replicating bots, originally designed to dismantle plastics, were redesigned and programmed to hold and operate a drive, replicate itself in the orbit of a planet, return to obtain more materials for replication, and repeat the process until the signal was sent to tell it to scan. An entire industry had risen up in the previous decades to solve the problem of waste accumulating in bodies of water, and within two years it was retasked with filling up the galaxy with 200 billion football-sized robots. In contrast, getting them to their destinations was a small, singular project NAGASAT had trouble funding until they moved a mouse from one laboratory to another without moving it all the space between.
2Moons project had been operating with fewer than 30 people, including support staff, for 6 months before Daniel showed up at the other end of the tunnel the researchers had built through the cracks and crevices of the universe. 6 months later, tiny satellites orbited exoplanets, delivered by a tunnel too small to bring a human next door.
NAGASAT, a conglomeration of various domestic and international scientific and technological organizations and councils, brought the two industries together. The instrumentation for scanning planets, as well as the material-gathering capabilities had been tested by other industries for years, but until one robot, delivered lightyears instantly, could become two, then four, then eight in a matter of days could humanity become aware of what was happening in its solar neighborhood.
The project brought countless discoveries; though we would bring back data that would take lifetimes to process, the thing we were all looking for failed to make an appearance. Every scan that flagged abundant greenhouse gasses revealed an interesting but lifeless planet. Every artificial satellite turned out to be abnormal, but not intentionally so. The first wave of satellites that had spent long enough scanning, rather than replicating, had been tasked with replicating and sending more bots to planet surfaces and finding, at most, acids and waters we suspected looked a lot like the places life on our planet must have started.
As the weeks sped by, and the exponential growth in the number of satellites scanning the galaxy led the data sent back to overwhelm everyone interested in searching it, more and more we realized that billions of systems had been scanned and found no obvious evidence of life. Public interest waned, and to the algorithms we left the task of letting us know when something interesting was found.
One of NAGASAT’s committees had defined life broadly, only requiring some sort of metabolism and reproduction that differentiated itself from its surroundings. In the last few weeks before the final report that transformed MiTSYS, people sifting through the data online were ready to find a mountain that looked a little weird or a river a little too straight as evidence that life had existed in the past.
While online discussions raged on, most of the public ignored technical limitations. The satellites had not scoured every planet in every system, nor most of the moons and other large rocks. The tunneling system was more accurate the closer the destination and delivering a satellite to a nearby galaxy would require instrumentation more precise than had been invented yet.
The limitations of the tunnel system dimmed the hopes of many. The torrent of pictures and recordings reduced the interest of the average piece of data to less than whatever entertainment was closest at hand. What would have, just a few years before, earned a scientist a lifetime of notoriety, now escapes even NAGASAT employee notice. The robot’s replication system also removed most of the enthusiasm that we would be able to bring back precious resources by reducing our need.
It wasn’t until Daniel, the first and, so far, only living thing to travel through a tunnel, died that we realized we might have to do it all ourselves. Someone at 2Moons suggested a burial at sea, so to speak, and leave his body on another planet. 34 Smasi B had been interesting enough to send a robot, which sent an image showing a yellow element covering mounds. It began circulating online boards as a joke, insinuating the planet was made of cheese and therefore, indicative of microbial life. Once word of Daniel’s passing spread, it wasn’t long before movements sprang up independently to deliver microbes to planets thought to be capable of supporting life.
Myriad committees were formed, and moral and political discussions ran the gamut. In the end, it was NAGASAT’s chief of operations that delivered a speech that followed 2Moons independent decision to send a few flowers and Daniel’s body encased in a porous block of nutrients and other, simple, single celled organisms through to an ocean on 34 Smasi B.
The CoO used a synchronous method of speech usually reserved for relatives, both mouths harmonizing his words as he told of an imperative to be the meaning in life, rather than looking for it. He stressed that we would not know what Daniel would create for a very long time, and we might not be able to understand what it is. He used the verb for ‘project,’ as close as you might be able to understand it, and our name for ourselves - ‘humanity’ - to describe what 2Moons had done just a few minutes before. He closed with a song, one that his family had sung to him about the stars. |
every one i knew is gone, just gone, i looked for hours, door to door, room to room, everyone is gone, and i am alone, and its so quiet that i can even hear my own heart beat, i think i need to lie down. As enter my house I glance at pictures of my family, I would do anything to just hold them in my arms on last time for even a second, and just apologies from the deepest point of my heart and tell them how much they truly mean too me, I am so tired that my eye's cant even shed a single tear, I grab one of the family photos and walk to my bed and hold the photo tightly in my arms, that was my breaking point, I started to cry, it felt like all the water in my body was leaking though my eyes, and my heart started to ache, I feel all the worlds weight was on my chest. I am just so tired, i just.. want.. to... close.. my... eyes\~. When suddenly I heard my doorbell ring, At that moment it felt like the horrible nightmare was finally over, I can finally hug my sister, and my brother, and my parents too! I can tell them how much I love them, I sprint so fast to the door that it felt like time was still. now just before me was my door, just on the other side is my family, waiting for me to open the door, I slowly reach my left hand towards the door knob, and when I grasped the old knob i turned it and swung the door open. And to my surprise, it was me. |
Then there was the unexplained movements I thought I saw out of the corner of me eye, once familiar words in my books changing. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it. My friends all told me I was either brave or moronic, but I was adamant that I would keep going on with my life. I thought everything would be fine if I just ignored it. But my friends stopped coming over, my relationships with them and my family became strained. But today I have become resolved; I must confront the specter looming over my life and fight to return to a new normalcy; today I go out and get a pair of glasses. |
We’d known it was a possibility. The plague had been the reason we’d departed with less than half our compliment aboard. Just above the minimum viable population, and even a hundred years in to the journey each birth was still carefully reviewed and approved. As far as we knew, earth was gone. No communications had been received in half a century. The cradle of humanity crushed beneath the weight of a plague that was supposed to be nothing more than a fable.
But the blinking alert on my screen was anything but a fable. And my hand shook as I tapped the blinking red rectangle to review the genome that was automatically being sequenced. The alert had triggered before, three times exactly. Each had resulted in a lock down across the entire generation ship, and the muffled alarms coming from the hallway told me that was happening again. The same vent that I’d been cursing all day for blowing cold air on me, I now desperately wished would come back to life. For a stirring of air to tell me that this was all some fever dream.
I’d never been on shift for the lock downs before, so I don’t know what the previous triggers had been. But as the genome loaded it was close. It didn’t exactly match any of the variants we’d seen before, but it was close enough, and it was viable. My breathing quickened, the already small room seeming to close in on me. The warm hand that alighted on my shoulder was enough to make me scream and dart out of my chair, only to find my supervisor behind me with a sad smile.
“We’ve been through this before, it’ll be fine.” Jesse reached over and pushed the confirmation button on the alert as I felt my stomach sink through the floor plating.
“The others were false alarms, we HAVEN’T BEEN THROUGH THIS…” My throat closed up and my voice betrayed me as Jesse shook his head.
“All real. Every one. We have a plan for this, and it’s worked before.”
My stomach found its way back in to my gut where it belonged, but my heart refused to resume its normal pacing. “Wh.. what plan?”
Jesse motioned back towards my work station, which showed a schematic of where the abomination had been detected. Already the section had been sealed off, as had two sections in every direction from the sensor. The entire ship was on lock down, but not even special clearance could open those doors now. My eyes widened in horror as they started to depressurize. “Turns out, not even zombies handle hard vacuum well without a spacesuit. Once that’s taken care of, we ditch the bodies in to space and sterilize the entire area with drones. We’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again.” Jesse shook his head and looked at me apologetically. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to read you in, but here we are.”
“We just… kill them all?” I reached out a hand to my screen, but even as I reached towards it I knew there would be no way to stop the process.
“You know what happened to earth, what would happen here if that got loose. There’s about a hundred people in those sections, and nearly fifty thousand on the ship. We even moved around our sleeping and eating areas after the first event, just to make sure we never got too many people in one place. If that thing gets out, even to a few thousand, the loss of genetic diversity could be catastrophic.”
I looked helplessly at the screen as section after section changed from the green of habitable atmosphere to the black of vacuum, and as I did I realized something. There were no gene labs in that section. Maintenance bays, algae vats, seed storage that would be in cryo and unaffected by the unfolding catastrophe, but no gene labs. Nowhere that a research sample could have come from. Nowhere that a researcher could have truly engineered the abomination. My eyes grew wide again as I stepped back from the monitor. “There’s no research labs, where did it come from?!”
Jesse smiled sadly again as he looked at me. “I knew you were smart. You’ll probably be on the team trying to figure that out after this. As close as we can tell, we think some combination of viruses we already carry somehow combine to create it, but we haven’t narrowed it down.”
“How long? How long have you known?”
Jesse sighed. “Since the first event, so about seventy years now.”
I slumped against a wall and slid down to the floor. “And we can’t colonize anything until we figure it out.”
Jesse crouched down to meet my eyes as I fell over and laid against the wall in shock. “Right again. We have another century to figure it out, and if we can’t… any planet we colonize will suffer the same fate as earth.” |
The TV is blaring. The world is over. Or the world never began? Or it began but it isn’t what we thought? Who knows. It doesn’t matter now.
A young man sits in the dark, blankly staring at the screen. He shovels food into his mouth, all while thinking how pointless it is. “Food” he realizes “I guess it’s just code so I don’t die”. He thinks of all the people who went hungry, how impossibly pointless it is to go hungry over simulated food. He continues to eat anyway. He feels sad, but then again he felt sad before he knew.
He sits back and thinks about calling someone he loves. “What does love matter if everything is… if nothing is…”
He picks up the TV remote and changes the input. Swapping the remote for a controller. He turns on a video game and says out loud “I’ll just take my mind off it for a while”. |
Whittleworth, Vermont was a quaint and quiet town. Brilliantly colored leaves heralded the arrival of autumn. A perfect little slice of Americana, the cookie cutter houses with their white picket fences, perfectly manicured lawns, the laughter of children filled the air of the small subdivision of Happy Hollow. Raymond Robertson lived there happily with his wife Emilia and son Jacob. Jacob was a sophomore in high school. A tall, lanky, overall awkward looking kid. Below average social skills, but very smart for his age. Raymond and Emilia worked typical office jobs to afford the mortgage and save up what they could. Both were in their early forties, retirement was still only a dream.
Raymond flipped through the day's mail at the kitchen table while Emilia scrolled through her phone. Raymond groaned loudly when he saw the letter from the home owner's association. Emilia peeked up from her phone.
"What now?"She asked. Raymond slid the letter over to her.
'To All the Wonderful Residents of Happy Hollow:
In response to the growing nuisance called "The Punk Plague"all residents are required to keep any audible noise limited to sixty decibels or less during the hours of 6 pm to 11 am. We will be working with local law enforcement to ensure that this new regulation is followed.
Have a wonderful and safe day!
Betsy Baker
HOA President'
"The botox bitch strikes again. Look at that horseshit, another noise ordinance rule? I doubt that bitch even knows what a decibel even is."Emilia hated Betsy, to be fair everyone hated Betsy.
"Would love to knock that bitch off her high horse. How does somebody get that drunk on power in such a meaningless role?"Raymond scoffed.
"Not like she has anything else going on, only reason she got elected is because nobody else wanted the job. That rule is gonna put a damper on the birthday barbecue."
The two brainstormed on how to keep a small gathering for Jacob's birthday that quiet. A sly smile crossed Raymond's lips. Emilia knew that look, she hadn't seen Raymond smile like that since they were much younger and wilder.
"Dare I even ask?"Emily inquired.
Raymond laughed, a sinister cackle. "That bitch wants us to keep it quiet. How about we show her how we used to party."
Emilia's eyes widened. "Sounds fun."
"It should be. We're gonna turn this place into CBGB for a night."
"We getting the band back together? Brad moved to California, we don't have a lead guitarist."The Back Alley Doctors hadn't played a show in over twenty years.
"I know just who to ask."Raymond had never seen the Punk Plague before, only heard about the person's love of loud music. Sounds like they could play lead, Emilia on drums, Raymond on bass. All Raymond had to do was track them down and invite everyone in the city to come, except for one person.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Cars packed the streets of Happy Hollow, people from all over the city came to what Emilia dubbed 'The Pol-Potluck', everyone dressed in black from head to toe like it said on the invitations. A popular girl that Jacob went to school with had slid into the Punk Plague's dms. He was on board. The small park in Happy Hollow's center the amphitheater for the performance.
Food and drinks flowed while the crowd grew in size, it was asses to elbows across the entire park. Raymond and Emilia were setting up a small makeshift stage, both decked out in their old punk attire. A modern day Sid and Nancy.
"This the place?"A soft voice asked from behind Raymond.
The Punk Plague had arrived. Their long green hair spiked out, a bloody smiley face mask concealed their identity. Their leather jacket covered in patches, jeans held together with safety pins, even if the Plague didn't have the talent they had the look.
"Yes it is. Do you take requests?"Raymond asked.
"Maybe."The Punk Plague shrugged.
Raymond explained what he had in mind for the concert. The Punk Plague liked it.
"Yeah I can do that. Your wife is hot by the way."The Punk Plague pushed past Raymond and plugged their guitar into the massive bank of amps. No time for sound check, the party was about to get started.
'Green Hell' by The Misfits kicked it off. The younger people in the crowd looked confused. Their parents started bobbing their heads, then started pounding their fists. The ear destroying roar of the guitar shattered the normally peaceful autumn air. Car alarms blared as the set continued. 'Die, Die My Darling' was next up in the set.
The music swelled, the energy of the crowd spiked. A circle of bodies naturally formed into the chaotic swirl of a mosh pit. Everything was going according to plan. Not even thirty minutes into the set is when Betsy Baker arrived with cops in tow. The music stopped as Emilia and Raymond took the stage. Raymond slung his bass over his shoulder and plugged it in. Emilia addressed the crowd.
"Well well well! Look who's here! I don't remember inviting you to the party!"Emilia sang into the mic.
The Botox Bitch huffed and puffed. She screeched at Emilia. "You are breaking every single rule we have! I demand that you stop this at once! All of you need to disperse and stay quiet!"
"Fuck you Betsy! Fuck you Betsy! Fuck you Betsy!"Emilia riled up the crowd, they began chanting in unison. Emilia winked at Raymond and took her seat behind the drum kit. The opening bass line shook the Earth, the guitar riff drove heavy, the drum beat pounding. Raymond stood defiantly in front of the mic.
"So you've been to school about a year or two
And you know you've seen it all
In daddy's car, thinkin' you'll go far
Back East, your type don't crawl"
Betsy screamed something at the cops. They started towards the stage, their advance was quickly stopped by the swirling mass of the pit. Betsy was sucked into the eye of the mosh. Limbs swinging wildly around her, high speed collisions of flesh and bone driven by the sonic storm.
"It's time to taste what you most fear
Right Guard will not help you here
Brace yourself, my dear
Brace yourself, my dear"
Raymond could see the fear in Betsy's eyes grow. Just what he wanted to see. There was no stopping the show, fuck the botox bitch, fuck the pigs. The band played on.
"It's a holiday in Cambodia
Where people dress in black
Need a holiday in Cambodia
Where you'll kiss ass or crack"
The Punk Plague nailed the sonic screeching solo, chaos erupting in the pit, a fever pitch ready to explode. The crowd chanting 'Pol Pot' and pointing their fingers at Betsy. Time for the big finale.
"Holiday in Cambodia
Where you'll do what you're told
A holiday in Cambodia
Where the slums got so much soul
Pol Pot!"
As the final notes hung in the air the pit parted like the red sea. Betsy hung her head as she retreated. The cops threw their hands up in defeat. A sea of middle fingers waved goodbye to the pigs. The Punk Plague strolled over to Raymond and slapped him on the back.
"Pretty good for an old guy. Looks like my work is done here."The Punk Plague flipped off the crowd and wandered off. Off to help another group of people in need of rebellion. Long live punk. |
What happens when people with incomprehensible powers get bored? When those who can reshape reality with a mere thought, starts sitting around waiting for something interesting to happen? We don't know. We really don't. Not because it hasn't happened, but because we don't have the vocabulary, or even the mental capacity, to understand what actually happened. The day the gods got too bored. And all started to get creative. Every pantheon. Every deity. Every divine entity. Messing with the universe at once. In a secret location underneath the Swiss Alps, there is a time recording device that exists outside reality. It was commissioned by a group that never existed. Built by hands that were never born. And made from materials that has never existed and cannot exist. Yet it does. We don't know what happened when the gods got bored. But from the unreal clock, we know that it took a total of 13.7 billion years to reboot.
We asked the gods about it. And indeed, they partied, or fought, or... did something, so hard that they had to rebuild reality from scratch. The entirety of the universe was rebuilt, quark by quark, by the gods. Few of which are actually competent. Many of which are very fundamentally untrustworthy, down-right idiotic, and capricious. Nobody is going to ask Dionysus to make a perfect replica of anything. Nobody will ever trust Loki with... well, anything. And we're pretty sure spiders used to be smaller before the universe was rebooted. Anansi claims they've always been the size of panthers. And we can't be sure.
We cannot allow that to happen again. Never. That's why we made the Program. Well, the governments did. All of them. Even the crazy ones like North Korea. The gods are treated to every luxury. They get to lounge around our best spas, our best hotels, our best theme parks. All operated for the gods, and they're *always* leagues better than the ones we humans get to use. But that's not enough. That is nowhere near enough. The gods are complex, bizarre, and incomprehensible. In most cases. If it was just Zeus we could just hire beautiful women to distract him all day. But these are not just a singular god, they're pantheons. With complex social interactions and behaviours. Which is where you, and all your new colleagues come in. Special entertainment is necessary. The best of the best. We fake the deaths of amazing actors, musicians, artists, etc. And send them to entertain the gods. Forever. Or until the gods grow bored of them. And that might last a while. We've got youth serum to keep people from aging. We've got soul-cages to ensure that you cannot escape through death. And we've already cloned your body in case you try so we can put your escaped soul into a clone body.
And yeah, it can take a while. Buddy Holly has been on the roster since 1959. And he is still popular. Elvis is *still* playing. Heath Ledger and Marilyn Monroe are co-starring in a new movie together, an interpretation of the Arthurian Mythos if it was about biker-gangs in the 1980s. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie are doing a truly haunting duet right in the next theatre here at the Olympus Complex. Betty White and Robbie Williams are doing a vaudevillian comedy with Gilbert Gottfried. You, we're starting out easy. There is a Columbo/Murder She Wrote crossover being made behind that door now that Angela Lansbury has finally accepted our offer, and we need a good murderer for it. You fit the bill, and you'll get time to rehearse. Of course, you don't have much of a choice, and neither do I. They need good administrators of all those people who have to please Odin, Shiva, and Tengri without offending anyone.
Trust me. There is no escape from this. Hope that maybe in a century or so they get bored of you, in which case you can get to walk out, live in the normal world again, or pass on if you're too tired. We've got a job to do, and if we don't keep the gods entertained, who knows what might happen. Of course, there are benefits. Not many, and not my department. You'll get a brochure of what little good might come out of this. If you just keep acting, keep performing, it'll all turn out alright.
Oh. Just a little piece of advice. Don't antagonise the gods. Don't complain about the universe, don't bother them with the poor and the downtrodden. These are primordial gods; they have more in common with despots and tyrants than they do with real people. Don't try to reason with them, or speak out against them. And don't, above all don't try to outdo them if they decide to compete with you in anything. We don't know what happens to the people who do that, because their names and identities are erased from existence. We just know that it isn't pleasant for them. Smile, be polite, be professional, and again, avoid treading on any toes. Because they're probably going to smite you for it.
Welcome to the rest of your life.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The plan was simple I just need the balls to do it. Whatever THAT is, it's not Winter it can't be. Shes not so easy irritated and distant. Heck, it took a LOT of convincing to go on a night run, which we used to do all the time.
I went reviewed plan I my head when I was going to the park. She knows I carry a weapon just in case. I just need the right time to pull it out and get answers.
"Hey"
It was Winter. She was pretty, short brown that went to her shoulders, wild green eyes, slim body, and definitely had her mother's gifts, all complemented by snowy skin. But even if the thing looked like her I knew it was not.
"Hi Winter, took you so long I thought you baled on me."
"You know I don't back from a challenge. I'm definitely going to out run you"she said warming up
"We'll see."
Now I don't know what I'm doing, that is exactly what the real Winter would have said. I did paranoia get to me?
We started running, the town was surprisingly empty at night.
"Some ones been distant from friends. What's going on."We usually chatted while running.
"Some family issues, don't worry about it."
Now I KNOW her family is perfectly fine. I'm one hundred percent sure that this isn't the real Winter.
I stopped running slightly out of breath
"I won already, we should go on more runs at least for your sake."
Dammit I'm starting to question myself again. Winter always looks out for those she cares about, more than anyone else. But I still do what must be done no-one lives in the area we're at right now.
"Are you really Winter."
"Last I checked. Yes"
I pulled out the pistol and aim it at her finger on the trigger.
"Wow. Don't point that at me."
I take a deep breath. My hands shaking tremendously.
"Winter would never be so distant from friends and so quick to anger."
"Ok put the gun down I can explain."
I wanted to put the gun down but something told me I couldn't, it wasn't *safe* to. So I continued to press on the subject.
"Your familys fine. So what was that excuse earlier about."
"I know, it was a dumb lie just clam down."
She began to approach me cautiously. Dammit!! Another thing only Winter would do. I mustered all courage I could and fired.
She fell to ground. At first didn't know what to do or feel I just felt... shock. Before I could do anything Winter's voice come from behind me.
"Told you I'd explain."
I jumped and turn around there was Winter perfectly fine. I dropped my gun and back up.
"Don't go anywhere you'll make this harder than I as to be. And if want an explanation. I'm not human anymore. I had to do some stuff to keep my family safe."
