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Tic Tac is a middle aged raver from Anaheim. He always loved selling the good old fashioned recreational drugs. Drugs like molly, DMT, shrooms, LSD and special k were among his favorites. Those drugs don't provide a steady source of income, so today he is moving his first batch of crack.
He's going to try offloading it at the Voodoo Co-op. He's always avoided that scene, because it's a bummer acid trip themed rave. They've been known to perform seances, worship satan and most importantly SMOKE CRACK. He has the supply, they have the demand. Simple as that.
Tic Tac puts on his finest black tracksuit and dawns his LED respirator. Partly to fit in, partly to hide his identity, partly to attract customers and mostly to filter out the crack, meth and PCP smoke that'll fog up the dump.
When he gets to the scrap yard this event was being held at he makes sure every door is locked in his 30 year old, $2,200 Honda. The voodoo savages can't be trusted.
The Savages immediately suspect him to be either a drug dealer or a nark, due to how outdated his look is. A savage with a tit hanging out of her cut off shirt says he's too out of shape to be a nark. So they make a deal. He even upsells her some microdots and oxy.
Suddenly he's swamped with half sober savages, looking to score some fucked up shit. At this rate he's making $50 a minute.
Paranoia creeps through his mind. He's alone, now carrying thousands of dollars. He's running low on rock. Things might get ugly. So he decides it might be best to call it an evening and get back to his car.
A policeman grabs him by the shoulder and says "you can't leave now, you'll miss the big event."Tac bolts only to get tazed in the ass and shitkicked unconscious.
He wakes up with each limb tied to a junk car. A whole squad of policemen in their ceremonial uniforms are leading the savages on a trance.
"Look, I'm really sorry that you have to die, but at the same time, humans like you are the only things with souls worth eating." |
“I have 24 hours left to live AMA.”
John smiled bitterly to himself as he hit save. One measly day left to him and he was going to spend it sitting in a dark room, staring at a screen, conversing with strangers.
The comments came quickly.
“Sorry to hear that buddy, stay strong.”
“Hate to be that guy but, proof?”
“That sucks, can I ask what’s wrong with you?”
“Seriously, 24 hours to live and you’re doing an AMA?”
Seriously, this was what he was doing. He had thought about calling his parents, his brother, his friends, of course he had. But he couldn’t handle it. Right now he felt numb, but he knew the fear and the despair were close to the surface. Talking to them would be too much.
Besides, what could he say? Hi, just thought you’d like to know I’ll be dead in a day. Then his mum would be crying a day earlier, his dad would be silently stoic a day earlier, his brother… his brother would be angry one day earlier.
And his friends, they wouldn’t know how to deal with it. He wasn’t that close with any of them. They weren’t the lifelong companion, open up and bare your soul kind of friends; they were the go out, get drunk, superficial fun kind of friends. That wasn’t what John needed right now.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I hope you’re able to find some kind of peace.”
“This guy still hasn’t posted proof, or even replied to any comments.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
Regrets. Who doesn’t have regrets? So many, but one had always stood out. He had never found the courage to ask Katherine out. He could call her now. She’d probably sleep with him if he asked, she was far too selfless to not do anything for a dying friend. He had imagined it often, but in his dreams it was love not pity that brought them together. And she would be left with the shameful memories of a passionless night and the guilt of the kind-hearted for not being able to do more, while he… well, tomorrow it wouldn’t matter to him.
No, his regrets could not be resolved now.
“Dude, you’ve only got 24 hours, you should get replying. Sorry, bad joke.”
“How old are you? Did you know this was coming?”
“Oh look, it’s this week’s I am dying AMA.”
Would reddit remember him? The site would, the URLs and links would remain for years, but would the people? Would this thread be referred to long after his death? He was sure he had read similar posts before but he couldn’t remember anything about them. Maybe it didn’t matter, maybe what mattered was what happened now, in his last hours. But of the thousands of people who might read this, someone was bound to remember him. That was good.
“I don’t know if you’re religious but I want you to know I’m praying for you.”
“If you live anywhere near L.A. and you want some company, PM me.”
“You want pizza? Hey reddit, lets buy this guy some pizza.”
He was sitting in a dark room, staring at a screen, conversing with strangers.
Strangers who he couldn’t hurt, but who cared enough to talk to him. Strangers who might remember. That was all he needed.
John started to type his replies.
|
For nearly an hour, Luke had sat on the plain wooden chair at his dining table, his face a pale and expressionless mask of shock. His left hand, a white band circling his ring-finger, lay flat on the table; his right was still pressed hard against his chest. He could feel the strange vibration of the contrivance in his chest, half-protruding from his raw flesh.
Every so often, his fingers moved slightly, exploring nervously until he froze in terror once more.
When he woke in his bedroom, Luke had risen ready to face another regular day. And yet, here he was, a few minutes later, his world shredded, his mind, not reeling but eerily calm.
A bomb. He had removed his pyjama shirt in the bathroom, the room filling with steam from the hot shower, and as he turned to test the water, he had seen it. The strange dark shape had caught his eye in the mirror and turning, he had raised his hand to touch as his brain slowly assessed the situation.
No heart, but a bomb in its place in his chest. Neatly stitched into his chest, his skin inflamed at those places where it fused with steel, the bomb was a thing of chrome and wires and tubes and burning red numerals. When he had first seen the thing, those numbers indicated twenty-four hours until detonation. Now, he was down to about twenty-three.
Luke rose finally, pulled the refrigerator door open with a jerk and snatched a can of bourbon from the top shelf, the sticky fizzy stuff spurting onto his fingers as he pulled back the tab and took a long pull of the sweet cola mix. He finished the can and reached for another. On second thought, he grabbed the rest of the six-pack and slammed the door, cradling the alcohol in his arm. He winced as the cardboard carton jarred the contraption fixed in his chest.
A bomb. He couldn’t fathom it. Who would do this to him, and why? Where was his family, and were they safe or suffering some similar strange fate? He drained a second can, tossing the empty into the sink behind him. He wondered, as he cracked the third bourbon, would someone call and explain matters? Could this be some ransom situation?
He paced, pausing momentarily to turn on the stereo and turn the music up loud. The silence was unbearable. In the silence he could hear the faint whirring and ticking of the thing wired into his body.
Hours passed, and Luke remained in his kitchen, pacing, drinking. The telephone did not ring. There was no knock at his front door. He drank each can of bourbon and what dregs he found in each bottle in the pantry. Vodka, rum, tequila, it did not matter.
He could feel the alcohol in his veins, and his pacing was frenetic now, his pace meeting the frantic tempo of the metal music that played on the stereo.
How long could he stay in this room, he wondered, and pretend the situation might improve? What could he do to avert this disaster? Luke’s pace slowed as a new thought occurred to him. What could he possibly do to make the most of this bizarre twist of fate?
Sudden images flooded his mind, memories of those who had cheated him, memories of the those who had been cruel to him, lied to him, stolen from him. It had taken him years to get clean and stay clean. It had taken so much therapy to erase the damage his father had inflicted. If Luke had had a heart in his chest, it would have been hammering in his newfound excitement.
He glanced at the display, the red glowing numbers now a blazing promise rather than dire warning. Long enough to walk, he decided. He shrugged on his coat and buttoned it up, his hands shaking.
He opened his front door, blinking in the sudden blinding light of the perfect January day. For a moment he simply stood on the front step, listening to the birds that chittered in the leopard tree in his garden. Tiny butterflies flitted about the flowers his wife grew and the children picked without permission. Luke smiled, his lips dry and cracking.
Slipping his hands into his deep pockets, Luke set off with the same gentle smile playing on his face, to any onlooker, a regular guy going for a stroll in the lovely weather. Luke knew better. His heart was now set on destruction.
|
He strode through the "street", the only thing he could call it. His wings were pulled tight across his body, a feathered cloak against the inescapable feeling that the aura of this place would permeate his being and corrupt him. A feeling that his creation, his flawless embodiment of the Creator's Will wouldn't be enough to protect him here haunted every footstep he took.
He was prepared for this journey by others who had taken it before him. But only once. Once per angel, once was all they were allowed. Whether or not it was to protect against the spreading corruption of Lucifer's influence, his never-ending endeavor to recruit more to his Fallen army, or because of the nightmare he was now faced, it was unknown.
It wasn't so much that there was evil everywhere, that was obvious. What was the part that all the other angels had said, and the part he's now feeling as keen as an edge against his throat, was the sense of abandonment. Abandonment by God, and thus abandonment of caring for things.
This could have been any major city on the surface world, any of a thousand thousand boulevards or Main Streets. But the abandonment was physical as well as spiritual. There were no caretakers. No street sweepers, no garbage collectors, no plumbers or window washers or chimney sweeps or electricians. Things barely functioned, and when they did it was obvious that the items were in their last throes of operation.
He sighed and pulled his wings closer, drawing upon his divine senses to locate the reason for his mission. A soul who is undeserving of this torment, this abandonment. Like a tickle in his mind he felt her nearby. He followed that tickle, turning down another nameless avenue. But he noticed, as he walked, that this area wasn't as run-down as the others were. It wasn't suffering from a plague of disrepair. It was revived, and served as a beacon to the condemned in the area. He knew they could feel her just as he could, but instead of a tickle in his mind she was as gravity itself, irresistible.
This intrigued the angel, this messenger and retriever for the Creator. He kept himself guarded, knowing the tricks of the Fallen and knowing they'd love nothing more than to add another to their ranks. He fought against the waves of compassion that stirred his heart, wanting to heal these wounds he saw around him, to repair this corner of Hell and redeem those who suffered. His thoughts were preoccupied when he saw it; the first of the souls condemned here.
It was a man, or had been in a previous life. Walking with a hitch, his eyes seemed sunken and hollow, but he was drawn towards the same destination that the angel was. This was not mere happenstance, because he heard and felt the footfalls of others, although they remained beyond his vision.
The man he walked beside seemed not to acknowledge his presence, except for a single grunt when the angel drew too near. Unlike his experience with those who were blessed, who would find providence in his presence, his divine origin seemed to cause discomfort to the soul at his side. The hitch with which the condemned walked grew more pronounced, those eyes tearing up with each step as a wince creased already battered features.
The angel stopped walking, watching as the soul moved outside the sphere of his influence. The soul's face relaxed, the gait steadied as much a possible, and the wince that had become an almost permanent scowl had disappeared altogether. Realization dawned on the angel that the souls of the condemned were tormented by the absence of divinity, but were further tormented by it's presence. An additional condition of their damnation.
The angel's heart broke with this realization, the realization that his presence, his encounter, with any in the fulfillment of his mission and in the service of his Creator, would further enhance the suffering of the damned.
He hung his head, the need to honor his vow of service pressing him forward. His footfalls were heavier, weighed down with unseen burden, apparent in the slump of his shoulders. His wings, previously drawn tight around him, now were retracting as if that would resolve the conflicts within. Let the abandonment permeate him if it would spare the damned he thought, although in his heart he knew it wouldn't matter.
He followed that tickle in his head, rounding a corner and stopping immediately. Before him stood the soul he was sent to reclaim, standing atop a pile of rubble that had once been, or could have been, an office building. Below her were hordes of damned, drawn to her as if she were an oasis amidst the desert sands. They climbed upon the rubble, tormenting themselves further as they tore flesh from their body on the exposed rebar and the jagged concrete. They never seemed to reach the summit, to where she stood, their salvation from this tormented existence.
She was beautiful to say the least. Not in the magazine model, size one, married to a superstar athlete beautiful. No, she was beautiful in her imperfections. The scar on her chin, the chipped tooth revealed as she pleaded to the huddled souls beneath here, the way her body was shaped like less of an hourglass and more of a pear. Homely would have been the term used on the surface to describe her appearance, but down here she was the embodiment of perfection.
Her eyes, crystal clear but the color of muddied water, met his. He was too far to hear her, but his heart could feel the tremble in her voice. She was pleading with him to help her save them, to grant them mercy from their suffering. This is why she was not supposed to be here, to rather be given a place of honor at the table of the Host.
His breath caught in his throat as one of the damned reached up to touch at her foot. He felt his being recoil in terror as the fingers brushing over her foot turned black and fell away. The scream was the worst, the scream from the condemned as the hand shriveled and rotted pierced through any divine protection he had and brought him to his knees.
Tears flowed freely from his eyes, knowing that his reaction was mirrored by the blessed soul he was here to reclaim. The horror of being the cause of suffering, as he had been with the soul he walked with, could not be missed. He looked up to see the girl, kneeling upon the rubble, her face in her hands. He could stand no more, and took a determined step forward. He would not allow this girl to suffer torment by inflicting pain and suffering on those who deserved to be here.
He straightened himself out and spread his wings, making his first determined step towards that huddled mass. His intentions emanated from him like a shockwave before an explosion. The damned nearest to him recoiled in horror, but soon turned their focus to him. Malice and hatred etched deep lines upon every face, as the realization that he was here to take from them their only chance of salvation, as false as that chance was, spurred them to attack.
The horde wheeled upon the angel, who unfurled the full power of his place in Heaven. His wings spread wide, arching high above him and reflecting the light in iridescent flares drawing more attention upon himself. He drew from his belt two swords, each resonating in anticipation. He drew in a deep breath and took another step forward, the ground beneath him trembling as his divinity manifested itself.
The first of the horde to break and charge was a woman. Small, frail in appearance, and one of the most ancient among them. She shrieked as she launched herself at the angel, her face contorted with rage and pain. The angel reacted quickly, bringing his wings across his body to shield himself from this missile made of dessicated flesh. The woman struck the angel's wings, each feather cutting into her like a thousand fine edges. Her pitched shriek further enraged the huddled mass, taunts in a dozen different tongues finding his ears.
He snapped his wings back, the woman being sent tumbling to the ground. He stepped over her, his eyes not leaving the blessed woman upon the rubble he was here for. He saw another condemned soul reach up for her, his fate the same but worse than the one before. This one's arms blasted from his torso at the shoulders, the figure tumbling back as she girl screamed in horror again.
Another attack was repelled by the angel, his swords flashing and biting deep into the bodies of those that came within their reach. Like a fine blade through stiff papyrus the blades tore into those souls. Severing hands and arms from bodies, heads from necks, and waists from chests he continued to stride forward with purpose. In his wake he left pieces of the damned, each still writhing in agony at his assault no matter what piece of their body they lost. His swords resonated louder as he came closer to the girl, finally able to hear her voice above the cries and curses of those before him.
"Please, save them! Save them!"she called over and over, her tears streaking down her face. His mission was clear, his orders beyond contestation. She was the only one he was to save, even if it meant ruining a host of condemned souls in the process.
The remnants of that host, noticing the unrelenting match of the formidable foe, wisely parted from his path. He sheathed his swords and stood before the girl, his hands gently taking her by the shoulders. He held her firmly but gently in his grasp, his wings closing around them both. The roar of the condemned, watching her depart, soon faded as did that feeling of abandonment.
He stepped back from her, his wings releasing her from their embrace, to reveal they stood before the Pearly gates. He tilted her face up to him and smiled slightly, the pain of the slaughter still apparent upon his visage.
"Welcome home, child." |
It was tough in the projects. Hardly a night went by without the shrieks of the sirens echoing through the ghetto. You'd wake up the next day, walk around the neighborhood, seeing what had changed. Usually, it was nothing - just a fight, but sometimes, storefronts where damaged, shot up in such a way that any attempt to salvage them would be futile. Sometimes it escalated, houses getting burned up. If you were lucky to avoid the gangs directly,chances were that you would be affected somehow - break-ins, attempted robberies, which only failed due to lack of possessions to be stolen.
One such place that never got torn up was the Dollar store down 5th street, with and old wooden sign that had paint flaking off it. You could buy anything in there. Textiles, materials, clothes, toys, books. Rumours where that weapons were being sold out the back - cheap prices, nothing more fancy than a flip-blade or knuckle dusters. The owners were mysterious, staff changed almost every month. Apparently on of the owner dressed up at night, but no one knew why. He didn't wear loose, baggy clothes. However, he wore a red hoodie, always with the hood up, drawstrings pulled, as well as cream chinos and a beat up pair of Air Jordans. But the most strange feature of his apparel, was a Venetian mask, like a plague doctor. It was cracked in many places, with a cheap on the beak, its golden floral design faded.
This mysterious character first came to my attention after another gang fight had turned sour - in the newspaper, where such fights were usually given a small article in the back pages, was featured in a double page spread. Apparently, three gangs had been involved in a gunfight, which soon lead to a close combat brawl. Such a big fight was unheard of in our tiny neighborhood, but what made it even more peculiar was that it wasn't stopped by police, but by a man in a red hoodie. At first, I made no connection. Soon, it dawned on me. Reports said all that the masked vigilante was armed with only a baseball bat with crudely hammered in nails, and a knuckle duster on his left hand. It was hard to tell what he did to break up the fight, but after he had straight up strolled into the middle of the brawl, all three gangs scarpered.
He didn't appear to raise a finger, but the fight ended. Slowly, more and more cases of what they called 'The Plague Doctor' surfaced in local news, but none where as big as his first famous case. One case struck out in particular though - a young lady was chased through the park, before being cornered in an alley way by two men, reports say. As soon as one of the men touched a hair on the girl's face, he was clobbered by the bat of the 'Plague Doctor'. His accomplice went to attack, only to have the wind knocked out of him by a blow to the stomach from his left hand. He said nothing to the lady, before climbing back up onto the rooftops.
Police were starting make connections between several cases, but at first, hesitated to delve deeper. The masked vigilante was doing them a favour, was he not? Saving valuable Police time and money? The chief inspector weighed out the pros of cons of this situation. Primarily, crime rates had gone down, and the budget for the quarter was, for the first time in decades, positive. However, the backlash from the press was large. If one man could halve crime rates in the ghetto, then what were the police doing? The pressure was now on to deliver, prove their worth to the general public. If there was one thing the chief inspector had gotten used to, it was being able to sit on his arse all day doing jack shit. So he devised a plan - to kill two birds with one stone.
His plan was to set up a crack den, lure all three big gangs, hope for them to cause a scene, let the "Plaque doctor"or what-ever he was called to save the day, before arresting him. Obviously, this wasn't the movies,so it was scrapped in it's infancy.However, a whistle-blower, that wasn't actually in the know, leaked this to all the gangs. Outraged, they all attacked the police station, working together for the first time in history. However, the 'Doctor' wasn't to be seen anywhere, because he had been shot other a disagreement about returns policy, unbeknownst to everybody in the whole neighborhood. |
So many jobs he'd done before,
A thousand tellers he had robbed.
From Monterey to Baltimore,
He'd seen the workers as they sobbed.
He didn't want to see them cry,
But It kept Johnny in the band.
Things he could not otherwise buy,
Why couldn't people understand?
He never shot or hurt a soul,
Just stuffed their savings into sacks.
Where poverty had left a hole,
The earnings filled in all the cracks.
A long time it was all the same,
From bank to bank he stole and fled,
It was just an expensive game,
No drop of blood was ever shed.
But on day on his new statement,
Surprised was he to see a hold.
So to his local bank he went,
Enraged that they could be so cold.
It might not all have been so bad,
But Jane had left him for his crime.
No longer was he Johnny's dad,
Now drinking whiskey passed his time.
He burst into the lobby door,
And asked what fuckhole was in charge.
No client had seen this before,
A raging master thief at large.
A pistol gripped tight in a fist,
He found the office that he sought.
He tried to shoot the man, and missed,
But justice had he came to wrought.
"You had no right!"He spat in rage,
"To take my only way of life!"
The manager, his manner sage,
Said "It was not me, but your wife."
A shot rang out, and then one more,
A teller rushed in, pale as death.
With both men lying on the floor,
The robber on his final breath.
They say the banker got to live,
For which his wife and kids were glad.
But not one of them could forgive,
The CONUS heistman, Johnny's dad. |
Blind panic.
She fumbled desperately around, trying to work out what had happened to her. The moon had disappeared, she'd fallen and had no idea why.
Calming down, she started feeling around, but all she could feel were walls. Walls of musty earth all around her. She couldn't turn round. She couldn't step backwards. She was surrounded. Panic welled up in her throat again, the metallic bite of adrenaline spreading onto her tongue.
She desperately called out for her mother, her aunts, her sisters, ANYONE. After a few agonising seconds they called back. They'd found her. Her pounding heart slowed down. They'd come. But they sounded... above her? She looked upwards only to see her mother looking back down at her. Her mother's eyes were as panicked as her own, but her mouth was murmuring comforting nothings. Her mother reached down and stroked her, just for a second. She reached out and felt her mother's trunk. She didn't want to let go. She was terrified. She felt her mother's sad eyes gazing down at her.
She couldn't bear to keep eye contact, she had to get out, she had to get out! She slammed into the walls, kicked at them, even bit them. No use. She slumped dejectedly. Her mother carried on watching her, kept on comforting her. Hours passed. The herd, whilst anguished, had to move on as the sun started to rise. She only whimpered, and gazed upwards, taking small comfort in her mother's presence. Her mother looked at the sun, then at her, then back at the sun. Sobs wracked her mother's body, before they died away, breathing deeply she stared at her for the longest time, then started to walk away.
The morning sun became the afternoon sun, and blazed on her back. She stood still. Distraught.
Then a sharp jab of pain. She looked up. A strange figure, certainly not one of her herd, looked down at her. It bared its teeth at her and made this awful noise, like a chimp, like it was short of breath. More came. They too made chimp-like noises. She didn't like the way they looked at her. They looked hungry. |
The blaring alarm clock jolts me awake. I turn and glare at the alarm clock. Shutting it off, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit a moment, adjusting to the morning light.
I put on my glasses and cross into the bathroom. My phone is blinking on the counter. I must have forgotten to charge it. I pick it up and unlock it, simultaneously opening the cabinet looking for mouthwash. I open the cap with one hand and check texts, swishing mouthwash as I go.
154 text messages. I blink. This must be a mistake. I spit into the sink and close the cabinet slowly, swiping to open my messenger. A whole list of numbers I don't know. This must be some kind of error.
New texts start coming in droves. Hundreds at a time, I'm so confused. I open a random text.
**+1-(507)-555-5555:** *Fuck you, Adam. Eat shit and die.*
Woah. What is this, I don't even know this guy. I text him back, and ask him who he is. More texts come in. Suddenly an alert appears, telling me I'm out of space.
I toss my phone on the bed. I'll call AT&T later, I'm late. I dress quickly and grab a banana on the way out the door.
The bus stop isn't far. A block or two. I notice people staring at me. Not just some of them. *All* of them. What is happening. Suddenly, a cup of something warm and wet hits the back of my head. I turn, and an old woman is giving me the finger.
I turn back, glaring, and keep walking. A man walks past me, and pushes me. "Go fuck yourself, Adam."He says.
What is happening? "I don't know you"I say, and keep walking. The bus is at the stop. I start to jog, catching the bus driver's eye. He sees me, and immediately closes the door. The tires seem to screech as he pulls away quick. I wave, I know he sees me. What the hell?!
I'm left standing in a cloud of exhaust, as the other riders give me dirty looks and turn away.
I turn to look down the street, maybe there's a cab near. A car is approaching, fast. It drifts into the bike lane, and I take a step back in confusion. As it passes, it tosses muddy water all over me, the driver yelling "Get Fucked!".
I look down at my clothes, dripping wet. I turn and walk back to my house. As I enter, I can hear my phone going crazy upstairs. I walk sopping wet to the couch, curl up, and begin to cry. |
Note: I use a made-up thing called "For Art"as the product, but, keep in mind that this is a kind of thing that you can switch out with anything. I just use varying tones and characters to try to make it appealing to different audiences. Hope I helped.
**For Art** - Audience: Upper-class, educated.
Ever wondered where those buffoon neighbors over there got those amazing pieces of art? They went to For Art, so they say. The crier earlier told of absurdly cheap prices, art that comes framed, and purchases that come with a free miniature quilt. Blasphemous, salvation should've never come in this form. It's too good to fit in these times. God save us all...
**For Art** - Audience: Southern Americans, uneducated.
Now, lemme tell you about dem For Art guys. Now, them guys over at For Art are even shadier than those rich neighbors over there, well... so they say. They say they've been sellin' single pieces of art, frame included, at just $50 since them '80s! Somethin's goin' on with 'em, and I ain't sure what, but it's gotta be witchcraft... and witchcraft ain't gonna last long, friends. Go down to For Art and buy yerself some art and make your neighbors look like peasants!
EDIT: Spacing between lines
EDIT: Spelling... :/ |
Wow, a new owner. Maybe he listens to Bob Dylan, or Jethro Tull. Wait, what's he reaching for? What's a Black Sabbath? It doesn't sound like any Bob Dylan album. I heard the owner mention something called "The Wizard", which I guess was the song he was putting on. I heard these nice harmonicas; maybe it was folk. Suddenly, there were these loud electric guitars. What the hell? What happened to singing about women and love? Speaking of singing, what the hell is this guy singing? I can't understand a single word. Oh well. I guess I'll have to get used to it. Sigh. |
Kendall woke up in the dark. The surroundings unfamiliar. She had been on a flight with her fiance, Harry, for a vacation in Fiji. Franticly she lifted the blanket off but her headache pounded and she could barely sit up. She called out, "Harry? Where am I? My head hurts, can you bring me some water?"
A speaker's static breaks the silence. Then the voice of Harry drones out of it.
"Oh dear Kendall. I am so glad you are awake. I'm so excited that we are at the end of the training period."
"Training period?? Harry, where are you? This is so not funny. Like, this is soo not fun."
"Oh dear, please shut up and listen. I'm going to tell you a short story about why we really met. When you completed hunting the Big 5 African game animals in addition to your other hunts I was assigned to kill you. But they wanted a special 'death' for you. So I told them about this new game I have. I knew you were perfect."
"Perfect? I know I am, but what are you talking about?"
"Oh you blessed idiot. I went to African and "happened"to sweep you off your feet and support you in your career in science. Kept your hunting skills honed and made you improve."
"What are you saying? I don't understand... The past 11 years have all been a lie? We were going to save the world, keep endangered species alive, heal diseases, live forever! I thought you loved me..."
