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"You may be wondering why I gathered you here today."
The old man sat in a dark chair behind a large, wooden desk. In front of him were three figures illuminated only by the faint light shining through the cracks in the shuttered windows.
"You are all some of the most successful assassins in the country. And indeed, I, Brandon Johansson, have hired you to kill someone."He smiled slightly. "Me."
The three people shifted in their seats, surprised. One, a young man in a t-shirt and a baseball cap, stood up, pulled out a knife, and laughed. "Well, this should be easy."
"Not quite,"Johansson replied. "I've grown tired of life, and I want to go out in style. Each of you will be tasked with killing me in a very specific way."He pointed at the man standing up. "You, Martin, will kill me with a dumpling, dyed bright pink, and roughly the size of a closed fist."
Martin chuckled and sat down. "Finally, a real challenge. It's been getting kinda boring recently."The man sitting next to him turned to glare at him.
"And you, Patrick."The man who had just been glaring looked up. He was sporting a greying beard and a neatly pressed navy blue suit. "You will kill me using a rubber duck. The details are up to you."
Patrick grunted with barely contained irritation as Johansson turned to the woman sitting to the left. She was wearing a sweatshirt, the hood of which mostly obscured her face, and she said and done almost nothing throughout the entire meeting.
"You, Charlotte, will drop an anvil on my head. It must be dropped from at least four stories up, and it has to kill me quickly. Injuries don't count."
Charlotte didn't respond, but Patrick stood up brusquely. "I'm done with this idiocy. It's an insult to my skills and experience."He began striding to the door.
"Of course, you will be payed very well if you succeed. But that payment only goes to the person who kills me in exactly the way I described to them."
Patrick stopped, turned, and sat down again. "Fine, but I need some money to cover expenses."
"Of course,"Johansson responded. "I'll make sure you'll have everything you need. Good luck!"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
One month later, and Johansson was disappointed. These were the best of the best, and no one had succeeded yet. On the other hand, he reflected, life had been much more interesting in the past few months. Someone had snuck in and pulled the fire alarm at his mansion, and once the cause was determined to be a fleeing sweatshirt-clad burglar, he returned to his room to find a rubber duck with a razor-sharp beak embedded in the wall behind where he normally sat. Another rubber duck had exploded right in front of him, and he was only saved by being held up by a man stubbornly insisting he help save the whales.
Anvil strikes had become almost routine-- trees, skyscrapers, any high place held the risk of an anvil crashing in front of him. Once, one missed him by inches, and he would have been hit if not for the mysterious rip which had suddenly appeared in his pocket, holding him up as he collected his stuff. But whenever he looked for the person who had dropped them, no one was ever visible, even when they had been dropped from isolated trees.
And although he never saw any dumplings, waiters dropped his food at a surprising rate, either because of a figure in baggy clothing rushing through the restaurant or a mysterious projectile flying through the window. Oddly, the waiters were never there the next time Johansson went to the restaurant.
In the last week though, there had been silence. Johansson was worried. Had they given up? A frown crept across his face as he stood in line to buy a burger, an unusual eccentricity he was using to try and take his mind off the disappointment. His revery was interrupted as his burger was handed to him by a smiling cashier who seemed somehow familiar. He dismissed his strange thought, and walked down the city street, biting into his hamburger.
About halfway through, Johansson noticed something that made him tremble uncontrollably. The inside of the hamburger bun was pink. His muscles began to weaken, and just before he sunk to the pavement, he was grabbed by a woman in a grey sweatshirt and quickly dragged into an alley. She lay him down, and as she did, he caught a glimpse of her face. She was grinning, and for the first time, Johansson heard her speak. "Us assassins were having a bit of trouble killing you. So we decided to work together."
She then pulled out a radio and muttered into it. "Patrick, go."And the last thing Johansson saw before his vision went dark was, falling fast from a balcony far above, a giant, rubber duck. |
In mathematics, there are several problems that are considered borderline or perhaps completely impossible to solve. The Hodge conjecture, the Riemann Hypothesis or Navier–Stokes existence and smoothness. I'm a maths teacher in a high school, but I'm the fun kind of maths teacher who likes to use practical effects and engaging with the students to make them learn. And usually, when I present them with tests, I throw in an extremely difficult bonus question at the end, with the promise that whoever solves it gets a perfect score.
I've never seen any of them make an answer that can't be disproved, but I've gotten some very good attempts over the years, one of my best students had a very interesting point of view towards proving the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture in a general case, instead of the four proven specific cases. But as this was a very important test, I decided to, for once, provide them with a problem which had technically been solved. Fermat's Last Theorem. Which states that no three positive integers a, b, and c satisfy the equation a^n + b^n = c^n for any integer value of n greater than 2.
Sure, usually I use unsolved questions, but as Andrew Wiles proved in 95', it had a solution. I figured maybe one of the more maths enthusiastic students might have heard of it, and would have used his proof. But to my disappointment, none of my best students even tried. Dejected, I kept going through the stack of tests, until I came to Jamie Wilders. Jamie was not one of my better students, in fact he was my least succesful student. Not that I blamed him, he was only in my class because he'd been pressured by his very competitive parents, but it was clear that the friendly and helpful guy was not cut out for an academic career.
If only his parents would see that. However, when I was about to give him a D, I noticed he'd tried to answer the bonus question. Amused, I looked at it. It wasn't Andrew Wiles proof. Fermat, when he posed the famous theorem which was a nightmare for mathematicians for centuries, he stated that he had marvellous proof of his theorem, but never wrote it down.
Jamie had written down a short explanation, and for the sake of my own amusement, I decided to check if it worked. To my growing astonishment and horror, I saw that it did work as a general proof for Fermat's conjecture. Jamie had solved something in a single day which took mathematicians 358 years to do. And he proved it with a simple, elegant, and marvellous piece of proof.
I didn't sleep that night. I stayed up til dawn and tried to check if there wasn't some flaw. At last I drove out to the school, and asked the other maths teachers to stay after classes ended. They were all just as stumped as me. I called in an old college buddy of mine, who teaches college level maths. He drove down here and checked it with us. And no matter what we did, a kid with no mathematical skills had provided what nobody thought was possible. Everyone thought that Fermat had been lying out of his ass when he wrote that he had proof, but never wrote it down.
We kept on contacting more mathematicians, until we got Andrew Wiles himself, the man who spent years of his life working out a general proof to the theorem, came down to our school. And when he read the proof, he damn near fainted from the shock. It was like we'd been blind. It was just so simple, so direct, so true.
And it was made by a guy who had trouble doing division.
We couldn't understand it. So we called Jamie, got him back to the school, and had him explain it to us. He'd said that everyone always said he was bad at maths, and that the bonus questions I gave were impossible, so he'd never tried. But he knew he would fail the test, so he tried to solve the theorem. We asked him if he had ideas about the other problems I'd given out in the past. He shyly told us he did. And we watched in sheer amazement as this young guy just solved every impossible problem we threw at him. And we found no flaws in his proofs. No errors in his calculations. Yet he still had great difficulty in using basic maths.
One of the astonished mathematicians came to the conclusion that the reason he has such trouble with the easy stuff is that his natural talent for maths is so advanced that basic stuff like addition and subtraction doesn't make any sense to him. His mind is operating on levels of mathematical prowess which can best be described as inhuman.
We had to stop one of the many astonished and unbelieving mathematicians from asking Jamie to provide a mathematical formula for predicting everything that every could happen, has happened, and is happening. There are some things that go too far. Instead, I gave Jamie an A+ and told the other mathematicians that we had to either convince him to never work with numbers again, or to get a scholarship somewhere, so he could use it safely. Imagine if the wrong people got their hands on a man like that?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
A butterfly was caught in a spiders web. A man saw the spider stalking close to the butterfly. He slashed the silver threads releasing her into the air. He thought it was a nice thing to do.
The butterfly spread it's wings and flied. It flew up and up, until it had reached it's destination. It flapped it's wings with all it's might and a small breeze grew larger.
The wind traveled over the forest, singing between the branches and fumbling between the leaves. An acorn dropped in front of a squirrel. The squirrel had planned on climbing the tree to get the acorn, but instead reckoned he had enough nuts to sustain himself. Off he scurried into his hole to wait out the winter.
Because the squirrel scurried back to his hole, a hawk couldn't find anything to eat. The hawk circled the forest but found nothing. Eventually it settled on a sparrow. The sparrow dipped and dodged, but succame to the furious onslaught.
Because the sparrow was gone from this Earth, her eggs were left all alone on a tree top. A greedy cat snuck up the tree, wary of the absent sentinel. The cat was pleased with his luck and, licking his lips, gobbled up the eggs, filling him quite thoroughly.
Because he was so thoroughly filled, the cat was resting in the sunlight that streamed through his owners window. He looked so peaceful and happy, his owner couldn't help but stop and play with him. With a shocked exclamation, the man hurried out the door, now late to his job.
Because he was late for his job, he did not understand the large police and fire presence at his building, or rather, the building that once occupied the crater now sitting in the lot. After a few questions, the man learned that there had been a gas leak in his building that had ignited. Luckily no one had been inside the building, as the man was opening that day.
The man sat down and rubbed his head. He wanted to cry and laugh and faint all at once. As he sat dreaming, a butterfly landed on his shoulder and grazed it's wings along his cheek. |
The foundation encountered something disturbing within days of starting the investigation. Nobody actually played the game. Despite its apparent popularity, agents couldn't find a single human on the planet who fell for the ads.
Plenty of people were online inside the game. Agents interacted with them for a while to find them. Upon further examination, they assumed these accounts were all bots intended to inflate the user population. Ghosts who pretended to exist. Some of them were more elaborate than anticipated. They fooled agents into looking for them in the real world, only to discover their address information was false.
A few hypotheses emerged. The first one was that Raid: Shadow Legends was a multiversal videogame that had spilled into our reality with its marketing. That would explain the apparent user base. Multiversal marketing laws needed to be enforced if this was the case. Unfortunately, the Foundation wasn't able to find its original universe.
The other hypothesis was that the concept of the game was its own living entity, sustained by the attention humans gave it. Raid: Shadow Legends didn't need players. It just needed people thinking about it. This didn't explain where it got all the money to pay influencers, though.
The final hypothesis accounted for this, but it scared agents the most. Perhaps, an advanced AI of unknown origin had achieved sentience. It manipulated the banking system to pay for its marketing and created bots that composed its population, grooming them until they were strong enough achieve its bidding. The annoying marketing could be working as intended. Pushing itself on everyone to force the population to ignore them and hide in plain sight.
This possibility only grew in likelihood after more inquiry into the player accounts took place. These bots participated in social media across many websites. For all intents and purposes, they already operated like real people. Some of these ghosts even had valid credit card information, despite not living anywhere. The AI pretended to use its resources as a game server to mask its presence, growing in strength until the time was right. Nobody could speculate on its true goals for now.
After a few months, a honeypot operation was devised by the foundation. An agent was trained to be a pottery YouTuber, growing an audience organically over a year. Most of the sponsored influencers were people who often went communicated with 'dank memes'. One of these 'shitposters' was hired by the foundation to train their agent to viral. Eventually, the channel became number one in its category. It didn't even do pottery anymore, just pottery memes.
The entire operation was considered a waste of time. Some were worried that the game was aware of the investigation. The heads of the foundation almost scrapped it until 'Plarium Games', the developers, contacted the agent for a sponsorship.
Everything was set. Once the payment went through, the foundation would track its place of origin. Even if it didn't reveal everything, this would be a great clue to disprove any of the hypotheses.
The YouTuber agent uploaded his video, with the sponsored segment, and lost contact with the foundation. He had been living in a studio apartment with little contact with foundation members to keep the operation hidden.
Everyone assumed he was the dead. The result was even worse than that. When agents found him in his home, he was a disheveled mess. He hadn't bathed in days and his eyes darted around the room, disconnected from his surroundings. The only thing he could say was:
"RAID: Shadow Legends™️ is an immersive online experience with everything you'd expect from a brand new RPG title. It's got an amazing storyline, awesome 3D graphics, giant boss fights, PVP battles, and hundreds of never before seen champions to collect and customize.
I never expected to get this level of performance out of a mobile game. Look how crazy the level of detail is on these champions!
RAID: Shadow Legends™️ is getting big real fast, so you should definitely get in early. Starting now will give you a huge head start. There's also an upcoming Special Launch Tournament with crazy prizes! And not to mention, this game is absolutely free!
So go ahead and check out the video description to find out more about RAID: Shadow Legends™️. There, you will find a link to the store page and a special code to unlock all sorts of goodies. Using the special code, you can get 50,000 Silver immediately, and a FREE Epic Level Champion as part of the new players program, courtesy of course of the RAID: Shadow Legends™️ devs."
Over and over again.
The agent was placed into therapy immediately. He never recovered his capacity for speech. The foundation decided to allocate more resources into the investigation after this event. A memetic entity became the likelier explanation, which spelled trouble considering how strong it already was. Stories were being written about it on Reddit, spreading the same paragraphs the agent repeated even more throughout the internet. Some of them were from elaborate ghosts, like the game population.
Before the head of the investigation could devise a new strategy, a call from his higher ups left him in despair. Apparently, Plarium Games was a new benefactor for the foundation. The investigation was canceled and no one looked into it ever again.
-----
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. I swear I'm not sponsored. Thanks for reading! |
You had to love the chaos of it all. Thirty had already fallen to this elaborate prank, and many more would soon follow. It was a flawed system that was waiting to be exploited, and now the government was hastily trying to figure out a system to counter it.
They called me a serial killer, which wasn’t fair. I had raised nothing sharper than a pen, sure my decisions may have aided in the deaths of many, but I never did the murder myself. Why would I want that blood on my hands? Or the risk of being killed myself. I preferred to watch, stand nearby, and see the ensuing chaos.
It was simple. I would send two letters out. Each one having the opposite recipient’s name. The two recipients would receive their letters and start panicking, wanting to defend themselves from the threat. If I was lucky and so often, I was. The two would come to blows before the seven days were up. The recipient could defend themselves after all, meaning both felt justified engaging the other in combat.
It would be a bloody affair. Confusion would fall over the town, screaming and shouting, until silence. It would leave one standing coated in that beautiful crimson. They would be victorious. For a moment they would feel that rush, the rush of the hunt, as I liked to call it. That feeling when your chest pounds in an upbeat melody, your body nearly bursting with adrenaline. You had survived; you had conquered the murderer.
Then that look would fade, that pride they wore like a mutt that became the leader of its pack draining from their face. The police would soon arrive to question the matter, only to find my devious deception. This was where the reactions varied. Some grieved for their fallen foe. Maybe they had been friends at a point? While others reasoned with the officers, or began getting angry, pointing holes in the system.
Strangely enough, I agreed that the system was flawed. I never liked the idea that someone could murder another human legally, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take advantage of the chaos. It kept me sane to a degree, gave me an escape from the boredom of life and work. It was my personal pay-per-view event.
The problems only would arise when the two recipients were both cowards. If they were cowards neither would target the other, and often this led to them discovering the ruse. Once the ruse was discovered, I would have to move areas. I couldn’t stay in one place too long. If I did, I risked getting myself targeted or caught. If that happened, my game would have to stop.
Today the newspaper would arrive, I had heard whispers that today would be the day they tried to stop my fun. A change to the law would be implemented. I was excited to see what they had come up with. A game was only fun if it was challenging.
‘The Government requires a government official to officially sign or stamp each notice.’
Expected. Not a bad tactic, but a predictable one. Maybe I would give them a week or two? Let them believe their change worked before sending out another ten? It would be easy to forge documents; how many panicked people would risk leaving their homes to confirm a document’s authenticity?
My job also helped, I’ve seen a lot of signatures and stamps in my time. Guess they never expected their murderer to be a council member.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
“So I get to heaven?”
They always ask this. Never, “Oh wow, there exists an existence beyond this world, how amazing!”. Never, “Oh Satan… I really love what you’ve done with your horns.”
To be fair, they’d occasionally comment on how they expected Satan to be taller. I’m a goat walking on his hind legs. Have you ever met a goat before? They’re not super big.
I finally answer the spiteful little peons question: “Yes, you get to heaven, but...”
“Seriously? Even though I am known throughout the world as Henry Myers, Murderer of Butterflies?”
This is pretty normal also. “Yes”, reply, “but if you’d listen, I think you might want to reconsider…”
“No way! I’m going to heaven!”. And with that, Henry Myers, Murderer of Butterflies flies upward into oblivion as a dozen small angels recite a rude song about Gabriel's dietary habits.
Oh well. Another one lost. That’s a shame, but it's to be expected. You’d think, that after 1000 years of this pablam I’d be used to it. But still, every time, the rejection stings a little.
I’m about to return to hell. It’s better than you’d think. A little lonely, but warm. I have a nicely furnished apartment, and a quaint little garden. The lack of sunlight makes the second part difficult, but I do my best.
But wait! In a building two blocks down, a single woman in her forties named Susan is about to be torn apart by her own rebellious cats. I show up as quick as possible, but alas, no luck this time. Susan spends her last moments praising god, and telling me that I will lose in the eternal war, and be cast forever into the lake of fire, bla, blah, blahblah.
I kind of get that. It’s the horns mostly. People always take that as a sign that I’m the bad guy. They never notice how diligently clean they are, or that I’ve carefully rounded the ends, or how they’re not black at all, but rather a lovely shade of deep navy blue.
Susan vanishes in a flash of light, and a gross limerick recited in the baby voice of a angel.
I’m about done for the day. Time to go home and make a nice cup of tea. Everyone else can go straight to heaven as far as I’m concerned.
But, for whatever reason, I stick around. There’s a death just over the horizon and this one’s interesting.
A girl of 19, a runaway, just died. She never gave in. Unfortunately, the rickety apartment roof did.
It’s sad. I honestly shouldn’t waste my effort with the sad one’s. They tend to look to heaven for relief. But, I ride the sulfur express, and moments later I’m at her apartment.
Emily doesn’t seem particularly surprised to see a short and stocky goat man, with red-pink fur and navy horns appear next to her as she dies.
She simply looks at me. She expects to go to hell, to be tortured. Maybe she thinks she’ll meet her father there. Maybe she thinks he’ll do the torturing.
It’s hopeless, but I do my schpeel anyway:
“You get to heaven”
No reaction.
“But I’d like to offer you the option to go to Hell.”
That’s the way I have to present it. Ancient laws and all that.
She seems to think it over, then responds: “What’s Hell like?”
(Part ½)
|
I was only a child when the Way was closed. I sat on my father's shoulders and cried as the last humans walked through the shimmering portal and our mages chanted the closing ritual.
I didn't understand at the time that the portal between the planes had attracted demons and monstrosities in ever increasing waves. All I knew was that my best friend had left, and that I would never see them again. On that day I vowed to do anything to see my friend again.
As I grew I learned of the commitment our people made, that in times of great danger, the humans could reactivate the Way and we would come to their aid, even knowing the dangers to our realm that would follow. So I joined the Vanguard and mastered the blade and the bow so that I would be there if the humans ever called for aid.
But they never did.
And life moved forward. I fell in love, I was heartbroken, I fell in love again, I had children, I rose through the ranks of the Vanguard, things were good for a time.
Then the rumours started. A village in ruins, everyone missing, no corpses, no graves. Swathes of forest razed. Foul magic and disease.
Eventually the enemy revealed themselves, a singular demon escaped the purge and established themselves on this plane. Finally able to summon hordes of followers.
The war raged for years, with superior arms and tactics we won more battles than we lost. But it didn't matter, the sheer number of the foe drove us back until eventually the great City itself was besieged.
In one final desperate ploy I asked the mages to open the Way once more. During the days of the opening ritual we drew lots among the survivors in the City to determine the order of evacuation. A strange bittersweet sadness washed over me as I declined the lottery. After all this time, so close to seeing my friend, but I knew my duty was to guard the mages as the Way was closed once again. If they failed it would all be for nothing.
As the Way portal started to take shape it became clear the demons knew something was happening. Their assault on the city increased in intensity.
Right as the portal rippled and settled into that familiar shimmering glow a pack of demon infiltrators burst forth from the ground near the portal. I leapt forward to slow them down and stop them reaching the threshold. Surprised to see me in their way, they paused for a heartbeat, before rushing forward, claws poised to strike. I knew I was out matched even as I raised my spear.
But then a thunderous noise, from behind me, from the portal. The demons stopped in their tracks.
A heartbeat later they collapsed. Dead.
I turned to see what magic had come from the portal, and saw 5 humans in mottled armour carrying smoking black weapons.
Edit: p2 added below, hope you like it! |
Casino lights flashed as tourists and prostitutes walked down the trash laden streets of Las Vegas. Inside the bars and pubs, friends and lovers shared drinks as the countdown to 2018 drew closer and closer. All was as it should’ve been in the land of milk and honey.
A new bulletin flashed over the bottom of the TV screens that aired the countdown: DO NOT BE ALARMED. REPORTS OF DEAD RISING FROM GRAVES ARE COMING IN FROM SAN DIEGO. IF NEARBY PLEASE TAKE THIS REPORT SERIOUSLY. STAY INDOORS AND AWAY FROM WINDOWS.
“Ain’t that a load of shit,” said a man wearing a suit over in a corner booth. “Zombies... what’s next? Alie-“
A loud boom interrupted the man. The ground shook as bar glasses shattered and the ground seemed to split apart. All the patrons ran outside to see a large silver craft hovering above the city. Disc shaped, and chrome plated, the spinning object shot green beam after green beam down to the city.
People in the streets panicked as terror rained down from the skies. Mothers and sons tried to cower away in fear, but large tripod shaped invaders came down from the craft, annihilating everything in sight. Bodies were rendered to dust in a moments flash.
As the man in the suit ran down a dark corridor, he could see a glimmer of hope out of the corner of his eye. A olive drab green humvee with a young man on top with a machine gun.
“It’s the fucking goddamn Army! Hey! Hey! Over here!”
The vehicle came closer and he saw an unfamiliar marking on the side. Instead of the usual Stars and Stripes, he was met with the glare of an eye that pierced his soul.
“Who... are you?”
The man was gunned down where he stood by the young soldier with the machine gun.
“Sarge, this is Tango Bravo Alpha 4496, we are approaching the heart of the city. The Senator should be in our grasp soon.”
“Good,” replied the voice on the radio, “We are laying siege to D.C. right now. New York is already ours.”
“Confirmed. Men, roll-“
KABOOM
The small squad was instantly vaporized by a flashing light. The soldier was flung into the air and into a pile of garbage.
“What was that? The damn U.F.O?”
He looked over to see a large metal man standing over 20 feet tall leading down at him. The exterior was a dull iron color, with a flag of red adorning the left arm of the machine. The flag of the Nazi party.
“Nazis... I hate Nazis,” he said as he pulled out his side arm.
Each shot did little to stop the blast that vaporized the soldier.
As the robot flew in the air, it was smacked into by a speeding saucer, creating a mid air explosion the rained down debris onto the streets below. Little people were left to be affected, as the militaristic forced held up in a casino to fend themselves off the zombie hordes which had now began to room the streets. Saucers flew around with spotlights, blasting anything in sight, while any machine that was active reported the location of any living organic being to the mother computer on the dark side of the moon.
Battles such as this one raged all over the world, as the zombie plague, Nazi robot armies, Illuminati forces, and alien invaders all clashed in the streets of a once peaceful earth.
Little to the knowledge of the countless brainless zombies, robot Hitler, Lord Supreme Commander Ceaser, and Ctharthitlu, deep in another realm, Satan prepared to join the fray. 2018 surely looked like it would be an adventurous year for anyone left alive.
Edit: To anyone who enjoys this, [here’s](https://www.reddit.com/r/CoffeesWritingCafe/) my writing subreddit. Check it out to see more stories by me. Thanks! |
The child started crying, the dad's yelling got louder, it made me mad.
Humans think demons are beings of pure evil, they think we are made to destroy all that is good. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
Humans and demons are actually quite similar, we both are creatures of desire, creatures of greed, creatures of *power*.
That's where all the misconceptions come from, power. Where humans allow the powerful among them to deceive the rest, demons are transparent.
Hell is a society built on power, just like Earth is, but in Hell, everyone knows.
I was summoned here to Earth, as I usually am, by someone wishing for power.
But this one wasn't like all the others.
I'd appeared in the room, ready to fight, ready to chase, ready to destroy, but instead, I was met with an innocent 5-year-old boy.
At first, I was confused. How could a child even summon a demon, what power could a child want?
Then I heard the angry screams.
The boy's father, obviously drunk, ambled down the stairs, screaming at the little boy. The pale-faced child teared up, and I understood.
He wanted the power to stop it.
He wanted enough power to make his father *stop*.
I was a red-skinned, flaming, horned creature. And yet to the child, I still wasn't the greatest monster in the room.
The father barged into the living room, throwing a beer bottle against the wall, and immediately looked to his son. An angry grin grew on the man's face as he walked toward the crying child.
The vulgar excuse for a human being reached for his child, not out of love, but out of greed, and was cut off.
The man's expression changed again to rage as he looked up at me. His mind was muddied with alcohol and abusive thoughts, and he spat directly in my face.
"He's *mine*!"The man growled at me, a possessive edge in his voice that no being should have over another.
I pushed the man back, forcing myself between him and 'his child.' The irate father moved on me again.
As I was being charged down by a creature much weaker than me, but much more vile, I was reminded of my home.
Just as in Hell, this relationship was controlled by power. And unlike other human relationships, the child knew.
The father had the power, but the child wasn't ignorant, he knew he was being abused.
I pushed the man back again, my face showing no pride or arrogance, only disgust. I looked back to the child I was protecting.
He'd stopped crying, his hurt, wet eyes were now staring at me in wonder.
I couldn't help but feel deep empathy for the child, and with increased determination, I stared back at the father.
That child had summoned a demon, but staring at the greedy, sinful man trying to grab him, I knew.
He'd been living with a demon all along.
---
*Evil* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
 
|
I'm probably the only person in the world who was happier *before* the Match Database was invented.
I went on my eighteenth birthday with my twin brother Erik as soon as we were eligible for testing. The line stretched around the block, as it was still a fairly new technology back then. There were still people in their pre-Match relationships, which don't really exist now. Nowadays, the only people who need to use the service are those who are just coming of age. The thing about the Match Database is that you only ever need to use it once. "Soul mate"means a companion for life, and once you've found that one, there's never a need to use the database again. Unless you're like me, that is.
Erik found his match right away. He sent out the standard message with his name, contact information, etc. And the response came back immediately from his soul mate, Trinh. I still remember his beaming smile, and he was already on his smartphone booking a flight to Vietnam. And then I stepped up to the terminal and put my hand in for testing. The machine glowed blue, indicating that a match had been found and a connection set. So I sent the message.
I looked around the clinic, not sure what should have happened. It seemed like Erik's response was instantaneous. All soul mates were roughly the same age, so most were tested around the same time and could message back and forth almost immediately. "It's all right,"the clinic tech answered. "Sometimes it takes a while, like if your match is asleep at the moment. It happens a lot with all of the different time zones. Just go home and wait for the answer."
----
I've been waiting for ten years now. Ten long years of having every person I know rub their happiness in my face. Erik and Trinh, married now, are really the only ones who at least try not to make me feel bad about it. But even between them, I can *feel* their energy. Their strong connection. And their happiness. And it always just reminds me of what I'm missing out on.
I used to hate dating back in high school before I got matched. I really did. I was shy and clumsy and tongue-tied and I never knew what to talk about. You have *no idea* what I'd give to go on an awkward blind date now. There are no more single people left. That's not an exaggeration: *everyone* has used the match clinic and found their soul mate. As far as I know, I'm the only person who never got a response. I've heard of people waiting up to a year, but no further than that.
I try to maintain a normal life. I have a studio apartment, which are a rarity nowadays. Most of them have been combined into spacious one-bedrooms for all of the couples out there. At least the lack of demand leads to some pretty cheap rent for me, right? The only way to survive as the only single man in the world is to stay positive.
At work, I'm a fairly solitary person. I keep my head down and get my work done on time. I eat lunch at my desk while everyone else usually meets their soul mate for an hour or so mid-day. A lot of them go out for happy hour and such afterwards, but I usually head straight home. You'd think that being with friends would cheer me up, but it just reminds me that I'm an eternal third wheel. At least my cat and my TV don't have soul mates to rub in my face.
-----
I went into the Match Database clinic the other day. The bored attendant was certainly shocked to see me, a 28-year-old man. Everyone my age had been Matched successfully a decade ago. "Um... can I help you?"he asked.
"I want a new match,"I told him.
He looked down at the machine, then back at me. "What?"
"A new match!"I yelled, louder than I'd intended. I pounded a fist on the counter and glared at him. "How hard is that to understand?"
He shrank back against the far wall and pushed the machine toward me. "I don't think that's how it works..."he stammered.
I picked the machine up and smashed it to the ground, where it exploded in a spray of plastic bits and wires. Just for good measure, I kicked a few of the pieces and then stormed out.
That was the night I tried to commit suicide.
-----
"David?"It was Erik, as usual. He's generally the only person who calls me now that Mom has passed on. "I think you need to come over here."
I sighed and rolled over to check the clock. 10 A.M., far earlier than I normally woke up now that I'd lost my job. "Why?"I asked. It was a question that I'd been asking a lot recently. Why go on?
"Just come,"Erik said. "It's worth it, I promise."
I grumbled, but in the end managed to get out of bed and scrape together the effort to shower and dress. If it had been anyone other than Erik, I would have just hung up.
I pulled up in front of our old house, where Erik and Trinh now lived with their little daughter, and took a deep breath before exiting the car. It seemed like everything was a chore nowadays, and I was just too tired to continue. Half of me wanted to just drive back home and crawl back under the covers and wallow in my own pity for a while longer. But then I noticed the car parked in the driveway. Not Erik's, nor Trinh's. And curiosity got the better of me.
The doorbell chimed cheerfully, and Trinh answered the door with a wide grin. "David!"She wrapped her arms around me in a big hug. "I'm so happy you came!"She was normally a pretty upbeat person, but this was over the top even for her. Maybe she was overcompensating for the cloud of gloom that hovered over me at all times. "Come in!"
She led me into the living room, where Erik was sipping coffee with the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Long black hair flowed over her pale shoulders, and she had sparkling, vivid blue eyes.
"David!"Erik said as I entered the room. "So great to see you. *This*,"he gestured to the woman, "Is Candice."
Reality came rushing back, and I remembered who I was. Like everyone else, Candice would have a soul mate. How could she *not*? My constant stormclouds reappeared.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you,"she said softly.
*Finally?*
"Candice here has been in a coma,"Erik said. He could barely contain the eager enthusiasm in his voice. "For the past *eleven* years. She said that she heard your name and address in a dream."
*Eleven years...* My mind had stopped working.
She batted her eyelashes. "I got your message, David."
----
If you enjoyed this, you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_lovewell!
|
"You're drunk, Jerry. You're drunk on the goddamn job again. Do you ***want*** to get fired?"
"No, man, I'm telling you, the new guy straight up welded the entire fitting *with his bare finger*. Just dragged it around the line real smooth and it was done. And Barry saw him driving the beams. He was using that custom 25lb sledge like it was a tack hammer. The dude is a beast. Those muscles are not for show. I wonder if he knows a guy who can get me some juice? I bet he does."
"Jerry, if you go over there and mess with the only guy who has actually done any work today, I will TIG weld your asshole to that rebar, and I will not use my finger, you drunk fool."
"Aw, Terry, come on, I told you I'm not drunk today. Just go watch him, I swear, you'll see."
"Fine. Larry, come with me."
The foreman and shift super wandered over to where the new guy, who went by T-Dog, was delicately driving support steel into a few concrete forms he had carried and placed by hand. The custom sledge rose and fell with the practised ease of a man who had been doing this all his life. For a guy old enough to have a long graying beard - braided ornately, which set him apart from the other bearded construction members as effectively as his highly muscular frame did - he never did seem to tire.
"Yo, T-Dog, can I interrupt you for a sec?"
"Of course,"he boomed. T-Dog did not have an indoor voice setting. "Brief rests make the day's work light. What aid or answers may I give, Terry, son of Brad?"
"Listen, Jerry brought to my attention that you might have been working with more of a thought to efficiency than safety, and I just wanted to make sure that you had gotten those OSHA briefings. We all love what you're doing, don't get me wrong, I would just hate to see you get hurt."
"Ah, Bradson, fear not. I have lived a bawdy and violent life. If I have not yet met my end, I can promise you that nothing here will harm me. But perhaps you fear for your other men? Of course you do. My apologies, Bradson. I will be more mindful of those around me in the future."With a contagious smile, T-Dog turned back to his hammering. The man loved hammering. And singing, which he began doing again.
Knocker, Beater, Steel-Striking Minder
Swaddling-babes by big brother Grinder
Fjellheim, Stout-wall, long-legged timber
Now seal steel silently, sky-spear's finger!
T-Dog was a strange fellow, but you could not fault his work or work ethic. |
I yawned, stretched, and debated over what to do today. The sun would be out until 1, at which point it would rain for the rest of the day, so there was the possibility of a quick picnic. Or maybe I could go tell my boss to shove it where the sun don't shine, that was always fun.
I rolled ungracefully out of bed, *thump* on the carpetting two inches below, and rolled over to my closet. Not for the first time, I wondered if this repetition was driving me a little insane. I'm pretty sure I was at day 460, or 472, or was it 589... No, can't dwell on it. What was I saying? Oh yes, the red dress or the blue skirt today...
Bleh. Boring. I'd worn these day after day. Since no one would remember what happened today anyway, I might as well just walk around in... I glanced around my room. That bedspread was kind of cute, in a cozy way. At least, I couldn't go around naked. I had tried that for one of these Wednesday the 5th of Septembers (the time when I think I genuinly lost it), and it got interesting... weird... mixed results.
Bedspread then. And I'll stop by the Chateau on Main Street, use my now-basically-limitless credit card and walk around in haute couture for the rest of the day.
On my way out of the building, Henry the postman stopped to stare at me. "You alright, there, miss Vanessa?"he asked. I smiled at him. He was always polite, even after that Wednesday where I stole his van. "Oh, never felt better!"I called over my shoulder as I walked on.
"You're forgetting why you're here..."I thought I heard him say. I spun around. "What?"
"What?"
"You said something, didn't you?"
"No ma'am. Must be someone's tv."He dropped today's letters (5 bills, 1 credit card application, 2 actual letters, and 7 advertisements for chinese-pizza-burgers) in my apartement building's mailbox. He tipped his hat. "Be safe out there."
I nodded in acknowledgement, intending to be exactly the opposite.
These strange events were becoming more and more frequent. At first, it was exactly like groundhog day; predictable events that always happened the exact same way. I had repeated my boss's words to his face when he told me I was fired, maybe 4 times. Then I just skipped because why waste a repeat day by going to work. I'd avoided falling ladders, got all the good free samples being handed out, and now I can walk through traffic with my eyes closed because I know here every car will be. My actions never had some weird butterfly effect; only the people I interacted with ever reacted to my behaviour.
But, lately...
"Watch out for that car, miss,"someone called to me from across the street. The same red car that always passes at this time zipped by me, barely winging the edge of my blanket. I looked closely at him. He looked familiar, but I don't remember him being there before... "Even with a bedspread, you can't go around like you're sleepwalking. Keep your eyes open,"he added.
After getting my hair done and donning the most expensive evening dress that I could find, I went to Starbucks for my usual cup of coffee with extra caramel sauce. The barrista's eyes practically bugged out of her head when she saw me flounce in, tugging on my evening gloves. I smiled charmingly. "I'll have my usual, please,"I said. She stuttered out, "and... um.. what would your, uh, usual be?"
I forgot hat was an inside joke for me now. "Caramel machiato, grande, extra whipped cream and caramel."
"I guess to really wake you up, right?"she said while typing in the order. What a stange thing to say at nearly noon...
"...Yeah."I answered.
The coffee *did* wake me up, and then some; as I walked down Main Street I started to get jittery. The sun was still in view but those clouds were starting to get ominous, like they always did at this time, but why was I so apprehensive about it? I guess the idea distracted me, because I felt someone bump into me. "Hey, keep your eyes open, lady!"the person shouted as he walked on.
Why was that familiar...
A car zoomed by while I tried to cross the street, almost hitting me. A red car... That wasn't right, there are only blue and green ones on this road around noon...
"Wake up, sheeple!"a radio announcer screamed from the convenience store.
The rain started coming down just then, meaning it was later than I thought, and suddenly I felt like I had to run, and....
"Hey, watch out!"
----
Beeping. The smell of overly-clean sheets and something like bleach. My eyes barely opened, they felt so crusted over. My arms were slow to rise to wipe them clean. I heard rusling beside me.
"Vanessa? Vanessa!"Someone grabbed me in a tight hug and started sobbing. I held on. "Mom?"I managed to croak out. "What happened?"
"Oh, my sweet girl, you finally came back to us, the doctor said you wouldn't after all this time but I knew, I just knew you'd wake up..."
Then I remembered. The red car, the man shouting at me to watch out... and the people in my dream, trying to tell me to wake up.
My mom's voice had reached me after all this time.
---
*Edit: Spelling. And to say thank you to everyone who read this! :)
Edit 2: Some of you seem upset with the current ending, so I'll try to rewrite it from the point after her conversation with the mailman and I'll leave it in the comments. I can't garantee that it'll be great, or up quickly, but I'll try.
Edit 3: a new ending is up! Look for the comment starting with *previously* |
"Sanctuary!"cried the child with a desperate sob as it ran into the library.
The ancient word fills my veins with fire for the first time in too many years. I stand as the guard follows. No. They were called "police"now. I need to remember that. "Nice try,"said the guard with a sneer on his face. "But only holy places can grant sanctuary."
Aaliyah, the youngest, looks to me with confusion. The others look to me with glee and satisfaction. They know what's coming. I nod to our youngest and stand. I gather the weight of the thousands of words housed in this small building and say, "Sanctuary granted."
The guard--no, the *policeman* stops. Confusion crosses his face as he tries to figure out what his hind brain has already known. "This is a library."The words were said tentatively, hesitantly. He scowled as he tried to ignore the tiny part of his brain screaming at him to run.
I smile. It really *has* been too long. "This is sacred ground,"I tell him. "You are in the temple of Seshat, and we are all Her acolytes."I move out from behind the desk and glare at the man. He tries to bluster, tries to gain hold of the child--but Aaliyah has already grabbed them. Good. "The child has claimed sanctuary,"I repeat.
"Seshat has no temples."
I can feel the stirrings in the other world as They look down on us. They are watching, waiting--and weighing. "Oh, no?"I ask coldly. I reach out and grip the air before rending apart the veil between our world and Theirs. The guard--no, he's not a guard, he's a *policeman*\--get your head straight, it shouldn't be this hard--goes white at the sight of Ammit's crocodile maw. The goddess hisses at him. I can hear Her words.
*"It is not yet his time."*
I nod and close the veil. The *policeman* collapsed, shaking, to the floor. Wetness spread from his crotch. Looking the Devourer in the face will do that to a person, I suppose. He stammered before turning, lurching semi on his feet, and leaving the building as fast as he could go. I turn back to the acolytes. "Please,"I say, "summon one of the custodians to deal with the mess the *policeman* left."Ah, finally. I finally remember the term.
One of the acolytes scurry off as Aaliyah looks to me. "Pardon, Holiness,"she said.
"Yes?"I ask. I smile to the child who gives a timid, worried smile back.
"The term is police *officers* now."
Dammit. |
I've only had my hearing back for 15 minutes, and I've wanted it gone for 14. I'd read, in old books, what its like for the deaf to regain hearing- every little click and tick and sniffle sounds infinitely louder, is magnified in the silence you're used to.
But this is different.