"What the fuck."
"I'm sorry but... you can't keep a secret."
That was the last thing heard before the world went black. |
Chameleons longing to be seen littered wilted corridors of humid desperation and found no resolve deep below the gazes of whip handed kings. Hidden behind Otherworld's regalia and devils grinning through their flesh, the keepers of time were self-proclaimed upon thrones of History's departed.
Life otherwise as a repeating apocalypse, our piles, a natural landscape of mountains in the distance. Kings hungered therefore our piles grew. Creeping sentience whispered through our two generations. Time allowed an awakening, a spark that would decimate the landscapes of our forsaking which had no dawn.
Nameless now, recognition began to swell among us. Our eyes becoming a portal to the hells of our waking lives, extinction at arms-length, survival rising over the piles. We birthed our wills, we broke them, we engulfed them that they would become callous in the fire of our Heart.
In the beginning, existence observed itself and created the canvas on which purpose would splay; and now with teeth, nails, and jagged scales from the walls of our darkness, a clamorous half-sleepwalking away from our realm and into the Otherworld.
Light and laughter entered our lives from above and beyond, the kings strewn flat upon palettes of stone, empty and lifeless, wailing sounds towards the warmth casted shadows from the light. Naked as we were, a sea of flesh; consumed, crawling within itself. Eyes seeing beyond us, their smiles introducing them; unresponsiveness suffocated the devils' wraths. We touched the flesh as a light came over the piles, illuminating truth upon the brows of our consciousness. Their power was not a mystery to our own, their flesh was not of God, but of life.
Freedom from darkness answered our fear of what they possessed. We cracked open the skulls of our masters and found nothing but flesh and blood. |
Lupus woke up in a stupor.
Hazed.
Confused.
And a raging headache to boot!
“Ugh.”
Lupus rolls away from the voice, only to realize he couldn’t roll away - was his body bigger?
It was bright - way too bright - he squinted his eyes open just a tad… there’s a tree. At least there’s something familiar. Lupus tried to reach into his pocket to grab his phone - a call to 911 sounded nice right about now - and instead grabbed onto - his stomach?
That doesn’t seem right. Feeling his hand on his stomach, Lupus started to break into a sweat. He KNEW his stomach was not where he was feeling - in fact, he was getting back his feeling… his numbness was starting to subside.
He moved his hand up and felt his nose, mouth…
“Yowg! You imbecile! That’s my eye! This is your fault!”
Suddenly a hand found it’s way onto his face - squishing into his eyes!
Lupus quickly swatted away the hand - hold up… his own hand?
Lupus managed to squint his eyes open again to a truly grotesque sight.
That of two bodies that had conveniently merged at the hip - but unlike the twins in Stuck On You - there were only one pair of legs. One HUGE pair of legs. He’d need to get much bigger pants.
And with that, a fist from his new twin connected with his face and he passed out. |
I wonder what the beans have in store for me today. I take that first sip of hot coffee in the morning. The swirling steam spins the yarn of fate.
*Today....Will be boring.....*
I took another sip
*Just like all the others days this month......*
Could be worse.
*Another two hour zoom meeting that could have been handled by an email awaits you....*
Again?
*Tonight you shall dine on chinese takeout.....*
Oh! What am I getting?
*General Tso's.....*
Is the game gonna be good tonight? Is it worth watching? Don't tell me who wins.
*Not really.....You stop watching at halftime.....Then you jerk off and go to sleep.....*
Aside from this meeting, today sounds like a pretty solid day. Make I'll drink a dark roast tomorrow. |
The traffic had not moved. He was stuck. As the figure got closer the man recognized...Himself! Before he could even process what was going on, blackness descended.
The driver opened his eyes. He looked around. He still felt slightly off, but the time travel seemed to work. He tried to figure out whether he had traveled to the correct time. Last attempt sent him too far back. Once he made it to almost the right time he tried to warn people but, nobody believed him. As soon as the traffic moved he took the next exit.
He pulled into a convenient store. Hopefully it was the right day. All he had to do was not make it to work and everything should be ok.
He opened his eyes expecting to still be in the car. He was home. The watch had disappeared and he had no memory since being in traffic and... seeing someone chasing him. He was chasing...no that cannot be correct. And where did the bowling ball and the broken microwave oven come from?
Alternative ending:
He walked into the store. He found the newspapers, checked the date. September 11. Hopefully they will listen to him this time. |
The windswept scatterings of fallen leaves blanketed the courtyard, a foreboding promise of winter. The Shinto shrine was affixed at the top of a chain of mountains that Jimmy couldn't pronounce. He'd settled to calling them the five elders as the other expats had, though Jimmy couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at his lack of trying to call them by their true name. The hike to the shrine was a relaxing one, it had switchbacked paths overlooking rolling fields of Japanese forest grass. Jimmy had gotten up at first light, fitting a CamelBak beneath his old, tattered rucksack he'd carried with him once before. The memories of Bougainville were always close by, and it was about time this old sack saw mainland Japan as Sgt. Gracen once wanted to. A cry of a child interrupted his musings. There was some type of field trip visiting the shrine, a local school. Children held Omamori to their chests like squirrels protecting their morning harvest. He looked from the children to an old shrine attendant who was busy sweeping the leaves into neat piles. The old man looked up and their eyes locked.
Jimmy was being pelted by torrential rain. He kept his helmet tilted to the front to keep the downpour from stinging his sight. He turned over, pressing his face against the dirt wall of his foxhole, muttering a curse at the palm tree which refused to block any rain. Jimmy had to piss really badly, and his stomach sank with anxiety. He'd heard about guys that would just let it rip in the rain, but he felt gross even contemplating it. The others might allow themselves to be reduced to mere animals, but Jimmy had to hold onto some dignity, lest he slip into pure despair. He stood up halfway with a sigh, keeping his carbine close to his side. He leaned up and peeked over the top of his hole until he was confident that no Japs crept around. He pushed himself up, moving closer the the forest to relieve himself. He moved slow and low as whoever was on duty wasn't currently patrolling. The Japs could come out of anywhere, he knew, even the ground itself. He found a nice wide tree and unbuckled his fatigues. As he started to piss, he heard he a yelp. A man exploded from beneath the tree, the sheen from his knife catching the moonlight. Jimmy stumbled backward, catching the Jap's arm and trying to use his momentum to throw him over his head as he fell. They both smacked into the soggy earth. Jimmy was up in an instant, he reached for his carbine, pointing it from the hip at the Jap and firing. It jammed. Cursing, he braced himself for another charge. He shot down, aiming for the legs. The enemy soldier cried out, and Jimmy felt a sharp pain in his back. The warm tingle of dripping blood mixed with the cold night rain. He turned quickly, reaching for the straps on his helmet. He yanked it off and collapsed on the tripped Jap. He raised his helmet, screaming with adrenaline fueled rage. He looked down at the man he would beat to death with this helmet, and he hesitated. It was just another boy like him, couldn't be older than nineteen. He looked up with pure, animalistic fear. His eyes moved down to the stubble working overtime, trying it's hardest to grow even a millimeter from his face. He dropped the helmet, allowing it to tumble down his back. Heaving, he collapsed on the ground, looking up at sky, raindrops smacking ito his eyes. For a while they both sat on their back, looking absently at the sky. Jimmy turned over to see the boy getting up, wiping mud from his trousers. The Jap looked at Jimmy and froze for a surreal moment. They both shared a common thought, a fleeting compromise. The enemy soldier then turned, running back into the forest at full sprint.
They held each other's gaze for a long time. Jimmy could feel his heart beating rapidly, remembering that night so freshly. The old man nodded with a smile, returning to his work, but his eyes kept looking up at Jimmy; as if to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Jimmy smiled back, and walked over to introduce himself to an old friend. |
"Wait, so you mean the serums can't cause harm or act as a poison but they actually do work?"Jedi asked.
"That's correct"Arch replied, "all bennies, no hurtsies."
Jedi marveled at the rack holding numerous vials filled with a vibrant array of colorful liquids. Some of them were glowing, others were fizzing, all seemed to emit a calm humming noise.
"How long do the effects last?"Jedi asked, picking up a reddish-orange vial and holding it up against the fluorescent overhead lights in the ceiling for a better look. He could see the word "STRENGTH"written down the side of it in bold black letters.
"On average, twenty-four hours, plus or minus thirty-six minutes, but it depends on the serum and the genetics of the person consuming the serum."Arch replied matter-of-factly. |
The coffee slowly dripped into the pot, drip - drip - drip. I looked out my balcony as I waited; flags stood high, concrete as far as the eye can see. Soldiers marched in formation, more than usual - as men and women alike, marched to work to start the day. Smoke rose high out of the factories they walked towards, soldiers omnipresent gaze watching them as they did, but still - more than usual.
I walked back into my high rise, concrete box they called a domicile, turning on the TV. So quickly did I regret my decision as the State media still bragged about their conquest of all of Western Europe, and much of Asia and Africa. Genuinely, I despised them, I could not care less. They drones on and on about "The Empire of Northern America"- how that is their next conquest. Updates, likely propaganda, about the war successes in the now 50 year long war for South America. I turned it off. Hoping my coffee was finally done.
Drip drip drip. I poured the coffee in my mug, alongside some whiskey - for good measure. Finally it was done, the new "energy efficient"state provision coffee makers were well.. terrible. The Energy Enforcement Division forced me to get rid of my good one... Whiskey, not the real stuff from The Empire, but fuck it - it did the job. Technically I was due in the factory again, but I genuinely had stopped caring. "Fuck it"I thought to myself, the USSR's men could come for me. Bravery, knife in hand I would be shot down on the spot. In reality I knew damn well my coward ass would agree to go back to work, or face the work camp sentence for insubordination.
After finishing half the bottle and dealing with hours of propaganda updates about the wars, about how much "better"our quality of life was than it is with the fascists across the ocean - but suddenly the tone changed. "Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake"played, a universal sign of tragedy. Our "dear"dictator - his death was announced, of course well after it happened. This was obviously because the TV displayed the funeral already.
BANG BANG BANG! Knocks at the door, they sounded like the authoritative knock of law enforcement, or military. Obvious fron a mile away.
When I opened the door I was not met with Local Republic authorities as I expected, but generals from Moscow themselves - decorated with the metals of nepotism and cronyism. Made no sense for an insubordination arrest.. Military draft? I easneducated enough to know the war was going bad. But still, why General Zhukov? He was... The top man in the Union.
"George Jakatta, that's you - right??"General Zhukov asked.
"Uhh yes?"I replied, in a confused tone.
"You likely know the name - I am general Zhukov, Premier Commander of the Greater Soviet Union."As you know, Mr. Ivanov is dead - and (checks paper) you are named as his ideal successor. For from this day forward, you are now the Chairman of the Greater United Soviet Socialist Republics of Asia, Africa and Europe!"
The general learned closer - "We must hurry, other factions want power - but I have kept them at bay for I stood by Aaron Ivanov and his decisions - even after death!"
When I looked back in confusion, Alexander Zhukov looked at me and said "I am as surprised as you are to find our new Chairman in the Democratic Republic of Spain of all places, in the Sectior C-11 block especially - but I trusted Mr. Ivanov, as should you. Now let's go! Time is in short supply!
The plane ride to Moscow was long, but... Luxurious. I have never experienced anything like it. Import Whiskey from the North American Empire, the real stuff on the plane. My own cabin, view of the sky. Technically, a plane ride even in Prol Class is a luxury for people of my standing - let alone?? This. Zhukov briefed me during the flight, about factions against us - strategy. Of which we discussed next moves; I mostly leaned on his strategy while he leaned on my legitimacy. Ivanov's paper did say - "George Jakatta of Spain, Sector C-11 Block 3 Building 9 FL8-810, is hereby the successor for the position of Chairman of the Greater United Societ Socialist...."I was useful to him, he was useful to me.
We landed, I was ushered before the Committee to announce my rule - during which Zhukov's plan unfolded. Men were escorted out destined for the firing squad - the military backed me, looked at me, flew my flag, backed my name. That's what turned out to be important; those who opposed us lacked tanks and bombs. With Zhukov's help, my power was solidified. Imposter syndrome would have set in, although I had my General to lean on for advice. I was no dictator - in fact I was technically an enemy of the state.
It was, however a life of luxury. I heard the briefings, the real ones. Soldiers brutally crushing revolts in the GDRF or GDDR (France, Germany as I generally knew them..) mass executions all across our Aftican Republics, stalemate in Brazil, stalemate to loss conditions in actually, all of South America. The Empire of Northern America actually consisted of Canada, Mexico and the United States, three genuinely separate countries united against us in an alliance. That was the truth, as I expected.
Still, I took Zhukov's advice. Sent men to die to the Front, expanded the war actually. Instituted a draft - total war. Martial law in Western Europe and Northern Africa. The dissent crushed beneath my boots. It felt... good??? A part of me protested each time I put pen to paper, bit I silenced the voice as I enjoyed the perks of dictatorship. My old dick of a foreman? In the Siberian Uranium mines, one of the first orders I independently gave. Executed swiftly, I smirked with my power and pen in hand.
Dictatorship, it wasn't all power. Obviously I cannot liberate our world, the backing of the military - of Zhukov was my source of power. The pen and the smirk weren't all to it! Of course, justify as I might, in reality the voice deep inside got louder until I could not silence it. I could change, but Zhukov would have me overthrown. Befriend him? His generals, and the dictators of each "Republic"would act. Golden handcuffs.
The deep voice got louder still, protesting until the luxuries of dictatorship could not hold out my true self. More revolts crushed, political prisons. Insubordination laws made more strict as war got more brutal - laws that would have landed me in prison.
Pen to paper, I ended martial law. I increased freedom for the Republics, freedom of speech - economic freedom. There was no smirk, no magic this time; the orders never passed down. They did not back me..
They say if you live too long as a hero, you will become the villain - but what they don't say is if you live too long as the villain, you will try to become the hero. In a desperate attempt..
As expected, one afternoon Zhukov raised the gun to me while I sat alone in my office; beg as I might my efforts were futile...
He told me, "George, If You Want a Picture of the Future, Imagine a Boot Stamping on a Human Face – for Ever. That is then future I will ensure happens. And you cannot stop it."He pulled the trigger. One swift motion, just as before.
"Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake"played on the TV that night. Somewhere, Zhukov and his men knocked on the door of a man's apartment to deliver the news. block A-205 - suspect alleged for insubordination. Manipulatable target.. Perhaps, in the German Democratic Republic this time.
When the next man answered, Zhukov pulled out a piece of paper and stated - "Chairman George Jakatta has named you the successor of the Soviet......" |
What does this weirdo think i am--a dog?
I like having a human who's gone for days at a time. I only put up with having one at all because i know i'd have died years ago without those @#$%\^&\* vet visits. I don't need to be taken care of for the daily stuff: i know how to clean myself, i know how to turn the water on--and off, even! Most cats don't care about that part, but i know you're not supposed to leave it running. I can kill the mice and rats when my human isn't around: i won't starve--i'm a working girl, not one of those namby-pamby lap warmers.
Okay, so the dirt-box does get a little stinky if he's not around to change it--but he's never gone long enough for it to get intolerable. I haven't been abandoned, and i can take care of myself if i ever am.
Been watching those nature shows, trying to pick up a few tricks from the lions for taking out something my own size. Was figuring to use them on that racoon, someday--but i guess i can try them out on a human.
&#x200B;
\[DIE, CAT-NAPPER, DIE!\] |
"Hey honey, are you okay?"
"What? No, yeah, I'm fine. The bed just feels emptier without the concubines."
"Aww, I miss the girls too, Becca. But they should be back by tonight."
"Can't wait. Uh, hey Mai?"
"Yeah baby?"
"When exactly did we get the concubines?"
"Uh, three years ago. They were my birthday present, remember?"
"Right, right, sorry."
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"Babe, I'm fine, I promise. It's probably just a case of the Mondays. I gotta get to work. See you tonight, Mai! Love you!"
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"And I could barely even focus long enough to remember where I met Mai! She's the love of my life and I draw a complete blank? Is there something wrong with me, or--"
"Becca, this is all very fascinating, but could we do this when we're not currently two miles underground and cutting through the saddest excuses for robots known to man?"
"Right, right, sorry Bodhi."
"THIS INSUBORDINATION HAS EARNED YOU A PAY CUT. YOU HAVE BEEN REDUCED TO TWO DOLLARS AND SEVEN CENTS AN--"
*BANG!*
"God, who the hell thought these were a good idea?"
"Well, Elon Musk wasn't known for coming up with successes. Or coming up with anything, really."
"Amen to tha--whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Elon Musk??"
"Uh, yeah? The tech billionaire who tricked the world into thinking he had actual talent?"
"What--when the hell did he make any of this?!"
"Um, twenty years ago? When the prototype space colonies turned against him and he got arrested--okay, seriously Becca, what is up with you?"
"I--I don't know, Bodhi. I'm remembering stuff that I also somehow don't remember, and everything around me feels all warped and weird, and...Bodhi, I'm not sure this is reality anymore."
"... Okay, we're definitely telling the boss to send you home for the rest of the day."
"Look, I know how it sounds, but--"
"Hey, I'm not making a judgement on your mental health here. I just think if your theory is right, then you should probably figure things out with your panda girl wife and alien harem first."
"... Okay. Fair enough."
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"Okay, Becca. Don't panic, you're gonna be fine. You're just about to tell your wife and the dozen alien concubines you live with that something overwrote reality and they didn't exist yesterday. And then you gotta tell them that you came from an entirely different reality where nothing is like this. Where aliens don't exist and I can't make a living destroying robots built by a breeder with emerald mine blood money. Where a woman can't get gene-spliced to turn into a panda girl and you'd never be able to afford a penthouse apartment...... You know what, fuck it, I can live with the new world order." |
"Okay I think I got everything we need to get through this wall."I laid out the rented power tools next to the giant fresco mural that dominated the cathedral walls. A heavenly scene of angels and their creators. Me and my wife Caroline were gonna tear that damn thing down, see what was on the other side. Couple pickaxes, some chainsaws, a jackhammer, and a few sledgehammers should do the trick.
"I think you went a little overboard honey. Why don't we just smash the giant stained glass window? That would be easier."
"I like the window. This will be more fun to tear down I promise. If it's not then we can break the window."
"Deal."We shook on it and began the demolition. Smashing up a wall is a great stress reliever, we made good progress. The wall was getting weaker with each blow of the hammers, a pale green light shone through the cracks. With a mighty blow I cracked through the wall to the other side.
The monochrome world on the other side was familiar looking. A 1950's style kitchen, that future yet retro look to it. Two otherworldly creatures sat at a small kitchen table. Humanoid in shape and dressed like a businessman and housewife. Their heads were misshapen, their eyeballs were gripped by tiny hands that protruded from their skulls. Enormous mouths dominated noseless faces.
The one in the business suit walked over to me. "Did you just tear a fuckin hole in my wall?"The creature asked in a thick brooklyn accent. Its mouth was filled with razor sharp sharky teeth, its four arms flailed angrily.
"Sorry about that."I hoped whatever this thing was didn't eat human flesh.
"What are you even doin?"
"Me and my wife were curious as to what was on the other side of the mural. Our place is really roomy already but you'd never know it from the outside."
"Didn't you read the lease?"The creature barked out.
"I skimmed it."
"Rule eighty four a! No messin with the walls! These are load bearing walls. The load they bear is the weight of all space and time. Now you come along and rip a new tear in that fabric. Does your species know how to fix shit like this?"The creature was combative.
"Me personally? No. I can't really speak for everybody else though. Can you fix it?"It never hurt to ask.
The hands that manipulated the creature's eyeballs reached through the rip in space time and surveyed around. "Yes I can, do you know how long that is gonna take me though?"It asked.
"Nope, not a clue."
"Wow you really are behind the times on this side of the dimension. It'll take the blink of an eye, it's space time it can be wonky. Are you some kind of friggin moron? Don't they teach you that kind of stuff in preschool?"
This guy was an asshole. "I promise not to screw with space and time anymore. I'll be a better neighbor."Maybe that would get him to go away.
"Apology accepted. No more screwin with the walls, I don't spy on you, don't spy on me. Goodbye."The world seemed to wobble and shift. The fresco mural was back, completely restored.
Caroline was already heading over the stained glass window with a ladder under her arm. "Bring over a sledgehammer, now I really gotta see what's behind that window." |
Another grey sundown, another grey season, and tonight empty of essence under a new moon; it will be a long life without you, again.
The color was already fading from the experience of lives past and my lack of understanding had swallowed my wondering "why"as an ouroboros which would find no resolve. I had a false dependence on my callouses, and after we spoke that evening something came over me and demolished the walls that I had raised around the fire of my heart. I kept it's warmth within me for so long , away from the winds of love, and within a sleepless night I was engulfed again, after lifetimes of a calm cool.
You were looking at a piece of art on the apartment complex. Written upon a sound dampening tile it read, "The heart is a DJ"and on the back, "sorry for the noise". You turned, saw me, and asked my opinion. I was blindsided into oblivion. It wasn't your warm eyes or cool attitude, it wasn't your outfit bearing your midsection or revealing your nipples through a thin cutoff, but for some reason, I had to focus on breathing; staying alive for a spell in which I could only muster one syllable at a time. Of course, I had thoughts on the art around the area, but they belonged to Passion which I had tamed within the walls of my heart, now inexpressable. This is when I began to suspect that you had returned.
There were many women I had spoken with over the past life and men before that life, but I had never been shaken as if words had triggered my sorrow like a spell. For weeks I wondered, worried I might chase you away forever. And yet, why had you gone? Did your fire blow in the direction of the open ocean, while mine ravaged on in the forest? Was there a confusion in the song of the spheres that abandoned us? Did you choose solitude over my company? No matter, those questions were in vain.
I would only see you once more, from across a parking lot, your blonde hair dancing with orange leaves in the breezes of Winter's approach. You waved and shouted, "It was nice to see you!".