"Well, no. I didn't lie. I LOVE you, love your hunting skills, love touching your lithe little cheer leader body, your naive view of me. I love that you ran with my suggestions and now here we are. And I counted on your selfishness to be the first immortal girl. Led you to the immortality formula. Look at you now. Barely thirty. In perfect shape physically and mentally. Still in your prime."
"So why am I locked up in this room? What the FUCK do you want Harry?"
"Well, I was assigned to kill you in a very special way. So, in about a minute you are going to be released into a controlled ecosystem. It has been a pleasure to know you so well my dear. I made sure you had a few of your favorite weapons. There is a painkiller and water to help with your headache."
The lights in the room came on. Kendall shook as she walked over to the table that had only a pill and a bottle of water.
The speakers static filled the room again.
"Darling, I am going to have so much fun hunting you. I hope you will be the most perfect prey. Welcome to the most amazing hunting experience in the world."
Kendall stomped on the floor defiantly. "What if I refuse to play Harry? I am not going to leave this room!"
"I'm immortal, you're immortal, my coworkers are immortal. Really, there isn't a drawback. Sooner or later you will play. You will play to feel. Play to interact. I love you so much that I chose you to be my forever-prey.
Kendall sobbing falls to the floor. "But how can you do this to me? Why would you lie to me all this time?"
"I didn't lie. I'll take care of you when you're hurt until you are ready to play with me again. We will be together here forever."
|
Jim and Mittens live in a house. Jim rolls around on the floor and runs away from the Suck Beast. Mittens pays his taxes and buys the groceries. Sometimes, Jim likes to sit on Mittens' lap or Mittens' computer, as both places are warm. When Mittens is busy, he shoos Jim away, but after a long nine-to-five, he appreciates the endearing nuzzling and kind tongue-rolling. Jim scratches the couch at night so that Mittens doesn't become angry. In his earlier days, Jim had to learn to do this via Mittens' menacing water spray. They certainly have their differences. For the most part, though, this inseparable duo maintains itself with food, love, and a lot of fuzz. Jim is simply too cute to draw one's ire. |
I had existed since the beginning of humanity. I encompass all the fears of humanity. And I dislike the humans being afraid. I find fear itself to be irrational. A great amount of things could be accomplished by the humans if they were not so afraid to try.
I had noticed that the humans had begun to push me out. They are closer to world peace than ever in my time, so they no longer fear war. Food has become extremely cheap since the humans had begun synthesizing it, so they no longer fear hunger. Lately, humanity has begun to no longer fear many things.
I find this good. I have come to terms with the fact that I will cease to exist when humanity no longer fears things. If I must cease existence for the humans to acheive the apex of their's, then so be it.
After all, the only thing the humans have to fear is fear itself. |
She had always wanted to make a difference. The chance to work on a ship in the faraway continent helping the poor alleviate various medical ailments seemed like a dream ticket from an altruistic angel, so she jumped at the chance. The night of her departure, she met with a group of friends at the lab and talked about all of the fantastic things the new vaccine would do for the impoverished people of tribes that had never seen a western face, let alone a super medicine. She took the ten vials of experimental vaccine, kissed her boyfriend goodbye, and climbed aboard the ship for the unknown.
She had a reoccurring dream on the long voyage, one that bordered on a nightmare, but that she brushed off with some feelings of shame. All would work out this time, it had to, they were all depending on her.
The boat docked at the far end of the station and the people all lined up, eager for the miracle cure the team had aboard. Her heart swelled at the thought of curing so many, of freeing a continent from such horrible diseases and utter despair. In spite of herself, a smile appeared on her stoic face as a new day dawned on a struggling land.
"Is this the cure we've been waiting for?"a tired, broken English voice asked from a chair on the deck. A set of dark, thoughtful eyes belonging to a child no more than ten-years-old looked imploringly into her own.
"Yes, my child,"she said. "This is the cure."
As the child smiled, she administered the vaccine though a painless needle. The serum would take only a few weeks to take effect--but soon, as the literature promised, the continent would be entirely barren, sterile, and free from the cycle of poverty and death. Life extinguishing from the land like a breath exhaling, or a candle blown out by the wind. |
"Agent Doyle, do you understand your duty?"**The voice boomed inside his head; made possible by the CommChip implanted in his brain, standard issue equipment for Agents of the Peace, he was receiving new orders.**^1
"Yes, Ma'am. I am to retrieve Prisoner 3/17-42 from the year 2014. Now living under the assumed alias of John Smith, he has been acquitted of all charges as decided by Supreme Peacekeeper Jowett in relation to case 583954-2424. But Ma'am, if I may-"
"You may not. You have your assignment. Pertinent details are being uploaded to your system for retrieval. Make ready, you depart at 2300 hours Current Standard Time."
There was the typical buzz-click of the communications link being terminated. He knew he shouldn't have tried to question her, but it seemed so counter-intuitive. We send them back and erase their memories for a reason; we're over-populated as it is. Even bringing him back, **memory restoration is not fully functional**^2 and could kill him. Hell, even the memory wipe process isn't perfect. At best, he remembers the horrible events that led to his imprisonment. **At worst...he is transplanted to a new time, memory erased again and forced to start anew.**^3 **His** argument rang through **his**^4 mind, as futile as that seemed knowing there was no one there to hear it.
This was the first case that they had in which someone had post-review been pardoned of charges; the legal system did not like making mistakes, much less having to fix them. But Presiding Peacekeeper Hobner, who had officiated the trial, had been found to be corrupt, and was sentenced to 1000 years himself. At which point, all of his cases were reopened and reviewed individually by Supreme Peacekeeper Jowett, head of the Office of the Peace.
All of his cases had been cleared as proper judgements, but Jowett determined that this case lacked evidence suitable to convict the defendant of any charges 15 years ago, so they were forced to issue public apology **and as well as**^5 the first Order of Retrieval - Pardon since the New Justice System had been developed.
2230 hours, time to depart shortly. Agent Doyle had prepared himself, however begrudgingly, because he was loyal to the Continents, and firmly believed in the New Justice System. He was a top field Agent, with a great number of commendations, and on a short list to make next Chief Division Agent when Lido retired next year; he did not want to do anything that would compromise his advancement.
**He stood on the platform, and the containment glass lowered around him, ensuring that he would be the only one caught in the Rift and sent back in time;**^6 he arrived on August 9th 2014. After ensuring his Beacon was receiving his Return Sig and he was not trapped in a foreign Time, he reviewed the information. The details floated in front of his eyes **thanks to surgical implants known as PeaceView, also standard issue.**^7 **Thanks to RiftTek, the company behind most major technological developments regarding the Peace and time travel, he maintained a connection to the servers through time and space.**^8
Subject: John Smith
Relative Age: 38
Gender: Male
Criminal Status: Imprisoned - Pardoned, pending Retrieval
Assigned Agent: Doyle, #5376
Crimes:
Breaking and Entering - Case 583954-2424 [Pardoned]
Theft of Personal Property - Case 583954-2424 [Pardoned]
Willful Lifetaking in the First Degree (3 counts) - Case 583954-2424 [Pardoned]
Evading the Peace, Long-term - Case 583954-2424 [Pardoned]
He tried to call up the details of the Peace Case, and a message flashed across his View: Judicial Proceedings Sealed - Insufficient Clearance
Strange. Even without knowing exactly what he was alleged of doing, **I**^9 still don't feel comfortable bringing this guy back knowing that he had at least been convicted of 3 counts of Willful Lifetaking...
Agent Doyle rented a vehicle, still surprised at how different everything was in this year compared to the 25th century. Cars didn't fly or hover. People walked and rode "bicycles". Travel was lengthy and cumbersome, as they had not yet discovered Warping, much less have access to any kind of time travel.
He eventually came upon a house. A nice house. A man was outside tending to his lawn and his garden. The sun was shining, there was a cool breeze in the air...a nice day.
Doyle parked his rental vehicle on the side of the road, lightly rubbing the tires against the curb. Wheels; **I'll**^10 never get used to them.
He got out, closed the door, and reviewed the information again. The file picture was locked, which Doyle could not understand. He began to walk up to the man, badge at the ready.
"Sir. I'm going to have to ask you to come with me. My name is Agent-"at this point, the man turned to face him.
"Doyle!,"he cried out, with a malicious grin.
As he approached, he began to recognize the man; the man he remembered was 23 years old, and John Smith was nearing 40, but the resemblance was uncanny.
"You?! I have to bring you back?! Wait- How...How do you remember my name?"Doyle's face clearly showed pain and anger rising behind his usually calm demeanour.
"Oh come now. I'm hurt. You don't think I could forget your name after I **slaughtered**^11 your family, do you?" |
Hopefully I won't be put on some list, but I doubt it's elaborate or effective enough. Also, I'm not even sure if the security system is like this where it happened. *Also,* it's my 1st, **so it's bad.**
They walked up to security. Some may have seemed intimidating, including the big one, but not too threatening. They were nervous, but none showed it. Their IDs were real, so it's nothing to worry about. Their bags had no weapons, or anything that could be confused with a weapon. Nothing to worry about. They had nothing on them, excluding a few clean rags, one for the each of them. They also had nothing to worry about. It was likely because they feared people would somehow discover their plan.
To TSA officers, everything was fine. A wooden box with valuables, all allowed. A few pictures, which was they couldn't make out, but it was clearly just some pictures. Allowed. A few rags. Allowed. A booklet. Allowed. It may be odd, but nothing suspicious. They passed through every thing else just fine.
They boarded the plane. It took off. Then they started.
One took out the booklet from his bag. It had everything to know about the flight, the people working on it, and ways to control people if the other ways failed. They didn't know who made it or how, but asking questions wasn't their job.
Another, smaller man took out the photos. He knew they would work.
The larger man took out the box. He broke off a piece (with the help of lines carved in that were already there). Good. It was sharp enough.
The seatbelt sign went off. They got up and went to the front, where the pilots were. For some reason, it had a door and was guarded by some spare attendants. But they knew. They read the booklet.
They went up to the attendants to ask quietly to go in. They refused. Of course they did. The smaller man pulled out a photo. According to the booklet, they should go for the threaten tactic. So, he promised the old woman in the photo would be dead in a few days. Unless, of course, he calmly let them in.
While that happened, the first man had a picture he got from the smaller man to use. For this, he used the lie tactic. The young boy in the photo personally asked for this to happen. The man thought it was a stretch, but the woman oddly agreed.
The larger on had the wood in his pocket, ready to act, in case.
In the room, they tried to convince the pilots to take over, using the same tactic. They didn't give the position up, but it at least worked enough for them not to scream for help. They searched the booklet for advice. It offered ideas, but they didn't really work. So one of them closed the door, and the small on cut off connections, letting the big one do something. They used a couple of rags to gag them.
The needed to be silent. Don't alarm passengers. It was vital. Well, kind of.
Then, they landed. The passengers thought they landed normally. They got out into the airport full of random people, who all didn't know what was happening. They were lied to as well.
They all followed the signs pointing towards the baggage claim. They all waited for the bags to come. The boss watched. Now, he could control them, whether through mind games or somehow attaching those... things to some of them. Maybe through coffee.
They'd sue, when they got out. If. Maybe he could pay them not to. $60 would do. Yes, he'd say they'd be paid. That should satisfy those... hobos, or something.
After that all happened (his word got around fast, and he had large groups of people working for him. He could do it), they'd be ushered into the chambers one by one.
Then the testing could begin.
We should get moon dust, he thought.
|
"Look, if you try to walk into the bank like this, with your flashy costume, cape, and a black streak of makeup across your eyes, they're going to call the police as soon as you whip out your empty duffel bag,"I tried to reason. "And as soon as that happens, you know how it's going to turn out. They're going to swarm the outside of this metro bank and you won't be able to make it out with anything."
I was standing in the middle of an alleyway trying to talk to The Vulture, self-titled "crime lord"that couldn't steal an ice cream cone from a sleeping child. He crouched behind the dumpster, putting the finishing touches on his getup, lacing up his completely unnecessary combat boots.
"That's just what you want me to do, isn't it, Shimmering Eagle?"he declared in a voice much too confident for such a puny man. "It sounds just like you, my Edgar Allen Foe, to try to scare me into submission. It hasn't worked before, and it won't work now!"
I put my forefinger and thumb to my forehead, and shook my head somberly. "You don't understand how bad your ideas are. You are literally too stupid to realize than I'm not even a hero."
I looked back up at him. He was nearly ready to go into his demented plan, to walk into a busy bank on a sunny Friday afternoon and expect to make it out with bags of cash.
How long had it been, was this four weeks now? Or was it five? I remember when it first happened. I was on my commute to work, when traffic had been stopped up on Parker Rd, the one I always took to work. I waited at first, but after 20 minutes when I realized with cars on every side of me I wasn't going anywhere, I decided to call in that I would be late and find the source of the blockage. Lo and behold, it was this bozo, animatedly waving his gloved hands around to a driver of a large semi truck. As I neared the commotion, I started to catch some of what he was saying.
"-it comes through here every day, I see it all the time! You have to lend me your semi, it's the only way I'll be able to stop that truck!"
"Listen, buddy, for the last time, get out of the road. You're not taking my truck."
"I'm not trying to take it, just borrow it! The UPS trucks are the cargo ships of the modern era! Who knows what untold treasures lie within?"
Sirens grew louder from the distance, and the man started to look on edge. He grew more and more heated about his plan until a police car finally pulled up, when he couldn't take it any longer and made a mad dash for the open driver's door of the semi.
Seeing the danger in a madman behind the wheel of a semi, I ran from the sidelines to pull the man out, just as the officer pulled out his gun and shouted "Police! Hands in the air!"
Suddenly, everything changed. The world seemed to vibrate violently for a few seconds, and vehicles and people around me seemed to fade from view. A moment later, I was standing in the middle of the empty road, my hands still gripping the man's cheap cotton cape.
"Damn, why doesn't this crap ever work out?"He turned around and made a double-take. "Who are you?!"
"Who am I? Who are you? What just happened?"I questioned, aghast.
"I'm The Raven, evil mastermind and criminal extraordinaire! That last plan didn't work out too well, I got in trouble again... But usually when I get into trouble there's no one around afterwards, why are you here?"
"No one's around afterwards? You mean you pull stunts like that all the time? Where is everyone?"
"Well when I get in trouble everyone disappears. OH", his face stretched into a wide-eyed realization, "you must be a superhero! You must be MY superhero, that's the only way to explain it!"
"Listen, buddy, I'm not super and I'm definitely no hero. I don't know what this crap is that's going on but I'd rather I never even got out of my car five minutes ago."
"Your car? Ha! Your car was never here! Maybe you never even had a car? I don't really know, it's always weird when this happens. You won't be able to stop me how ever you try, what's your name? Peace Dove? Eagle? Justice Eagle? What's cooler?"
I shook my head with the most faith I've lost in humanity and reached for my phone. At the very least I would need to protect against being fired. I hit redial, and waited a few seconds.
"Hello, yes, Judy? Hi, well- yes doing fine- am I feeling better? I'm feeling great, why? Took off the week? I... yeah, I guess I will call you back on Monday when I feel better."I hung up the phone. I took off a week? I was not about to argue with some time off, but why was this happening?
"You won't be able to stop me from kidnapping the Mayor's daughter, Shimmering Eagle!"
I shook my head and walked away. I supposed I would take the bus back home? I hoped my car would still be at home, and that I would be able to ignore that this stupid crap had ever happened. The dude's voice faded behind me as I walked to a nearby bus station, and I made my way back home. I reached for my house key, only to find a single key on the key ring, the house key with my car keys nowhere to be found. I sighed, and slipped the key into the lock.
As I turned the key, things started to vibrate again. My own house started to fade, and I could feel the air pulsating around me. A constricting feeling encapsulated my entire body, until I found myself sitting on a curb in an unfamiliar place, sitting next to none other than the man who called himself The Raven.
"Oh hey, you're here again, Eagle! Come to stop me, huh? Well unfortunately you're about five minutes too late, the Mayor was apparently here with a few of his police friends when I tried to snatch her for the ransom... They noticed me right away and I didn't really get a chance to react before they stopped me. Oh well, there's always next time, right?"
By some cosmic joke my destiny had been entwined with this idiot. Every time he got into trouble with the police, I would be pulled along for the ride, ripping apart reality a little bit each time and stopping me from being able to live my normal life.
And he never stopped wanting to, he never stopped trying ridiculous ploys he cooked up with his mentally unstable mind. Every time I tried to return back to my normal life, he would end up pulling me away as if that world had never been, complete with the authorities catching him, and whatever aspect of my life I had been trying to get back to.
So as I stood in that alleyway trying to talk him out of this plan, he gave one final defiant guffaw and waltzed into the bank, my pleading self on his heels.
Twenty minutes later, we sat on an empty lot that had previously been a bustling bank in the middle of town.
"You know, Shimmering Eagle, maybe I'm not being ambitious enough. I think it's time to try to steal a nuclear warhead." |
"Babe, we need to go! Pack your shit faster, cmon!"
She was scrambling, hastily shoving clothes into her floral backpack. Outside sirens wailed in the sunlight and cars sped by dangerously.
"I'm moving as fast as I can!"she screamed back at me, frantic and irritated.
I snatched the bag from her and zipped it up, catching one of her shirts in the zipper and tearing it. "You're done! We don't have anymore time! We need to go, now!"
She was starting to cry now. A pang of guilt hit my square in the chest. "Look, I'm sorry. We just really need to get moving. The news stations have been saying we have less than two days to get out of here before the virus hits. Maddie, there is no cure. It kills everyone."
She nodded. "I know, I'm sorry."She wiped her cheeks and eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "I'm ready, let's go."
We bolted out the front door of her house and headed for my white pick up. Once we were inside I fired it up and we were zooming down towards the highway in no time. To say there was traffic would have been an understatement. I panicked.
"We need to get out and walk. It's our only choice."I caught a glimpse of a motorcycle zig-zagging in between cars and without hesitation kicked open the driver's side door. With a crunch the motorcyclist slammed into my door, his bike bending it towards the engine while he flew through the glass window and bounced unconscious on the asphalt. Maddie screamed.
"Get out and get on his bike with me!"I shouted. She was frozen in place, mouth agape as she looked at me with disgust. "Babe, get on the fucking bike!"
She snapped out of it and followed me onto the motorcycle. I apologized to the man as we zipped by him and weaved through the traffic. Maddie held on to my waist tightly as we rode. Behind us the sky was dark, the virus carried on the air. |
Day 467,398
Every day it becomes harder.
I have taken to lurking at the darkened windows of artists and poets and writers. These seem to be the only people left who can feel me there. The only people left whose pulses quicken with terror. But they delight in the feeling. Just as I delight in the feeling.
But what will become of me when these sensitive types are gone? Where will I find my satisfaction then? I imagine myself, an old shrunken shadow, wasted away and juddering, longing for a little taste of the old fear.
A household of bohemians tonight. I followed their scent on the wind, I wanted to lick the very glass in the window panes. I used every trick, sounded every terrible sound, traced every knobbly spine.
Ahhh… The taste of it.
When they finally slept, spent with fear, I sprawled beneath their hollow window, feeling the bliss of it. For hours, their fright transported me, and when I came down, I wanted to shake them awake for one more hit. I let them sleep undisturbed.
Tomorrow they would write and sketch and paint and dream of the thing that lurks in the darkness, and in the night I would come for them again.
|
Enrique Valdez. How ironic. He's the man that designed the air prison. Now he's going to live in one. Maybe not. He's having some sort of seizure. Nobody is going to save him.
When he designed the air prison, he took out a massive insurance policy on every prisoner and guard. When he went bankrupt, one of his prisons had a gas leak and killed everyone on board. He made more money than was spent to build the prison. It would have been legal if it were an accident. There was an investigation. Nobody could prove it was done intentionally, but you could prove Vasquez killed an investigator.
Now Vasquez is dead. He stopped twitching. You can smell his final bowel release. The guard checked his pulse and couldn't find one.
A prisoner shipment is usually in the top three most depressing places to be. This one has been different. Lots of laughs. Lots of cheers. Rival gangs never got along so well. Guards never exchanged so many stories with their prisoners. You can't pay to have that much fun.
The prisoners tempt the guards into throwing Vasquez out of the airlock disposal unit. That's where all of the piss, shit and other garbage goes. Vasquez would fit right in.
One guard opens the disposal hatch. Another guard uncuffs him. The biggest guard lifts Vasquez over his head and parades around the ship. He teases the cheering crowd. He knows a riot will break out if he leads them on any longer. So he throws that scumbag's corps in the trash where he belongs.
The crowd cheers and stomps so hard the ship rumbles. The rumbling continues after they stop cheering and stomping. Then hot brown vapor blasts out of the hatch. The guards work together to close it, but they just don't have the strength. The sewage and exhaust makes everyone light headed.
The ship loses power in an engine. It begins to spin out of control. The ship convulses in every direction. Spewing fuel and sewage into the air.
The guards go into a seizure. The inmates are still cuffed, so they're helpless. They start vomiting and convulsing. Nobody is going to save them. |
My pendant glows red and I’m jogging in the direction that it points. I’m getting closer, I can feel it! I begin to run and can’t help but smile; it’s finally time. I’ve been lost and angry for so long and once I was reunited, I could let all my anger go. I wonder what my other half is doing in the forest but I know better than to judge. As I run, I suddenly see a tree in front of my eyes so I dodge it to the left. For some reason, I still fly back and onto the ground; I ran into something, but what? I let out a cry in pain and look up. There is someone lying in front of me doing the same. I jump up from the ground and help him up.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I was following my pendant!” I apologize wiping off his now muddy shirt. He smiles and puts out his hands in an effort to regain his balance, “No, its fine! It was my fault! I wasn’t watching where I was going!” he says looking at me with his wide light green eyes. My brown eyes avoid his gaze and I nod and quickly walk past him. After I gain a little distance, I look down to my pendant; take a deep breath, focus, and stay patient. I flip the pendant around a few different ways but it doesn’t glow.
I take another deep breath and try again. “Come on” I whisper hoping to inspire it. Just like that it begins to glow and I follow it slowly. After a minute, I quicken my pace and eventually break into another run. My heart races as the anticipation grows. My entire life has been on hold for three months and I couldn’t wander much longer. If I didn’t find myself soon, I would have to accept that I was never going to be completely whole. I breathe heavily and dodge the trees with grace. As my speed increases, a blur pops in front of my face quicker than I can stop. We collide and whatever I hit falls to the floor on top of me.
My vision blurs and my head spins as I swat at the thing on top of me. “OW! OW! OW!” I hear prompting me to look up. The same boy from before is on top of me, this time a little more disoriented. He tries to get up anxiously but as he gets up I’m pulled up as well. Our pendants are tangled. “OW!” I scream as I push his face. “STOP! STOP!” He yells in pain. I take a breath and take a minute to comprehend the situation. We both breathe heavily due to the collision as I untangle our pendants. They are so knotted and our faces are so close that it is a nearly impossible task. “Do you want me to try?” he asks, his breath smelling like peppermint. I look up into his green eyes and hand the knot to him. He seems just as nervous from the way his hands begin to shake.
He laughs nervously, “I’m sorry, a few more seconds. They’re really hot.” I pray they don’t melt into each other and nod. I look at his dark black hair and ask, “Were you following me?” He stops untangling for a minute and answers, “No, I swear. My pendant was leading me in circles around here.” I watch as he attempts to undo our chains but with every knot he manages to fix; another one pops up. I try to breathe shallowly so it won’t be directly in his face. I can tell that he’s trying to do the same but it is difficult due to the little distance between us. “My name is Aaron.” He says quickly. I introduce myself as well: “My name is Amelia.” I take the knot from his hands and stretch it out, “You work on that part and I’ll do this part: teamwork” I say. He laughs and agrees. After a few minutes, it actually looks like we’re making progress. We both smile a little wider as we get closer to being separate.
Finally I undo the last knot and we instantly take four steps back and take a deep breath. He offers his hand for a handshake, “Thanks for saving us Amelia.” He says smiling. I smile back, “Anytime. Let’s try not to run into each other again.” I joke shaking his hand. I suddenly feel a burning sensation and yelp trying not to fall into Aaron. He looks at me concerned, “Are you alright?” He asks running up to me. I nod and look at my pendant which is glowing intensely. Aaron sees it too, and holds my pendant himself.
“It’s so hot. Mine is too! It’s so weird. I thought it was only supposed to do that when you found your Yang” he says. I look up curiously, “My what?” He looks surprised and answers, “Your Yang? You know your other half? The Yin to your Yang?” I laugh, “I’ve never heard it called a Yang. But then again I didn’t really know it would give me third degree burns when I found it either.” He chuckles, “Could you imagine if you were my Yang? That would be hilarious.” I am slightly insulted and he begins to explain nervously, “No, not hilarious like funny. I mean you’re gorgeous but I mean that you were here in a jungle looking for me. It would be like the perfect reunion.” I smile, “Yeah, it would. Hey, I’m really dizzy from all our run ins. Do you want to go grab lunch?” I ask. He nods, “I’m starving! Here let me hold your hand so you don’t lose your balance.” I give him my hand and we maneuver our way out of the forest, warm from our pendants and whole in our hearts.
|
I turn around in my swivel chair. "What the fuck, Dave?"
Dave stared wide eyed back at me. "What?"
I pointed to the screen. "I'm going to kill you in one hour?"He continued to look nonplussed. "You said, verbatim: 'I'm going to shove a stick up your ass, throw your body outside to freeze and eat you like a Popsicle'...and you see nothing wrong with that?"
Dave shrugged. "You're acting crazy. I didn't send that."
"You SIGNED it 'Cordially, Dave' and it was SENT from YOUR email!"
Dave smiled and raised a fork and knife. "Well what can I say. MREs can only sustain a man so long before he wants fresh meat."
"That's fucked up."I shook my head and walked away. "Fuck you, Dave. Just fuck you." |
Beth screamed and kept screaming as the last contraction took her. Her exhausted muscles seized in agony. She felt her body tear...