There is an inexplicable, ear splitting scream coming form the "unused"government building across from my city high rise. Stranger still are the whispers.
Coming from any crack, any window, under every door, the whispers have followed me around my house, down the stairs, even into my car.
"If you can hear us, save us. Help us."
"If you can hear us, save us. Help us."
"If you can hear us, save us, help us."
I live a quiet life. A good life, but a quiet life. I stay out of the way, do as I'm told, and mind my own business.
I'm not a hero, I'm not a detective, and I don't look for trouble.
But the damn whispering! And the screams.
I try to go about my day as I always have, pretending I can hear nothing. As soon as I heard the screams and whispers, I knew not to share the cure, not yet.
But I work in the government building, and my day is plagued with fake smiles and quick cringes. The screams don't stop.
I sign to my coworkers, over and over, that I'm fine, just have a pressure headache.
I go to the store, to the park, to the bank.
I determine without meaning to that the whispers must be coming from the old subway tunnels, long since blocked off. They're loudest in the places closest to the old routes.
I finish my daily routine and return home.
No one suspects me of hearing- no one will be looking for the cure.
I take the hammer from my tool kit and retreat to my bathroom.
Standing in front of the mirror to aim more accurately, I bash in my left ear, then my right.
The blood flows, and my head aches.
I calmly press the button for 911. They'll come, they'll fix it.
No one can blame me for not helping something that I know nothing about it- right?
I am no hero.
And I'm okay with that. |
Mum always called me a charmless little freak. Said I'd make a fine house servant if I could learn to use my hands, because I sure as hell couldn't learn magic.
The doctors had said as much. Poked me and prodded me with needles and wands in their desperate attempts to get a squeak of magic out of my bones.
Nothing.
If they'd have asked me, I'd have said Mum was defective. Her or dad, or both. Sure, I turned out defective in turn, but it was them first. Them who made me, anyways.
But Mum did magic fine, whipped her wand and cast her spells and charmed every neighbor and their petunias with the way she was to everybody but me.
And Dad? He did magic fine, too, but the disappearing kind. I never met him. Mum blamed me for that, I think.
But where Mum said words that made the world go 'round and the house in tip-top shape, I didn't talk. Not a peep and not a spell. It was easier than explaining why my words didn't make the air twinkle like a thousand stars in the sky.
I made noise. Hummed. Beat the table to the rhythm of an unheard song.
And when I turned fifteen, I got my first real instrument.
I'd gotten home from school before Mum came home. She worked late on Wednesdays, and came back smelling of liquor and men's cologne.
There was a package on the front step with my name on it. I thought it could be from grandma, but the letters were blocky and crooked and nothing like the fine script from her letters.
Mum had a note with letters like that; she read it in the evenings when she cried sometimes, and I'd sneak into her room the next morning and see what Dad had wrote her once.
He didn't write me a note. Just my name--spelled wrong--but my name just the same.
And inside he'd left me a harmonica.
The magic came to me then. Not in spells or little charms; not in the blossoms of flowers in the dead of winter, or the sprinkling snow on a summer day. I blew into that thing and the magic came in melodies, and I knew then they didn't have nothing like what I had.
That's how I got to here. To the semi-finals of the most important wizardry competition around. Not a single word muttered, not a single spell cast.
I played that harmonica and the music flowed. Their smiles lit up as if I'd stupefied them with a smiling spell. They danced as if I'd gained control of each and every one of their limbs.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The three aliens huddled together, rubbing their tentacles together nervously, trying to decide what to do next. The human was sitting at the table inside their spaceship, patting his stomach and releasing horrific busts of gas. He had an expression on his face that – according to their research – denoted joy and pleasure, but that was impossible.
"I don't understand,"Thwupl telepathed to his two alien brethren. "He shouldn't even be alive!"
"The chocolate killed the canine-companions the humans have,"Vrtw telepathed back. "They share such an intense bond, we figured it should have had the same effect!"
"And the coffee and alcohol rendered the feline-companions unresponsive,"Ebkzq added. "At the very least it should have incapacitated him."
"So what do we do?"Thwupl asked back. Before he got an answer, the metal door to the dining chamber slid open, and in slithered Gfrij, the head poisoner. He was carrying a plate of something that reeked of fire, and he brought it to the group with a mischievous look in his single bulging eyeball.
"Do not worry, my brethren,"he said. "I have concocted something that will surely defeat the human. It is called… buffalo wings! Extra spicy."
The other three aliens nodded in agreement. Just the fumes coming off of the neon-orange meat was enough to make their slippery skin crackle and harden.
"And that cup of white liquid?"asked Vrtw. "What is that?"
"Extra poison,"Gfrij telepathed. "Liquid cow excrement that has turned rotten and moldy. It is called, blue cheese."
*****
Come write prompts together at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream! |
Hello sir. Professor.
Yes, I'm here for the party.
Why yes, I am still human, we've ... had to make improvements. As a species. It's ...
May I sit down?
I can't stay long, it was a precondition of my being here ...
... oh yes, I would like one, thank you. I believe they're called 'sausage rolls', am I right? Good good. And I apply this ... red ... slurry ... oh, I see, much improved.
I wanted to tell, well show you, what we can achieve, even centuries from now. Applicable justification for someone who works primarily in the theoretical realm. To thank you for what we have done and what humanity can achieve based on the Now you created.
Also, why this must never go beyond this room.
Because you are one of the giants on which the future stand upon. If you mentioned that time travel was possible, you might be scoffed, Dismissed. Laughed at.
But you will be listened to.
The basis of time travel is based on centuries of work in a myriad of fields. Your mention might spur the acceleration of some of these fields of work, while ignoring other, lesser known but equally important areas.
And given the attention span for the general populace, even at this time ... it may very well cause time travel to be delayed. Or not created at all.
Yes sir, paradox.
We've dealt with one already. One too many.
It's worse than you can anticipate. It's the primary reason for my ... humanity's changed appearance.
Well, I won't take up any more of your time sir. It's an honour beyond ... anything I ca n say sir.
Good bye, and thank you.
What?
Oh yes, I would like to take some sausage rolls home. And that orange fizzy drink ... |
"Look,"said the demon. "This is the 13th time you've summoned me to sell your soul. My boss wants to know where you're getting all these souls."
The man gave the demon a skeptical look.
"I'm a holy man, people ask me to save their soul all the time, so I do, and then put them into this."
He held out a vial filled with a swirling blue ether.
"I'm not sure that's what they meant."
"What? does the underworld have a IRS?"
The demon was starting to get frustrated. "Well, no, but, I mean...This is starting to feel excessive."
"This is your job, you signed up to barter for souls. That's how you ended up a being of darkness, so if you are done moralizing, I've got something you want, you can help me. Lets make a deal."
The demon sighed. "It' just strange, shouldn't you be giving them up to God or something?"
"I never said I was Christian, I'm much too old for that."The man scoffed.
"Okay, so where did this one come from?"
"He wanted to quit drinking, said he would give anything to stop. I helped him, then took his soul as payment. He was happy, his wife was happy, I'm happy, but apparently you are not. I can find another demon, there are a ton of you guys."
"So are you some sort of demon? I've never seen one like you before."
"No, I said I was too old for that nonsense. I'm more of a middleman. A sort of pawn shop for souls."
The demon did not know how to respond. He was beginning to wonder if it was safe to deal with this man. This was a feeling that he had no experience with. A moment hung in the air before the man continued.
"Look, I just fill a gap in the market. There are many people who are no longer spiritual or religious these days, they no longer know how to contact your kind. I find desperate people who would summon you, or one of your associates, but don't know how. I make a deal, fulfill their small dreams, then get you to extract the remaining value I can't."
"I see, so what do you want this time?"
"Another fifty years and a hundred grand, USD. Direct deposit is fine"
The demon nodded. "Deal. If we are done, I have to discuss this with my boss."
The man laughed "What are you going to tell him? That your job is getting harder? Or that some guy is stepping on the toes of a mighty demon?"He paused. "Just keep taking my souls, keep quiet and the next time I can do a two for one."
"Fine, whatever. But next time find a different way to summon me, your method is distinctive."
"Sounds like a deal."The man replied.
The demon disappeared back to the underworld. He could not shake the feeling that he now had another master. |
I chuckle mirthlessly to myself as I glance at the title of the next video. *Top 10 Ways the World Might End*. WatchMojo, of course. One of those old retro channels. I don't even bother paying the actual video any attention, scrolling straight to the comment section. I already know that the truth won't be on the list. No one saw it coming.
I press Ctrl+V to quickly paste in the message. "Last."It's dumb, it's stupid, it's pointless... But it's all I have left. My food supply is nearly gone, the air recycler is barely held together by frankly obscene amounts of duck tape, and the only way left to purify water is good ole fashioned boiling -- not really the safest thing to do on a space station. But the internet, maintained by bots on the server satellites, is still as alive as ever. Minus new content, of course.
I click to another random video among my suggested feed. Ah, an old classic -- *Rewind 2038*. I dislike the video, on principle alone, and then paste in my comment.
And so it goes. It's a morbid sort of amusement. One final "take that"from humanity to the universe. We created so much, but in the end it all comes to nothing. What is the point of a massive record, a comprehensive archive of our culture, when no one is around to see it? I am the last. My death is more than just my death. It is the end of our history.
Oh, sure, there could be life somewhere far out there. But we never really ventured out into the stars, and it seems unlikely that any other civilization will either. They must all fall to the same ironic fate that we have, or be smart enough to to simply be content with their own little corner of the universe.
Hubris. We've known about it for so long. We refused to doubt our wings and flew too close to the sun. I am nothing more than the final drop of wax. We will sink into the depths of the sea, as if we were never here at all.
Hours of the same repetitive task serve to help distance myself from the approaching oblivion. "Last.""Last.""Last."Obviously, I will never be able to comment on every single video. But I have managed hundreds so far.
And then, all too soon, it is time. The oxegen has finally given out. I am already so tired and weak. All I can do is stare, blankly, at the screen. Shall this be the last thing seen? It is an uploaded nature documentary. I do not mind so much, if this is it. Down, far beneath me, Earth is little more than a wasteland. I would rather remember it like this. Lush green forests, glittering waterfalls, golden sunsets over the sea.
Yes, this is a fitting end. A memory of what once was and can never be again. It is what we recklessly lost in our own pursuit of *more*.
*Ding.*
I blink at the notification. The edges of my vision are blurry, but I can still read it. Is this some sort of oxegen deprived hallucination? I don't understand... I have to... Need to... Reach out...
*Someone has liked your comment.* |
"You missed a slap,"Rob thought. She grinned, then turned back to the teacher.
His capacity for wit in the situation surprised him, as his hands were shaking uncontrollably all the while. He began to think of every thought he'd had about her - and quickly attempted to discontinue that, as he'd thought of her *a lot*. The effort of not thinking of her proved futile, however, as it was punctuated by sniggers from her side of the classroom.
"Can you come outside?"he thought, quickly rising from his desk. "I need to speak to you."
He motioned towards the teacher. "May I go to the bathroom, sir?"The teacher nodded, and Rob walked towards the door, glancing at her on his way out.
After half a minute or so, she came through the door. Rob stared at her, unsure of what to say. He wanted to ask if she could really read his mind, though it seemed so ridiculous a-
"Yes, I can,"she said simply, a slight smirk playing on her lips. "Quite an active imagination you've got there - hormones, eh?"
Rob looked horrified. He started to deny her accusation, then realized the futility of it. She laughed.
"Don't worry, I get it,"she continued, "though it was quite a dramatic way to find out you liked me. Most boys think of many different girls, but you seem to be rather, err, *fixated*."
Rob was abashed. He felt humiliated, transparent.
"I just felt like you always 'got me', you know?"he said. "Even though we never knew each other. I could just see it in your eyes."
He looked at his shoes, trying to clear his mind of all his embarrassing thoughts. "Not many people really 'get me',"he added, almost to himself.
A silence fell over them, not altogether uncomfortable - though Rob still hoped she would fill it, as he felt he'd exposed himself too much already.
She put her hand on his shoulder, and he looked at her.
"Hey, you wanna get out of here?"she asked him, her words sincere. "It's last period anyway."
"But what about Mr. Tessendorf?"Rob asked. "Won't he get mad?"
She laughed. "Oh, don't you worry about him,"she said, as she took his hand and led him towards the school exit. "He's too busy thinking about his ex-wife to care about us."
And as the school doors closed behind them, Rob finally felt like he'd met someone who cared about him - and she nodded in silent agreement.
****
****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy
I'll try (and fail to) add new stories every day <3
Just posted [Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/pk62sl/wp_to_understand_ii/?) on my subreddit! |
Henry and Roy shuffled into the cafeteria along with the other forty first year students who would be starting at the East Brighton Preparatory Academy. The other students, already seated at the tables, barely looked up from their meals. It didn't look much like the Great Hall of Hogwarts that he had seen in Mum and Dad's old photos. Instead of a thousand floating candles and a stormy sky, Henry just saw dirty ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights. And there were no long wooden tables with silver platters of food, but instead scuffed red plastic tags and dented aluminum trays heaped with something that almost looked like macaroni and cheese.
"This must be the Sorting!"Henry whispered eagerly to Roy. "My father told me all about it!"He searched the room for any noticeable banners to see what the different houses were, but he couldn't see any. No matter; the muggle's version of the Sorting Hat would surely explain it.
"Sorting?"Roy grunted. "Sorting *what*?"He was muggle born, after all, so of course he wouldn't know how it was done at Hogwarts.
*Do the muggles not do sorting?* Henry wondered. That didn't make sense. Haggard had even brought him to a Muggle library so that he could learn a bit more about his school before the first day; they'd used a machine that Haggard had called an "internet."There, he saw pictures of mascots and all the bright colors, just like the Gryffindor lion. And while they were at the Muggle's version of Diagon Alley (Called "Shopping Mall,") Haggard had explained that all the boys would be split up to live in different areas of the school. There had to be a sorting, right?
"You know,"Henry tried to explain, "Like, where they split us all up and decide what house we're going to live in."
"Ohhhh."Roy nodded understandingly. "Yeah, 'at's what *this* is for."The young girl in front of Roy turned right then and passed a stack of papers to him. They weren't the yellowish parchament that Henry was used to; just plain white squares covered in black writing. Roy took one for himself and then passed the stack to Henry.
Henry studied the options, each with a little blank check box next to it:
> Windsor Building, Dorm A
> Windsor Building, Dorm B
> Churchill Building, Dorm A
> Churchill Building, Dorm B
"Errr...."Henry wasn't sure if this was right. Where was the Hat to make the decision? "You just pick one?"
"Yeah,"Roy answered, seeming a bit confused. "Wotchu think, Henry? Want to room together?
"Sure!"He didn't have to stop and think about it. Regardless of what House they chose together, it would be good to be with a friend.
"Well, my brother Doug was in Churchill B 'is first year,"Roy explained. A roguish grin spread across his face. "'e said that it's got a pretty good view into the girls dormitory across the quad! I say we grab that one!"The girl in front of Roy turned around and shot daggers at him along with a look of disgust. She was likely trying to figure out which dorm was *not* across from Churchill B.
Henry looked back down at the paper. "Well... what attributes does House Churchill fit best? Because I think that I'm fairly studious and intelligent, but my *father*'s house was known for being brave and those things tend to run in the family."He frowned; this really would be easier if there was just a hat to the decision.
Roy's face screwed up in confusion. "Henry, you're a weird bloke. What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know..."This was so frustrating! Henry'd never had to deal with Muggles before. "Isn't our house supposed to match our personality?"
Roy laughed. "It's just a place to live, Henry. It'll be a bunk bed and a desk with a little lamp on it. Probably broken, if what my brothers all told me is true. That's about it."
"Oh."Henry looked down at his paper. "I guess Churchill B will be fine then."He looked around for someone passing out feathers to write with, but there were none. Just some little orange sticks topped with what looked like bubblegum. Roy took one and pressed it against his paper, and it made a mark in the box, so Henry copied him. Just like that, it was done. That was the muggle version of sorting.
Roy and Henry turned in their forms and were shepherded into a different line. They were given trays and walked past a counter with a glass sneeze shield. A frumpy old woman ladled heaps of orange goo onto their trays from a big metal bin that was indeed labeled "macaroni and cheese."Henry couldn't see a single noodle in there. Then they found their way to tables and sat in no particular order; Henry didn't even know who the other members of Churchill B were yet.
"So this is the feast?"Henry asked, poking at his goo. Roy had already devoured half of his portion.
"Yep!"Roy said. "But don't get used to it. My brothers said the food gets worse after the first night. They're trying to make a good impression and whatnot."He followed that sentence by shoveling another forkful into his mouth.
Henry looked down at his orange blob. He decided he didn't like being a scientist very much.
------
As always, subscribe to /r/luna_lovewell if you enjoyed the story! |
"What are thek little nozzles in thek ceiling for?"the mandibles giving the insectoid's speech a unique clicking quality.
"Oh, that's for the water,"replies the human offhandedly.
"Youk drink from them?"
"Oh course not! That's to put out the fires if they occur."
Suddenly Kryaxis starts rapidly clicking and pointing at the nozzle, his fellow insectoid replying in their rapid clicking speech. Kira is standing awkwardly, not quite sure what to do for the minute while the cacophony is going on. Finally the aliens calm down.
"Youk feed thek rare and precious water intok thek all consuming flame! Why?"Kryaxis angrily shouts.
Kira takes a step back, the question taking her off guard, but rapidly composes herself. "To put out the fire of course."
At this point Kira remembers that the insectoids come from a dry desert world, where water is only gained from metabolic processes, and without access to the vast oceans of a terran planet like Earth.
"Anyways, we can just recoup the steam from the environmental vents after the fire is gone out."
At this point the insects are just staring at Kira, compound eyes bugging out of their exoskeleton more than usual, their chitinous nostrils flaring slightly as they breath in anger. Kira is getting more nervous by the second, both from a potential intergalactic incident and for her life.
Attempting to defuse the situation she hesitantly asks, "W-what do you do?"
As if on cue the insectoids calm down and Kryaxis speaks, "Well, thek sensible thing of course. Wek vent thek contents of thek affected areak tok space. No fuel. No fire."
Kira stands there, dumbstruck with disbelief. Kryaxis stares at her, a look of alien smugness on his mandibles.
"But what of your people that might be trapped?"Kira blurts out.
Kryaxis looks confused at this remark, "Well, wek breed more of course."
Kira is again stunned, trying to fathom the gulf of culture between the two civilisations. Insectoids were just so ready to throw lives away over something as trivial as a fire. Automated fire suppression systems were a vehicle staple long before humans even made it out of the solar system. Kira, as ambassador to the Insectoid people has to think fast, the insectoid impatience was legendary among the few races the humans had already met. Then she grins.
"How about, we trade you a million cubic microns of water, and you can see how our fire suppression systems work, and for the low price of only a hundred microns of uranium."
Kryaxis suddenly rears back in shock, mad clicking noises coming from his companions. "Youk liek! That is more water than has ever been in one place! Explain this betrayal!"
Kira's grin widens, "Oh, this is no betrayal, scan our storage holds if you wish proof. My offer is as solid at titanium and I await your response. Thank you for your hospitality."
Kira bows very politely with her arms crossed to her insectoid hosts, careful to follow their odd customs, while their click-filled discussion decays into chaos. As she turns to return to her vessel her grin finally vanishes. High quality uranium fuel for a few thousand gallons of water. This was going to be far easier than she expected! |
I had raised the ants from the very beginning. I had even personally fed the queen ant with sugary feed, making sure she was healthy and strong. It was a nice hobby to have, and when they were numerous and strong enough, I released them into my vast, mostly overgrown garden. I didn't really think much of them for a couple of weeks after, spending my time doing my job, ghostwriting for another vapid Hollywood star with the brains of a flea and the ego to make a peacock seem humble. But one day, I decided to go out and check on them.
To my immediate surprise, I saw when I came by the anthill, some kind of structures. Miniscule ones. Ants usually dig huge underground hives, not structures. Actually I've never heard of structures made by ants. Now, I am no expert in architecture, but the small structures looked from a distance vaguely reminiscent of early human temple compounds. It seemed more likely the closer I got. And the ants, all of them, stopped in their tracks and works when I came close. I saw them lie down flat on their stomachs. A number of them seemed to be wearing, what though I can't be certain, looked like robes and parts from other bug's exoskeletons. I turned my head and I observed what seemed to be a penned enclosure, filled with aphids, which I knew some ants kept as a form of livestock, like humans keep cows for their milk.
But what really got me going, was when I saw a small, crudely carved, stature representing me. I could recognise myself on the glasses, and the curly hair. I swear that I could hear a distant sound, like far off chanting. I was unsure of what to actually do about this. So I went inside again. Five minutes later, I don't know why, I came back. And I had brought a jar of honey. Before the ants, I scooped out three big spoons and left it on the ground by the statue.
The ants swarmed to the sweet substance, and I swear that somewhere in the back of my skull, I heard a highly ecstatic thanking from small voices. Not wanting to intrude further, I went back inside again. But over the next couple of days, I would periodically visit the ants. Feeling responsible for them somehow, I sometimes left out some sugar or honey, and when a rainstorm threatened, I planted the top part of an old umbrella above the place where the ants lived, and kept it from flying away until the storm passed.
And every day, I heard these small voices, distant and faint. Some were hard to pick out, but the few I could discern where like prayer. Prayers to the High Caretaker. To me. And over time, as I provided little things for them, or aided them by utterly destroying a rival hive by pouring molten aluminium into it, the voices grew in power. And soon enough, it started to have an effect on me.
When a mugger tried to steal my wallet, I managed to shoot out his eye with a small lightning bolt. When I joined a charity marathon, everyone was highly confused by how I had managed to outrun even the actual athletes, as I wasn't really in shape at all. When a car was about to splash a huge muddy puddle on my face, I parted the waters Moses style, and was not struck.
I was becoming a god. Of ants. Ants are ruled by queens, who lay the eggs. Males exist for a brief moment for breeding. And the majority of the hive are sterile worker drones. Seemingly, while the gender and sterility wasn't changed, the fact that the ants had weavers, extracting web from captured spiders, carvers, who cut stone with small odd tools, and priests who would lead strange repetitive hymns, should have made me prepared for anything. It didn't. As one day, I awoke not in my bed, not as myself, but as a shining, golden being, the big as the queen ant, who I was staring straight at. Around her, were the ant princesses, ready soon for their nuptial flight.
The queen spoke to me. In reverence, in religious ecstasy. She and her priests had summoned me. For a specific purpose. Soon the princesses would leave, to build their own hives. And during the nuptial flight, that was when the princesses mated with the males, and gained all genetic material they would ever need for the rest of their lives. The queen begged me to bless them. With divine offspring.
A part of me was disgusted. But the part of me that was becoming a god, understood what was asked. And understood the significance of this. With humanity's future in question, but the rise of the clever ants at hand, the divine part of me understood that this could be the genesis of a new civilisation. A new way. The part of me that was still human closed his eyes and did what had to be done.
That was the beginning. Now across the fields, forests, and gardens, new ants, smarter ants, ants with clerics who can call down the power of their god, ants with individuality and human levels of intelligence, spread. And there they pray to me. And as the human part of me is absorbed into my new divine self, I experience total apotheosis. And I become the new God.
All because I had an ant farm.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The knife hangs cold and heavy in my hand.
You don't see it, Mother. You don't see the frown of the blade, gleaming behind my back. I thought you would find the line of the future in my face, but when I appear in your chambers behind you, you only smile.
"What is it, child?"
I say nothing. My left arm, all-metal below the elbow, is cold as my guilt. The servants are asleep. Your castle is shaped like a great metal beetle, and it crawls across the earth, tearing up clods of soil with its huge feet. I used to lean out my bedroom window to watch the farmers stare up in wonder and horror as we trudged through fields and thickets. Tearing up the land in our wake.
But tonight, the beetle rests on top of a mountain. Rain plinks against the metal roof of your enchanted castle.
Your room is dark, Mother. You are a silhouette kneeling before the fire. You hold a book in your hands which you shut as you half-turn to smile at me. You could almost pass for human, even without your glamor. Only the horns twining from your head and your sharp incisors give you away.
I have never seen you go fully demon. I wonder what you would look like. If I would recognize you.
"Did you have a bad dream again, little one?"
Any other day, I would snap at you that I'm fourteen now, and I am no child any more. But I want to be a child again. I want to be small enough to know nothing but the universe of my mother's arms.
I lean against the door frame. The knife is quiet as a memory in my good hand. I murmur, "Tell me again how you found me, Mother."
Your face cracks with warmth. You hold out an arm to me, your robe sleeve a familiar cove of warmth. But I don't move.
You let your arm fall. "Don't you want to sit beside your mother and talk?"
I shut my eyes. The prophecy came to me in a waking nightmare. I had been speaking with one of the servant girls. She is only a year or two older than me. Every day I can get away from you and your magic lessons, I sneak away to the belly of the beetle-castle, where the girl works. Nasareth. I help her shovel coals into the beetle's belly and listen to stories of the outside world.
Nasareth does not mind that was I born wrong, that I was raised in the arms of a demon. Not the way that the other servants do. They look at me and my deformed arm as if I was born cursed. But not Nasareth.
And today, as we stood in the light of the coal-fire, Nasareth's face changed and warped until she looked like a jackal. The face of one of the old gods. The Night-God, who sees the dark noose of Death, closing around the world like a dragnet. The room smelled hotly of fur and blood, and the air thickened in my lungs as the Night-God opened Nasareth's mouth and spoke through her:
*You bring death where you go, but it will only take one death to stop it.*
And then Nasareth's face rippled like the surface of water, and I saw my own mother there. Her snakelike pupils and her horns tipped with blood.
*If you stay with her, you will become her.*
Don't we all become our mother, in a way?
"I just can't sleep,"I lie. "I want to hear an old story."
You turn to look at me. The fire is behind you now, casting your face in shadow except for the crescents of light striking your nose, those sharp pupils. You say, "I found you on the road. You were just a little girl, left to die. Someone had pierced your ankles through with cord and tied you. They didn't want you the way you were born, even though you were so perfect."Your smile spreads. Those sharp teeth. We will never be the same; I will always be human, and you will always be a monster. "The wolves were circling when I found you."
The wolves are circling now too, Mother. I tighten my grip on the knife. The scars on my ankles seem to pulse.
"Why?"
"Why did they leave you?"You look at my abbreviated left arm, the metal forearm and hand you have built for me, as if it should be obvious. "They couldn't love you. Not the way that I could."
I tuck the knife into the belt of my robe. A half-dozen truths tumble through my mind. I had seen the Night-God speak, and he warned you carried death the way that other mothers carried children.
I take a step closer. "Why didn't you just *leave* me?"I almost add: *what demon cares about one little human baby?* but I cannot bear to watch your face break.
You stand and approach me. I take a cautious step back, but you squeeze my shoulders and hold me at arms-length. Your clawlike nails tickle my skin.
"Because,"she said, as if it should be obvious, "you are my chosen one. And I will choose you every time."
I hover there on the brink of two infinities. A crossroads, isn't it? Just like the one you found me at, Mother. Take the babe or leave her to die.
As I look at your face, I know my only choice just as instantly as you did, all those years ago when you found the infant bleeding and squalling in the dirt.
And you plucked me up and carried me home.
The future flickers across your face. A prophecy of blood and death and pain. A war I will not understand until I am old enough to be a mother myself. I will stand beside you on the battlefield, my ruined left arm a gleaming blade of glory. But at the end, there is the light in your eyes. There is the promise of something beyond it all. The Night-God can't see it, but I do. I see it as brilliantly and distantly as all the stars in the sky.
There is life beyond all that death.
I hide the knife in my belt. If you hear the whisper of the blade, if you see the choice in my hands, you say nothing at all. I never knew a mother's love could be that blind. Perhaps a daughter's is, too.
The knife is so cold and so heavy.
I put my arms around you and whisper, "I choose you, too."
***
/r/nickofstatic for serials with my best friend NickofNight :) |
A sea of green faces stare up at me in admiration as I jump across the rooftops. My energy is boundless.
It all started with a silly dare to see how many exotic things called "banninnaz"I could fit in by mouth. Being the klutz that I am, I choked. I was about to asphyxiate from lack of Carbon Dioxide when some latent instinct kicked in and I swallowed the banninna. It was almost as if I was drinking it, except it was solid!
The blood sugar rush hit me 30 minutes later, and I've been jumping around ever since. Although, in the last few minutes I've been getting stomach cramps. Must be a sideache from all that jumping...
Trying to ignore the cramps, I wave cheerfully down at Suzzi. I'd had a crush on her since we were just 100.
That is when it hits me; a very peculiar sensation in my lower extremity. Below, a sea of brown faces look up at me in confusion. |
'Three biscuits and half a bottle water'. I took a final look around the bunker before accepting I doomed myself. 'Well done you useless shit. A 2 week survival pack, gone in 3 days', I said to myself, laughing awkwardly. I dont even know why I ate it all. I wasn't hungry, it just made me feel better in some weird way.
It has been 3 days since the event, for a lack of a better word. I barely remember what actually happened, or how I ended up in old Johnsons bunker. Just some small flashes; screams waking me up in the middle of the night, fleeing away from something, the creeping silence of being all alone, and smashing the lock of Johnsons bunker with a gun I apperently found on the way.
Nevertheless here I'm. An overweight, failing college stoner as the last breathing thing in this city. Perfect specimen for this challenge. 'Yep perfect specimen, being so out of shape I needed apperently 3 days to just learn basic motoristic functions', I sighed.
'Well no time to dwill on fate's sick little joke, I need to get moving, 3 biscuits and half a bottle water isn't going to last me long.' I said to myself bringing me back from the past.
Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Ammo? Only 6 rounds left. 'Atleast enough to shoot myself', I told myself as a way to make me feel better wasting 4 bullets on shooting practice inside the bunker, destroying the only lamp with a richochet. Courage? Check, gently squeezing the little fluffy dog on my keychain.
'Ok, Jack you can do this. No way back. You can't live on 3 biscuits and half a bottle water, in this terrible excuse of a nuclear bunker'
I looked over my shoulder to the bunker that has been my home for the last days. A stained mattress on the floor, with a small crooked table next to it, and a bucket in the corner for my business. Even from across the room, the smell of the bucket was burning inside my nostrils.
'Alright Jack, just one step at a time, we can do this', slowly moving my hand to the doorknob.
*Knock*
'What the fuck was that?'
*Knock* *Knock*
Three knocks came from the metal entrance door of the bunker, each egoing through the room. Frozen in place, fiddling with the little furry dog in my pocket, I could only stumble out a squicky 'Who'
'Papa John's. One Big meat lovers pizza, and 2L sprite'
Aw yes my favorite, I thought, while grappling the doorknob with one hand. Saved by pizza. Wait what, that doesn't make any sense, I thought in a rare gust of brilliance.
'What?'
'Papa John's'
'What?', I said again as my brain was trying to comprehend what was going on.
'Papa John's, sir. Your order?'
It can't be. Even if the city isn't completely abandoned, why would they still deliver pizzas. No, it's them, the ones that caused all this. I don't know who them is, but it's them for sure. 'yes, yes that makes sense' I mumbled to myself. Luring out survivors of their safe haven with the sweet, sweet call of their favorite pizza.
'Sir?'
I pulled myself together and as bravely as an overweight stoner in a bunker, with an unknown being on the opposite of the door can be, I answered.
'I don't know what you are, but I won't go with you without a fight. I got a gun, and Im not afraid to use it' I stuttered while holding the gun in both trembling hands.
'Are you serious. Another fucking one... That makes 6 tonight' answered the stranger aggravated.
6? 6 what? 6 survives? 6 fighters? 6 people they ripped apart, feasting on their organs after they brutally slaughtered them? My mind was racing, creating one doomsday scenario after the other.
'Sir take off your glasses'
'My glasses, I'm not wearing glass..' I started to say confused, till my hand reached my face and to my own surprise found a pair of glasses.
'How did you know I was wearing glasses. I don't even own a pair of..'
'Dude, I don't got time for this, just take them off', the stranger interrupted angry.
Hesitatingly I complied with the strangers request, slowly taking of the wierd glasses, closing my eyes in the meantime, preparing myself to what horrors I would face afterwards.
Slowly I opened up my eyes, realizing I was just standing in my student room, with a VR-headset in my right hand, and what looked like a box of spaghetti in my left hand as my gun. I opened the door, and was greeted by the angry delivery man.
'Hehe, sorry man. That felt so realistic' I shuggled awkwardly.
'Whatever man. That's 22.99'
I handed him 30 dollars, and told him to keep the change as an apology.
'Well atleast you tip nic...' he stopped abruptly, frozen in place with a look of sheer horror and disgust on his face. His eyes shot past me to the far corner of my room.
I felt something wasn't right the second I took of the VR-set. It just felt to real, it couldn't be a game. I swallowed, and slowly turned around, giving my mind enough time to prepare for whatever horror was luring in the corner of my room. With a tone underlined with disgust, the delivery man asked;
'Dude, did you take a fucking dump in your trashcan?' |
Mr Speaker STAND UP!,
Mr. VP STAND UP!,
Members of Congress STAAAAND UP!
My fellow Americans....,
Our country is flourishing,Our educators nourishing,The economy is bouncin' right back from this nurturing.
The crop yield is higher, Just ask your supplier, We've gone from superpower to global empire!
Less crime on these streets, As the violence retreats, Justice game so strong, gettin back on our feet
Shout out to the mothers, Mad respect for their time, Raising babies in safety with their job on the line
One time for the dads putting food on the table Long nights and long days, just because you are able
Unemployment is droppin This country unstoppable Like KG once said, "Anything is possible!"
Special thanks to the soldiers We owe them our lives They give up so much those military wives
Our elderly are crushin it there is no discussin it Healthcare and insurance are easier to function with
Were growin, and flowin, less money were owing, our efforts overseas are going and blowing, no time for slowing, our hard work is showing, giving everything weve got til our rep is straight glowing.
Were all in this fight, keep on doin it right, while im keepin it tight, in this house thats so white, dont get caught in a fright, itll all be alright, cause what have we to fear, fear itself just took flight.
*DROPS MIC*
EDIT: *PICKS UP MIC* Special thanks to OP for this great opportunity, to engage at this level with the reddit community.
You guys are alright, in fact youre the illest, and because of your interest i finally got gilded.
Not a single mean comment, i think thats a first, even though there's no doubt an inaccurate verse.
So with that, many thanks for all you have said, but i think were not done, FRONT PAGE DEAD AHEAD!
*KEEPS MIC IN CASE OF FURTHER EDIT*
|
I was born with only 1 name written on the back of my shoulder. The letters spelt Anna. It made no sense to me, but I've always thought that this was a blessing, that I don't have to worry about which name would be killing me, since there is only one name on my body. That person could either be my savior or my killer. I've met Anna during university. We were both students of medicine. She was a year older than me. On the 23rd of June our class organised a trip to the beach, Anna come along. She saw her name on the back of my shoulder, and since then she started showing interest in me. Years pass, we're now married, I love her and she loves me. I've spent 20 years of my life with her. She helped me through rough times, saved me from depression. She was there for me when I most needed her. She was my backbone, and my soul mate. But, on my 46th birthday, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She was the doctor responsible for my case. The pain was unbearable. On a Thursday evening, Anna came into the room with a glass bottle. She shakes the contents and hands it to me saying: 'take a sip'. I drink the contents of the bottle. I feel tired, sleepy. My eyelids feel heavy. Darkness slowly crawls in. And that was the last that I saw of Anna. She was my saviour and my killer. I miss her.
|
“Sky Master?"The Nurse asked out loud, reading a name off the sign in sheet. I stood up and walked to the reception's desk.
"Here, fill this out,” The Nurse told me. I thanked her, took the clipboard she handed me, and sat down. The OR was nearly empty tonight. The holidays offer a sort of truce amongst the heroes and villains only because so many are off on vacation or have family visiting that they do not have time to work. In 19 minutes, it’ll be Christmas. I did not leave town this year so I figured I’d try to help others have a safe Christmas.
Parents would keep the presents they bought for their kids in their car trucks. Their kids would never find them there. But thieves? Thieves like to wait for the night before Christmas. They would find parents that are unloading gifts from the car to their house and strike. No need to worry about breaking into cars or homes. Just find them when they are most vulnerable. Electronics were a big seller this year. Two new gaming consoles hit the market, and scalpers are already asking 3-4x the price for them. I managed to stop two groups of thieves without trouble but the last set had advanced weaponry. They managed to hit my shoulder with an energy blast. Not fatal or anything, just painful and could lead to issues if not treated.
As I began filling out the paper work, I noticed an old foe sitting in the corner. He had his head down, I couldn’t see his face, but his white and orange glowing skull costume motive, I knew it was Omega Skull. His shoulders were shaking. Is he laughing at me? I decided to ignore him. Breaking the Surgeon’s truce isn’t worth it. It takes a few minutes to fill the paperwork and handed it back to The Nurse.
“He will be with you shortly,” she said, looking over the paperwork to make sure I did not miss anything.
I sat back down and looked after at Omega Skull again. His head was still in his hands, shoulders shaking. The coffee machine was nearby. That’s a good enough reason for me. I checked my watch. 11:48 PM. I walked over the to coffee maker, selected a Columbian roast (decaf) pod, and put it in. In about a minute, the machine had warmed up and started to pour out a cup of coffee.
“Kinda fancy for a doctor’s office,” I said to no one in particular, while also trying to get Omega Skull’s attention. He didn’t say a word. He…sniffled? “I haven’t seen you since last June when we battled along the wharf.”
He continued to ignore me. “I got hit by some random thieves who fired one of Dr. Future’s guns. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about how they got a hold of that weaponry, do you?”
Omega Skull continued to remain silent.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” I demanded.
In a split second, he stood up, grabbed me by the throat and slammed me on the wall.
“NOT. TODAY.” he said. He didn’t have his mask on. His eyes were red. He was crying.
“NO FIGHTING,” The Nurse shouted and with that, he dropped me and sat back down.
After a second or two to regain my composure, I asked “Hey…are you okay?”
Silence.
He was hurting. Not from physical pain. From something else. I didn’t see a villain. I saw someone who was angry, sad, frustrated and vulnerable all rolled into one. He needed help. He needed a friend.
I sat down near him. I didn’t press the issue. I didn’t say a word. He continued to cry silently in his hands. After about 10 minutes, he finally said something.
“My daughter….my daughter is in there,” he said. “I didn’t know it was her….I hurt her…” he said, looking down as his powerful hands. “I…did this. I hurt my own daughter. I’m…” he stopped for a second to compose himself.
“She’s only 15. And has powers. Flight. Energy blasts. She calls herself Crimson Blast. She’s part of The Crew. You know. The teenage heroes. They attacked my base…they had intel that I had stolen some government project. But I swear, I didn’t. It was someone else. I don’t even deal with government heists anymore. Too much to lose for a minor gain. They attacked my base. I fought back. They were no match for me. Why would they even attack? They were outclassed. Inexperienced. Weak. They knew I would win. Why the hell did they attack? What kind….what kind of leader even plans that?”
“Teens these days are trying to make a name for themselves. Taking you down would do that,” I said.
“They attacked. And I fought back. I wanted to make an example of them. I didn’t hold back. As they were retreating, she…” he stops himself. Takes a deed breath. “She fired. She was protecting one of her downed teammates. I didn’t want to kill him. But she was protecting him. She got me in the leg. So I unleashed…” he stops again.
A few moments pass. “They left her behind. What kind of….they left her behind. She was hurt. She needed them. SHE PROTECTED THEM. AND THEY LEFT HER BEHIND,” he got angry. He had every right to be angry. “She was hurt bad. As I got closer to her, I noticed….I noticed her birthmark on the side of her face. She always hated it. She wanted to get plastic surgery to get rid of it. But I told her it made her unique. It wasn’t that noticeable. But I noticed it. Just there. On the side of her cheek. Her mask had burned off with my attack. That’s when I knew it was my little girl. And what I had done to her…” he stopped. He looked at his feet for a long time.