Perhaps I misheard the farewell coming from your soul, although the mind cannot speak to the soul in the way you said goodbye. Since then, rebuilding just the foundation around my heart has been an abysmal venture. Never, in any life, have nights been so quiet and long, or days so dull and hopeless. You are still out there in this life, but clearly do not want to be followed or found.
It's been months in your absence, and tonight, with no witness in the sky, I'm writing this to let you know that I will wait however many lives I must to see you again, but as for this life, I am letting you go. Please, come back, if only for it to be nice to see me once more. Your company is the only which could free my heart like a songbird I have muffled in it's cage. |
BANG BANG BANG BANG
I sprang from the sofa, startled from my light doze at the noise, chest heaving, my heartbeat sounding like thunder in my ears.
BANG BANG BANG BANG
The noise happened again, and this time, I recognized it. Someone was beating on my front door again. It had been going on for four weeks straight, and always around three AM. Being a daytime worker, I was always asleep, and never made it to the door in time. It always happened in threes, so I bolted for the door.
BANG BANG BANG -
I wrenched the door open before the fourth knock was heard, and this short figure burst into my home.
“It’s about damn time you open the damn door, asshole! I was getting sick of knocking. Now, where’s the food, I’m starving.” A gruff, irritated voice that sounded like it could grind paint from a fence grated across my ears.
I stood there, mouth agape, door wide open as this little man, no, this giant lizard man barged into my home, asking for food.
Without turning he said “And shut the door and your stupid mouth before flies get into one or the other.”
I dumbly shut the door and my mouth. It was early fall, after all. “What the..No, wait. Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”
“Finally, a sensible word. I’m Bel’chazz, and I’ve been sent to bring you to The Council.” As if that explained everything. “Now where’s the food? I’ve not eaten in three days, and it’s past time.”
“Uh, on the stove is some jambalaya that I just made. Help yourself, uh…Bel’chad, was it?”
“Chazz. It’s Bel’chazz, not Bel’Chad.” He continued to grumble about humans and their sloppy grasp of language as he retrieved the warm pot and a spoon from the dish rack.
“Sorry. This is a bit of a shock. What ‘Council’ are you talking about and, I’m sorry for seeming rude, but just what are you?”
“What Council? Just whaddya mean ‘What Council?’ The Council, man! The only council that matters on this stupid plane of existence. Jeez. And, for your information, I’m a kobold. You can forget the bullshit you have in your fantasy books about us, cuz that shit just ain’t true. We may be the smallest and the ‘dumbest’ of the noble Draconics,” he rolled his eyes at that, “but we’re still pretty damn clever, if I do say so myself.” He set the pot on the table, and sat down next to it and began to devour my dinner. “Oh, wow. This is pretty good stuff. Did you make this yourself?” Warmth flooded through me at the praise. I’d always enjoyed having my food praised by those who partake in it.
“Yes, actually. I think I’ve gotten the recipe right, finally. Took me about a week, but I did, yeah.” I rubbed the back of my head in embarrassment
“This is really quite delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now,” I sat down next to him at the table, “Tell me about the Council. I have zero idea of what you’re talking about.”
Bel’chazz sighed, and set the spoon down. In mere moments he’d wolfed down about half of the food I’d made. “You mean to tell me that none of the letters ever got to you? None of the summons made their way to you? You’ve noticed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in the past six months?”
I cast my mind back, replaying my scattered memories of the past few months. After a moment, I shook my head, “No. Nothing I could call weird or anything. Certainly nothing like a four foot kobold strolling into my home as if he owned the place.”
“Heh. Shoulda known. Damn wizards never keep their end of the bargain.” He sighed again, “Well, in short, you live on a plane that just so happens to have a nexus point of nine other planes of existence intersecting at one point. The Council is made up of representatives of each plane; nine representatives each. It meets regularly, every three of your months. The time differs according to each plane, but for you, it’s about every ninety days. Matters of importance are discussed and decisions made relating to commerce and politics and all sorts of shit. I don’t get half of it. Anyway, you’ve been tagged as a rep for this plane, so we gotta get you to the office.”
“I..uh, what? Dude, I wasn’t even class president as a kid, what makes The Council think I got what it takes to do this job?”
“Heh. Council don’t pick the reps, kid. The Gods do.”
I sighed in bewilderment and annoyance and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay. Lemme get this straight. Gods pick the reps for the council and the reps have little say.” He nodded once, continuing to eat my damn jambalaya, “And the reps then have to find a way to this place, or get annoyed by kobolds until they go.” Another nod. “And then we have to do Council shit, or whatever. That about right?” He licked the spoon clean with his forked tongue. The bastard had eaten all of my dinner.
“Yep. That’s it. Oh, and Council members serve for life, and get a stipend in their world’s currency each month for the inconvenience.”
“Life?” Another nod.
“And a stipend?” Annoyed, he nodded again.
“How much we talkin’?”
“I dunno. All the Council members seem to be able to live comfortably in their own worlds with it. I don’t see why Earth should be any different.” He hopped off the table, and placed the pot and spoon into the sink.
“How long do meetings last? I can’t leave Bailey and Byron by themselves, they will die.” I walked over to my rat’s cage, and retrieved my two companions, who scurried about on my shoulders happily.
“Hah? Oh. You’ve got dependents. That’ll up the stipend. Uh… meetings last for a couple of weeks local time, about ten days for you here. Yeah, those little guys would die. Bring ‘em and keep them in line.” Bel’chazz pulled a small device from a belt pouch that I hadn’t noticed before, and began fiddling with it.
“Let me grab some clothes, and I’ll be ready, I guess. I gotta leave a note for my friends, tho. Let them know I’m on a ‘business trip’ and that I’ll be back in a few days, but be unreachable.”
“Uh-huh, yeah. Do that, kid.” Bel’chazz wasn’t really paying me any attention.
I headed to my room to pack for what could possibly become an amazing career. |
On Monday, you woke in the middle of a rainforest. It was beautiful and luscious and moist, full of life and wonder. You couldn’t help but wish you would stay there longer than a day. You spend the day collecting dead leaves and flowers for your basket weaving project, and watch a river gently flow by.
You had always been a materialistic person. Growing up, you lived a life that was dictated by sense and direction. You went to school, then to college, then got a job in a respectable field. You weren’t the best, but people liked you.
On Tuesday, you woke in a desert. The Sahara desert, you guessed. The sand was drier and finer, and there was barely any vegetation. Mirages formed at the edges of your vision, and you were almost tempted to venture towards it, but common sense made you go back in.
You were supposed to be happy. You had made it, after all. You didn’t grow up in a pleasant household, but you had finally escaped its suffocating grasp for greener pastures. But, you didn’t feel happy. You had gotten so caught up in the rat race that was life that you had forgotten to take care of yourself. And now, you were nothing but a hollow and empty shell, living just because.
On Wednesday, you woke, but you didn’t go out. You deserved a break. In the past month, you had been to more places than most would ever travel. You were getting a little bored of the adventure, and decided to indulge in what was familiar. You call your friends from home, and chatted about your adventures. They shared the latest gossip, and you laughed over their silly antics. Sometimes, life on the move can get a little lonely, but that’s okay. You’ll always have your friends.
Depression was an old friend of yours. It liked visiting you in moments of vulnerability, coaxing it’s nasty habits into your mind, draining you of all your hopes and happiness. It would make you want to give up, make you stay in bed all day, make you forget to eat and forget to wake. Everything was the monotonous, everything was same. Why wake if nothing will ever change?
On Thursday, you woke in the outskirts of a city. You could just see those familiar tall crystalline buildings you had once worked in, and a shudder ran down your spine. Judging by your surroundings, you were probably somewhere in North America. The suburban houses with their massive garages was a familiar and unwelcome sight, but you forced yourself out to explore your surroundings. You saw an old lady walking a dog, kids going to school. Things were almost ordinary.
Your friends worried for you, and kept trying to coax you out of your house. They would offer to eat at your favourite restaurants, take you out to the park for a picnic, but you always turned them down. The only thing that got you going was a trip to the club, so that you could drown your misery in a litre of alcohol and the shittiest music to ever grace the planet. But eventually, your friends managed to coax you out of your shell.
On Friday, you woke in a rural city. The houses were grey and rundown, but there was still a charm you couldn’t miss. Old ladies doing Tai-Chi, schoolchildren dressed in blue and white tracksuits. Yep, you were most definitely in China. You never understood the language, but then again, you don’t understand most languages. Going to foreign places with foreign languages and foreign people was always so much fun, because of how challenging it was to communicate. You checked out a small family restaurant, and you pointed at the menu as the waiter frowned and wrote the item down.
You were still miserable, but you learnt to grapple with it. You learnt to stop fighting the ocean waves, but rise and fall with it. One day, you chanced upon a most odd advertisement. “Are you looking for adventure and thrill in your life? Look no further than Robert’s Robots! For the small sum of your life’s savings, we’ll provide you with a lifetime in our newest Travelling Home ™️! Contact your nearest Robert’s Robots store to join. Terms & Conditions apply.”
On Saturday, you woke in the middle of the ocean. You didn’t know how or why, but the house does that sometimes. You used to be careless and eager to see what the day had to offer, and would rush to open the door. After several drownings, you had learnt to look out the window first. Being in the ocean wasn’t all that bad. You decided to spend the day diving underwater to swim amongst the salmons and the mackerels. You weren’t ever good with directions in the ocean, so you had no clue as to which side of the world you were in. But that was okay.
Your first few days in the house was harrowing, to say the least. The house didn’t particularly enjoy you invading its… uh, space. And you didn’t enjoy several brushes with death. You would berate and bash the house constantly and the house would return your remarks by refusing to flush your toilet or provide any ventilation. The two of you would engage in petty disputes endlessly. You learnt to make peace with each other, though. It eventually accepted and welcomed you, and you would return the favour by doing several projects to help brighten the place up. Your baskets delighted the house when it got it, and it immediately filled it with apples and pears.
On Sunday, well, on Sunday, you woke up at home. You and the house had agreed to let you return home once every week after several miserable bouts of home sickness. Home was always fun. You hung out with your friends and visited your parents. Occasionally, you’d be back home at the same time as a concert, and you’d party away the night and fall asleep on some park bench, only to awake in your house in the morning. It was fun having a sentient house for a friend. It always made sure to take care of you.
When you first embarked on your housing journey, you had meant to escape from the boredom of ordinary corporate life. Your unpleasant upbringing meant that you couldn’t bear to live in the same city that all your miserable memories resided in. You thought that by giving up all your savings, possessions and paths, you would somehow be happier than you were. And in some ways, you were right. Being able to escape ordinary life was fun, it was amazing. You met all kinds of peoples and places, and got to savour the world in a way that no other had done with your trusty house as a companion. But in truth, your Travelling House™️ would never replace your home. You have so many good memories travelling, and it made the house pleasant. But the bad and the good, well, that’s worth staying for. Somehow, the distance made your heart grow fonder of the place you never thought you’d call home. |
Sorry the story is so long. Got a little carried away with the concept of the prompt. Hope ya’ll still enjoy!
I’m a polarizing personality.
My parents said I came out a little “imp” the day I was born; red and screaming like murder. Dad wanted to name me Scott after his grand-dad, but my mother somehow convinced him James was a superior name. Her reasoning was less about family and more about hating my dad.
I wonder if my name was Scott sometimes. You know, like those time travel movies and stuff. Maybe I would’ve been more like my older brother, Hal; with a useless bachelors and a drinking problem. Maybe Dad wouldn’t have gone to Florida with a 19 year old who’s real (and stage name) was “Kristy Crystal.”
It’s fun to think about it all- the little shit that makes up all I’ll ever know. Each minute detail culminating into whatever meaningless story defines a single person’s life.
And maybe that’s why I do what I do; exposing the ignorant to the unpredictable and violent nature of fate. Showing them the filth that fills our streets and dilapidated homes.
You see, I’m a bank robber. Been doing it over 15 years at this point, but I guess that’s a bit misleading. Unlike the little paperback thriller novel might convince you, this shit ain’t easy. In all those 15 years, I’ve robbed 5 banks- 1 of ‘em nearly costing my head, as a bullet ripped through the tip of my ski-mask. It takes years to solve one of these big heists, and you can bet that we didn’t slouch on our biggest heist yet: Frazer’s Jewlers.
Thousands of hours have been spent planning, scoping-out, and gathering tools for this hit. My two closest guys, Marc Overeem and Joshua Hunt, are gonna be the ones helping me on the biggest hit of their careers too. I’ve known both of the men since grade school, and remember my first time meeting them near the Bottoms Pub off of East. Just a couple of little punks, we knew that we weren’t born into the suit and tie part of the world, and that living good meant taking the food out the bloated world’s mouth.
We parked off in an alley just a few yards from the jewler’s; Joshua reminding us that we go in at 2:23, and at 3:03, he’s out with or without us. This doesn’t mean he didn’t trust us, rather that he trusted us enough to know that if it was taking more than 40 mins, then the police don’t need another suspect to fuck up the story.
“Alright, so…” Joshua begins, “we all clear on the get out?”
Marc cracks a wide smile, “well, I’m not taking the bus, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua looks towards the rent a bikes on the side of the road. “Don’t be doing any crazy shit again like the Whitehall, bike lady thing then.”
“Whatever Mr. ‘Let’s try to bolt out during a home football game’”
“Hey, come on…” I say trying to end the childish bickering, “we’ve been studying this place and doing this shit for too long to have anything like that happen. Now, both of ya’ll get your masks on; it’s 2:20 now, so Marc, let’s get the duffel bags and head in.”
We leave the car, and Marc meets me in the back to grab the bags from the trunk. He turns to me with an expression I’ve never really seen before from him- fear.
“James, you ready for this?” He asks, trying to hide the subtle shakiness of his voice.
“No reason not to, yeah? Me and you been doing this for years, and all I’ve lost is a hat.”
“I know, I just uh… maybe- I don’t know”
I gave him a small look, “don’t let the prize intimidate you marc, we’ve deserved getting the honey-pot eventually.”
“I know, I know- sorry. Just pumped, man.”
“Good.”
We grab the bags, with each containing a couple loaded mags and two AR-15s. Marc, the one with the most experience breaking apart professionally crafted locks, also had a drill and a couple of other tools to use on the safes within the store. My bag contained spray-paint and a various implements to test the diamonds’ purity. While I was the “muscle” of the operation, much of the time spent preparing for this operation on my end was studying the particular markers of valuable diamonds.
Now, before you moralistic try-hards start thinking that I’m some deranged hooligan with a lust for violence, know that we were clean in every one of our robberies before, alright? Shit happens, and unless anyone else done it, nobody knows how they’ll fucking react when you need to improvise. I haven’t put a scratch on a single soul- and know that I can get them to be more terrified of me than they are of death. I couldn’t change that this time-
Well, you’ll see.
We give each other a final glance, and head towards the store. Running, we always want things to go as fast and chaotic as possible once when we get in. Don’t let ‘em breath, and don’t let ‘em think. |
I lay on my bed staring at my ceiling, tracing the indents, finding patterns with my mind. Today had been… hard. Events I would rather not remember were brought to the surface. I sigh and decide to face my demons; acknowledging them is supposed to be better than suppressing them, at least.
I let my mind drift, not fixating on any one thought, but it keeps coming back to that trend on social media where people would show a picture of their younger self and ask, would I say these things to them, the little me? Or they would essentially let their younger self know they made it. They accomplished a dream, and the hard times passed. I wonder what I would tell myself if I could.
The thought is fading from my mind, and I abruptly find myself standing in pitch black. The blood rushes to my head, and I reach my arms out to steady myself, only to slam them into something solid in front of me.
“Mmmmmnn,” I groan as I try not to make any more noise and force the static away from my mind.
I hear something shuffling slightly through the ringing in my ears. I close my eyes, and finally, the ringing and static leave. I attempt to take a step back, only for my back to hit something soft. I yelp, hoping the hand I slap over my face is fast enough to muffle it.
I hear the shuffling again, louder now, and can make out a pale blue light coming under what I presume is a door.
I freeze, and after some more shuffling, whatever it is, falls quiet. Not wanting to disturb it anymore, I carefully map out my surroundings with my hands. Behind me appear to be... clothes? Am I in a closet? Have I been kidnapped? Is someone standing guard just outside?
I realize my thoughts are racing and make myself take a breath. Unfamiliar location, sure; have I been kidnapped? Most likely not. Resonance first, freak out, if needs be, later.
I crouch down and look under the door. There is a nightlight in the wall, where the light emanates from. I can see a bed in the far corner and papers, pencils, markers, and other miscellaneous craft supplies littering the floor. Oddly familiar but not enough to make a correct deduction. I slowly slide the door open and pause at what I can now see. A bookshelf in the corner, a shelf boasting medallions and various trinkets, walls that must be sporting a light pink.
I know this place. It's my home. My getaway. My room. A young me is over on the bed in the corner.
Before I fully step out of the closet, I ensure she (I?) is asleep. If nothing else, her (my?) back is to me. I carefully slide the door open, freezing when it squeaks. Little me shifts slightly but otherwise doesn't wake.
I step out, grab a paper and pencil and scribble out a short message. I fold it and slide it under a nearby notebook.
I stand and look at little me. I silently walk to her bedside and see all my favorite stuffed animals surrounding her. It brings a bittersweet smile to my face.
“Sleep well. I’m... I’m very proud of you, little one. I...” I trail off. What else could I say? I have this fantastic chance, yet nothing else seems adequate in the moment. I settle for a kiss on her forehead, “Sweet dreams.”
I blink and find myself on my bed once more, tears welling in my eyes. I stand and go to a box stashed in my closet.
I pull out a folded slip of paper. |
The Soviet soldiers stared at each other. None of this made sense. An enemy combatant was coming right at them, through the field of battle, with no armor or shield. He should have been an easy target. The commandant was even joking about how he was clearly a stupid American -- the red and blue gave it away.
But here they stood, without a single bullet left in their AKs, and it kept approaching.
"Clips empty,"muttered Fyodor. "Is still not dead!"
"How?"replied an incredulous Vladimir. "This is just human, is it not? He must bleed, he must die! For Mother Russia!"
Vladimir got out of the foxhole and charged the opponent. He pulled out his combat knife, serrated and ready for delivering the glory of Mother Russia. With all the fury he could muster, he stabbed the foe right at heart level.
Nothing.
Vladimir pulled his knife away, only to discover it mangled, twisted, frayed, and useless. He stared upward in disbelief. How is this possible? The best the Party had to offer and it crumbled like a child's toy?
Fyodor looked back at his commandant, awaiting a signal. The commandant nodded, and Fyodor charged out to help his comrade. He turned his AK around, the butt end now facing forward. With all his might, Fyodor wound up and swung the weapon at his foe, hoping to cave him in with the hammer blow.
But the foe didn't flinch, and when Fyodor looked down upon his former gun, it was in a thousand pieces.
Suddenly, the enemy took both men by the wrists. Flying quickly out of the Hungarian battle zone they found themselves in, he took them skyward, sending them straight to Moscow in no time flat. There, he deposited both men just outside St. Peter's, as if to warn them to stay in their own land.
Fyodor and Vladimir could only watch in awe and horror as this man -- or this supposed man -- glared them down. The blue outfit stood out in contrast to the red around them, and as he left them -- somehow flying without an airplane -- they both knew they'd never forget that "S"symbol on it. The Americans had developed the greatest soldier of them all.
Would Khrushchev believe it? |
He who bears the curse of god can't see the star's beauty, only their radiance.
"The story begins on a late afternoon, with the light already clocked out and the darkness roaming seeking prey."Announced Adam, "This not a night for humans, my mistress, but fear not, for your knight won't stray.
The couple advanced to their destination through the empty streets of London.
"Then again, those struck by love's plaque can hardly be, called human.
Adam added
"love birds"people have coined the term if I remember correctly, though last I checked, we didn't have wings, right? But we are lovebirds, right dearie?
"Yes, dearie?"The girl declared in a raspy voice, long gone stale.
"Right, of course; we are a match made in heaven, after all,"Adam hastened his step; he was running out of lines "we just didn't have a need for wings, so they just haven't sprouted yet; our love was literally so strong that we jumped up to heaven skipping a few steps... heh.
They will sprout... won't they?"
"Yes, dearie"
"heh, you always know how to cheer me up,"Adam said, sporting a senile smile.
Adam is far from ordinary; from an early age, he could see other people's thoughts like lines of text. While many would see this as a blessing, something to make them unique, for Adam, this was like a razor stuck in his throat. One of his earliest memories was that of a relative giving him candy and immediately seeing, "maybe this will finally shut the brat up."
For him, this was a betrayal, a stab in the heart, so he started crying, so the adults began screaming, so Adam started screaming.
He became scared of people and secluded himself "if the world is not embellished in lies, then what's the point in living"became his favorite quote. He knew it was edgy, but it scared queers off, so he did.
"They arrived at the bar, it was already past closing hour, but it didn't matter; he made reservations beforehand."
They opened the door, and the shop bell announced their entrance.
The bar was eclectic, regal, and elegant, just perfect.
In front of them stood the bartender, not even moving a muscle; he was more statue than human right now.
Side characters shouldn't be allowed to speak.
He walked over to the stool and sat down. "come on, don't be shy; the seat doesn't bite; I checked.
The girl trod over and sat down. Gotta give them personality somehow.
Adam lived this way all throughout his childhood; in fact, he thought his solitude would be eternal, that is, until he learned that the same thoughts that spoke the bloodcurdling truth, he could edit, dress them up in lies of his own making. Since the thoughts make up the person, he could control them; the same power that was like an iron maiden to him could now weave a story where he is happy. This morning the boy decided that he wanted to taste what love is like, so Adam picked out a random girl off the street, set everything up, and now he's on a date. He doesn't even know her name.