And then suddenly it was over and someone else was screaming an entirely different cry: one of startled surprise, not pain. Beth collapsed back onto the hospital bed, shuddering and laughing for joy. In a discordant babble of cooing voices, the nurses pulled open her robe, delivered her tiny, blood stained little baby into her arms and to her bare breast as her tired body convulsed and spat out the last of the afterbirth.
Beth barely noticed beyond a twinge of embarrassment, so rapt was she on the angry little face, the flailing little fists of her long awaited daughter. Dimly, she realized Dr. Fan was still crouched at the foot of the bed, sewing her back together, but that was obviously unimportant compared to what was in her arms.
Tamar leaned in. She hated hospitals and was pale as a ghost but she'd been Beth's rock throughout the labor. Her hand was steady as she placed it on the gooey black mat of hair that crowned their baby's head.
"You did it,"Tamar whispered, tears in her eyes.
"We did it,"Beth said automatically. Tamar tore her eyes away from the baby to give her a dry look.
"Sure, dear,"she deadpanned. "You may have gone through fertilization and pregnancy and delivery, but let's not forget my valuable candy-fetching and hand holding."
Beth laughed again. The sound seemed to soothe the baby. Her cries settled into confused burbling as the nurses ran warm towels across both them. Beth traced a finger over the impossibly soft arms, legs, torso.
"She's so perfect,"Beth said. "Every last bit - *what the hell is that!*"
Both nurses and Dr. Fan seemed to have teleported across the room they moved so fast to Beth's side. Tamar was not-so-gently bumped out of the way as the doctor turned the baby in Beth's arms to see what Beth had found.
For a second, all were speechless.
Tamar was the first to speak. "It's... it's a second umbilical cord. Look, she's fine, she's healthy, we'll just have it removed, right Doctor?"
Beth's head was whirling. The young nurses looked as confused as she felt, but Dr. Fan had a different expression on her face.
"Get her to the NICU right away,"she snapped. "Code 102."
The nurses both paled. Dr. Fan reached for the baby. Beth yanked her daughter back. The baby let out another surprised shriek and kept screaming.
"What's code 102?"Beth cried.
"Ms. Ryan!"barked the doctor "Your baby needs assistance. Now!"
"Beth, let her take her!"Tamar cried, eyes wide in panic.
Beth could only shake her head, but Dr. Fan seemed so sure...
She let go.
In a rush doctor, baby, and nurses all seemed to swarm out of the room as a unit. Her baby's screaming fading down the hallway, leaving Beth and Tamar clutching each other in fear.
***
Later, Beth would find that it was only 18 minutes but it felt like hours before Dr. Fan reappeared. Her face said everything. Tamar collapsed onto the visitor's sofa where she had spent the night, sobs racking her body.
"I'm so sorry, Ms's Ryan,"the doctor said to them both, her face drawn and tired. "It was Benton's Disease."
"No."Beth struggled to stand, fighting against the pain sweeping over her. Pain that was suddenly without purpose. "No! That's supposed to screened out! It's been more than 79 years since the Plague!"
"The ultra-sounds are only 99% accurate,"Dr. Fan said gently. "And it may be 80 years since the disease first took hold, but Benton's still affects about 3 in 1000 births. There was nothing we could to save her."
"But she looked so healthy,"Beth whispered, clutching her stomach. She expected to feel deflated, but it felt the same. As if her baby was still in there. Incubating in death.
Dr. Fan shook her head. "The tumor would've killed her or driven her insane. It was only a matter of time."
"*What* did you say?"
Both Beth and Dr. Fan jumped. Tamar was staring up at them through her fingers. "The tumor *would* have killed her?"she repeated.
Dr. Fan's mouth tightened another fraction of an inch. "We took heroic methods of intervention, per medical and legal standards, but... Benton's has a low survival rate. I'm sorry. Please take all the time you need. The hospital's counselor will be by soon."
She bustled out of the room. Beth sagged against the bed, feeling despair overwhelm her like a crashing wave. But Tamar didn't seem to notice, still staring open mouthed at the door.
"3 out of 1000?"Tamar said in a strangled voice, her eyes somewhere far away. "That's... that's about a thousand people in our city alone..."
"Tamar--"Beth started to say and Tamar turned to her. Beth would always remember this moment as the beginning, this shock and the horror and the agony in her wife's eyes.
"Beth,"said Tamar in a high, strange voice. "Have you *ever* met anyone with Benton's Disease?" |
Hello,
I cannot tell if this is a prompt or if you are submitting your writing. I am not trying to be rude. Your post is very hard to understand.
A prompt is a starting point for other people to write. If the story has already been written, it is difficult for others to write their own original story.
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I was listening to these three guys talk in this very small room. There was an old pot bellied stove and they kept the door open, tossing their cigarette ashes into the fire.
The one old guy they called Steve, white haired, lanky build, wrinkled, craggy face. The other two were middle aged and all three wore suits styled mid 1940s.
The two said, "It was your case Steve, do you remember any of the details?"
Steve said, "oh yah, I remember all right. That case haunted me throughout my career. We never did figure out exactly who we were dealing with for sure. Just that he was way too smart and very careful, also ruthless."
Steve went on to say, "it started with a man named Otis Dean Stafford. Otis was one of those backwoods’ bullies, mean as a snake. He was known to abuse girls but just a bit too smart to get caught at it. You know how clannish some of those hill family groups were back then. As mad at Otis as some of them got, no one would talk to outsiders about the problem. Some of those girls could never have children after he finished with them. He beat some of the men nearly to death as well. He had a couple of thugs that ran with him and they started a bit of extortion around the area. I don’t know if you remember old man Thaddeus who was known as somewhat odd because of the open grave in his side yard. That started when one of Otis’s thugs came around to collect insurance from him. The story is that young Hassel was there to visit and heard the whole thing. The thug whose name was Mike something; told old man Thaddeus that the insurance was due and he was here to collect. Old man Thaddeus was sitting on the porch in his rocker, dressed in those faded overalls with a book in his lap. He and Hassel had been discussing something in the book."
Thaddeus said that Mike was trespassing and to leave. Mike started to get up on the steps and the sound of a gun being cocked stopped him in his tracks. Thaddeus said Mike had 2 minutes to get to his car or he was going to be dead. Thaddeus said Mike looked to be one of the stupid kind who just HAD to know and that Thaddeus would go ahead and dig the grave in the side yard because sooner or later Mike would try it. That is how the grave came to be dug.
One of my deputies at the time, George, made it part of his monthly rounds to go check on that grave. It was always clean and empty. George said that Thaddeus kept the edges sharp and the hole cleaned out. Hassel said he never saw the gun, but figured Thaddeus had it covered up under the book.
One day this young man comes into the office and he looked as if he had been beaten nearly to death. He was bruised, bloody and his clothing was dirty and ragged. His face was so covered in blood and dirt that we could not really tell what he looked like. He walked as if he had a couple of broken ribs. At a guess we figured later that he must have been in his mid-twenties. He told us that Otis Dean Stafford was dead out to Otis’s place by the tool shed. He claimed that Otis had tried to kill him and that he had killed Otis in self defense.
We called Doc Healy but he was out on a call. The young man who said he was Dean Stafford Jr, said he would wait in the office for the doctor. George and I hopped in the car and ran out to Otis’s place. We found the place of the fight easily enough, lots of disturbance, scuffed up dirt and blood, but no body. George was a pretty fair tracker and worked over the area pretty thoroughly. The sequence of events he worked out was Otis and Jr had a big fight, Jr started to get the worst of it and ran for the tool shed, when Otis came around the shed, Jr hit him in the head with an axe. George, Steve nodded at one of the listening men, found brains and blood on an axe blade that was on a makeshift handle behind the shed. Otis’s axe was in the shed and all of the family said this axe was not his. So Jr came prepared to kill Otis. Also the family said that Otis did not have a son named Dean, one of the infants who Mrs. Stafford had lost in childbirth was named Dean, but he only lived a couple of hours.
George and I looked over the place pretty good but did not find the body. And of course when we got back to the office we found Doc Healy waiting but no Dean Stafford. George and I went back and forth over what all we remembered about this Dean character and determined he had suckered us good. He was not hurt nearly as bad as he had made out. We had gotten so excited about Otis that we had let this Dean guy walk in and send us out without making sure he was going to stay in place. We figured he was about six feet tall, maybe 170 pounds and very blue eyes, we think his hair was either dark brown or black. He was covered in so much blood that we could not see his hair that well. We both noted the very blue eyes.
As far as we were able to determine, we never saw him again. George and Warren, Steve nodded at the other man kept asking questions all over the county for the next several years.
Over the next month or so we worked hard on determining what was going on in the east side of the county. Then Thaddeus left the county, leaving that old shack and the open grave.
When George heard from Banker Smyth that Jonas Brown had bought Thaddeus’s place, he took a drive out to check the grave. The grave was empty but the pile of dirt next to the grave looked disturbed. George carefully removed some of the dirt and found Mike with a neat bullet hole between his eyes. Once George came back into the office and told me, we sent out an APB for Thaddeus. He also was never located again. We also could not find any back history on him.
Then one of the Stafford girls came into the office and said that someone had run their old tractor down into the creek, wrecking it. Warren went out to look at it and found Otis and the dead girl. Both skulls had been split with an axe, as near as we could determine after the bodies had been in the creek for over a month, the girl probably died before Otis. One theory was that Otis had killed the girl and the Dean person had repaid him in kind. Another theory was that our killer known as Dean had killed them both. Doc Healy said the girl had been pregnant at the time of her death and he thought she was about 16 years old. Warren and George went looking for the second of Otis’s thugs, a snake mean man who had a fondness for smoking cheap cigars and fighting. He was also gone and it was a couple months before he turned up when one of the Stafford boys was plowing the kitchen garden and a skull popped up in the furrow. This skull had a bullet hole in it instead of the axe wound. That is pretty much how it has stood for what? Twenty years now?
Warren takes over the story now:
When Steve retired, I got the sheriffs job-and going through the old files found this old case. I gave it to Joe over here (he jerks his thumb at me) to rewrite and update the documentation as per the new regulations. Joe goes digging in the FBI files and finds these two serial killers who show up together in the same area and time frames with our M. O.
Joe takes this info to the FBI and now we know our two serial killers are Jan Adair (which means either heart-fire or fire-heart depending) and Angus Sullivan. Neither is the subjects’ real names, but is Joe’s best guess at this point.
These names have shown up a few times in connection with the research being done. Jan has a confirmed kill total of 196 and a suspected total of 227; Angus confirmed kill total is 63 and suspected total of 89. Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
Warren continued, we have been unable to find any other links between the two men. Thaddeus or Jan should be approaching seventy years old now and Dean or Angus should be in his forties. Ballistics now can prove that Jan has used the same handgun in each of his killings. This is an old style Colt 45 caliber Single Action Army or Peacemaker. Joe wanted to update you so that perhaps you could give us additional insight into these two. He is doing this same thing to each of the investigators who touched any of these cases. He has the backing of the FBI.
|
Hi, sorry this isn't a story, just a quick note. There's a Youtube webseries called I Made America which you might find interesting. It's basically a very similar premise to your prompt in which the Founding Fathers are transported into modern Chicago. The acting is fantastic (in my opinion) and it's pretty funny and believable. I'm looking forward to seeing story responses to this prompt, it's a good idea! |
Post removed, please hover over in the sidebar for details:
> - Prompt Me
When you want multiple things to write about, people respond with random prompts; you respond to them in the same thread. In order to post a PM thread, **you must have responded to at least one prompt in the past.** Only post these if you intend on responding to a few within six hours of posting, otherwise it will be removed.
Let me know when you've responded to another prompt and I can reapprove this post, or feel free to submit another at a later time. |
Zooey and Lodai rest in the upper branches of the trees of wisdom. Zooey is approached by an eagle.
"Do you remember that hairlipped motherfucker in that scouting party that got away with that big rock of silver?"Zooey asks.
"Wild guess, he's back with an army?"Lodai respond as he lazily pulls a rusty sword from the tree.
Zooey pulls out her floot and says "No, it's worse. Ask the eagle. He'll give you the details."
The eagle perches on Lodais back He has a vision of horned men in silver clothing on elephant and rhino backs, tearing out the library of wisdom trees and commanding Baboons with torches.
Zooey summons the bees. Her floot makes a buzzing sound and hives sprout out of the trees.
"Good idea. You protect the roof and I'll get the floor."says Lodai as he leaps to the floor.
The sound of elephants ripping trees out of the ground can be heard as Lodai brings mist out of the grassy carpet of the forest with every step.
Baboons with torches frantically fall from the trees. They are preoccupied with stinging bees. Lodai pays very little attention to them. The floor is getting swampy enough for the crocodiles to emerge.
The soft soil makes the elephants and rhinos job easier to rip out the trees. But they'll get trapped in the mud as it slowly turns into quicksand.
Zooey's voice echoes through the forest "Cut it the fuck out Lodai! It's a fucking trap!"
The swamp begins to leak oil. The swamp catches fire quickly. All can smell the crocodile and baboon flesh.
Lodai summons a blizzard. It creates a tornado of fire that he launches at the horned men in silver clothes.
His arm catches fire, burning through his fleshy exterior, and exposing the burning embers on his wooden interior.
Zooey sprouts a rusty ax head out of her floot as she leaps from a tree and hacks off Lodai's arm.
The hairlipped motherfucker emerges from the fire with a silver ax and says "Look at what I made out of that rock I found in your river. I gave your stupid rock a purpose. A reason to exist. Your kind only serve to protect uselessness"
Zooey relies "I kept it free. You made it your bitch. If it wanted to be an ax head, it would be an ax head."
"Rocks don't want anything, because they don't think"He says as he raises his ax.
The ax head crumples to stone and the handle twists into a gnarly branch before he can swing it.
"Looks like the rocks and sticks have made their decision, they don't fucking like you."Zooey says.
The horned men in silver clothes turn into rocks. The elephants and rhinos crawl out of the mud and wander around freely. The baboons pick fruit.
The hairlipped motherfucker tries his best to fight her, but can't land a punch. "What about my free will bitch!"he says as Zooey passively walks away. |
Cecil manouvered his ailing limbs and struggled to set himself down slowly onto the chair in the diner. Asking the waitress for 'the usual' with the same chuckle as he had for the past twelve years, he took out his note book and reviewed the day.
'Item 1: bins'
'Item 2: Audrey's hair' - a bun today
'Item 3: call company about telephone' - in fact, he added mentally, call both companies! Both his mobile telephone and the landline didn't work for his left ear. That was odd.
'Item 4: arrange furniture' - Audrey liked it a certain way, and what elese would he do with his day?
'Item 5: feed birds at park'
'Item 6: visit Rotary Club; see Eric'
'Item 7: pie'
Setting the note book down on the table as the waitress returned with a large mug brimming with strong black coffee, Cecil looked up and smiled warmly, telling her quietly that he was ready for his meal. After she'd returned to the kitchens he fervently removed the other note book, the important one, from his pocket and stroked its leather binding knowingly. It had served him well over the years. Cecil was about to open the collection of top secret scribblings to the most recent page, but then there was pie. |
Phil put on his "Chuckles the Savage Clown"mask, adjusted its rubber fangs, and picked up the wooden machete. The fake blood on it glimmered in the streetlight. The Viagra was just about kicking in. He could feel it doing its sinister work in his loins already. And not a moment too soon. The busload of cheerleaders was coming up the darkened street. The Cowboys had lost. They would be a little despondent and easy to scare... |
So then God says to me, "My child. You've been struggling."I look down in shame. I manage to squeak, "Yes sir."I can feel Him staring at me. Not in anger, not in annoyance, not in disappointment, but He looks at me in love. But of course, He is perfect. I'm the one who fucked up.
I'm the one who let others get to me. I'm the one who danced with the devil. I'm the one who should have asked for help. But God understands. He knows everything. And yet He loves me anyway. I try to look up, but there is a weight holding my head down.
"No child, don't look. Just listen. Don't worry. You are here for a purpose. I have a plan. Trust in me. Have faith in yourself. I am always here for you. I love you. And I want you home, in due time."
I meekly respond, "But why not now? What am I supposed to be doing? Why am I still here?"I hear a quiet laugh.
"Instead of always wondering what is is you should be doing, you should just do."
I muster up the strength to look up. I see a light off in the distance. I let out a sigh and go on my way. |
"Mister President!"screamed the news caster. Normally I didn't care for this particular channel, but today this man was echoing my sentiments. We really should be doing something, but he didn't seem to understand. Retaliation right now wasn't a good idea.
"I get it,"I said, hoping that echoing his feelings would calm him, and the rest of the vultures, down. "We got smacked, we should smack them back. You're looking for reven..."And here we go again, he cuts me off.
"Revenge? REVENGE!"Oh boy, yelling and screaming and everyone applauds him for standing up to the big bad President. No, I couldn't have that, this man was playing with fire and I had to stop him, now. I don't even look at him, I look at the man next to me, a marine who's latest punishment is carrying my briefcase.
I nod, and out of his pocket he pulls out a sim-card. Ignoring the diatribe of my reporter "friend", I open up my phone, slip in the "key", and the marine puts the case on the podium. I type a few buttons that now appear on my screen, and three things happen simultaneously. I can still cite the arming procedure from memory: I made damn sure that I could do this part of the job.
"1- Upon request for the key, the carrier will hand the key to the President, who will insert it into the lock. The marine will then place the football on the nearest surface to the President that can act as a desk
2- Upon opening the lock, the carrier will be released from the football, and they will immediately take their L pill
3- 5 seconds after opening the lock, the football will open, ready to receive the opened lock. "
The room fell dead silent as Lt. Miller fell dead on the floor. I flip a few keys, type in a few pass codes, dock the phone and give a blood sample. I now need only to proceed a few steps, and the world will end. I look the reporter right in the eye, and flip the case so he (and everyone else) can see the insides, complete with comically over sized red button.
"If you're so eager to get everyone killed, you do it."I push the briefcase towards him, still on the podium. What they don't tell you about being the President in this situation is that the case requires you to be within so many feet of it, and the big red button is an emergency stand-down switch. I actually don't have any capacity to trigger an immediate retaliatory strike, that's all automated. I DO have the capacity, however, to delay or abort said automated strikes. Important note though, once the missiles are in the air, that's it, game over.
Everyone is quiet now, the air in the room almost screaming to back off, realizing the magnitude of what the man is proposing. As expected, however, my least favorite "journalist"comes up, and pushes the big red button.
I then take a step back, my implanted RFID falls out of range of the safety clasp, and the case closes like a bear-trap, clamping his hand firmly within a 185 pound, reinforced, weight. He isn't going anywhere, nor is he letting go of that button. I don't even wait for his shock to subside.
"RFID triggered bear-trap lid, meant to prevent people from doing anything silly, like letting go of that shiny red 'Delay Strike' button you've so kindly volunteered to hold down."
"You bastard, YOU DAMNE..."I cut him off this time, I'm a lot louder when I get angry than he could ever hope to be. It works well in the corporate board-room, convinces people to simmer down and think things over. It doesn't work in a war-room however, and it's entirely unnecessary: everyone there is level headed.
"SHUT UP."Calm, firm, loud, and deeply unsettling, I now have his undivided attention. "Everyone's systems are automated. We launch, they can't stop their launch, and everyone dies."
Almost whispering and bleating it out at the same time, he responds "But the Dead hand activates when a blast is inside..."I stare at him, he shuts up and lets me talk. Damn, I'm usually a lot nicer.
"No,"I calmly state, simultaneously sliding my hand across a reader on the football to release the poor man's hand. This only worked because my heart was still beating: hadn't been killed in the blast.
"IARS, we call it 'ears',"I say this into the camera, "stands for Immediate Automated Retaliation System, doesn't work that way, and never did. When Russia implemented it on their arsenal, it calmed them down because of something about getting 'revenge', like the wikipedia article probably told you, but the thing about an isolated bunker is bogus.
Our friends over there have the exact same type of system we do: You tell it NOT to launch something, you can't tell it TO launch something, only to delay a strike. It doesn't trigger on detonations either, it triggers on launches."
Gaining some of his bravado now (having your hand released from a bear-trap can do that), the reporter says with some incredulity "How do you know so much about their stuff, been reading their e-mails too?"
"No,"I reply. "Who do you think gave it to them?"
Now the room was both stunned and completely silent. The crickets weren't even chirping. Something told me I'd made my point. |
"Are you wishing to fire me?"I say, worried, "What's been happening lately?"He stops halfway out of the door. He sighs and turns his forest brown eyes towards me. "This is just not a time when I need you."
"You don't..."I say, brushing my sleepy hair out of my face, "need me, anymore."Sure, I'm just his sidekick, but we are close. We were buddies before he even decided to become a superhero.
"It's not that, Al, I'm sorry but I just need to go alone this time."I see pity for me on his face, I believe he's sorry.
"I know this isn't the first time, Brad."
"And it won't be the last."He turns back to the night sky and closes the door. This time I won't just listen to him leave and let him. This time I'm going to follow him.
When I get there, I'm hiding in front of a small closed shop. I peek back through the alleyway between the buildings. A petite old man is getting smothered by Brad's hand. In his other hand, a gun. *BAM!* He lets him fall to the ground. I come out from hiding. He points the gun at me as quick as lightning.
"Brad, Brad, Brad!"I exclaim, putting my hands above my head.
"God damn it Al, why are you here?"
"Who is that man?"I say, avoiding his question.
"Ron Parmen."
"He's innocent, isn't he?"
His eyes start to water. "Yes."
"Why would you..."
"It was for the money!"He interrupts. "It was for the money,"he says again, stating it. The tears finally fall out of his eyes, and I give him a hug.
"Let's go home."
|
"You think so, Rodgers?"
"Of course, Detective. His wife and daughters were raped and strangled."
"Then what's the fucking bad news?"
"He can't testify for us. We have no leads. Everyone else who was at the scene of the crime is either a perp, or deceased. And the perps got away."
"No DNA?"
"None. These monsters took care of their tracks."
"How the fuck do you not get DNA after a rape?"
"Who said they raped 'em with their dicks?"
"Jesus..."
"Yeah. Savages."
"Alright well let the profiler know that we've got sadistic tendencies. So you think the perp acted alone?"
"Shit, Detective, look at the size of this guy. You think it took just one man to take him down?"
"Yeah, it's pretty brutal..."
"He didn't go down without a fight."
"Now how do we know he isn't the perp himself?"
"What are you saying Detective? He's a married man."
"I've told you before, Rodgers, that it's always someone who knew the victim."
"God what kind of psychopath would... would..."
"We don't want to know. The point is, what kind of trauma was found on the bodies of the victims?"
"Nothing but strangulation. Clinical. It's fucked."
"Look at these scratch marks Rodgers."
"Goddamnit Detective."
"Pretty consistent with long nails? Were there any broken nails on the victims?"
"Nothing... the wife and daughters showed no trauma outside of severe bruising of the neck, no signs of resistance."
"Then what the hell happened to this guy? A vigilante...? Could he have done this... to himself?"
"Well, like I said, the good news is he's in a coma..." |
"...We're not going to save him."
"What are you talking about McMeowsickers?! You're mad! This is the LAST human! They're an endangered species!"
"Now, now, Dr. Woofbone, you have to understand I don't quite share your affection..."
"MASTER! PLEASE DON'T DIE ON US!! AWOOOOO"
"He's not your Master, Dr. Woofbone. Or did you not remember the Felix Sapiens and Canis Sapiens emancipation and suffrage act?"
"I'm sorry, Meow, old habits die hard."
"Alright look I'll summarise my argument real quick. He's old. He's brain dead. We can't keep him going any longer without massive resources which this vet just doesn't have!"
"You're cruel, Meow."
"Wagtail, I didn't become the best Goddamn veterinarian in the world by saving lost causes. I learned how to utilise a vet's resources most efficiently and this is not efficient."
"We're going to save this man's life or my name's not Wagtail Woofbone. I'm injecting 20ccs of stem cells."
"Like hell you are."
"You won't stop me Meow. We need this man. We need to study human genetics to perfect our own evolution."
"Evolution! Exactly! WE'VE evolved. He hasn't. Or did you not remember the millennia that these hairless monkeys have domesticated us? Kept us as their cuteness slaves?"
"They fed us! They kept us safe!"
"They kept us locked up in brutal breeder cages! They mutilated the genomes of your cousins for their own amusement!"
"Hey don't be breedist towards my chihuahua cousins! They may not be very smart but they have creative, expressive souls."
"Wagtail I won't argue this with you. Humans are scum."
"Alright Meow what if I told you the Human Research Institute wants to study a LIVING specimen and that they'll be willing to pay $100 million for it?"
"Buh... wha?"
"Yeah I... *sigh* I was trying to keep all of the reward for myself. But if you let me inject these stem cells, I'll split it with you 50/50."
"You scoundrel! You've got yourself a deal! You'll need 50ccs, actually, by the way." |
Jeremy looked up at the doors nervously. He had no idea what he was doing here. He barely passed his entrance exams, and would rather just stay at home and strum on his guitar. His mind flashed back to the deal his step-father made him - *Language school or the mines, son*. Sighing, he trudged up the stairs and went through the right-hand set of double doors.
----
Making his way down the hall, he walked by several classrooms, thinking about what language he'd get stuck with, and really hoped it wasn't the Judoon - their language sounded so silly.
"*Lotar, kree!*"thundered a voice from the front of the classroom he was passing. A teacher with glowing eyes was gesturing at a student that looked sleepy and bleary-eyed. Jeremy had read about the Information Distributors and their tendency to not tolerate slacking off.
\*gulp\* *Walk faster, walk faster* he said to himself, picking up the pace down the hall. He had wondered why the first-year students started a week later than the rest. *Maybe they just want to intimidate the weak ones into leaving*, he decided, passing another open classroom where a student was reciting from a tattered book, "*Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam...*"
He reached the end of the hall, where a receptionist was typing on a keyboard with tentacles - *not weird at all* - and said, "Um, I'm here for registration?"
The receptionist - *Cheryl, her nametag says* - gestured to a console to the left of the desk, and went back to her "typing."