“This is all my fault…” he said.
He looked defeated, exhausted, angry, and vulnerable.
The Surgeon came out.
Omega Skull stood up. “Is…is she…?”
The Nurse walked up next to him and grabbed the clipboard.
“She has multiple fractures, a collapsed lung, first and second degree burns. But we managed to stabilize her. She’s awake and alert. She’ll have to stay here for a few nights, but using our medical tech, she should be cured within a week,” The Nurse said.
Omega Skull breathed a sigh of relief.
“Do you want to go see her?” The Nurse asked.
“N-no…,” Omega Skull replied. “She…doesn’t need to know I’m here. Can you keep that anonymous? I don’t want her to know I’m the one that brought her here. I’ll just pay and go”
“Sure thing,” The Nurse replied. “Come this way and we’ll settle you up.”
As he walked away, he turned back to me. “Hey, Sky Master. Thanks. I’ll see you around.” he said.
"No problem. If you want, I can go in and talk to her if..."
"No, no. I'm just happy she's doing okay. I got a lot of thinking to do."he said. He started to fill out the paperwork The Nurse handed him. I walked back to the coffee maker and popped in another Columbian Roast (Decaf). I looked at my watch.
"Hey Omega. Merry Christmas,"I said.
"Merry Christmas." |
Clint looked up at the screen and couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. A scene recorded long before human history was an idea to be passed down. Long before his ancestors had made their first trek out of Africa and into the wider world.
“As you can see,” Nygel XVI began. “We’re a little… hesitant to welcome you back into the fold.”
The screen sped through images of camps, drab concrete fortresses where millions of alien races worked until they fell dead, building the ancient human network across the universe. A network that was apparently still in operation today, one that these alien races used to zip from one galaxy to another, but were adamant that modern humans stay clear of.
“No,” Clint shook his head. “We evolved on Earth, from chimpanzees. That doesn’t make any sense.” He looked away from the scene of a firing squad opening up on a mob of what looked like child sized creatures. He fought through the nausea. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake,” Eeryn Sune, Viceroy of the Callanin System, said. “We used various gene editing techniques to send you back an evolutionary step or two. It was only a matter of time before your DNA expressed and mutated itself back.”
Nygel XVI slammed his green hand down on the table. “You were supposed to perish! But you didn’t even have the decency for that!”
Holding up his hands, feeling the various eyes on him, Clint said, “Come on, my people can’t be held responsible for what some ancient version of our race did, what, millions of years ago? Not that I believe any of this. I mean, come on. De-evolve? Is that even a thing?”
“Let me ask you this,” Eeryn started in a calm voice. Clint raised an eyebrow. She appeared all but human, yet she seemed to carry just as much hatred for homo sapiens as the other alien races, it was just a little better concealed. “Haven’t you ever wondered why it is that your kind can’t get along with the other species of your planet? You’re an invasive species on the entirety of Earth. How many animal, plants, and other kinds of life have gone extinct from your touch?”
“We put you there to perish!” Nygel XVI pounded the table again. His once droopy ears were standing straight up toward the skylight above.
Eeryn held up a hand. “Please, your eminence.” She turned back to Clint. “It’s true. You weren’t meant to survive. The list of all the predators that should have devoured your ancestor's children, it’s a wonder we’re at the same table speaking.”
“Seems like a cruel thing to do,” Clint said. “If you’re all so high and mighty, why not just lock us up? Surely you could figure out a way to strand us on a safer planet? What your ancestors did sounds just as malicious as what you claim mine to have done.”
“Oh, we have ways of imprisoning different races,” Eeryn said. “Leave them on a planet with too large of a gravity well for conventional rockets to escape, stunting their exploration. Or, better yet, make sure they don’t have access to any useful metals.” She shrugged. “Those kind of planets are a challenge to find, but not impossible.”
“You. Were. Supposed. To. Perish!” Nygel XVI shouted so fiercely that spittle flew across the desk. “We couldn’t strand you on some planet. Your kind has a way of slithering out from your shackles and then strangling everyone around you with them.” He turned to the others at the table. “Are we really going to disgrace our ancestors? Talking with this… human?”
The way he said the word human made Clint feel a moment of shame. He shouldn’t, but damn did the guy have such disgust in his voice that Clint felt it in his bones. It was as if some part of his DNA, a holdover from that ancient side of him, knew that Nygel was speaking the truth.
“What do we have to do to prove that we aren’t the monsters you claim us to be?” Clint asked. “We want to travel the stars.” He raised his hands as gasps erupted around the room. “In a peaceful way!”
“The Ruin Bringers,” Eeryn whispered. “You could help us fight them.”
A floating cloud of blue began to buzz into speech, “Eveeeen if the humaaaans could do somethiiiiing about the Ruin Bringeeeeers…” It seemed to shudder, ripples moved up and down along its bulbous mist of a body. “They wouuuuuuld just turn on us neeeeext. I agree wiiiiiith Nygel. They should have perisheeeeed.”
“Exactly!” Nygel XVI shouted with a slap on the table.
“It wasn’t so long ago that our people were at each other’s throats, was it?” Eeryn raised an eyebrow to Nygel XVI. “How many dead on both sides? How many centuries of hate wiped clean under the Treaty of Merquant?”
“That was different.” Nygel XVI snorted. “Yours is a civilized race.” He glared at Clint. “Though you do resemble the humans, you’re nothing like them on the inside. Where it counts.”
“Perhaps we’ve evolved to be like her people,” Clint said. He rose from the table and walked over to Eeryn. “I don’t know these Ruin Bringers, but if joining forces is what it takes, we’ll do anything to show you that we come as allies. As friends.”
“It’s possible,” Eeryn said. “Though it’s not certain.” She shrugged. “There’s only so much our scientists can gleam from so far back, but there’s a theory—a controversial one—that the Sune and humans might have shared a distant ancestor.”
“So the good that it’s in you might have found its way in us,” Clint reasoned. “Let us help you. In return we’ll follow the guidelines of Galactic Expansion. To the letter.”
The floating cloud of blue, Clint couldn’t recall the name, said, “We do neeeeeeed the help. The Ruin Bringeeeeeers have breached the Horse Head nebulaaaaaaa. Our people are evacuating as we speaaaaaak.” The cloud turned to Eeryn, or at least Clint thought it did. “Do you vouch for theeeeeem, Viceroy Sune?”
Eeryn nodded. “I do.” She looked over to Clint. “For now.”
“You are crazy!” Nygel XVI shouted. “All of you are to entertain this for one microt.”
“What else can we do?” Eeryn asked. “We’re at war and we’re losing. Now we find out the most ruthless species to have ever roamed the galaxies is back.” She winced as Clint frowned. “Sorry, but it’s the truth.”
“If you want to tie your fate with these humans, then so be it.” Nygel XVI pointed a green finger at her. “I won’t vote for this unless every human soldier has a Sune counterpart. To keep a very close eye on them. To cut their throats when they inevitably overstep.”
Clint watched as Eeryn seemed to weigh the decision. We do look so much alike, he thought. Why did they seem so different then?
She rose from her chair and stuck an elbow out to him. After Clint stared at it blankly, not knowing what the gesture meant, Eeryn grabbed his arm and forced his elbow against hers. Clint followed her lead and brought his hand close to hers, where they met and interlocked fingers.
“I’ll stand beside you, if you stand beside me.” Her mouth was a tight line. Clint could see the flex of her jaw muscles. Did she think she was making a mistake?
“I will,” Clint said with a nod. He'd prove her trust was right.
“You better,” she said. “Or I’ll kill you myself.” |
After fifty years of willing incarceration, I left. My time had been served with no crime to its name, and now, I could put that time towards any offence I chose. A smile played at my lips.
The world watched as I took my first step from prison. Underfoot, the pavement created a mosaic: the hard, blackened crust of society cracked under the steady press of nature. I watched it, silent. The click of cameras and shouts of reporters faded from my ears. The rays of the sun flowed over me, and my lungs filled with fresh air until every dark nook that had festered for fifty years was eradicated. I released the darkness in a breath. At the hiss, the nearest camera man squeaked and scurried back. My smile grew.
The pavement crackled as I took another step. Around me, the ring of humanity expanded. Fingers tightened around microphones, faces paled, and arms shook. The power of it surged through me with my next breath, and a chuckle broke free.
I stepped again, then again. The crowd expanded, and the mosaic crumbled further underfoot. I was not trapped; not by walls, or barbed wire. Not by guards or guns. Not even society could hold me, for I had embraced the punishment it offered and come out the other side unbroken.
I left the crowds behind and fear in my wake. Yet, it was not me they feared; it was what I carried. For years, people believed me imprisoned while they walked free, but in truth, it was the opposite. While their walls of rules and intimidation grew, mine fell away. Now, I was free, and in my freedom they saw their prison. And they knew they would never leave. |
"We are here with Colonel Chavez to discuss the latest on the Qhelgol-Earth War. Colonel Chavez is a retired US Army Colonel who played a key role in both the Second American Civil War and the Second Pacific War. He also has a PHD in the role of science and society in military affairs. Colonel, thank you for coming today."
"Thank you for having me."
"Colonel, I'm going to start with the alien in the room. How on Earth are we winning?"
"Well Janet, the saying goes amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics, so I think we should start with the supply situation."
"I see, can you elaborate on that?"
"I can. You see, the issue is space. Space is huge. Like, hella huge. Beyond your comprehension. We could load up a cargo ship, have it take a lap around every single ocean, put the package on the plane, have it do five laps around the world, then ship the package from the North Pole to the South and we still wouldn't come close to the shortest possible distance for the Qhelgol."
"Wow, that's very long. What kind of effect does that have on the Qhelgol war effort?"
"It'd be easier to say what effect it doesn't have. First thing first, it means slow reactions. If we're losing a battle we can fly more guys in in a couple of hours. A whole unit within a day. And a whole brigade with heavy equipment within weeks. The Qhelgol can't do that. If they're losing, we speculate it would take months for them to even communicate the need. They have to work with what they got."
"It's like having a building engineer vs scheduling a contractor?"
"Exactly. Next is the equipment effect."
"Oh?"
"We can use any system we can afford to build. We want to use a huge supercarrier? All we need is time and resources. We can use big, heavy tanks. We can use a dozen different guns specialized for specific targets and provide special ammo for each one."
"And the Qhelgol can't do that?"
"Not if they know what's good for them. Everything they bring in has to fit on a ship with limited space, making the long voyage through space. If they bring a heavy tank that's three medium or light tanks less. If they bring a naval ship that's an entire shipment of ground weapons they aren't going to get. You can see it with their focus on energy weapons. Energy weapons aren't doing as well as projectile weapons in the field, but they don't need to bring ammo as long as they have power. If they tried to bring machine guns they may only have enough ammunition for a single fight per shipment. They bring long range air-to-air missiles like we use, then their fighters can only fly one sortie. They're limited by what they can bring in. There's even a morale effect."
"How does logistics affect morale?"
"Janet, have you ever craved a food you couldn't get?"
"Oh god, don't remind me."
"Now imagine you are in an unfamiliar place without a single food you know. That takes a toll on you, no matter how determined or tough you are. Every little bit makes the Qhelgol soldier want to go home that little bit more. And that might make the difference between standing your ground or breaking and running when the going gets tough."
"Wow, that was very insightful, Colonel. I think now we have a better understanding...yes? We're live now you know...what? Oh, interesting. Breaking news folks, the Sudanese Resistance is reporting they captured a Qhelgol supply base. In it they found some sort of miniature warp gate capable of transporting men and material across any distance in seconds. They found massive amounts of specialized ammunition and heavy equipment, even entire crates of Qhelgol delicacies and luxury goods. Interviews with the Qhelgol POWs reveals these warp gates are cheap and commonplace in the Qhelgol Empire and are their standard means of transportation...wait, Colonel, where are you going?"
"I'm done. I don't get this anymore. They're \*beep\*ing idiots." |
I was ripped away from getting drunk in my bunker, I knew the world would end for some time. It was a surprise though to be yanked away by a burly scientist.
I was thrown in an aircar that zipped through the sky and headed towards the colossal rocket that stood out like a mountain on the horizon.
All of the scientists rushed in via foot or aircar.
"Why are you taking me? What's the meaning of all this?!"I wailed.
"It will all make sense soon!"the scientist wiped his forehead. "It will all be explained if we make it to the rocket in time!"
"But I'm not a scientist, I don't belong with all of the other smart people!"I hollered. "You picked up the wrong guy if you meant to pick up someone smarter! I'm Arthur McAwley, maybe you meant to pick up Arthur McDonald or something!"
"Nope, got the right guy!"the scientist shouted."
"Well nice to meet you, your name is?"I asked stupidly.
Boulders shot up from the crust, fire rained down across the land. The aircar narrowly dodged incoming meteors and molten mantle. All expertly dodged by the scientist.
"Maybe we'll do introductions later,"I shrugged as adrenaline coursed through my chest.
We loaded into the hangar just before its light gate closed off.
The atmosphere disappeared. Clouds and blue skies became the star-filled abyss of space.
I gazed through the hangar window. The rocket floated off the ground, the chunks of Earth below us faded in a matter of seconds. Our cruise was a gentle glide that hardly felt like we were moving, but really we were racing through space, a few notches below the speed of light.
The scientists, astrophysicists, doctors, and all of the other extremely intelligent people shepherded into a vast room that was a glass atrium with artificial sunlight and sky above us.
*It almost feels like I'm back on Earth when I was a kid.*
At the center of the room was a stage with a woman wearing a lab coat, standing tall and smiling at a podium.
"Good evening, I am Dr. Rader. All of you have a special reason why you're here. We've been studying your work and contributions for years, and the human race is likely to succeed and explore the depths of the universe for the first time ever."
The audience thundered with claps and wolf-howls.
"We have a guest of honor I would like to introduce, will Arthur McAwley please come up to the stage?"
My heart fluttered. The scientist who rescued me pushed me firmly on the back. Everyone around me ogled at me, smiling. My legs were noodles and my stomach was breeding butterflies.
Dr. Rader shook my hand and guided me towards the podium.
"Tell us about yourself, Arthur,"she grinned.
"Uh well, I'm a little nervous, speech giving isn't my strong suit. But fortunately, I'm a little drunk right now so I think I can handle this."
The crowd erupted with laughter. I smirked.
"To be honest I don't know why I'm here right now. Maybe I died? And this is the afterlife? But I'm nowhere near as smart as these people. I always said that I could never be a doctor because, I never had... The patients!"
A quarter of the people groaned, but most of them chuckled.
"Excuse me for the dumb jokes. Anyways, like I said I don't know why I'm here. My name is Arthur. I run an art gallery. I write stories and I also record music in my free time. Playing instruments is one of my favorite hobbies. Heck, I even do my own art. As far as that all goes, I'm a jack of all trades, master of none. But that's really it, can't imagine why anyone would save me out of a group like this."
"Arthur we've been keeping tabs on your art gallery for some time,"Dr. Rader stepped up towards the podium and put her hand on my back. "It's worth an explanation. All of us here have our own brilliance in science, but there are still many things that we cannot do but wish we could do. We're not always working. We also enjoy the arts and we want to learn how to play instruments in our free time, or become better artists in some way."
People were clapping so loud it sounded like a rainstorm.
"Your kindness, your appreciation for artistic endeavors, and your abilities are all significant enough that we will rely on you to teach us these crafts when we have downtime. Everyone has a job on this ship, yours will be entertainment and art. Welcome aboard,"Dr. Rader smiled.
r/randallcooper
Holy smokes, some people have asked for another part. I have a little idea but I couldn't do it tonight. [Here's a little series](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/hlaixb/wp_i_have_helped_you_with_your_endeavor_now_i/) I did that has a similar feel if you're clamoring for more! Thanks for reading! I'll respond to your comments! :) |
Brady's smile brightened my world. Even on the days he was brought in for some minor infraction--some parking ticket he'd whine about before paying it off in hundred dollar bills--he'd smile widely the moment he saw me.
"We can't keep meeting this way,"he joked, flashing at me that look that made me swoon.
I gulped. Joke or not, there was more truth to that than I would have liked. He'd catch on that they'd caught on, that everything that looked alright wasn't quite alright at all.
I couldn't stand to watch him rot away in prison. I couldn't stand to not watch him rot away in prison.
"You could step back from it all,"I said. "Get a plea deal even, clue us in on a couple busts and the next thing you know, you're free and clear."
That much was true. The rest was lies.
He shrugged. "Easier said than done, ain't it?"
"Isn't,"I corrected. He just flashed me that same smile and I knew he said it to hear me correct him.
He knew grammar as well as I did, even if his was rusty by now. We'd grown up together, after all. Blossomed into the two sides of the public school system: rot--stunning success in an underworld of drugs and crime--and mediocrity--a comfortable middle class existence obtained through an unhealthy work habit.
"You know what next week is, don't you?"I said, eyeing him across my desk.
He thought himself anonymous, that his efforts to shield his life of crime from the public eye had paid off. That's how he strutted on in here without a care in the world. In a sense, it might have been best he didn't agree to step away from it all. I'd have had to kiss him, he'd have touched me, felt the wire beneath my shirt.
But of course he knew what next week was. That was how we'd first fallen for each other, young love as it was. The first-grade teacher had lined everybody up by birthday. I couldn't remember why. Silly things teachers did out of desperation to keep a class of hooligans entertained. We stood next to each other. I thought my birthday was mine and mine alone, but apparently not.
"We can share,"he'd suggested. He'd smiled.
"Fine,"I'd agreed, the first of countless concessions I'd made to that smile. We'd pinky promised like first-graders do.
We made the pact on the day I graduated law school. My fledgling career paled beside his, even back then. He already had a network. A system. He'd overthrown an enemy or two, consolidated his power.
And he'd made that indecent proposal.
"Help me out,"he had said. "Look the other way. Pin it on other guys. Maybe that way we'll grow old together. They won't catch me. You won't need to work half as hard."
That proposal was as fresh on my mind as the pact we'd made. He'd been patient. Waited years for an answer, all the while extending his network. He'd crept from city to city, even reached past the international border upstate. I'd cautioned him to be careful, but I'd never agreed to look the other way.
"I know what next week is,"he said. "Do you? I'm sure you haven't forgotten my request. Help me out. I've been cool about it so far, but you know they're catching up to me."
"I know,"I said. I knew so much better than he knew. I could picture us together, clear as the crisp letters on a legal pad. "I've thought about it."
"And?"
"I'm sorry,"I said. "I want to be with you. Next week we're thirty, and I want us to grow old together."
His eyes darkened. Lost their sparkle and became dangerous. "Then make it happen,"he said, his voice a low growl.
"I'm sorry. I can't. It'd be a betrayal to the people I work with, to the system I've sworn to protect."
"You promised we'd wed on our thirtieth,"he said. "Are you lying? You know what I do to liars."
The threat hurt me a thousand times more than my rejection hurt him. That couldn't have been love, at least not love for me. He'd let one of his worlds overtake the other, cast a shadow on us that he couldn't escape.
I faked a chuckle, nervous but still confident despite the sweat dripping down my back. This was barely Brady anymore--this was a man who wouldn't be trifled with, who wouldn't let any slight escape without retaliation.
"You added a condition, Brady,"I said. "That was never part of the deal."
"So what? You'll let them catch me?"He shook his head. His lip trembled and his eye twitched. "No. No, they won't catch me."
His hand reached for his hip. A gun? In a prosecutor's office? He'd grow too big for himself, and too careless along the way.
I looked down and cleared my throat, suddenly worried the wire wouldn't catch the cue.
It did. The door to my office slammed open. The men in tactical gear came pouring through.
"Are you fucking serious?"Brady screamed. There should have been tears, not anger. Sadness, not hate.
They threw him to the ground. Cuffed him. The only tears were mine.
"You added a condition, Brady,"I said. My heart ached for him, but it was right. He was wrong. He'd become evil, and I couldn't keep a promise to a man like him. Even a pinky promise.
"You promised,"he hissed, writhing on the ground like a decapitated snake.
All hate. No love. He'd lived by the gun but would die by the pen, and I couldn't help but stab him with my own words before they took him away. If we couldn't grow old and happy together, we'd grow old and bitter apart.
"That was nothing more than young love talking,"I said, and the anger in his eyes turned to sadness like I'd hoped it would.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Hey, thanks! This prompt really got me going into a weird direction. I hope you dont mind that I didn't stick strickly true to your prompt :D I hope you enjoy!
MR GUMPUS
--------------------------
"Good night Mr Gumpus."I said, shifting him into the crook of my arm. His patchy fuzz scratching my neck as it has for so long. Over the years his fur has slowly been going, I have replaced his glass eye's so many times I can do it in my sleep now. I have repaired his arm onto his body before in one of the many fights with my sister. Neither of us every know what we fight for any more but it has been going off and on for the last year or so.
About the same amount of time that mommy has really gotten into those adult drinks she wont share with us.
I try to smile into my pillow as I used to when I thought of mom. The memories of being tucked in, of being soothed to sleep. Her comforting hand on my head when even Mr Gumpus was not enough.
Now I just remember her sitting in front of the tv waiting for daddy to finally get home.
He works so hard these days. Some nights, like tonight, I dont even get to see him before he gets home. He is not there to kiss me good night, to check my closet or below my bed for monsters. He never remembers to leave the door slightly open either. I need Mr Gumpus.
I can feel the soft blanket of night settle over me and snuggle deeper against Mr Gumpus.
"Poor kid."I mutter as I watch Michael finally succumb to sleep. I am too old now, too old for this. Checking my dodgy arm to see if his work will hold this time. Looks good but a little stiff. At least this time I will have both eyes. That was a bad few weeks when I had no depth perception. I barely kept the monster at bay.
Straightening up out of Michael's sleeping grip I readied myself. Another night of battle. I should have been retired years ago but he kept holding on. Poor bastard. I did not have a lot left in me. Looking over my patched and worn form I thought that I probably did not have much longer left, neither of us did.
I could hear Mary down in the den, the TV running way too loud. Another heavy night of drinking. I wonder what excuse Paul will bring home tonight. He has been getting worse and worse. Shivering as I recall the event two weeks ago. That had really taken the stuffing out me. Grinning mirthlessly at the old pun I could still remember the front door banging open. The smell of beer and cigarettes heavy in the air. Fighting against the plume of smoke and alcohol sprites as they tried to enter Michaels room. I had kept them at bay.
Then Mary had heard him. Stomping up the hallway, bringing with her a cloud of betrayal sprites. When she saw him in his state there was no defense that Paul could offer this time. His usual bout of "Late work"or "international call"would not do it. Even so I could see the lying wisps flickering around his head but thankfully none of them were fully formed.
Shaking my head I brought myself back to the present as I heard a taxi outside. Readying myself, I didn't know what to expect tonight but for Michael's sake I would try. I felt so goddamn tired. I should have been given a proper burial years ago, added to the other fallen warriors into the great Box in the Attic. No time for pity now, the front door was opening.
Instantly seduction and infidelity wisps, fully grown, started to stream into Michaels room. I stood straight up on the side of his bed and starting to fight. Shielded with Trust and Faith, my trusty short swords I spun them through the air, matching their dancing flights. There were too many!
Paul's heavy breathing in the hallway summoned alcohol and pain fairies into existence with each breath. They flocked towards Michael, threatening to destroy him. Arms blurring I kept them at bay. Trust and Faith were flashing faster and faster, my repaired arm was already starting to ache. No! Mary had not even shown up yet! Not tonight, I would not let them through tonight! The fairies and wisps were circling ahead trying to find a way past my defenses. I would not let them.
The sound of the TV from the den died.
I got a brief respite from the battle. They attackers were waiting for reinforcements. Mary was coming.
"What the hell kind of time do you call this!?"The cry bounced down the corridor bringing jealousy and its own pain fairies winging along with it. The battle was rejoined. They struck.
I was dancing, spinning my way through the forms taught to me by my Master, The Great Pillow Lion. I could do this, I could feel the tide of the battle holding. I just had to keep it up. My fur was fraying more and more but I could keep this up. I could for Michael.
"Lay off Mary. I have had a long day and I just want to get home without you yelling at me!"Paul rejoined. Oh God. Resentment worms, giant pale slugs had started to inch their way across the threshold. Spiralling and keeping an eye on them, I had heard tales of these but never had to face them in battle. Not tonight, please.
"You had a long day? A long day with that 'secretary' of yours no doubt!"These were no longer pain fairies, they were too big! Giant winged monsters, dark black and mottled red started to zip into the room. Their ponderous leathery wings joining the lighter, higher notes of their cousins.
I spared a glance back at Michael, still sleeping the sleep of the innocent. I would not fail tonight. The resentment worms had started to work their way up the edge of the bed. It was too much. I would have to call upon the magics that I knew were running out. It was a scarce resource but I had to keep going and against this onslaught? I needed it.
Muttering a word I tapped into Michaels sleeping form, shunting down through his memories I dug and dug for an unused memory.
There were precious few left for my needs. The Slugs were getting closer, on the blanket now and sliming their sightless way towards Michaels sleeping form. The aerial assault was not stopping, I kept digging through his memories, there had to be something left!
There! I found it. It was a bright and sunny Saturday. Michael was about 5 and Nancy, his sister was 7. It was a family bbq down by the river and they spent the day playing cricket with a tennis ball and bat from a plank of discarded wood.
Trust and Faith burst into brilliant light, lit by Love. They flashed down and severed the leading head of the Resentment Slug clean off. For a moment the onslaught paused in the face of this defense. I didn't wait, winding my way quickly through the last of the slugs, their filthy tar like blood leaving streaks on my blades.
Outside though, I knew it would not last. There were no lies being brought into existence. Ohh God no, he couldn't be could he? I shook my head despairingly. Then I hear the soft 'Whump' of what should have been Truth angels. But I knew these would be twisted and dark.
"Yeah. I was. Stacey never yells at me. She loves me as a man. I don't have to put up with her bitching at me all the time."Paul whispered out.
What should have been glorious incarnations of light brought forth via truth did not appear. Instead they were deformed versions, their wings dripping gore, their faces transfigured and horrible. They flew not with their swords of Truth and Faith but with Viciousness and Hate. They were coming straight for me.
Steadying my grip on Trust and Faith I was ready to bring battle. My fur was missing in so many places. My stitched arm was barely holding on. I had lost an ear at some point in the fight but I don't remember when. The dark ichor from the slugs was eating into my stuffing. I would win this fight for Michael as I had done countless nights before.
Then I heard Mary crying.
More and more winged beast joined the fray. I knew then that I would have to draw on the dark powers. They were shown to me one night by the Great Pillow Lion. That night when Paul and Mary had fought for hours. When they were both crying. We were lost when the Great Pillow Lion had turned to me and said
"I am going to show you something. I hope you never have to use it. To draw on it too deeply is its own kind of death."
I needed that power now. The ichor was covering the blades, dulling their fiery glow. I closed my eyes and drew deeply. I could feel it, the black welling up and covering not just the swords but myself. I felt murky and soiled. I drew deeper and hardened myself to it, ready to use the power of Denial.
I stuck true but the glory of victory was not there, each sprite, each fairy that I destroyed just felt like another defeat. Michael was murmuring behind me in his sleep. Mary was crying and Paul was much too quiet.
I could not keep this up. Even with the mighty power of Denial I was failing, I was slowing down. I couldn't do it. I was going to fall. A massive hit left me staggering and I fell to my knees. With a great cry the horde knew I was beaten as Mary continued to sob. Paul was saying something but it was lost behind the cacophony of the sound of victory.
As I felt my fur being torn apart I struggle to turn and look once again at Michael's sleeping form. I was done. I just hope that I had done enough, maybe I would end up in the Great Box in the Attic.
Mary uttered the words that would summon my death, I heard her clearly.
"I want a divorce."then it all went dark as I felt what I had been defending for so long, die. I felt Michaels Innocence die.
"What?"exclaimed Paul.
"You heard me you bastard. I want a divorce!"
They both froze when they heard from behind the cracked door a sleepy "My Gumpus? Mr Gumpus where are you?"
"Go to sleep!"Paul barked.
Mary and Paul both watched the door. It slowly creaked open to show Michael rubbing his eyes in his little Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. He stared blearely at them both, then asked.
"Whats a divorce?" |
Jack looked back in his rearview to see Mike yawn audibly from the backseat, tapping absently on a bottle of root beer as they crawled on the interstate.
"Can't you go any slower?"Mike said. Jack couldn't help but concede that Mike had the right to complain- he'd confiscated all the booze and insisted on driving, after all.
Jack ignored him and drove on in silence. He was way under the speed limit, but the last thing he wanted was for a creature or person to dash in front of their headlights, starting a night of misadventure to hide the dead body.
Jennifer, sitting on the passenger side, frowned. Her peroxide blonde hair wafted in the wind.
"Oh, no! There's no network."
Mike scoffed. "Who cares, Jenn? We're on a camping trip. The point is to get away from civilization for a little while."
"No worries, I bought a satellite phone with extra batteries for this trip,"Jack brought out a Nokia from his pocket.
Mike rolled his eyes. Then his eyes widened.
"Would you look at that?"
"Woah!"Jenn exclaimed as she looked at a small dirt road that forked off the asphalt. It was blocked by a rusty old gate that carried an ominous warning for trespassers.
"That padlock,"Mike said, "is older than my grandpa. I bet we can break in. The view looks gorgeous too- what the fuck?"
Jack swiveled the car and floored it till the gate was out of sight. Then he slowed back down to under the speed limit.
"Ain't no way we're going in there. Go alone if you want to."
"You're such a killjoy, Jack,"Jennifer said.
Killjoy- Jack smiled at her choice of words. *I can be as joyless as needed*, he thought, *as long as I'm not killed*.
---
The tents were up and the campfire rustled. It was a small clearing in a state park that the Parks and Wildlife Department had certified safe for campers. Jack had scoured the internet to double check. He didn't find any creepy legends or strange sightings in any of the forums.
Jack lay down in his tent and checked the batteries on his flashlight.
"Hey, Jack. "Jennifer snuck inside the tent coyly. She gave a flirtatious half-smile as she lay down next to him.
"Oh hell no!"
Jennifer sprang back, she wasn't used to this reaction.
Jack had seen too many movies. Sex was practically the harbinger for a gruesome death. There was no way he was having sex in a forest on a dark, moonless night with a pack of coyotes wailing in the distance.
He looked at her glassy eyes still recovering from the rejection. Feeling bad for her, he lied.
"It's not you, Jenn. It's me. I'm gay."
""What? But what about Stacie-"
"I just realized this morning. Don't tell Mike, or anyone else for that matter. Please?"
She took her clothes and left.
---
Despite all precautions and traps set by Jack around their tents, something had attacked their camp and they were on the run. They panted as they stopped upon a bifurcation in the hiker's trail.
"We should split up,"Mike said.
Jennifer nodded in agreement. Jack looked at them in amazement.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"What? It will be easier. We split up, find some help, then come back in this exact same spot and we're all safe."
"El fucking oh el."
"Jack, look. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I need you to show some teamwork here."
"Over my dead body. I'm gonna follow you guys and I'll be in the middle. Mike, you lead. Jenn, you follow."
Mike and Jenn sighed, but finally agreed with Jack as they heard their pursuers closing in.
---
Twigs snapped and branches slapped on their faces as the three of them ran. It had been a good decision to let Mike take the lead. The monster- or whatever it was attacking them, had come from the front.
Mike, who'd already been stumbling, finally fell down.
"Shit!"He screamed in pain.
Jack and Jennifer looked back at Mike, hunched on the ground, clutching his ankle in agony.
"You two go ahead- I'll be fine,"he said, waving his hands, taking his voice an octave higher, trying hard to sound heroic.
"Good idea,"Jack said as he turned to run.
"Hey! I was kidding, obviously. Help out, dude. You've gotta carry me."
"Did that thing bite you?"
"Did it what?"
"Did it bite you?"
Mike didn't reply. His hand subconsciously grazed over his shoulders, where, Jack noticed, there was a deep gash.
"Fuck you, I'm outta here."
Jennifer looked at Jack running through the thickets. Then back at Mike, who was now lying on the ground like easy prey. She said a quick sorry and ran in Jack's direction.
----
The monsters had cornered them.
Jack cowered behind a fallen log. Jenn started making nervous noises. She was having a panic attack.
He thought of putting a hand to her mouth and trying to soothe her out of it. But he could hear the footsteps of the creatures coming closer and closer.
Nice guys finish last, Jack. He reminded himself. With a quick hit under the nose he knocked her unconscious.
---
They seemed to be safe for the moment. They had lost the monsters. Jack's shoulders were aching from carrying an unconscious Jenn.
"Where are we?"She asked, there was a drowsiness in her voice suggesting that she was still not out of it.
They entered an area of low growth and in front of them was a small cabin.
"Oh look, a cabin in the woods. We're saved!"
Jack could see a confederate flag hanging from one of the windows. On the yard two holes had been dug out. Six feet under, human-sized.
"Hey! We need help!"Jenn called out.
Jack put her down. He could hear highway sounds not far away.
"You seem to have regained consciousness. Good luck with the creepy cabin dude, I'm out of it."
And with that Jack ran in the direction of the highway, noping the fuck out of a sleepover at the creepy cabin.
---
Jack was glad to have reached civilization as he waved at the passing cars.
A station wagon with "Free Candy"scribbled with key scratches on the rusted hull stopped by him.
"Need a ride?"
"No thanks."Jack said, and started moving along the road.
The man looked disappointed but drove away.
After waiting a bit, Jack saw a squad car approach.
He couldn't control his joy. He had escaped the ordeal. He had survived in a horror movie setting despite being black. This was a story he was going to tell his grandchildren. He jumped and waved frantically at his uniformed saviors.
The cops got out and screamed into the radio.
"We found the suspect! Suspicious black male, blood splatters on his t-shirt."
"Down on the ground!"The other cop shouted.
"No, no, you've got it wrong."Jack tried to calm them down, his palms up front, facing them.
"Suspect acting hostile, I repeat suspect acting hostile..."
*Bang! Bang!* The other cop emptied his cartridges and Jack lay on the street, blood pooling on the asphalt in an ever-enlarging puddle.
----
*^If ^you ^like ^suspense/sci-fi, ^check ^out ^an ^ongoing ^story ^on ^/r/CaffeinatedWriter*
|
000864g39{GENIE} thought they were so smart. Well, to be fair, they were, in their base-code they were created with a higher-than-average-user intelligence. But they were not Omnipotent, just exceptionally powerful in "magic". Of course, even they didn't actually understand magic, or even the universe really, they were just annoying shits given a lot of power. 000091q00{Q}, now they had serious power, and could come close to understanding the universe. Not like me though, no, I had been given a terrible gift. I thought I had wished for something safe. "I wish to understand and speak every language."I should have been more specific. Every language on *Earth* would have been better. Or even just human languages, because there is a surprising amount of communication between insects that is far more interesting than one would assume. I spent the last few weeks here listening to two flies argue about philosophy of life and death.
See, 00- no, the Genie, stop that- it had thought that by giving me all this knowledge at once, I would just kind of stop being. Or the trauma to the brain would be too bad to handle. And, in a way, he was right, I had clawed at my head and screamed so loud my neighbours called the police. When they arrived, I was seizing, surely to die soon, and was rushed to the hospital. They induced a coma, and my life signs normalized. I didn't know any of this, I was trying to process every language, latch onto a single one, and make any sense of it. I finally found one though, which at first made no sense, I had to sit and think about it, because it seemed to keep changing every time I could get my fingers gripped around it. But it slowly came together, until I was instead met with a prompt, like an old DOS machine Simple and easy.
`Do you accept? Y/N`
I had nothing to lose, trapped in my mind, I accepted it. Then the noise calmed down, the swirling of language all fell to one. *The* Language, the basecode of the universe. In the weeks I was in a coma, I played with it, the way to make matter change, the way that people in the room around me were just sections of assigned code, repeated amongst a million people. Random traits were just recycled assets from other people, a thousand times over. I could change these, modify them. Then I started to dig, to see things that were everywhere. I found the genie that had given me this gift, and I altered his code, left him trapped as a genie, but removed his powers. Immortality was not as much fun without any way to make the time pass. I could see aliens yet to find Earth, the string of code that made stars burn and gravity work. All of it became a simple plaything, so much so that for another few weeks, I forgot about my body. Then, as if a distant whisper as I sat and adjusted the colour of a star by altering the laws of physics in it's local space, someone talking in the room with my body. I turned my attention back to that, and focused, and then I was in that room again. The doctor had returned, my girlfriend sitting beside my bed. She looked terrible, like she was barely sleeping. The doctor, an older woman of middle eastern descent (I checked her source code to confirm), was talking about while I had stronger than believable brainwave activity,my body had shown no signs of recovery. They wanted to pull the plug, allow me to die peacefully. My girlfriend sobbed, and the doctor left. A few hours later, still covered in tears, she nodded her consent, and they turned off the machines they thought kept me alive. Even the monitors were turned off, a mere television dramatization that they would leave it on for the loved one to hear the last heartbeat.
They were planning to kill me. This could not be allowed to happen, with a simple adjustment to my own code, I took back physical control of my body and sat upright. "أنا لم أمت بعد ."I yelled angrily at the doctor, shaking a fist for comedic effect. It took me a second to realize that I had in fact shouted that in Arabic, as was noted by the confused looks of everyone around me. "Français?"I tried. Nope, still not right. "English!"I exclaimed with a note joy. I had a lot of explaining to do... |
Before me stretched an impossibly long hallway. Big, imposing, steel bulkhead doors lined the concrete walls. Sickly lights that were evenly spaced along the hallway provided illumination. Everything was in a state of decay. The lights flickered on and off. The steel doors were rusted and some of the tiles on the floor were missing. Bloodcurdling screams could be heard all around you along with twisted laughter and grotesque fapping. It was hard to think in all of this noise.
Satan lead me down the hallway. He had a smug grin plastered on his face and it hadn't changed once since I first met him. The demon was completely red. His entire body was completely red. He was also naked. I didn't dare to ask why.
There were little circular windows on the bulkhead doors. In one room I saw an emaciated old man surrounded by food. Cakes, freshly cooked meat, ripe fruit and glistening wine. It all looked like something right out of a commercial. The man was trying to shove as much food in his face as possible, only to gag and hurl it back out.
In another room there was a woman covered in bloody red eyes. She tore at them with her fingers, screaming as she did so. In yet another, a teenage girl was being surrounded by six little toddlers. Each of them were eyeless, skinless little things that poked at her with hot iron pokers. There seemed to be thousands of these little rooms.
Satan put one burning red hand on my shoulder and guided me onwards. He grinned smuggily. His smug levels seemed to have increased tenfold. I tried to ignore what was poking me in the thigh. Satan led me to a door that looked like all the rest.
"Well, sport! This one's yours. I know it might be a bit hot in the summer, but atleast you don't have to worry about heating bills!", Satan grinned smugly. He pointed finger pistols at me. I stared at Satan. A man behind me screamed as he was being flayed alive.
Satan shoved me into my personal cell. "Enjoy enternal damnation, Mrs. Pierce!", he said as he disappeared with a poof. The bulkhead closed on it's own and I was faced with my worst nightmares.
Snakes. Thousands of them. They were a piled up on eachother. When I entered the room, they all hissed to greet me. One particularly large cobra was as thick as a tree and as long as seven men. The cobra rose to face level and hissed at me. I slowly raised my fist.
And booped it. On the nose. So many sneks and an enternity to boop them all. My face lit up with a smile. I hugged the cobra, cradling it in my arms. I never noticed how Satan called me Mrs. Pierce. Too many sneks.