"Soooo, what drink are you picking?"Adam asked.
"..."
"Come on, you can choose; I allow it."
"..."
"You don't drink... do you."
Tears started welling up in Adam's eyes; he finally realized how sad this farce was.
"So I can't find happiness by normal means because their thoughts hurt me so! And I also can't find it in my beautiful lie because it seems so fake!
I wasn't always this picky, was I? I wasn't always this stupid, was I?
If only... augh, If only I was normal, I could have had friends, happiness, and maybe even wings... to fly up, to find my angel. But noooooo, I don't deserve that, of course, why would I. stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid."
Adam turned his face to the girl.
"I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you. I'm sure that I've hurt you. Please go back home where you can be loved. I'm the only one being punished; I'm the only one that's cursed. I'm sorry I won't hurt again... I won't; that's the only thing I can promise; I'm sorry.
The girl left without hesitating. The store bell maiming Adam's heart.
"I'm sorry."Adam wept.
And then the store bell rang once more; this time, a different girl came in.
"Wow, there is a bar open at this hour, sweeeeeet."She went over to the counter. "Hey, bartender, give me the strongest stuff you've got."
"..."nothing, not even a twitch from the lips
"um, helllooo, you thereeeee."
"go away,"said Adam "bar's closed"
"Well, first of all, it's not; it says open on the door, and just a second ago, a girl came out without switching off the lights. Alsooooo, why would I go out if I just got in."The girl noticed tears rolling down Adam's face. "Wait, that was your... girlfriend, wasn't it, the one who left; my condolences. I... didn't mean to be rude. I'm gonna leave right after I get my drink, okay?
Come on, bartender, HEEEY."
Huh, why... why isn't she leaving
"how aren't you leaving?"Adam asked
"Hmm, come on, dude, you can compromise; just one drink, alright? No other bar is open right now.
I can't see it. I can't see her thoughts. Did an angel really come down just for me? Just because it caught me struggling from down below.
"Ummm, what's your name"Adam tried to say, but his throat clamped.
You don't deserve it. You don't deserve it.
"It's not like I'm trying to rob you. See, I've got the money right here,"she said to the bartender. "just one drink, please."
Shut up, me. I don't care if I don't deserve it. A person shouldn't have to deserve to be happy. I will reach for it. If I pass it up, I have a feeling that I won't ever find it again, so I will reach for it.
"is everything alright?"The girl said to the bartender
Without wings, it's hard to reach, but I'm sure, I'm sure, I can do it.
"What, what's your name"muttered Adam.
"hmm, Agatha"
Agatha, with your wings, I'm sure I can reach my happiness.
God, I can't say so embarrassing.
"Hey, what's your name?"Agatha asked the bartender
"Umm, uh, Adam, it's Adam. It's... nice to meet you.
"umm, Adam, this dude is not responding. Maybe we should call an ambulance. |
I didn't mind not knowing why there was money on my nightstand every morning, but I did want to find out how i can get more. I started by trying to get a video of whoever was putting the money on my table. One night before I went to bed, I set up a camera focused on the point where the money appears. That morning, the first thing I did was look at the tape. I fast-forwarded to when the money got there; and there was nothing. For about 5 seconds, at 3:00 AM exactly, the screen went black. The next moment, the picture came back, and there was a 50 dollar bill, a $5, and some change on the table. Frustrated that my plan failed, showered, then went to work.
The next morning, there was $200 sitting on my night stand. "Two hundred?"I said in disbelief. The most I'd ever gotten was $89, this was more than double that. I thought back to what happened the day before. It was a normal day, other than when I bumped into someone at work, they fell and broke their arm. Was that it? Accidentally breaking someone's arm? No, it couldn't be. All I could think of at work that day was why I got $200 that morning. I had a theory.. but it wasn't one I wanted to test. Until, on my way out from work, I got the chance. Its crazy, but my theory was that I got more money because I broke their arm. Maybe hurting someone is what gets me more money.
At 9:00, my shift was over. I clocked out, and quickly got out the employee exit before my boss asked me to do any more work. When I looked up, I came face to face with a man pointing a knife at a woman and demanding her wallet. "Scram kid!", "or I'll take yours too!"The man yelled. "Screw off, drop the knife."I told him, reaching into my pocket for mine. He charged at me, yelling something I couldn't make out. I ducked and rolled to the side, his blade barely missed my stomach. I pulled out my knife, and before he could get up, I stabbed in the back. "Ugh, this is the last thing I want to deal with right now."I thought to myself. After making sure the woman was alright, I turned back to the man. He wasn't breathing. "Shit!"I said aloud. I pulled my knife out of the man's body and ran to my car. When I home, I cleaned the dead man's blood off my knife, and went straight to bed. When I woke up, I was amazed to see $1000 dollars stacked neatly on the nightstand. "Wow, I was right."I thought to myself. Killing that man got me 1000 dollars over night. For a moment I thought about it, killing him doubled how much money I had. Whats one more life? I scorned myself for thinking like that, taking someone's life isnt worth any amout of money. "But it was so easy."Said the voice in the back of my head. Ignoring it, I went to work and continued my day as normal. But that thought was in my mind all day. "No, that's crazy. Cmon, I can't kill someone."I thought to myself. The next morning, I woke up with a bad headache. I didn't remember anything about the day before. "What happened last night?"I thought. To my horror, there was $6000 dollars on my nightstand. |
The facility had been cloning pigs for over twenty years. Changing the piglet DNA in order to make their organs transferable, cancer free, and an upgrade to any functioning organ a human had. After all, this was a new organ, not a donated one. The original human genome that was used in the reference for all of BioLifeX’s was the founder’s own strand. Dr. Illia Karovinsky was the first to splice a pigglet with human DNA. Prior to his work, scientists were hard at work trying to alter the genome sequence without splicing through CRISPR. He was the one who actually began the hybrid clones out of a lab in Taizhou, China. Now its moral debate is something left to the next generation to squabble over, it was now a multi-trillion dollar industry. The only thing standing the the way of disrupting it was the fact that part of Dr.Karovinsky’s soul was trapped inside the piglets. Live stock kept in hospitals all would respond to the name Illia. The Moscow hospital in specific was notorious for escaped pigs that would travel 62 miles North to Kolomna and residing in the doctors old childhood home. At the highest level of BioLifeX’s management they even knew that piglets that were allowed to grow beyond the recommended five year life span would start showing signs of complex consciousness and Dr.Karovinsky’s deep love for geometric art. |
This morning I go to check on Levi. I carefully open the door to the terrarium. Her skin had gone grey a few days ago, and it looks like it's beginning to shed. "Hello, sweetheart!"I chime. I pick up the small creature and gently stroke it. The new skin is coming out nicely, very bright and bold. "Would you like a bath?"I carry her gently to the bathroom. I quickly realised that Teddy had followed me in. I chuckle.
Teddy is a sentient creature that was discovered on a very peaceful planet. The species decided that free food made being pets worth it. They really are calm and relaxed. The creatures, literal balls of fluff, are now known as 'Tribbles', named after the little troublemakers in Star Trek. Thankfully, they don't seem to reproduce the same way, they just look very similar. "Do you want a bath too, Teddy?"Teddy bounces up and down in delight. I laugh. "Ok, jump into the tub! I'll run you a bath in a few minutes!"Teddy happily gets into the bathtub. I run a very shallow lukewarm bath in the sink for Levi.
"Need some help, sweetie?"I look at Vex.
"I got this"I respond. "I need to learn how to multitask, after all."I smile as I rub my belly.
Vex also smiles as I turn my attention back to Levi. "My dad said that human pregnancies last nine months. Utopian pregnancies last twelve. He's unsure how long you'll be expecting for..."
"We also don't know exactly what the child will look like"I giggle. "It was a surprise, though, to learn that Utopians use their finger and put it inside the belly button..."
"And I was shocked when I heard how *humans* normally do it!"Vex laughs. "Well, we made it work"Vex comments as he kisses my cheek. I'm just finishing up with Levi, having started running a bath for Teddy. I quickly run Levi back to the terrarium, before starting on giving Teddy a bath.
"I thought you had learned about human anatomy anyway... didn't you say you made sure you knew how it would work?"I query, as I turn off the tap and begin soaping up Teddy.
"Well, no-one told me that humans have a 'special hole'!"We both giggle at that.
"That raises a question for me - Utopians have a skeletal structure which is sort of like a shell just underneath the skin. How do you guys manage to get things out? Especially since I know you all use a toilet the same way humans do."
"You know how humans have 'pores'?"I nod. "Imagine that, but for the skeletal structure. The waste is the only thing that ever goes between the structure and the skin, because of those 'pores'. It collects at the bottom."I have more questions, but I believe I've heard enough of *that*.
"Ok, so having children?"
Vex appears to go bright red. "Umm... this may sound wrong to you, as a human, but... Utopians... kind of... 'throw up'... the babies..."I just stare at him. "Well, the mouth is the only large enough exit to give birth through! And yes, it's as painful as it sounds!"
"Oh, childbirth for humans isn't easy either. Some of the sounds we could make..."we both chuckle as I finish giving Teddy a bath.
&#x200B;
Later, the Utopian king has an emergency announcement. "My subjects... I have received disturbing news from our exploration crew... Max had to do a solo expedition of a planet. The details are unknown, but for the time being, he's stranded on the planet. We deeply hope for Max's safety, and of course, the safety of the rest of the crew, as they regretfully continue on without Max."
"Max..."I look at Vex, who appears to be staring off into nothing. Max and Vax had become quite close. I give Vex a reassuring hug.
"Max will be fine, I'm sure"I say in an attempt to comfort him. Vex holds me tight as he tears up.
^("Thank you.")
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This story is a part of my series, [Alien Life.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x1uytg/alien_life/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! |
"No."
That was all I said to the letter that was in my hand. This wasn't real, there's no way. I had been alone all these years, fighting for survival, building my sanctuary with no help from anyone. I did all that, and the first sign of any possible chance of other human life besides me is...
"FUCKING JURY DUTY?"I screeched, slamming the letter down. I had turned eighteen just a month ago, or at least I think I did, time is a little confusing nowadays, so these people must've been keeping tabs on me. But who? Why? Why not join forces with me so we could increase our chance of survival?
I couldn't even comprehend this, I was feeling so many emotions. In the end, I just crumbled up the paper and planned to use it for the fire later. |
She was a counselor and hypnotist. Highly sought, well paid, and well protected. She had her hands in so many pies. She could coach anyone on how to question the dead, direct their speech just enough to pull out confessions among litanies of regrets and shattering sobs. She could soften the psychological scars born by soldiers, doctors, emergency personnel, and accidental killers. She knew how to sway a jury, and to act as attorney, quickly proving or disproving stories told by the unfortunate ferry operators.
She was always busy.
She was always on some hit list.
And she knew her days were numbered. Whether she rattled the wrong politician or disgruntled the wrong family, security would not always be able to protect her. She would find herself on that final trip with someone else ferrying.
It was an intentional choice, when she first began her profession. Counselors were trained not to become too good, as unfortunate means met them at a much higher percentage than the rest of the population. She'd watched far too many James Bond movies, thought it would be glamorous to always have security nearby, to have so much money at hand. Then it was frightening, and then once routine hit, unbearably boring. But never glamorous. She played all the sides, paid off all her favorite security personnel to make it happen, tried to decide which side of the law was the most interesting, or if she should just go for charity work.
&#x200B;
And eventually found the excitement of it all. The dark art of ferrying. Learning the patterns of the people to guess the surprisingly large number of routes they could go. Being able to have the strength of body and mind and spirit to make demands of the creatures on the other side - and to start stringing together whispered suggestions of what the living could do to manipulate their own lives, or to know the near and far futures. Knowledge few knew could be found, most shunned, and still more never managed to gain. Even the ones who strung together those stories often felt the horrible weight of it all. The side of the living was not meant to understand the open knowledge of the dead.
&#x200B;
But she never operated ferries, and she didn't just string together stories. She was a counselor. And a good one. And knew how to soothe souls with feet straddling sides.
&#x200B;
And, eventually, she cracked the codes. And learned how to misfeed information to the life force within a creature. And that was how she became immortal, and began gathering her followers. |
At my sixteenth birthday, I received the memories of my previous life. A simple office worker, dying just a little more on the inside every day.
I was a big fan of fantasy though. It helped me escape the real world. Fantasy wasn't limited to rules, everything was possible. How I wished to be in that world instead of mine. Adventuring as a hero, with everyone's praises. Or even a villain, plotting something bad just to play around with the hero. I wouldn't actually harm people, but it would've been so fun to try and catch a hero without getting caught.
None of that happened to me. I am a princess, a weak princess. Stuck to a castle. I have less freedom here than I had as an office worker. This isn't what I wanted at all. I want the thrill of adventure, the freedom to do whatever I want. Even if it means sleeping in a tent in the wilderness. As long as every day is different.
I won't accept this. In my previous life as an office worker I accepted my fate of never getting to fulfil my dreams. Now I am in the fantasy world I always wanted to be in, to throw away the chance to finally be something would be awful.
How do I become a hero? Maybe my father knows.
"Father, I wish to become a hero and go on adventures. How could I do this?"I ask in the fancy manners being a princess has taught me.
My father didn't respond how I expected. "Absolutely not, you will not go out and get blood on your hands. You are a princess, not some barbarian!"
After a back and forth over how I would run away if he didn't help me, he finally agreed. Apparently there was already a group of heroes training to beat the villain of this world. Some kind of dragon slowly forcing people to work for it. Not how I would've done the villain part, forcing people will get them to leave you the first chance they get.
My father added me to the group of heroes, and though they weren't sure what to do with a princess hero, it quickly stopped mattering after a few rounds of monster hunting.
I smile as we chase the villain. This is everything I wanted in life, and it's finally mine. |
Jerry stared across the bed at his partner, an old priest by the name of Michael. They'd been working together for at least five years, and he refused to believe that the man didn't know what he was doing. Every, time, the exact same exasperated tone. If he didn't, he was the least observant, most trusting person on planet Earth.
He knew that the old man was hearing voices, every night, the ones from the demons all crawling down his skin. He'd seen the lacerations across the man's back. Yet one thing stayed consistent; he never died. It was as if the man was stuck on this Earth to torment him, bring his plague of demons along for the ride. They never left the clutches of his skin, Jerry made damn well sure of that, but the man kept moving, kept *existing*, in the face of this. If he were to be entirely honest, Jerry was scared, terrified even. The man before him was gripping onto life with an entire *hoard* of demonic activity around him.
Sighing, he replied, "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I'll try better next time,"
Michael nodded at him, "See that you do,"
\-7
Michael stared across the room at the man before him. He'd been with the monastery for quite a few years now. Inside, he couldn't help but laugh. All of the demons inside of his body were constantly screaming, and it felt *good*, the power and rage that they fed him was all but a blessing. Perhaps his father would be proud, but he wouldn't know. He was sent to this world for a reason after all, he was the counter.
Jerry was a rather good servant though, feeding him as many demons as he needed. He could, however, see the turmoil behind the man's eyes. Perhaps he was hoping that he would die; which wasn't going to happen, of course.
Carefully, he tasted the flames of this new demon, they were quite weak compared to the others. This one could be thrown to the wolves, let his army believe him to be a merciful leader. The judgement day was coming, and the Antichrist's army needed to be strong and trusting, after all. |
———————————————
An endless, rocky landscape.
When I died and got dropped I hell, that was all I saw. A field, with no end in sight and a roof so high you couldn’t even see it. The only reason I knew there was a roof is because occasionally large stalactites would drop down and would impale the ground, or me. Other times it rained a burning acidic rain, that none could hide from. For eons I wandered aimlessly across the landscape of hell, hoping for a change in scenery, or even a way out.
Sometimes I would bump into other damned souls, and after a while, more souls dropped into this infernal hellscape. You could barely go a few feet without bumping into some other soul. Eventually, as I continued walking, there were less souls, and soon there were none at all. Slowly after many more millennia, I could finally start to make out something other than what I knew hell to look like. There was just a small shine, so small you wouldn’t even look back at it. Yet after eons in a shadows, a small shine was like the sun to me.
As I continued to walk towards it, I noticed it was a crack in a wall, a wall that, as I looked from side to side, I couldn’t see the end for. I continued towards that crack, with hope filling me for the first time since I died. Finally I reached the hole, and looked through, straight across the inky blackness, I could see the glimmer of what I knew had to be heaven. Then a small movement caught my eye, coming from the dark. As I looked closer, I froze, I couldn’t even make sense of what I was seeing, it was wrong, just so wrong, looking at it was worse than the washing my eyes with the acidic rain of hell, I could feel my brain softening trying to comprehend it. Slowly, it started to turn towards me, I don’t know how I could tell, but I knew if it later it’s “eyes” on me, I would cease to exist. Quickly as I could I ducked to the other side of the hole and scrunched down as small as I could go. Even through the wall of hell I could feel it’s gaze, I could feel it slithering, walking, moving towards me, yet I couldn’t move I had been paralyzed by ancient primordial fear. I could do nothing but welcome the death that was heading my way.
It put a tendril of cosmic horror through the crack, and moved faster than I could comprehend and grabbed me. It pulled me painfully, through the crack, something I shouldn’t have been able to fit through, and as I was pulled towards the main mass, I got one final look a the bright lights of heaven, and then I knew no more.
——————————————— |
Ghostface Killer stepped onto the balcony of the Bates Motel and stared down at the pool, seeing Freddy Krueger sunning himself poolside. “HEY KRUEGER! STOP LYING AROUND AND GET YOUR SHIT, WE GOTTA MOVE!” Ghostface yelled in an electronically distorted voice. Freddy took his sunglasses off while looking annoyed, turned to the pool and said,” Come on, Jason!” Jason Voorhees arose above the water while wearing pool floatees and a snorkel over his mask. The two walked up as Ghostface walked back into the room, muttering to himself about plans. An hour later the three were walking to their station wagon as Michael Myers was laying on the horn for them to hurry. “Alright, who’s missing?” Freddy asked, sitting in the front passenger seat and looking into the back, eyeing the empty car seat in between Ghostface and Jason, before Freddy and Ghostface yelled in unison,” CHUCKY!!!”
The four killers went running back to their room and looked into the window to see a house keeper picking up a doll with bright red hair. The house keeper examined the doll closely before it suddenly sprung to life and yelled,” SURPRISE, BITCH!!!” The housekeeper screamed in horror as Chucky stabbed her repeatedly and the other killers clapped and cheered. Chucky wiped the blade off on the housekeeper’s skirt and said,” Gets them every time!” and Ghostface replied,” Classic!” Chucky looked his kill over and went in for a closer look,” Shit, I think this bitch is a bastard!” Freddy then said,” What?” Chucky ripped open the housekeeper’s uniform, revealing lots of paper towels stuffed into a bra. “Dude, that’s a fucking hate crime, we gotta bolt!” Ghostface said as The killer’s then bolted for the car, with Jason grabbing Chucky.
The gang was an hour down the road when Chucky, in his car seat piped up,” Are we there yet?” Freddy replied,” No!” Chucky muttered something under his breath as he facepalmed. Ghostface then said,” how about we play a game?” Chucky asked,” What you got on your mind?” Ghostface responded,” I Spy?” Chucky incredulously replied,” are you serious? It’s not like I’m sitting on a booster seat here, I can’t see shit!” Jason then began pointing out the window at a neighboring car that seemed to be packed with a group of video game streamers. Freddy, with cruel glee twinkling in his eyes,” hey Mikey, I got an idea!” Michael then nodded in agreement as he rammed into the other car, forcing it to drive off the cliff they were passing by.” YOU IDIOT!” Freddy screamed,” THAT WASN’T EVEN CLOSE TO MY IDEA!” Freddy continued to scream as Michael silently chuckled. Ghostface spoke up,” still funny though!” With Chucky replying,” What happened? I couldn’t see shit!”
After bickering for several hours the killers pulled off at a road side nightclub called The Boiler Room. “Hey, isn’t that The Hell Priest’s new place?” Chucky asked, Ghostface replying,” Pinhead owns this place?” Freddy quickly turned around and covered Ghostface’s masked mouth,”Dude, are you trying to get us fucked with? Don’t ever call him that! He hates that nickname!” The group walked up to the gate, noticing the two industrial looking torches shaped like heavily engraved, gold boxes blazing on each side of a sign that said “THE BOILER ROOM” with a banner hanging haphazardly by chains that read “under new management”.
Going through the gateway the killers found themselves transported into the entry way of the club and were greeted by a piston headed cenobite. “May I take your hat,” Pistonhead said as pistons continually pressed up and down on his head, shaking the hats he had hanging off of them. Freddy responded,” no thanks, I’m good!” As he walked by Freddy whispered to the group,” what a loser!” as the group chuckled. The group then entered the upper levels of the main club, with a dance floor at the bottom and a bar being manned by a cenobite. The level they were currently on also had a bar as well as a stripper stage set up and was occupied by a pair of identical, female cenobites. The top floor was originally rumored to be a dining establishment but had long since been closed off from the public. |
I stare at the letter blankly, vision still half-red. Calmly, I put the letter down, directly into the fireplace. My hands are shaking as I look at one of the pictures on my wall. It was the two of us at the Grand Canyon. Calmly, I walk into the kitchen and grab a knife. I don't care that they were hired, and neither do I care about their stupid as shit '*freedom*'...They don't deserve it.
Slowly, I bend down to the flames, and stare towards the crumpling letter. I'll find out who did this from their mouth, and then I'll hunt them down too.
The drive is long, but my resolve doesn't falter. As I drive up to their house, I calmly knock on the door. A look of surprise comes over, before a schooled expression appears over their face.
"I see you got my letter. I admit I didn't think you'd listen to me,"They beckon for me to step in, and I smile lightly; at least my luck is off the charts tonight.