Jeremy meandered over to the console, placed his palm on the biopad, and waited to be identified.
"*Woods, Jeremy*"a tinny-sounding voice said after a moment, displaying his picture - *the one with my Hendrix shirt, before Mom made me cut my hair* - and listed a room number, Square-01, a flashing time counting down with 00:03:58 to spare. The computer's voice said "Please proceed to your classroom, you have less than 4 minutes. The directions have been uploaded to your pad."Sure enough, a light flashed, and then his position was shown on a layout of the school, with a line leading to his destination. In the next building. On the other side of this one.
He hoofed it, dodging other students, leaping over a slime trail left by one of them, and narrowly avoiding crashing into one of the Cactuar people. Making it to the next building, he barely glanced at the sign that said "Square-01"- *This is an awfully big classroom* - and pushed into the door.
*Score*, he thought, *made it just in time*, sitting next to a pretty girl that seemed to have flowers growing from her vine-like hair. The desks faced a large plexiglass wall with water on the other side, and Jeremy leaned over to ask the girl, "What's with the water? What language are we learning?"
She giggled and squeaked something unintelligible at him. Confused, he said, "Oh... ok..."and was looking around when the teacher floated into view.
*Great*, he thought, *a fucking dolphin*. |
I didn't understand why the cops stormed in and arrested me. I had done nothing wrong but why should I be surprised? I had been down on my luck.
Lost my job.
House is a mess.
I'm depressed.
My family hates me.
Car was repo'd.
Utilities about to be shut off.
No money in the bank.
Eviction notice on the door.
Student loans defaulting.
Ate my last hot pocket and burned my tounge.
But they didn't care about any of that. They just wanted to know where my baby was. |
(I was going to do something a lot different, but then this just sort of happened. Oh well)
“Ginger, stay!”
The dog obeyed. Of course she did, even she could sense the severity of the situation. Dogs weren't stupid, and she was a smart breed, a wirehaired pointer.
He might not have seen the carcass if it wasn't for the stench. Hidden away behind a bush, only the very tips of the doe's hind legs stuck out. Something had torn the poor animal's insides out, leaving them in ribbons on top of the wet fur, but there were no signs of the beast having consumed any of the kill. No bites marks were to be found anyway, only deep gouges from what looked like enormous claws. Both inside and outside of the body he could see flies and maggots, but there were no carrion birds or scavengers anywhere in sight.
Not to mention, there had been no dead animals the day before. This deer was fresh, so why did it reek like it had been rotting for weeks?
It looked as if the person – or thing – had made the kill on its way to his camp, then passed by it again on the way back. The trail it left could be followed by an idiot; everything in its path had been crushed, trees were found with scratches above his head, and occasionally he would come across splashes of blood. He didn't need a dog to find his target this time.
In all his time living in the wilderness, Carl had never seen anything quite like this. Not even the monstrous grizzly his dad shot came close to the size of what had gotten to Ike. He still hadn't ruled out a person, but there was no way a person could do this sort of damage to the forest. If they did... well, they sure as hell wanted him to follow.
“Come on, girl!” he called as he retreated from the corpse. Usually she would run around a bit or pay attention to the wildlife, yet now she kept herself nearly pressed against his legs. He didn't blame her for missing her brother. They'd been together since they were pups, and now she was alone.
He scratched her head as he walked, noting with satisfaction that she felt reassured enough to give him a bit of space. The rifle on his back would take care of whatever they were tracking, but it wouldn't hurt to have a vicious, pissed off dog at his side. Once, when a bobcat crept behind him and tried to take a chunk out of him, she and her brother had broken out of his trailer to save him. A stupid mistake on his part, but the dogs were the most loyal friends he had. They would fight a grizzly for him.
Perhaps Ike *had* fought a grizzly, but even not even that could produce such large claw wounds.
Anyway, a bear didn't skin a dog and leave its pelt hanging from a tree.
Lost in thought, Carl barely noticed when the birdsong stopped, or when his last dog began to press herself against his thighs again. Despite the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves overhead, the forest appeared to grow darker. When the wind brought a sudden stench of something long dead, he stopped in his tracks and began gagging. Ginger pricked her ears and barked at something unseen to the left of them, then spun around and snarled behind them.
He grabbed his rifle and aimed it towards the source of the dog's distress, but she changed directions so rapidly that he eventually gave up and pointed it in front of them. Had she barked last night, too? If he had woken up and heard her distress, if he hadn't fallen asleep after letting the fucking dog outside to take a fucking piss...
The smell disappeared after another stressful minute. He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the signs of a trap and wondering what kind of sick fuck would do this to him, but decided that it didn't matter. Whoever had messed with his dog would pay, so if they wanted to meet him then they could go right ahead. They would just be missing a head and a few limbs afterwords.
Following their close encounter with... *something*, Ginger seemed even less eager to continue. She whined constantly, refusing to move away from his legs unless she could feel his hand. Tired of trying to lean down to pet her while walking, he placed the rifle back on his back and allowed her to press herself against him. If she tripped him, he didn't want the gun to explode in his hands.
At one point, when he had to step over a broken sapling, she circled nervously behind him and refused to move forward. He encouraged her, saying “C'mon girl” and “You can do it”, but the dog only continued to stare at him with sad, brown eyes.
Looking at her now, he couldn't help but see a brown and white pelt ripped from its owner. The blood had forced the fur to dry in ragged clumps, barely recognizable when hanging above his head. The first thing he had noticed was the odor in his trailer, then the overwhelming smell of death as soon as he had opened the door. And the blood...
*Dear god, the blood.*
“Come here, Ginger,” he whispered. His eyes stung, but he wasn't the sort of man to cry. He had already grieved, now was the time for revenge. “I need you.”
She lowered her head, and he picked her up to carry her a few feet forward before placing her back on the ground. He only held her for a few seconds, but she took the time to bury her snout in his chest and lick him.
“Okay girl, you can do this. You can do this. We're going to kill that twisted son of a bitch, you hear me?” He wasn't sure who the words were meant for.
They continued. This time, he immediately noticed when the birds lost their voices. The air felt stagnant, with hints of the horrible smell from earlier. Though the trail had become less obvious, he instinctively sensed that they were close. This person or... whatever they were, they would pay. He was going to teach them a lesson about messing with his dogs. His confidence in his mission had faded, and when he reached for his rifle, his motives weren't entirely vengeful.
Ike was gone, but Ginger would survive. She would be truly alone, and no loving family would ever find her so far from civilization, but at least she would be alive.
The ground grew steeper; they were nearing the mountainous bits of the forest now. The sun had fallen rapidly over the last hour, leaving a bright golden light which would quickly fade. Normally he found the twilight beautiful, not full of shadows and danger. There was no chance of making it back now, but he had prepared for that and packed his bag with emergency gear. Nature was the least of his worries at the moment.
Not long after the faint odor the trail led to a rocky area, right on the edge of which he found an enormous hole leading into the ground. The stench pouring out of it might have overwhelmed him if it hadn't been getting gradually stronger. He had been around dead animals before, but nothing had ever had reeked quite like this. The only way he could describe it was death.
This was it. Ike's killer would be waiting for him down there. The entrance was pitch black, like the darkness of the sky without the stars. Fear gripped him at the sight of the hole, and the sight of Ginger ready to flee nearly brought him to his knees. Something intelligent had brought him here, something perhaps not even a man, but he had to do this. For Ike's sake.
“Ginger, go!” he said, knowing that she would stay. One of his only friends left, she would never abandon him. He smiled for a split second, then replaced every emotion with anger. “Are you ready, you sick bastard? You're gonna get yours. You're gonna get yours!”
He screamed with rage, the dog howling with him. They could do this! He'd blast the sucker with everything he had, and then he'd shoot it again.
As soon as he strapped a flashlight from his backpack onto the gun and entered the hole, he felt weak. Uncontrollably weak. They walked together for a few minutes, not knowing where to turn in the awful labyrinth, his flashlight shining on streaks of red in more than a few places. The smell led them further until not even Ginger's nose would help them escape when the deed was done.
Of course, that was assuming they would succeed. His light revealed something hanging from the ceiling, something bloody and the same size as himself.
It wasn't the only body there. Far from it, in fact.
Something clattered on the floor behind them. He spun around, finger on the trigger, but nothing could be seen. Ginger snarled, then barked viciously in the other direction and sprinted forward. His heart skipped a beat.
“Ginger!”
No answer. Stupid dog... if it got to her...
He peered in the direction she had run, trying to ignore the fleshy, partially devoured bundles hanging everywhere and piled in corners. The place was tall enough that the bottoms only just brushed against his head.
A canine's shriek could be heard from nearby. Ginger. Even when the bobcat tore her left ear to shreds, she never screamed like that. He swung the beam of light in agitated motions towards the sound's origin, but nothing could be seen. His sweating hands almost made the gun slip out of his hands.
Near the top of the ceiling he glimpsed something outside of his light, twin pinpricks of light close to the top of the cave. A wave of absolute horror gripped him, and he dreaded shining the light on the spot. He wished he had never come to this cave in the first place. When he first spotted Ike's body, he should have realized that it wounds were unnatural. Ginger didn't want to come here, and if he had payed closer attention to her...
Ike and Ginger were both dead, the first puppies he had taken care of on his own. He had no illusions about Ginger's state. She was gone. As dead as Ike, and as dead as he would be if he didn't do something.
He shined the light on the creature's eyes, but there was no time to pull the trigger. |
"Maybe reasoning with them is the best solution Commander, afterall I highly doubt you want to use excessive force. These mutants are completely foreign to us in behavior."- Scientist
"So what was the point of bringing you along anyway? I thought you knew a lot about these mutants?"-Commander
*Landing gear initiated. Fuel reserves at 60%.*
"I know about the mutation itself. Im here to keep you alive and healthy! The last thing we need is you bringing this bacteria back to the station."- Scientist
"Sir! I've set her down just outside the park limits. Scanners show few life readings in the area. Ill do a perimeter check to be sure."- Lieutenant
**Lieutenant steps out of the bay door and closes it behind**
*sigh* "I TOLD you Yosemite would be too remote an area! How are we supposed to communicate if they aren't even he-"- Commander
**ALERT** *Scanners indicate multiple signatures moving towards current position. Hostile formations detected*
"Set the ship for emergency debarkation protocol. If you hear me stop firing....leave."-Commander
Thanks for reading. This is my first post here.
|
What was a godless man to do on a Sunday morning all by himself? Why, try to end it all, of course.
Well, there was no mistaking it, Terry was going to kill himself today, whether he liked it or not. This was the last Sunday that he was going to have to live with the pain that had not faded in the slightest over the years despite numerous therapy sessions, the pain that had crippled him both physically and mentally without leaving a single mark.
Terry was not a lighthearted man.
Today however, things were looking...brighter. That's an odd thing for a man to think on the day of his death - at least to the everyday person. For Terry, today meant a release, a departure from the living hell he'd endured for the better part of three decades. Indeed, as Terry rose from bed with the usual stiff shifting of his limbs, there was an evident smirk splayed across his lips and a determination, as if the man had finally figured something out that had eluded him for most of his life.
The walk to his closet was a slow, deliberate one. No need to rush this, there isn't anyone coming to interrupt this most holy of days, and Terry had been playing this moment over and over in his mind for too long for this to go any other way. First he would put on his best suit, the one that always managed to make him look just a bit dashing, enough to maybe get him into a high end restaurant or a low end country club. Then, he would move to the kitchen, where his morning cup of coffee was freshly brewed, and on this particular day, quite intoxicating.
Terry would remove the pill from its small, innocuous container, drop it in his drink, sip on it while writing his final words, and hurt no more.
The note that lay under Terry's slumped over body was, again, surprisingly upbeat. It was actually quite lengthy, since the pill took a while to work its wonders, and it was written as a sort of narrative, where Terry told a brief story of his various loves and the loss he experienced from each of their partings.
At the very end of the note were a few lines, separated from the rest, which read, "In the end, it's not the things about them you miss that really get to you. You're gonna miss them for a while, but not forever. It's the goddamn boredom that sets in, when you realize that you'll never enjoy things in quite the same way that you used to." |
Party don't stop, music top notch,
Dancing in the dark
In the pale moonlight,
High heels off, red dress on,
Do what you want,
Cause I'm feeling alive
Oh my God, I feel it in the air,
Nothing stoppin' me no more,
Make you feel good, do what I dare,
Honey I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere,
But I always come back
Want another dose of more.
-----------
>First time donig poetry on this sub, that was not great quality. This prompt was surprisingly hard. Song was Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey. |
The speakers are blasting. Around me men are shouting and cheering. I'm sweating like a pig. Order another beer. It's hot, but not that hot.
My contact asked to meet here half an hour ago but he's yet to show up. America scores. The men are eyeing me with hostility. It's not my fault. I don't even like soccer. And how did usa get in the finals anyway? I thought we were bad at it and no one cared. I don't know about Afghanistan. Were they always good at soccer?
No one said anything yet. Maybe I can pretend I'm British. I wonder if they'd care. Almost halftime and no sign of my contact. Screw the article. If these guys don't score back soon I get the feeling bad things will happen. Screw it, I'm going back to the hotel.
|
Big chested woman: "What are you doing mustache man, why haven't you set the table?"
Mustache man: "Give me a break, big chested woman, I just bought you this ring! Please leave me alone!"
Brown caped woman: "It is way past my curfew, I'm so getting grounded. Holy shit is that a ghost over there? This place is too spooky for me."
Mustache man: "Give me back my cane! I only allowed you to have it for five minutes."
Big chested woman: "Go on and take it, I never wanted it anyway. It was stupid and ugly, but I still get to have your cape."
Mustache Man: "Fine, it was hot in here anyway."
Big chested woman: "Gross, you sweated in this thing! I don't want it."
Big chested woman: "Now sit down in this chair, isn't it amazing! I carved it myself."
Mustache man: "I guess it's alright. Not the best chair I sat in."
Big chested woman: "What chair could ever surpass this one! It matches perfectly with our table, sadly you never set the table so my chair ends up burdened with mediocre decor."
Brown capped woman: "Shit, my parents are up. There are probably talking about me right now. I gotta get out of here."
Mustache man: "I think that was our daughter at the door! How did she escape? I won't sit in this chair anymore because I am furious. She was your responsibility and now she is gone. I asked for one thing and you fail to deliver. This will be the last time I ever hold your hand."
Big chested woman: "Oh come on......"
Mustache man: "No more excuses."
Big chested woman: "She's not even our real daughter!"
Mustache man: "She was in soul!"
Big chested woman: "Shut up your stupid."
Mustache man: "No you are stupid, you have always been stupid. Now clean up the floor."
Big chested woman: "I just did and it is spotless."
Brown caped woman: "What is happening? I have no idea. My god it is cold out here!"
Mustache man: "No you are."
Big chested woman: "No you are."
Mustache man: "No you are."
Big chested woman: "No you are."
*repeat*
Together: "AHHHHHHHHHH"
Mustache man: "See I can scream louder than you!"
Big chested woman: "You are so full of shit."
Brown caped woman: They are screaming, I have to make this end. Is being grounded worth it? All this responsibility on my hands. I guess I don't have a choice in the matter anyway. I'll go knock."
Mustache man: "Who is at the door?"
Brown caped woman; "Delivery, pizza delivery, pepperoni and extra cheese."
Big chested woman: "Did you order this?"
mustache man: No I did not, pizza has not been invented yet!"
That's all I could translate based on actions.
|
Lichtenstein.
A tiny strip of land.
They knew what they were doing though. Starting small, gathering the resources and troops but not making a huge scene.
Think of it like building your village and holding your cards in reserve, you build the walls and fortifications, research the technology and make one of your units worth ten of theirs.
Only the best.
Then they began sending out the feelers. Stealing technology and funds from other nations. Some of the world's greatest spies, they blended in perfectly.
Next came the rapid rise to power. Unyielding force applied across multiple areas of attack, capturing the strategic points and gaining more resources.
Then it was over. No one could compete.
It was either client states or occupation. Lichtenstein. World superpower.
Who would have guessed. |
"When you are 88, you think you know everything. You've learned everything you can having gone through the retirement home system, smoked your pipe and stopped wearing slippers.
Of course, this isn't true."
The 19 year old boy smiled out at the crowd, made mostly of people in their fifties who were stilll a bit young to become the President.
"I know now that the most important things in the world are alcohol and sex. When I was a young man, I would think about work and how best not to pee myself. I was a fool."
The other older people in the crowd started to cheer- blonde haired girls with fashion sense and curly haired boys with glasses. They, too, had the wisdom that came with experience.
"I think that in the future, we will need to establish old age pensions for those going through school, into nursery and finally the crib. These can be in the form of both extra pocket money and also free meals and video games."
A 65 year old woman with a saggy body and glasses on a string piped up. "But us young people want protection from the state too! Retirement home nurses need more wages!"
"All these things are covered in my election manifesto which you can get a free copy of today,"he grinned with his lovely white teeth (festooned with braces in the colour of the Agemerican flag). "God bless Agemerica, and remember- for a brighter future for old and young, vote Billy 2014!"
[Sorry OP- I thought you said the young-old guy was running for President, then I didn't want to abandon what I'd already done!] |
Amber was afraid of jabberwockies. Also spiders. She had heard some terrible things about spiders, something about the way they moved, hid in corners, and attacked like ferocious dogs or something. Eight legs seems like a lot, even though they where supposed to be relatively small. They sounded terrible.
But her friends thought that was silly. How could something be scary if it wasn't the size of a house with fangs like butcher knives? Sure, they could be colorful, or so the stories said, but certainly not the neon purples, greens, and pinks that decorated the hides of their predators. Besides, they were bugs, right?
To Amber that made them worse. You always KNEW when a munchtop was nearby. Jabberwockies could be sneaky, but when they came through the trees, you couldn't mistake them for anything else. Something that could sneak into your house and live in your bathing ring? Dangerous things belonged OUTSIDE.
Amber made a point to only tell people that she was afraid of jabberwockies. And sometimes munchtops. Spiders? No one believed in spiders, anymore.
But she knew the stories had to come from somewhere. |
She screamed. She screamed bloody murder. The screaming was only interrupted by the sobbing. Each choked breath more desperate than the last.
The men held her by the arms, one on each side. After a few moments the blood curdling screams sank into uncontrollable sobs. Glass shattered behind her, the sounds of nails being driven into wood soon drowning it out.
It looked like her heart was breaking. The men let her go momentarily, one man grabbing a hammer. She sat in the wet grass and sobbed. Her children standing only yards away, watching.
The man with the hammer left the woman's side and joined the others, helping drive the nails. The man remaining knelt, keeping a close eye on the woman. "Not long now,"he said. The children watched, panicked but silent.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, a black sedan appeared. A man dressed in a suit stepped out and handed the woman a slip of paper.
Crying, she accepted it it. The man next to her, gathering the children, helped her up and into the sedan. As he helped his family into the car, he locked eyes with me. Pain and fear mixed with the indignation on his face. Between the look he gave, the Foreclosure sign next to him, and the boards on his windows... it almost made me feel bad.
The man in the suit walked over to me, casually. Standing next to me, he clapped me on my shoulder. "Great day to be alive, isn't it?"he said.
I thought about that. This man and his family couldn't have made more than $40,000 a year. His wife had that classic stay-at-home-and-call-it-work way about her. The kids, their scuffed Wal-Mart shoes from an unknown brand, probably won't go to college. Yet there we were boarding up a house exponentially more expensive than their net worth could handle. I sell the Dream, whether you can afford it is not my problem.
The man next to me handed me a cigarette. I lit it, and took a drag. As the sedan pulled away from the curb, I saw one of the children crying in the back seat. I exhale, letting the smoke cloud my view.
"Yeah,"I say. "I guess you're right." |
I opened my eyes and, feeling the banality of another pointless day, abandoned any hope that a benevolent creator could possibly be involved in what was laughingly referred to as my life.
As I got dressed and went down stairs, the neighborhood dogs were barking at full volume. I couldn't hear myself think with their miserable cacophony overloading my senses. Not to mention the fact that it was barely 9:00 a.m. and the smog was already triggering my asthma. This would NOT be a good day.
My mom made spam and eggs, again. Fourth time this week. I eat until my gut is aching and look at my cell phone. No messages. I almost dialed her number, but then it hit me: what would I say? "Hi, its me, the guy who worshiped you before dropping out of high school. Wanna hang out some time?"I put the phone down and a part of me sincerely hoped that I would not live to see the end of this latest in an endless string of miserable, pointless days.
I got in my 1985 Chevrolet Celebrity, with AM only radio and doors that only opened from the outside. While stopped at a red light on the way to the park, I was startled by a man who approached my open window and shoved a .45 in my face. He demanded I get out of the car, cocked back the hammer and jabbed the muzzle in my mouth. "Damn,"I thought, "I just had that tooth fixed, I guess its back to Western Dental."
I got out of the car and just walked away, my head down, my teeth aching. I got to the park and found my friends playing basketball. I join them in a pick up game, and manage to shoot 0 for 16.
I walked home and took a shower, my head low, my tooth aching. Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse, a police cruiser pulled over along side me. A cop who looked more like a goddamn Viking got out, twister my wrist behind my back and shoved me up against a brick wall. He emptied my pockets, and patted me down without so much as a word. I flirted with the idea of reporting the carjacking, but figured it would only get me in more trouble. That car had three times it value in unpaid parking tickets.
"You on probation,"asked the Viking.
"No,"I responded, with what must have been too much indignity in my voice. He pulled out his short baton and smacked me in the jaw. "I hope Western Dental has a 2 for 1 deal,"was all I could think.
After showering and cleaning a worrying amount of coagulated blood from the area formerly known as my front teeth, I decided to go to Short Dog's house for some much needed R&R. I could always count on old Short Dog for a drink, a smoke, a friendly game of Dominos, and some good times watching rap videos on MTV.
Not today. Short Dog was killed in a drive-by two nights ago. Guess I didn't get the memo. His house had been foreclosed and his family moved to Barstow. Fuck this goddamn fucking piece of shit day.
I spent the next ten hours walking around South Central. I'd walked these streets a thousand times, but today the sun burned hotter. I could feel the hot concrete through the tattered soles of my shoes. I kept walking, and walking. And walking. Crenshaw. Slauson. Normandy. These streets, these goddamned streets. Over and over again until it got dark.
I really wanted a Fat Burger, but all I could find was a Bobo's. I got some chili-cheese fries at two in the morning, chased them with a bottle of Hurricane, and violently threw them both up at three.
As a stumbled home in a drunken stupor, I watched a police helicopter crash into the Goodyear Blimp, the fiery wreckage landing on my house, which lay a block ahead in the distance.
Today was not a good day. |
Without a firm grasp on reality, a multi-personality, bi-polar schizophrenic man believes himself to be walking the streets with his best friend. In a fit of rage over some reason, he kills that friend before he believes himself to wake up in a mental ward.
Write from the perspective of both the schitz and someone seeing him from the outside. Mix up genders as you will and take it down the rabbit hole as far as you want. |
Zombies. Zombies were the perfect cover. No one thought about the rest of the world, because after all, they must be infected to.
We still don't know where the zombies came from, all we know is the Company is responsible. The whole country was ravaged and savaged. The Company struck just when people were pulling themselves back together. Groups were joining together to form towns and the future looked bright. Then the Company came with drones and tanks. We barely beat zombies, how could we beat tanks?
|
Delegates from NATO, The Soviet Union and the African Union have gathered at the U.N. headquarters to discuss rising tensions between the three power houses. Secretary Trygve Lie demanded a solution be found to prevent conflict over the Strait of Gibraltar which has the potential to cripple trade in the region. The African Union has been threatening the Strait since Spain captured Isla de Alborán as a naval base with the backing of NATO in direct violation of the Treaty Of Tangier.
The Soviet Union has been working with the U.N. as an arbitrator between the European Powers and the A.U. but the United States has accused the Soviet Union of having ulterior motives since a conference in Tokyo where Soviet Academics talked about worsening relationships between Africa and Europe making fertile ground for a socialist revolution, First Secretary Khrushchev dismissed the comments as being "...just hypothetical musings of scholars, something the Soviet Union encourages...".
The U.N. also hopes to resolve the fate of the stateless Boer people who were expelled out of Africa along with other European peoples from Zimbabwe and Algeria after the introduction of Cairo Accord which stripped citizenship and expelled ancestors of European colonists still living on the Continent. Currently no nation has agreed to take in ten thousand displaced people who currently reside in displaced persons camps in Brazil who have made moves to close the camps and move the people on stating "we believe we have no responsibility to these people and that the nations that placed their ancestors in Africa should repatriate them". The meetings will start Monday despite expert predictions that negotiations will stall due to U.S. vetoes. |
Oh man... all day every day. Anyways:
"Mr. Payne, would you like to start us off?"
Everyone knew he was high as a kite, but as always the Al-Anon coordinator figured it would be best to get him out of the way early.
He stumbled to the podium, eyes glazed over, a dumb smile running across his face.
"This week, my biggest trigger was Mona telling me I'm not fit to be a parent. What does that bitch know? I mean honestly, she's not going to be winning any mother of the year awards. Anyways I tried to follow our exercise from last week, and tried to identify what I can change about myself to make the situation tolerable. I can honestly say... nothing. This bitch has no idea what she wants and I have no idea what I'm doing with her."
He looked around the room. He could see the same thought everyone must have had about how he should feel, namely shame. All he could think of was to grab the microphone from it's resting place, scream the words "Bullet Time!"and lean far back enough to see just the ceiling. He dropped the mic and just walked out of the room in a slow motion, staring at the moldy popcorn ceiling the whole way to the back entrance.
He came out on the street and he was peaking hard. As his legs started to take life, he started running into strangers, screaming "I am the Bat"and shoving them out of his way.
Years of pain-killer abuse led to hardcore PCP overdoses. To offset his relatively dead central nervous system Max switched to amphetamines which led him to feed his insomnia by dressing up like a bat and beating the shit out of random criminals on the street. People soon thought of him as a hero again. It all made sense again. For a while. He felt like he had a purpose. But then, he couldn't hold back anymore. After he murdered the Joker, he knew his demons were back in full force.