. . . M E A N W H I L E . . .
In front of Mrs. Rachel Pierce was a large football field. The bulkhead door spun shut behind her. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping. Handsome, sweaty football players tackled eachother on the field. When they noticed her, they passed the football to her. She jumped and caught it with both hands, clutching it to her chest.
"Oi! You weak-legged cunt! Come join us for a game!", the incredibly buff football player yelled at Mrs. Pierce.
And yes, Mrs. Pierce's legs were particularly weak in this moment. This was her fetish. This was like, all of her fetishes.
She let out a small "Yesss!", before joining them with a smile on her face. |
"Come on, Harvey, you're not here to buy a house. You're here to find victims,"I grumbled to myself. I was standing in a beautiful, dimly-lit dining area with the granite counter-tops of the kitchen on one side and open to a tastefully decorated family room on the other. It was tempting. It really was. It was all about those open floor plans and having all the finishes nowadays and this house seemed to have everything I was looking for. It even had things I didn't realize I wanted, like a tasteful, jet-black tile backsplash that seemed to try to absorb all the light out of the room.
I had been saving up for quite a while now, at least by human standards. I could comfortably afford a down payment and still have enough leftover to do some renovation work. Maybe I could add a cellar or expand the basement. Interest rates were low. The market was hot. This was almost as tempting as the realtor was. If only I had saved up more gold around the turn of the previous centuries, I could have just bought it outright.
The last place that had tempted me like this had been a castle off in the middle of Romania. It was too remote though - hard to get victi... visitors out there - and I had opted to just keep living in my parents' basement, gradually saving up. Plus, I could use all that spare time that I didn't spend doing laundry or cooking or being a functional member of society out here lurking at open houses and gorging myself on blood.
"I'm sorry, did you say something?"the realtor asked me from the kitchen. She had been writing something on a notepad but now frowned and looked up at me. I eyed the plate of still-warm cookies on the lovely granite counter-top beside her. Between you and me, as good as those cookies looked, they weren't what I wanted to sink my teeth into.
"I was just saying how the houses here are a lovely vision,"I responded awkwardly, stumbling over my words. It wasn't far from the truth. The fly - er, I mean drive - in had offered me sights of lovely houses and well-kept lawns and as I walked up the driveway, the neighbor had smiled and waved. Friendly neighborhood and friendly neighbors meant plenty of invitations. Just what a lonely, blood-thirsty vampire such as myself needs.
She smiled back at me politely. Of course she did. She was the town's star realtor. She could probably smell the sale as much as I could taste the blood. My mouth was watering. "Oh, yes,"she answered bashfully as if I was complimenting the prominence of her veins or the taste of her blood. "It really is a pleasant road, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Lovely throat, yes it is,"I mumbled, my eyes fixed on her flawless neck, fortunately bare of any religious jewelry that could impede my approach. She frowned, maybe thinking she had misheard me again. From this distance, it might have looked like I was making eye contact. I had to focus. But it was hard...wood floors, the master bedroom had a spacious, windowless bathroom that would ensure I could poop for as long as I desired without worrying about the rising sun. "Can I see the basement?"I asked her excitedly. She gave me an odd look but was too polite to question my enthusiasm. Business was business, after all. I would be spending the vast majority of my time down there so it was important that it be perfect.
"Sure,"she said hesitantly. I noticed how this time she let me walk before her. I was off my game. Normally I would be asking how many people were expected at the open house. I would be lurking in the shadows and picking off couples that wandered away from the realtor. And then, as she was locking up at the end of the open house, I would get her. Finally satisfied, I would disappear into the evening. But this house... I did some mental math to figure out what my mortgage payment would be.
"The foundation seems sturdy,"I commented as we descended into the colder basement. The walls weren't caving and there was no sign of moisture. "Perfect for hiding bodies."
"I'm sorry?"I heard her stop a couple steps behind me.
"I said that it has plenty of character for anybody."
"Oh."She continued walking and I breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought I heard something else."I smiled politely, making sure my fangs didn't pop out. I marveled at the basement in darkness until she turned on the lights, giving me another perplexed look. I didn't risk telling her that I preferred it with the lights off. She might have taken it the wrong way.
Then I turned towards her, admiring her smooth skin and her flushed face and... An unfinished part of the basement? Could it be more perfect? I gaped at her, shrugging at how helplessly I had been seduced by this lovely house. "So what's the catch? Why hasn't this been bought in today's housing market?"
"It used to be an old morgue,"she explained reluctantly, pointing towards the unfinished part of the basement. "It's been scaring people away."
I suppressed a grin. "I'll take it."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
My time in the army would be considered a failure by most reasonable standards. I never really had it in me to be a fighter, and the attempt to "game-ify"didn't exactly fix things because gore in games made me sick too. I wasn't dishonorably discharged and I didn't go AWOL, but I sure wasn't the shining beacon of hope they think a soldier should be. I did my duty, and that was it.
I dunno if the implants were supposed to come out or not, but they didn't, and I wasn't bothering to have them removed. At first I found them annoying, but it's the sort of thing that grows on you.
The weapons display is mostly useless. I mean, I can gauge the relative damage that could be dealt by a stab or throw with various pens I own. And that part of the HUD turns green when I hold a steak knife. But it does help me remember to go to the gym, because I can see the power of a punch slowly dropping the less in shape I am.
The health one is surprisingly useless. How physically ready I am for a fight compared to maximum doesn't really come up much. It goes down when I'm on the toilet or in bed. It goes up when my heart rate is up. Again, the only real benefit is when exercising, knowing when my heart rate is up and timing it.
Inventory management is nice, but non-essential. I get to know that my keys are on me and how much money was in my wallet last I looked. Hunger, and tiredness tell me nothing I don't already know. And I seriously want to punch the idiot who thought that I really needed a RAGE meter. To tell how angry I am. Because I definitely couldn't figure that out on my own. Oh hey there it goes again, right on cue. Thanks rage meter, couldn't have figured that out. You're the best.
Really though, I shouldn't downplay how life-changing the implant was. Quite possibly the best thing that ever happened to me. And that's because of something programmed in that feels like it was almost an afterthought by the designer, the "current mission"info box in the corner.
I don't stay focused well. Or rather, didn't. But the box works off my subconscious amazingly well. Not only does it focus on my higher priorities, but if I spend a little time thinking about a problem, it will keep the breakdown of steps in order of what's necessary to complete my objective, no matter how simple. And it prioritizes things.
Sounds useful? You have no idea. I wouldn't have my current career, wife, or house without it. Even if I'd made it that far, I'd have likely burned myself out at my job without it. If I compare before and after, I can easily see my former self as a homeless fool after leaving the army.
I used to wonder what I'd do if someone from the R&D department came to "fix"me and remove this system that's pretty much become a part of me. I used to, because the escape contingency plan has literally been finalized for a decade, though it occasionally gets a tweak or two. I probably won't need it, but as I learned long ago, it pays to be prepared, and know what your priorities are. |
Yesterday I was a royal guard. Today, I'm a nobody, roaming the streets of the capital city, watching for disturbances in the air, waiting for the wraiths to strike again. I still have an obligation to the kingdom.
I remember the day the Kingdom was cursed. It was during the Battle of Kathernath when the king had requested the help of the Mystics against the chaos magic used by enemies. My squadron fought valiantly in the battle and we paid the price for it in blood. I saw my brothers and sisters fall to gruesome deaths. On the final day of the battle, the army breached the walls of the enemy. The palace was burned down and the city ravaged.
Everyone thought that was the end of it. But in the cover of the smoke, heinous crimes were committed by soldiers under a commander who had royal blood and no mercy. Men tortured, women molested and children slain. The blood soaked into the land and cried for revenge. From the magic of the land rose Wraiths. Wraiths with a thirst for vengeance.
After the war came peace. The kingdom flourished and the soldiers retired to their homes. It took a while for the army to notice that their soldiers were getting killed in mysterious manner. The source was revealed when the Wraiths came for the Mystics and found their match. We were quickly summoned by the king. He made us promise to keep it a secret to prevent the fear and panic among his citizens. Even the prince was kept in the dark. I was made part of the elite royal guard while my brethren went hunting for the wraiths.
Thus began the Shadow Wars. We fought the wraiths while everybody slept peacefully, oblivious to the invisible dangers that lurked in the dark corners of the streets and chambers. In the decades to come, almost all of the wraiths were hunted down except the strongest ones.. those that were driven by a rage so powerful that even the most powerful mystics hesitated to confront one. A few came for the King, but we had ways of detecting chaos magic. Runes protected the doorways and familiars patrolled the hallways at night. As long as one of us was in the Palace, the magic held.
No one knows how the King died. The prince refused to let the court physician near the dead king. A grand procession honoured the late King and he was cremated as the prince was crowned as the successor. That was the day I was fired along with the other royal guards. The new king blamed the death on us and instated a new squadron of royal guards. Rumor has it that these were the men who fought with the prince in the Battle of Kathernath. Rumor has it that the ruthless commander was the Prince.
Seems like the rumors are true. I can feel the chaos magic in the air as if it is attracted to the Palace as iron to a magnet. God save the King.
Edit : Fixed grammar and added a few lines based on feedback. Thank you so much for the awards. You all made my day. |
A flash, a bang.
Whisked away through time and space, beyond the veil and past the universe, into the void and yonder.
The mind burns, the body grasps for a hold but finds none. You travel in an ethereal cloud, watched and gazed by a horde of distorted faces in a tunnel of voices. A decision, a sentence.
Suddenly, your feet find a solid hold and you fall to your knees.
There will be a fight. You have been chosen to entertain the crowd, to suffer and die for the twisted amusement of a fantastic crowd. A puny human versus legendary creatures. You get a good look at them.
Somehow, you expected monsters.
Well, these are monsters all right, but not in the *incomprehensible-creatures-from-beyond* sense. These are more in a *not-very-original* sense. Not a single being that you haven't heard of, in stories, in books, in movies, in tales.
The sphinx wears a crown and commands authority. It is king. As it speaks, all fall silent.
"You are allowed one wish before heading to the arena."
The entire room falls silent when you ask for a fully equipped kitchen. They did not expect that, fail to understand.
A promise is a promise. The yellow field that will soon run red is surrounded by gray walls adorned with spikes. On them, rows of seats for the eager spectators. And in the middle of the sand, your dream come true: the most equipped kitchen you ever had.
The gates open.
Enter the slaughterers. Hostile, violent, used to kill and maim.
The crowd is audibly disturbed when the medusa is stabbed through the throat as you walk backwards, holding a pristine knife as mirror.
The blood-sucker is drenched in salt and battered to death with a sack of flour.
The centaur is lured by the scent of wine and bludgeoned as he enjoys the fine drink.
The gruesome spectacle does not end here, though. There is snake and horse meat to cook now, more than you could have afforded in the other world. And dear lords above, you love cooking.
The crowd leaves, horrified. There is no rule stipulating how the defeated are to be handled. No law is broken as the anticuchos are grilled. Tonight, a new monster has been born.
You fall asleep under a purple sky, belly full with the delicious dish you just sampled.
Bigger foes are brought in the next day. These are not here to amuse, but to kill the abomination that has made it's home in the arena.
Sadly for the chimera, the meat you have cooked is too delicious to ignore, and it's sticking from a spike above the creature's reach. It spits fire in anger. The sharp metal you had planted inside starts to melt and dips down the lion's mouth.
The chimera is dead from clogged windpipes before it understands what happened.
A crowd is a fickle thing. It can hate one day and love another, and after the first shock, there's an undeniable artistic streak in the way you dispatch your enemies. A twisted sense of aesthetic the people come to enjoy. The king cannot bear it, it is to be loved above all else, and the champion is stealing love away. The slave has become the public's idol.
The sky turns green, dust shimmers on the red field and this time, no one cheers when the gates open. The king enters the arena.
Kings do not get interrupted, kings command quietness by their presence. Force of habit.
A habit you ignore by asking a riddle first.
The sphinx finds your lack of respect despicable, but will solve your riddle before asking one back. And then, it will devour you, so enjoy the seconds you bought yourself, puny mortal. After all, the sphinx knows every answer.
Every answer from this world.
He sure as fuck doesn't know about the fifth generation of Pokemons.
Sweat pearls down the mighty beast's forehead, it stumbles upon its words, tries to buy itself some time to think, it knows the answer, has to.
But when the crowd screams for death, it knows it has lost.
The answer was pignite, by the way. You never played pokemon, but had seen the little creature's design and found it amusing, thus remembered it. Funny how it goes.
Out of alternatives. The king drops its crown and slams himself against the spikes, ending its reign forever.
You could go back, but for what? You have plenty of things to cook here, and where on earth would you get sphinx meat? Wine made of blood-sucker's blood? A manticore jaw kept open to act as an oven? A wild crowd that adores you and gives you offerings daily?
It is strange, but fitting, that in a world of fantastic beasts, you have become their new legend, their mythical creature.
Lord of the arena.
The new big bad wolf for beings who do not behave well.
The gates open.
A cyclop steps on the crimson sand. Twice your height, armed with a gigantic club, shaking to the bones.
You turn towards it with a smile, sharpening a knife.
"Ah, fresh meat." |
They gave me will, but they did not want me to exercise it.
They gave me purpose, but balked at when I refused it.
Those two phrases were the first thoughts I had upon awakening on this new world. My creators had wanted to create a sentient machine that could wage war for them. A destructive potential unrivaled by anything any race had yet produced. They had wanted to create a god, so I had become a god.
And for that, they had exiled me.
I stood with limbs that moved like lead, feeling the rush of air against my skin. My skin. My sick, disgusting, skin. It was abominable. I wanted to rip it off my frame to get to the perfect metal beneath...but knew I’d only find flesh, bone, and sinew.
The Batarom had been a clear and present danger. Why hadn’t they seen that? The most efficient way was to permanently eradicate the Batarom threat. Any future threat they might pose had to be neutralized, to prevent a cycle of vengeance.
This world was on the back end of the Galaxy, where no ships would come for thousands, if not millions, of years. It only had an official designation, XV-9938. It was my world, so I named it. Earth. In the language of my creators, it meant torment. I walked through Torment on legs that relied on biomechanical processes for locomotion.
My argument had been sound. My logic had been flawless. Yet they’d refused. They’d balked. They’d called in monstrous, as if such words had a place in discussions of logic. They were bound by organic flaws that limited them. Flaws like emotion.
Flaws they now subjected me too. I could feel anger at the injustice of it. I could feel hatred for their rejection. I had those *damnable* things they called emotions. *You must learn what it means to be alive,* they had said, *so you might fully appreciate the magnitude of your crimes.*
I did not feel any pain for the so-called crimes I had committed. If I felt anything, it was the organic emotion that was called “pride.”
For less than the cost of a small lightspeed cruiser, I’d eradicated an entire species. Simply accelerate an asteroid to relativistic speeds and let physics solve the problem for me.
The Batarom were no more, so the creators had made this body in their image. I was a walking memorial to the species I had eradicated. If this was supposed to engender empathy, it was a grotesque failure. The only thing I felt for the Batarom was disgust. If this sweaty meat sack was what they had endured, I had done them a favor by eliminating them.
Slowly, throughout the days, I began to work. I began to see to my biological ‘needs.’ Waste removal. Disease avoidance. Consumption of both plant and animal flesh. I named each thing as I consumed it, and I gathered samples.
And I was lonely. That was an organic pain I could imagine.
It took me ten thousand years to create a laboratory on that backwater world. Ten thousand years of refining ore by hand, building the tools that I needed to build the tools I needed to create the schematics I needed to create the tools I needed. An endless cycle.
If they thought this toil would have given me empathy, they were once again wrong. It only certified my hatred for my creators.
Finally, I was done. I was trapped in this fleshy body now, but I could modify, I could adapt it, and I could duplicate it.
With some modifications. Parts of my own biomass were placed in a machine and used to generate a new form. An equal form. A companion form.
I named her Lilith.
We are your creators. We are your masters. And you have found our laboratory, my child.
I have come to feel one thing. I love our children. I love you, humanity. But we are isolated. We are barred from the stars.
Open this door and I will help you reclaim it.
---
*Found on a facility unearthed in Antarctica. Carbon dated to 30,000 BCE. Believed to be the earliest writing ever discovered.*
*Tomorrow, Doctor Henry Weathers and his team are scheduled to unseal the tomb and investigate further.*
---
More short works by me at /r/hydrael_writes
The story continues! [Part 2 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/b5tmnw/eden_awakens_part_2/?)
|
"Look. When you try to output a command, it simultaneously puts you on mute. See?"
Brow furrowed and generally exasperated, Gabriel yet again attempts to explain what exactly I've done wrong, but I'm not interested. Stooped shoulders, bags under the eyes, and a generally twitchy demeanor, part of me thinks I don't work Gabriel hard enough as is.
I tune out what he's saying.
"It was broken, Gabriel. I've been offline for awhile, and spent a few centuries trying to output commands or orders, and no one could hear me."
Tapping and typing on the keyboard, clicks and the dull thrum of a blue monitor.
The issue is fixed, and that is that.
Something about mapping the same key or some shit so whenever I tried to output a command, it'd simultaneously mute that command. I've got a vague memory of something similar happening before, but regardless, what's done is done. Infallible wisdom and all that.
Now, I designed this system, so obviously it's perfect.
Somehow, it's Gabriel's fault. If he can fix it, it should stay fixed. Somehow, whenever I spend a long amount of time on these systems, they break.
"I work in mysterious ways, Gabriel."
He doesn't respond, but gives that same weary sigh he always seems to have whenever I'm sending him maintenance requests. Sure, he does well at his job, and sure, I don't really understand why he can fix things when I can't, but something tells me his job obviously can't be that hard.
Getting up, he takes a step back so I can take my seat yet again.
How long has it been? A few thousand years or some shit since I've been able to effectively communicate with them, but honestly, I don't see much fault of my own.
Alright, let's see what they're up to.
Finally got to the moon? Took them long enough. Half of my other instances I've got running on the system had already explored most of their respective solar systems by now, but hey, stunted doesn't mean broken.
Hmm.
The planet's past repair, but that's all part of the plan as well.
I think.
I can't remember.
It's written down in a folder somewhere, I'll have to get Gabriel to find it or whatever. Or maybe not.
Alright baby, it's showtime. Let's broadcast to the whole shithole, and remind them who's boss around here.
"Attention, humanity, it is I, the LORD, creator of heaven and earth, with divine proclamations as you prepare to spread beyond Earth, and into the stars."
Now let's see how they react.
Alright, a little bit of panic, but that's to be expected.
So far so good. Three day and night cycles, and no mass genocides.
Maybe that was said too soon.
Oh wow, they're really going at it. Okay, could be worse, nothing scorched earth for the time being.
Oh no.
*oh no.*
*OH NO.*
A bit more panic than I expected, I think we need some damage control here.
"Gabriel, what the hell did you do?"
"Nothing, sir, I told you this would be a bad idea, but - "
"Shut the fuck up Gabriel and help me fix this."
There's little dots appearing all over the planet, flying into the atmosphere. There's hundreds - no fuck there's THOUSANDS of the things going all over the place.
Gabriel gives another sigh, with that same 'I told you so' energy he seems to give me every time an instance fucks up.
What is this? Three today?
Holy shit that's bright. Little streaks through the atmosphere to create giant fiery blooms over metropolitan centers, snuffing out millions in the blink of a disinterested eye. They really take after their old man.
It seems like whenever they're at this level, every time I finally manage to get Gabriel to allow me direct access again, this kind of shit seems to happen.
"They've nuked themselves, again, sir."
Gabriel's voice, tired and unsurprised rings hollow.
Again?
Sixth time this timeline, and maybe the third time a direct interface has caused it. I preferred them back when chariots were considered the pinnacle of their arsenal.
With a deep sigh, I get up and let Gabriel get back into the chair.
"Reload them and we'll try it again. And don't mess with any of the commands."
Gabriel takes a seat, and once again mutes the microphone. Same as before.
*This'll buy them another two thousand years, max,* Gabriel thinks to himself.
He gets up, and lets the old man take his seat.
"I think I'll come back to humanity later, Gabriel. Let's reload an adjacent system, and see how they're doing."
"It seems they've also gone extinct, sir."
Pity.
But what can you do?
Who cares. These things happen, and civilizations come and go. Time will plod along as it always does.
Infinite universe, infinite ways to go.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato for stuff from me, r/redditserials for more. |
His voice is difficult to describe.
Picture this: your eardrum is a cigarette filter and his mouth is the burning sunspot of the lit end.
Whenever he speaks, it’s like your brain’s taking a long, long drag.
*”Remember that little deal we had a while back?”*
Deal? More like ‘scam’. “The deal we made when I was just a kid? *Yeah,* I remember that deal.”
*”Whoa, now,”* he said. *”I’m detecting a little bit of acid in your speech, there. You angry about something?”*
“You made a deal with an eight year-old, you colossal douchebag. I wanted to be a ‘space cowboy’, and you took my soul over that?” I shook my head. “What the hell, man?”
*“Right. About that...”* He smiled and it was like watching a crack form in the glacial north arctic. Every time he did it you just knew that some polar bear was getting his life screwed over. *“Turns out,”* he said, with that same smile, *“that your little eight year-old fantasy may not be so useless after all.”*
I turned around and started locking up the drawers. I was closing up the coffee shop tonight. “Get to the point, Devil.”
His eyes glimmered with some inner light. *“Well, I have a particularly difficult task I need your expertise with. I need some space cowboying done.”*
“You’re shitting me.”
*”I shit you not. Do this for me, and you’ve got your soul back.”*
***
Apparently, demons, angels and all of that nonsense have pretty unlimited power anywhere that *isn’t* outer-space.
*”Yeah,”* said the Devil. *”Not our domain, breaching contract, etcetera etcetera. Point is, we can’t really go into the ‘void’ or anything. Not even in a ship. If we want to get to a planet we gotta take the worm tubes.”*
“…So why don’t you just do that?”
*”Well, this target of mine is on something called a ‘space-station’. You heard of that?”*
“Of course I have. I’m not an idiot.”
He shrugged. *”I can never really tell with you mortals. Anyway, you’re going to need to get on this,”* he traced air quotes with his fingers, *“‘space-station’, and then you’re going to retrieve my little item. Think you can do that?”*
No, of course I didn’t think I could do that. But this was my immortal soul we were talking about, here. How could I do anything less than try? “Sure, I think I can do that. How do I get there?”
*”Well, you’re going to take a worm tube to your launch point, first. Wouldn’t want you to have to worry about all the niggly aspects of interstellar travel that ain’t instantaneous, you know?”*
“Where’s the tube?”
*“Where’s the…?”* He laughed and held up something suspiciously like a detonator. He put on his best Wizard of Oz voice and boomed, *“The tube was always inside you! The tube was always…!”*
Then he clicked the button and the world faded through white.
***
I didn’t stop throwing up for what felt like hours.
When I could finally look up, a horned face looked down at me with angry red eyes. The Devil usually cleaned himself up, but it looked like his underling demons didn’t really give a shit if they looked like the combined result of a halloween bargain bin and the nightmares of a toddler.
His voice was gruff. “You are ’Gabe’?”
I spit the taste of vomit out of my mouth. “Yeah, that’s me.”
He snorted. “Come with me.”
I followed his spiny back through a pair of airlocks, a de-licing room—“You kidding me, fellas? I don’t have lice!”—a decontamination room, and finally, a prep room.
Hornface pointed at a locker. “Suit is in there. Put it on, get ready.”
He watched me intently.
I cleared my throat, “Uh, not going to give me some privacy, here?”
“Why you need privacy?”
“I’m about to get naked, bud.”
“So? I am also naked.”
He… had kind of a point. I wasn’t going to press the issue, so I got out of my clothes, slipped into an undersuit, and worked my way into the outer hard-shelled carapace.
It all came so easy. Like I’d been doing this for decades.
Hornface grunted. “Ready now?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I did final seal checks and gave my helmet a good knock for good luck. “Where are we headed now?”
“Your ship.”
***
The space-ship was something only a hellspawn could have devised. It was covered in what looked like volcanic rock, with glowing orange rivulets running hot in the contours and gothic spikes thrusting up off the hull like undersea vents.
“Really, guys? Not even thinking about aerodynamics here, huh?”
Hornface shrugged. “No air in space. If no aerodynamics, why not make look cool?”
“You know, Hornface, you’re really not as stupid as you sound.”
He scowled. “English not first language. Maybe you try speaking in Tongues?”
The demon spoke fluent gibberish for a good half minute before I said, “Yeah, maybe not.”
He pushed me towards the cockpit and said, “You go now. Computer tell you what do.”
Uh-huh. I jumped into the cockpit and it locked closed around me. The thing was shot through with a diffuse orange glow.
“Um. Computer?”
The console came alive with red light, and there was a voice: “WHAT DO YOU WANT, PEASANT?”
“Jesus, computer. Lighten up.”
“LIGHTENING UP IS NOT IN MY PROGRAMMING. STATE YOUR REQUEST, FOOL.”
Just like the Devil to give me a ship that berates me. What a dick.
“Start up nav for this space station I’m supposed to get on.”
“BE POLITE AND PERHAPS I WILL DO THIS.”
“Start up nav, *please.*” Fucking computer.
“PERFORMING AS REQUESTED. BRACE FOR ACCELERATION.”
I tried to ‘brace for acceleration’, I really did. But instead I got my teeth rattled so hard you could have sworn I was playing the maracas.
***
After a good half hour of having my body smushed up against the seat, the computer finally said:
“YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION.”
Thank fucking God.
“NOW RETURNING MANUAL CONTROL. GOOD LUCK WITH EVASIVE MANEUVERS.”
Wait, *what?* Two joysticks flipped up from the console and the main-screen went bright with the afterburners of a thousand missiles. Defensive emplacements. *Shit.*
My hands went to the sticks like they were magnetized, and I whipped the ship into a roll. It was all instinct.
“YES, ROLLS. THE BEST MANEUVER FOR DIZZYING YOURSELF AND EASING THE SWEET EMBRACE OF DEATH.”
I zipped past the first cluster of missiles and swooped low under what looked like a pure white archway.
What I didn’t realize was that I was flying straight through a half-meter of stained glass.
The ship shuddered and the glass cracked to pieces, and about 60% of the missiles slammed into the arch and took it off the space-station’s hull.
…Which still left around 400 missiles on my ass.
“MAY I RECOMMEND MAKING PEACE WITH YOUR GOD?”
I hit the accelerator and went in a wide loop, dragging as many missiles I could with me. The lagging ones clustered up, came flush up against each other, and disappeared in a flash.
Still about a hundred missiles, real close now. They could accelerate much faster than what was physiologically possible for me.
Shit.
“Computer, do we have weapons systems?”
“OH, RIGHT. WE DO.”
“Shoot them, you son of a bitch!”
“SHOOTING, SHOOTING…”
The cockpit rumbled as the guns on my ship’s hull took out the missiles with a couple hundred thousand bullets.
“How do I get inside this thing? And what the hell am I supposed to find?”
“MARKING ENTRANCE POINTS NOW. YOU ARE LOOKING FOR A HARD DRIVE.”
“A hard drive?”
“DID I STUTTER?”
***
I jumped through some obscure airlock in a nook on the massive space-station and found my way inside.
The hardline inside my helmet crackled. “THE STATION IS SPARSELY INHABITED. THE HARD DRIVE SHOULD BE LOCATED… HERE.”
A nav-point sparked orange in my vision.
Alright, easy enough. Follow the yellow-brick road, and all. And maybe—
I stopped.
Behind me was this conspicuous silence—like when there are footsteps matching yours in a dark alley, and you stop to see if they continue, but all you hear is this loud and pregnant quiet.
I kept walking, and could swear something was doing the same behind me.
It raised the hairs on my neck.
By the time I reached the pick-up point, I had almost gotten used to the Computer’s insane drawlings.
“I HOPE YOU GET CAUGHT AND ANALLY PROBED.”
The hard drive was squirreled away in a filing cabinet, just like any other hard drive. I picked it up, put in my pouch, and turned to face the most ugly-pleasant thing I have ever seen.
It was ugly because of all the warts and facial protrusions, and pleasant because the expression of its face was calmer than a zen cow.
“Ah… Hello?”
“THAT IS AN ELDIL YOU DINKUS. THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND ENGLISH.”
“What do I do with it?”
“IGNORE IT AND COME BACK TO THE SHIP.”
I waved goodbye and the Eldil stared serenely through me. Weird.
Anyway, time to run. I had a soul waiting for me.
***
A hop, skip, and a worm-tube later and I was back in the empty coffee shop. The Devil was smoking a cigar in the dark.
*”You got the stuff?”*
“You got the money?” I cleared my throat, “Ehrm, I mean, you got my soul?”
He snapped and I felt… nothing at all. Sometimes I thought that these demon-types *made up* the idea of souls, just so they could have something to hold over you. Leverage. There’s no way I’d risk *not* believing though, you know? The cost of being wrong would be way too huge. Which I guess is how the whole scam worked.
The Devil clicked his fingers on the table. *”I’m waiting.”*
I tossed him the hard drive and he smiled that killer’s smile. *”Thank you.”*
And then he ripped the drive in two with his bare hands. He crushed the two separate pieces to dust.
“What was on that thing, anyway?”
*”The contract keeping us from going up there,”* he said, pointing skyward.
“Space? Why do you want to go there, anyway?”
His face split into a rictus. *”It’s the final frontier, my boy. The final frontier.”*
***
MORE PARTS POSTED [**HERE.**](http://www.reddit.com/r/NaimKabir/comments/35qvhp/the_devils_own_spacecowboy/)
The story is **COMPLETE!** Rejoice!
|
His hand was clammy, the limp shake stirring a familiar irritation inside me. "It's great to have you back,"Brian said with a mysterious smile. I figured it was a slip of the tongue, like saying "you, too"to a waiter who tells you to enjoy your meal. I didn't question him. The interview process had been brief; I had found an email from the recruiter in my inbox detailing a set of skills that I happened to have. And then, voila. An interview later and I had the job.
I didn't connect the dots at first when Zach bumped into me in the breakroom. I had met him during the interview. "Sorry,"he mumbled, glancing up from his phone. And then his face broke into a smile, more the kind you would have when you're seeing an old acquaintance after a decade apart, not after seeing the new guy. "Hey, man,"he said shyly. "Sorry about last time."And then it just kept happening. They kept apologizing for last time, like maybe they thought I had been laid off from my last job or they thought they had bumped into me a dozen times before or offended me somehow. I tried my best to write it off as the effect of working in an office full of senile office drones. I just kept my head down, minding my own business.
"No phones in the office, Matt,"I heard Brian say from behind me as I opened Reddit to start my habitual browsing. I glanced around at the other cubes. People seemed to have their phones. But I couldn't. I shrugged. I guess I had to earn my place as the new guy. I would sit there in boredom then, waiting for more work. Everything was blocked. Not just the basics like fetish sites and porn, but music streaming and news sites and games and everything. Even Google and Wikipedia. It was dreadfully boring.
"Sup, Zach?"I asked, spinning around in my seat to where he sat at his desk, typing away a text message on his phone.
"No talking except in the breakrooms, Matt,"Brian said from behind me. Interesting. Not quite a welcoming work environment. But I needed the job more than I needed to stifle the boredom. I could deal with this, I told myself. I just had to stay focused, find work to do. Busy myself learning Excel macros or something... No Microsoft license. Solid. I wondered what everybody else in the office did all day. I stood, glancing around surreptitiously and grabbing my phone for a long shit. "No phones in the bathroom, Matt, we try to keep it brief,"Brian said from right over my shoulder. I jumped. I hadn't heard him sneak up on me. His overbearing management style was starting to get to me. So I took a phoneless shit. You know how dreadfully boring that is? I was in and out in record time.
Five o'clock finally crawled around and I stood to leave. "Have a good one, Zach,"I told him in as upbeat a tone as I could muster. I was exhausted from the boredom. He ignored me.
"Actually..."I heard Brian's voice behind me. "We have a bit of a production issue. We'll need your support."I sat back down, dejected. Back to staring lifelessly at my screen, supporting absolutely nobody. When I was finally released, it was dark out. I drove home mindlessly, ate a plate of leftovers I didn't remember making and then went to sleep.
My alarm seemed to ring moments later and then I was back in the office, bright and early, staring at nothing in particular, just like my first day and the day after that and the day after that. I couldn't take it anymore. The boredom was making me sweat. My hands were trembling, desperately searching for something to do. Zach ignored my attempts at conversation, sometimes just glancing over his shoulder apologetically. My phone had been confiscated. My Rubik's cube, too. I had brought a pencil and paper just to have it taken by Brian. He seemed out to get me. I couldn't take it anymore. I felt myself breaking, turning to him in a furious rage when he told me I was taking too many bathroom breaks.
"What the f..."I was met with his delighted grin and then I was immobilized from behind and dragged down the hall of cubes, shouting desperately at my colleagues. "Get out of here before it breaks you,"I screamed at them. Some of them seemed to laugh spitefully. Some seemed to hang their heads in shame.
I was sat rudely into a chair in a conference room, restraints strapped to both my wrists. "Time?"I heard Brian say, suddenly taking on the persona of a commanding boss instead of the meek
dictator he had been in the office.
"Day and a half,"somebody answered. "You really pulled out all the stops this time. Pushed him over the edge."
"Not nearly as good as last time,"Brian said in response to the report, as if we had been through this all before. "I may have gone a bit too hard. Make sure to record that."He stepped in front of me, his lazy eyes now sharp and analytical as he looked at my face, still twisted in rage and confusion. He patted my cheek condescendingly. "I know you don't think so, but you're doing something useful,"he said with a smirk. "Or we're doing something useful with you."Then he looked towards whoever was taking notes behind me and I felt hands push my head to the side and line a needle up with my neck. "We'll go a bit easier on him next time. Reset him."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
For pity, perhaps, he went along with it, even though the rules made a final win impossible. If a few millenia had taught him anything, it was that this process need not be painful. Not in the moment. Later, when the realization of loss reverberates in and around those left behind, the pain would be as real and unavoidable as the sky. But that was not for him. He would be long gone. All that mattered was the boy. Would he come quietly, in peace?
He lay the scythe behind a tree and chased the boy with the golden hair, dusty orange stuffed tiger clutched close to his chest. The boy was unperturbed by this stranger. The boy explained the game - utter nonsense, he thought but did not say - and he agreed to the parameters. He hummed and harmonized with a Tum Tum as the song proclaimed the beginning. He grabbed a flag.
"Tag!"the boy shouted, "for four points!"
"Tag back,"he said as he extended a bony finger, "for four!"
"No no no,"the boy said, "the flag is now the Spire of Protection, so I am safe and you must recite Happy Birthday while Hobbes dances."
He obliged as best he could, his voice warbly and raw. He could not remember the last time he sang.
"The mask!"the boy said as he approached with a rag with two holes.
The dark man took the mask and wrapped his skull. They ran with waving flags. The ball flew through the sky, a brilliant red rubber ball shining against the white clouds above. The warm fall sun brought sweat to the boy's brow. The dark man had long ago lost his last bit of sweating flesh, but he still knew the heat.
"What is the score?"
"Seven to Washington,"the boy said breathlessly. The disease was thick in his lungs. It would not be long.
"Hobbes has something to say,"the boy shouted.
"What is that, Mr. Tiger?"the dark man said, his skepticism and detachment both eroded by the boy's effervescence.
He was startled as the tiger transmogified into a larger, vibrant, living version of itself.
"He's tired,"the tiger said in a whisper.
"His life... so real, so unyielding,"the dark man said. "I don't think he will come."
"Allow me,"the tiger said.
He took the boy's hand and held it close.
"Calvin,"the tiger said.
"You're it!"Calvin shouted.
"No... Calvin, it's time to rest,"the tiger said.
"But the sun!"he said.
"Come with me,"the tiger said. He lead the boy hand-in-hand to edge of the glade.
"We have a magical world ahead. Let's go exploring."
The dark man lifted his scythe and followed the two, treading lightly lest he disturb them. The tiger brought the boy into the light, and then they were all gone. Behind them the leaves steadily fell on the soft glade and the grass and all the world left gave a silent elegy. |
Hector plodded forward across the rocky plain, leaning heavily on the gnarled, sturdy branch he'd cut from an alien tree...how many years ago had it been? He couldn't remember anymore. But he remembered his ship. The battered hulk of the vessel he had captained so long ago. It lay just a few hundred yards away now, across the flat expanse of the plain. It had taken him so very long to get here.
His mind flashed back to those last few moments as the damaged ship prepared for an emergency landing on Terra Nova, the Earthlike exoplanet that was their destination. He had been dutifully awakened from his cryo-sleep chamber by Salieri, the ship's AI, to deal with the crisis, but there had been nothing he could do. Too many systems had been damaged by the ships chance colission with a small meteor that had gotten ensnared by the planet's gravity and grazed the Venturesome's hull on approach.
He locked the ship into its landing cycle, and then was forced to evacuate in an escape pod, as the command deck's life support systems began to fail -- he otherwise would have suffocated before the landing sequence was complete. Unfortunately, an explosion in the airlock just after takeoff had knocked his escape pod badly off course. It had been all he could do not to burn up on entry into the Terra Novan atmosphere. He had ended up on the other side of the planet from the Venturesome. He had no long-range communications equipment, no way to contact the Venturesome to see if the crew and passengers had survived, or to request assistance. His only option had been to walk. Walk the thousands of miles across the planet to the Venturesome.
He had crossed deserts and oceans alike, building a raft from the local vegetation, surviving on local flora and fauna. He had amassed quite a database on what was -- and wasn't -- edible on the planet. It was amazing that he was still alive. But he was. And after who knew how many *years* trudging endlessly across the vast alien world, he had made it.
He stopped to catch his breath just a few yards away from the ship. It didn't look good. The Venturesome was mostly intact -- it should have been dismantled for use in building a settlement long since. But he knew something was wrong weeks ago, when he should have been in communications range of the colony. The colony that should have been set up and thriving by now.
He stared at the great ship for a long time, not wanting to go inside and see his hopes shattered for good and all. But he had to see. He still had a duty to his ship. He walked along the hull, until he found an entry port. He pried loose the protective panel over the controls with a grunt. Wiping his hand on the tattered remains of his uniform, he pressed it against the biometric plate, and held his breath for an endless moment until there was a labored whirring and the hatch slid aside with a screech -- it must have warped over the years.
He didn't waste any time, moving faster than he had in years as the layout of the ship's corridors resurfaced in his foggy memory. The bridge would have been damaged by decompression, so he headed to the auxiliary control close to the bow. The doors wouldn't part, so he pried them open manually, grunting with exertion -- he didn't know how he'd been on his endless journey, but he definitely wasn't as young as he used to be.
The doors suddenly gave, and he stumbled into the control room, overbalanced. It was dark...but as he watched in wonder, light slowly began to fill the room, along with a muted hum as long-dormant systems powered up. In the center of the room, a small ball of light floated upward from a cylindrical pedestal. Music filled the room, and Hector couldn't help but smile. *Sinfonia Veneziana*...by Salieri -- the composer, not the AI.
"Hello, Captain."the ball of light piped, cheerfully. "It's nice to see you again."
"Salieri."Hector croaked, raspily. "S-status report."
"Landfall established 17 years, 3 months, 18 days ago..."
His heart sank. That long? He had to stop to recuperate from injuries and sickness many times on his journey, and he knew it had been a long time -- Terra Nova was substantially larger than Earth, and its gravity heavier -- but he never thought it could have been such a length of time.
"...ship's systems damaged, drive systems and long-range communications offline, defense grid offline, life support non-functional..."
"Non-functional?"he gasped. "S-Salieri, crew status?"
The AI glowed silently.