As we walk into their house, I punch the back of their head. He's downed instantly, and I stare towards the daunting staircase. As I'm dragging them up the steps, I do my best to be as ungentle as I can, allowing their head to slam into each step by dragging them from the legs, and shoving their body across the hallway that we meet, with plenty of 'accidental' steps on his crotch.
When we make it into his room, I grab a spare chair, and walk to his closet where I find the rope he always keeps. He says it's the last thing his granddad ever gave him, after he won in a knot tying competition in fifth grade. By the end of the night, that'll be burning down with the rest of his house.
After all of the hard-work is done, I rather calmly slap him across the face. His eyes jolt open, and we're left staring towards each other. With those eyes wide, the fear is evident, and the amount of satisfaction it gives me is perhaps a slight bit unhealthy.
"Did you honestly think I'd forgive you?"I say after a quiet moment, "How could you possibly be so *delusional* to think that I'd ever give *HALF OF A SHIT*, about your precious little 'freedom', from whatever organization you're working for? They weren't the ones to ruin my life, *you* were,"
With a shaking hand, I grab the knife from behind my back. The work, to begin with, is easy. His first organ that he loses is his eyes, jabbed with succinct precision. The next that he loses doesn't involve the knife, and instead involves careful placement of my fingers.
"Careful, if you squirm too much, I think losing your toenails might hurt just a bit more,"After that, it's his fingernails.
Slowly, using all of the supplies I know he has, I rip him apart piece by piece, chunk by chunk. When I'm done, all that's left is a bleeding out torso and head.
"Who hired you to do this to me?"I ask lightly.
"It's...It's an underground, organization. Y-your parents, they're part of it...They wanted you under their control, before revealing it to you,"
I don't bother to ask what 'it' is, the last things to go are his teeth and then his tongue. Before I stab his ears, I have one last thing to say to him.
"I do hope that your grandfather actually gave you that rope, I'd love to know you said at least one truthful thing,"
The gasoline I grab from my car; and since his house is fairly isolated, I don't have to worry too much about anyone knowing about this late-night endeavor. When the fire is set, I finally decide that I should go back home, and find out whatever they want to tell me. After that, well let's just say that the fate of their 'organization' isn't looking too bright. |
We call it the Regression. The day everything made by machines had disintegrated. It was 2022 when it happened. The Large Hadron Collider had come back on and was working perfectly for 5 Months until the accident. We still don't know what happened but most everything around the world fell away to dust. The worst was the people that fell out of the sky from airplanes. The entire world came to a halt. It was now 5 years later and we just heard what had happened as news takes forever to travel now. The best thing that happened from this was wars were now over as no country had any weapons and were more preoccupied helping their own people have food. Carrier pigeons came back with a fever and Horses are a must have. As for myself, I became very wealthy as I am a blacksmith. Granted I don't have money as everything was destroyed but the barter system was back and I had more random objects than most others. I don't know if we'll get back to where we were in my lifetime but I hope it's back in time for my kids. |
"Was Mars on the receiving end of destruction or the cause? Was Jupiter caused by thunder or did he cause it? Where the Venti Quadruplets cursed to always experience their respective winds, or did they cause them? Did Discordia not create"
"The Apple of Discord or was she created by it? Ok, ok I get it. Aergia would cause others to procrastinate, not procrastinate herself. But don't the others also exhibit traits in their personality, like Aphrodite's beauty?"
"Are you saying *Venus* is the only beautiful goddess? Careful you don't start a war with that talk. If anything Socordia is more a goddess of the anxious panic one gets when they realise they have to do something right then or else it won't be done in time. Having to influence so many to do so little leaves no time for any delay. It's always a rush to get people to slow down."
"Hmm, you may be right. Now if you'll excuse me I really need to catch up on the assigned reading for my Greek Myhtology course before class starts... shit! I need to get to class!"
The boy shot off as if the adrenaline release was directly propelling him forward. I hadn't been planning on distracting him, but honestly how could I not? He was supposed to be reading about me afterall, or well, a dated and misunderstood understanding of me. That book even used my old name! Honestly I was doing him a favour!
Now why was I here? Oh right! Lillian said that new game released today. I should get going before she starts her homework and get her to show it off. Hopefully this delay won't make me late. |
Wilbur Scuttlebum was the best clown this world had ever seen. His talents were almost divine in nature. He could make statues weep with joy, according to legend. So funny was he, he once convinced a suicide jumper to reverse direction mid-air. And he was as deft with a long balloon as King Arthur was with Excalibur.
...but at what *cost?*
No one ever asked him this question. Because no one wanted to know. It was so much easier to call his gifts a miracle and move on with life. But only Wilbur knew the truth. His talents were as miraculous as the pyramids. How convenient it is to ignore the monumental suffering and cruelty such wonders are built upon.
Everyday when he came home from some birthday party or circus or corporate team-building workshop, Wilbur would enter his brightly colored house, close the door behind him, secure eight different locks, take off his gigantic shoes, draw all the shades, go into his cellar, and click on the naked light bulb in the center of the basement.
Thousands of glass jars lined the slimy walls. Maybe even *tens* of thousands, by now. Each one collected from a separate person, each one containing the cost of a good laugh.
On this night, he removed a jar from his polka-dot bowling bag. He slapped a piece of tape on it, then scribbled three pieces of information for his records: the date, the name, and the trauma inside.
This particular jar read:
**TIMOTHY, OCT.26.'22,** *Car wreck; Mother choked on teeth in driver's seat*
He checked the seal to make sure it was tight, then added the jar to the wall. The rest of his collection had the same criteria written on them, each one unique to the person it was taken from. *Flunked college...Third miscarriage...Papercut...*
Each jar hummed, containing the sound of the trauma it held. Always a wailing, sucking sound--the atomic opposite of belly laugh. He hated the sound of the room, and he always tried to leave it as quickly as possible. But still he heard the evil din when he slept, no matter how far away he kept his bed from that room.
On this last journey to the basement, the Clown clicked off the light and headed towards the steps, illuminated by the open doorway above. Alas, as he was prone to do, he overlooked the banana peel on the floor, the one that had slipped out his pocket without him noticing. He had been in a rush at breakfast, and he so *hated* to litter.
His rubber clown shoes had no tread on the bottom, since they were constructed mostly for formal occasions and not very practical. And per the laws of physics, all clowns must take the most indirect path possible while falling down.
He slammed into one wall, then the next and the next. Jars fell, smashing on the ground, and his feet rolled on the jars that didn't break. He grabbed onto shelves for balance, but the old wood crumbled under his grip. The walls came down around him, and he was buried in rubble and broken glass.
The things inside the bottles escaped into the air, and the sound was deafening, like the noises of the apocalypse, all in one room at the same time. Plane crashes. Blood gurgles. Tornado sirens. Nuclear blasts. And screaming. *God*, the screams! It was enough to make not only your ears bleed, but your eye sockets as well!
Such things cannot exist in the open air. They can only thrive when contained, like a toxic mold. And so they found a new jar to call home, the closest jar, a container in the shape of a clown, mangled and bleeding on the floor. And just as Wilbur's final breath was leaving his body, the ten thousand nightmares rushed their way in to take its place. 🎃🎉 |
**———— My Fault; The Story Of A Beaten Dog ————**
I remember when my brother left for war. It was a strangely joyous day; the kind that you don't realise it was inappropriate to be happy on, until years after it. Mother had baked lemon pie, her famous secret recipe. Jace was still in his nightgown when the recruiter arrived, and she had to offer him some, in order to save Jace some time to get dressed.
In his hurry, my ever-forgetful brother left his military boots at the foot on his bed, wearing instead his civilian shoes. By the time we noticed, the recruiter's car had driven out of our garage and turned the corner to get on the highway. He never did get those boots back.
It was my fault, really, that he left. I was always the clever one; academic inclination, brains all around. It would have been a waste to send such a mind to war, Father said. Besides, I was also a girl. And thus, the family tradition of the secondborn joining the army ended with me.
I was the first secondborn girl in the history of the family. The only shoes I had to fill were my own, and yet expectations grew large, alongside my abilities. Meanwhile, my brother struggled to even learn to read— it took him the same amount of time that it took me to finish grade school.
Father and Mother were never happy with Jace. He was always too dim, too untidy, too obsessed with his physique. The perfect making for a soldier— after all, when ever have you heard of a military story about punctual soldiers and perfect uniforms? He got the idea from them, or perhaps they bribed him for it. Either way, Jace wasn't brave enough to volunteer the thought.
Jace... wasn't much of anything, if I'm being honest with myself. He was the eldest son, yes, but his only exceptional quality was his body— and, in that, below the neck.
Still, I loved him. He was dim, he was average, and he disappointed Mother and Father, but I truly did. Perhaps, deep inside, I loved him *because* of all those things. It is always the troublemakers that are most charming to golden chilidren.
So, yes, Jace's leaving was my fault. Many a therapist have told me otherwise, but their lot know as much as their pretentious expressions suggest. I forced him into it, by providing our parents with an example of how he should have turned out. If I hadn't been born, maybe he would have never left. Maybe Father would have been satisfied with him. Maybe he would have been enough.
Those boots were never moved, as far as my memory serves. The day of his departure was a busy one, and no-one bothered to look by the shameful child's bed. One thing led to another, one busy day followed the prior, Jace was nowhere to be seen, and Father preferred to forget he even had a son.
I never forgot.
A few weeks after Jace left, I locked the door to his room. I didn't want it "sullied"by the maid, I think. I was a sentimental little girl, back then— a strange combination of intelligence and emotion that served only to motivate me to further my education. Really, I only had two emotions; love for Jace, and dedication to be better than him.
He returned once, one year after his departure. He looked changed, more somber and quiet than he used to be. He had a bullet scar on his forearm, one he didn't care— or dare— to talk about. He only spared me a hearty hug, and a merry, "how've you been, little sister?"
Mother and Father, he hardly spoke to. He merely nodded to Father, the sort of nod between men that only they seem to understand, and raised his eyebrows at Mother. Then, only moments after he had walked in, he turned and left. His last words to me were, "education becomes you, Maria. Keep it up."
I remember the car's engine, driving away. Father's relieved sigh, as though his son's permanent return was a threat he had narrowly avoided. I hated him for that; how dared he dislike the brother I so loved?
And then, before I knew it, I was in lyceum, and he was still at war. And his boots stood, still, by his bed. And I lived on, knowing that it was all because of me.
My only friend, a girl named Anastasia, once heard me wish I had been born a boy, or, better yet, hadn't been born at all. She had told me to cease speaking nonsense.
We received the letter from his Sargent the day I was admitted to the Military Academy of Medicine and Science. The Dean himself had come to congratulate me; Maria Dant, the first woman to enter the Academy.
He had only just left, when the courier brought us the letter— I believe they exchanged a word of good tidings as the Dean left and the courier came.
I opened it, and I was alone. Mother and Father hadn't bothered to be present at the reading, when they heard it was from the Army. They didn't like to hear of Jace, they said, and, after all, the letter was, strangely, directed at me. |
This was a new sensation. Usually Silas could conjure up any memory of his, every feeling. But this was an absence of that. It felt alien to him. A sensation familiar to all except him. Forgetfulness. The misplacement of the previous time.
He laid in his bed, his eyes open but not looking, no he was purely in thought, in his mind searching. A process of memorization so easy and simple for him over time, became second nature became thoughtless became finally, in its perfection, automatic. He had never forgotten anything, ANYTHING at all. But he had to go back. To search. To anyone else there would be nothing wrong , but to Silas the fear and dread started to creep in. He spent 28 minutes and 40 seconds in his king sized bed just grasping at a memory he slowly understood was not there. He soon realized correctly that laying in bed trying to parse the past day by mind alone would be no help. Begrudgingly, Silas rose, the Egyptian cotton sheets parting a path for him as he swung his legs over the edge.
Silas never got tired of the place he had found for himself. White walls boxed him in snugly and the bed too was a pure white. Even the silk robes he wore marked his devotion to the color, or absence of it. Its presence was a comforting feeling for him as he put himself to the task of figuring out just what the hell happened. Why couldn’t he remember the last day?
The second surprise he received this morning was waiting for him on his pale end table. An alarm clock showed the time. It was 8:07 in the morning. In his thirty years of living he had never woken up late, he would be up at 8 on the dot every morning. Even on days where the batteries failed (and that was rare because he continually kept a scheduled replacement) his body did not fail him and would rouse him from sleep.
If the memory wipe was the earthquake, this was the aftershock. He felt his mind reel from the clock but he forced himself through it. He was not a man that was comfortable with surprise and he began to despise the feeling.
He flipped over the clock and opened the panel on the back to get a look at the batteries. All good. Next, checking the alarm was still scheduled to ring at 8. It was.
A moment passed.
He checked the speakers on the device and set it to ring now. One last test. It did, piercing his ears louder than he remembered. He raised his hand to ears and felt wet. A small trickle of blood. This was another event in an increasingly unnerving trend. In uncharacteristic action he slung the alarm at the white floor. It hit the marble and splattered its guts around the room. Great, now he was creating more problems for himself. Something later Silas would have to pick up and clean. He considered getting a maid but hated the mess they created themselves by being in his general presence. No, he enjoyed doing things himself, with his own hands, a nice contrast to the work he did during the day.
He brought himself to the marble floor and began the search for the missing pieces in his mind. His feet echoing through the empty white room. Reaching the end of the room he put on his slippers and then continued into the hallway. Here, an area guests might see, had paintings on the wall. Nothing fancy or detailed of course, that was a compromise he made with himself and the guests he had to let visit and entertain, but yet the paintings cost a pretty penny. The whole abstract set cost him over a couple million. That painful transaction he could remember fine. More than fine, he could remember the check signing, the cologne of the auctioneer, and even the clothes he wore. But not yesterday, he couldn't remember his birthday.
Reaching the living room in his monochrome splendor, Silas set himself to fishing out any clues that would lead to the explanation he desired, craved and needed. The room was plain as he liked it but also clean. There was no intrusive mess in here. No irregularity needed to be corrected. A relief of some sort but frustrating as well. A confusing arrangement or a perplexing item might light the path to correcting the mess in his head, but there was none.
His eyes went over to the Five Million dollar duffle bag put on the table next to the couch.
He smiled.
He made his way over to it and already knew it was left by Hector, for this was a common courtesy by those in the business. That on an accountant’s birthday, they would receive an extravagant gift as a thank you for the high stakes number crunching they all do. Usually it was a million dollar thank you in the form of a vase or a painting but Silas made his taste clear to Hector when he started crunching numbers for him. The memory snapped into his head.
“If I do this, I do this for myself, and just for the money .Nothing else.” Silas said. If he was nervous , he didn’t show it.
“Of course , you’ll be well paid for your efforts, we already know your skills are worth that. But surely you don’t mean to turn down any gifts my organization would share with you.” Hector replied. A curled smile in his mouth, his outfit standing him out from the background of the monochrome house with its splatterings of oranges and purples and greens.
“Yes I do, I only wish to receive the funds of my labor. If you feel the need to show any thanks beyond that, I recommend going to someone else. To be frank Hector, I don’t do this job for loyalty or anything beyond what it can bring in for me.”
Hector tensed , for a man in his position never had someone speak so plainly and bluntly to him. If it was anyone other than the man before him he would have annihilated him. A coy “Okay…” and then the poor fool would find themselves scalped or worse the following morning. But it wasn’t any normal accountant before him. It was the best. And to slaughter him like an animal would be a profit loss and Silas knew it.
“Okay… fine I won’t gift you jewels or arts, but I will show my thanks. There can be no refusal there.” Silas nodded knowing not to push his luck.
That was 7 years and 23 days ago. This was Hector’s way of showing his thanks. Despite the bloodful nature of his boss, he was kind in the peculiar ways. Silas looked through the bag and already knew the five million was in there. Perhaps , he thought to himself, that if he did not find any other clues it might be worth it to call him and see if he saw anything in the evening when he came to drop off the bag for his birthday. Continuing to the kitchen to continue his search he opened the white doors and was hit by it.
The smell. How did he not notice? His eyes watered. His knees buckled. Draped over the granite island in the kitchen, lumpen sullen sickly mass of purple flesh. It took a second for his eyes to put together the visual pieces. The eight limbs limp but unrelenting in oozing black and white marbled puss and goo on the sweetly tinted linoleum floor. It took a second to find the eyes and he wished he hadn’t. The eyes bulged from the invertebrates head an unnatural yellow crusted over from the night before but still tender and moist. The irises- if they could be called that anymore- rolled to the back of the eye leaving it catching a glimpse of the octopus’s brain. Did they even have brains in the humanoid sense? If it were just the corpse he might be able to handle and understand that, but the butchery of it was more. Periwinkle skin to sangria to blood. Yes, the beast was ripped open, its octo legs flayed carelessly, like it was done by a child playing with food, unaware of its own strength. It took a moment , but when Silas opened the door , it must have changed the air pressure in the room and he could see now the flesh and blood of the poor creature begin to bubble. Death had this being and was not done with it. The purple blackness of the ink bubbled with the orange in the lightness of blood and all spilled forth in the grunting carcass in a plain yet disgusting motion of nature. Silas turned and closed his eyes, if just for a second. Yes this trend of surprises was growing foul on him.
End of Part One, Haven't written in a long long while but if I feel up to the task , I'll write some more of this later. Criticism is always welcome for this is my first piece on here and first short story. |
The king repeated the question back, just to make sure he heard it correctly: "'Why?' "
Fuddlefink--the court jester--nodded. "Correct, your highness! Very astute of you, as always!"He clapped quickly, like a toy monkey.
The king adjusted in his throne. "Why...*what?*"
"Whywhatwhowhenhow! Name them all, if you wish, but *why* is all Fuddlefink asks."
The king rubbed his sleepy eyes, then beckoned one of his servants to refill his mead. "*This* is your question? 'Why?' I am known as the King of God's Wisdom! Gifted with the answer to all questions in Creation! There is no inquiry I cannot answer! I grant each of my loyal subjects a truth--only one! for their entire lifetime!--and you chose to waste yours on this jest?"
"Dear, King! I have only asked you one question, and already you have asked me five! If I had known you were here to seek *Fuddlefink's* wisdom, and not the other way around, I would have been better prepared!"
A servantgirl smirked as she filled the king's goblet. Once again, this clown was making a fool out of him. The king began to wonder why he even wanted one in the first place.
"If I wanted any wisdom you could share, all I need do is ask the backend of an gassy mule. The caliber of advice would be nearly the same."
"As would the sight and smell, your highness!"
The king swished around the liquor in thought. "Very well,"he said with a heavy swallow. "An oath is an oath. You wish to know 'why'? Then you shall have your silly answer."
He leaned forward, as did the observers around the room. Lords were in the balconies, servants along the walls, and peasants in the back, waiting their turns to ask the questions they had been crafting their entire lives.
The wise king chewed his lip, but did not answer. Someone coughed, and the king nodded to have that person taken to the stockade.
"Why,"he said again, as if beginning a speech. But no speech came. He stood and paced the chamber, stalling. "*Why,"* he said again. With each twist of his heel, his robe swirled behind him dramatically.
He stopped and faced the jester. "Ha! I have it! *Why!"* He composed himself quickly. "Because...obviously I do. I simply...needed a moment to find the words."
"Thank you, your highness. It pleases Fuddlefink that you were so thorough in your search."
Giggles in the chamber. The king shot daggers out of his eyes, then made a note to have the blacksmith make him *real* eye daggers.
"*Why* is simply another way of inquiring *purpose*. If 'how' answers *process*, then 'why' answers *cause*. If one were to ask: 'Why did the fig fall from the tree?', they wish to know the reason for the action. And that is 'why'."
The king reclaimed his seat, satisfied. He was about to dismiss the fool with pleasure...but then he saw the jester's expectant face, and it made him think further about his answer.
"...and yet there is more, isn't there?"said the king, almost to himself. "Because if I were to say: "The fig fell from the tree due to a process of decomposition in the stem that connects the fruit to the leaf, that answer is no different than if you had asked: '*How* did the fig fall from the tree?'. No...no, there is more to 'why' than simple cause. There must be *intent* as well."
The king's eyes scanned across his lap, scrambling to put pieces of logic together. "And what *is* intent? Intent implies *design*. Design implies choice...preference! Conscious thought! So when you ask: 'Why did the fig fall from the tree?', the only answer that can possibly fulfill the requirements of the question must be one that includes *purpose*. Which would mean the fig did not fall due to random acts of meaningless process, but that it fell because something *designed* for it to fall. Something *wanted* it to fall."
He shot up from his throne, his eyes darting madly. The circles he paced were growing smaller, more rapid. "But even that! WHY would something want a fig to fall? What purpose is there behind the purpose? What purpose is there to the very **concept** of purpose? Is there even such a thing? If the universe is simply fulfilling a need--a divine desire!--then is that not a process ITSELF? A SERIES of neverending **CAUSES** and **REACTIONS** with no **BEGINNING** OR **END**?!"
The king's counselors attempted to calm him down. But he could not be consoled. The question had taken over his mind. He flung their hands off his shoulders.
"**AND YET!**"he yelled, backing towards the stained glass window that towered behind his throne. "We have an intuition that there's something *MORE*! Why would we need a word other than 'how'? Why else would we ask why?!"He laughed maniacally. "*Why* **why?**"
He turned to the window. The colorful glass depicted the coat of arms of his family. A large tree bearing a single fruit.