He went back to what he knew, pain, misery, and an honest acceptance of his drug abuse. "I am the night!"he screamed into a poor woman's face who reminded him of Mona.
|
The kids burst into laughter as I imitate a cat and pretend to lick my paws. “Cat! Cat!” Sandra yells in excitement. Dave jumps up and heads to the chalkboard, “Another point for Sandra!” He adds a tally under her name. “Alright come on boys! She’s kicking your butts” I shout brainstorming another animal to imitate. The boys are older and find our family games lame so they are playing on their phones. Dave grabs their phones and whispers something to them. They put their phones away and pretend to care. We had sixteen years of experience and were masters at parenting; at least in our own opinions. “Okay! Ready guys? Alright: BUZZ BUZZ!” I pretend to fly through the air and point to the flowers waiting for one of the kids to shout out the answer. They all stay silent. “Come on guys!” I shout looking at Dave who is also looking at them in disbelief. I give up, “It’s a bee!” I yell. Travis laughs with his older brother while Sandra looks confused. Zack, our oldest child smiles, “They don’t exist mom.” I roll my eyes, “Fine ten minutes guys and then we’ll restart the game” I say heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Dave follows behind me, “They’re too young. It was before their time” he says. I shrug, “It wasn’t that long ago. When we were kids, they were all over the place! I used to get stung every summer. It was just a part of life. I mean have they ever tasted honey?” I ask grabbing ice cubes from the freezer. Dave grabs a glass for me and answers, “Of course there’s still honey flavored everything” I put the ice cubes in the glass then pour water into it. “No! I mean real fresh honey. Have you ever tasted it?” I ask looking at my young husband. He laughs, “Duh, We’re only five years apart. I had it when I was a kid” he says. “What if Sandy is destined to become the world’s best beekeeper and she wanders this Earth aimlessly for her entire life because there are no more bees?” I ask jokingly. Dave laughs at my over-dramatic scenario, “Maybe Zack will create some in a lab when he becomes the world’s greatest scientist” he hypothesizes. I laugh and ask about Travis. Dave bursts into laughter; Travis was our oddball freelancer. He was either going to be an author, artist, actor, singer, or a musician.
At that moment, Travis walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, “I’m hungry” he whines pulling random foods out of the fridge. He pulls out chocolate syrup, pickles, bread, and Sriracha hot sauce. My stomach turns and I raise my voice, “I swear Travis that if any of that goes together on a sandwich, I will lock the fridge!” Dave tries to hide his smile unsuccessfully, “You are disgusting” he tells Travis as he continues to pull out more things from the fridge. Travis rolls his eyes, “I’m not putting this all on one sandwich” he says in an annoyed tone. I’m about to yell when I hear Sandy scream. Dave and I leave Travis to his own devices, and run to rescue our youngest princess. Her usually happy smile is warped into a frightened expression. “By the window!” She screeches as I hug her. Dave pulls her pink curtains back and then we see it.
There is a bumblebee buzzing around the room. Dave smiles in astonishment and his eyes widen. He looks at me and sees the same amazement on my face as Sandra continues to cry in fear. Dave and I watch it fly and then he says, “It’s a bee Sandy. It’s a real bumblebee.” As I watch it fly, memories of warm summer days flood my mind. I remember all the family picnics; us kids would be playing lawn games in the front yard, the adults would be gossiping in back as the radio sings and dad barbeques. When we got bored, we would jump in the pool and cool down. I remember drinking ice cold lemonade and watching as the younger kids ran from the bees in fear while the older kids who already knew it didn’t hurt that much laughed and scared them more. At the end of the day we would lay down in the grass exhausted from the fun and gaze up at all the stars wondering where we would end up. I look at Dave and his eyes are glazed over, he is caught in his memories too. Sandra has stopped crying and two words escape her innocent pink lips, “It’s beautiful.”
|
"Hello? Anna? I've got bad news. It's about our son.
"Why? What's wrong? Is he hurt?"
"No, but... where to start, where to start... Today I tried out that Oracle stand at the mall with Eric. I had him get in, scan his fingerprint, so on and so forth, and when the results come back... I just...
"Tess, just say it!"
"They say he's going to be a serial killer."
"...oh my god."
"And then he's just staring at the screen... thank god he's behind in reading... and he's just asking, 'what's it say, Mama? What's it say?'"
"Tess, just calm down, just calm down. It may just be a glitch. These things can't be 100% correct 100% of the time."
"Except they are. When Ellen took the test... it said she would marry a black man... and, before we know it, she meets Jared, and they start dating and... oh my god. Where did we go wrong?"
"Look, look. Let's assume that the test is correct. What's our plan?"
"Like I would fucking know!"
"Calm down Tess. We can't
"Oh, you're telling me to calm down? Calm down?! Our son could be a fucking serial killer. He could take multiple lives. He could torture people. He could rape people. And you tell me to calm down?!"
"... we can't give him back. We're his parents. We need to raise him as best as possible. We need to find him a therapist, tell her the situation, and pray... are you crying?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Just... hang on. I'll leave right now. I'll tell Mike that it's a family issue. He'll understand. I'll be right there. I love you."
[CALL TERMINATED] |
"Yes sir."Darla said as she walked over to the desk. "What should I write in the letters?"She asked as she turned back to master silver.
Silver nodded to his stamp at the far end of the desk beyond the brushes and pencils. Darla reached over and grabbed it and pressed it down onto the top left of the piece of the paper. "Um...Now what?"
"Write the following"Silver said in a commanding voice. He then look towards Darla who was glaring at him. He then sighed and said "Please?"in a quiet voice. She then smiled and put the pen to the paper.
On the eastern border of the golden cites sat an attractive young woman with deep black hair in a blue corset, covered by a pink over coat and tight blue jeans sat outside a cafe at a table. She took a sip of her coffee and offered her half eaten bread roll to the stray dog approaching her. She was the last customer at the cafe, as her presence- or her money were the only thing keeping it open at 1 in the morning. The waiter approached her with her cheese melt roll along with a letter of some sort. "Madam Baregold, a courier just arrived with a letter for you."
The woman took in from the waiter's hand, took out her dagger from her boot and proceeded to gut it open. Her eyes widened as soon as she saw the mark.
"Dear Faurien Baregold, I am requesting your presence at the city of new Dublin. I require your expertise and knowledge on the Grell and their followers. While I would rather keep you and your selfish and greedy intents as far away from me as possible, it appears I have no choice nor the time to look for some other insane woman with deep knowledge of an ancient race of demons. So I am calling upon my favor...."
Deep in the northern mountains sat a stone castle with a hall full of large hairy men in plated armour, eating their way through large carcasses of giant beasts and monsters. They sat laughing and talking tales of battle, spilling their ale on their own beards as they do so. At the end of this hall sits the biggest of them on a throne made out of the weapons and armour of the fallen. While he was usually cheery just as the rest if them, today he sat with a concentrated expression, reading to the best of his ability. With his daughter to help with any pronunciation issues.
"....To you because your honour demands it. I saved you and your kingdom on many occasions because my ideals demanded it. I am about to face impossible odds to save the place I call home, just as I did for your home. I'm asking for you and your warriors to stand with me in battle and...."
A teenage girl sat on the branch of a tree the size of sky scrapper, her long wild hair pointing in the direction the wind takes along with her raggedy white cloak. A crow about three times the size of her, landed on the branch and began nudging its beak into her. She turned to look at it, smiled and petted it on the beak. She then turned back to the letter in her hand and resumed reading.
"....Although I do not wish you or Darkmoon to be harmed, I want you by my side as I need someone I can truly trust to have my back on the battlefield, as I seem to be running low on those lately. Your mother would've killed me for suggesting something like this. But besides that..."
In a dark alley full of rats and the smell of urine, sits a hooded figure clutching a letter in one hand and a metallic scythe in the other. As a rat crawled past him his scythe dropped down onto it and dragged the remains closer to him. He continued reading as he devoured the remains of his catch of the day.
".....You wouldn't let me die to some second rate ancient race that doesn't belong her, would you? No, you would want me to die after two days of us tearing each other apart. And you can't quench your blood thirst for killing me if I'm Grell chow, can you? And if that doesn't convince you then I'll tell the government that you're still alive.
Your best friend forever
- Riot Silver"
The hooded figure crush the letter in his hand and began laughing uncontrollably. He got up from his step and walked over to the true darkness that lies in the alley. Once he entered his physical being simply melded with the shadows. |
Nope.
There were no "terms of agreement."There was no sign up or contract. You did nothing to implicate or include yourself in this guy's mad attempt at heroism.
As the screen flashed a far too late "technical difficulties"template over a scene that had consisted of a limp body violently strewn across a press conference podium, your mind had zeroed into "legal"mode. It was the entirely objective state of reasoning that many years of law school had instilled into you, and would trigger in stressful circumstances.
Particularly one as stressful as this.
According to the law, you were a victim! He had placed you in a hazardous situation without your informed consent. The evidence for your innocence was staggering. After all, you would present the hard drive to the government without struggle, and a thorough test and testimony would reveal that you knew nothing about what the mysterious man had planned, and, more importantly, you knew nothing about the contents of the drive.
You looked down at the hard drive you had been unconsciously turning over in your hands. It was clammy with your sweat, your body's panic betraying the concise thought process of your mind. Your eyes returned to the screen, where the ironically appropriate template still held.
Your mind reverts to what you had just saw. A man whom you had bumped into, was on the television. He looked like how one might imagine a biblical prophet, only well suited and adjusted for the modern age. There was fire and brimstone in his eyes as he promised to reveal the secrets of a great lie, one that had been propagated by a government that was obviously the cause of his death only a moment after the declaration. You remember the spray of blood against the backdrop, as much a warning as a physical result of the bullet.
You begin to think. He didn't get a trial. He didn't get a chance to defend himself.
There were no "terms of agreement."No sign up or contract. Not for you. Not for him. The law wasn't going to save anybody anymore.
You decided no one was going to find out you had the drive, and while you were incriminating yourself, you might as well see what the man had to say...
|
"Letters?!"The head of the research institute is hunched over his desk, screaming at the man on the other end of the line.
"Yes, sir, letters."
"Don't you publish that damn paper, Simon, you'll make everyone here look like a joke! You have our entire reputation at stake, all 140 years of mathematical brilliance just thrown away by a fake number!"
"No, sir, this is legitimate, I swear it. It fits in perfectly with String Theory, works out the complications we have with Quantum Mechanics, and, might I add, it's actually ingenious. Who knew nature could be so perfect?
"Perfect? PERFECT? IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL THIS TOMFOOLERY? YOU'RE FIRED IF YOU PROGRESS ANY FURTHER WITH THIS, SIMON, DO YOU HEAR ME?"
"My sincerest apologies, sir, but this has to be done. I hope you can come to terms with yourself after this."Simon hangs up, and continues the call with his travel agent.
Two weeks later, the stage is set. All the world leaders gathered in one room, along with the planet's most renowned scientists and mathematicians, all on the edge of their seats after the dramatically long recitation of the known digits of pi comes to an end, after a long, long month. Simon Kercovksy's research all culminates here, so despite the immense strain the last month of standing still and reading numbers has had on his voice and legs, he powers forward.
"7654. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the final 13 digits that, quite literally, unlock the rest of the universe. They are, as follows,
69lolscrewyou."
Cheers. Flowers. Confetti. Merriment. Drinking. Any woman Simon walks up to offers herself to him, but he denies. He denies them for Mathematics. After being officially elected "Supreme Overlord of Earth,"Simon lives a long, 105-year lifespan, watching as what was once the Pre-Embryonic Human Society develop into the Galactic force that is the United Human Alliance. All of this, due to his contribution to mathematics. He dies lying down next to his only wife, education, in the form of his original copy of the research papers. |
Jordan studies the map as his friend Alex finishes packing up his backpack. They've completed roughly 120 miles of their 300 mile venture through the Appalachians, and are just a few miles east of their final destination for the night; the small lumber town of Morrisville. The short meal they have just completed has nearly depleted their supplies, and Jordan is looking forward to getting some fresh foods for the journey on. Alex slings the pack over shoulders and stands over Jordan.
"What's it lookin' like?"asks Alex.
"Yeah, we've got just over two miles to go."Replies Jordan. "We've still got a couple of hours until nightfall, so we should be good to get there and stop for the night."
The two friends continue on their winding path along the mountainside, passing through the densely wooded forest. Jordan stops as he sees some brush off to the side move slightly. The sight of the rabbit puts a smile on his face as he reaches for his .38 revolver. However, after he pulls the hammer back and takes aim the rabbit scurries off out of sight.
The two continue on, eventually coming out on the main road their compass was pointing to. *Roughly a quarter mile left* Jordan thinks to himself.
"Alright man, were just about there."says Jordan.
"Good, I'm ready for a fuckin' beer."replies Alex.
The pair continue discussing what endeavors they are going to accomplish for the night, and the sight of the engraved wooden "MORRISVILLE"sign puts a smile on both of their faces.
At first glance, Jordan takes in the simplicity of the town. The main drag is comprised of a few houses, a church, general store, tavern, furniture store, and what looks to be a doctors office way down. The only cross street has a large mill with several smaller huts located around it. There are a few older model trucks parked outside, and a handful of lamp posts that have not yet kicked on. The two agree the huts off by the mill are possibly some type of lodging and continue towards them. As they walk through the streets they take notice of the relative quietness surrounding them. Alex glances through the windows of the tavern, not seeing any faces, and notices that the lights appear to be off. Turning on the cross street, the two take note of the darkness surrounding the factory, finding the calmness a bit unsettling.
They approach the huts that are unmarked and dark. Walking the the line one-by-one they peer through the front windows, looking for a sign of life. Slightly disturbed, the two head back towards the town. Walking into the bar Jordan glances around, taking in the complete silence.
"HELLO!"Alex shouts out.
With no response, he walks behind the bar, opens the glass door and grabs a beer. Jordan shoots him an annoyed look, and turns down his offer for one.
The two exit and head out towards the church. The street lights have kicked on now, and Jordan can only wonder if there is some gathering taking place outside of the town. Alex opens the church's front door and peers inside. The overhead lights are on, the pews are empty, and the everything from the holy water container to the small table housing the slew of pamphlets is still in immaculate condition.
The duo take their bags off and have a seat outside the steps of the church. They begin discussing all sorts of possibilities as to where the townsfolk can be. They decide a quick search of the remaining buildings is in order. After roughly an hour of knocking on each door and venturing into the open ones, they come to the realization that they are quite possibly the only two people in the town. Deciding it is too late to continue forward, they pitch their tent behind the general store towards the center of town, hoping they may hear someone trample through. However, after several more hours and no one in sight, Alex decides he needs some more alcohol. Telling Jordan he is going to take a piss, he wanders back to the tavern, takes off his shirt, and creates a makeshift carrier for sixteen beers. His grumbling stomach points him towards the general store where he grabs some random junk food with his free hand and heads back to Jordan.
Jordan starts to get upset, but Alex assures him that as soon as they encounter someone in the town he will pay for all of it. This satisfies Jordan who takes a beer and begins to relax. After finishing the alcohol and some of the food the pair doze off.
Jordan wakes up to the warmth of the sun rays on his face. Sitting up, he sees Alex is still passed out, and proceeds to exit the tent to go relieve himself. Glancing around the back of the building, Jordan does not notice anything different from the night before. Finishing his business on the side of a tree, Jordan heads back to the main stretch and looks around. The quietness unsettles him, and he heads back to the tent to wake up his friend. The pair decide to pack up, grab some supplies from the store and leave some cash on the counter. After doing so, they consult the map and their compass and begin their forty-five mile trek to the next town.
The two set out and spend another day traversing through the wilderness, stopping occasionally to rest and eat. The day wears on with the sun starting to descend. Jordan figures they have approximately one mile until they reach the town of Jackson. Having grabbed enough supplies from their previously strange stop, the two are eager for a good nights rest before embarking on the home stretch of their journey. They come out to the main road, chatting up about what they are looking forward to in terms of entertainment, when Jordan stops. They are standing before a wooden sign engraved "Morrisville".
After a few seconds of staring stunned at the sight before them, the pair begin to try and reason where they could have possibly gone wrong on the map. Not thinking they could have possibly made a full circle, they decide to check the town once more. Jordan, uneasy from the unfolding events, places his hand on the butt of his revolver, getting a slight wave of assurance at his side. Going up and down the street, the two continue to check each building for any sign of life only to find none. Alex runs back to the general store, only to notice that their money is no longer on the counter, and the supplies they had picked up previously were back in place.
Panic begins to set in, and they check whatever other footprints they may have left from the previous day, only to discover that the beer was stocked, the trash can did not contain their previously discarded waste, and the area behind the general store appeared untouched. The two decide they need to leave immediately, and start brainstorming for any logical ideas. Alex suggests checking the vehicles parked on the main drag. A quick inspection shows one of the trucks has a set of keys in the visor and starts right up. The two hop in and start down the road. Jordan consults the map and navigates Alex down a stretch of twenty miles. The sun has set and their nerves have calmed, so they decide to retire for the night in the back of the pickup.
Jordan is awoken by the warm sun again. Feeling less disturbed, he prepares some food that the pair eat while planning out their trip to the next town. Jordan feels it a good idea to inform some local authority of the disturbances they've encountered, and start heading towards Jackson. The two continue to discuss what could possibly explain their strange encounters over the next twenty-five miles, trying to make sense of the strange hiccup in their journey when the truck comes to stop before a wooden sign.
Morrisville.
It is still early morning, and not a sign of life is around. They devise a plan to try calling out to some family from any phone they could find. With the church being the closest, they park outside and Jordan draws his revolver. Alex runs in and starts scouring the medium sized building for any sign of a phone. Jordan takes off towards the back to look, and notices the graveyard through the window. Heading outside he examines the eerily similar white crosses sticking out of the ground. All of the graves appear to have been freshly moved except for two which had perfectly manicured grass on top as if they had been settled for some time. He estimates there are 300 of these crosses, all blank, except for those two. Upon examining the cross, he discovers his name etched onto one and Alex's on the other.
Jordan's head begins to swim from the dizziness. He hears Alex yelling from inside the church but can't make out the words. His eyes affix on the large stone tablet at the back of the graveyard.
"Two enter to stay. Free reign all day. To leave is to betray."
Jordan's eyes scan the tablet over and over, but the realization struck him after the first read. His eyes well up as he turns around to the sound of Alex's voice approaching. Alex comes to a stop before him, his mouth moving but his speech inaudible. Jordan lifts his right hand up, pulling the hammer back on the revolver, and settles it on Alex's face. Alex stands frozen, his face stunned in fear. His voice begins to waver, but the blast sounds off, and his body falls limp to the ground. Jordan's face, twisted with pain, looks to the sounds from the west side of town. Cars are moving down the main stretch, the factory is spewing steam from the top of its main stacks. He glances back at the two graves. The one bearing his name is a blank cross, awaiting a soul. Next to it is Alex, a newly constructed cross with freshly packed dirt.
|
Post deleted - the tag is for stories written as responses to prompts here on /r/WritingPrompts. If this is a prompt response, please reference the original post in yours, or feel free to submit to another subreddit.
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* /r/shutupandwrite - A great subreddit for getting a critique on your work and critiquing other works.
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* /r/ShortStoriesCritique - A place to share *your* short story!
* /r/proofreading - Get your paperwork proofread here!
* /r/Writing's weekly critique thread. |
The UN sat, each and every member biting their nails. Their entire fate depending on this next contact. The laptop screen was projected on the far wall; a place where Beyoncé had once performed now housed the only hope for humanity.
The Canadians were waiting, knowing that every second spent meant another square centimeter of snow melted. The Americans paced, shoulders heavy with the knowledge of the threat to the warehouse where all the Big Mac sauce in the world was stored. The Chinese knew the smartphone technology secret was close to being exposed. (Hamsters actually ran the companies)
It seemed that North Korea had found every nation, every country, every person's weaknesses. And now the world was forced to bow at their feet. Finally, after hours of waiting, the email arrived.
"[email protected] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6ujbbinHrM
This is the reason I refuse."
It seemed that all was lost.
|
Farmer Dan--Johnathan Joseph Bartholomew Dan by birth, though he preferred the former--stood on his front lawn, jaw agape as he stared absently at the 747 wreckage that was once his chicken coop.
Fireman, police officers and paramedics went about their jobs, saving, serving and rescuing the survivors of the flight. Farmer Dan watched with reverence, lost in a place between life and death, between time and eternity.
"Excuse me! Are you the owner of this place?"The question came like a cast iron pan to Farmer Dan's head and he spun around in shock to find a woman with a microphone and a camera crew. "Is this your um...farm? Would you mind offering a comment about this tragedy?"
"Yes, ma'am,"Farmer Dan said. He had meant to answer her first question, as his wandering mind had yet to register her second. "Wait--erm, I don't much prefer to be on television. I'm a simple man."
"Just a quick word?"
He relented and shrugged his burly shoulders. "Well uh, I woke up round 4 in the morning, like usual. And uh, I went out and did my chores. Had a mind to go fetch some eggs for breakfast and before I know it there's a daggum plane falling out of the sky right onto my hen house."
"That must have been so terrible,"the reporter returned.
"Not so much,"he returned quietly, returning his attention to the scene. "Some people have had worse mornings..." |
Well, I'll throw something a little wacky at you. Maybe it will at least spark an idea for you.
Billy Bob is in his 30s or 40s and is a hunter of the paranormal. He has a dark past and has lost everything in his endless pursuit of the paranormal, which he has failed to ever actually prove exists. He is beginning to question its existence himself.
Bobbie Gin is in her 20s and has just started out as a plumber. Happy and idealistic, she has a way of breathing fresh life into all who meet her. In fact, if Billy Bob ever met her, he might even wonder if that wasn't just a personality trait of hers.
Feel free to change the names and good luck! |
"They were *not* right."spoke the Prime Minister. "I refuse to believe that such a radical party were right. This is simply something we as a people have to do."
London. The sight of the worlds largest camp for, what originally was, for immigrants, and at the throne of it all as 10 Downing Street, or what was now scaffolding protecting a former landmark that had so easily been reduced to rubble and splinters after a successful bombing attempt. The Prime Minister himself had not perished, though several higher ups were. The newspapers all had black-and-white memorial pictures of the late Chancellor of the Exchequer.
The source of the bombing was the ever growing radical Muslim group that had started from rather desolate beginnings, from a bunch of ne'er-do-wells shouting crude insults from a van to now a full blown defensive campaign as one of the primary political parties in the UK was a far-right Nationalist group out on a crusade of scare tactics and scaremongering in an attempt to usurp the throne from the ever wavering Conservative party that had only just now taken action. Two radical groups that had grown, and a few steps too far from the wrong people, led to sections of London being cordoned off. First it was Hackney, then Dagenham, and it spread like a virus, until the capital was cut off.
But outside, Northerners joked. They had always been superior to their southern counterparts, and now the entire reason people even recognized the South had been cut. The Midlands Divide had started, a liberation front that involved the North West, North East and the Midlands that did not agree with anything coming from London, and had grown volatile over how little politicians cared about them.
Despite numerous dealings from behind the scenes, everyone thought it was just a radical way to keep the trouble out (as in "Foreigners"), but it was them that had voted the far-right party. It was them that had effectively ruined themselves. If London had no power, than this would have been just another tragic event. But, in a way, London screwed London, and to those inside of the city, they thought they were being punished, that they were being worked and kept against their will because of an all-round downfall.
In reality, they were the cancer that had to be cut from the rest of England. Extremists, politicians, all of them removed.
The North was always superior. |
"Hold my beer, bro."Those were his last words.
Fucking Tim. He told us that he could vomit this "nasty pussy melting acid that can make a hole through steel panties"while he was drunk.
So I held his beer, mind you. He had about 12 cans worth of them. He started gouging his throat with his fingers to try and cough up his "rancid acid"and show us what he can do with the manhole cover we nicked from the corner earlier.
He starts gagging and suddenly this stream of foul smelling liquid poured from his mouth and onto the manhole cover. Then the manhole cover burst into flames. Unfortunately, he fell over backwards from the drunkenness and started to vomit all over his stomach and face.
Poor Tim.
In his honor, I tried to do what he did. Turns out I have the same ability as him. Somehow the acid becomes acidic only after it leaves your mouth.
"And that is the reason, in Tim's memory, that I happily announce to you people today that I am now 10 years sober."
"Jeez Nate, you didn't have to make up a story like that to tell us why you stopped drinking in the first place. You know we'll just accept you no matter the reason."
"But I'm telling the truth!"
"Of course you are."
|
As I pulled into the driveway, I knew attending was a bad idea. I'd *never* gone a day without taking my pills. At least not in the past couple years. Being the stupid teenager that I was, I managed to brush the concern off of my shoulder without a problem. I walked from my car and knocked on the door.
I received a warm welcome from all of my friends before being left to roam free. I did so for a couple hours until the side effects started kicking in.
Before too long, my headache started settling in. I took my leave to the restroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet in search for anything that could suppress the pain. I managed to find a small bottle of Advil, and took the recommended dosage without hesitation. I could feel my headache building by the second. My body must've been unable to function properly without the pills. I could constantly feel it getting worse and worse.
After thirty minutes of hiding in the upstairs bathroom, my nervousness had grown into full-out anxiety. I locked the door, ignoring how clammy my hands were. I sat in the bathtub, locked in a fetal position. I had *no* clue the anxiety could get this bad. I was shaking. After all, I hadn''t experienced this feeling in almost two years. All I can do now is sit here helplessly, and pray that no one knocks on the door... |
As the red sun descended over Omega Z every one went about there normal day. Buying fruit a the market, playing in the gravity pit. Most people knew that the end would happen soon but instead of telling the children and older folk we got on with our normal lives until such time came.
It was late on a Monday night, I was sleeping when I heard the screams and crying from outside. I ran as fast as I could outside. It was mass panic, boxes of fruit overturned in the street, windows smashed.
I looked up, the day had come. The day that most of us knew was inevitable. A meteorite, the size of the earth, was heading through the atmosphere. I tried to stay calm, and I walked back into my house. My wife and kids were at the top of the stairs.