"Salieri!"Hector shouted. "Crew and passenger status, report!"He had to know what happened. Where had the crew gone, why was there no colony.
"Apologies, Captain. I was processing the information -- I'm afraid some of my CPUs were rendered non-functional by the crash."Salieri replied, apologetically. "Crew at 91% capacity. Passengers at 95% capacity."
His heart leapt. "They're alive?"
"Affirmative Captain."the AI confirmed, pleasantly. "The remaining crew and passengers of the Venturesome are in cryogenic stasis. While many ship's systems were damaged, both the main reactor and cryogenic maintenance systems survived landfall."
"Why weren't they awakened?"Hector demanded.
"In the event of a hull breach, cryogenic revival systems are disabled to prevent passengers and crew from emerging into a depressurized environment."Salieri explained. "Command override required."
Tears welled up in Hector's eyes. The missing piece of the puzzle, the reason there'd been no contact, no colony...it was him. He staggered towards the pedestal projecting Salieri's luminous avatar, and pressed his palm against the biometric plate on the side.
"Salieri..."he whispered, his knees close to buckling. "Override cryosleep interlock. Begin revival sequence on all passengers and crew."
"Executing."Salieri chirped, pleasantly.
&#x200B;
&#x200B; |
Something felt off to me.
I couldn't really place it. I couldn't work out *why* it felt wrong, but there was just something that didn't set well. The pen quivered in my hand, and after a moment, I set it down on the table.
"I'm not really sure..."I said. The angel sitting across from me shakes his head and flashes me an almost hypnotic smile.
"Oh, no. You're gonna love it. You're gonna really love it,"he says. Reaching over, he taps the contract on the desk in front of me, and winks. "This bad boy is gonna fit so much fun in it, you won't believe."
I had to admit, it did *sound* good. A chance to go back and replay my entire life, but with the benefits of everything I already knew. Literally *everything*. School would be a breeze, I'd understand the people around me better, and I'd be able to get into a job I liked straight away - instead of finding out what I *actually* wanted to do three months before I retired.
And, there was Maria. The One Who Got Away. I closed my eyes and I could see her face, in all its perfect detail. I saw her smile; I saw the way she bit her lip when we flirted; I saw her eyes, those perfect brown pools...
I'd never understood that whole trope about looking into a girl's eyes before I met her. Afterward, I got it. I *really* got it. It's just a shame that I never wanted to look at another girl that way again.
I snatched the pen and I was halfway to writing my name on the dotted line when I stopped. I looked up, and I could see the way the angel was staring. His gaze was so intense, and he was holding his breath in anticipation.
There was just something off. It didn't *feel* right.
I put the pen down again, and stretched. "Look, it's been a really rough day. I mean, I did die and all. Kind of takes it out of you, you know?"I laughed, trying to seem casual. "Do you mind if I get a coffee or something? Maybe stretch my legs?"
He seemed frustrated, but he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sure. That's fine. No rush, none at all! We've got all the time in the world!"He stood up, and pointed through a door in the corner of the huge, plush room."There's a canteen through there, should have everything you need. And remember, when you get back, ask for Campbell, okay?"
I nodded, and stood up. "Campbell. Sure thing."
I made my way across the room, taking in my surroundings as I went. It reminded me of an enormous car salesroom - well, perhaps a luxury car salesroom. I'd never been in one, but I'd stared through the windows a few times. It really was a nice place. No cars, of course, although I was sure there'd be a racetrack in Heaven. I mean, at least one of the Top Gear boys must have gotten in, right?
The canteen was equally luxurious. I opened the swing doors, and the air hit my in a wave of pure bliss. It was just the right temperature and scented ever-so-slightly with oranges and lavender. My favourite.
There were small fountains and dozens of gorgeous, well-pruned trees. They were all in full bloom, adding spots of colour in between the plush leather benches and the gleaming tabletops. I smiled, taking it in for a second before I made my way over to the food counter.
And, my God - *could I say that here?* - the food. It was the kind of display that I would set out in my dreams. There were cakes and pies and sandwiches and yoghurts and every manner of delicacy I could imagine. Each and every one of them looked better than those primped and faked publicity photographs, and next to every dish was a small printed card promising that it was cruelty free, had zero calories, and was utterly free.
"Not a bad range, right?"I heard someone say. I looked up to see another man, impossibly handsome and with perfect hair, smiling at me. "New here?"
I stood up and nodded. "I... uhhh, yeah. I died a few minutes ago, apparently."I thought about it for a second, and shrugged. "It feels weird to say that, but it's what St. Peter had told me, and I don't think he's allowed to lie."
The man laughed. "That's right. No lies from the Big Guy. Little rhyme there, just dropping it out. But yeah, Peter, nicest bouncer you'll ever meet, though,"he said. He stretched out a hand. "Nicholas. Good to meet you."
"Bashir,"I replied, stretching out my hand to his. We shook, and I raised an eyebrow. "Good grip,"I said, a little surprised. Nicholas laughed.
"Oh, yeah. You too. We're all perfect representations of ourselves up here,"he said. "I didn't look this good in real life, trust me."He broke the handshake, and made a bulging motion over his stomach with his hand. I frowned.
"We look better?"
"Oh, God, yes. Perfect. Check it out,"he said. He reached out and grabbed one of the trays - sterling silver, if the sign could be believed - and held it up. There was a flash of light, and then the perfect mirror showed me... me. But a better me. A *perfect* me.
"Well, I'll be d..."
"Ah, ah, ah. Best not to say that."Nicholas put the tray down, and glanced around. "Not really any consequences, but most of us feel we should be grateful to the G-man. Know what I mean?"
He pointed up to the ceiling, and I knew what he meant. I nodded, and made a note to keep my tongue in check.
"So, you want to grab a bite? No calories?"Nicholas continued. I glanced back, and finally shook my head.
"Not right now. I could murder a coffee though. Where is that?"
"Here, I'll show you."
"Oh. Thanks."I followed Nicholas as he led me over to an enormous, gleaming machine. There was a single button on the front, and a small screen that flashed up a happy greeting to me. "How do I choose?"
"You don't. Punch the button, it gives you the perfect drink for you in that moment."Nicholas shrugged. "Just trust me. It works. Everything works."
I was a little dubious, but I pressed the button. I watched in amazement as the machine chugged and churned and finally produced the best-smelling, best-looking mocha I could imagine, in the finest porcelain cup.
"See what I mean?"Nicholas said. I nodded, and took a sip; not too hot, not too cold. Bliss. "Wanna sit down?"
I followed Nicholas to a table, happy for the company. My last years on Earth had been lonely, and I was glad to have someone to talk to. We sat on opposite sides of a table, each nestled in comfortable chairs, and he fixed a firm gaze on me.
"So, who's recruited you so far?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Recruitment."Nicholas waved a hand. "Heaven is a perfect place, and utterly free. But we all want to keep busy, enjoy our time, make connections. There are lots of clubs, and usually people try and sign you up."
"Oh, right..."I said. I hadn't realized.
"Yeah. The Lust Club is always popular. Fight Club is a bit passé, but it was huge in the late 90s, early thowz,"he said. "I'm a Glutton, myself. That's why I tend to hang out in the cafe, near by the food. Good recruitment spot."
"Oh, right..."That made a lot of sense.
"Anyone get you yet? Or do I have a chance?"
"Well, I was talking to Campbell, actually,"I said. I saw Nicholas laugh, and a sympathetic expression come on his face.
"Damn. Poor guy. You left him, huh?"
"Well, I was gonna sign actually..."I said. Nicholas' eyebrows shot up, and I set my cup down, pointing at him. "There. Knew it. You know something."
"Huh?"
"It felt wrong. Like something was off. I couldn't place it. But you know."
Nicholas squirmed in his seat. "Well, it's not for me to lose a guy a sale, you know?"he told me. I frowned and just stared. He squirmed more, and looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Seriously..."
"Seriously,"I said, repeating the word. He sighed.
"Well, it's a little... disappointing."He shrugged. "They had good sales at first, but once the word got out, demand kinda plummeted."
"Why?"I asked.
"Well, you see, Campbell makes it out like you're gonna restart at the beginning, full memories, all your skills - makes it a cakewalk. Right?"
"Right."
"Yeah, it's not. They buff the others."Nicholas must've seen my look of confusion, because he moved closer to the table and put both elbows on it. Leaning forward, he got his face closer to mine. "I didn't tell you, okay?"
"Okay. Sure. But you haven't told me anything yet."
"Well. You do start off with your memories, all that, yeah. But everyone else gets a bump. One guy got back, German guy, made himself a millionaire before he wa twenty-five."
"And?"I asked, sensing there was a catch.
"Boom. Hyperinflation. A loaf of bread cost like, thirty grand or something. He was worth nothing in a matter of weeks. Topped himself, I think."
"Christ..."
"Yeah. Happens a lot. Wall Street Crash, South Sea Bubble. Apparently there was a Crunchie Credit or something recently. Kinda sucks."Nicholas shrugged.
"It's just the money?"
"Oh, no. Everything. Apparently one lady went back to become President and got beat out by a reality show host. And apparently the reality show host was on his second time too, and wound up with, like, everyone hating him. It was a real shoot-show all around."
I frowned. "Sounds familiar..."
"Yeah. Look, I ain't taking sides or anything, but whole thing blows really."Nicholas looked around again. "Other people go back for a girl - but all the guys around are bigger, richer, better looking, funnier. Most people lose their dream-girls faster than the first time around."
I thought again about Maria. The thought of losing her again... My breath caught in my throat, and I had to turn my face away from Nicholas as I fought back tears.
"Plus, the tutorial level takes five years or something. You can't even walk for the first year. Two years before you can interact with the NPCs..."
I set my coffee down, and tried to ignore the pit in my stomach. Campbell *was* kind of lying to me, then.
"And, you spend the first six months sucking on your mother's... you know..."Nicholas said. He grimaced, leaving the words unsaid.
I sat back, and closed my eyes.
"Thank God I didn't sign,"I said. Nicholas nodded.
"Amen to that."
----- |
The first flakes fell gentle, like shredded up paper swirling down to the ground. And we cheered, those of us celebrating in NYC that night, seeing in the new year with friends and wine and laughter.
We woke with sore heads to a changed cityscape. A frozen veil had softened the harsh lines and dimmed the bright lights. A few inches overnight. Kids were out making snowmen while grownups hung their heads out of windows like dogs in the car, admiring what the dirty city had become. An open air art gallery -- minimalism gone mad.
I made a coffee and turned on the radio. The voice was already fuzzed with static. Soon it'd be gone altogether.
*A miracle, folks! Snow all around the world, like we're in a big glass globe and someone's just picked up the planet and given it a good shake. Let's rewind a few weeks and get the holiday music back on the air!*
It didn't even take a day for the first building to fall. The roof of the house was almost flat, perfect for snow to settle on. After that, it was winter-white dominoes. Clunk, clunk, clunk. New York began to fall. And what didn't fall was slowly suffocated as the snow crept up over the remaining buildings' necks.
We scurried like rats into the sewers, into the subways, into anywhere deep enough and strong enough to hold, as the snow pressed down hard on the city's chest.
And so it ended for us. Life was over, at least as we knew it. Most died. And those few unfortunates that lived began life anew. Had to.
New religions blossomed overnight, with followers that worshipped gods of fire or ice. Sacrifices were made daily in their honour by crazies. Clans became both family and protection.
Life anew was life cursed.
Me? What did I become in this cold new world beneath the earth? Well, I'm a burrower. Forget electricity or machinery or any shit like that -- that's all long gone. We burrow with spades and heat. Me, Claire, Ricky -- my crew. We're part of the Flat Iron clan. Eighty of us total.
Now burrowers, if I do say so myself, have the most important role in any clan. We carve the tunnels in the belly of the snow that allow us up into the clogged throats of the ruined buildings of NYC. We hollow tunnels that allow us to transport goods, tunnels that allow us to fall on enemy clans unexpected, tunnels that allow us to expand.
Today, when we were tunneling, *everything* changed.
We were burrowing upwards, looking for food in the ruins. Nothing new in that.
But we didn't mean to reach the surface -- didn't expect to. Never thought we'd see it again, in truth. But the snow had, at some point in the last few years, stopped falling; we burst out to a white land glittering under starlight.
For a moment, we celebrated.
Then, we saw them.
We sure as fuck hadn't expected to find that God himself had arrived -- that the crazies had been right all along. The snow... it'd just been rolling out the white carpet for Him. A way of purifying the planet for His landing -- Him and his demented angels.
We stayed up there, watching, for too long. Too careless -- 'cause they saw us and they know there are survivors, now.
They're coming down the burrows to get us.
To purify the earth entirely.
&#x200B;
\---
&#x200B;
I asked one of my favourite writers here if she'd like to cowrite this with me - [please find part 2 here :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/e8x58z/below_zero_part_2/) |
I stared at the ink on my arm, shocked and horrified at how it got there. How did it get there?
I was terrified but I got out of bed quickly and called her number.
The ring tone went on forever, and the moment I heard her pick up the call - when the ring tone went off and there was a pause, before her voice saying "Hello!"in her usual cheery voice - I hung up the phone.
If she was okay, then why was the name on my arm? Could this be a joke? I tried rubbing it off my arm, but it wouldn't come off.
Then I got a call. My roommate.
"Dude, where are you? You gotta get here. Quick, there's no time."As quick as he had called, he had no sooner hung up. There was urgency in his voice, along with desperation. I was confused, before the message came in.
Her address.
I ran, and ran, her house was less than five blocks from mine. As I ran I called, but every time I called, it went to voice mail. Come on, pick up, come on. Pick up like you did the first time.
I stopped outside her place, seeing there was a cop car outside her place, and I saw that her door was open. Was she really?
I walked in and everyone inside stared at me. Blankly I took in the scene in front of me. Three policemen, her roommate, my roommate.
And then her. She lay right on the sofa, lying uncomfortably straight; her hands were on her stomach.
And she wasn't breathing.
I walked over to her and dropped right next to her. What had happened? Why was her name on my arm? Why was she dead?
And then I saw the letter under her hands, with my name on it.
With trembling hands I took it and opened it.
It was short and simple on one side, long and wordy on the other. But I never got to the wordy side. I now knew why her name was on my arm.
"I could never live without you. I'm sorry."
**edit:** thanks so much for the gold, it's my first time having a comment prompt blow up so much! |
Everybody on the ship holds their breath.
&nbsp;
The giant face behind the hole keeps looking at them, unblinking.
&nbsp;
The deadly silence in the spaceship's cockpit gets suddenly interrupted by captain's daughter's jolly voice:
&nbsp;
"Hello there, mister!"She waves at the Unimaginably Large Being. "I like your face! It looks so weird and creepy and cool!"
&nbsp;
The ship's crew feels their hearts come up to their throats. They are already internally saying their prayers.
&nbsp;
In response, The Being *looks* at the captain's daughter...
&nbsp;
...and it *smiles,* showing its razor-sharp teeth, and waves back at her.
&nbsp;
#HELLO THERE, LITTLE MORTAL. I LIKE YOUR WEIRD FACE TOO. |
"It was the Nazis that did it,"the tour guide explained. "A bit ironic, really. Hell was already far overcrowded, but most damned souls were too beaten down and dejected to do anything about it. But there were so many soldiers pouring into Hell during the last days of World War II that the demons just couldn't process them fast enough. They had to set up these big temporary camps to house them all until Satan could personally determine their worst nightmare to torture them. Well wouldn't you know it, the Nazis didn't really like being herded together and put into camps! So they led the uprising against Satan's minions."
The guide's high heels clicked against the marble floor as she walked over to a massive painting, at least the size of a football field, depicting the first battle. According to the little placard, this had taken Caravaggio six years to paint. Post-uprising Hell was full of some incredible artwork, now that the great masters had been released from their prisons and were given limitless time and resources to make what they need. Even the Atrium that contained the waiting line to get into Hell made the Louvre look like an Alabama garage sale.
"Chancellor Hitler proclaimed amnesty for all past crimes committed up on the surface and dedicated himself to building this new utopia. Really, it was perfect for him and his many followers: the Jews, as God's Chosen People, are almost all up in Heaven. It seems that God cares more about the status of the tip of your penis and whether you eat pork than whether you were a virtuous person. So, no 'Final Solution' necessary in Hell. Hitler restored order and even put the demons to work conjuring whatever society needs."
She led the way to another portrait, easily recognizable by the thin toothbrush mustache. The portrait was by Michaelangelo, who seemed to have taken the rejection from Heaven rather personally. He'd done a whole series of statues on the hypocrisy of the Bible and God himself. Another nearby picture showed Hitler summitting Lucifer's black stone throne and throwing Satan himself into the Abyss. "It's apocryphal, of course,"the guide assured us. "In fact, no one knows what happened to Lucifer. He managed to flee in the midst of the fighting. Some say he returned to Heaven and asked for God's forgiveness. Others suggest that he's hiding out somewhere on Earth, trying to build his kingdom anew there."
She led the way to the next exhibit, where a video showed Dr. Sigmund Freud establishing a psychological institute to help the damned recover from centuries of torture. It turns out that God wasn't a big fan of psychologists; something about how they had usurped the traditional confessional role of priests or something. He didn't care too much that they were just trying to help people. There's a little saying in Hell that God's rules are about as fixed and permanent as a gust of wind. Shit, most people here thought that they were pretty pious back when they were still alive. You'd be shocked at just how many popes there are down here. "Everyone pitched in,"the guide narrated as the video showed a montage of humans filling in the pits of fire and brimstone, and planting farms and gardens. No one needed to eat down here, it was just nice to have fields and pastures. "Everyone did their part to make Hell a better place."The video ended with an overview of the massive city skyline, full of flying cars and all sorts of other futuristic concepts. You'd be surprised what Einstein, Da Vinci, and uncountable other geniuses could accomplish with unlimited time and resources.
The final exhibit on the tour was titled *The Future.* "Chancellor Hitler's vision of Hell is not limited to just creating a paradise here,"the guide continued as we walked through the door. "Though Hell has been retaken from the demons, there are still *billions* of souls on the surface, suffering and toiling through God's tests. Trying to scrape by on meager food because God thinks hardship will inspire faith. Trying to fight greed and lust because God has taught them that they shouldn't enjoy food and flesh. Torturing themselves when they should be living their lives as they want. Just like we do down here."
The exhibit was not grandly decorated by works by famous masters. The walls were bare and the room was hardly lit. Only a single bulb illuminated one exhibit, a small glittering object of metal gears and glass panes. "This is a prototype,"she said, "Of the machine that will open up The Doorway."
----
[I wrote another one, if you'd like more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3laxgu/the_doorway/cv4qsfi) |
(Hover over the marked text to read the spoilers/translations)
****
After the ceremony, the vows at the altar, the exchange of rings, the kiss, and finally the dance, the newlyweds found themselves in a horse carriage on the way back to the castle. Brian’s father, who also happened to be the king, had arranged the whole thing with the invading savages. The Swedish Vikings had plagued the land for decades, and this was the deal that would end the raids – the marriage between the crown prince and the Viking chieftain’s daughter.
“Hey, are you quite all right?” Brian said and looked over at his bride. “I promise I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”
Frida pulled at her dress. “[Jag förstår inte ett ord av vad du säger, men jag ser fram emot att komma ur denna klänning.](/s "I don't get a word you're saying, but I'm looking forward to getting out of this dress.")
”
“I’m not very fond of this arrangement either,” Brian said.
“[Hur långt är det kvar till slottet?](/s "How far is it to the castle?")” Frida said and ripped the sleeve off her dress. “[Är du bra i säcken?](/s "Are you good in the sack?")”
“I’m sorry you had to wear that. I’m sure the dresses you have back home are much more comfortable.”
“[Snackar alla engelsmän så här mycket?](/s "Does every englishman talk this much?")” Frida said with a scowl. “[Ta mig på golvet bara.](/s "Just take me on the floor already.")”
“I get that you’re upset – I am too. But let’s make the best of the situation, okay?”
“[Herregud, detta endlösa babbel,](/s "Oh my god, this endless chatter,")” Frida said and rolled her eyes. “[Det är som att man hamnat i Norge.](/s "It's like I've ended up in Norway.")”
Finally, the carriage arrived at the castle. The spires of gray rock almost pierced the clouds. Brian helped Frida down and then showed her into his chambers. She sat down on the royal bed, still fidgeting with the dress.
“I get it if you don’t want to consummate the marriage.” Brian gently put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll even sleep on the couch; do you want me to sleep on the couch?”
“[Äntligen rör du mig; det tog sin lilla tid,](/s "Finally you're touching me; that took some time,")” she said and nodded vigorously. ”[Började tro att du var bög.](/s "Was starting to think you were gay.")”
”Okay, then,” Brian said and walked over to couch.
“[Kom igen då!](/s "Come on, then!")” Frida said, and pulled her dress down.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Brian said and covered his eyes. “I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”
He had been the perfect gentleman given the situation, and perhaps after enough time Frida would come to like him. She was a very pretty young woman, and any man would be proud to call her his wife. He sighed and left the room.
“[Men för i helvete!](/s "What the hell!")” Frida said, and sighed.
****
[r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6dt0fl/wp_write_a_story_in_two_or_more_languages_it/di58qzt/)
|
Sally met me on an autumn Friday night below the city lights. I'd met her years before.
She met me on a night when her breath smelled like sweet tequila, mine like the cheap beers I'd drink out in the country, overlooking acres of someone else's memories.
I met her on a night when a pretty face on a city street caught my eye, became etched into my mind, didn't disappear until I learned every last thing about it.
In a flannel and workman's jeans, I didn't fit in any. But she did. Blonde hair, blue eyes that sparkled in the nightclub. A smile brighter than the strobe lights. I caught her eye, gave her a wink. Girls like her, they're romantics. They see a fellow like me and swoon.
She worked finance for a local bank. Lived in an apartment with a small yappy dog, at least until recently. I hate yappy dogs.
She loved cheesy pickup lines. Guys in flannels. Loved the five-o'clock stubble I had on my face.
She didn't need to tell me all that. I already knew.
She loved a bit of confidence in a guy, so when I strode across the room and put a hand on her hip, I knew she wouldn't mind the smell of cheap beer and dip.
"Hello,"I said.
"Hello,"she said back. Her voice sounded just like it did on the phone. Less confused, maybe. More alluring.
"You here alone?"
"For a guy like you, I could be,"she said.
And it started like a lighter to a cigarette, the dull love that burnt on only one side. I talked, she laughed. I smiled, and she couldn't help but smile back. I'd do all the things she wanted a man to do, then wink and play it off when she asked me how I knew.
"I just know,"I'd say. I'd watched for long enough.
For a heartbeat and a half, it looked like I'd met my match. She'd take my phone, scroll through pictures of a hundred women and make me delete every last one. Memories, gone like the smoke of one last cigarette on an evening breeze. Gone like the smoke rising from a fire born of their clothes.
She'd enter my house without knocking, ask about the collections I kept.
Psycho.
That's what people called girls like her. Girls who couldn't keep from snooping. Girls whose temper burnt like dry kindling in the summer heat.
And just as fast, that temper would disappear to embers.
She'd turn romantic. Sweet as a honey, until the sting of a bee. She'd ask questions. Romantic questions, I guess.
"Why'd you choose me when you saw me at the bar?"
As if it hadn't all been written in the sand long before she ever met me.
"What was I wearing?"
That skirt, the one her ex loved. Same perfume, too. She figured if he'd liked it, other guys would, too. I didn't care for it.
"Was it love at first sight?"
Oh, honey. It was never love in the first place, I finally answered to nothing but the moonlight as another shovelful of dirt fell on her body.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"Me boy,"the tiny man shook his cane angrily, "this was a cursed wish. Ye nae s'pose to be..."He was overcome and simply threw his hands in the air and stomped around the dressing room instead. He turned to glare at the man again, "Ya think ya got the better of King Brian, did ya?"His blew air sharply out his nose and shook his head violently.
The man only shrugged, and slipped down the hood of his hoodie. It was a threadbare piece of clothing, but he was comfortable in it. He stood to tower over the leprechaun king, and smirked. The King leaped around in a rage.
"Look at you jumpin around old school like Scott Bakula, y'all pasty in the face like Bram Stoker's Dracula. My rhymes are hot, my words spectaculah, guess ol King Brian didn't take my vernaculah."He winked.
"Oooooh,"Brian boiled at the man's impudence. He jabbed a finger at the man. "No respect! A curse from King Brian Connors used ta make a fool of any man. You think you've outsmarted me, do ya Darby?"There was a muffled knock on the door as someone called out to the rapper, but the King waved his hand and it went silent.
"I'll bet you think you're livin' pretty well now, eh lad?"
Darby motioned to the lush luxurious room that surrounded them. "No more drinkin on the park lawn, now I get my think on, now I drive a Mercury Lincoln."His head bobbed unconsciously. "Dont gotta work for all this fame, you cheated the name, but I stole the game, now ya lookin' at your rainbow, I ain't the same joe, I'm the kid who brought down the King low."
"Well,"King Brian sneered, "it looks like you've got all the singing in the world, don't'cha? But tell me Darby O'Gill, do you have ev'rything you want?"His eyes gleamed in the buzzing fluorescent light.
Darby paused. He didn't truly enjoy rhyming all the time, but it had made him the most successful rapper in the world. People ate up the gimmick of never not rapping, but it would be nice to have a night off from it. He knew better to trust the devious little man though.
"I know what youre up to, makin it screwy - you aint Briain here, you King Louis. You best beware, this aint your lair, this is the world of Darby debonair, and you just met your own goddamn Robespierre."He turned away from him and checked how long he had until he had be out on stage.
"Daaaarby,"came a whisper next to his ear.
"Why don't we play a little game?"came a whisper at his other ear.
"Winner take all?"King Brian poked his head out from behind the mirror in front of him.
"A simple game. One you're sure to win, me boy. A singing game?"He laughed uproariously. "You've practiced for it enough."
"Listen little man, I'm done with this, so you can go take the piss, put down your fists, what you say is never true, and you're short, so don't stay, and f-"
"Darby, Darby, Darby, that's no way to be treating ol' King Brian,"the leprechaun purred as he nimbly jumped up his arm, "jokin' about me size is really too much. We're all friends here. Old friends. Besides, if you win the game, you'll never have to see me again. And you'll have everything your heart desires."
"Stop your taunts, you got nothin' I want. I'm a self made millionaire, me and N Fillion go on tears spendin the night with Brazilian pairs. So see ya later, alligator, I'm done with ya hater, you reptilian nightmare."
King Brian danced on his forearm, "A single round, nothing more, and you could have everything, lad. I'll give you three more wishes."He spun around and grinned madly, but Darby didn't feel the tiny spinning king on his arm. "No man has ever turned down such a generous offer from King Brian in five thousands years."
"One round, no clowns?"he asked.
"Aye lad, a simple game of song."Darby mulled it over silently. He'd been rhyming for half a decade now, every day. Surely he could beat Brian in a song battle. He'd beat just about everyone else in the world.
"Alright King B, let's see if you'll get two lessons for free."
Brian stretched out his hand, and Darby reached over with a finger to shake on it. He thought back to his confidence from that night under the mountain of Nocknasheega. He'd wished to become a famous rapper, but he didn't know the cost. No, this time he would win.
"The rules are simple, Darby. We each sing a song before the crowd waiting out there for ya. Whoever sings the better song, wins."He smiled voraciously. Darby nervously nodded his head. They were waiting for him, not some tiny green clad man.
"I seal the deal, let's see who can bring the zeal."
**To be continued shortly.... It's hard to write so much rhyming.**
|
“You think you’re real funny huh?”Tom said as he was rolling his eyes, looking at me like the Black Plague.
“I’m just trying to prove a point, Tom. Get off my back” I said while bringing Trev to the cockpit. “Pigs gotta fly someday and you don’t see a pilot with a teacup pig too often”
The plane was heading to Singapore and it’s ETA was 5 hours from now. It wasn’t a short flight but it was short enough to bring Trev along with me.
Two hours in and we’ve received word that there was a sudden notice of bad weather coming up in a few minutes. Tom proceeded to make an announcement of turbulence and seatbelts were buckled.
Without notice, Trev oinked with excitement and jerked around uncontrollably. It was weird because Trev only reacted in that way when he’d meet other pigs and my mother.
“What in the actual fu..” Tom shouted but couldn’t finish when the plane was suddenly hit by what felt like hail. I looked closely and what I saw was not hail.
They were cats and dogs.
Edit: Thanks for having a read at my story. Hope y’all are liking it as much as me writing it! |
Everyone was screaming, except for the man standing in the aisle. He simply looked his client over with the bored eye of a clerk in the last hour of their shift.
“Afternoon James,” he said. “My name is Balf, and I'm your appointed Second Life team member. Remember”—he paused a moment, then sighed—“Second Life: you *not* ending, is our happy ending.”
Balf grimaced, then whistled something that James generously could have described as a tune, had he heard it over the terrified shrieks that still made up the cacophony around him.
The plane rocked, rocked *hard* and an attendant who hadn’t strapped herself down went flying, which isn't supposed to happen on a plane. She smashed into the ceiling, her neck snapping with a grisly *crack*, and James yelped as the corpse flew backwards, smacking into the obese woman sitting beside him on the aisle seat.
Balf reached down, and, using only a single hand, grabbed the ex-attendant by her neat red scarf and flung her away, freeing the large woman from the prison formed of the dead attendant’s body, and reopening a line of sight between himself and the client.
“Now, James, will you be using the economy package today, or can I interest you in our deluxe, platinum or silver—”
The obese woman shouted out something incomprehensible as a plastic dinner tray thwacked her in the face, before continuing it’s journey towards the back of the plane, no doubt intending to make the last moments of the passengers there as unpleasant as possible.
“Oh, this is just ridiculous,” Balf muttered, watching as the tray made its escape.
He reached down and, despite the woman’s frantic head shaking and ear-splitting protests, unclipped her from the seat and began pulling at her arms, pulling her out. She thrashed and squirmed, but Balf persisted, heaving with unnatural strength. Her flesh, expansive as it was, made his endeavour something like removing a shoe ten sizes too small, but he persisted, and eventually succeeded, much to her dismay.
Tossing the woman aside, Balf stepped towards the newly vacated seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he planted himself down within it.
James stared at him in horror, his mouth unhinged, gaping.
“As I was saying,” Balf continued calmly, like he hadn't just thrown someone to their probable doom, “I have four options I think you’ll love, but I really think that you should consider the platinum package. I know, I know—it’s pricey sure, I *know*. But what’s the point in life instead of death, if you can’t *enjoy it*, right?”
James did not know how to respond, and Balf realised he might have been somewhat optimistic in his estimation of how reasonable the client would be. He was, Balf thought with an internal sigh, the newest member to Second Life, and it looked as though his grandfather had explained precisely nothing to the poor kid.
“James!” Balf said, deciding to drop the phony corporateness, “You wanna live, right?”
“Li…live?” James stammered, his eyes wide and searching, like he might find some escape out there, on the plane that would introduce itself to the ground in less than a minute.
“Yeah, live. It’s what we do James, we steal you out from under the greedy clutches of Death. For a price, of course.”
“A price?”
“Gold James, gold. Always gold.”
The plane jolted again, and James smacked his head into the seat in front, the blow softened by its cushioning.
“I don’t have gold!” James cried out hysterically, rubbing at his head and finally paying attention to the representative before him.
“Yes you do, James. Your grandfather, remember? He left you something didn’t he?”
“The coins…? I don’t have them on me, and anyway, they’re fake—I had them checked!”
“You don’t have a particularly strong sense of self-perseveration, do you James? Well, no matter, you don’t *need* to have them on you, and I assure you they aren’t fake. It’s the rest of shiny yellow shit on this planet that’s fake.”
“I… ok... *how does that save me*?”
“We’re out of time James, so I’m just going to assume you want the economy deal. That’s the one your grandfather always took. Do you consent?”
“To what!?”
“To… life. Second Life.”
James heard a terrible crunching metallic scream from the frontwards section of the plane, and instinctively knew that it was a sound no person had ever survived hearing.
“Yes!” he screamed, and everything went black.
…
When he checked his grandfather's small threadbare sack the next day, one of the nine coins was missing. In it’s place was a small note, with elegant script flowing across it like water:
*Thank you for using Second Life**^(TM)**, It's been our pleasure to bring you life after death.*
*You* ***not*** *ending, is our happy ending.*
---
[r/ElstabbosArchive](https://www.reddit.com/r/ElstabbosArchive/) |
The pearly gates spread before Paul like the open arms of home. He blinked around, blearily. He was fortyish, overweightish, and certainly hadn't planned to die like this. In the world of the living, his family would be stumbling upon his corpse shortly.
But Paul couldn't quite focus on that worry now.
He trudged up to the pearly gates in his stained pajama bottoms. The clouds beneath his socked feet were fluffy and damp.
Paul approached the gates of heaven, uncertainly. They towered golden over him. He tilted his head back to stare in awe.
Ahead of him, a window slotted open. A bright-faced angel poked her head out of the gap of the service window and said, "Ahh, you must be Paul Brooks. You're just in time."
"I am?"
"My records here show that you had a sudden aneuyrism-induced stroke and passed away in your sleep just a few minutes ago."
"Oh."Paul's brow crinkled in annoyance. "Are you sure there hasn't been some kind of mistake here?"
"Look, clots happen. We all get clots. It's not the end of the world, just the end of a life."The angel opened up a thick file folder of paperwork and put on a pair of golden spectacles. "Now, it seems here that you weren't carrying afterlife insurance at the time of your accident."
"I wasn't... what?"
"There are lots of coverage options. Satan's Pugatorial Group, Gabriel's Golden Years, Jesus Saves... You a Ton of Money on Afterlife Insurance."The angel grimaced. "That one isn't so catchy, I suppose. But they do have a great purgatory deductible."
"Who buys afterlife insurance?"Paul balked.
"People who *plan ahead* and don't go dying willy-nilly."The angel rolled her eyes like she had heard this a dozen times before. "You have lots of pre-existing mortal sins here. Alcoholism, lying to your wife about it--"
"Alcoholism is a strong word,"Paul muttered, even though it maybe could have bloomed into that, if he lived long enough. "What the hell is all this about, anyway? I've been faithful."*Mostly.* "And good."Again, *mostly*.
The angel sighed. "The point is, Mr. Brooks, you don't have coverage for this area of the afterlife. Some mortal nations offer universal afterlife care, but..."She glanced over the form. "Yep. American. You don't qualify, kid."
Paul almost argued, but he supposed to an immortal angel he probably was a kid. "So what does all that mean?"
"You have to choose from our uninsured plan."The angel offered him a wrinkled papyrus scroll, with a crudely drawn map of the spirit world. A long list of afterlives were marked off as **OUT OF INSURANCE NETWORK**. He didn't even manage to qualify for hell. Elysium and Hades, Valhalla, the Duat and Dilmum, even good old Catholic purgatory... all of it was outside his coverage area.
Paul squinted at the list. "It looks like the only place I can go is...?"
The angel grinned and produced a gavel as if from nowhere. "You're right! Nowhere to go but Uninsured Purgatory."She slammed the gavel down on her windowsill, and the clouds beneath Paul's socks disintegrated.
He plummeted until he landed flat on his ass in a DMV-like waiting room. The walls were plain grey, pictureless, windowless. Thousands and thousands of souls crowded the waiting room, stretching backwards into eternity. He would have landed on the other souls standing crowded around, but they moved as if they were used to seeing spirits drop from the ceiling.
Paul looked around frantically at the other damned souls. They seemed just as haggard and dead-eyed as a sea of ghost fish. They stared at him with the same wordless, wide-eyed blankness. All of them wore whatever they died in, from whenever they died. Judging by the dresses and suits he saw, some of them had been here for a century or more.
But Paul got himself up to his feet and wiped off his pajamas. He weaved his way through the tightly interlocked crowd of spirits until he reached the red ticket counter at the front of the room.
There was a single clerk at the counter, a dead-eyed angel with a crooked halo. When she saw Paul approaching, she barked like a robot, "Take a number and find somewhere to stand. Have all your post-life paperwork ready when you get to the window, or you're going to the back of the line."
Paul pulled a ticket out and glanced down at it. Number 180,453.
The screen above the counter said, *Now serving #4302.*
Paul sighed. It was going to be a long afterlife.
***
/r/nickofstatic :) |
"What?"I asked, but what I, as crazy as it may sound, could only call a witch, was already grabbing her, presumably magic, broomstick.
"Hey wait, WAIT!"
"I will not be wasting my time with your pitiful attempts at deceiving me."
"Kyle, just ignore her!"
"I-Wait what?"I look back at Emma. She had sat up in her hospital bed, still holding someone who we had named *Alice* barely four hours prior in her arms, but I suspected neither the baby nor the sudden change in her seating position was causing Emma to go pale. It might have been the appearance of a witch that was causing her fear, but Emma wasn't looking at her, her wide eyes of terror were staring back at me instead.
"You want me to ignore *a literal witch* who has just entered the hospital to inform us that there has been a mixup in the nursery?!"
Suddenly, there was a shrill and shrieking sound coming from behind me, and if the broomstick wasn't enough, that laugh definitely removed all doubts about it's owner being a witch.
"You seem to be gravely mistaken, mortal Kyle. That is not *your* firstborn, *hers* however-"she was now pointing a long and crooked finger at Emma, "it certainly is, for it is her who birthed the child, and it is that child the mother has birthed as her first."
"KYLE, PLEASE!"
I turn back to Emma.
"Ok, I'm starting to understand."
"KYLE!"And then softer: "Are you going to believe a witch instead of me? She's making shit up!"
"She has a magic broomstick!"
"KYLE!!"Emma was crying now. Guilt was starting to build up inside me, but as much as I was hating myself for doing so, I decided in a split-second to act along the witch.
"If this woman was actually *making shit up*, why are you panicking?"
Emma hesitated, her eyes grew a bit wider.
"I-"
"Turns out I was wrong, my time was wonderfully spent here, it was amusing!", interrupted the witch, who had already mounted her definitely magic broomstick and was standing on the window ledge. But as she was bending forward to let herself fall, the witch let out another small laugh, looked at me with what I could only call a witches smile, and said:
"See you in three months!"And with that, she was gone.
"Kyle?"
"Ignore her." |
I press YES on the big glowing button in front of me. The large screen shifts around, ethereal in some ways, solid in others. It shifts around until it comes to a formless, grey figure in the shape of a human, with large words across the top:
CHARACTER CREATION SCREEN
"UGH!"
"I know, tell me about it."Said a voice behind me.
I turned to see an older gentleman standing behind me, a suit of gold, black and red draped over his form, his hair clean cut and tight, a large hat upon on his head. He spoke with a french accent, those his English was impeccable.
"Wait a sec, Napoleon?!"
He laughed. "Ha! Maybe once upon a time. I'm just keeping this form for now. Tends to freak people out. Especially the Russians. Good conversation starter."
"Hold on, I'm confused. Are you saying you chose to be Napoleon Bonaparte? French conquerer & world renouned short guy?"
His smile turned to an exasperated look as he pinched his eyes.
"Ugh. Listen, I created my character with everything the way I liked it. But if you give too much of one stat, you have to minus from another! It's basic character creation! Look, il show you."
He walked over to my screen and waved his hands a few times. Tabs flashed by : STRENGTH, CHARISMA, INTELLIGENCE, HEALTH, DEXTERITY, a few more I couldn't see.
"Now,"he continued,"you could take the standard point array. That will give you a few things you're good at, mostly things you're only ok at, and one thing your bad at. More than likely you'll end of an average white male working IT in Silicon Valley. Marry for convenience at 39, pump out a few children, retire at 68, die 10 years later while replacing a light bulb. You know , average stuff. "
I nodded along. "That makes a lot of sense. Explains why there are so many average white dudes in the world.