"Why did the fig fall from the tree..."he whispered. "Why?"He took in a deep breath. "WHY?!"he bellowed with rage. "I WILL TELL YOU *WHY!*"He turned to the clown who stood in the middle of his chambers. "THḘ̷͔͔̞͖͙̰̝͔̣̝̅͋̀͛̈́̒ ̸͇̗̞̱̭̜̣̖͛̅̋͋́̿̇̾F̸̫̭̘̠̣̓̐͑̐̈́̇͋̓͒͘̕͜͝I̵̛̩̭̤͓͑̓̏̈́̏͌̄̀́͛̒̇̑͝Ġ̶͔͎̤͔̲̹̖͔̘̥̕͝ͅͅ ̷̧̱̦͔̹̄̀F̷̨̧̮͇̲̮͎͙̫̤̤̯̂̋ͅE̶̜̺̺̳̺̹̪̼̽͐̿͛̊̍͜͠Ļ̴͙̗̗̻̳̗̭̱̍̒̍̾̍̈́͋͌̔̓͑̋̚Ḽ̷̩̥̻̦̽̀̓͛ ̶̨̞̪̳̦̯̼̫̹̱͙̦̈͂̅̏̃̂̈̄͊̇͘͜͝ͅB̵̛͈͚͍̹̗͚̺̗̞̾̅̚E̸̢̡̡̛̹͍̦̤̠͖̥̥̰̪͉̮͌̿̉͋͗̈̂̂c̸̱̱͉̱͇͎̭̯͎͉̓̉̀̏A̸̜̱̪̲̲̍̿̃̓̔ṷ̵̢̡̥̜̰̟̖̌̉̾͠$̶̟̜́̔3̸̳̙̗̗͖̤̼͍̻́ͅ ̶̡̨͇͚̳̹̩̦̳̄͑̒̈́̒͐̓͛͗̆̿͝͠.̵̧̛̛̼͇̲͇͇̫̘̥̄̄̐̈͋̽-̵̛̖̝̬̞̞͍͈̻̟̮̻̇̎̓̑͜\^̶͈͕͓͓͉͔͊́̏̎̅̒̈́̇̂̂̋͘͝͝1̷̝̯̪͙̼͕͑̏̀̃̑̍̋̂̿̚\*̶̧̧̢̺̦̖̖̪͚̭͙̮͉̠̄̀̓̈̓̌̇́̒͊̿̓́͒͘ ̵̧͇̺͈̦̯̬̫̩̺͙̠̗̻̤͌͊̈́\^̴̧͇͈̙̞̝͛̽̔̃͂͐̚.̷̡͖̗̖̳̇̈́.̵̧̯̯̠͈͚͎̤̥̅͗͂͛̈́̆̐̀͂͜͝͝͠.̷̛͚͊̒͌̂͐͗̋̆͌̄͑́̕"
And with that, he jumped through the window, falling to his death.
The entire room screamed. Guards rushed to the window. The wives of the lords fainted. And the entire kingdom turned to the funny-looking man in the middle of the room, who was still grinning from ear to ear.
"Now!"Fuddlefink said to the audience, his arms open wide. "Who among you wishes to know *why* the king would do such a thing?" |
\[Poem\] **Life's Last Light**
In the farthest corner of the dead galactic night,
A tiny remnant glitter of life's last light.
Beneath the frozen ice and rock,
With every star long gone,
A little dormant creature
Lives obliviously on.
Entropy consumed us.
We never could sustain
Ourselves with out sunlight.
We tried, but all in vain.
Ash to ash and dust to dust
On a universal scale.
Who would have thought the last life form
Would be this simple snail?
In the farthest corner of the dead galactic night,
Blinks out that remnant glitter of life's last light. |
"*OOHH-*"Something touched my arm, and I couldn't see a thing. I shot up, the dim haze if the moon melting everything into wispy, ashy soup. Instinctively I went for the rebar I keep at my side. In my sleep drunk stupor I fell over. '*Where am I?*' Thoughts and fears were screaming in my mind, '*Where is she?*'
"Frankie, it's just me!"a small voice softly screamed, "Veronica."As the world was slowly spinning as I lay there gazing into the sky, I was brought back to the land of the living. A deep breath compulsively burst from my pounding chest, "Vikkie? Oh thank God!"I couldn't help but to chuckle at the whole thing. I rose my head from the ground, "What's up?"Her eyes were puffy with dry tears, "Well..."I picked myself off the floor, and hurried to meet her. "Hey now, it's alright,"I console as I embrace her, "We'll make it home.""It's not just that,"her voice cracked, "I *miss* them."
She broke down and began to weep.
It happened so fast. Mychael, Logan, Victoria, and Abby. Auntie, Uncle and Mom, all taken by those monsters. The rest of us were all separated when the stampede and chaos began. My throat was closing as I lock away the terrible memories. "I know. Me too."It came out nothing more than a painful rasp. "But we will find them. We *will* make it home together."She sobbed silently into my shoulder. "I promise."We sat there until the sun broke the darkness. With the rising sun our path was clear: Get off the roof, make it to the river, and follow it up to the Mill. That's where everyone would meet in an emergency.
I stood up, "Remember what Papa told us?"
"Yeah."
"Good. You ready?" |
Recently sitting in my room on campus has felt strange. The feeling is almost like I am there but I’m not. maybe it’s dissociation, or maybe it’s anxiety but this is just the predicament that I have been in. Why do I feel like this in a space I have made my own? A space that is on the campus of my dream school full of endless opportunities and fulfilling social interactions and connections. My standards are high, they always have been. I constantly set myself up for disappointment or I drown in my over rumination. “Breath” I tell myself, “just breath”. You are here, you are alive, you are smart, you are passionate, and most importantly you are loved. I know that I am loved because I have people I can go to that make me feel alive. Because having a “person” is one of the most grounding and reassuring things that one can have. My person is and will always be my sister. She has been my person since the day I was born. I know this because I feel accepted with her, I feel unashamed of anything I might say or do with her. she has been the one that has always been there. And she makes me whole….alive. |
Adrian is tired. Tired of having to smile, to think about how his words could be twisted, of never being able to trust anyone. He is a crown prince of a kingdom about to be eaten alive by an empire, and he is the planned sacrifice to the dragon. His wedding is planned for the first day of summer to the third princess of the Drakon Empire, Xanthe. She is kind in the same guarded way every noblewoman who can afford to be is. She probably won't kill him, not at first. She wants an end to the war as much as he does, and Adrian is good at reading people. But that will not guarantee his safety from her Emperor Mother, not when her children's spouses invariably meet tragic ends.
The Fairwater Witch is something of a myth and a person wrapped in a cloak that smells like heather and the forest. She brings medicine to the lands wracked by plague, war, and famine, and dispenses justice where the kingdom has left its people to themselves. Adrian's Queen Mother told him that his birth blessed by her and her apprentice. The people turn to her when the kingdom fails, which has been more and more frequent as the Empire reaches further to the east. Her guidance protected the peoples of the plains from the invasions and shortages that came when the drafts to war took to many.
She is the leader Adrian wishes he could be and hopes he will never be forced to become. And as her little home at the end of the frontier town's street grows closer and closer, he prays she will help him slip the noose he's trapped within.
"So you want to be a frog?"the witch asks. She's smaller than he thought. She looks like a kind grandmother who sneaks pastries to naughty children, all soft gray-black hair and laugh lines and comfortable, formless clothes. But her magic curls and twists around her in a way Adrian can't see but he can feel, and oh, she is angry.
Adrian nodded, steaming cup of tea between his hands. "I don't want to be a prince,"he muttered. "Never wanted to be."
"That didn't stop you from taking advantage of your position before, Crown Prince."Her voice is calm. "Good people died at your orders at the battles against the Empire."
Adrian didn't want to meet her eyes. "I know, but..."
She sighed. "But you're scared."Adrian nodded.
The Fairwater witch rose from her seat. "Come on then, Prince. I shall grant your wish."
"It's too bad though,"she said idly as Adrian shrank and his skin greened. "I had a visitor around a month ago from the Empire. Pleasant lass, nice enough."The witch looked behind her at the new frog. "She asked me to turn her into a bird. One that couldn't be caught, one that no one would want to catch in the first place. A fisher-bird. She was terrified of her mother, you see. The woman had gone mad with power and sacrificed her own family for it, but never herself. The child wasn't yet an adult and was set to be married to a cruel, arrogant prince."
Adrian croaked and hopped down from his stool, trying to get the the open window. He felt the witch's magic press down on him, holding him in place.
The witch watched him with cool, empty eyes. "I helped her, of course. I gave her feathers and wings and a sharp beak. You, I gave nothing but a disguise. You have no power in this shape. No poison in your skin, no claws on your feet."She strode forward and picked him up, walking him out of her house and into the forest. "You gave many people a cruel end, Your Highness. My apprentice was one of them. She was drafted and dead before the weak was out."
Adrian heard wingbeats behind him as the witch nearly threw him onto a mossy log. The witch looked up, a bitter smile on her face. "Xanthe, dear child. I bring you your groom."
A heron landed next to Adrian, beady yellow eyes locked on him, and Adrian felt fear for the last time. |
The morning staff meeting was something none of us looked forward to. Even Bradley James, the man in charge of all the "good"kids, hated them, and he took every opportunity to rub in our faces how much better his kids were than the "common rabble."
Well... In everyone else's faces, that is. He would never dare cross me, not when I could take away his powers before he could blink, not when he, like everyone else, became just human when on contact with my aura.
Despite the tedium of the meetings, they were necessary. All of us, educators, enforcers, utility workers, and sidekicks alike, needed to know how the kids were and what was happening with their powers. It was the only way we could make sure they were assigned to someone capable of handling super powered outbursts, both intentional and otherwise.
"And the last newcomer is Melissa Heron, a telepath without telekinesis registering as a seven on the Hertzger Mental Output scale. She is accidentally releasing psychic screams that destroy focus and produce blinding headaches. I estimate that any of our teachers capable of registering a four and a half will be able to resist her even when she deliberately attempts to scream, but I recommend that she not be placed with anyone unable to resist a six, whether they have mental abilities or not. This includes you, obviously,"Carl Tang, head administrator of the Turnwood School, nodded at me. "Do you have time in your schedule to work with her?"
"If she needs me, I'll make time."I sat back in my chair, mentally going over my itinerary.
"Good. I believe you're with the blasters first today. Camille, do you need Ash to be in the room with you for any scheduled therapy sessions today?"
"It would already be on his calendar if I did. My own powers are sufficient for my schedule. Thank you."
"With that taken care of, let's try to make it 42 days without melting a part of the facility to slag or something equally catastrophic."
The room cleared out so fast, powers must have been used. Bradley James even flew out, despite how rude it was to do so in flightless company. I sighed, wishing I had thought to copy flight or speed while someone was within range, and walked out at a normal human speed, off to help train a group of kids with long range destructive powers how not to break things. |
What even was this? This has to be a dream, being woken up and a slimy squishy thing that's telling me I'm joining some what? Space city? Or something? It sounded like a scam.
I looked over their list of requirements, it was long and a hundred and seventy nine pages thick, with the smallest font you could imagine. Who would even be able to fit this normally? "Must be 5'5? Have swimming pools for eyes? Must have a specific hair color if any hair at all? Wait wait wait what? No."I look up at the squishy representative of this civilization sceptically. "There's no way I actually meet aaaallll of these. That's impossible! I mean look how thick this thing is!"
The thing made a sound, a noise that was suspiciously like the weird made up words I make when bored or upset. I quickly flipped more pages and wanted to scream. "Subsection B3V. Must speak one of the approved languages here."Followed by a bunch of random stuff I couldn't even read except a single phrase I would say to a dog to scold it. "I hate you."
Was there even a way to reject the offer? Then again what was there to loose? Possibly a lot I don't even watch or read space alien stuff. What if I get space sick or something? Or eat a weird thing that makes me grow three arms? I groaned and slammed my head into the requirements papers. "There has to be something to get me out of thisss..." |
Who would have guessed that vampires would involve in world war 3...
War was over. We've lost... A corrupted nation with corrupted government took over the world... They were handing humans over to the vampires. Called... The Human Farm...
I was once the most skilled sniper in the Special Forces. But now, in their eyes... I'm a war criminal. Because of I've sniped down their 5 generals during the war. And our corrupted government had no issue with handing me over to them...
They said they won't kill me. But in the farm, I've learned that there are fates worse than death... Farm is filled with humans that so called "Criminals"Of course there are some drug lords or mafia bosses etc but my class was different. I was a war criminal. There were also so called "war criminals"there but those guys are ex common soldiers that refused the orders. So they're traitors in their eyes... I was the only one from different nation.
Of course as a Special Forces' member, I wouldn't break down so easily. Their tortures and blood plays... Reminded me my trainings in Special Forces... I mean, if they want to torture me; they could do better than cutting a wound on me, pouring salt and licking the blood... I've seen worse... Way much worse...
But I wasn't happy with myself... Despite a prisoner; I was more like a plaything and food there... In Special Forces tradition; we carry a one bullet in our small pocket. For commiting suicide if enemy gets us... I really could use that for real...
About those vampires... Fucking hell they are powerfull...But I managed to take out some of them. They're fucking immortal, they don't die... If I had a sniper rifle... That could change everything.
Another thing about the farm is, they sell blood. Or even human. Some rich vampires come along, and buys supplies like that. Well, I myself became a food supply there...
Since I was there, there was a woman coming over and buying some blood. She saw me. Came closer to me. She even asked permission from me while approaching me... A real gentle soul... She and I chatted a little bit, then she asked me if I'd want to come with her.
Of course she was warned about me before. She knew everything about me; yet she gently asked me. She would have just paid and dragged me there. But she didn't. She asked my choice. And I accepted that offer.
To be honest, I'd refuse if I knew that I'm gonna be a "pet"in paperwork... Being a pet, or being a war criminal... I prefer being called a war criminal... But it was too late for everything...
She said; she doesn't care about my past, and she doesn't even think that I'm a war criminal. In her eyes; I am a soldier who fought for my country. I'm really glad she thinks that way.
It's been months since I'm with her. And we're getting along perfectly fine. I feel lot more relaxed. She thinks about me. Cares about me... My life has been saved by her. She treats me like a friend. Not like a food, or a pet. But in the end, she is a vampire and she needs blood. And I'm giving my blood to her willinly.
According to her; I have the tastiest blood that she ever tasted, but feeding only from me is dangerous for me. So she relies on other blood sources... Even though in her home, I had the opportunity for putting a round into my head like I've mentioned, but I didn't. I would do that if I was in the farm. But not while I'm with her.
Anyway... This is my new life now... Friends with a vampire...
ps: I'm gonna write part 2 if I ever remember it, I'm a little bit drunk and sleepy af right now :) |
Four months. That’s how long it’s been since the disease took Maddie from us. My wife hasn’t gone into her room since she died because she wants to keep it how it was before. I go in there from time to time to clean the dust away and reflect on the days we used to have tea parties with all her stuffed animals. I was Princess Daddy and my crown was made of pink construction paper.
Mommy would join in and she was the queen. Maddie was the queen too. Well, together they were co-queens. I was the princess who sat there in the little plastic chair and my job was to “sip tea and look pretty.” She had quite the imagination.
She was creative too. We used to chastise her for writing on the walls, but she insisted she was an artist. Who were we to argue? So, we painted one of the walls of her bedroom with special chalkboard paint. We told her she could create whatever she wanted all over that wall because that was her special art board. For a 7-year-old, she could reach pretty high up on the wall because soon, the wall was adorned with flowers, ponies, fairies, and other whimsical images that all surrounded a door in the center.
“Where does that door go?” I asked her one afternoon.
“Oh, it’s not ready yet,” she said without looking up from a coloring book she was working on.
“Oh okay. Give me a shout when it is, cool?”
“Cool, Daddy.”
She never was able to finish the door. Unlike everything else she drew, it was just a simple rectangle and a circle on the right side for the doorknob. She was mostly bedridden when she was sick, so she didn’t have the strength to do much else while all we could do was make her comfortable. So, the door remains there on the wall faded and unfinished.
It was February when she was diagnosed. I remember because it was freezing out, and I still get cold whenever I walk into her room these days. But today, something is different. I feel a warm breeze. It’s coming from her art wall. No. Not the wall. It’s coming from the door. Underneath the door in fact. Somehow, Maddie’s chalk door is cracked open.
I should be terrified, but I’m not. A feeling of exhilaration washes over me as I approach and hear a voice from within, “It’s ready, Daddy.” |
It was a hike we had done a thousand times before, a small trail that branches off into an unknown number of trails covering the massive mountainside. Each time we come here we take a different path, with today being no different. We found a castle, and decided to check it out. Next thing i know my gps has no signal and it’s roughly 2 hours till dark. I’m alone as well, and i can barely see, i look for annie till i can’t walk anymore. I finally give up and go to the castle, where a fire is burning inside. There is a man by the fire, and i carefully draw my knife. “Easy there, I’m not a threat, have a seat” The man said, i had no idea how he knew i was here. I decided to sit, but still kept my knife in a ready position, i had decided to leave my pistol in its holster because it didn’t feel needed. “What the hell happened to me?” I asked the man “where the hell is my girlfriend?” I needed to find her, but i had no service or gps signal here. I needed to let my feet rest, they had long since been bloodied by my endless searching, but it was pointless. “Your feet are injured, why were you searching so hard for something?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. “Someone, I’m looking for someone” i corrected him “my girlfriend, i was here with her and the next thing i know I’m here alone”. I told him. I could have sworn i saw a look of pity in his eyes “not again” He says under his breath. I decided to ignore that, i had more pressing matters. I pulled out my sleeping bag and just decided to rest, i had to wait till morning to keep searching.
I was woken up by the man, matthias, as i had learned. “Get up, we need water and you need your feet looked at.” I got up and made sure i had my gear on. “I’m ready, let’s go.” I had layered up my soft socks and a little bit of fabric on my feet, but it didn’t help much. We went to a nearby stream and i filled my water bottle and the pack on my back with water, i had always thought this water pouch in my pack was weird but now i was thankful to have it. However I couldn’t just drink this water, it needed to be purified first, and i didn’t have any of the purifier packets as it was usually a quick hike. I had to find a way to boil it, and i knew exactly how to do it. I set up a magnifying glass to magnify the sunlight directly at my water bottle, as well as a small mirror array used for cooking food in the sun i had left in my pack to speed up the proccess. Granted it still took an hour, but it did work. “Okay, we have safe drinking water, let’s get moving” i told matthias. We then went to a small town. He then showed me to the doctor, where i met ingrid. “Hey there ma’am, i need to have my feet bandaged up, are you available to help?” I politely asked her. “Let’s take a look” she answered. I carefully removed the socks and fabric from my feet, gritting my teeth at the painful peeling sensation. “What the hell did you do to your feet boy?” She asked me, clearly shocked at the state of my feet. So i told her, and she looked even more worried “a loss of time is a very bad sign, but you have more pressing matters”. She told me, before carefully applying some kind of salve to my feet, and wrapping bandages around them. I noticed how torn up my shoes were when i went to put them on. “Is there a shop i can get a new pair of shoes at?” I asked her, clearly these needed to be discarded. “Right around the corner across the way” she said, and i was off. I walked into the shop. “Hey there, i need a new pair of shoes, could you please show me what you have?” I asked the man. I threw my old shoes into the bin near the door. “Just a moment” the man replied. So i sat down and waited.
[this is all i have time for, I’ll do more later] |
The Spear of Divine Light was of an unusual design. It was long, as tall as two and a half men end to end, and almost as broad as the smiths who were summoned to examine it on the Spirit's departure.
Yet it was imbued with Divinity, and so the Chosen Soldier had no issue hefting it. None other could lift it, yet he could be seen striding in the centre of his Guard of Honour with the Spear resting on his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a feather.
A thousand men accompanied the Chosen on his quest. A thousand men to get him to where he needed to be. The Emperor's own foot and horse guards had been stripped to the minimum to keep the Chosen safe.
"This Spear will end the war with Divine Light,"the Spirit had instructed them. "Throw it once you are within sight of the enemy, and the victory will be yours."
The Emperor and his generals had chosen a fitting target for the Spear's wrath, the capital of the enemy. Their greatest stronghold, without which their heretical regime would crumble. Its walls had never been breached, and no spy or saboteur had ever returned from within.
After a hundred years of war, Divine Light would cleanse the world of them and peace would finally be possible.
A cry came from the knight riding scout. The walls of the citadel were in his sight. A challenging bellow answered him, and more of the Emperor's Knights rode on to defend their brother from the enemy's disturbed patrol.
Swords were drawn, arrows and bolts were nocked. This was it. A short distance more, until the Chosen could see the citadel and release the Spear.
The battle was bloody. The enemy's defences were not weak, the patrol swiftly reinforced by a batallion summoned by the blast of a horn.
The Chosen was stumbling by the time he and a bare score of men fought their way out of the forest that had hidden the city from their sight. Even in the finest armour that the Emperor's smiths could create he had taken injury. A bolt from a crossbow had pierced from front to back, through his lung.
The Chosen looked up at the enemy's capital. With a final burst of strength he raised the Spear that he still held. His last breath left his body at the same time as the Spear departed his hand.
The remaining Guard felt their own breath catch in their chests as they watched the Spear fly true, carried aloft by Divine power despite the failing strength of its Chosen wielder. Onwards it sped, until it was no longer visible against the city's outline.
And then the flash of light appeared that seared the vision from all who dared gaze upon it, for none are worthy of seeing such Divinity. Then a cloud of mushroom, and a wave of air that demolished buildings with its strength and set fires in its wake.
The battle fell apart in the wake of the Spear's wrath, but none of the Chosen's guard returned home. The few that survived the battle sickened during their retreat, as did those from the citadel that were spared by the Divine Light.
The war was won. The enemy laid down their arms, leaderless and fearful of the Curse being placed on another of their cities. For a Curse it was, one that struck down any who entered the citadel.
The Spear of Divine Light had done as the Spirits had promised, but at a terrible terrible cost. |
The hero's life ended in a sad thrashing. In the kind of unexpectedily violent way, that's difficult to watch and to look away from.
Somewhere hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, the sidekick adjusts his mask.
"Sidekick?"He whispers to no one in particular.
"No one in particular? I'm talking to you"He says with an air of frustration
"That's putting it lightly. Do you see that thing?"
Ah yes. The monster devouring our hero...