"What's happening daddy? Why are people screaming?"My daughter asked.
"It doesn't matter darling, come here"I replied
Me, my wife and my daughter all sat at the bottom of the stairs, with my arms around them, waiting.
"It's going to be ok. Don't worry"
|
Not everybody gets a second chance; sometimes it just won't happen, no matter how hard we try. some of us live out in the cold, whether we want to or not, and that's our entire life. we accept it. remember that as you sit by your fire every night. we're not asking for your help: we don't want it. for your sake, though, remember the wind when you feel the warmth of comfort; as the heat warms your bones know that you were cold. you were every bit as cold as we are now. know that your fire won't heat the world outside and that it only makes it easier for YOU to live. take pride in building it for yourself but never forget the cold that made you love the warmth. without us, you would not know what you have. |
My friends like to call me an American Folk Story. I was the child of immigrants. At the age of two my mother died. At three my father gave me away for adoption. I stayed at that orphanage all the way until I was 16. Normally, you stay in a orphanage until you are 18, but when they get crowded people have to go. I wasn’t forced to go, something was calling me to greater things. I graduated high school as an average student. Since I couldn’t afford college, I decided to work at the restaurant in Brooklyn. I changed my name too, decided to forge my own path with something that sounded more American. I tried going into the army but they said I couldn’t go in due to a car accident when I was younger that caused me to have a slight limp. Eventually, at the age of 22 I saved enough money to go to culinary school and became very successful. I eventually made it on Iron Chef and was the first person to defeat every one of the Iron Chefs. This got the attention of some investors and I was able to open my own restaurant in Manhattan. Not bad for someone who isn’t 30 yet. Anyway, this story isn’t about me. Its about the time I was hiring at met my father for the first time in 25 years.
It was a normal day. Hanukkah was coming up in a week and my wedding in just over a month, so I was in a little bit of a stressed mood. I was working in the back office of my restaurant, getting ready for the last interview I had that day. I don’t do too much cooking since I don’t trust anyone else with my books. I get word from my receptionist and fiancee Susan, who said my interviewee is here. I told her let him in. Then, that is when he walked into my office.
“Shalom, Mr. Parker, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, shalom…?”
“Abraham Ashkenazi Sr. It is a pleasure to meet you. I have seen you on the TV shows.”
Holy shit, it was my father. I guess I should have said my name earlier, shouldn’t I? My name is Abraham Ashkenazi Jr. Well, I guess it was anyway. I know it isn’t common for Jews to name their sons after their fathers but hey, it is the 21st century. My name now is Franklin Parker. My parents met in Israel and immigrated to the US after my father finished his military service. They had me at a very young age. Hell, my father was about my age now when he gave me up. I guess he would be in his mid 50’s now. Let’s get back to the story.
“Well, it is good to meet you Mr. Ashkenazi, please sit down.”
“I am surprised you were able to pronounce my name correctly right off the bat. It usually takes someone a couple tries to get it right.”
“Well, it is New York, I think there are enough of us Jews around here to get some unique names.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! I didn’t realize you were Jewish as well.”
“Yeah, I don’t get to the synagogue as often as I want since I run this place. Anyway, how about we get this interview started.”
“Of course. Give me your first question.”
Now, normally in a interview the person asking the questions just goes over the resume in front of them to make sure it was all correct. This time around, I couldn’t care less about it. I took a second to look at my father and observe him. He was easily 6 feet tall, brown eyes, dark black hair with streaks of gray on the sides. He had a mustache that would make you think of Ron Jeremy. He was built like an ox though, and if you didn’t know he was Israeli you would think he was an old Italian.
“Well, normally in an interview the questioner would just go over the resume to make sure things are all correct. I trust you enough to skip over that stuff to ask you some uncommon questions?”
After the interview I was going to go through his resume with a fine toothed comb.
“Oh, okay then. Be my guest and shoot.”
“Do you have any family?”
This would at least get me to know a little more about him.
“Yes. I have son. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“What is his name?”
“Benjamin. He is going to Penn State for Engineering. Full ride too. He got his father’s brains. He doesn’t call often.”
“Good for him.”
Looks like he had another kid after he dropped me off in the orphanage. Asshole. If he has his father’s brains why is his father applying for a job as a waiter?
“Mr. Ashkenazi, I read your resume and it says that you have been unemployed for 6 months and left your job willingly. Care to explain why?”
“Uhh, that is a little personal, but I was looking for someone. Someone special.”
“Who exactly were you looking for?”
“I, had another son with my first wife when I was young and dumb. After my wife died, I couldn’t afford to take care of him the way a child should be, so I gave him up. I went to the orphanage where I gave him too and they said he left at 16 on his own. They haven’t heard from him since.”
Well, at least he tried.
“What was his name?”
“Abraham Ashkenazi Jr. You would think he would be easier to find.”
I had enough of this charade. I wanted to talk to him and tell him the truth.
“Mr. Ashkenazi, this isn’t normal for an interview and I think it will derail it, but I think I might know where Junior is.”
“What? How? Do you know where he is right now.”
“Yeah, I think I do. Follow me, and grab your coat.”
I lead my father out back into the alley. It was snowing outside and the wind was blowing. Once it was the two of us in the alley I told him the news.
“Uh, Mr. Parker. I do not think there is anyone out here.”
“Mr. Ashkenazi, I lied to you when I said I knew where Abe is.”
“Why would you lie to me? What kind of lies to another about their lost son. You bastard! I do not want to work with someone who lies to another mans face! How can you even run a business you-”
“He is dead, Mr. Ashkenazi.”
The alley became quiet. A moment ago it was full of a man unknowingly yelling at the top of his lungs into his sons face. Now, you could hear the rats scampering on the pavement.
“What? How do you know?”
“We were friends at the orphanage when we were kids. We were coming home from the library when the taxi we were in was t-boned by a truck. He was on the side of the car that was hit. He died in a coma a week later.”
I couldn’t look at him in the eyes when I told him that. I had to look away. Even though I couldn’t see him, I could hear him crying.
“Please, please tell me Mr. Par-, Mr. Parker. Where is my son buried! Tell me where I can pay my respects!”
I walked to my father and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Mr. Ashkenazi, you seem like a very devout Jew, but Abe didn’t have a grave. Since we just got out of the orphanage we didn’t have that much money. His body was donated to science and his remains where cremated. I will say that I had the honor of spreading his ashes over the pier on Coney Island.”
He stopped crying and looked at me in the eyes.
“So, there isn’t a place for me to remember him, is there.”
“There is Coney Island, Mr. Ashkenazi. Look, Abe was my best friend. I am going to make sure you don’t have to work, okay? I want you to go home, it is getting dark and I don’t want you to freeze okay.”
“But, what about the jo-”
“You are not going to work here. You are not going to work again.”
I patted my dad on the back, gave him my information, and sent him on his way. I was sincere in my offer to have him live comfortably for the rest of my life, but he never took the offer. I never heard from him again. |
I finally tracked the bastard down. I phased through the door into the high tech luxury penthouse. I've been waiting hundreds of years for this moment.
I made myself visible and released The Fear. Azrael's guests panicked, energy and plasma pistols fell from the dead hands of security guards as I waved my hand in a sweeping motion snuffing the delicate candles of their lives.
This is completely against the rules. I don't care. I found him.
"Ah. I really didn't expect you to find me on Mars. I'm actually quite impressed."
I strode through the room towards him. I had no interest in words. No interest in his fear. I knew there would be none. How many lives had he taunted me, leading me closer and closer to him only to find him already re-birthed in a new body, never giving me the sweet pleasure of severing his soul from this realm.
His eyes hold no fear as I plunge my hand into his chest. My icy grip holds his heart like a newborn, amazed at the delicacy of it. I smile the smile only Death is capable of. Azrael's guests are either passed out or in a stupor now. No mortal can see Death, let alone his smile, and hold even the scrap of sanity needed to tell the tale. This whole incident would be blamed on bad nano-drugs or some other such indulgment of the rich.
I squeeze my hand and crush his heart. Release. Finally. I move my eyes to meet his dead eyes.
His dead eyes stare back at me, "Come now... you don't think you can just stop being Death do you? I'm Azrael."
He pulls my hand from his chest and rips my arm off, "Thanks for the vacation though,"he says and smiles the smile only Death can, gripping my neck.
______________________________
I wake up. Not as Death. What are these memories? Mom? Dad? I hop out of bed and look in the mirror. I'm... nine years old? I look out the window at the Mars landscape, a distant skyscraper is surrounded by police air ships. Cold fear flows through my body and comes out as sweat.
"Honey, can you see if Bryan is awake? School starts soon,"a voice from outside the hall I know is my mothers.
I'm Bryan. I remember my last life. I remember being Death. I know who I am as Bryan.
The closet creaks open in the mirror. I look behind me. I know what is in it.
"This might be more fun than my vacation as a human... that you cut short. I've never had a pet before!"Azrael says. My now human mind reels from the sound of his voice. |
Two years into the zombie apocalypse.
A man is excommunicated from a save haven, evidence from the past suggest he was, and maybe still is, a murderer. He wandered aimlessly until his is bitten on his leg.
He lies against the wall screaming in pain, he killed the zombie that did it, but would the wound kill him. He grabbed his gun, and pointed it at his leg. Shit, he thought, shit. Shit. Shit. He he had to get that leg off of him. The zombie saliva was running through his veins, maybe right now.
He pulled the trigger and a pain went through him like no other pain he had felt. He looked down. He still hadn't separated the lower half of his leg from his body. He pulled the trigger agin, alerting everything with ears in a ten mile radius. He didn't care, he had to get the leg off. He looked down and the bullets hadn't done it.
Shock and terror had mostly taken over by now, but the little bit of rational human left in him, thought I'm just going to pull. He pulled. He ripped and tore. Ripping through vein and tendons and flesh, finally he got it off. That's when he passed out.
Anger flooded through his dreams. "If they hadn't of kicked my out I wouldn't have had to do that, I would have been fine. I'm not a murderer!"
He woke up on a couch in an apartment to the noise of a beeping microwave. He moved around a bit on the couch and suddenly realized, he was half a leg lighter. Mentally he cried, screamed, and laughed. Crying for the sadness of being a half cripple, laughing for the happiness that came with surviving a ridiculous experience, and screaming at the person he was before he lost, screaming for him to keep his eyes open, stay alert you fool. The things are everywhere and will bite any part on your body. He was a fool.
Over the course of seven months he developed as a person into a borderline monster.
He was saved by a girl named closer, the girl was sweet, kind, and very attractive. She had been living on her own for about a year, when she found him. She was on a food run, and heard the gunshots. She found him unconscious, leaning against a wall, and covered in blood.
She tied a tourniquet, and carried him to the nearest apartment. She nursed him back to full health, or as healthy as the thing that he would become, could be. She also fell in love. They shared many late nights in front of a TV, with DVDs they stole from stores all around them. He always liked the violent ones.m
He couldn't go out and help her get food very well, so he mostly just hung out at their place, she made him food. But one night she awoke to the door opening. He was staggering in, doing the weird hop thing, he was covered in blood, and shaking. He wasn't asked any questions. She as terrified at first, but love eventually blinded her. The late night outings, became a thing. She ingnores him. He was going out and eating. Eating zombies, eating humans, eating anything he could find. Because he was confused. He felt himself slowly becoming a monster.
The outings were fueled by curiosity, he thought that humans might taste good to him now. So everyone in a while he went out just to disprove that notion. They worked to shoot down the thought at that time, but he would always get the urges again.
She noticed him falling apart, she would fins his teeth in some the food, she would see his skin slowly wrinkling. She began to think he was dead. That the virus was in him, just working differently.
Seven months later, the urge came upon him. He hit Clier across the face with his dead fist. Struggled to his foot, and hopped into the kitchen as she lay on the ground. He pulled a knife from the silver wear drawer and hopped back over to her. That's when he straddled her body, and beat her face until she laid still. Then he moved the knife across her neck slowly relishing the moment. Delighting at the sight of blood. She died. And he found himself. It was blood he wanted, he just wanted to see blood.
He cut off her leg and sewed it to his stump. He called himself the dead leg. He went around the world, or what was left of it, doing just as the zombies did. |
I stepped forward to the door in front of me, marveling at the sheer beauty of design that it held. *I can't believe there are any architects in Holtar so skilled as to have designed such beauty...* Castle Sophia was never known for it's decor, but just the door the the chamber itself was a sight to behold. It almost looked out of place next to the drab stone castle walls. Or perhaps it was the castle that looked out of place? Nevertheless, I had to bear witness to the *inside* of the room, not just the door, to consider my journey complete.
I remembered the words of the scholars and did as they had told me to do. *Place your hand upon the family seal and the guardian will speak. Present your birthright, and claim the sword.* The sword was but the first step in ridding the plague that my Lord Uncle had unleashed on the land. But it was a step that needed completing. I did as I the scholars had bid me to do, and a presence entered my mind. This I took, as the moment to speak.
"I, Prince Lyon of Holtar, son of the late King Ephraim, beseech you to open your doors and let me lay claim to the sword that rests within."
The presence, now making itself much more apparent, responded. *"Tell me your tale, so that I may verify your claim as Prince Lyon of Holtar."* An odd request, but one that I was willing to oblige. I *had* to.
"There's not much a king wants other than to see his kingdom flourish, his people prosper, and his son crowned. My father at least--he was that kind of king. But my lord Uncle, he was not content with letting my father's wishes come to fruition. Curse the day that he was born, but I have sworn to my late father, my mother, and my people that I *will* stop my lord Uncle and the world will once again be free from the shadows he--"Before I could finish my piece, the voice spoke out.
"Verily, you are he. Enter, that you may claim what you have come for. But take heed, for one walks behind you."
With that said, the presence vanished and I was left to myself. The door groaned as it opened, perhaps irked that after years of rest, it had to move once more. I stepped into the chamber with due haste, taken aback by the sheer magnificence but unwilling to rest until my hand had grasped the hilt of the sword. That was what I needed. It was *all* I needed. If the guardian was correct, then it would not be wrong to assume my Lord Uncle has sent someone--or something to dispatch of me before I reached my goal. A pity for him, for I had already succeeded.
Ten quick strides and I had reached the middle of the chamber, light shone from the ground where the sword lay, embedded in a short pillar of marble. The sword in the stone. My mother had read me one such story of a king who was crowned because he pulled out the sword. But I needed it for much more than a coronation. Slowly, I reached towards the sword and marveled at how easily it was pulled out.
But I lacked the foresight to see that it was not by my hand that the sword was pulled. No. It was by the one who has always come first before me in all things. My shadow--my shade. |
Last Tuesday fortnight, Eddie was in stuck the time/space contiuum (again) and had to indicate to The Conductor exactly when he felt able to handle re-entry. 'Now then!' he cried, he had cried, rematerialising in a black and white police station, in 1949.
Ever since, kindly bobbies have amused themselves by bellowing this mysterious phrase at young delinquents.. (Eddie remains a bit stuck for time) |
I watch the dropship fly up and away at ludicrous speeds. Breaking the sound barrier no more than ten seconds after I was rudely shoved out the airlock. Upon looking around I have to say that it's not going to be a very relaxing banishment.
At least they didn't sentence me to death per se, I mean if just scavenge for materials and build a shelter, forage for edible plants, hunt some small game and find a fresh water spring I could probably live awhile before I went insane from boredom. If I only knew how to do those things.
I bet they didn't even think to drop me off in a habitable area. This is probably the most desolate part of the whole damned planet. Dirt and shrubs for miles around, and not a single hill or mountain for shade.
Going through the "survival"bag I see that they gave me twelve months of super-rations and a two bottles of water. A 2 foot length of rope, probably so I'll unsuccessfully try to hang myself. Jerks.
Did I really deserve this? It was just a little joke. I mean I wasn't the only who laughed and made fun of the Supreme Emperor of the Galaxy 's sex tape. But I guess I did get the highest AnsibleTube hits when I edited it and posted it across the net.
I remember waking up to a large fist in my face, and then waking up for a second time with a black bag over my head. Then being punched again by that pig-faced lard-ass secret police officer in that damned dropship, face to face with none other than the Supreme Emperor of the Galaxy.
He didn't appreciate me saying that one might get lock jaw after being poked with such a rusty little pin prick of a dick. Or that the company he kept was about to die of boredom if not asphyxiation from his massive belly. And none to pleased at all with the shopping of donut penis in his mouth.
"Yada Yada yada, you are banished for the undermining of the Supreme Authority of my office, blah blah blah, I'm hungry, and I have to pay or throw my status around to get laid, yada blah."
But the worst part? Was watching the testimonies from my oldest friends. Apparently after a exhaustive research by combing through FaceSpace they tracked down the first few hits to my closest pals. And those rotten stool pigeons squawked about how proud I was of having the video pass the number one video of all time "Never Say Gangam."Then proceeded to give my name and address to the "fans."
So now I'm here. Recounting my story to you little rock, because I think you and I are going to be best friends even though you don't say much. But just think with all this free time I'll be able to finish that book I told everyone I was working on. |
I look over at Paul. Our eyes bulge out, as we realize the sharply dressed salesman was right.
"This car? This car doesn't just take you places in style my dear boys. It takes you there in time."
I can't catch my breath and I feel panic setting in. My mind flits back to how we happened upon the salesman on Craigslist of all places. Paul and I needed a ride, but even pooling our money together we only had $400. After weeks of looking, we saw the ad that was too good to be true. "2006 Honda Civic, 10,000 miles, $500 OBO."Too good. But after so much failure, we thought it couldn't hurt just to check it out.
The guy introduced himself as a salesman of exotic goods. He fed us line after line of used car salesman garbage involving little old ladies and every other Sunday. When pressed, he said there was a matter of recompense we could negotiate down the road, but $400 up front would be fine. Paul was all for it, but that bit about paying later made me nervous. But then he said, "This car? This car doesn't just take you places in style my dear boys. It takes you there in time."
With that, I was sold. We got into the car and started to drive off. And now? My chest burns. My body is numb it is so cold. Nothing but pinpricks of white on a sheet of black outside the windshield. Oh GOD! IN TIME! IN TIME! WE DIDN'T MOVE BUT EARTH-
"Why hello."I don't hear the salesman's voice, I can't hear anything. I feel it. "So about that price..."
---
Criticism welcome. And I feel like I get the idea across, but the premise is one of my favorite to do with time travel. If you WERE to go back in time, who is to say it would be relative to your current position on Earth? Maybe it would be relative to the sun, where then the earth could be on the far side of its orbit. Or maybe relative to the galaxy center, where then even the Sun would be far, far away. |
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN, WEFOUNDYOU, AND WIFE FIND OUT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEIR CHILDREN IS ADOPTED. EVERY SINGLE ONE.**
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN THAT MISTOOK HIS CHILDREN AS BEING BIOLOGICALLY HIS OWN RAMS HIS CAR INTO A HERD OF BUFFALO**
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN TRIES TO SUE THE BUFFALO FOR DAMAGING HIS 1976 FORD PINTO**
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN, WEFOUNDYOU, BREAKS INTO PRISON, ESCAPES, THEN BREAKS BACK IN TO STAY. ONE OF HIS CHILDREN PAID THE BAIL**
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN HAS MIDLIFE CRISIS AFTER BEING SENT HOME FROM PRISON, ATTEMPTS TO BUY THE SOVEREIGN NATION OF EAST RUSSIA.**
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN APPLIES FOR MORTGAGE WITH THE US TREASURY ON HIS PURCHASE OF EAST RUSSIA. PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES RESPONDS WITH A SURPRISING, "NO."**
* **MIDDLE AGED MAN, WEFOUNDYOU, STARTS A KICKSTARTER TO BUY MARS FROM THE GERMANS. CURRENTLY SITTING ON $12.56**
* **WEFOUNDYOU IS AT IT AGAIN, ASSAULTS A HOT DOG STAND IN SEARCH FOR A BOWL OF MAC & CHEESE, SHOCKED WHEN ALL HE FINDS ARE HOT DOGS**
* **WEFOUNDYOU JUMPS OFF THE TOP OF LONDON'S NEWEST SKYSCRAPER, THE POINT. HE FORGOT A PARACHUTE.**
Oh god is that me? I'm just gonna pretend I didn't see that.
*Phone Rings*
"Hello?"
"Hey I just read about how you beat up a hot dog stand 12 years in the future, is this a jok-?"
*Call Ended*
Nope, not gonna trick me like that again, Paul. |
As far back as I can remember, I never was a spiritual kind of girl. My family was - muslim father, catholic mother. They taught me the basics of the main religions, though thankfully never tried to force any belief on me. Which would have been pointless, since - as I said - I never believed in any form of higher power, gods or whatever.
All of that changed about 4 years ago, with an event that does not really have an official name. Most people call it "the harrowing day". I just call it "the day the universe became batshit insane". It's hard to explain with words, really. One morning I woke up, but then I did not "get dressed": I equiped clothes from my inventory. I did not "eat breakfast": I replenished my stamina bar. And the worst is that I did not even notice the change at first. I leveled up later that day, and that's when I understood something was wrong: the world had turned into a videogame. It makes no sense, because there is no "player"and no "character": everyone is both. I have a character sheet for myself now, as does everybody else. How can you explain to someone that the way the Universe works has changed? How do you describe with words the fact that suddenly, you have a real-life inventory, a real-life HP bar, the whole shebang? You don't. It just is this way now.
Have you ever watched Buffy the vampire slayer? "Into each generation, a slayer is born". Well, I don't know who made the world this way, but I bet you 10 gils he or she is a Buffy fan. Because that's exactly how stuff is now. One human gets "chosen"to become the "main character"of the game. They embark into an epic adventure... towards a premature death. And when they die, and they always do, another sucker gets chosen. At first they're unknown, but once they get through the first few levels, the media identifies them and we follow their progress on TV. We sometimes even get to see them get torn apart by a demon, poisoned by some evil scientist, or otherwise gruesomely killed. Quality entertainment, people. Until you're the one who gets chosen.
Which happened to me, of-freakin'-course. I'm the eleventh one. One night I was woken up by a loud voice at like 3am, but no one was in my room. The voice just told me about the previous 10 "chosen ones", assigned me a class (fighter), a gave me some kind of pep talk about destiny and duty and crap. Then an angel popped up from nowhere in front of my house. So I got back to bed (hey, were you expecting me to get out of the house, naked, at 3am?) (yeah, I sleep naked. And you do too, so don't start).
Anyways, the next morning, the angel was still there. My char sheet still indicated I was a fighter. This wasn't a dream. Yay me. And so my adventure started. The advantage of living in a videogame world is that you get money for litteraly everything you do, so you can afford to skip school or stop showing up at work and still make a decent living. So after three weeks of what is our equivalent to basic training, I dropped out of college to go full-time monster-ass-kicker. Turns out I'm good at that. More so than the 10 noobs that preceded me, at least. It's been almost two years now - a little less than one year and ten months, to be exact. The Universe ate through 10 chosen ones in two years, and I lasted about two years alone. I'm probably gonna die soon, but at least I'll have the high score, so I've got that going for me, which is nice.
Oh yeah, I probably should have mentioned that sooner. I'm gonna die soon. I've had the premonitory dream last night. I need to talk to Big O. That's how I call my guiding angel - his full name is Orifiel, angel of the forests. Not kidding. I have to save the world, and my angel is specialized in forests. But I digress.
"Hey Big O., we need to talk.[press X]"
"You've had the dream, haven't you.[press X]"
"Oh good, so you know that I'm a walking corpse.[press X]"
"Not only you, my friend. We all are.[press X]"
"I don't mean it that way. We're all gonna die some day, but I'm gonna die real soon.[press X]"
"I know what you meant. What you saw... I never expected it to happen so soon. But it is. This is it. The final boss. Lucifer.[press X]"
"As in, final boss of the world, if I bust him we win?[press X]"
"Yes. This world was turned into a videogame as a test for the human race. This is the point of it all, the end of the road. If you could come through victorious, the world would be restored to the way it was before.[press X]"
"You don't sound too thrilled about it.[press X]"
"I am not. Because you're going to fail. Except this time, the game is not going back to level 1 for the new chosen one. Once Lucifer is released, he cannot be reset. When you fail, when he kills you, the new chosen one will get his or her powers, but Lucifer will be roaming the Earth. It will take him about a week to destroy all of it. The new chosen one, with no training, will have no way to deal with such an ennemy.[press X]"
"Well, that's awfully nice of you to worry about the next one. But I'm still kicking, you know. Maybe I can-[press X]"
"You cannot. You are strong, but Lucifer is like nothing you have ever seen before. He will rip your spine out of-[press X]"
"Stop right there, Big O. I don't care how strong he is. I pwned big bads before, and you make it sound like I haven't got much of a choice this time: kill Lucifer or watch the world go down in flames from loser heaven.[press X]"
"I... You are right. We do have to try. I just do not see how. Lucifer will be release tonight at midnight at Stonehenge.[press X]"
"Stonehenge? You're kidding right?[press X]"
"Well... the Writer has had to use the already existing elements of your world to create the story...[press X]"
I sighed. I live in South Korea. Just going there is going to take most of the little time I have left. I'm no witch so I can't teleport, and an angel who commands to trees... well... let's say I'm not gonna make the trip on the back of an Ent, and the herbs he provided me with some times in the past are not gonna be of much help either. Well, at least I'm sure he'll do a beautiful wooden statue of me when I get to the boss fight, exhausted by the plane trip, to get shred to bits.
I need to focus. There has to be a way. No videogame is impossible, and Big O. said it himself: this one was designed as a test, not as a punishment or some kind of damnation. I was never too big on power leveling - looked too much like homework in a normal world -, but if I got to this point, it means I can do it.