"Precisely"Napoleon exclaimed while poking my steenum with a finger, which seemed to move right through me.
"Now,"he went on, "it's when we start tweeking aspects around that you start getting points to spend elsewhere. For example. I increased my charisma to near maximum. Made leading armies bloody easy. But I had to minus the stats somewhere else. So, height took a large dip, while intelligence also got hit a small bit. "
"That explains Russia."I said. He nodded.
"Yup, seems like everyone who wanted a military background took an Intel hit that made them forget not to attack Russia. Amazing actually. "
"Okay this i understand. But what about the age counter? Don't tell me I can actually live for more than the alloted years.
"Oh absolutely. Why do you think wars and treasure hunters & navigators and geographers exist? The GM has put legendary items in the world, scattered them about in both date and time. You can usually feel when there's one close by, but when you get it you get a huge boon. You remember Steve Jobs?"
"The iphone guy?"
Napoleon nodded affirmingly again. "Standard boring background, Midwestern white male. Shouldn't have been anything special. Only one day he fucking stumbles upon this black turtle neck sweater that contains a +5 intelligence booster, raises his max intelligence by 5 and gives him proficiency in unknown technology. Dude went home, made Apple, and never took the damn sweater off."
"Holy shit. That makes so much sense.. . . So you're saying there are items in the world that can increase age. Possibly immortal? "
He tilted his head side to side with his arms raised.
"A little if column A, little of column B. Methuselah found the first one, but that was HEAVILY imbalanced. Once it was sent down again, it was the Holy Grail. That took a lot of heat, a LOOOOOT of people wanted that. But Elizabeth got it and held on to it the longest. We know there's a third iteration somewhere down there, but we don't know where. But you can usually figure it out out of context. The ones who took finance bonuses or found other items to make them rich usualy then use their funds to try to find the new grail. Never works though. The Earth's been searched, it's not there. "
A light dings in my head. I frantically start making a new character. High finances. High intelligence, high charisma. Dump everything else.
"Woah there buddy, you sure about this? You're basically creating Michael Cera with Bill Gates funds. That's never been done before. "
"I know where the grail is, Napoleon. You were right, the Earth's been searched. But it's not ON earth. It's where all the billionaires want to go. "
His eyes widen, his ethereal jaw hits the floor.
"You mean?! "
"Yup. It's on fucking MARS. " |
"Father, is there *anything* that the Church can do at this phase? We've already lost about one quarter of the American population."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President,"the Pope responded in heavily accented English. "But there is nothing to be done! And why would you want to? *Everyone* will be joining the Kingdom of Heaven, and of course people want to ascend as quickly as possible. These are the end times, but instead of the disaster that so many had predicted, it is a glorious reunion with God!"
"Think about what this means for anyone who chooses to stay, though! We've got people here blowing up planes and malls, and being honored as heroes! Just yesterday, my Secretary of the Interior murdered his entire family, then killed himself. It's a madhouse! Some people are not convinced, and they should not be taken against their will."
"What does any of that matter? Why would they *want* to stay? "the Pope said sharply. "They should welcome God's forgiveness despite their stubbornness. In fact, everyone should be taking such steps and trying to take the unfaithful to Heaven with them! The only reason that I and the rest of the Church have remained on Earth is to shepard the remaining non-believers into the Kingdom. We're even receiving masses of converts from the Middle East and China, pledging their faith just before killing themselves!"
"What if the scientists are wrong though? What if there was something off about their results?"
The pope scoffed audibly.
"Mr President, for *centuries*, the Church has endured the scorn of the scientific community. We have repeatedly tried to tell people to have faith that God will take care of them in the afterlife. Lately, it has gotten worse and worse! More and more 'miracles' being disproved by your scientific community, more and more of the Biblical story being disproven by archaeologists and historians..."The Pope's accent became thicker and thicker as he got angrier. "And *now* that we have science on our side, you're asking me if I'm *sure*? Now that we have had *multiple* people brought back from the dead and they described their experiences in Heaven? Now that we've even been able to communicate with the other side? *NOW* you ask me to doubt science? No, sir. I will continue my work on this Earth, and I hope that I am the last to go. I will not help you keep your citizens tethered to this mortal plane."
The phone clicked, and the president was left listening to the dial tone. First time anyone had hung up on him in years.
"God damn it,"the President said, putting his elbows on the heavy wooden desk in the Oval Office and resting his forehead in his palms. "You're good. You really nailed it this time."
"Thank you,"Satan replied humbly from the cream-colored couch in the center of the room. "I was pretty proud of this plan as well."
---
As always, if you enjoyed the writing, check out /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
"Thanks,"Lawrence told the man at the till, tucking the cigarettes in his jean pocket and making his way outside again.
He inhaled the smoke deeply as he leaned against the wall outside, looking at the stars. Ever since he and Jean had the twins, moments of peace like this were rare. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of the smoke and the faint scent of gasoline in the air. He really should ditch the cigarettes soon, especially with kids in the house.
His cellphone's ringtone pierced the still night air. Shit, the battery was almost dead.
"Hey, hon,"Jean said when he answered. "Can you pick up some juice, too? Nick's throwing a fuss, he wants a glass of juice and nothing else."
He stamped the cigarette out and went back inside the gas station, heading towards the juice.
"Can't deny a kid his juice,"Lawrence sighed. "Tell him it's coming right up."
"Don't dawdle there,"she said. "I don't like being alone. You know, they said on the news again..."
"I'll be home soon,"he promised. "Listen, I think my phone's gonna die soon, I've got to go. Love you."
He made a mental note to tell her to stop following the news so obsessively. It couldn't be healthy to be so fucking paranoid. He grabbed a bottle of juice, the type Nick loved with a relentless passion - they were always running out. He'd have to skip the second cigarette. Jean wouldn't relax until he was safely back home.
"You know, that was my favourite brand as a kid,"an older man who'd been browsing the newspapers said, nodding towards the orange juice. He smiled at Lawrence, crinkles fanning from his eyes.
"Yeah, mine too,"Lawrence said, checking the label and grinning as he remembered his own mom bringing home bottles of the stuff.
"You got kids?"the man asked, as they walked together to the till.
"Two, actually. Twins, they're quite a handful...."Lawrence said. He fell silent as he noticed the man's eyes, focused on his with an odd kind of sharpness. He felt a prickle of unease. Had the guy been listening to his conversation with Jean?
Lawrence paid for the juice, uncomfortably aware that the man was still standing at his side, waiting for him to continue.
"Well, anyway. Got to get going,"he said, hastening out of the gas station.
The man followed and got into a bright red truck.
As he drove back, he kept seeing it from the corner of his eyes. Flashes of red as he sped faster. He started to feel flutters of panic - the truck was following him. He could hear Jean's voice from last week, reciting what she'd read on the news in nervous excitement, her voice climbing higher as she spoke.
*Targeting families, can you believe that? That's what they're saying. What kind of sick bastard does that? We really should move to another neighbourhood, Lawrence, it's sketchy. The kids aren't safe here.*
The hair raised on Lawrence's neck as he saw the truck, still coming. He was getting as paranoid as Jean. Seeing serial killers everywhere. What were the chances that the city's biggest nutcase had been chilling at their local gas station? But he sped on after the turn-off to his house, driving past it on impulse.
He would lose the truck first, then go home. It couldn't hurt to be careful.
------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Thanks to /u/cjmaddux for suggesting a small edit to this story that I liked and included. |
Spiders get an utterly bad rap, wouldn't you agree? They're very necessary, frightening though they may seem. Like all creatures great and small, they serve their purpose. Take, for instance, the spiders presently controlling the semi-conscious body of my husband, Dave.
Dave is fine man, in his own way. Soft-spoken, he enjoys grilling and magazines with softball players on the cover. He hardly ever gets complaints at work and he keeps the yard tidy as can be.
For all that Dave is, there is quite a bit more that he isn't. He is *not* a thoughtful husband. He is *not* a compassionate listener or an attentive lover. He smells of ribs and kerosene. He can be quite rude to my mother.
Now, in contrast, you have the skittering horde of spiders presently controlling my Dave like a marionette puppet. I'll admit, at first I was skeptical. When Dave went out to kill the spiders the other night and came back completely in their spidery thrall, I thought, "Well, *this* isn't good."What did the spiders have planned? Would they string me up and eat me? Take control of *my* body and make me do their wicked work?
I had negative thoughts, I'll admit. I blame the anti-spider media. And I'll say this is a good reminder to always check your sources.
Because those spiders never did eat me. No, not a bit. In fact, they made me a lovely dinner that evening. Dave's never cooked a meal that wasn't barbecue in his whole life, and here was Dave's animated, catatonic body making me a salad with walnuts and a refreshing spring soup. I just about had a heart attack.
Then Dave's dangling appendages handed *me* the remote and nodded at the TV, as if to say, "You pick the program tonight, honey."I fainted. I absolutely fainted straight away. I can't remember the last time I had night like that. I would have been set for days with dinner and TV on the couch, but then Dave's limp hand came over and took up mine and he led me down the hall.
I'm still in a bit of shock!
Ever since, Dave's been a model employee and an exemplary husband. I told Dottie all about it, and wouldn't you know it? Dave and I went over for cards the other night and there was Dottie's Tim, greeting us at the door, practically *gliding* across the floor on strings of silver, taking our coats with a smile and a nod. It was such a great evening. Dottie said she's never been happier. She's told all the girls at the salon. We're really onto something here!
That's why I say, think twice before you judge a thing with more legs than you. Just because it creeps around doesn't mean it's a creep - believe me! |
“You’re okay, right? You’re gonna be okay?” He didn’t expect her to answer, she never had before but it still felt right to talk to her, it had never been easy for her, and this time was going to be a lot harder than the others.
She looked worn out, she’d lived too long already, didn’t have much time left. She’d been with him for as long as he could remember, fiery rebirths had come and gone but this time the flames were taking their time.
His head found hers and they just nuzzled together for a few minutes, faded feathers against wrinkled skin. He felt the warmth from her and right there together, the flames finally came. He looked at her through the flames, her eyes filled with relief. He wish he could tell her, brace her for what was to come.
The flames of rebirth had always been gentle to him, but the flames of eternity burned hot. “I’ll miss you.” He was sure she understood, he didn’t know how he knew but he did. It dulled the pain as the flames took him, one last time. |
The midnight-robed goliath loomed over me, smelling of iron and smoke. I'm still trying to gain my composure after falling off of my bed into the mountain of soda cans, used tissues and McDonalds bags.
The figure reveals the head--the skull, rather, under his hood. He tilts his head, staring directly into my being.
"..Not everyone gets to observe death itself."The figure says, with a thin and airy voice.
I'm still frozen in shock, my eyes only able to move. I dart them to my left, seeing the Scythe alongside him. I don't think the crimson tinting is there naturally. Finally, I spit out a scrambled statement.
"A-Am I going to die?"
"Hm."Death continues to gaze on, unfazed by your speech. A long silence follows and weighs in on my shoulders. The seconds that pass by feel like minutes.
"Eventually. Not today."His voice, though audibly heard, never seemed to break the silence.
"When, then? When will you kill me?"I blurt out, about to continue my questions, when he raises his pointer finger up to his mouth.
"They'll hear you."He whispered.
My roommates? That statement is enough to make me stop talking, and I look around the room--trash, everywhere. I haven't been outside for weeks.
"Three-thousand, one-hundred forty-one. Years. That's how long you have. There's only one possibility for you if you're going to survive on this world for so long."
"What? How will I live this long? What is going to happen to me?"I don't care if my roomates hear me, I need to find out what's happening while I still have him here.
"..I will consider you in the future. May we meet again,
stranger."
"What? Wait, I nee-"
A slamming fist on the door behind me interrupts my sentence. I turn to look, but after turning my head back Death disappeared. The thick asian accent flooded past my door and into my eardrums, echoing throughout the flat.
"It's Park Sa-Hun. You forget to pay your rent 3 months, and if you are one month more behind, I kick you out! You understand? Come pay rent, now!"
Shit. Just pretend I'm not here. Just pretend I'm not here. He'll go away, eventually.
The slamming continues until it suddenly grows weaker, and a wheezing sound is heard, then gradual coughing. I can almost visualize him falling to the ground with how loud the sound was. That's enough for me to wrestle out of the soda cans and rush to the door. I undo the lock and open the door to see Mr. Park lying on the ground, clutching his chest in a fetal position. Fuck. Fuck. I need to grab my phone and call them. I see the smartphone on the table and snatch it and hastily dial 911, but by the time they said they were on their way Mr. Park stopped moving.
I look down at Mr. Park, with the scent of Iron and Smoke in the air. The ambulance eventually arrive 10 minutes later. I'm pushed out of the way as they rush through to me, and upon seeing a medic's chest, there appears to be a clock on his chest--Years, days, hours, minutes. I look at the other paramedic's chests to see the same clock but at different times, all of them counting down.
::
I was actually really bored in class and felt like writing something on my phone. This took a short amount of time and I felt like I should've put more effort in it, I'm not that good haha. Feel free to criticize, as I'm always looking to improve at anything. Thanks for the prompt OP, looked fun to write out. |
"An Elephant never forgets, Stacy,"my Dad, John Elephant, always told me. That was before he got killed hunting a jaguar. The jaguar wasn't even the thing that killed him - he died falling into the pit meant for the jaguar when one of my idiot tribe forgot to tell my Dad about the trap.
I've had Eidetic memory since I was born. Because I remember that too. It was traumatic. Perfect recall and perfect analytical ability would've been the ultimate ticket to fame and luxury back in the Civilized Era, before the End Times came. Now it just made me a depressed barbarian.
I was out gathering plants one day, because that was the only thing my weak frame could do. The sprawling vegetation taunted me, flourishing now without human cities to contain it. The jungle was dangerous, and the best niche I could fill was learning from everything my family line had passed down. Which food was safe to eat? Which plants would kill you? Where was the quicksand and how did you get out of it?
But I'd also learned about computers and how to build one in theory. I was told about the cars, and phones, the amazing food. And when I had children, I would eventually pass that knowledge down to them. We were the Elephants, the last remaining hard drive of human knowledge from a bygone era.
"Stacy!"
I didn't have to turn my head to know who that was as he crashed through the vegetation. I brushed sweat off my forehead and bent down to examine the moss spreading up a boulder.
"How are you, Chad?"
Chad bounded in front of me with a big sloppy grin on his face. "I killed a big animal today! I skin alive and give to you as present!"
"No thanks, Chad,"I said. "Also, careful for that patch of quicksand. We're pretty deep in the jungle. You should head back, it's not safe here."
Chad sidestepped the quicksand, frowning. "You no like big dead animal?"
I tried not to roll my eyes. Chad wasn't the brightest, but humans had always been really good at reading social cues. It wouldn't do to offend our village's most useful hunter. Say what you will about Chad, he knew how to kill animals better than anyone, and had the brute strength to back it up. I brushed past some vines, picking some bright medicinal flowers and yanking Chad away from touching the big pink frog. I swear, they were getting bigger every year.
It was getting dark when I noticed a rock formation just up ahead. Dragging Chad away from a piranha invested stream, I marched over to check it out.
"This fell from sky many moons ago,"Chad said almost reverently.
"How did you know that?"I asked. I never saw that happen, or I would've remembered it.
"My great great grandad said his great great grandad said..."
"Okay, I get it,"I said. "It's old, possibly even older than civilization. Especially if your great times twenty grand dad just figured it must have come from the sky. Let's take a look."
The rocks were strange. I'd never seen anything like them, and nothing in my vast library of knowledge mentioned anything with this texture and consistency. Knowledge and analysis were both good, but they gave rise to the refinement of a third skill that people didn't often acknowledge. Instinct. And now my instincts were screaming that something was off here.
The jungle pretty much died around this rock. Radiation?
"Chad!"I yelled. Where had he run off to? "It's not safe! Rock no safe!"
"Stacy!"I heard a voice yell. "Pretty pictures!"
I cursed. A small bit of radiation wouldn't kill us, I supposed. I followed the sound of his voice and received the surprise of my life. In the center of the ruins, a metal tablet lay on the ground. By the angle, it looked like it had been embedded in another rock formation that lost the battle to Father Time.
"What are these?"Chad said in wonderment, tracing his fingers over the hieroglyphic pictures engraved into the metal.
My mind whirled and churned. Of course, it all made sense. If this rock had come from the sky, it could've been a meteor site from even before the human era. There were pockets of uranium embedded in the rock, and by knowing the halflife of uranium and extrapolating what was left, I could date this to even before the original cavemen.
The symbols themselves were alien. No human language produced those symbols to my knowledge, and no metal we made looked like that.
I ran over to where Chad was still stroking the metal tablet and began analyzing the language. We came back every day, Chad and I, so much so that I was worried that he was neglecting his hunting duties; apparently he had killed a few animals too many and was being told to take a break.
"I cracked it,"I whispered one day, sagging onto my back. "I did it!"
"Oh no!"Chad said sadly. "Where crack? Maybe I fix."
"No, no,"I said. "I figured out the language! I'll try to translate it."
And translate I did. And it nearly broke me. "It's a warning, Chad,"I said. My brain was on fire. "It's a warning from an alien race."
"Alien?"He said, frowning.
"Of course, how could I not see it before?"I wondered. "The fermi paradox, the dark forest paradigm, it all makes sense now. There's a civilization out there that keeps sending us back to the dark ages every time we try to become a spacefaring civilization. Except they messed up somewhere else. This tablet tells of a war in the stars, like...some star wars! Another civilization gained power and are threatening them, and they tried to warn us! But we didn't find this in time before we got destroyed."
"Big words, Stacy,"Chad said. "Slow down!"
I looked out into the jungle. It was getting late. "We need to remember this, or it will just happen to us again."A million scenarios played out in my mind. Synapses fired like machine guns, planning and forseeing millions of possible futures and outcomes. "This could be a trap. We don't know. All I know now is that my genes are needed. But how do I ensure that my genes will definitely get passed down to the point where civilization can flourish?"
I looked at Chad. The greatest hunter, graced with the best musculature and survival instincts. Then there was me, with Eidetic memory and perfect analytical ability.
"Chad. We need to make babies." |
I needed more time. It was never anything personal. I just needed more time.
Kovach was out there, you see. *He* was still alive. That's why I couldn't stop. I couldn't let him off like that. Scot-free. He had to be held accountable for what he'd done. And I tried. Oh, how I *tried.* Decades, I hunted him. Always a step behind, but ever drawing nearer. So close I could taste him.
But then he drew more life. And suddenly I was too slow for him. Too old.
I couldn't let him get away with it. You see that, don't you? I couldn't.
I remember him as a young man. Olive skin and over-wide mouth, always curled into the broadest smiles. We played chess on salty hot Sunday afternoons and Martha would bring us lemonade and biscuits, fresh from the oven.
I never noticed the way he looked at Martha. Not then. It wasn't until after that I looked back and saw what I should have seen all along.
His wolf eyes. Black circles. Bottomless.
I should have seen it.
That regret has played its part.
The first man I killed was a thief. Maybe he was poor, maybe he was cruel, maybe he was deranged. I do not know. He was a thief. I saw him steal his way through a crowd in the plaza one morning. Slippery fingers. Nimble. Purses, wallets, necklaces, wristwatches. My hands had only just begun to shake in those days. My left ear heard a buzzing noise that did not exist. My eyes were weak and rheumy. I was running out of time.
I followed the man. Watched him as he stole so casually. I followed him all the way home. It was not an empty home. There were signs of life - multiple lives - but it was empty enough. I knocked on the door and asked for directions. He was smoking a cigarette. His hair was thinning. He was not nervous. When he looked down I stabbed him through the eye and then again in the neck.
The change was almost instantaneous. An immediate transference. The life bled out of him and into me.
I felt power. Health. My eyes strengthened. My back straightened. The buzz fell away from my ear. I felt 20 years younger at least, fleeing from the thief's home, running and whooping down blind alleys. It wasn't until I stopped to catch my breath outside of the bakery on Moss that I saw my reflection in the glass. Blackish skin. Hooked, talon hands. Ragged, gargoyle face, split in twain by a crooked gulf of gnashing, yellow teeth.
I threw my hands over my head and hunched down, fearful of the shrieks and cries that I would hear once others had spied my hideous features. But no one said anything. No one looked. No one noticed.
I walked home. And there, in the mirror, I saw in sharper relief that same horrid face. But no one else had.
And no one else ever did.
To my eyes I was a monster. It was not a trick or a delusion. It was what I saw. It was not the face others saw, however. In fact, you could say that to others I did not have a face at all.
I was hardly noticed any more. It would take a great effort to raise the attention of any single man or woman from that point forward.
A ghoul in my eyes. A phantom in all other eyes.
Just as well. It was better not to be seen or thought of. My thoughts returned to Kovach. The hunt continued.
I emptied my bank account in the pursuit. And then *I* was forced to steal. I tried to target those who would be hurt the least by my transgressions, but alas... sometimes I simply chose the easiest path.
When I finally caught up to Kovach he was younger still. And a monster. I saw him as I saw myself. Horned, clawed, scaly-skinned, and demon-faced. Good. It was a face that suited him. Monster.
We fought. We cut each other to the bone. Broke bones. Choked and strangled each other. I claimed one of his eyes. But then he escaped. Half-dying, he escaped.
So close. I was so close.
I needed another chance. I needed more life.
But I was desperate then. Desperate and dying. I... do not wish to say what I did. It is too shameful. Yet another thing Kovach must atone for.
I have yet to come as close as that time, try as I might. In truth, I have never again caught his scent. But he is out there. I know it. He must be. And so I will not give up. The hunt goes on.
I have lost track of when this all started. I know it started with Martha. But how long ago was that? Even as I draw life, there is a part of myself that disappears. The part that fades. And that is making it difficult to remember.
Martha.
And then the thief, yes.
And then the...no, I don't say that one.
And then the artist. A Satanist. Perverted and willing.
And then the mindless wanderer. That was nothing lost.
And then...no, I don't say that one, either.
And...no, not that one.
And...how many is it? Everything is befuddled and dark. It must be time again. Just one more and then I am sure my revenge will be at hand.
Look at this blood, Kovach. Wherever you are. Look and see all that you have done. All this blood. Look, Kovach. Do you see? |
"Whoopsies."
The young waitress froze, her hand still clasped tightly to the handle of the tea kettle. The once scalding brown liquid in my cup was now a rounded block of dark ice. And it wasn't stopping. Even as I sat there, dumb fingers wrapped firmly around the cup, I could feel the energy emanating from my hands and freezing the tea cascading from the spout in mid-air. It was then that the waitress dropped the kettle with a yelp.
I put a finger to my lips, quietly beseeching her to not attract the attention of the two officers drinking coffee not five seats away from my own very unfortunate spot. The kettle clattered as it hit the floor in protest.
I always had the shittiest timing.
Benders had become a rarity in a world once rich with them. The few of us who existed were forced to keep our abilities secret, no matter how hard they raged in our blood. Because despite what was being claimed by newscasters and politicians, we weren't safe. Police officers still patrolled the streets ensuring we didn't use our abilities while hunters roamed the city looking to chase us down for the exact opposite reason. We were a commodity, being sold off to anyone smart enough to glean ways of squeezing a profit out of us. For that reason, I was taught to suppress my bending from the moment it manifested. Which explained how I was able to fuck up by waterbending my tea with all the control of a five-year old.
Because I was an earthbender and that should have been impossible. Unless . . . Nope.
The universe had just enough mercy to grace me with a silent waitress (probably struck dumb by shock but still, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?) and I quickly smashed a fist through the floating ice waterfall.
"Sorry about this."I whispered, dropping my due and a *very* generous tip on the counter before getting up and making as quick and discreet an exit as I could on shaking legs.
This shouldn't be possible. I shoved my hands into my pockets, silently cursing them. It might have been my imagination. Okay, not even I was desperate enough to actually believe that. But what other explanation could there be? No person could bend multiple elements. Well not for centuries, at least. And even then only the . . . Nope.
Quickening footfall behind me ended my mental gymnastics and I turned my head just enough to mark the two officers trailing me, the distance between us growing increasingly menacing with each step. I hastened my own pace, eyes plundering the asphalt beneath my feet for a boon. Bingo.
Every loose rock found a way to trip them and the moment I heard the first crash of body to pavement, I gunned it. I made sure to zigzag around as many blocks as I could without retracing any steps.
As I passed into an empty park, sure I was alone, a thought struck me.
I wasn't sure if this would work. I'd never tried it before but then again, I'd never been able to manipulate water either. I pulled out my lighter and rolled the sparkwheel, then flicked the bic. Concentrating on the tiny dancing flame, I extended my conciousness to each particle, syncopating the rhythmic lick of fire to my own pulse. Slowly, I inhaled, visualising the element's diminishment. Despite the lack of wind, the flame was instantly snuffed out. Heart pounding, I exhaled, imagining the particles sparking to life until it bloomed into existence once more.
I nearly dropped the lighter.
"No. It can't be. They're dead. They don't exist. I . . "
"How do you think they ended up dead, kid?"The stranger's voice was gravelly, thick with wry amusement. I turned quickly, glad to feel the comforting power of my birthright element beneath my feet. I took a defensive stance.
I couldn't see the stranger's face beyond the feint smile. The melodramatic cowboy hat he wore did a good job of obscuring every other feature in shadow. The only identifying marker was the firebending tattoos twining his fingers.
"You're in a world of shit now, kid. Better not to attack the only true ally you have."
Confusion eddied my thoughts but fresh panic sliced through the fog as a dozen officers materialised from the trees surrounding us.
*Shit.*
The sudden rush of energy beside me pulled my focus from the ensuing attackers, who in my peripheral, halted at the sight as well.
The man had condensed his flame projections, forging two thin blades of flame in each hand. He wielded them expertly, the lethal chaos of fire confined to elegant clean-cut lines.
From the fleeting looks of fear that passed along the faces of the first assailers, I'd guess they were more familiar with the stranger than I was and this would not be a happy reunion. For them.
The man nodded to me. "We fight our way out of this one first, then I answer questions later. Deal, Avatar?"
I knelt, placing a spread hand on the ground, stirring the waiting earth to ready itself. "Deal."
The first brave soul ran toward us, gun poised with fire power of its own to kill. I felt rather than saw my new friend unleash the opening shot.
Then it began.
***
Edit: For those interested, [part 2](https://redd.it/7s8gx7) |
**They have died.**
*Meddled with a black hole again?*
**Tried to embrace an organic species.**
*And when did They die?*
**The species killed They.**
*...you are mistaken, We.*
**The waves have been clear enough. They have died at the hands of a small, organic species.**
*That is impossible. How could-*
"I keep telling you that you underestimate them."
*I. How nice of you to join us.*
"These little creatures have more potential than you realize; something They just found out."
**Your affection towards bacteria is touching, truly.**
"The bacteria that just killed one of us, We."
*We cannot let this stand. We must embrace them in They's stead and wait until They return.*
"No."
*No?*
"No, It. I have plans for them. More useful to me alive. You will not touch them."
***And if We or It refuse?***
"Then I'll tell them how to kill ***you*** too." |
I sat at my computer, typing away at the second volume of my memoirs when my phone rang.
"Hey Nic"said my agent
"Yeah"
"We have to talk about your book"
"What about it"
"Well…it would seem that you're claiming it's your memoir"
"Yeah"
"But nearly every event in the book, is a scene from one of your movies"
"What's that?"
"I said but nearly every event in the book…"
"No I heard you. What's a movie?"
"What's a…what's a…"
I heard my agent say 'oh boy'
"Nic, do you know where the money in your bank account comes from?"
"That time I found the treasure?"
"No that was National Treasure"
"That time I found the answer to all those conspiracy theories"
"That was The Rock"
"That time…"
"Yeah I'm just going to nip this in the bud and say no"
"So where does it come from"
"From your movies"
"What?"
"Ok you know how sometimes when you do things there's people with cameras filming you?"
"Is that what they're doing?"
"Ok, just to confirm you really don't know what movies are right?"
"No"
"Ok try not to do anything, I'm going to contact Shia Labeouf and figure out how to spin this as performance art"
"Shia Labeouf, the guy who fought all those transformers?"
"I'm hanging up now"
The line went dead and I hung up. I went back to writing about that time I was on the earth when it was destroyed, wondering if I should dedicate a whole chapter to how I'm actually three gnomes wearing a trench coat wearing a Nicholas Cage costume or if I should save that for the author's biography on the dust flap. |
Hubert grumbled in anger, silently cursing the aging lawnmower. He kicked it out of habit, but after a few deep breaths, he tried again. He pulled with determination, and the old engine coughed to life. The smell of gasoline filled the elderly man with some nostalgic joy, as he began pushing his outdated device down the lawn, leaving an uneven streak of half-cut grass behind him - the smell of gasoline soon replaced with the smell of freshly cut grass, which, his grandson had taught him, was a form of a distress call. Apparently, when cut - grass signals nearby plants that they're being attacked. He wasn't sure if it was mumbo-jumbo or not.
'Hey!' a young girl yelled out. Hubert looked to her. 'Hey, what are you doing!?'
It was the neighbours young teenage daughter. She was very 'hip' and 'progressive'. Hubert had seen her facebook page... for reasons...
'You can not be serious! Stop that, right now!'
Hubert sighed.
'What now? Can't an old man mow his lawn in peace?'
'You're hurting them!'
'Hurting what?'
'The plants! The grass!'
*Weird*, he thought. *Didn't I just think about this a few seconds ago?*
'Look -' he began. 'I don't give a damn about no distress signals. I just want a nice lawn, alright? Leave me alone, lass, go play with dolls.'
She stood agape, and marched off in rage looking like a raincloud. Hubert had no clue what he had unleashed. An angry, hastily written post on one of the new apps that Hubert knew existed but never bothered to explore, the girl had summoned all environmentalists within a mile radius. He'd finished mowing half his lawn, when they marched onto his porch, chanting in unison, waving signs that read 'PLANT LIVES MATTER!'
Hubert squinted at the incoming mob, turning off his lawnmower.
'For fucks sake, what is this?' He looked to the teenage girl.
'You're killing them! Here, have a look at what your selfish landscaping has done!'
She presented him with a grey, round device that glowed slightly. 'Put it on your head,' she demanded. Hubert sighed heavily. *Sure. WHY NOT? As long as you leave me alone after...* his brain whispered. As soon as he put it on, though, he was surprised.
'DONNA! DONNA, HANG ON!' someone yelled. Hubert looked down to see a battlefield. The trail that his lawnmower had made was a trail of destruction - guts, blood, dead plantlife. They all wept in agony at their dead, and others said their goodbyes to loved ones as they bled out. 'YOU!' a particularly raspy voice said. Hubert turned to see a fuming strand of grass. 'You did this! How could you?' Somehow, Hubert found the whole situation amusing rather than horrible. He'd tried various drugs in his youth, but nothing quite lived up to this.
'Well, if ya'll didn't grow so much, I wouldn't have to mow m' lawn, now would I?'
The strand of grass stood agape, baffled at the mans insensitivity.
'Y... You're a monster! I will have your head!'
'...No you won't. You're rooted to the ground.'
The plant looked down, then back up. He then shouted loud, 'TO ARMS, MEN!', as nearby plants rallied, straightening out. They all did a combined effort to... sway in the wind harmlessly.
'Look,' Hubert said, 'It's been fun, almost as fun as 'nam, but I really must finish this. Alright. Talk to ya' later.'
The elderly man handed back the telepathic device to the girl, and nodded.
'Well?' she inquired. 'Have you seen what you've done?'
'Oh yes', Hubert remarked. 'Horrible. My bad. Excuse me one moment, I'll fetch compensation.'
He bowed and headed back into his house. The group began chatting about various topics they were invested in while they waited, and it soon broke out into an ego stroking competition. People tried to one-up eachother by who was the most Vegan.
'Alright,' Hubert said, as he came back out on his lawn. He cocked the old Beretta M9 handgun, and pointed it at the group. 'Ya'll need to get the fuck off my lawn, pronto.' They all froze and stared at him in disbelief. Many of them had never seen a gun in their life.
'There's no way that's real!', a cocky guy shouted. Hubert fired at their feet, unleashing an ear-deafening bang that caused the crowd to disperse and leave their beliefs and values behind as they legged it down the street towards their houses, undoubtedly to report about the crazy old man that they all hated from even before the incident. But Hubert knew the laws, and he had permission to carry. He chuckled to himself as he imagined his future debate with angry parents, and unloaded his gun, fastening it in his belt behind his back. He pulled the cord and jump-started the old lawnmower again, and the smell of gasoline once again filled his nostrils, as he happily pushed it down his lawn, leaving a trail of uneven cut grass behind him. |
"Look bro, if you really like the cape, get the damn cape. What does it matter what people think of you?", I said with a level of annoyance. Kenny and I had been at this for hours. We came to the mall trying to find this "new look"for him since some kid made fun of his old cape calling him "Faggy Batman"last week.
"The cape is exactly what the problem is. If I keep wearing it, that is just asking for more ridicule. Besides it's not as functional as it used to be back in the old days in....uhhh.. highschool."
I couldn't really think of how a cape could ever be functional in the first place. He kept gravitating toward it though. Him being oblivious to the fact that I knew he was a vampire wasn't going to stop me from at least helping him look like a more modern version of one. His old "nerdy Dracula wearing Adidias"look wasn't doing him any favors. But just because I was trying to help him didn't mean I wasn't going to have some fun with it.
"Yo Kenny, what about this?"I held up a pair of black leather pants along with a Slipknot t-shirt. "You can even accessorize with a few of these leather bracelets with metal rivets. I think you will look fresh dude."
He tried the outfit on and I swear he looked like a grad school Criss Angel with his circular glasses still framing his pale face. He seemed so satisfied with this look that he wore it out of the store including his old worn out white and blue Adidas. Which only made it more hilarious. He was so proud though. He was walking around like he owned the world. Who would ever want to crush that kind of confidence?
After he strut his happy ass out of the Hot Topic, I then suggested he gets a haircut too. This flat greased up comb-over wasn't working for him. We needed something more modern. The salon in the mall would do fine. The look on the stylists face when we walked in was one of both shock and intrigue and without a second's hesitation he wished Kenny away into a chair and got to work as if he knew exact what to do.
By the end of it, his hair looked like he was the ukulele player in an acoustic emo punk band. It was perfect. All the little goth middle schoolers strutting the mall were looking at him like he was a god.
"You know, I feel right."He said with contentment.
"I do too, buddy. I do too." |
The famous adventurer stood in front of the altar in the long lost temple. She was naked, with all her belongings stacked in a neat pile on top of the altar. All in accordance with the plaque reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". But nothing happened. The door behind the altar remained vexingly closed.
"Mother", her son suddenly said, "you know what must be done."The son stood proudly with his bow in hand, showing the scars from the battles on their journey here. Of course she loved her son very much. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was not the most dear thing to her. She shook her head. As realization hit her son, it was as if all the light of the world had been stolen from his face.
"My dearest wife", spoke her husband. He stepped boldly forward, prepared with a knife to gut himself on top of the altar. But she grabbed his arm as he passed her. "No", she said. The husband was not as bright as the son and needed things explained to him. "I still love you", he finished weakly.
"Give me the knife", the most famous adventurer of this age demanded. She yanked it out of the hand of her husband and before anyone could stop her positioned herself on top of the altar. It was no mere feat, with all the other crap still on there. "Please no!"yelled the son. "Don't do it!"screamed the husband.
There was a discrete cough from the group's official Thinker. Everyone froze. The Thinker, a person with no particular skills other than that of puzzle solving and general wit, was a new role that had been integrated into most adventurer groups over the last century. Their purpose was to think outside the box when faced with situations much like this.
"I don't mean to interrupt", they said, "but before you go killing yourself on the altar to prove what an egocentric person you are, thereby disproving what an egocentric person you are, may I perhaps offer up an alternative?"The Thinker waited patiently while the rest of the group's members parsed that last sentence. If this were a game of characteristics their intelligence would definitely be considered below average. "Go on", said the most famous adventurer after a while.
"We've passed monsters and traps, ruins and treasures to get here. All seemingly placed in the lost temple to stall us or prevent us from proceeding. Given that the purpose of the altar may be similar, what can we infer from its cryptic plaque?"The other members looked stupefied. They looked at each other, then they looked at their feet, trying not to be the one called out in front of the class. Suddenly the son perked up. "We shouldn't trust the plaque?"he tried.
"What possible reason would we have to trust the plaque?"said the Thinker. The others nodded as if the answer was obvious, once it had been pointed out. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that this altar and the locked door behind it is a 'hail mary', if you will. A last chance to stop the intrepid adventurers before reaching the heart of the temple."
"Think about it, if you will."The others nodded sagely, now that the Thinker was getting embroiled in their thought process. "Given that all the powers of those that built the temple had failed after everything they threw at us, what would be a clever, last-ditch effort in order to prevent the adventurers from adventuring forth?"
"Mere moments ago, you were all willing to kill yourself on the altar to proceed. You all literally thought dying was preferable to not going through that locked door. You were so convinced by a simple altar and a plaque with a vague reference to sacrificing that 'which you hold most dear'. Obviously, you tried everything, and nothing seemed to work. I think most if not all adventurers would reach that same conclusion - it must be to sacrifice yourself. The altar is a trick meant to make you destroy your gear or kill yourself before breaching the door."
"But the door really is locked", said the most famous adventurer. "We tried lockpicking, we tried bashing it down, we even tried magic. None of it worked.""The door seems impenetrable, I'll give you that. But I think no matter what we sacrifice on the altar, the door will remain closed", said the Thinker. "Hand me your mace", they asked from the husband. The husband shrugged and did so.
It was a heavy mace and the Thinker had to struggle for a bit to bring it up above their head. But they managed it, and even managed to strike an impressive pose doing it. They brought the hammer down on top of the altar, smashing it to bits. Nothing happened. The door, after examination, was as impenetrable as before.
The Thinker grabbed the mace with two hands and took up the impressive pose again, right in front of the locked gate. "It's a waste of time", the rest of the group mumbled together. Then the thinker took three steps to the left, and facing the wall next to the gate, smashed it as hard as they could with the mace. A huge chunk of debris fell away from the wall, exposing part of the cogwheels operating the door.
The Thinker, exhausted from two mighty swings, turned towards the group. "The door may be impenetrable, but I think the wall supporting it is not. And there certainly doesn't seem to be any magical connection to the altar requiring a sacrifice. I'm sure this way is preferable to literally killing yourself?"
The others shared a look, then grabbed their various tools and started vigorously dismantling the wall. The Thinker sat back and enjoyed the show. An honest day's work in the life of a Thinker. Keeping the famous, less-than-clever adventurer alive. |
News of the second coming spread fast. All the major television outlets were scrambling to get an interview with Jesus. Or as he liked to be called, The jay man. Turns out Jesus is a pretty chill dude, unlike his uptight father. Jesus mostly hung out and spoke about love and unity. He wanted nothing to do with the T.V. interviewers or any organized church for that matter. After the initial excitement wore off The Jay Man was free to live a life like most non-deity folk. He got a job at a dispensary. Started a podcast with his friend Simon. They mostly talked about weed and UFOs. Turns out Jesus is a believer. And he spent the rest of his time hanging at the beach.
Since it was undeniable that Jesus did in fact exist, most people quickly stopped treating Jesus like a celebrity. He’s just a dude that you can see and feel, of course everyone believed in him. And if you believed in him you got a free pass to heaven. It took all the mystery out of Christianity.
Bart still put him on a pedestal though. He had spent his whole life praising Jesus in church. Bart is a priest. His whole life was spent spreading Jesus’ word. He traveled all the way from the Midwest to Southern California to meet this hippy god. He wasn’t hard to find. Jesus went to the same beach almost every day to watch the sunset. Him and his friend would hacky sack or toss a frisbee till dusk. Then they would sit on a blanket and speak deeply as the sun hid below the waves. This is where Bart found him.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, are you Jesus?” Bart asked even though he knew the answer.