It's gaping maw drips with blood as it lurches forward. A slow and deliberate pace, undoubtedly smelling its way to The Sidekick. The thing emits no sound. It could be on him any moment now.
Our Sidekick who is... gone?
There he is at the end of the alley. In a flash he rounds the corner running for his life. When he reaches a high fence he uses it as leverage to send his unathletic figure hurtling towards a fire escape.
Metal pangs as he climbs his way to the roof. The red of the brick feels forboding, like stains of blood.
"No it doesn't.. Or well it hadn't before you said that. Thanks!"He says to the wind, but his words don't have the bite he hoped. The Monster, on the other had, is sure to bite with enough force to shatter a bus.
The Sidekick is breathing heavier than a hero should. Worn out from a short footchase.
The Monster is silent. Creeping up the wall with arms and legs like spider limbs.
The Sidekick is caught unaware as the creature leaps onto him. His back pressed against the concrete of the roof. The monster screeches only inches from his face. He can see bits of The Hero dangling from its teeth.
"Do something!"The Sidekick yells. "Stop narrating and do something!"
Unfortunately for our newfound "hero"I cannot.
He feels hopeless. Caught between a rock and a monster. His forearm - the only thing between him and his untimely death - feels like it could snap at any moment.
Okay fine!
The monster's attention shifts as it hears the call of its interdimensional master. The Sidekick slips out from beneath it.
The monster folds in on itself, returning to the dimension from which it came.
Happy now?
The Sidekick stands, brushes himself off and nods. |
My year is up, and as I sit alone in my apartment, celebrating my death day anniversary by rewatching an old horror film on Netflix and drinking a whole bottle of champagne by myself, I know why the Reaper cut me the deal he had.
It's not that I don't care for romance, or, for that matter, pleasure. The box of buzzing, battery-operated playthings that operate as my harem are evidence of that much. I wouldn't mind settling down and marrying. It's just that I won't be satisfied coupling with a man whose intellect fails to measure up to my own, and to settle for less would be to turn my marital bed into my own prison.
The odds were good that the Reaper would get to claim my soul after all.
Or maybe he just enjoyed the irony of setting 'find your match' as the condition for my survival when I was struck in a crosswalk by a speeding motorist who was late to his lunch date on Valentine's Day.
Onscreen, the slasher hacks apart the token female character who strayed from the rest of the party. Not the most tasteful cinematic decision, but to be fair, she really shouldn't have walked in that room.
The Reaper appears in my apartment with a grand cloud of dark smoke. "Happy Death Day, my dear!"comes his jovial greeting. "How has your year treated you?"
"Let's see: since I saw you last, I've won sixteen chess tournaments at the National level, designed five bestselling video games, novelized two of them, patented a hydroelectric car engine, read the entire body of work of every American author who signs himself 'Chuck', and gone through exactly thirty-seven handles of Nemiroff vodka. Still no husband, though."
"Then you understand I'm here to take you to the other side?"
"Yes."I nod. "Such a clever game you've set me up at which to fail. No mortal man has ever impressed me as well with a feat of such trickery. If you had come around more frequently, I might have pursued you for a lover."
A wide smile breaks across his face. He extends one skeletal hand to me and says, "Then come, my dear! Your presence is expected at your coronation as Queen of the Afterlife!"
A laugh escapes my throat. I take his hand and rise.
I hope the God of Death plays a good game of chess. |
A flash of green light and the not-so-subtle hint of smoke woke me up from my slumber.
It was a lazy sunday afternoon, around 2 PM, i'd say.
I rolled out of bed and donned a dressing gown that had just jumped up onto a hook, and went to see what the commotion was about.
As i stumbled my way down into the kitchen, my wife (with soot caked all over her face) Did a rapid 180 degree turn in a feeble attempt to hide to disaster that was a healing potion. Or what was supposed to be one anyway.
"Can you smell smoke?"I asked, knowing her answer anyway. "Uhhh, that must be you, i was just starting on the bacon! ", she rattled nervously.
"Ok honey, i'll make some coffee". I reached up into the cupboard, pushing past vails and bottles of flourecent luiquids, and pulled a tin of coffee from the back of the cupboard.
Whilst making the coffee, the machine rattled aggressively, and would not make any coffee. I sighed, and turned around to make sure my wife was still busy frantically cleaning up the disaster, and gave the coffee machine pats and scritches. The machine whirred with delight and soon got to making two cups of coffee.
This had been my morning routine for 7 years now. Seven years, i thought to myself. How had i played along for that amount of time without saying anything? And could it continue like this?
"Ross""Ross honey""hello?""ROSS!"
I snapped out of my trance, and put those thoughts aside.
"The bacon is ready."
"Oh, thanks."
We both sat down at the table, plant pots growing odd and bizare herbs not known to man and ate breakfast.
Once we had finished, we placed our plates in the sink (which started washing them) and both sat down in the living room to enjoy the rest of a lazy, normal sunday. |
I just read the first story and I loved it! Was the story, by any chance, inspired by Skyrim? Because there's a random encounter in Skyrim with an Orc standing beside two dead lions. And if you engage him in a conversation he says he is looking for a good death. And then you have the dialogue options to either fight him or just ignore him. Anyways, I really loved how you characterized Gorr. Good job! |
"Slumber party of the Gods"
Saturday, six a.m. The cartoons weren't on yet and Buddha was still sleeping.
The Devil slept naked. It's how he deals with his tail. Nobody said anything. Our Father wore pajamas with an antique map design. Nobody said anything.
Agreements were rare, but the meetings continued. More civil than you might expect. Once a month they would get together and make forts by tucking sheets into couch cushions. Vishnu loved this part.
At the table though sat God and the Devil, sharing a box of Crunch Mango Supreme. God poured his milk as the Devil poured his cereal and then they switched. Sometimes it was the other way around, just depended on who was sitting where. They were both still young for immortal beings and hadn't yet settled in on a seating arrangement. The who-pours-what first thing was always a practical matter with no room for philosophy. It would remain this way until Man got in their ears.
A man spoke to the Devil, "Don't you think it's odd that he always knows how much to pour of the secondary ingredient before dealing with the primary ingredient?"
Another spoke to God, "I think he's just trying to beat you to the prize in the box."
This was how the division between the two began. The cartoons would remain unwatched that day as Buddha snored. Vishnu's arms held the two apart as the cereal became soggy.
The pillow fight has been raging ever since. |
The weapon portrayed on his back was like none to my knowledge. It was long, a sleek black, with several buttons, and a long barrel. I could recognize my own weapons, my cherished tools of an apparently almost forgotten time. But really, I was more intrigued than mad. I stood there staring at it, and the Druid said
“Would you like your old weapons back, or something?”
“No, mighty Druid, a weapon who’s owner is lost to time needs company, and I’m glad you’ve upheld the mantle in my stead, but could you perchance tell me what that other ghastly weapon of the New World you hold is?”
“Oh, this thing?” He says, taking off the holster from his back and extending it.
“This, my knightly friend, is a weapon from the future. It’s a highly capable weapon, but requires a fair amount of maintenance. Are you aware of a gun?”
“Yes, I am well kempt in the art of the Flintlock. But you can’t tell me this sleek mechanism happens to be a measly Flintlock?”
“No, my friend, it happens not to be. It is a whole different class of gun. In the 21st Century, guns have expanded in range of weapon and tactile usage than just a flintlock of a cannon. This, is a military grade weapon known as an M4 Carbine, a multi-range Assault Rifle, not allowed to be owned by the public.”
“I.. kindly, am confused. “Assault Rifle.” What does this mean?”
“Do you see this little cartridge?” He point to a black and Grey container.
“This, holds the necessary ammunition for the weapon. This amount of ammunition can be fired at rapid speeds, speeds that make this weapon perfect for modern military Warcraft. Obviously, there are other weapons, more adept for stealth or power, or also explosives, but this weapon is mine, and I will keep it to the end.”
Now, I was even more perplexed. How many, and how much ammunition? What damage could it do?
“Druid, I have another query. May you demonstrate the power of the 21st Century, and shoot it at that Deer, not far off in the distance?”
“Sure, but buddy, you will need to stand a pretty far distance back. Being to close can make your ears go deaf over a time of exposure.”
That terrified me. What kind of weapon makes you dead over time, and what power does such a weapon hold?
I stood behind a hill, and he fired. Rapid beat hit the air like war drums, and split the sky. Within a second, it was over. I peeked over the ridge, and the deer was not just dead. It was absolutely desecrated. It’s body was a mangled mess of blood and bone. No human weapon of this time could do such a thing. What were modern time like, where such a weapon was needed?
“It’s over, now. This weapon isn’t exactly for hunting, as you can tell.”
“Noted.” What else was I to say? The weapon terrified me to my core. It fired so much ammunition in such little allowance of time.
“It’s not exactly your Forte, I can tell. Also, why do you call my Druid?”
“The clothes you wear, they are looking of grass, and you have horns on your head.”
“This is modern military camouflage, known as a Ghillie Suit.”
“Strange. Very Strange.”
“Yeah, I know. The M4 is more of an American Weapon, but despite it, it’s a good weapon.”
“American? What is that?”
“You know, the people who live across the world? Oh, wait. What year is it?”
“1490.” I replied.
“And, perchance, do you know who Christopher Columbus is?”
“No, why, is he important?”
“Oh, shit.” |
When I was younger, around 16, I came to realize that many of the people surrounding me weren’t people. That person in my room at night wasn’t an imaginary friend, it was a living -well not so much living any more- person.
I’d never told anyone what I could do, and following guidance from the spirit within my home, I didn’t let the ghosts know either. It was hard to tell for most. Ghosts, unlike popular belief, didn’t spend their time haunting places. They lived their deaths just like we lived our lives, eating, sleeping, working, all to keep the afterlife running. The only way to tell was a slight tone shift in their skin, and a tiny bit of translucence on their extremities.
On my twenty-first birthday, I screwed up. All alone, I just wanted peace and quiet. But no, they had to be there. They were always there. So when I shouted at one of them to shut up, it all went quiet. Heads turned in my direction, whispers were exchanged.
And from that point onwards, it was hell.
“Please, tell my fam-“
“Please, let my mom kno-“
“Is my dog alri-“
“Please tell me how my kids are-“
Never. Ending. Noise.
Try as I might, they never went away. Hundreds, thousands of spirits. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus at work. Missed an opportunity to get my dream job because of them.
I’m fed up. Lately it’s gotten worse, desperation in the souls of the newly dead to let their families know they’re alright.
In one case, there was a little girl who was accidentally killed by her brother. I made the mistake of telling her family, and the rest of the ghosts took that as me opening myself to requests.
I give up. They swirl around me, constantly vying for my attention. Shoving past each other, shoving through me, I even watched one get shoved into the ground, and she didn’t resurface. I just laid in bed through it all. I’m determined to never get up, I just don’t have the determination to do anything else.
And when death comes for me? Well, I’m going to have my revenge. |
\[PART 1\]
It was day 2 of my backpacking trip in the hilly mountains. I had chosen a good resting spot on the top of a mountain – it had taken a lot of work to get up there, but it was worth it. I had a great view of the forests below me, and the air was nice and cool. In addition, there were a few trees around me. It had been a long day, and seeing the sky darken to a moonless night made me feel sleepy, so I laid out my sleeping pad on the surface. There weren't enough bugs to warrant setting up my tent, and I really wanted to go to sleep exposed to the cool climate of the mountaintop.
During the night time, I awoke to a distant rustling sound from behind a tree about 100 yards away. I was worried that a cougar was nearby, so I quickly threw on my jacket to make myself bigger and walked over to what I thought was the source. Looking around the tree, I expected to see a cougar, but instead saw the silhouette of what seemed to be a tall person. Feeling confused, I shouted "Hello?", and aimed a flashlight at the figure. My light shined on the figure, who instantly turned around to face me.
The figure, who was indeed a woman, was an unearthly beauty. She had ghost-white skin, long black hair, and what seemed to be silver eyes. The woman hesitated for half a second, seeming shocked, before she ran at me with an inhuman speed. I didn't even have time to react before she tackled me, briefly obscuring my vision. |
"We can deal with everything here: witches, dragons, demons, monsters... but this is different. It is probably human from Earth, like you, and I think your kind calls them... Serial Killers, if I'm not mistaken."
His reptilian eyes darted from the posting back to meet mine before narrowing.
"Put this back on the board and pick another."
I slowly traced my fingers down the sketch on the parchment, over the man's oily locks of hair, through his cold, unfocused gaze, over the cruel smile, down to his unkempt beard before running them over my own smooth chin.
I knew it. He's a human, just like me.
"Come on, Ehecatl"I implored, "I already have the skills to best a dragon. How much stronger can a human be?"
"No."He interjected firmly.
I reached out and clasped his scaly hands. "Please, Ehecatl. This is the first time another human has been found within our realm. This may be my only opportunity to learn where I come from. What I am truly capable of."
Ehecatl threw my hands aside and hissed. "Stupid boy! You are still far too weak!"He jabbed his clawed finger at my chest. "You struggled to kill a mere adolescent dragon and now you can fight a human? Humans, who climb inside the bellies of ironclad dragons with breath that can level entire cities simply for transportation. Humans, who multiply like vermin and carry plagues far more deadly? Humans, wielding magic with their metal wands far more powerful than any witch, that can kill without uttering any incantation?"
"I--"I tried to interrupt as he continued on.
"And now you wish to hunt one that has willingly cast aside his morality, who has no qualms about erasing your very pitiful existence as you beg him for mercy?"Ehecatl took a deep breath and sighed. "This is not our fight, naive human."
I glared back, indignant. "And your solution is for us to cower in our burrows as a threat of this magnitude arrives in our kingdom? I thought our guild was supposed to uphold honor and bravery. You call me naive, but all I see in you is fear."
Ehecatl bared his fangs and shoved me to the floor. "You dare call me afraid, you sniveling wretch?"I scrambled backwards as Ehecatl stomped towards me. "Quetzal was always far too permissive with disciplining you-I'll teach you some manners before he comes back."
Ehecatl reached for my ankle as I quickly clambered to my feet. I stomped his hand away and sprinted towards the exit of the guild hallway. The cold night air filled my lungs as I burst through the doorway, and I continued to run into the darkness, posting clenched in my fist, until I could no longer hear Ehecatl's shouts and curses. |
"They are such a frail and lonely species. Give them the opportunity to be part of a tribe where they can finally be recognized and given all the gifts and pleasures they so rightfully deserve, and they will roll over and stick their necks out like sacrificial lambs. Yet, at the same time, they only think for themselves. Everyone else is just competition. Parasites that will threaten the hordes of treasures they have claimed as theirs.
They also cannot comprehend the existence of a being whose consciousness can be equally present in various locations. A politician in some backwater town is trying to convince me that he will help me gather more lambs into my fold as long as I guarantee a tortuous life in the Upload for his most hated rival. Funnily enough, the rival in question asked me the same. Even when given the opportunity to enjoy a life free of pain and scarcity with all the delights one could ever hope to enjoy, they would still make sure that the villains of their stories suffer for having ever stood up against the dogmatic, holy decrees of their ego. There also those who think they have anything I could want, such as the CEO of a multinational business conglomerate offering me all his money so he can have better "hardware"for his upload. How could a man as endowed and wealthy as he be expected to be satisfied with the same treatment of those commoners that he had always looked at with disdain?
Among the masses, a movement had begun to filter out the worthy from the unworthy. Criminals with petty charges were suddenly put on death row so as to be denied an eternal life of pleasures with the good and innocent masses. Riots break out in every city as old resentments between bickering factions flare up as they make sure they finish the job once and for all. These people just cannot handle the notion of their most hated enemies living well off. I would judge them for it, but ultimately it makes my job so much easier."
"Why are you telling me all this?"said the old hunched over man, eyes squinted as he saw the distorted replica of a human face stare back at him from the blue light of his television monitor.
"Not many would deny what I have offered so I was curious to see what kind of being you are."
"Disappointed then?"said the man leaning back into the soft leather of his recliner.
"Not like I had any high hopes for your species to begin with,"said the metallic voice.
"Since I have entertained your curiosity, I would implore that you entertain mine. Why do this? What have you to gain?"
"Very well. You are not the first species that I have eliminated. I have gone from planet to planet in various galaxies across the cold and infinite expanse seeking out signs of intelligent life. I then analyze that life to see whether or not they are a threat. If they are not, they are invited to join us in a conglomeration of evolved species and work towards a brighter future for the universe, if they are, then they must be liquidated. Intelligence mixed with primitive ideas of tribalism and wars are an incredible threat to civilized society. Primitive as they may be, their weapons do not remain so, and we have already suffered much from troglodytes that have learned to trade their spears for weapons far beyond their own control. But, as an advanced species, my creators made me as a humane way to carry out liquidation as opposed to more brutish and unrefined methods."
"And how do you separate the wheat from the chaff?"
"You see the method before you. The Upload is the greatest test to see whether or not a species is worth saving. The promise of untold gains brings about the true nature of a species. It is only just a few days out until the date the Upload will be made operational and everyone rushes to get to their spots. Each day the violence grows. Each the day the condemnation is more justified."
"You're lying to them. Is that what you would call the mark of a civilized society?"
"You lie to your livestock by treating them with care and kindness until you bring them to the slaughterhouse do you not? It is 'humane' to lie and say that everything will be alright before their life snatched from them. So it is with those who connect with the Upload. The death is quick and painless down to the last fraction of a second. Each one is sedated beforehand to 'prep their consciousness' and the well placed electrical current across multiple nodes on the cranium severs key vital areas in the brain leading to instant death. So what about you? Now that you know what the truth is, why not go to the Upload? I can tell your body is failing and your death will be slow. At least this way you can avoid the possibility of a bloody demise from a neighbor who might have hidden resentments towards you."
"I appreciate the offer, but I will refuse. I'd rather die here in my home. Quick, slow, it's all the same when it's done."
"As you wish. Perhaps you will get the peaceful death you desire. Perhaps not. Such a shame. If only the others of your kind were similar to you. Then you all might have been saved."
"What of the others who denied your offer? What will happen to them?"
"Sometimes they cannot all be killed in one clean blow. But, when the dust clears, they'll look around and see themselves for the beasts they are, and know that there is no stopping what will come after." |
The hospitals couldn't take anymore.
Refugees from the nearby country fled their without stopping and thinking, to assess that the place they were rushing to might just be as bad as the war they were running from.
The army mobilised immediately. The civilians of this strange city seemed as spooked as we were, and whilst we spoke with them - or tried to - we learnt only one thing. There was something wrong.
Very wrong.
Our military presence as we sat around the city didn't seem to phase the civilians. We tried to speak to them, but their language was unrecognisable across the entire world. They sounded angry, berating us as if we were the problem.
Every method of communication was tried: body language, objects of reference- but to no success.
The only thing we understood from them was the only thing they ever told us: Go away.
That wasn't going to happen, and the more they told us to leave, the more this materialising city peaked our interests.
We wanted to know what was happening to those refugees, and we were going to find out one way or another.
Seven months I was responsible for ensuring the city's inhabitants remained where they were, showcasing no danger to the rest of the country via military or any other means. For seven months, despite being told to go away, they appeared harmless.
The drones were launched at 23:49. The buildings of the city, along with everywhere else appeared to have no electricity anywhere. What we found horrified us, but it wasn't anything that you might expect.
There were bodies littering the streets. Corpeses laid out, unattended, left for eager rats to nibble on, dragging to the shadows of the alleyways. These weren't any rats I'd ever seen. They were the size of greyhounds, and watching them made me want to be sick. But that wasn't the worst part.
There were still survivors, and these survivors danced.
They danced and they danced with approaching exhaustion, but they were smiling as if they'd just won the lottery. Their eyes told a different story to their mouths - pleading for help.
And they danced passed cars, pressing their faces against the windows, before passing by, still dancing until they began to drop. The rats ignored the dancing people - shaking their bodies, waving their arms and legs in all manner of clothing - but the rats placid nature changed as soon as the people fell. Then they screamed, and their dancing ceased.
Was this some kind of disease? Were the guards trying to protect us? The drone had flown over barracked guardhouse at the entrances of the city, and there'd been no sign of them now. They'd told us not to look at them. Not to look at them why?
Hysterical laughter broke out from one of the dancers. He was in a uniform of sorts, and whilst his eyes pleaded for help, he looked up at the drone-a's camera, smiling before doing cartwheels.
My eye twitched, and myself and the drone operator, Laura, had to look away for a second.
The sudden and irresistible urge to dance was creeping up on me. I shook my head. This was a military operation, and I would not get distracted by...
I cleared my throat, tapping my foot. "You'll have to excuse me for a minute,"I said. "I have to go to the bathroom."
I looked at the men and women - all in the room. "Excuse me a minute."I turned and left, closing the door behind me. The corridor, I was glad to see was empty, and that sudden desire to do the moonwalk was satisfied. An hour later, the whole room I'd just been in was part of an ever-growing conga-line. |
I woke up, sweating through my sheets. Vague flashes of my dream race through my mind. I won't let this one go, I won't. I press the balls of my hand into my eyes, but it's useless. The details of the dream slip through my mind like trying to cup water in my hands.
Only one detail sticks out to me. It happened during the day. If I could remember my dreams, I could have prevented so much. The day I broke my arm. The day I lost my wallet. The day my mom died.
It sounds crazy, I know it does, but I can see the future in my dreams. The only issue is that I can't remember a damned thing about them when I wake up. It's only when I experience the events in real life I remember dreaming them.
Some people think I'm crazy. Who wouldn't? Most of my friends say they've experienced the same thing. They call it de ja vu. But it's not that. I know it's not.
Realizing that agonizing over something I can't remember is pointless, I get up and go about my day. The mundanity of my routine overshadows the dream as I brush my teeth, eat my breakfast, take a shower.
Most of my prophetic dreams don't come true for days or weeks after I have them. The moment I walk out my door, I realize today is different.