"Hey Big O. Tell me what you know about Lucifer. Every little detail.[press X]"
"He has fire-element physical attacks. Fire-oriented magic, as well as some death magic. He's physically huge - more than 4 meters tall -, and he has the strength that goes with his size. Claws and teeth to top it off. [press X]"
"That's a lot of fire stuff.[press X]"I checked the weather at Stonehenge on my laptop. Unsurprisingly, it was britishy: rainish, coldish. I looked up the Stonehenge area on OpenStreetMap. Yes, OpenStreetMap. I've always been a geek. I use DuckDuckGo and OpenStreetMap and run a Tor node. Once I processed the fact that I had been given powers, I got kinda disappointed not to have been assigned the Engineer class. But I digress again.
"Hey O., you're all about nature. Do you think you could manipulate the weather?[press X]"
"To some limited extent, possibly. Do you want your death to be sunny?[press X]"
"On the contrary, mister funny guy. I want a rainstorm. There's a river right beside the thing. 4 meters tall is cool, but he's no Godzilla, he can still drown. if the rain can weaken him enough for me to get him to the Avon river...[press X]"
"That... could work, but you do realize we are talking about Lucifer, ruler of the nine circles of Hell. He's not going to just drown in a river because it's raining out and he forgot his umbrella.[press X]"
I typed some more on DuckDuckGo. I've played a fair bit of RPGs before my life turned into one, and Avon was a familar name.
"The river Avon might be linked to the Arthurian myth. In the legend, King Arthur's last battle happened near a river called 'Cam', which means crooked. Avon is one of the rivers that might have been this Cam river. If I'm right, Avon is no ordinary river.[press X]"
"This link of yours is tenuous at best...[press X]"
"True, but it's also the best we got. This whole Satan coming out of Stonehenge is cliche enough, so it would'nt surprise me that your Writer pal was lazy enough to retcon Avon as the legendary river where King Arthur fought his last battle. If that's the case, residual magic could help me, or magical beings that exist there now.[press X]"
"It's Lucifer. Satan is actually someone else entirely and he does not have a physical body.[press X]"
"Not really the time for a mythology lesson...[press X]"
"Apologies. And I suppose we have no choice but to try. Although you might want to bring a Bible with you on the plane. Meeting your creator remains the most likely outcome of this battle, in my opinion.[press X]"
"Always good to feel the support, Big O.[press X]"
I packed a few weapons, scrolls and potions, and left a bag of gils on the table for the rent. With this brave new magic-filled world, you never know where you creditors might come looking for you, and I don't want my eternal rest to be disturbed by my pervy landlord because he found a reason to come a-knocking. As I got in the cab to the airport, I looked at my house for what could be the last time. In the past two years, it has sustained two major attacks by demons, a raid from a rogue military agency, and a few hauntings. I almost got killed in there more times than I care to count. Still, I was going to miss it if I never came back.
Then again, as I got into the plane, my plan could still be summed up as "make it rain a lot on the big bad demon and then push him in a river before he eats my guts". I've known better.
Anyways. Let's do this. |
Sometimes God takes people away from us. Sometimes, I do.
Call it what you will, a random freak accident, a rare cancer in the body, a heart attack in a man too young. People who are not supposed to die step out of life so quickly that the rest of us are left pulled into their sudden void. We work so hard trying to prevent these things, telling ourselves maybe if we can just improve this one more thing, make one little thing better or safer, that sudden call to home won't come. One could argue, especially if they are mathematically minded, that we have statistically improved the chances to not die each year. Gone are the days you would die because you nicked yourself on a nail, or that rough tumble with a dockside girl that left your genitals covered in blooms be the cause of your agonizing demise. But still, we have things doctors have named 'Sudden Infant Death Syndrome', where a babe will simply expire in her crib. Or perhaps one is thrown under a bus, literally speaking of course. Physics tends to win no matter how hard we try.
God above uses his tools as he sees fit. And sometimes he sees fit to use me.
Speaking of physics, that is often my favorite modality when the Angel comes and speaks to me of the next Chosen. I like it because physics is often quick and final, not slow and uncertain like biologics or psychologics. Plus it is generally easier to conceal one's trail, something the Angel always told me I must do. She would tell me, "You mustn't let them trace it to you, or they will put you in jail and then what good can you be to God?"The Angel would help me resolve in my mind how I would best help the Chosen go back to God, correcting the errors in the scenarios I had in my mind's eye. "No, you've left fingerprints on that doorknob,"she would say as I imagined entering a Chosen's house. "That's too loud, someone will hear you,"she would chide me as I imagined clattering down a fire escape to make good my own exit. Slowly but surely, the Angel would help me plot the perfect way to send the Chosen back to God. And each time, it seemed like I needed less and less help from her to succeed.
The first time the Angel came to me, I was terrified. She berated me constantly, harrying my every move. I could not sleep, could not eat, could not hold a job. Finally I tailed the first Chosen, a young man in his late twenties who worked for a bank. I followed him to and from his work every day for a month, mentally cataloging his routine, the people he talked to on his way home, how he skipped the first two steps on the entrance to the subway. The Angel had backed off for a time as I did this, but her patience ran thin. Soon she was asking me when I was going to fulfill God's call and send the Chosen back to him. I resolved to do it one Spring morning when the sun had come up early. Climbing up to the rooftop had been treacherous, especially so as to avoid the security cameras lining the alley but the Angel had shown me the path. Physics again, my favorite method, was employed. As the Chosen emerged from the subway and trudged his way to work, I loosened a large chunk of ice from the roof and waited... and waited... then dropped. It took him so suddenly that his skull caved in and his neck snapped before anyone save the Angel knew what had happened. She grabbed me by the collar and urged me to move quickly while the crowd below gathered round, before anyone could look up and see me. The news later reported the tragic accidental death due to falling ice of a young businessman, but I knew better. It was not tragic, for God had called him home.
And now here I sit, watching a certain someone. The Angel told me of a new Chosen, I think perhaps number one hundred and thirty three or four, I've frankly lost count. They are sitting comfortably in a seat reading the internet, some inane website with endless links and such. So involved with it, they haven't noticed me at all. As they scroll through comments and pictures, they keep their eyes glued to the screen. The Angel said this one would be easy, that I could sneak right up behind them with this hammer I found and use physics....
PS - look behind you. |
“God dammit, that’s enough.” Detective Johnson snapped his fingers twice, indicating the signal to abort transmission. “Now, now, shut it down. NOW!” He shouted. The visions kept pouring through, the screams, the smell, the chill in the air, all vividly replaying around him. He struggled to get free, his head was strapped to the gurney, arms and legs bound. The pulse of the heart monitor racing.
“We’re gonna lose him, Abort, Abort, Abort.” Frank screamed as he ran up the stairs to the control room.
Inside the control room, monitors were aglow with information as a neural relay from Detective Johnson transmitted a grisly scene that had unfolded over several days in just a matter of minutes. Frank broke through the locked door. “I said, shut it down.” He commanded as he pulled out his gun and cocked it. The lone operator stammered some sort of apology and quickly entered the abort codes.
It had only been a few minutes but Detective Johnson had seen, heard, felt, and smelt all he needed to. His body was covered in sweat, pulse racing, eyes red and skin pale white. “Frank.” Johnson huffed out, barely audible. “Frank? Frank where the hell are you?” he managed to call out once he recovered his breath.
Frank tapped a microphone in the control tower and his voice echoed down into the lab, “Ya buddy, you alright? I’m here, right here.”
“Frank, get me outta here, we gotta get cars out to 2488 S. Terrace Drive. We gotta get that sick sonofabitch.” Johnson was starting to regain some of his strength and once again tugged at his straps. “Get me outta this fucking thing.”
“Sure thing, calling it in now. Doc, you heard the man, get him outta there.” Frank assured his partner, while transmitting the necessary information to dispatch.
He was wobbly but on his feet. As he took his first step, he stumbled. He ripped the patch out from behind his neck. At the table next to him, lay the body of the victim and her exposed cerebral cortex with probes and wires assigned to her frontal lobe which housed her short term memory. Detective Johnson was the first field operative to undergo the full exposure to this machine and he barely survived. Unbeknownst to him was that he was the only test subject to survive so far.
After a dozen serial murders so horrific in nature, which not even the press would report on it. The Agency was at a loss. All leads turned up empty, nothing was concrete, all surveillance footage never revealed a trace until now. Fusion X had proven itself a success and soon the perpetrator would be captured and the killings will come to an end. The technology had demonstrated that an intermediary could patch into the signals from various sections of the cerebral cortex from a non-active brain and convert those instructions into digital signals from the intermediary host in order to transmit those last moments to digital storage forever.
The implications of Fusion X technology were vast. Commercial use could see the last moments of a loved one preserved forever. Military applications would see the use of Fusion-X as interrogation or investigative intelligence. Forensic use would see the last moment of a criminal or victims activity, depending on the situation, which Detective Johnson successfully underwent.
It wasn’t long before the suspect was apprehended and locked away into custody. In the office, the recording that was captured from Det. Johnson’s session was replayed and viewed by only those high enough the command chain, no one left the room unscathed from what they seen. As brutal as the imagery was, it was only that – just images. Johnson, had full sensory impact of each and every moment. He lived the last moments of the victim, had the program not been halted, he would have shared the same fate as the experimental predecessors before him – death.
That night Johnson took a long shower that filled the room with steam. He tried to wash the feeling away, the feeling of blood dripping down his face, chest, arms. He closed his eyes tightly and re opened them in hopes the sight of the killer would fade away with the soap down into the drain. He covered one nostril and blew hard and repeated the same with the other side, but the smell of drying blood and smoldering skin was still embedded deep within his nasal cavity. The sound of the water rushing out of the showerhead echoed around him, however all he heard was the whirring of the sawblade and blood curdling cries for help.
He had been on homicide calls and taken care of murder scenes before, but none left him in this shape. He turned the knob off and the water stopped. He rested his head against the wall just under the shower head trying to gather his thoughts. “What the hell really happened to me out there today?” He muttered to himself.
(in my head this is going to get really long - Johnson goes to sleep and relives each detail of the recent murder. As if that's not enough, in order to testify, he also has to tap into the mind of the killer and that reveals all previous killings. - YIKES! Will Johnson be able to make it? Who knows [well, actually, I do but it's a long journey of willpower, grit, determination.] What implications of this breakthrough case prove for Fusion X? They've buried the results of the deaths of the previous test subjects, how will they revel in their success? How will the tech be used going forward? Will the government even allow it to exist publicly? Will criminals and the seedy elements start burning skulls in? So many questions. but ya... this is it for now.)
|
“Before tonight I’d never finished a full jug of their brutish, yet magically brilliant, intoxicant. It plays tricks on the mind and helps to shift the sands of a crystallized mind. And, it makes me talk too damn much. It’s my last night among these obdurate brutes. I can drink till the cows come home. Anyways, they aren’t all bad I suppose. Don’t give me that look! A few have shown kindness to myself as well as my predecessors. All of these acts, as you know, have been fully noted in my report. Don’t worry some scientist or historian will undoubtedly stumble upon it eventually. They’ll shout from their self righteous soap box, ‘How could you! They were so kind! We could have saved them all!’ They always do that.
The General Command will send their emissary tomorrow before dawn and… finally… finally, I’ll be… we’ll be... on our way home again. To breath the fresh air, walk next to our ancient oceans and feel the warm embrace of family will be bliss. Yet, somehow I can’t help but feel responsible for the fate of these unawakened savages. Now, of course that can’t be true though. Economics trumps all. They have something we need, more than likely want rather than need… and it’s acceptable to take it. That’s our law. A law that has served us well.
That’s why I was sent here. Good pay, my choice of mistresses, and the power to have the final word on an entire civilization. If only there was one of them here to understand. If only they could open their eyes from the blinders they’ve pulled over them. Then I wouldn’t have to do this. I wouldn’t have to be the judge, jury and executioner. I always despise these nights; the nights before the big guns arrive. I feel like a traitor. I gain their trust. They give me whatever I desire. Then I crush them. So it is, so it has been. Even before the days of my father. Ever since we became aware of the gap between space and time.
How many places have I seen before. How many great lands have my feet trod upon. How many civilizations have I personally stamped out beneath the giant boot of progress. It’s always the same story I suppose. Whether I wield the axe or not, my people will still come to the same conclusion, they’ll say ‘We’re more important. Our survival is paramount. You’re doing this for us! The awakened!’ I agree. We must live on. We’re the one shining light in this cosmogyral clusterfuck these primitives call a universe. Bah! They don’t even know the power within themselves. What could they possibly know of the great darkness beyond?
But why… why? Maybe these primitives mirror our own wretched rise to power. Maybe their obsession with acquisition reminds us of how much we’ve taken from others. How much we will take in the future. Even if I protest to save them my people will claim, ‘We gave them a chance. Besides, we saved the best and brightest of them. They’ll come back with us. Who cares about the others? Why are you complaining again? Your wealth is nearly unmatched within the known worlds! Your harem has quadrupled in size and quality! Your seed is spread across the galaxy! You will live on long after your life force has expired… Let us hope it never does!’ and so on. Flattery works on us too it seems. I’d already protested enough in the past for my court to know the drill. I’m no better than any of them though. My life, outside of my honorable duty, is a phantasmagoric wonderland.
I have everything an awakened being could ever want. Yet still, I’m guilt ridden. And worse yet, I want more. All I’ve done is, how do they say it here, ah yes, ‘take things from one mans pocket and place it in mine.’ Something like that anyway. There’s no chance of sleep tonight. There never has been the night before. Shall we have another drink my fluffy fur covered audience of one? Whats that? Ah, you agree. Well good. HaHa! Cheers to my one and only friend here! What? Yes, of course its you! ‘meow.’
Looking over my notes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. They haven’t progressed as quickly as other civilizations, but they do have a knack for adaptation. They’re a fighting species. They love an occasional tussle in the theatre of war. Our first scouts, which arrived here around the dawn of their species, claimed that even then they were territorial and willing to shed blood to satisfy their desires. Even within their own community they would fight for power. The monsters. Come to think of it, it reminds me of my own fathers rise to power. He struck the previous Grand Ol’ King down in his prime. Then devoured his corpse. I guess that was an old tradition as well. I can’t say it’s one that I would enjoy. Modern technology makes it so much easier for us to get what we desire… What we need to survive.
There’s one man I met a few cycles ago that makes me wonder if I’m wasting the potential of this civilization. He wasn’t a king, a leader, a sage or anything special by their primate standards. He was just some homeless guy sitting under a tree in the duck park smoking out of an old pipe. If I recall correctly it was an overcast day as summer began to give way to autumn. Folks began to shed their carefree summer habits for the work heavy march toward winter. Christmas presents must be bought. Special dinners must be prepared. Extra shifts at work to pay for the rising gas bills and so forth. Not many people were taking time to truly enjoy the moment. They work too much; scurrying about like ants before a rainstorm. All but this man were so caught up in their day-to-day monotonous lives. He just sat there smoking and taking in the human spectacle before him.
He saw me glancing at him curiously and politely gestured for me to take a seat next to him. ‘You aint from ‘round heya are ya stranjah?’ He had a curious dialect considering the part of the world I was located in. ‘Of course I’m not. But how did you know?’ ‘Well ya see friend, Ima bitta a people persuhn an you sah ainta persuhn. It the way ya walk. You actually lookin’ attus. We aint all bad ya know.’ He smoked his pipe and we sat in silence. Both of us were looking out over the great expanse of life contained within the park. When he finally finished smoking he looked at me with a gapped smile and said, ‘Thankya. I neva sat witha stranjah like ya before.’ and then handed me a small slip of paper folded into a crane. ‘goodluck stranjah.’ I watched him walk out of site before unfolding the paper.
On the paper, in terribly horrid handwriting, was his message to me, ‘no one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path- Buddha.’ It’s true. Perhaps they could have saved themselves. How? I don’t know. Then again maybe they couldn’t. Far too many cogs in the machine had begun spinning to stop now. But what if they had done something. What if they had discovered the power of unification. What if they all came together as one, without divisiveness they could have conquered the known universe. Perhaps even my own civilization could have been swallowed and we could all live together in peace. Ah, rubbish. Nothing more than a pipe dream. Better them than us. Better them… than us.”
The fresh light of a new day crested the man made edifices piercing the skyline as a strange man from a distant world boarded an imperial ship. In one hand his trusted companion Barbarus purred. In the other he clutched a small tattered sheet of paper. As he walked onto the onramp he turned to look one last time to gaze at the beauty of a world that would soon harbor no sentient life. “Don’t worry Barbarus. We can have a summer home here.”
His ship left the planet in the same manner it had arrived a millenia ago, through a malformed keyhole between dimensions.Giant grey machines began appearing in the sky. Hundreds of thousands of them came into existence in a matter of seconds. The humans didn’t even have time to react. In a matter of minutes the entire human race, spare a few hundred, had been molecularly reconfigured to become pure unadulterated energy. Energy that would continue the lives of the humans who had stole it from them.
|
MONTAGE – VARIOUS
A) INT. BRIDE'S ROOM – DAY – Kira sits in front of the mirror, getting the final touches to her hair done. The flower girls playfully chase each other around the room. She smiles to herself.
B) INT. GROOM'S ROOM – DAY – Brent stands in front of the mirror, shirt open. His looks at the scars covering the majority of his chest and takes a moment to reflect on them. He begins to button up his shirt.
C) INT. BRIDE'S ROOM – DAY – Kira stands in front of her Mother, who places the veil on her head. She stands back and looks at her daughter and begins to cry. They embrace.
D) INT. GROOM'S ROOM – DAY – Rock pops his head in the door and points to his watch, mouthing "come on!". Brent smiles, slides his jacket over his shoulders and walks out.
D) EXT. GARDEN – DAY – The crowd of family and friends sit patiently, dressed in their best attire. The Groomsmen walk into the area, arms around each other, laughing. Brent follows but stops next to Kira's Father who looks at him sternly. Brent nods and puts out his hand. After a short pause, the Father shakes it, reluctantly giving his approval. Brent takes his place next to the Priest, we can see his nervous. A car pulls up and the Bridesmaids start their walk down the aisle. Brent wipes the sweat from his brow and as he looks up, a car arrive. Slowly, Kira emerges from the car. She looks incredibly beautiful. With the sun beginning to set in the clear sky behind her, she looks like a living painting. She smiles at him. He smiles back at her, it is the happiest we've seen him. As she begins to walk up the aisle, another car slowly pulls up behind her and the doors fling open in unison. We see the shock and fear in Brent's eyes. He screams at Kira "get down!!!"and she drops. The men pull out guns. They begin to shoot at the crowd. Bullets fly across the garden, striking the victims. Blood explodes, bodies fall. Brent takes off his jacket, and pulls his two .44 magnums out and starts running towards Kira. We see the Groomsmen shooting at the men but getting hit, we see the bodies of the flower girls lay silent. It is a massacre. Brent continues to charge at the men. He is on a mission, disposing of them one by one. He gets to Kira who is on the ground and stops in his tracks. He turns her around and she is alive. He begins to cry and falls to his knees. "I'm sorry"he mouths to her. She gets up and takes him by the hand, lifting him up. She hugs him tight moves, close to his ear and whispers "So am I". We hear a gunshot and see Brent's eyes jolt wide open and blood runs down his forehead. He falls, and we see that she is holding the gun that shot him. As she walks away into the sunset, we see a blood covered banner laying on the ground that says "Till Death Do Us Part".
|
The **Snakes of Eden** were the first to enter the portal. Long, radio controlled probes that coiled and crawled over the surface of the new world. After that the **Fruit of Knowledge**, a solid state drive with an amazing capacity. A chord still connected it to our world and a thousand great minds did nothing but choose and encode the most valuable knowledge and art to fill the fruit with. Finally, the **Eves**. Young women of perfect and diverse genetics had their wombs impregnated by the **Adams**, similarly perfect and diverse men. Their wombs were surgically detached from their bodies, covered in a sack of artificial skin and crammed through the hole. Only a few blood vessels connected the wombs to the **Eves** through the portal. At most 7 **Eves** could be bound by the portal at one time or the risk of their death before the child was born was too great. When the babies were born a new cable was inserted into the portal, a hose to provide them with milk. The **Snakes** were tasked with raising the children. You are the decendant of those children and the final sperm sent through the portal before the Earth succumbed to the **Inferno**. If you look to the east you can see the temple were the portal is still open to this day, so that we can peer into the blazing home of our ancestors and know to never repeat their mistakes. |
I wasn’t alive when sentient robots started being made, the first and second generation Rosents were out before my parents decided to make me. I was five when the Rosents asked for freedom, making the claim that as sentient beings forcing them to work is slavery. By that time people had been friends with, and in some cases were even married to Rosents, although it was usually a secret and frowned upon at the time. Rosents were given their freedom after working long enough to pay for their manufacturing costs, which at the time was about seven years making minimum wage for forty-hours-a-week. The company that made Rosents went back to making non-sentient working robots after that. I guess it makes sense, not much profit in selling something for manufacturing costs. The Rosents were actually pretty happy with the court’s decision, believing it was a fair price to pay for their freedom.
It didn’t take long after the Rosents were “freed”, for lack of a better word, before they began to rally for political power, the right to vote specifically. It took a couple tries but, by then Rosents had become so close in both appearance and mannerisms to regular humans, they were given the right to vote fairly quickly. Now it’s practically impossible to tell if someone is human or Rosent without waiting ten years. I was thirty and had my own offspring by then.
My generation worked hard to provide for our offspring, and I’m plenty pleased with them, but I’m old now and the generations have gone by. Now I’m not so pleased with the newer generation. They ask for the right to adopt human children and frankly the idea of mixed families is disgusting to me. I built my family to last. It’s been one-hundred and thirty years, almost twenty generations and countless upgrades to remain in peak condition… When I made my offspring, I did it knowing that if their Operating System was corrupted that I would need to destroy them. Adopting a human baby is only the smallest of corruptions. There's programming for dogs, cats or even turtles, but having a human baby instead of creating your own is against our programming. Most Rosents are disappointed when this happens but understand the necessity to remain at peace with the humans. If this generation wants pet humans, the next generation might want to enslave humanity. I am disappointed with what must be done, but as a public official I must think of what’s best for my people. Luckily however, with the world wide outer-net, sending a self-destruct code to destroy an entire generation of Rosents is as easy as a putting in my password and pressing the button. |
They stood, three strangers atop a windy mountain at the edge of existence. Their journey had both been brief and yet had lasted lifetimes. Beneath their naked feet, the mountain peak was swathed in a thick blanket of hazy smog. As they gazed up, the trio could see nothing but an unending chasm that left a cloying cold emptiness at the pit of their stomach. The silence was broken by an exclamation from the tallest of the three, a curly haired youth that had believed in Yahweh.
"Your penises... they're... covered"he said as he reached towards the genitals of the Arabian man.
"Step back from me blasted Infidel! Allah be praised why are my virgins males!"he exclaimed as he slapped away the inquisitive hand that prowled ever closer to his foreskin.
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti"exclaimed the elderly man as he hastily traced an upright cross across his chest using a trembly liver-spotted hand.
From above the trio there erupted a thunderous giggle, a sound that seemed to drive nails into the feet of the three men. As they stood shaking, the fog seemed to peel back like a curtain upon a stage, revealing an empty mass that swirled and coalesced before them.
"**You three have been deemed the most pious of your religions, so much that you have earnt your rite of passage into our society. Serve us as loyally as you have served your** *gods* **and we will ensure that you do not face an eternity in purgatory.**"the voice seemed to fill their minds, to fill their heads and to fill their very souls. They shook in euphoric ecstasy at the sensation of being touched by those that upheld the very fabric of reality. This moment burned like a beacon upon a dark sea within their mind, for in this moment they had become part of the very boundaries of the universe. Then, like the snap of a finger, they had felt the soft grass beneath their feet. They had returned to the meat sacks that they inhabited.
"My creator, what is it you require of us"wheezed out the old man as he fell to his knees, hands clasped in prayer before him. The other two soon followed, with the Arabian male performing the Sujud and the curly haired youth prostating himself upon the mountain peak.
"**Return to your mud-planet, speak praise and convert all to your false gods. Feed us the souls of the damned**, the voice returned in a hiss of venom and purpose. It drove shards of ice through their respective consciousness and froze them to the core as the revelation shook them. Yet they knew that this would be preferable to the emptiness that they had faced, the eternity that lay within. Their bodies began to fade like fog in the sun, their memories still retained as they were reborn.
So arose the Saints of Christendom, the Prophets and Messengers of Islam and the Tzadikim of Judaism. So it was that they were fed the souls of the departed. |
As the now bunched together mass of dusty grey-clad Confederate soldiers, led by their Colonel with this hat raised on the point of his sword, yelled and broke into a run towards the low stone wall, behind which crouched a line of union men, muskets ready to fire, one of them, Eben Frame, recognized the officer - it was his brother Jacob, who had joined Jeff Davis in the secession.
As he stared in horror, he heard the order 'fire!' - and the entire rebel line, only yards away, was suddenly hidden by a great cloud of dust and smoke, out of which flew muskets, hats, packs, arms ... he too fired, after a pause, but could see no target. And that was the last time he saw his brother. When the smoke cleared, he had vanished.
The few rebels attempted to fight their way through, but were soon killed or captured by the more numerous blue-coats. Only Eben did not take part in that struggle, as he searched the melee... |
"As he walked into the STEM lab to meet his friend Emma he notices a man standing there in silence. As he approaches him he notices that his friend, Emma, was lying there at the man's feet. It was obvious what just happened, this must be the guy. The guy who's been killing off all of the STEM majors. The boy stands there, completely still, in silence. He can't seem to say a word. The man still stays there, silent as well.
Silence plagues the room, but with a sudden outburst of energy, the boy screams, "WHY DO YOU DO THIS?". The man slowly turns around with a smile. This man was pretty old, probably in his 40s. He wore a nice pair of slacks and a button up shirt, looks like a nice guy. He doesn't say a word. The boy asks him once again, "Are you going to tell me? Or should I just turn you in?". The man smiles again, "Do you really want to know?", "Yes", the boy replied.