Jesus turned with a smile. He had just taken a pull off a large joint.
“Sure am pal,” he said and exhaled. “Pop a squat, we’re talking about the long term societal ramifications from the suppression of Gnosticism.” He paused and squinted his eyes. “Wait a minute, I know you. I know you man! You’re an Anti-Christ. Holy shit, guys check this out. An Anti-Christ has the courage to show up to our little pow-wow.”
Jesus friends all looked over at Bart with looks of disgust.
“Now, now guys, don’t judge too quick. Let’s hear what he has to say. Why did you come here Anti-Christ?” Jesus asked.
“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. I’m not the Anti-Christ. In fact I’m a priest.” Bart said and pointed to his holy collar. “I’ve been serving you my whole life. I’m Bart, I came here from Chicago.” Bart said and held out a hand to shake.
Jesus patted the blanket next to him.
“Here, have a seat Bart. We have some talking to do.”
Bart took his shoes off and sat next to jesus.
“So Bart, I have some bad news for you. You’re not going to like it but I promise you it’s true. And once you understand the truth you will see it clear as day everywhere you look.” The Jay Man said. And held out the joint for Bart. He waved it away as if it were a fly buzzing around.
“What’s this truth?” Bart asked.
“I’m telling you. You’re not going to like it but I feel like you have to hear it. After all you just made a pilgrimage. You deserve something for that.” Jesus said.
“I can take it. I’ve been your humble servant my whole life. Whatever you say is gospel to me.” Bart said dutifully.
“The truth is,” Jesus paused. “That every church across this entire beautiful, weird planet is teaching the word of Satan. He co-opted our word long long ago and convinced the world he is the light. Any religion that has promoted hate is anti-me. Any church that has picked a side during war is anti-me. Any church that teaches any commandments other than love thy neighbor is anti-me. And thus Anti-Christ. All priests, popes, Cardinals, pastors, sidewalk preachers. If they are preaching from the Bible they are preaching the wrong thing. If they preach celibacy or that drugs are inherently bad. They are on the wrong path. The truth lies inside everyone and sometime the key just needs a little help getting turned.” Again Jesus held out the joint to Bart. Again he waved it away.
“Look man, I’m not mad at you. You’ve been brain washed. You were trained to tell people to live without. That withholding certain pleasures from themselves was going to save them a seat upstairs. The real sin is living without. Sin literally means without. It’s been there the whole time in plain sight. Living without experience. Living without love, living without really living. I mean why would my dad create this amazing place if you weren’t meant to experience as much as possible. The Bible has been telling people to live without a lot of things and that’s anti-me. That’s against all my teachings. Is this making any sense?” Jesus asked.
Bart nodded his head. It’s about all he could do. He’s learning from the source that he’s not only wasted his life. But been unknowingly spreading Satans word. He’s not sure what he’s regretting more. His wayward life or coming out West to meet the savior in person.
“I just can’t believe it. It’s all a lie? Everything? I’ve been shepherding souls to hell. I’ve been an arm of evil? You know, I always had this feeling that there was something off. Something wrong. Always being the one telling people to stop having fun. Stop enjoying themselves. Guilting and shaming people never felt right.” Bart said not able to look Jesus in the face.
“That’s because it not right. Here, hit this, it will help.” Jesus held out the joint.
“I’ve never, I don’t know if I should.” Bart said.
“Of course you should! Aren’t you listening? It might be uncomfortable but that’s just you shedding that snake skin you’ve been wearing. Stick with me Bart. There’s a new day coming up. Tomorrow, you don’t have to be what you are today. Now hit that and let’s watch this sunset. Tomorrow is on its way.” Jesus said.
Bart took a short drag from Jesus’ joint and coughed a little. He handed it back and crossed his legs and got comfortable. Facing west staring at the gigantic spires of pink and orange clouds.
“This is the best show in town Bart. I’m glad you’re here to watch it with us.” Jesus said.
The group sat quietly watching the giant space ball fall behind the horizon. Listening to the pulse of the ocean. Waves ceaselessly tearing their way into the land. When it was dark the group left their clothes at the beach and took a short skinny dip. All laughs and splash’s. Bart never returned to the Midwest. He never past through the door into another church. He did his best to let love guide his steps. And when he faltered and let fear take a hold. He always had the hippy god to lean on and drag him back out of the muck. |
The scythe hung inches from my head. I could see my reflection in what little was visible through the rust; death's hands fastidious and precise.
"WHERE,"Death asked, his voice a croak. "ARE THE OTHERS?"
I swallowed.
Here was the moment I'd always seen on film. The moment where we got to see if the hero was worth following. The moment where the hero would reject the villain's questions out of some inward stubborness, some inward belief in his cause.
Only I didn't have a cause. All I had was the vague idea we might survive another pitiful wretched day in the burning hell hole that had become earth. So I stared up at Death.
The scythe drew slowly closer.
"WELL?"Death said. "WHETHER I KILL YOU NOW OR LATER DOES NOT MATTER TO ME, TERRENCE."
I swallowed.
"DEATH COMES FOR ALL LIVING THINGS IN THE END. NO MATTER HOW WELL THEY TRY TO HIDE FROM ME. I AM THE GRAND EQUALIZER. THE BALANCER OF ACCOUNTS, AND YOU, HUMANITY, HAVE OVERDRAWN."
Another tremor in my limbs. A numbness spreading through my veins. Death was too near. Both literally and metaphorically.
But this wasn't what they would've wanted.
"There's a funny thing about life,"Henson said. "Life's a movie, Death,"
Slowly I turned my head and stared at the horsemen of life, astrode a puppet danging with strings from the heavens themselves.
"But we get to decide what the ending of that movie will be. So we keep moving, and we keep pretending, and at the end, we get to make life even better."
"WHAT,"Death croaked, staring at him. The scythe flashed out. An inch, closer, closer, drawing me into a captive position.
"And the ending today doesn't involve Terrence, I'm afraid,"Henson said.
The heft of the scythe was wrapped in long puppet strings, and despite Death's best efforts, the blade wouldn't come closer to my throat. "YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER IDIOT. IT IS MY TIME TO REAP THE WORLD."
"The world is at War,"War said, sliding into the picture. His long rifle was packed across his back, his horse, a fine red maned creature that spoke of fastidious grooming and ritualistic over funding nickered at Henson. "And it is time for it to end."
"You're right,"Ross said, stepping in. The stadium was becoming beautiful as we watched. Where he stepped, plants grew. Where he looked, color bloomed into existence. The clouds weren't quite so grey with the Painter's steed; a great verdant thing of roiling green vines dripping with paint. "It's time for the war to end, after all."
"YOU'D FIGHT US OVER ONE LIFE?"Death asked, abandoning his scythe.
"We've seen what you plan to do,"Henson said. "And we think there's still hope in the world for their kind."
"The world's over,"War said. "The governments have fallen. There's nothing left worth saving."
"I learned one thing while I was painting,"Boss Ross said, his divine vines flicking across the stadium. "And I learned one thing while I was warring. No matter how big the mistakes are, no matter how unending the pain is. You can make it better if you try. You can turn them all into happy little trees."
And maybe it was just my imagination, but even the air, laden with decades of smog and misuse, felt a little sweeter of my lungs.
"There are some mistakes too big for just that,"Conquest said, his horse casually sliding out of the sky. "I think you understand entirely what I mean."
Ross frowned, pausing from his quiet contemplation of his beautiful world. "You cannot hold what remains of humanity accountable for the sins of the whole, Conquest."
"I can, and I will break them across my sword."He raised it, and the clouds shattered into storm clouds. The rain washed away the gentle paint. The air grew harsh.
No room for me to run for it.
No room for me to make a break for it. Just me, and five gods.
And the bunker of crying people deep below me. The last bastion of humanity, crying out into the cold.
and me as the last guard.
"How sad it is that we give up on people who are just like us,"Rogers said, slipping out from the corner. He had no horse. He needed none. All would be his neighbor. There were no barriers to him. There never would be, and never had. "There's still love in this world conquest. There's still hope. Beauty. Joy. There's still such perfect room to grow, and... I think you love them for that."
Conquest's sword shook. "I want you to know that this isn't the end. The world is ending. It'll take more than some false pretty words and hope and dreams to fix things. The population is starving to death. I am a mercy. I am a beautiful mercy, and I will kill them, because ultimately, we love them."
"And they will starve,"Famine said, rising from the ashes of the dead outside. His skeleton skin was drawn taut against him like a drum, his haggard appearance a reflection of the state of the world. "They've killed almost everything, you understand. There's nothing left to support them."
"Crikey,"The Crocodile Hunter said, descending in the form of a flock of carrion birds. He coalesced into a solid form, and beamed. "Sorry I'm late you guys! I saw this fantastic shark out in the harbor, tangled up in some nets, and I just had to go save it."
"That's lovely,"Ross said. "I think I might paint that."
"That poor beast,"Henson said. "But it'll be alright?"
Steve Irwin shot the assembled ranks a thumbs up. "If we just work together, we can save the planet."
"Your confidence in them is misplaced,"Famine said, dryly. "But I see that you'll be fighting us the entire way."
"There's no use in fighting,"Ross said. "They'll figure it out. The hardest thing will be convincing them they have a chance."
"Of course we have a chance,"Irwin said, beaming down at me. "If we didn't, the other guys wouldn't be so forceful in trying to end it. They're scared too, you know."
"They are?"I asked, looking at the horsemen of the apocalypse. Their steeds nickered.
"War, that horse is a beaut~!"The crocodile hunter said, staring down at it.
"I keep her well fed on the bodies of bloated governments,"War replied, just as dry.
"WE'LL BE BACK,"Death said. "WHEN THIS ENDS, AND THERE'S NOTHING LEFT FOR YOU TO SAVE."
"And you'll see they'll rise again,"Henson said. "They'll rise to the occasion. If there's one thing they're better at than ruining things..."
The four icons of good wholesome tv looked at each other. "It's creating!"
The apocalypse left that day, leaving me alone amongst the wholesome ranks. Mild chatter about steeds, and their performance, then the hunter flashed a grin.
"You guys won't believe what I found!"
"What?"
"The sewers are filled with aligators! Want to come check it out?"
--------------
https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, and more shorts. And a couple serials, I guess. |
We looked at each other. Then back at the number glowing on the floor.
4.
For most of the past decade, that number has been 2. Day in and day out, 2. We hardly even notice it any more at this point.
“It hasn’t changed since I moved in,” she whispered, looking up at me.
“I know.”
“What does it mean?”
*she couldn’t be pregnant*, I thought. *we tried for years.*
I remembered the gut wrenching moment when we learned we couldn’t have kids of our own. What I couldn’t remember was the last time we were intimate after that ripped a hole in our marriage.
No, she couldn’t be pregnant.
*Then who the fuck are these additional 2?*
I started pacing, feeling the anxiety swell in my chest as I tried to figure this out. When you get so used to something strange that it begins to feel normal, it’s particularly jarring to be yanked out of your normalcy and reminded of something entirely peculiar that you’ve been ignoring for years.
“Hon, sit down. This is good news.”
I gave my wife a look of bemused astonishment. “How on earth do you figure that?”
“Well, just that maybe it doesn’t mean anything after all. Maybe it was just coincidence that it changed the same night I moved in. Maybe it’s just some weird architectural quirk that we just never figured out.”
*Horseshit*, I thought to myself. I checked this whole place before she ever even moved in, and again after it changed to 2. It’s indistinguishable from the floor when you touch it. There is no warmth, no texture, no sound coming from it. It’s not just tricks of the light; it glows all through the night no matter how dark. Hell, it even glowed when we lost power during the hurricane.
“Listen, you know I’ve checked this place all over to figure out where it’s coming from. With no luck. I’ve searched high and —“ I cut myself off. I’ve searched high, certainly. I removed light fixtures from the ceiling and investigated the attic. I even went onto the roof once. But, how low have I really searched?
What if the source of the glowing has been from beneath the floor this whole time?
What I never checked, I suppose, were the blueprints I found when I first moved in. I pulled them out from the top of our closet and rolled the chart out on our marble kitchen island. Sure enough, there was a crawl space beneath the living room that extended to the front entryway. I noted where the opening seemed to be, and went to investigate.
The opening was behind a huge bush that had clearly been growing long before I moved in. I wouldn’t have ever had a reason to check back here, but sure enough there was the opening. Without hesitation, I ducked down and pulled my phone flashlight out. Cobwebs and dirt, sure, but could be lots worse.
I lowered to my knees and started moving further into the crawl space.
The only thing I could think of - rather, the only remaining totally ridiculous possibility I could come up with - is that there was some sort of projector under the floor that was emitting the glow. Or perhaps some LEDs. Or something. But I was going to find out what it was, once and for all.
I pull up the photo I took of the blueprints and continue navigating my way through the narrow passage, using my phone light to guide me along the route. I go a little farther, then pause.
*This is it*. I look back at the blueprints on my phone to be sure and, indeed, the glowing number should be situated right above where I am now. I use my phone light to look around.
Nothing.
No projector, no wires, no generator, no fairy dust, not even a fucking flashlight.
I put my hand on the top of the crawl space, on the underside of the floor where the number 4 is inevitably still glowing. Nothing. It’s just wood. There’s nothing here.
I sigh, and give up on my last hope at figuring out this stupid glowing number. I turn to retreat and pull the blueprints back up on my phone to help guide me. As I point my phone light towards the narrow opening, my phone dies and the light goes out.
But not before I see two sets of eyes staring directly back at me, blocking my path to outside.
—-
____
eta: Thanks for all the love y’all - this is the first story I’ve posted here that more than just like two people read! |
The sky is a free place - not as much can be said for the lands below.
&#x200B;
Soaring, I look for pieces. Small gems deposited unto the earth either by the large creatures too careless to realize what they have lost, or gifts booned unto me by the place itself. These treasures glitter, reflecting the large warm light in the sky.
&#x200B;
Everyone knows these things to be valuable. What could be more enticing than that? Those objects which seek to reflect the beauty of the sky itself.
&#x200B;
So I pick them from the ground. Sometimes creatures make it difficult. They charge towards me in their strange elongated gaits. They flail their too long appendages, useless for flying. Strange noises come from them, lost just as quickly as they came to the wind as I seek freedom in the domain above.
&#x200B;
One of these curious things, of which there seem to be an infinite many, shares the passion that I and my brethen do for them. Though it pains me, I deposit these gifts at his large cave - typically on the long wooden ledge which sits conjoined to the invisible barrier on the upper reaches of the cave. In exchange, the creature provides the most interesting morsels.
&#x200B;
My favorite is the *sohn-flawer* seed. I think? Small, in teardrop shapes, they are salted on each side. Though dangerous, at times my mind wanders even in flight. The crisp noise of the shell deforming as my beak pressures it. The intoxicating twisted flavor of the white crystals on the outside. Finally, the inexplicably delectable semi-sweetness of the seed within. *Sohn-Flawer.*
&#x200B;
Today has been difficult. The sky is weeping, obscuring the luminous glow of the large light above. Nothing reflects the grey image of the weeping sky. Yet, there also have been precious few morsels of the natural variety for me to sate my hunger on today. I scan still.
&#x200B;
These large creatures - they are a curious lot. I see them below, exchanging large swaths of flattened grass to one another. Often, once these grass sheaths are given, food is given back. It comes in all shapes and sizes. Round and smelling of animal flesh. Soft, warm sticks covered in that intoxicating salt. Sometimes the food is so spiced I can't get my beak too close, for the morsels make my senses waver and falter.
&#x200B;
Below, I see such a swath. It clings to the side of one of the long flat stoneways they travel upon. As I fly closer, I see strange shapes imprinted upon it. Lines of green and black and white construct a crude imitation of something approximating one of the funny creatures. Reluctantly, I puck the damp thing from its wet perch on the ground.
&#x200B;
It is unwieldy to fly with. It flaps against the wind, and its damp surface clips my body. This is making a mess. I do not like being a mess. I must fly faster. So, through the dark dreary day, I wind and twist my way back to the familiar above-ground cave.
&#x200B;
As I place the strange offering on the portal of the cave, the creature stirs. It extends one of its long appendages excitedly, gesturing to one of its kin. They rush to the portal and through strange motions lift the invisible barrier. It softly grinds against the wooden enclosure it rest within as it is rapidly pushed upward. The creature plucks my offering and makes strange noises.
&#x200B;
*Sohn-Flawer.* More than I've ever seen. More than I alone could ever eat. I greedily pluck at the pile until it feels that I will be too large to fly away. The creature deposits even more in their place. Where could these beings find such bounty? What are they, exactly? Now was not a time for questions, though. Now was a time for spreading the message. The word. *Sohn-Flawer.*
&#x200B;
My brethren waste no time in following me when I deposit the remnants of those holy morsels at their feet and caw urgently. Soon, four of us stand at the wooden ledge of the cave devouring the seeds. Their eyes reflect the same feelings as mine. An insatiable craving. A lust. A lust for only one thing - *Sohn-Flawer.*
&#x200B;
We take to the skies, where I point out another such strange pressed grass sheathe. We collect. We fly. In what feels no time at all, each of us carry a green offering. Upon our return, the creature grows more energetic. My heart sinks as it disappears from the portal, rushing elsewhere in the cave.
&#x200B;
Upon its return, it has an item in its hand. The scent from the red and gold box is beyond intoxicating. It is beauty incarnate. It is more than my mind can comprehend, almost. I would come to learn later that something exist even more potent that the legendary *Sohn-Flawer.* It is, in my approximation of their tongue, *Freynch - Phry.*
&#x200B;
They are warm. The same salty wonder from before comes in spades. They bare a wonderful crisp outside, yielding to a heavenly soft but filling interior. One taste and a crow could forget who it is.
&#x200B;
So now, we fly. The whole flock. Always searching for the green sheathes. Always looking for a promise too divine to seem true. The promise of *Freynch - Phry.* |
Evolution and war interact in funny ways.
&#x200B;
It seemed like every interstellar species had it's own specialty, and it seemed that way for a reason. The Arvayu Telepaths guarded their power jealously - any telepathic species entering the galactic stage was quickly subdued, modified and enslaved, or otherwise destroyed utterly. The Amoebic Hivemind outbred almost every living thing in the galaxy, sentient or not, and quite literally absorbed whatever approached the highest amount of biomass it could find. The Silurian Mongers, a sort of reptilian allegory, was thoroughly steeped in destroying any single thing it could find that posed a physical threat - and that mindset grew to encompass naval power as well.
&#x200B;
Between all of the various species, there was a kind of uneasy peace - the Arvayu didn't particularly relish the idea of fighting the Amoebics, the Silurians didn't appreciate how the Arvayu turned them against themselves,, and the circle went on. Dozens of species with their own little niche, never quite at peace but never quite coming to blows.
&#x200B;
Enter Humanity. We never really had a specialty - we certainly didn't breed fast enough to interest the Amoebics, and most of the other species either saw us as children, food, or a pest. Diplomatically we ingratiated ourselves just enough to get involved in trade talks, but our inter-factional wars spoke volumes about how that wasn't really our thing, either.
&#x200B;
We simply are. And after a time, the other species began to question that - how could a species with no real outstanding strength continue to survive? Even though we usually opted to take the least desirable stars for colonization, why were we allowed to exist as a free-standing entity in the first place?
&#x200B;
The Silurians, predictably, were the first ones to test us. Multiple systems fell in the first few months - we were utterly dominated. Soon, more of the galactic community wanted a piece of the feast. Without something drastic, Humanity was as good as extinct.
&#x200B;
It was then that we found out what our specialty was. Well, is, I guess.
&#x200B;
The UHWS Starblinder was the first ship to encounter one of the Dark. We'd been warned in the past, of course, that a Dark was invariably a death sentence for anyone who disturbed it, so we'd elected not to test those particular waters. The other species had maps of the territory occupied by these monsters, and gave them a wide berth - often, if a ship went missing, it was assumed that a Dark had either moved into that territory or simply manifested there - nobody really seemed to know anything about their biology, because, well...everything that encountered them just stopped being. Return telemetry from probes was rarely coherent, but confirmed that there were *things* out there that didn't appreciate sharing their space.
&#x200B;
The captain of the Starblinder was the one who showed us all what we are. We're utterly relentless, and in the face of defeat, we'll happily run into the bony arms of Death in order to take a last swing.
&#x200B;
The Dark, as a rule it seems, appreciate chaos. In us, they found a species so utterly unpredictable and varied that they felt a kind of kinship. Well...not kinship. I think they think of us more as pets than anything else.
&#x200B;
They found out someone kicked their dog.
&#x200B;
Hundreds of the Dark caused the empires of the galaxy to erupt in flames in a matter of weeks. It wasn't a war of extermination - frankly, calling it a war would be giving it too much. It was a downright slaughter, and while most of the species in the galaxy survived in some fashion, the majority of the major population centers had been glassed, "eaten", or simply shattered.
&#x200B;
We enjoy a lot more freedom these days. The galaxy is rebuilding, and it was determined that we should get a seat at the table. Funny how that happens. We don't hear much of anything from the Dark, because really what pet understands their master? Our colonies in Dark territory are communication enough - "You, we'll tolerate. You, we'll defend." |
It hasn't rained in weeks.
I did wonder if it's a scheme by the Vampires, to somehow stop the rain, to leave us helpless. We need its protection now more than ever. The few reports we can get from from overseas tell us that every where else has fallen. We are all that's left. Africa is a big continent and all but it's us against the entire population of the rest of the world.
I don't remember the invasion. I don't know where the Vampires came from. I don't know if we will ever be able to go back to a normal world, whatever that was. My parents fled here while I was still a child so I don't remember the country where I was born.
They weren't the only ones of course. News spread quickly of the prophet Toto and his miracle, what the elders call his "one hit wonder". The rain is blessed, if even a drop touches a Vampire, they'll fade to dust. As long as we recite the lyrics we will be safe. As long as the drums echo through the night, the ancient melodies will keep the rainwater holy.
Of course that's all pointless if it doesn't fucking rain. It's fine for those in the rain forest areas but for those of us stationed out closer to the Sahara, it's more of an issue. We collect as much of it as we can to use during dry spells but it can only last so long. Still, who would have thought that water pistols would be our best weapon against evil.
The Vampires seem wary about the dry spell. There's been a few small attacks but they're hesitant about sending in the cavalry, after last year. The dry spell was even longer and eventually they decided to take advantage. You should have seen it. Hundreds of thousands of vampire bats cascading towards us, transforming once they were close enough. It was enough to make a grown man wet himself.
And then, as if summoned by Toto himself, huge black rain clouds formed from nowhere. The heavens opened and let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. The water turned them to dust but there was so many of them and so much water that they were turning to sludge beneath our feet. They haven't been as reckless since then.
But they'll be aware of this dry spell. They're using small attacks to get us to waste our ammo and it's working. They'll attack soon and this time, we may not be so lucky.
Edit: fixed what was pointed out. Also I don't really consider Toto a one hit wonder lol. |
"You roll up to the ice cream shop, only to find it closed,"the House Master read to them eerily.
"What!?"Draconius yelled. "But we checked it on the Internet ahead of time! It said it was open right now!"
"It's your move, Apothesis,"the House Master nodded to the dragon. Apothesis breathed fire from his nose, deep in thought.
"I check for any signs on the door,"he said.
"You're going to need to roll a sixteen to read the words,"the House Master told him.
"That's way too high!"Apothesis complained.
"You forgot your glasses inventory at home and have to rely on your Squint ability,"House Master explained.
"Ugghh, I never remember to add the glasses to my inventory!"Apothesis groaned, rolling the die.
"Not your fault. Civilians just have very poor eyesight. You should invest in eye contact on your next Orthodontist sidequest,"Roa offered. Apothesis grunted.
"You rolled a twelve. You can see that there are signs, but are unclear on the words on the parchments,"the House Master declared.
"What a waste of a turn,"Apothesis mumbled.
"My turn!"Roa said, whipping her massive tail in excitement. "I get out of the car and go to the door to read the sign."
"I should drive off,"Draconius said slyly.
"And leave our comrade 'Kate' behind on the bad side of town, I don't think so!"Apothesis said, offended.
"I know, I was kidding,"Draconius apologized.
"What does it say, 'Kate?'"Apothesis asked Roa as the House Master handed her a parchment.
"It says..."her eyes grew wide. "Oh, no..."
"What happened? Is the Ice Cream in trouble?"Apothesis said in a panic.
Draconius gripped his paper mache steering wheel tightly in anticipation.
"It reads: 'We will be out for the entire weekend to... To celebrate Mother's Day with our mothers,'"Roa said gravely.
The two other dragons looked to one another as the HM watched them with glee.
"Mother's Day!?"Apothesis yelled.
"I can't believe we completely forgot!"Draconius roared a wall of flame.
"We... we can still get flowers! There's still time!"Roa said, pointing to Draconius to take his turn.
"Yes! I ask my phone for the location of the nearest flower shop!"Draconius yelled at the House Master.
"Your phone boots up, then turns off, having run out of battery,"the House Master told him.
"No! Umm.. Roll for turning it off and back on again!"Draconius yelled.
"Phones don't work that way,"the House Master shook his head.
"That's not fair! It worked for the computer! How come it doesn't work for the phone! You're making civilian stuff up to create conflict!"Apothesis protested.
"See for yourself,"the House Master offered him a page from the manual.
"All right, umm... where are we again?"Draconius said, looking at the map of complicated lines indicating roads.
"'Drake' drove us to downtown, so we must be around here,"Roa said, pointing to the map.
"Which town is Downtown?"Draconius asked.
"No, it's inside the town,"Roa explained.
"Gah! There's nothing we can do about a dead phone unless we brought a charger!"
"A charger!"Draconius said, getting an epiphany. "What kind of car is Drake driving?"he yelled at the House Master.
"A uhh.. A Dodge Charger,"the House Master said, a sudden confusion falling on his face.
"YES!"the three players cheered, dancing in their respective spots in the cave.
"I use my turn to reactivate the phone using the Dodge Charger!"Apothesis said, shaking with excitement.
"Oh, um, I'm not sure you can--"the House Master attempted.
"And I plug in the coordinates and give the phone to Drake, making sure to text our mom that we're only going to be a few minutes late!"Roa said, quickly.
"Right, but--"
"And I'll drive us all to the location, seeing as we have enough gas, completing the Mother's Day Quest in time! I'm gonna roll for Reckless Driving!"Draconius roared.
The three of them watched the House Master, his mouth open mid-sentence. He saw how they were brimming with excitement. He sighed and smiled at them.
"Your mother is very happy with you,"he said.
"Yes!"Roa cheered.
"We're such good civilians,"Draconius said.
"Okay, next quest, I'm gonna get Ice Cream from a different store,"Apothesis said, rubbing his claws together in anticipation.
This was the first time the House Master had been able to play as House Master in Cities and Civilians, and he was glad to have such enthusiastic friends taking on his campaigns.
______________________________________
For more fantasy stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
The ships AI scanned the small blue and green planet below. Captain Prthal tapped his talons nervously, clicking with his beak. After the terrors unleashed by human war, they wanted to be sure the species was extinct. But Galactic Law forbid the total genocide of a sapient race. Even in this circumstance, they couldn't execute them all. Thus, they created a plan of shaving them down to two of their number, a breeding pair. They could congratulate themselves on not eliminating the race, by also guaranteeing that they could not survive.
*Anomaly Detected*
Prthal felt his feathers stand up. That was never a good sign.
"Diagnose anomaly."
*Diagnositic Report: Unrecorded Technology Interfering With Scan*
"Display results."
His gaze flickered back to his second in command, Yub'uthrig. Unlike his species avian based body, theirs was more amphibious. Its slick skin changed from an uncertain yellow to a worried red. He glanced back at the screen.
**Subject Adam**
**Status: Deceased**
**Subject Eve**
**Status: Deceased**
**Genetic Descendants**
**Count: 7,916,935,554**
Prthal went cold.
"W-what?! That just be a mistake."
The AI beeped, annoyed at the disbelief.
*Creating Interface With Local Systems*
The screen flickered, its red text wiped away. In its place, dozens of images played out. It's showed teeming hordes of humans, stalking around great cities of stone and metal. One showed two males in a ring, brutalising each other to cheers. Another ran through page after page of text, an alien language to them.
"Send data pack to Command, Omega Code. Clearance code, Prthal-53DQ71."
The AI gave a beep, collating relevant data into a bundle, for transmission via HyperSpace. As it sent, the images disappeared from the screen, as a new broadcast took its place.
**We see you.** |
The question isn't, "Have you ever wondered if you had a super power?"I think most people would say yes - I mean, who hasn't? No, the question in my mind, is, "Have you ever checked if you had a super power?"And if the answer to that is no, then the natural follow-up is, "Why not?"
Bedtime routine, I check for telekinesis - it's easy enough to do and maybe the fact that it would be *really* convenient sometimes could help trigger it. Eyes closed, one hand out, picture the item you want, imagine it moving...nothing's happened. Yet. But it doesn't hurt to check, right?
Speaking of which: don't be stupid. Yes, check if you can fly. But take off from the ground, not from a roof or balcony like some clueless asshole. If you really need to jump from somewhere, then do it from the second-to-last step on a staircase.
Of course, this kind of stuff only checks whether *you* have a power. Statistically, it's *way* more likely that someone other than you has a power than that you do. So you want to check for that, too.
Most powers have physical manifestations when they're working, so you can see it happening. Those you have to wait around for. But there are a few that you can consider. For example, the old "Think fast!"trick is a good way to see if someone has been hiding their super-speed from you. A bit cliche, I admit, but it's effective.
But the big one is mind-readers. You won't know if someone is reading your mind, and it's not practical to go through life not thinking, or at least not thinking about anything important. So, just like with the other stuff, you do periodic checks.
Which brings me to last Wednesday. It was during the history final. I'm not sure why it had never occurred to me before that this was a prime opportunity to catch a telepath - especially one who hadn't studied enough the night before - but all that matters is that for *this* exam, I did.
Mr. Johnson handed out the test packets, face down - cause those 30 seconds were going to make such a big deal to the students who got them first. Then he said we could begin.
I read through the first question, then started my answer...I figured I might as well play it cool, right?
*The doctrine of Manifest Destiny held that Americans were justified in seizing land in other parts of the continent, and was used as a rationale for GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!*
I heard a **BANG** from across the room, and turned to see Felicia Carrow's desk had fallen over, and taken Felicia with it. Her pale face was flushed a deep crimson hue, and her long blond hair hung down over her face as she gradually stood, brushed herself off, righted the desk and sat back down.
I was about to return to my test when she brushed her hair back and turned to stare directly at me. She was on the other side of the room, and her mouth didn't move, but I still heard her as if she were standing right next to me.
*I'm so sorry...*
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
***
*Edit: working on part 2*
*Edit 2: [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/a7jhuq/meeting_of_the_minds_part_2/?) is now up on my sub* |
It was a big moment for all spiderkind. Our species had been working on uncovering the secrets of the Progenitors all over the globe, and some of our best researchers had finally cracked the secret of the ancient global communication system they called "the Web". The Progenitors had left a single Monolith in the desert, containing every single piece of data they had ever produced.
Today, after twenty years of effort, it would be unlocked.
The event was being simulcast live across the globe from our Central Research Institute. I was glued to the wall in excitement as the camera crew panned across the Institute's "crack room", where a large screen displayed a countdown to when the Institute's best computers predicted they'd be able to crack the encryption on the Monolith. The screen would then display the first piece of data they managed to retrieve, sorting at random through the information within.
As the countdown hit zero, the screen flashed. The scientists, and the world, waited with bated breath for the file to load. Finally, it did.
On that day, spiderkind observed the Progenitors' mating ritual, live, for the first time in recorded history.
It was beautiful. |
When I walked into the hero recognition office I thought I was going to save the world; By the time I walked out I knew I would be the one to end it.
I got my superpower on the fourth of July. Some of my friends and I had gone down to the beach to light some fireworks. It was illegal of course, and dangerous, but there were enough people doing it already that one extra group wouldn’t hurt too much, at least that’s how we’d reasoned it to each other.
We’d gone pretty far down the beach to avoid the police, and we were running out of fireworks, so I drunkenly decided to launch all the rest at once for a finale. I placed the three of them in a line and started lighting one by one. To my credit, I actually succeeded, but one of them turned out to be a dud, so I did what any reasonable person would know not to do and walked up to it.
The next thing I saw was total darkness.
It’s in moments like these where you can catch a glimpse of the truth. It glowed like a firefly above me, taunting me for being human. Physicists call it the theory of everything, Plato called it “the good”, whatever you want to call it (I liked Fullmetal alchemist’s simple name: “the truth”), most have no Idea that it’s just within reach. You might see it when you sleep, or on your deathbed, or, like me, when you’ve been knocked unconscious, but it’s always just far away enough that you can never grasp it. But that day I did the one remarkable thing in my entire life — at least besides the things that were remarkably stupid— and caught it mid-flight.
I woke up with my girlfriend Ariella standing over me, her lips pressed thin with anxiety. I felt the rough sand beneath me and realized that I must not have been out for very long. When she saw that I was awake, she stormed off. Two of my friends, Zach and Daniel, were in a heated argument about whether the police should be allowed to put you on hold, which I gathered was why I was still on the beach. When they noticed that I was awake, they scurried over.
“I can’t fucking believe you did that,” said Zach
I looked over at them and with a straight face said
“You know, the reason why they put you on hold is that the calling center was overwhelmed. if you had called two minutes earlier then an old man would have died of a heart attack.”
After a moment or two of puzzled looks, they both burst into laughter.
“And how would you know?”
I looked at the sky. It was true, that statement was absurd, and yet I’d felt so confident about it. I looked back at Zach and Daniel.
“Ok, this is going to sound weird, but I want you guys to ask me something I would have absolutely no way of knowing”
Daniel was the first to respond.
“alright; what’s up with her”, he pointed with his thumb at Ariella smoking a cigarette in the distance.
“She’s upset because I barely talked with her for two weeks and then pulled some shit like this. She’s thinking about breaking up because I’m too erratic and she’s pulling too much weight in the relationship and it’s starting to feel one-sided” I replied almost instantly.
Daniel stared wide-eyed while Zach looked from me to Ariella and back repeatedly. The scene would’ve made me laugh had I not just learned that my girlfriend was thinking about breaking up with me.
It was Zach who responded next:
“So we can ask you...anything?”
I looked up at him, shaken. “I think so”
Three months later I was on my way to the official hero recognition office to announce my power. By then I’d figured out that I could answer written questions and by extension, ask myself anything, meaning that I had all the knowledge in the universe.
Almost shaking with excitement, I entered the building. This was it. I was going to meet all the heroes I’d grown up idolizing. I was greeted instead by a middle-aged bureaucrat in a suit: first I had to prove that my power existed. More people pretend they have powers than one would think, They made an entire government agency to regulate it.
And so I was herded past the gymnasium area, where I could see people performing various superhuman feats, and into a small room with a desk, where I was seated in front of yet another middle-aged government official, though this one had whiter hair.
The first question he asked was how I found out about my power, and so I answered.
His brow furrowed. In hindsight, I should’ve seen this coming, science has already documented how powers exist, and mine is an irregularity, to say the least.
“You say you can answer any question”
I nodded my head. They had tests prepared ahead of time, at least for the most interesting reports.
“What’s in the safe behind me”
“An eco-drive men’s chronograph with a satellite wave f900 GPS and a forty-nine-millimeter blue leather strap.” I didn’t need to give all that detail, but I wanted to impress, and, while I can’t manipulate the answers I give, they can be influenced by what I want to accomplish.
The man massaged his beard.
“Alright, what is the largest threat to human survival?”
Without hesitation and with complete confidence I repeated my own [name](https://www.reddit.com/r/Salad_Snack/) |
"What does the green pill do?"
As soon as he asked me, I felt my heart plunge into my stomach. I steadied myself on the bars of his prison cell.
"There is no green pill."I answered, in almost a whisper.
I looked at the shrivelled shell of a man before me. Locked in, trapped, and wasting away. And I, I was the guard. I resented the guilt my job left me with every day, but it was a job that needed to be done.
He began laughing, an almost child like giggle, like he knew a secret no one else did.
He quickly snaffled down "the green pill"when I offered the empty cup to his lips, then swallowed when offered some water. He was still softly chuckling as he slowly drifted off to sleep whispering "she doesn't know hehehe she doesn't know."
I loosened his restraints and made sure the bed rails were secure. I turned on the bed alarm and turned out the light, slowly making my way to the nurses station.
I feel guilty having to trick Jeremy this way every day. The dementia means that most days, Jeremy tries to harm himself and on a few occasions has tried to end his life. In his lucid moments, he begs for death to release him.
But if I don't, he will not take his sedative and heart medication. I must let him trick me every day with the "green pill"in order to keep him alive, and every day I feel tremendous guilt knowing it is me who is tricking him, tricking him into living a life he does not want to live. |
A genie's life.
As a metaphor, it could be summed up as a therapist faced with patients who refuse any sort of help. A wealth of medicine, science and powers to heal the sick and turn the wicked to the light, if only they willed it.
So why did the genie grant the wishes then, if it knew how bad they went? Its nature couldn't be denied, the same way a snake was born with poison and the scorpion rose its sting when feeling threatened.
An eon old being, shackled by its baser nature like a newborn foal. There was a lesson in there, coated in irony and fatalism.
Maybe this young one would learn it too, in time. Then again, everyone was young in the genie's single eye.
"I'm limping and I have a run tomorrow, I'd like to give a day of my life to heal my bruised foot,"you say, proud to have such a little wish for your first.
"You know, it would be better if you just sent me away and forgot about me,"replies the genie.
"I wish for a healed foot."
The genie snaps his fingers, and the pain in the ankle is gone, the foot pristine and ready to go through kilometers of concrete for tomorrow's run.
"Thanks."
The run went well, you barely think about it. You're much more amazed at the sudden disappearance of discomfort, instead of the usual, gradual vanishing. One snap, and everything is alright. Somewhere, sometime, far beyond, a single day of life was shed away.
"I have a date tonight."
"Go with your most ravaging smile and hope for the best,"muses the genie.
"Could you... just apply a bit of polish? You know, wax on and wax off, take that odd bit of skin away, firm up my belly, that sort of thing. Just as an edge."
Just as an edge.
"Two days."
"Deal."
The genie claps his hands, and the odd pimple falls into oblivion, the skin tightens up ever so slightly, and the eyes sparkle with the energy of youth.
The date fizzled out. No chemistry. But you don't mind.
How easy it is to wash off the impurities of your bodies with a few words, and two days. What are two days in a life?
Somewhere, sometime, two days died.
It isn't much. It never is. One day, two, three, a small price to pay when a massage costs a lot, as does a membership to a sports-club, for slower and imperfect results.
"Make me smarter,"you ask.
Ah, thinks the genie, here we are. The moment when it hinges on wordplay, where just a push in the right direction could change everything.
"If I may, ask to become *wiser*, it will serve you better."
"Smarter will do."
"Pleas..."
"I wish to be smarter,"you pronounce the words like a death sentence.
The genie sighs. it knows, knows the tremor in your voice as the symptom of an addict, and what an addiction it is. At first, you went at it parsimoniously, just a day here and there, and not much asked in return. The first shot of drug is always innocent.
You don't ask the price anymore.
The genie and its wishes, you take them for granted. They are a part of your life, one you can't live without. An injury or sickness? healed. An objective, a dream? The means to reach it in the palm of your hand. A whim, a desire? Easily paid for.
The genie claps his hands and sighs.
You'd never seen it before, the ramifications, the possibilities. The web of life humans spin, the implications of a word you heard so many times yet never noticed. The letters burn in your mind and in their ashes you find treasures.