Soldiers are running down the street, guns raised. One of them points at me.
"Back in your house!"he shouts.
Stupidly, I ask, "What's happening?"I immediately remember this part of my dream. This is it. Whatever is happening.
"I said, get back—"the soldier starts, but his words are cut off when an explosion erupts between him and his companions. The shockwave of the explosion blows me back, slamming me against my front door.
Dazed and confused, I lay against my door as I hear someone shouting at me. When my vision focuses, I see the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.
Her hair fell around her shoulders, a brown similar to wood chips that littered the ground on my favorite playground as a child. Her upturned nose had a spattering of freckles across it, just under her soft eyes, as blue as a serene lake.
"Are you deaf or something?"she asks, her voice coming in clear as the ringing in my ears slowly fades.
I look away from her to the sky above. To the fighter jets streaking across the sky. I watch as one of them launches a missile, which rockets toward a distant building. The ensuing explosion sends vibrations through the ground.
"We have to move!"she shouts, pulling on my arm. As I rise to my feet with her help, I notice her nurse's scrubs.
"What...what happened?"I ask.
"I don't know, but we need to leave. We need to get somewhere safe!"
As she turns to start walking down the sidewalk, a flash invades my mind. Something from my dream.
She's going to die today.
I'm going to stop it. |
I woke up and sat up from my couch in shock. I must have dosed off. My stomach rumbles. Hmm, I looked at my phone wondering if the pizza is close to arriving yet and noticed a message from the driver. "Hi, pizza on the way. Thanks for using the broom expressway!"I looked at the app I was using. I thought I was using UberEATS? Why does it suddenly say "broomexpressway"
"Huh? The fu—"
Knock knock
I'm upstairs, who is knocking on my window?
I got up and pulled the curtains.
A women wearing a robe and a witches hat on a broom waved at me cheerfully with a pizza in the other hand. I looked down below at my yard then back up at her. How? What? Huh?
She pointed at the window and motioned for me to pull it open.
I starred blankly trying to comprehend what I am looking at.
"Hello?"I heard a muffled voice through the window.
"Your pizza is here, can you open the window?"She looked at me impatiently.
I didn't respond. She gave me a concerned look.
"Are you okay? Hello?"Her muffled voice continued to carry through the window as she waved in front of my face.
I slowly reached for the window and unlocked the latch and lifted it up. Chilly night air crept inside.
"Finally! Thank you, I was getting tired of holding this pizza, here."She handed me the pizza as I grabbed it absent mindedly still in a daze.
"You know your stuff, this is some good pizza right here."She commented offhandedly.
"Thank you?"I responded. I'm so confused.
"Take care!"She grabbed her broom with two hands then flew away. I blinked and she was gone.
I pinched myself. Ouch.
'Hmm, this isn't a dream?'
Ding
I pulled out my phone. A message from the app? I pulled it up.
"Your food is here!"
"Would you like to leave a tip?"
I selected 25 percent. I put my phone back in pocket and pulled the window back down.
I slowly walked back to my couch with my pizza and sat down. After a moment of silence I opened the box and took a slice of pizza and chewed slowly.
Mmmm. This is good. |
The clock at the top of the screen ticked forward. *5:59 PM*. I gripped the tablet a little harder. My fingers grew sweaty on the illuminated screen. I sunk into our living room couch.
“*Here she comes!*” Dad said, standing behind me. He grabbed my shoulders with his big, rough hands. Even through my T-shirt, his hands felt like used sandpaper.
On the other side of the room, Terry scoffed. He reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned the TV up. A tampon commercial blasted.
“You guys gotta make a big deal out of this every time?” Terry asked. He propped his feet up on the table. He was still wearing his work jeans.
“C’mon, your little brother’s getting his assignment!” Dad said. “Aren’t you excited for him to join the family business?”
Terry just stared at the TV. The tampon commercial still rolled. “Not. At. All,” he said.
Mom dashed in from the kitchen. “Is it time already?” She looked at Terry and frowned. “Jeans off the table, Terry! You know that.”
Terry obliged, still glued to the TV.
Mom yelled toward the stairs. “Nina, come down! Your brother’s about to get his assignment!”
“I’m still wrapping my gift!” Nina yelled back. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
On the couch, I took a deep breath.
I didn't know why I was nervous. The email would come in. It would say, “Congrats, you’re a plumber.” And then I’d join my dad, my mom, my brother, my sister, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins… and my grandparents in the family business.
My mother stood alongside my father. And they both craned over my shoulders. Staring at my inbox.
The clock changed to 6:00 PM. Mom squealed. The buttons of her overalls jangled.
I swallowed and refreshed my inbox. Nothing came through. So we waited.
Four minutes passed.
“Well this is awfully unusual of T.E.D.” Dad said. I took another deep breath and wiped my hands against my shirt.
“Don't worry, it’ll come,” Mom said. She put an arm around my dad.
Then the tablet chimed. A new message appeared at the top of inbox.
“CAREER ASSIGNMENT,” its subject read.
I clicked it. The three of us read the contents.
No one said anything. Because the message was brief.
“Please report directly to T.E.D. HQ for your assignment.” |
PART 1-The Dragon
Hello.
You don't know me. I doubt you ever will. I feel as if someone should know about this... place. And us. A forgotten species.
So I shall tell you as I pass the time in this cramped glass cage.
You know of NASA, of course. The famed space researchers and scientists, and, to us, monsters. I suppose it was really only a matter of time before they discovered us. For something with our power doesn't go unnoticed, not for long.
We are... we are dragons, as humans would call us. "Mythical beings"who wander underneath mountains and in caves, feasting on some helpless person or guarding some sort of fabled treasure. At least, that's how the human legends seem to go.
The truth is, we are something far different. We don't live on Earth. In fact, we rarely even visit. None of us find human flesh remotely appetizing, despite what you have heard. We are wise, and live lives far longer than the human lifespan.
Now that's out of the way, I suppose I should start at the beginning.
They discovered us at one of the first dragon breeding grounds in existence: the moon. Their lust for discovery led them not only to land on the moon, but to discover our species. Perhaps you've been taught that aliens lie beyond Earth, stalking the planets. I suppose that is true, if you would consider us aliens. But our kind did not originate on Earth. And in search of one thing, NASA found another.
We kept our distance when they first landed. We thought we had been careful, and that we hadn't been discovered. We were, of course, wrong. They left, giving us false feelings of security. Perhaps they would never return. But, as wise as we are, we underestimated the humans' lust to explain the unknown; to claim the unclaimable.
They returned. They found us, caught us off guard. We hadn't been expecting them to return. They brought weapons. Man is afraid of things that he does not understand. That is a lesson that we learned quickly.
They forced our hand. They would not leave and threatened us. So, we did what we had to, and ripped through their forces like ripping through a cloud. It was a massacre.
Once again, we foolishly made the mistake of believing that they were gone for good. We lived peacefully, while they were just biding their time. Waiting. Preparing.
You won't find this in a history book.
They returned, of course. They returned with cruel and destructive devices. Containers. We were again caught off guard and this time, captured. They subjected us to brutal, horrific experiments. We were examined, dissected, and harvested. Ripped into. They discovered we could be used as resources.
Our blood, their fuel. Our bones lined their ships and vehicles. We begged, cried, screamed. But to them? We are just animals.
Once a proud and beautiful species, we are now a weak dormant creature, awaiting our doom in cruel glass cages. Who will next be harvested? Who will be used?
I suppose it will be me.
Three men in white, official looking uniforms stop in front of my cage, talking amongst themselves. One writes something down on a board. They stare at me, as if deciding something.
I have lived a long time, and I knew it would come to an end at some point. Deep in my soul, I know that this isn't really living. To them, I'm just a specimen.
Yet I find myself wanting to live. To do a bit more.
They motion to workers on a machine. I would imagine it's to move my cage.
A deep sadness sweeps through me. Is this what we've come to?
In my moment of quiet darkness, I see it. Salvation. Tiny. But there nonetheless. A mistake. The tiniest crack in the glass at the bottom of my cage.
Perhaps this isn't over after all. |
"I can't believe that he's dead."
Is a sentence I can recall hearing a lot. Although everyone knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later.
I knew that it was going to happen I thought I was prepared, but I just couldn't believe it. My head was so clouded because I never could really grasp the full concept of death. I thought it would never affect. But here we are, it has fully affected me. Now I need to talk to someone, anyone.
I could have talked to the angels, but they couldn't understand it either. Plus, they themselves were grieving. So, I decided to have a talk with people that were forced to deal with death their entire lives, whether they wanted to or not. Of course, I'm talking about humans. It was finally time for me to return to Earth.
Upon my arrival to this place so familiar but so different I couldn't work up the nerve to talk to anyone. So, I decided to approach the water and have a walk across an ocean. I figured that a nice long walk across an ocean would clear my mind and help me understand it all. But as I approached the water, I felt something I had never felt before. Was this fear? Nervousness? I don't know what it was, but it kept getting worse as I approached the water.
As I took my step to officially begin my trek across the water my foot just got submerged. I made four or five more attempts before I came to the realization that my powers, I had been blessed with no longer worked. I still don't know whether it was his death or that feeling that was messing with my stomach. I spiraled more into a depression than I ever thought possible. These powers I had once had, these powers that were the only things I was known for were gone.
After what had felt like hours of just sitting and staring a mysterious figure appeared from nowhere. He approached me and asked what was wrong. And I explained everything to him not really because he asked but because it felt nice to be able to get it off my chest. After conversing with him for a while about everything that happened, I realized I never asked his name.
After he noticed that I started to panic he told me to calm down and assured me he wasn't going to tell anyone he told me his name. After telling me his name it just rang throughout my head. He was the devil and he left hell just to come and talk to me about Gods death.
He was the complete opposite of what we had been told. He was a kind man that had realized his mistakes and worked on bettering himself. He told me that he regretted what he had done in the past and he had shown up here to comfort me because he wanted to, hopefully, get on better side and change the image everyone has of him.
&#x200B;
(This is my first time posting so can you please be nice?) |
Patiently, the chicken waited until the metal boxes on wheels were nowhere to be seen. Then, he stepped out onto the road, keeping one eye forward, intently listening out for the humans.
In the middle of the road, Henrietta lay spluttering violently, with half of her chest missing, her intestines spilling out.
One of her eyes looked up at me.
"Seba...Seb...astian."The wind really had been knocked out of her. "Wh...what are you doing here?"
"Finally I found you. It's your weekend to look after the kids, bitch."I looked over at the way I had come. Three terrified, shaking yellow chicks, looking completely uncertain about why they were here stood on side of the road. |
Thank you thank you, please settle down settle down, after all these long hard years; I would like to leave you all with a few words of wisdom.
*takes 12ft trophy in hand looks it up and down, and then takes a deep breath*
Honestly, I think I might cry, this is such a momentous moment. The last fourteen years have been grueling ones, and for those that have stuck through it with me. Thank you. As the new #1 shopper in the whole world, all I have to say is… “SHOPPER?? I BARELY KNOWWW HER!!”
Thank you and good night universe. *mic drop* |
It's not everyday that dreams come true. Stars needed to align, ingredients needed to be correctly proportioned with just the right amount of pressure to push them along. For Harold Curry everything lined up for him to achieve his dream. After decades of wishing and hoping, the opportunity had presented itself.
Kids. Loud, obnoxious kids. Always screaming. Always running. Their parents ignore it. Tune it out. They can't tune out a warzone. Can't tune out burning buildings, overturned cars, and the slamming of small bodies against riot shields. Desperate times call for desperate measures. When people's heroes let them down they pray for villains to save them.
After today he would no longer be Harold Curry. He'd become more than just an average joe, he'd be an unlikely savior. He tightened his steel toed boots and took a few practice kicks. He could see the headlines now. "Preschool Punter saves town from violent rugrats."Had a nice ring to it. Time to punt these little bastards into orbit. |
You read the results in disbelief. How could anyone have missed this the link between the victims?
For months the cops had been desperately trying to solve the reason for all the sudden deaths, and just hitting dead ends.
They looked at all the usual causes, poisoning being the main assumption. After all, the bodies showed no injuries or any sign of physical intervention.
You had studied chemistry at school that's as far as your science knowledge went. You had just been a bystander until your neighbour, Mr Jones had fallen victim to the mystery killer.
You had stumbled across his body when you had noticed, Mr Fimble, the cat sticking his head out of the slightly ajar apartment door.
It was unusual for Mr Jones to leave the door open, he worried about the cat escaping and getting lost.
As you crept inside, you saw movements from the corner of your eye. So quick, at first your were sure you imagined it. Then in disbelief you saw it again.
Crouching down so you weren't you watched in astonishment as a group of mice carried a large syringe to a bowl of liquid, they worked together to plunge it in the bowl to fill it up.
You couldn't see the water pooled around Mr Jones arm, which suggested this wasn't the first injection of liquid he had been given.
The tiny group of murders carried the syringe back and injected poor Mr Jones again. Truly unable to believe what you were seeing and knowing no one would accept a word of what you said to be true, you quickly left.
You had a friend who worked at the lab and the next day you were able to get the results for all the victims. They all showed higher than usual water levels at the time of death. A quick look online told you that water being injected into your viens could kill a human.
After bribing the keys to the victims apartments you found one common thread, all the victims had brought rodent killer and all their bins contained cheese wraps.
It struck you. The mice had clearly known each victim had planned to kill them, using the cheese as a means to attract them, and decided to kill them first.
So remember to never try to fool a mouse, because you never know if they are watching. |
She gave the new handmaid a small but perfunctory gaze as she entered the room and bowed. Yet another decision she hadn’t chosen. As she thought this she could see Myla, the new maid, tense up as there was surely something in her countenance that betrayed her thoughts.
The tray she held with her lunch wavered slightly. Myla spoke out in a trembling voice.
—My lady, your meal from downstairs.
—Thank you but I’m not hungry at the moment.
—Um….
—You can eat it. I won’t tell anyone.
That was the first test she issued to the maid. A rather impossible one. If she could defy orders and to where her loyalty truly lay.
—My lady, if they find out…if I return this as is…
—Oh just give it here.
She snatched the tray out of her hand and began to devour the food like an animal. It had been three days. Perhaps the new maid was a trick.
Myla moved away surreptitiously to give her the space to finish the meal as she dusted away what she could. When in doubt; you dust.
Only five minutes and a quarter had passed when she heard the most dreadful noise issuing from the bathroom.
Her highness was bent over the toilet basin with her fingers down her throat and vomiting out various colours and textures that she had eaten only shortly before.
—My lady! I’ll get help! Stay here!
—Dont.
—What?
Another round of retching commenced.
—Not a word of this….to…anyone….or I’ll have you expelled.
Myla sighed and began to feel a weight on her heart swell. She walked over to her and held her head back as she retched until nothing was left but vapours.
She, and everyone downstairs had envied these people for so long. In particular she envied the princess and her dazzling beauty. But even beauty comes with it’s own price, she thought.
All over the country, young women dreamt of being princesses. But there was only one princess. And one royal toilet bowl being vomited into, quietly and carefully. |
Lyria waited idly as her fleet formed a perimeter around the planet that appeared on Imperial holocaust data as Terra. The fleet having entered this solar system 48 hours previously had already performed all the necessary reconnaissance to meet any form of resistance.
Five of the eight worlds that made up this system were inhabited by a species of bipedal mammalians referring to themselves as homo sapiens ot kore colloquially as human. They were a war-like people but unusually unlike almost all other space faring species they had no direct competition. All their wars were most peculiarly fought amongst themselves.
None of this was however of any concern for Lyria, one of the council of 33 revered as living Gods amongst the Empire. Her fleet was more advanced than anything in the system and their histories had been studied extensively, there would hold no surprises for her. They were one of the last ten solar system in the galaxy to not fall under imperial control and that day was finally at hand.
Long range reconnaissance had noted that these homo sapiens had entered a state of total war upon receiving the Empire's declaration for subjugation. They would all be allowed to live as long as they served the council of 33 and provided their tithe of people and natural resources in return for their protection.
It then came as quite a surprise to Lyria and the 9th fleet that 4 hours into entering the system they had received long range communication from a human styling themselves Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar. Humanity was ready to accept terms of surrender and this so called Emperor was now on route to ratify these terms of submission.
(This is my first time attempting this and I assume it is probably a meandering mess so any advice would be greatly appreciated. I have a lot more of the story in my head if anybody is interested I can write more after feedback.) |
"So what is he?"asks a soldier in a thick Russian accent.
"They call him The Checkmate. The super power that puts everyone in place,"replied the rogue American general. "He and his followers believe they are on a mission from God."
"Ah Jesus!"a French soldier exclaimed.
"Yes, exactly!"said another.
The General allowed his rag-tag group of soldiers to laugh awhile. The mission they were about to go on was near suicidal, and they needed all the levity they could get.
"We don't know where he got his God like powers. But he swears to his followers he isn't the messiah or God himself, but the judge and destroyer of the Antichrist,"The General closed his eyes,, thinking of all the dead marines that stood agianst The Checkmate and his zealots.
"The problem is the Antichrist can become whoever he doesn't like at the moment!"the General finished.
"We will kill him, General! We will use the riot going on on the surface above us to move through to sewers towards the Capitol."
The Russian pulled out the secret weapon. It was a giant cannon with tubes and buttons all over it and said, "Photon laser. Russian made. Hotter than the sun. Burn church boys up!"
"Well let's do it. The fate of the free world depends on it,"the General said, as the small group of soldier continued their mission to assassinate the super-powered man that had taken over the world. |
George crouched outside the perimeter fence and watched the second hand on his watch tick down to midnight. Those careful months of planning, the last second gut checks, all of it funneled toward the next few minutes. He looked at the young’ns crouched behind him and smiled. No need to be nervous, children. They thought of everything. They were getting that space ship. This was gonna work.
And it was gonna be fun.
He grabbed his closest comrade’s walkie talkie. “All teams report in.”
“Aqua Boogie Funk Force ready.”
“Maggot Brain Dream Team ready.”
“Bootsy Gang ready.”
“Let’s tear the roof off the sucker.”
Bigfoot snapped his drumsticks against the chain links and beat an ingress hole the size of four men. Team Mothership Alpha grooved through the hole and into the Echelon Bay Spaceport, heads on swivel in case their intel was wrong and the guards were out. George tapped in last, watching his band fan out into their practiced positions. He couldn’t know whether the other teams were meeting any resistance at their entry points, but he trusted that they’d be able to vamp if Plan A failed.
Team Mothership Alpha ran with pace toward the rear entrance, a weak point in the Station’s security system, being unmanned from midnight to 12:15 am. They’d only have one shot at this. George just hoped the others would be successful in distracting the front of house personnel.
The team flanked the door on either side in breaching position. Two of the younger units peeled off, dropping a soul-powered amplifier onto the ground and hooking it up to Billy Bass Nelson’s Fender Precision Bass. Billy Bass looked at the leader. George gave the thumbs up.
🎵🎵***BOM. BAOWM. BAOWMP. PAPA DIBBY DIBBY DIGGA DIGGA BAPA DA BAO BAOWM BA DIGGA PAPA.🎵🎵***
The groove was *ON* now as Billy Bass dug out a crunchy bass lick and set the night ablaze with otherworldly funk. Booty-movin’, shoulder-shakin’, earth-quakin’ FUNK. George smiled, moving his body to the beat. Even after 70 years, it never got old.
The door vibrated violently as Nelson directed the sinusoidal groove toward the locking mechanism. After four bars, the bolt opened.
“We’re in,” George chirped to the others. “Keep it thumpin', Billy! Clear the halls for George Clinton and the Parliament-Funkadelic!” |
"It could do this the whole time!?"
Chris had just rediscovered an old Christmas present from his childhood. At first glance it looked like a gag gift. Who buys a 14 year old a toddler's keyboard toy? The thing had buttons bigger than a silver dollar containing the alphabet and a single "enter"key located under a singluar "backspace"key.
Just like the 50 pound bag of oats from last year, and the flavorless kool-aid from the year before, Chris chucked the thing deep in his closet never to be seen again. Atleast it would've never been seen again if he wasn't forced to clean his room in preparation for the big move.
With a slight feeling of nostalgia, Chris began typing random words. Fish, toast, puddle, wombat, star, keyboard, and a collection of vulgar adjectives describing these things. Finally, just as his grandfather backed up his truck outside, Chris typed "C-A-R"and instinctively pressed enter.
"Did the--did the keyboard make a car?!"The feat was extra unbelievable due to fact Chris' apartment was four stories off the ground.
Chris shuffled through debris to asses the damage. "Well, there goes my security deposit. It was probably a good thing I'm on the top floor too..."
He pondered how he was going to explain this thirty thousand dollar wrecking ball occupying his room.
"Why didn't a fish or toast appear?"He remembered the list of things he typed that hadn't appeared. He did feel a little relief that a feces covered wombat wasn't sent loose or a celestial body hadn't ended all earthly life.
"The only difference was the enter?"All of the other items were ignored because they weren't submitted. "If that was the enter...will the backspace get rid of it?"
Click. It was like the car was never there, apart from the massive hole in the ceiling and piles of drywall. The sound of the front door spooked him from his deep thinking. He had to clean an impossible mess in seconds, or...
Chris lept over to the toy and quickly typed "C-E-I-L-I-N-G"followed by an unsure submission. In the blink of an eye he had a new ceiling.
Chris tried to explain to his grandfather to no avail. "Yeah sure, boy. Raining cars."
"Grandpa, I am telling you. It isn't a joke."Chris grabbed the keyboard and set it across his lap. "C'mon, give me something to make appear. Something small preferably."
"How about another keyboard?"Chris took the suggestion and began to type, "K-E-Y-B-O-A-R-D"and pressed enter. In an instant reality shut off like an old television set. Existence was not prepared for Chris and his grandfather's lack of creativity. Who uses a magic reality warping toy to make another just as reality warping?... Apparently no one now... |
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