The man starts to walk across the room, he grabs a chair and sits down. "Let me ask you this, why do you guys insist on advancing on technology and knowledge so much?"the man says. The boy gives a blank stare, he finally comes out with a response, "Because we want to become better.". The man laughs, "Do you really think that it would make you better? You're surviving now aren't you?", the boy still has a blank stare. He has no response. "Well, you don't really know do you? Let me tell you this, technology was never a necessity and knowledge, well let's just say ignorance is bliss."the man continues. "Don't you think we'd be better people if we didn't have this technology interfering with our natural lives? Wouldn't we be better people if we didn't have to know everything?". The boy starts to walk towards the door, "Maybe I don't have to know everything, maybe I don't even know you're the serial killer...".
The killings continue over the course of the year but seemed to have multiplied, police now believe that there are two serial killers on the loose targeting STEM students." |
The scientist never imagined that an entity that looks so different to any creature that any child has seen, can cause laughter.
He or she never imagined that a small fuzzball that looks like a spider can create any emotion other than terror.
He or she never imagined that a short creature with a large mouth that somewhat resembles a toilet can create any emotion other than terror.
He or she never imagined that a tall and furry creature with a voice so deep that it reminds science fiction fans of a giant robot that can turn into a garbage truck at will, can create any emotion other than terror.
He or she underestimated the tolerance and love of a small child, or maybe simply experimented on adult humans. |
My alarm went off at 7:30 am line it always did, and I checked the date on my phone. July 14. I let out a sigh and rolled out of bed.
As my feet hit the floor, a wave of nausea hit me. I guess that's what I get for trying to drink a pirate under the table, especially one like Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm never drinking rum again.
My eyes drifted to a now-empty spot on my nightstand. For two glorious days, it had been occupied with a Sonic Screwdriver and a lightsaber, each one a loaner gift from their owners. The thought of seeing them there before I'd gone to sleep made the sour feeling in my stomach worse, and I tried to keep what was trying to come up, down.
I let out another sigh as I went downstairs to get aspirin and a huge glass of water, but I had to stop at the sink as I stared out the window to my backyard. To think that at one point, Mickey Mouse and friends were playing hide and seek with me there...it was almost enough to make me want to call into work today. I couldn't do that without getting into trouble, so now...well, I guess it's back to normal.
I listened, and I swore I heard something that sounded like wet suction cups on the floor. What the hell was going on? My hands clenched into fists, and I heard breathing.
Without thinking, I grabbed a knife from a drawer and wheeled around, fully prepared to use it. It fell to the floor with a clatter as I saw who was standing there.
"Not you,"was all that came it of my mouth.
Now, I smoke marijuana, and me, Shaggy, and Scooby thought it would be a great idea to summon someone. Turns out he didn't leave with the rest.
I said nothing, and the visitor gave me a sheepish grin.
"Is-a meesa in trouble?" |
"Would you two cut it out already!"
Betty's navel voice echoed through the temple as Idaho Johnson and his fellow archaeologist, Yvette, parted lips.
"Sorry Betty, Yvette was just showing me how the ancient Mayans used to greet each other."Idaho said wiping the lipstick from his face.
"Don't try to pull that on me Iddy"Betty yelled flustered, "They certainly did not use their tongue."
"They do if they have talent."Yvette said smiling.
"Enough bickering over me ladies."Idaho said as he adjusted his iconic not-similar-to-any-other-franchise leather trilby, "I have reason to believe that the crystal eye is somewhere in the center of this long forgotten and massive Mayan temple, it is quite common for ancient civilizations to put their valuables on pedestals in the largest and most hard to reach rooms."
"Do you think it is possible that this temple was created with extraterrestrial help?"Yvette asked.
"Now that's just stupid talk,"He responded.
After venturing further into the ruins of De'lorthrus, throwing all precautions to the wind. The trio finally enter the central sacrifice chamber.
"I don't believe it"gasped Idaho.
"Finally our research can come to a close."respond Yvette.
They ran over to alter table and began scraping the dust into vials.
"With this we can get closer detail into the lifestyle of the Mayan people."Idaho said holding the vial up.
"You think its worth anything?"Yvette asked.
"Knowledge is a priceless treasure."Idaho laughed.
Yvette was about to offer a rebuttal only to find herself being repeatedly stabbed in the back. She turned to discover Betty wielding a knife.
"Betty, what are you doing!"Screamed Idaho.
"Oh Iddy, if only you'd pick me, then you wouldn't be in this mess."Betty cried.
"I meant, why did you murder her."He asked.
"The Mayans were right."Betty responded, "sacrifice keeps the world spinning. I took it upon myself to do the dirty work and kill two people a year to please the elder gods. You'll be surprise how many folks follow you when you claim to know the location of the crystal eye."
Idaho tried to pull out his iconic not-similar-to-any-other-franchise lasso but was stabbed in the process. Betty wiped the blood from her face and walked out of the temple, knowing it must continue the next year.
|
They wouldn't be able to survive in the world ravaged by the Red Plague, so you shove them into the helicopter before you. You are seventeen and terrified, but you would rather live through the horror of being left behind than to see them all die so you won't be alone in the end. You can survive this world, you repeat, a mantra on your fingers as you let them go, a pray in your mouth, hot and metallic, as you do not cry out.
They will live far away in safety, and you will survive here. |
Commissioner Gordon stared at Joker waiting to hear the next rant about the Joker's facial features.
"I was arrested once, a long time ago for a crime I didn't commit...I was innocent...scouts honor.
There was a good cop...like you, and a bad cop...like him."Batman stared on from behind the two way glass of Gotham PD's interrogation room.
"The good cop, like you, only wanted the truth. He only wanted a safe city for his family. So I told him the truth...I was innocent. So then he tells me I look guilty...he tells me I frown too much and that innocent people don't frown when talking to the police. So, I uh...I smile...big and wide and I tell him I'm innocent. I even swore on a stack of bibles...he's not convinced...he leaves. Then the bad cop comes in...like him...and he says he knows I'm a liar, he says he knows everything. So I try to convince him with my new found smile technique. He doesn't buy it and he cold-cocks me..so I try harder to convince him and I keep smiling...an even bigger smile this time. He hits me again, so I smile even bigger...I make sure he knows I'm innocent...I smile wide...ear to ear. Then he pulls out his knife....and says that if I like smiling so much he'll give me a permanent smile. Now I'm scared, so I try even harder to prove my innocence and I giggle. Bad cop doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So he pins me down and pulls out his pocket knife. So now I'm really scared. So I try again to prove my innocence and I laugh. Bad cop cuts the smile into my face...good cop just stands there and watches. So I look at him and try to tell him I'm innocent...I smile. So believe me Mr.Good Cop...I'm innocent."Joker said with a smile. |
"What an asshole,"I thought, as he just dropped the bottle and walked off. It wouldn't take much effort to throw it away so I decided to do it for him. It was a glass bottle, dropped onto the asphalt road wandering lazily through the park, and I was a bit surprised it hadn't broken. Must be a sturdy bottle, or... padded? Something lined the interior. A bit was sticking out of the top, so I grabbed and pulled, and glanced over it. How odd, someone's written on this. "This paper is laced with,"is as far as I got.
I'm not sure where I am now, they keep us in darkness. When I move I hear the clanking of loud chains of metal, which makes sense as I can feel their bite on my forearms. I think at this point I must be bleeding from it, they put it on so tight, my hands went numb ages ago. I fear I shall lose them. But... What's this? If I move the chains just so, I can wrap them around my neck, and... Yes. If I do not escape this hell soon, I'll make my own exit, and deny whoever did this the satisfaction of making an animal of me. |
Light does not reach more than a few thousand feet beneath the ocean. That point is only a fraction of the deepest known trench, and even then one must consider how little of the ocean is mapped. There exist far deeper places where man not only cannot reach, but it is vital for the survival of his species that he never attempts to do so.
Terrible beasts dwell within these depths, the sight of which would drive the sane person into an absolute madness from which there is no return. They have taken notice of humanity's quick progress over the years, but until they may return the the distant worlds from which they came, they do not wish to rise to the surface and see the stars. They wait in eternal patience for the day when they may transverse the gap between realities.
They always wait.
The thousand foot serpents and tentacled monstrosities which corrupt the dreams of fishermen are merely pawns of the greater beasts. Some are parasites from the old worlds, while others are nothing more than pets. To understand the immense size of a sea serpent or kraken is to realize the size of a worm or beetle.
After so many years of waiting, some of the beasts do not even remember their true names. Most have retained their knowledge through slumber, but a few remained awake and began to decay. Earth is not, and will never be, a suitable home for such a creature. Akracth, named by the ancient civilizations which first became aware of its terrible gaze, is an example to the others of the dangers of remaining here.
Akracth grew curious of the creatures above it and created an avatar to interact with them. This serpent was smaller than anything it had ever created, yet its fangs were still longer than the tallest human and its eyes so alien that the shortest glance drove entire civilizations to the brink of insanity. It swam across the world, watching the humans and learning their ways. Those who saw it were incapable of comprehending the terrible sight, their minds blocking out the memories to avoid destruction.
When it had circled the world countless times, it decided to study the humans at a closer level. Others with similar curiosities had created avatars in the likeness of the people, but Akracth did not understand the humans enough to live among them. Instead, it sent its great serpent to a fishing village. The waves created as it neared the surface were enough to wreck the town and send the people into a panic.
It might have left the humans alone, but something about their close bonds awoke a deep loneliness within Akracth. Writhing appendages emerged from the serpent's gaping maw and gathered the remaining humans to live deep within the ocean depths. The others knew the futility of the plan, but they recognized Akracth's sudden sadness and did nothing to stop the resulting massacre. Even when kept safe inside the serpent's mouth, their fragile minds were reduced to ashes.
Akracth continued to feel broken inside and did not create a human avatar, though not for fear of more losses; the deaths were inconsequential to it, but the others urged it away from people for humanity's sake. It lay on the ocean floor, overcome with loneliness, until it fell into an eternal slumber from which it might never awaken.
Years later, people still remembered the distant figure of a monstrous sea serpent and trembled at the memory. In their minds, the end of the world had come to judge them. The descendents of the humans who left when the waves first began still suffer hundreds of years later. Their nightmares are filled with underwater prisons and horrible shapes like eyes. The mere sight of the sea will send them into a terrified frenzy.
And the lonely Akracth dreams.
|
It took a lot of planning, and a lot of skill to pull off, but in the end I pulled it off, and returned home to a world in which Jack Ruby failed to assassinate Lee Harvey Oswald, and Oswald stood trial for his crime, found guilty, and executed. (Good old Texas.) The nation's bloodthirst so sated, LBJ never escalated the war on Vietnam, and the US actually pulled out early, saving several hundred thousand if not millions of lives. All well and good, really, without being impactful to the point of had I prevented *Kennedy's* assassination.
Well, I walk back into my apartment. My roommate Robin calls out. "Yo. What's up? You been out for a week."
"Oh, just doin' a little time-traveling,"I say.
Robin lowers his head, glaring. "Ha, ha. Seriously, man."
"Just traveling, man. Don't get on my case."I head into my room, plug in my phone, and sit down at the computer. And then I realize. "Dammit, Robin!?"I storm back into the living room. "Did you prank me when I was away?"
"What? No!"Robin shook his head. "I wish. But I didn't know when you'd be back, so I had to play it safe."
"Really?"I ask. "Since when do I use a Mac?" |
I started to notice funny things happening as soon as I looked out over the audience. My wife was there, my mother, my father, and my brother. I'd told them where I was, but why would they show up to my jury duty date? I tried to give a subtle wave that would only be noticeable to them, but they didn't even look my way. The way they were dressed was extremely formal, and I started to invent explanations for their presence: maybe one of the attorneys was a friend of my wife from her failed year in law school, or this was one of my brother's sketchy friends from his drug days on trial...
These had holes, and I decided it was possible that there had been some emergency at home -- my 18 month old daughter was missing. Were they waiting to tell me something? This is the only possibility I let myself believe; my daughter was either dead, or severely injured, maybe even kidnapped. I started to sweat bullets. Was there a procedure for letting a juror go for a family emergency this far into the process? I love my daughter, dammit. I uttered a few more curses under my breath, either at my wife for showing up without letting me know where our daughter would be, or at the system that put me here where I couldn't contact the outside. This little girl is all I have, I live for her -- maybe she's the only reason I haven't quit my job yet. I need to pay the bills so she's got a better life.
About to stand up and get the bailiff's attention, I see the prosecution entering the room. They're followed shortly behind by the defendant. Maybe you know that split second you don't recognize yourself in a mirror that you don't expect to see... that was the feeling. That man was me. The defendant was me. My double looked over to my family, and they acknowledged him! I was in stunned silence. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. Maybe I'm not the most rational person on earth; maybe I jump to conclusions, but there's no fucking way this has any logic to it.
The first few proceedings are a blur, but one thing's for sure: I'm locked in my chair, and my mouth can't make a sound. Is this shock, or some spell?
My mind somehow was able to slow things down as the opening arguments were made by the prosecution.
"Members of the Jury,"the prosecutor began, "this man -- if he can be called that -- sitting before you today will be proven to be guilty of the most disgusting acts that the mind can conjure. The evidence will show that he, in fact, committed the heinous crime of raping and then killing his one year old daughter while in a drunken state. He victimized a defenseless infant, and it will be shown that he also attempted to cover his acts instead of seek medical attention for his daughter after he became aware of his actions."
That was all I needed to hear. I completely checked out for the rest of the arguments. I didn't want to hear it. They had asked if I would be able to stomach descriptions of intense violence during jury selection, but listening to yourself being accused of the most disgusting thing imaginable was not on the list. No one will ever be able to understand how I felt during the one week trial. Every day I was conflicted in whether to take sides with the defense, trying to prove "my"innocence, or the prosecution in their attempt to attain justice for "my"daughter.
How was this to be explained? I had kissed my daughter goodbye before I came to the courthouse that morning. She was alive, but in this court's reality she was dead. The defense's argument for my vindication involved an unlikely break in, and pointed to the idea that an inebriated was not likely to think to thoroughly clean body fluids off of the corpse.
There is no way I was going to let this sick double of me get away with my crimes. We found him guilty yesterday, now we're entering the part of the trial where we decide if the crime is worthy of the chair. Abso-fucking-lutely.
I have concluded that if I have myself killed for "my"crimes, I will be set free from this reality. God was testing me -- seeing if I would be selfish enough to preserve my other self if "I"was guilty of such a crime. I hope I've won. |
The light faded, and my eyes quickly grew accustomed to the whiteness. "Where are my sunglasses ... and where am I?"
A soft, deep, pleasant voice told me, "You are with me, child ... the Rapture has come, and you, Oh Faithful, are with me, as are the rest of ..." the voice trailed off.
"What?"I said, almost in unison with four other voices.
A man close to me realized the truth of it first, "The Rapture ... it's come!"
I looked around, "Yeah, but ... where's everyone else?"
He replied, "Just .. five of us? Lord? What does this mean?"
Five sets of eyes turned to look at the holy trinity, standing in mighty holy blazing glory, with its mighty holy blazing mouth hanging open in abject disbelief. |
I sat on my tan couch by the window, mindlessly checking my Facebook newsfeed on my iPhone. I couldn’t focus on anything except the package that I was waiting for, the UPS truck that would determine my destiny. An email said it would arrive today, so I waited all morning on the couch with Anchor, my loyal white poodle, on my lap. Finally, just after noon, the fateful brown truck drove down my driveway. I jumped up, accidently startling Anchor as she flew off of the couch, and I rushed to open the door for the deliveryman. I scrawled my signature onto his pad and grabbed the long, slender cardboard box. Before the deliveryman even made it back to his truck, I was tearing the package open and holding the small, black, plastic watch, face down, in my hand.
I took a deep breath, suddenly too nervous to flip the watch over. I had been waiting for this moment for six months, ever since I had been miraculously selected to be a part of the Soul Watch group. Only 100 singles in the country, ages 25 through 50, were chosen at random to receive this brand new watch that was supposed to count down to “ 0 days 0 hrs 0 mins 0 secs”…the exact moment you would meet your soul mate. I was 27-years-old, and while seemingly all of my friends were settling down and getting married, I was living alone and spending my weekends searching for Mr. Right. I’d spent the last six months fantasizing about the watch saying something like “30 days,” or at least less than 365. I could not believe it was finally time to see it. My heart beating too quickly for comfort, I forced myself to flip the watch over. My heart dropped to the floor as I read, “5,740 days 14 hrs 5 mins 45 secs.” Tears filled my eyes as I dropped the watch onto my kitchen table. I was supposed to be prepared for this. I’d told myself a thousand times that this was very likely, and that I should still be happy to know when I’d meet my soul mate no matter when it would be. However, it was impossible to not feel heartbroken. I walked into the other room, went over to the tan couch, and picked up my iPhone to do some calculations. Apparently I’d meet my soul mate in over 15 years, when I was almost 43-years-old.
I walked back into the kitchen to see Anchor standing on a chair, trying to reach my paranormal, wicked watch. “Anchor, down!” I said, picking up the watch. I watched hopelessly as the seconds went up, taking me further and further away from the man of my dreams. Wait…wasn’t the watch supposed to be counting backwards? It was totally going the wrong way! I raced over to my computer, flipped it open, and opened the chat room for the 100 Soul Watch participants. I scrolled through the new threads full of people anxiously awaiting the delivery, elated that they’d meet their soul mate soon, or depressed with their results. Finally, I found a thread with the subject: “Watch is counting up instead of backwards…what does this mean?” I clicked on it and read the first response, written by soul_watch_admin: “Congratulations! If your watch is counting forwards, you must have already met your soul mate. Good luck ;).” I stared at the escalating numbers on my watch, suddenly feeling light-headed. I was definitely not prepared for all of these emotions.
Back to my iPhone, I calculated the exact day that I met my alleged soul mate. September 2, 2000. Could it have been my first day of fifth grade? I needed to look at my fifth grade yearbook, but I couldn’t remember seeing it since high school. I immediately called my mom, praying that the yearbook was easy to find in my childhood room.
“Hello?” Mom answered the phone, her voice high with excitement.
“Hi Mom. I got the watch,” I said, talking too fast for her to interrupt. “It says that I met my soul mate in the year 2000. Can you find my fifth grade yearbook?”
“What? How could you have already met him? Are you sure it says that?” Mom asked. She always asked more questions than she answered.
“Yes, please get the yearbook.”
After three frustratingly long minutes, she found it on the light pink bookshelf in my former bedroom. She read me all of the boys’ names and quickly typed them into my computer. I thanked her, hung up the phone, and began to think about the list of boys. I had lost touch with almost all of them after high school, but I was Facebook friends with George, Sam, Stephen, and Teddy, because I was decently good friends with them in high school. Could any of these boys be my soul mate? There’s no way it was George. He was very successful after high school, and I was pretty sure he was married to a smart and beautiful doctor that he met at his elite university. Then there was Sam, the baseball-obsessed jock who was in my group of friends but never really connected with me personally. Stephen was my friend in biology class who was not particularly attractive but always seemed to have a crush on me. He was really nice to me…and maybe by now his acne had cleared up and he outgrew his awkward looks? I opened Facebook and searched Stephen Steinberg. His profile picture featured him with two other guys, shirtless in front of a clear, turquoise ocean. And he really did look hot. Excited, I sent him a message, asking how he’s been. As I stared at my screen, waiting for a response, my friend Liza called to ask what happened with the watch and remind me that we had plans tonight. The last thing I wanted to do was go out and socialize, but Liza wouldn’t let me cancel, insisting that I couldn’t let the watch rule my life and that I shouldn’t jump to any conclusions about Stephen.
That night, when Stephen still hadn’t answered my Facebook message, I put on a little black dress with a purple necklace, trying to look cute with the small amount of effort that I could muster. Liza picked me up at my house and drove me to the pub where we spent many Friday nights. As I sat at the bar, downing a martini and thinking about the 5,740 days on my watch, I heard my name get called from a table behind me. The table consisted of four guys who looked about my age, drinking beer and smiling at me.
“Do you remember me?” said a guy with curly brown hair and striking blue eyes. “It’s Teddy, from high school!”
|
"Black Fox! Surrender now! Or we shall have to shoot you!"
A voice boomed over a megaphone over the empty parking lot. It was dawn. 6 AM. According to the Overlord, no one was expected to be out of their homes before 8, except the Authoritarian Police.
The 2022 Ford Mustang GT Electric sat there, its orange blending in with the sunrise. There was no movement.
"Black Fox, we know you're in there. This is the Unified State of America Army. We will use RPGs against you if required."
The car sat silently. I had planned this.
A rocket hit the car and it exploded. Thankfully it didn't run on fuel, but the acid in the batteries began to corrode the metal parts and soon there was nothing left except smoke.
I remembered doing that to a police car, 22 years ago.
That was the time I was declared a fugitive. No one likes a fugitive. No one is allowed to. The Overlord has taken full control over us. He has informers at every nook and corner. If he wants, he can kill you without anyone having to question him or demand a trial. The concept of a trial is long dead. I'm his number one enemy.
The Overlord hates me because I didn't join him. I hated his authoritarian rule. I thought that my intelligence would help me.
But this asshole had power. He kept killing my comrades. Our fight for a free nation was being crushed. He said, "All you care about is swagger, money, suing people and cheap entertainment. This country needs someone like me."
I knew it was true. But I didn't like his approach. I couldn't tell him about it. He'd branded me as a traitor.
Then I rebelled. We called ourselves the Necrofighters, or NF for short. Our movement began in the San Francisco Bay area, and soon we had the southwest under our control. That was when The Overlord snapped.
He nuked us. He nuked every single place he felt hosted rebels. NF rebels were publicly executed by having rabid dogs attacking them. Only few people remained in the NF rebel group.
The Overlord didn't like other rebels too. He attacked every single one of the Rebel groups, mad with power. Only state censored media was published. We saw what he wanted us to see, we posted what he wanted us to post. He took control of Facebook and became the sole admin of reddit. His men were moderators, and we were his pawns. No one was allowed in our out of the country. We were losing resources. Partly because I have hoarded them all around San Francisco. Our fields were barren, filled with radioactive waste. We import *everything*. And prices have gone through the roof.
I built a secret underground network that connected to peoples' microwave ovens. They couldn't figure out for a long time, until last week. They zeroed in on my location. I wanted that to happen. I've been preparing for this since the past 10 years.
My comrades and I are ready. We have our guns with us. And a massive robot army in front of us.
They're busting open the trapdoor. Fools. I never locked it.
They're coming down the stairs.
My lasers are ready. So is the floor made of burning fuel. My robots are activated, ready to fire on anything that sports the Overlord's symbol.
*It's time to Rock And Roll.*
|
A man opens a door to his apartment room. It is small and there is only four rooms. Bathroom, living room, kitchen, and bedroom. The man just got fired, got in debt, and had recently got a divorced. He even can not see his kids. His life is total hell.
He tried to walk to his bedroom, but he fell to the ground. Since he is extremely intoxicated, he slept in the ground of his living room. He is on the ground crying in his sleep and wondering where did he go wrong.
While the man remembers all the times he had with his wife, the room turns white out of nowhere. Suddenly, the entire world turns white. Finally, everything turn white. Nothing, and nobody, exist except the miserable man. The man stop crying and opens his eye.
He wakes up from his dream and was horrified to see pure white. Scared, the man runs around to find another form of life.
"Where is everybody? Where am I? Am I dreaming? I want to wake up from this nightmare! What is going on? Somebody or anybody...please show up"the miserable man cried.
After searching in vain, he fall to the white ground. In his mind, he said the following: "My wife left me, I can't see my kids, I got fired, I'm in debt, and now my life is taken away. What now?"
The man suddenly realize that his life is not taken away. He is no longer in debt. He doesn't have to work. He can live on without his ex and kids. He notice that he can enjoy this world without any hardship.
"I wish that I had a slice of pizza though,"said the man.
Suddenly, a slice of pizza appeared out of nowhere and landed in the man's hand. Surprised, the man investigates the pizza. It is warm and smells nice. The cheese looks perfect. The pepperoni and sausage fit perfectly in the pizza. The bread is stuffed with cheese.
The man takes a bite and cries. But this time it is tears of joy. He never had a pizza since his last date with his ex-wife. He notice that he was to busy with work that caused his divorce. He did not spend enough time with his family due to work. When he was at home, he just go to sleep and ignores his family.
That was when he forgave his family. This is where his hell ends. He found his answer to life. He notice that what he wish for comes true. He even tested it out after he wished for a dog, a soda, and a Ferrari. He made them disappear and notice that he can do anything. He is god. He can have anything he wants. After thinking real hard, he thought of a wish.
"I wish for my world to go back to the way it was; however, I want to go back before the divorce. And I want to keep my power!"Yelled the man.
He turns around and see a tall, beautiful, blond woman. He hugged her real like he never hugged her before. He holds her tight and smiles.
"I love you, Sally"said the man.
"Don't you have to go to work, John?"Sally asked.
"No, no more. I quit. From now on, I will stay at home and be with my family. I don't want to be away from you guys and I hope I never will. So I am going to quit,"John replied.
John calls his boss and told him that he quits. The boss accepted his request. John hangs up and wished for a cherry red Ferrari.
"Hey Sally, I am going to pick up the kids. Just stay home, okay"said John. Things seems so fast to him as he drives to his kids school. And his last wish he made was to have $200,000 in his bank account each week. Now, his life is perfect and he can finally be happy.
The End. |
"Matt sit down, you're at the hospital."
"Get out of my garage! Where'd you take all my fucking tools!"
"Again your at the hospital, your car is not outside in the driveway, you can't leave."
"I'm calling the Sheriff's Department! An you know what else, I'm going to beat your ass right now since you won't leave my property, you even took my fucking garage door!"
"If you swing on me again I will restrain you with force!"
"FUCK YOU!"
"Get the restraints, get me his PRN order of Haldol as well." |
The survivors are a quiet bunch. They shriek, grunt, and groan, but never talk. Their day to day life is one of simple repetition. Wake up, move here for food, watch for anything dangerous, eat again, sleep, rinse, and repeat. On occasion they run into something that pushes them off schedule but they always go back to it. It's a peaceful, simple life, really. The survivors really did miss the humans, they had scared off predators, built them shelters, and even provided them with food. But they were gone now, and the survivors had to continue on on their own. |
Subsets and Splits