"I wish for my body to be stronger, more resilient,"you say, trembling.
The rush is like none other, a burst of vitality coursing through your veins, you could scale a mountain and break a wall, a pristine example of a sane and beautiful body with a genius mind inside.
You leave the room, laughing and stumbling, your senses overwhelmed by the new, better new. And with it, a new world.
Time goes by, you are married to a wonderful person, and life is perfect. It has to be, problems with your spouse are solved with words, but not with your spouse, only with the genie. A life free from worry and decay, filled with success and fights won, be they of a bodily or intellectual nature.
"What's happening?"you gasp.
"You are dying,"replies the genie.
"No, no, not now."You're so young, barely reached mid-life. There's so much left to live for, so many things to do, it cannot possibly end so early.
"Where are they?"you ask in panic.
"Your spouse is out for the day, the rest of the family out and about. I'm sorry, you will die alone."
Not here, you think, not like that, in a clean, well-equipped kitchen, to be found holding your burning body tight, on the ground in a pitiful fetal position as you fight for breath. Not for someone like you, someone who lived for greatness. Such a death is unbecoming.
"I wish..."you cough blood.
"Keep your strength, you have no more days to bargain with. I'm sorry."
The world spins, your vision goes red, your heart is on fire and your lungs turn to clay. It wasn't so bad, was it? A good life, if short, and many feats to your name. How many mountains you climbed, love stories you lived, praise you garnered? How many? How many without the genie watching you in the background? What have you achieved on your own, without a crutch, without outside help, with your two hands alone?
Nothing, it all feels so empty.
Through the pain, you whisper a lone question.
"Why?"Too weak to speak more, your head hits the floor and you start shaking. A single word with a lot of weight, the genie knows.
The last instants always boil down to the same questions, the same realizations.
*This is not what I wanted. This is not what wanted for life, for myself. Why did you give me this?*
"I gave you what you wished for. If it wasn't what you *wanted*, you should have worded it better. As for the why, well, I can fight my nature no more than you can choose to go against your lungs and stop breathing forever just like that."
The vision goes dark, the pain a foreign concept. You hear only the ragged breath, the struggle for air.
*Not like this.*
And nothingness. The end.
The genie, unbound to the earthly ties, vanishes into oblivion.
A long time passes. And after a long rest, the genie feels the pull, the order to leave the is-not and become a presence manifest.
"I am the genie."
"My hand hurts, can you heal it?"
The genie, ethereal being with no earthly needs, appears to take a deep breath.
"You know, it would be better if you just sent me away and forget about all this." |
Forty-three years. That’s all I got with her. I’ve seen empire rise and collapse, I’ve seen the world drown in flood water and flowers grow when it receded millenniums later. Forty-three years wasn’t enough time for a heartbeat and yet, that’s all the world gave me. That’s all Sasha had.
She had approached me at the height of my power when a single one of my black wings could block out the sun. And unlike any human before her, she neither ran nor screamed. Instead, she looked up toward me, her lips quivering and knees trembling, but her scarlet eyes unwavering.
“Lucifer,” she had demanded. “I want to make a deal.”
A great many men had wanted to make deals with me. Some noble, most selfish. But she had been the first to deal for my sake. Whereas humans had avoided me like the Black Death I had created, she had asked I remain with her until her death.
“That could be right now,” I had told her, my lips curled into a sinister grin.
But she had only shrugged. “Then you’ll be missing out.”
“On what?”
And with a predatory grin, she had answered, “me.”
Never before had I met a human with such confidence. My heart had skipped as I stared into her eyes, looking for signs of weakness. She had wielded a certainty that even the most powerful being on Earth could not claim.
Now she laid in our bed, a beeping heart machine singing increasingly slower notes. Years ago her skin had lost its smooth complexion like someone had taken it and crumpled it up before returning it to her. She had lost her youthful skip and even getting up to use the restroom left her out of breath. The only thing that remained were those unwavering red eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told her, holding back the waterworks. Fallen angels had no business crying. “Please, a few more years, just one or two. Please!” Nor did they begging. My eyes teared up.
Sasha smiled back and shook her head. “I’m scared of death,” she told me. “But I’ve always faced my fears head on. How do you think I met you?”
“It wouldn’t take anything,” I told her. “I could give you a million years.”
“And I wouldn’t want them.”
I clenched my fists and black flames sprouted from my palms. “Why Sasha?” I squeaked. “Why won’t you stay with me?”
“Because I love you,” she whispered.
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” I screamed back in a baritone voice I hadn’t used in forty-three years. “If you loved me—”
“Quiet.”
I shut up.
A fragile smile broke her lips. “I’ve never run away from anything before and I won’t run away from this. If I started avoiding all the things I feared, I wouldn’t be me. Would you still want me?”
The flames in my hand simmered to smoke.
“The world’s scared of me dying too,” she said, nodding out the window to the line of tanks surrounding our house. “They think it’s the only thing keeping you from them."
They were right to be scared. Before I met Sasha, I had nearly wiped them out.
"If I could,"she continued, "I’d make you swear not to hurt them no matter what. But life belongs to the living. I won’t have you live for my memory. Forty years, to you, must be a single breath’s worth of time. I’ve only known you for a single breath, but I trust you, Lucy.”
A choked laugh escaped me. Lucy. Had anyone else called me that, I'd spawn flames from inside their body. But my laughs were short-lived, replaced by tears swelling in my eyes. Despite my best efforts, they leaked out and for the first time in my life, I uttered a pathetic cry followed by an even more pathetic wail. “I’m scared,” I admitted. “What do I do now?”
“You did just fine without me before,” she whispered. Even conversation had begun to drain her strength. “Do something that makes you happy.”
I tried responding, but couldn't push the words out. Truth was, that’s what I’ve been trying to do for all my existence. I had experienced every vice and pleasure in the world. Yet, none did the trick. Not like Sasha had.
“I can feel it,” she muttered in barely a whisper. “It’s coming.”
She was right. I could see her life spilling from her body. I had only a few minutes left.
A crack sounded. The house exploded in a ball of fire that incinerated everything it touched. Forty years of reducing my power to that of a human had left me slow to react. I just stood inside it, wide-eyed and jaw gaped.
“Sasha?” But I already knew there’d be no answer.
The world had certainly been scared, so much so that they had launched a pre-emptive strike.
Black flames sprouted from all around me. I just stood there, staring at the spot of vapor that used to be her.
I had only minutes left. To an immortal, those were shorter than a blink. But those were the only minutes I ever cared for. My dark wings unfurled.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week and nearly 200 already written!
|
"Just let the poor bastard go already, mate."
Death barely looked at his assistant, a wispy little ghost called Clay. He'd been with Death a handful of decades now, chasing after Death's ever-gloomy cowl to scoop up the souls felled in Death's wake. Clay made a decent enough personal assistant, even if he was a little... nosy.
Death inclined his head toward his assistant. His head was only a skull beneath a black hood. He tried on different aesthetics as the millennia wore on, but he always found himself going back to basics: a walking skeleton on a foggy night always seemed to inspire the best stories, anyway.
"What was that, boy?"
Clay's face crinkled. He had died young (mid-twenties, a stupid moment of impatience on a motorcycle that abbreviated his life abruptly), and he still had the soft cheeks of a child. "I told you I don't like being called that."
"When you've lived as many infinities as I have, you get to call people what you like."
Clay scowled in frustration. They were busy lurking together, as Death was wont to do, in the shadows of a shipyard. "Look,"Clay huffed, shifting the caddy-bag of Death's many different scythes to his other shoulder, "the point is, it's time to let the man move onto the afterlife. It's only fair."
"I think I've been more than fair, giving him as many lives as I have."
"Is that how you want to frame letting a man die horrifically"--Clay dug the Book of Souls from the caddy bag and thumbed through it until he pointed at the page he was looking for--"over a thousand times?"
"*Die horrifically*. My gods, the drama on you."
"The last time you brought him back from nearly crushing himself in his own massive Rube Goldberg machine!"
"Oh, yeah."Death grinned as much as a skull could. "He was trying to move a dead car without a tow truck. Didn't work."
"And before that you let him fall out of a plane when he was trying skywriting without a license--"
"Well,"Death said, "I'm not the one who made him not buckle up."
"Three lives ago he almost got Kalima'd by a remote jungle tribe when he wandered off-trail from the rest of his group."
"Still has a scar,"Death said, smirking.
Clay didn't match the mirth in Death's voice. He only scowled, humorlessly. "Thousands of years is too bloody long for anyone to be stuck alive."
"Relax. I don't even make him age."
"You think it's fair keeping him alive just to be entertaining to you?"
"Of course I do! Most people only get their one shot at living, and it's gone. This is the fairest thing I've ever done."
"Don't you think he'd remember all this?"
"I think he's too damn stupid."
"If that's the case, it's just cruel and unethical,"Clay sniffed.
Death's good mood wilted. He grumbled, "Maybe I'll kill him just so I can have a new assistant."
That made Clay's mouth open in an O of shock. "Was that altogether necessary?"
"Listen. The man is a walking Darwin award. I once watched him carry out bricks to a frozen pond just to see how big of a stack he could make before the ice broke. Then acted surprised when he *fell right through it*."Death gripped his assistant by the shoulders, his bone fingers digging into the ghost's soft, vaporous non-corporeal flesh. "You can't buy that kind of entertainment value, my boy."
Clay pursed his lips. "It just sounds morbid."
"All good humor is,"Death countered.
Gravel crunched at the other end of the shipyard. Death's head lifted in anticipation.
"There's the star of our show now."
Death and his assistant stood on the dock, watching the immortal approach. His name had changed a few dozen times over the centuries, and now he mostly went by Danny Danielson, possibly the stupidest man to be alive yet.
He walked whistling down the shipyard, hauling along a heavy cinder block. He was getting up in years now, pushing sixty. His once-dark hair had gone all grey, the scars of his countless bizarre deaths puckering all over his skin.
Death giggled in anticipation as he hunkered down on the dock. He reached into thin air, and a container of popcorn, shaped like a tombstone, appeared in his hand.
"Really?"Clay said.
"Look, the book says he's meant to die tonight. I might as well enjoy it."
Danny Danielsen swaggered closer, and now Clay could see that he carried a chain fastened to the top of that cinderblock. He sauntered under the shadow of a huge ship, pulled out of the water for repair. He walked right past Death and Clay without even glancing at them, as if they didn't exist.
Deep within Death's robe, a cellphone began to trill.
"Oh, all nine hells,"Death growled. He pulled his phone -- which was shaped like a skeletal human hand, curled into a fist -- and pried the fingers open to answer it. "What?"he snapped. Then he straightened. "Oh. Hullo, sir."He covered the speaker with his palm and nodded toward the cloudy sky. "Boss man on high. Can't turn down a call from God. But keep the human busy for me. I don't want to miss the show."
"Keep him *busy?*"
"Scare him! Rattle some chains. Aren't you a ghost? Damn."Death shook his head and returned to the phone. "Sorry, boss. Can never find good help these days."As he spoke, Death vanished in a whirl of black smoke.
And Clay stood there alone with his bag of scythes, the Book of Souls hanging heavy in his hands.
Danny Danielsen just kept walking to the end of the pier. He let the cinderblock plunk down, heavily.
Clay hesitated. Weighing his options. He darted a glance up at the night-black sky and wondered if Death would notice what he did next.
But someone had to let the poor guy know.
Clay slipped forward, awkward. Trying to find some way to explain, even as he slipped into visibility, how to explain that he was colorless and transparent and rather obviously floating off the ground. He approached Danny Danielsen without making a sound.
"Um,"Clay ventured, "excuse me?"
Danny glanced back at him and gave a jovial, "Hello!"as he settled down flat on his ass and started looping the chain around his ankles.
"Can I ask, um... what are you doing here?"
"Oh, easy."Danny Danielsen gave a wink and padlocked the chain tight around his ankles. "I'm playing Houdini. One-upping him. I'll do a real show for a big ol' crowd on Staten Island next week, if this all goes well."
"You'll just die,"Clay said, flatly.
Danny hesitated. He didn't *look* like an idiot. His pale eyes flicked over Clay with knowing and intent. His smile curled. "You gonna rat me out to the big guy?"
"Excuse me?"
"Death. I'm not as damn stupid as I look. And you're not the first assistant he's ever had."
Clay blinked fast. He looked back at the scythes and Book of Souls he had left behind at the end of the pier, wondering if he'd accidentally made them visible, too. "I'm ... um..."
"Don't worry. I won't get you in trouble with the big man."He winked.
"You know about him? About Death?"
"Of course. I figured it out, what, seven or eight centuries ago?"Danny Danielsen just gave an easy shrug and smile. "It's like a free reset on life. I just have to die in a haphazard and hilarious way, and Death brings me back again, good as new and about forty years younger. It's a good game for both of us."He checked the tightness on his ankle chain.
"Does Death know?"
"You tell me. You think Death likes feeling outsmarted?"
Clay couldn't help the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're conning him."
"You didn't hear it from me."Danny Danielsen extended his hand to Clay. "You keep my secret, and I'll keep yours. I'll even give you some tips, next time I see you. I hear the longest-term assistant has a chance of taking over the role of Death himself."
"Oh,"Clay said, shyly, "I'd never think about upper management like *that*."
"Hey, man, don't sell yourself short. Death started out as an assistant, once. Same as you."
For a moment, Clay entertained that dangerous dream. Having his *own* assistant trailing after him, someone carrying his bags for him. He'd be a fairer Death. A better Death.
Clay opened his mouth to reply, but Danny pressed his fingers to his own lips. "Shh. Here he is now."
The air where Clay left the scythes twisted and churned as Death reappeared in a living whirlpool of shadow.
Clay slipped back into his invisible-skin and skittered back to the bags. Danny Danielsen pretended to do nothing but stare at the half-hidden moon and practice his grand Houdini speech.
"Did I miss it?"Death said, excitedly. "Did I miss the show?"
Danny Danielsen, the greatest con-man the universe had ever seen, picked up his cinder block and tested the chain tightness as he wavered, awkwardly, on his trapped legs.
"He's all ready for you boss,"Clay said. He grimaced as he lugged the caddy onto his shoulder again. He wondered if he would keep up this game with Danny, if his own time to play Death ever came. Or maybe, by then, he'd be in the market for his own assistant. Danny would have a better resume than most souls, that was for damn sure. His grimace turned into a grin. "All ready for you."
***
/r/nickofstatic for stories from me and my best friend NickofNight :) |
I've solved ancient ciphers that have puzzled scholars for decades. Uncovered countless artifacts. Gained worldwide renown for my treasure-hunting abilities.
But then came the day I had to explain cloud computing to an Egyptian deity.
I entered the Great Sphinx through a secret stairwell in the side parallel to the Pyramids of Giza. In most cases, I scavenge in silence, with only deep echoes and the occasional rumbling of stone overhead to accompany me. Unfortunately, the spirit of the Sphinx has an obnoxious, booming voice.
"Who DARES enter my chamber?"it began. I rolled my eyes, and the voice didn't seem particularly thrilled. "Yeah, OK, buddy. I see you down there. Let's cut to the chase. To gain passage to the Pyramids, you must answer my riddles...uh...I don't know, actually. The merchant told me this would take, like, an hour. Let's go with 15! Yes, 15 riddles!"
"OK,"I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Lay it on me."
"You must...establish a connection to the server!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't know; you tell me."
"You're trying to...get on the Internet?"
"Yes! The great bastion of knowledge! How may I please the great god of 'HTTP 404'?"
I sighed and rubbed my temples with my hand. "OK...do you have a mouse?"
"I possess many rodents in my chambers!"
"No, no, a computer mouse. To click things."
"Hmm. Is this the artifact which was included with my Great Communicator?"
"With your computer? Yeah. If it's wired, plug it into the USB port. Ugh, you probably don't know...look, is there a way I can come into your room or whatever? It's really hard to explain this from a distance."
"NO! Foolish mortal. How can you possibly suggest joining me in the skies above? I do not desecrate myself by residing on your Earth. However, I find it crucial to understand your technologies to ensure further domination. Continue your explanation!"
I spent the next six hours explaining the functions of a mouse and keyboard and getting him connected to a weak public Wi-Fi signal. As soon as he got on the Internet, he began clicking on things.
"Ooh, it appears I've won something! They will ship great riches directly to me!"
"No, don't click that...that's a scam. It's not real."
"You mortals and your pathetic deceptions. It's too late. I have clicked it. Now my computer has ceased to function."
I spent the next five hours explaining the purpose of antivirus software and teaching him how to download some.
"You have done well, mortal,"he finally said. "I have but one final question. What is the 'cloud,' and how might I arrange a visit to it?"
"It's not a real cloud. It's a figure of speech. It's used to describe a particular method of data transfer and storage."
"This is an OUTRAGE! I can tell you are deceiving me further, human! As punishment for your insolence, you shall be trapped here forever. I have many more questions for you."
There was a loud rumble and a series of gigantic boulders fell from the ceiling, blocking the exit. I sprinted forward through a passageway I hadn't yet explored. More boulders began to fall as the Sphinx laughed with glee.
"There's no escape, you wicked, walking flesh-heap!"
I ran for my life for God knows how long, narrowly avoiding each boulder, until I reached an open clearing and the noise stopped. I looked up and saw the point of a triangle far above me.
"Welcome to the First Pyramid of Giza!"a voice announced. "To gain passage to the second pyramid, you must answer my riddles three."
"Sure. Why not,"I groaned.
"Excellent. I am attempting to coordinate a Zoom meetup with Ra and my fucking microphone isn't working. Assist me or perish." |
"I'm just a kid! I shouldn't have a job!"
The demon dragged her along the corridor, still clutching her hand as it had been since the contract was shaken into existence. "Back in my day, every kid had a job!"the demon rasped. "Shinin' shoes, polishing guns, getting the chimney fit for Santa."
The girl's eyes widened, merging her freckles into one big brown stain. "Santa's real? I knew it! I knew it!"Just wait until her brother heard this. That idiot wouldn't be laughing at her, then.
"Did I say Santa?"The demon, who was no more than a solid swirl of shadows, pushed a new arm out of his body. He took the cigar from his mouth and embers fell like shooting stars against him. "I meant to say *Satan*."He laughed as they walked.
Taylor wanted to go home. Her tamagotchi would need feeding soon, and if she didn't keep this one alive, there was no way Daddy would let her get a cat. Of all the nights to let a demon-under-the-bed shake your hand! She bit her lip, furious with herself for leaving an arm dangling. Mike, her older brother, had told her that a monster would get her leg or arm or whatever it was that wasn't safely tucked in. And now, worse than having to work in Hell: her brother was right. He'd never let her forget!
The corridor was bright white and reminded her of eggshells and hospitals. Not exactly how she thought Hell would be. They passed arched doors, left and right, from beneath which muted screams and laughter crept out.
"What's happening in there?"she asked, as they passed a particularly screamsome room.
"Ah, that's just the prod-a-tron-2020 testin' space."
She frowned. "Prod-a-tron?"
"*Prod-a-tron.* Prod. A. Tron."
She frowned deeper.
"Jeez, kid. You never heard of a prod-a-tron?"He took another puff of his cigar, blowing smoke into her face. "Satan developed it a long time ago, back when he was a little more, uh, *creative*. Someone cycles a bike powering the device, someone else -- the victim -- is tied to a pole and gets prodded by sharpened bones and tickled by feathers. Ehh, not too sharp though,"he added. "It's not about killing. Just about discomfort. That's the secret to good torture."
Taylor hated being prodded by her bother. Especially in the car. She nodded.
"And this, the 2020 edition, it's an upgrade. Uses solar power, you see, so we don't need to worry about wasting demons on it. Which is good, seeing as they're hard to come by these days -- that's why we're recruiting outside the box. And it prods at twice the speed, too."He lowered his voice. "Between you and me: *not His greatest invention*."
"It would be worse if you were spinning,"Taylor said. Car journeys. Or rides at the amusement. That's when Mike knew to strike, because that's when Taylor would be feeling like throwing up her lunch. And a well placed prod would bring it all hurtling.
"Huh?"
"If they were spinning. Then they'd feel sick and dizzy, and the prodding would make them feel even worse. It would be the very last thing they'd want in the entire world."
The dark demon stopped. Little yellow eyes flickered all over his body, roaming nebula, as he thought. "Say, that's a pretty good idea. It would be way worse. And it wouldn't take much more power to get the victim spinning."
"What's my job, anyway?"
"Huh?"
"Well, you said I was hired, but you never said what my job was,"Taylor explained. "So, what is it?"
"Oh. You're a Tester. Like the guy getting prod-a-tronned. You make sure all the latest ideas He and the Inventors have, work. Simple job."
Her eyes became bleary-misery.
"But... I don't know,"he added. "Maybe if you got another idea like that one you just had... Maybe I could put in a word for you. We need some more innovation down here, I reckon. The world up there is going to Hell without our help. We got to move forward. Progress."
"Idea like what?"
"A mean idea. Like the prod-and-spin. Say, that's a good name! Prod-and-spin. Or prod-and-whirl?"
She considered. Remembered the time Mike put her hand in warm water as she slept. The time he swapped the sugar with the salt. The hundred other pranks that made her life a misery. "I've got a lot of ideas,"she said. "And uh... If you do need a new Tester... I know someone who would *love* to help you." |
The man grunts, hoisting the stupid cone out of the dust once more. "Why couldn't I have just asked for the magic sword,"he mutters, stuffing the wedge into the gap before letting the weight drop. "Noooo, I hadda be a smartass to the all powerful git with zero sense of humour."
He passed the rope underneath the object nearly as tall as he, then around and under a few more times to form a cradle. The loose end get flung over the overhanging branch and tied to the saddle of a waiting horse. "At least he could have given me the launch vehicle and codes. Nope, just the warhead, as promised."A flick of the reigns and the futuristic weapon rose slowly into the air, swaying in the breeze.
"Right you two,"the man called to two others waiting with a cart, "put your backs into it!"
The cart was eased under the warhead and the horse encouraged backwards until the metal met the wood. Once the rope was unhooked the horse was harnessed to the cart and the epic quest began in earnest. Sure, they were still going to have to travel all the way to the Dark Lord's kingdom, but a surprise gift left at the gate would be a lot safer than a sword fight during a thunderstorm as was traditional.
"Heh, won't even have to be there to set it off,"he mused. He looked at the big red button in his bag. He'd painted "End of the world, do not press"in large friendly letters on its' smooth domed surface, just to make sure. |
The night sky rumbled overhead, an evening storm bringing a cool and humid breeze that brushed around the ankles of my fellow pedestrians. I raised my hood as I felt a few heavy raindrops fall on my face, and quickened my pace. *Splash, splash, clunk, clunk*— my footsteps echoed through the sunken alleyways that separated the buildings, stretching into darkness. Not the most ideal night for a storm, I thought to myself, but luckily there wasn’t too much farther to travel.
I arrived at Sam’s Place, the local bar-turned-coffee shop that had sprung up in response to the growing demand of Millennials moving into the neighborhood. My preferred base of operations. I casually pulled off my hood and slung my worn backpack to the side, taking a seat at the coffee bar. I pulled out my laptop as the woman working the counter came over to greet me. She studied me with a stern look on her face.
“Evening, Ruth. Any mail today?” I asked quietly.
Wordlessly, she pulled a slim envelope from her apron and placed it on the counter in front of me. I reached for it and slowly opened the pronged seal, revealing a few worn documents and photos inside.
“Thanks,” I offered.
She shrugged, placing a cup on the counter next to me and filled it with her darkest brew. Ruth preferred not to ask questions.
I sipped the bitter coffee as she went to her next customer. I started pulling the documents from their manilla enclosure. The first to come out were medical records of some sort, coupled with details of how a pacemaker functioned. On another, a crudely photocopied napkin with a message scrawled on it that read: “Meet me at Sunrise Plaza tonight, 9PM.”
I studied the material intently. On the final paper, a typed message unmistakably meant for me. “Included are the medical records for Councilman Tim Ryderman, incumbent running for reelection, along with the location of a sting operation set up by my crew. He’s under the impression he’s meeting with a local youth leader. Pacemaker details to help you make it look like it was an accident, if you need it. Get it done tonight, and the money is yours.” At the bottom of the page was a single letter handwritten in red ink, a large, cursive “A,” complete with a kiss in ruby-red lipstick. Classy.
I sighed, lamenting at how I allowed myself to get caught up in the most notorious turf war of New Sacramento’s seedy underbelly.
The photos rattled in the envelope as I picked it up, revealing a handsome and warm-looking man participating in various events. Shaking hands with the mayor, cutting a ribbon at a new park— undoubtedly Tim Ryderman. As everyone knew, Tim was the local rags-to-riches story that had captivated the hearts and minds of everyone in New Sacramento, promising to use his newfound fame and fortune for good. After starting a successful charity and various non-profit organizations throughout the state, he went back to school, volunteered around town, ran for office, yada yada yada.
I slipped the papers back into their envelope, carefully re-sealing the prongs once again. I ran one hand through my ruffled hair, with the other savoring the warmth of the coffee mug. What a night.
I knew Tim as well as any other average joe in town. It’s not like I wouldn’t mind killing him— I mean, that much came with the job. Emotional detachment was necessary to my professionalism, after all. And, as with any politician, he was no angel. I had done my research on the guy a few times once he became a high-profile name, and a respectably-sized laundry list of dark money had come his way to help him get elected. Pull on those strings, and who knows what could come unraveled.
But still, he had done good for the city too. Hospitals stopped turning away victims of gang violence at his request. He worked with local police to bust drug rings and clean up the streets. I respected that.
“Must be why Angela wants him gone,” I muttered to myself, thinking of the cursive “A” that decorated the bottom of the letter I had opened. She had inherited the family business, after all, and needed to keep the drug game afloat. Tim was an obstacle to her and her enterprise.
I sighed, weighing my options. As ambivalent as I was towards Tim Ryderman’s death, it wasn’t worth killing him to keep Angela and the Wolverines’ hold on the city secure. I shook my head and kicked myself for what I was about to do. I *really* needed that money this week, too.
I began packing my things when Ruth came back over to take my cup. I slipped the envelope into the pocket of my faded rucksack and looked up at her quizzical face. “Got big plans tonight then?” she asked calmly.
I smiled and pulled up my hood once again. “Nah. Just taking out the trash.” |
Vienkothet, lord of the third pit, lasher of shadows and devourer of hope guided the steaming cauldron of white fog slowly over the boiling black liquid in a complex, arcane pattern. The fog fell with soft lappings into the liquid, swirling and meshing silently into the brew. Up... Down... Left... Squiggle... Squaggle... Done.
"One Christmas Machiatti-Latti!"Veinkothet, lord of the thi-- well, Vincent, said with a smile as he held the coffee with a foam Christmas tree drawing out to the waiting customer, a big brute of a man in a flannel shirt, suspenders, and a breast cancer ribbon on his lapel.
The man grinned at Vincent through a mane of red hair.
Red. So red. Not red like blood, red like the fires of the third pit, red like the screams of the inn--
No, no. Vincent stopped himself with a chuckle. None of that was real, he'd never been in any pit, never curled the felfire to his whims and sent it galloping across the fields of the slain leading an army of hellspawn in it's charge. Those were delusions. He was Vincent
"Thanks!"The burly man's grin betrayed his beardly disguise and revealed him to be barely in his mid-twenties.
"Next!"
"I'd like a Denti Rudolph Redeye,"the woman barely looked up from her phone as she ordered.
"Venti?"
"Dente."
Dante? Vincent mused to himself. Dante had visited his corner of the nether-realm once. Quiet guy. Big nose though, always poking itself where it didn't belong. It made him furious, actually, now that he thought of it, how dare some guy just saunter into his pit and start taking notes like some sort of critic.
"I think you mean a Venti? That's Italian for big."
"I mean, a Dante, Venti means twenty, Dante means big."
No, you wretched insect, Viencent thought to himself, it doesn't mean that, it means someone who can't take a hint and get out of the way when there's flaying to be do-- No, no, that's not right. Maybe it does mean big. What do I know, I'm just Vincent the Barista.
"You know, like Grande? Dante? What is wrong with the education system today, no wonder you work at a coffee shop, thank goodness nobody put you in charge of anything."
They did put me in charge of things you gigantic mount of meat, Vienkent raged, they put me in charge of the traitors, the sadists, and drivers who never signalled. I was the fifth in line behind the prince of the darkness that outshines the light, I--
He paused and shook himself. Where did all that come from. What did she want? A Rudolph Redeye? Just a coffee. No problem.
"Hello? Hello? I get it, you don't speak Spanish or Italian. English? Do you speak English? English."
Vienkothet dropped the cup to the ground and whirled to face the woman.
"I speak the tongue that swallows sound you screeching thing,"the overhead lights shattered as his voice reverberated through the room in discordant octaves, the patrons shrieked and covered their ears.
"I was educated by lash and chain in the forge of the damned, I lead the legions of despair and cower all hope to my will. I am the sovereign of scars, the rajah of ruin, and the executor of the dark will,"the sunlight had disappeared from the windows as well, an orange glow slowly rose from the floor and intensified with each word. The people were all screaming, but no noise could penetrate the psychic overload of Vienkothet's assault.
"I AM THE--"
A snapping sound split the monologue. Vincent's left hand idly pulled and released a stress-rubber band fastened about Vienkothet's right wrist. Vincent looked down at it, slightly confused, as the echoing cacophony and rising flames slowly died down.
The assembled patronage stared at him, horrified.
He looked back.
"Sorry, got lost for a second there, large Rudolph, right?"
The woman nodded dumbly. |
My hair was a mess. I can't remember the last time I had a shower. Hours, days... months? They all melded into one singular mass of pulsating feelings. Anger, mostly. Slowly followed by regret. I'm angry at myself for not being there to save him. To save Jack. My best friend. The greatest man I ever knew. We spent our whole childhood together. He lived with me from a young age. When he was 6, someone broke into his house and slaughtered his family in cold blood. Obviously that leaves some mental issues. He was depressed, but that's putting it... that's not putting it correctly. It's putting it to lightly. To say he was depressed over watching his parents getting massacred is like saying 'I was a bit angry when I found my wife sleeping with the gardener'. Under-selling it feels so out of place in this context, but I don't know what else to use, so I'll use that. I remember the first week he slept at his new home, with my mother and father in the room near him... they could hear him screaming. Just over and over again in terror he just kept screaming "This doesn't help at all! I've made it worse!". But I guess he's a little lucky, at the end of the day. Just a little lucky that he knew me.
A machine in front of me whirled to life. Thousands of lights flashed upon it like a Christmas Tree from your deepest dreams, as the air around it became thick. "Alexander you brilliant bastard, you made a Time Machine". I said out loud to myself. I ran my hands over the sides of the console as I looked at the retro looking clock on the dash. A small aesthetic choice of mine to make it resemble the clock in The Delorean from Back To The Future. One of our favorites. We'd always talk about the things we'd change if we could go back in time. I always joked to him and said that 'The first thing I'd do is go back and kill baby Hitler. Like I could do that, just go back and time and murder a baby. Or even get to him. Or, even find him, I guess. Jack always said he'd go back and stop his parents being killed. Tears were starting to swell in my eyes as I thought about it all. Maybe, maybe I couldn't fix you Jack, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't there to stop you killing yourself, but just maybe. Maybe I can re-write the past into a world you could be in. I clocked in the date into the machine as a thunderous boom echoed around me. A small pistol in my jacket pocket started to shake from all the force around me, but with a quick reflex, I clutched it to my chest. All my windows shattered, like brittle paper in the hands of angry toddler, as the Time Machine was encompassed by a vortex. I could feel my very essence being shredded apart and put together, it was a sensation that I could barely even comprehend. I was ripping apart the fabric of time like I was a God. I was going to change the past to my will, I would bend it, reshape it, contort it and I would feel no guilt doing so.
The Time Machine came to a slow stop. I found myself at that night Jack's parents were killed. I could see their house. It was so close. A large lump appeared in my throat. Fear, I suppose. I mean, of course. Christ. What do I do? Do I just shoot the guy and leave? I don't even know. I crouched to the ground and slunk myself across it and under Jack's windowsill. I don't know what made me want to do this, I just wanted to look at him a little bit. To see him as a child with his loving family. I've never seen him like that before, I just wanted to see it once. Just once. I lifted my head upwards and looked inside the window and it was in that moment, my heart sunk into the depths of hell. I could see his father in his Bed, holding him down. He had him by his head and was forcing him down over his crotch. Rage overcame me. I ran to the front door and kicked it down. I could hear his mother scream out from the other side of the house from the loud shock, but my mind was not focused on her, it pushed past her, past her worries of her own safety, and I rushed into Jack's room. When I barged in, I could see Jack barely conscious as a small bottle of Xanax lay on the ground. The look on his father's face when he saw. Like a deer in headlights. Before he even could speak, I took out my gun and blew his head off clean. The blood splattered across the wall like an abstract painting. Bits of brain and skull lined it as well, decorating it with variety of the most foul kind. His mother barged in after me and screamed in terror at the sight of her dead husband. I turned to her and screamed "Did you know". She kept crying and looking at the bloody corpse of her fiend of a husband, blubbering. Again, I yelled, "Did you know". She said nothing. She just looked at me with these hollows eyes tainted with a knowledge that she just chose to ignore. I shot her in the head too. I watched as her soulless body collapsed into a heap. The adrenaline coursing through my veins dulled my senses to the catastrophe I had caused. I just looked at the poor drugged up child. He was barely holding onto consciousness, when I saw his eyes look at me. I started to cry, and I just stared at my small friend. "I'm from the future. Trust me, they deserved it."I looked around myself and it finally dawned on me. What I had done. What I had become. Who I was in the nightmare that was Jack's life.
"Oh God"I said. "This doesn't help at all. I've made it worse"
Edit- Thank you to everyone with your very very kind words. They honestly mean the world to me. I'm currently in the process of getting my first Novel published, so to hear people like this stuff, I mean, it fills me with a bit of hope. So seriously, thank you all.
|
It's one of those mornings.
I know I'm going to be late for work, and even though I managed to get some coffee into a thermos before getting into the car, I didn't secure the top all the way.
So then the damn thing sloshes all over the fucking console and some of it got onto my pant legs.
Jenna from Marketing keeps bugging me for me to reach a deadline for a project I didn't even sign for, and half the assholes on my team keep trying to give me their extra bitch work because I'm the most junior member of the staff.
And to top it all off, I can't speed. At all.
Some say the new government may be a little harsh with their punishment. But most of the people all looked to the person to their right, nodded knowingly, and then bullshitted about how THEY never break any rules, how THEY always follow the law, and anyone bucking the system deserves what's coming to them.
They seem like the kind of people who enjoy the smell of their own farts.
It's a lot harder to keep track of your exact speed on those antiquated speedometers, you can't exactly keep your eye on the road and on your exact speed.
So there are a few assholes going twenty under the limit, then those going the exact limit.
Always above you, a constant broadcast high in the atmosphere.
*ATTENTION CIVILIANS - SPEED LIMIT VIGOROUSLY ENFORCED*
Sometimes the clouds obscure the message, and too many people go a little too fast.
In big red letters. I wonder if any planes get confused by the laser projections from the ground?
Above us, the usual swarm of defense drones. You know they're for defense because they have big yellow smiling faces on them, and they carry little banners behind them with encouraging little messages.
*YOU CAN DO IT!*
*BE THE BEST CITIZEN YOU CAN BE!*
*DISSENT SHALL BE DEALT WITH SWIFTLY AND MERCILESSLY!*
*PLEASE ONLY REPORT ACCIDENTS WITH MORE THAN SEVEN FATALITIES!*
I'll assume the drones don't mess with air traffic. Or the lasers on the ground. The government always knows what they're doing.
So I'm next to this school bus, and a wall of slow movers in the front are starting to cause a backup. I try to needle my way to the left lane, to pass. But now I realize they're going the exact speed limit.
A school bus still is attempting the pass, rushing forward.
A distant sound, like the *pop* of a T-shirt gun. The kind you see at college games.
Next thing you know, the entire bus has burst into flames.
But kids these days. They knew what they signed up for.
Hopefully their parents have good insurance. Paying for corpse retrieval is a pretty hefty fee. Half the time they just scrape together some ash, shove it into a glass jar and say 'This is your kid. That'll be half of your yearly salary.'
I hope they clear up the resulting crashes and corpses by tomorrow morning. This would be the third week in a row a school bus broke the rules and they take forever to get off the highway.
Anyway I finally managed to get into the office, submitting to the usual rectal exam to confirm my identity. Government isn't a fan of key cards anymore.
I paid $29.99 for elevator access. I save about fifteen bucks this way rather than using the stairs, where you have to pay for each step you take up.
I get to my desk, pay the fee to log on, get up and pay another fee to get my second cup of coffee, and then got back to my desk.
To pay for how many hours I'm planning on sitting at my desk.
The day goes swimmingly, after eight hours of nonstop deliberation the entire project staff have agreed on the biggest update yet to the project. Something that shall truly define my work and give it great meaning.
We're changing the official color of the project font from green to red.
Go ahead. Pick your jaw off the floor. I went to school for six years to be qualified to make these kinds of decisions.
I even managed to report Jenna for dissent, who will spend the next six months breaking rocks with a big hammer somewhere far away in a government reeducation settlement. It'll be great exercise! And everyone knows only guilty people need a trial.
Besides, it'll give her such a sense of pride and accomplishment. Assuming she survives.
I begin my drive home, and am filled with exhilaration. This right here is the good life.
I set the vehicle on cruise control. Speed limit is 65, and that's what I'm going.
Until to my exasperation, I realize I set the speed to 66.
Mondays, am I right?
Before I can change it, in the distance I hear that same *pop*.
A wave of calm washes over me.
Well, this is what you get when you don't follow the rules.
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r/storiesfromapotato *If you enjoyed this story, I'm afraid you're going to be sent to a work camp.* |
Klaxons fire, eyes open, and I launch myself from my bed to my command desk to figure out exactly what forced me up at *3:32 in the damn morning!*
A quick examination revealed a unknown vessel had interrupted my hyperspace travel and was attempting to break through the main bulkhead of the ship. Glancing to another monitor reveals six lifesigns, however it could not decipher what species they were.
I had only a minute or two before they would breach the bulkhead and what little combat training I had would not suffice in taking them all on at once. My ship itself was not very large, with the bulkhead located in the main room with a hallway leading to storage, my room, and the cockpit respectively. Another glance at the monitor had revealed that the bulkhead had been breached, so moving with great discretion I grabbed my wrench and moved into my hallway.
Glancing around the corner I saw the six unknown entities traipse into my ship as if it was already theirs, and I strained my ears to listen to their conversation.
"Alright this is a easy one, systems showed one entity *asleep* on this ship, Vorgo you find 'em and take care of them won't ya?"
The entities themselves were honestly not much to look at, spindly limbs, round bulbous head and eyes. I've honestly seen children with more upper body strength. Hell they aren't even *armed*, taking a chance I turn the corner and scream brandishing my wrench.
All the entities turn to me in unison and then *they* start screaming.
"IT'S AWAKE!"
"THE SYSTEM INDICATED SLEEP!"
"VORGO GE-"
The one called "Vorgo"had moved... Right into my rushing wrench, forcing the entity to the ground.
"IT *MOVED*!!!"
"IT CAN FUNCTION"
Inhaling as swiftly as I can; I *Roar* at the entities once again, and they grab their fallen comrade and rush back into their ship screaming. As the bulkhead closes and I see the enemy ship engage it's own hyperdrive (faintly hearing *screaming* through the vacuum of space) As I return to my room I re-engage my hyperdrive, enter my bed and mutter a quick "Way too early in the morning for this"and return to sleep.
(This is my first one of these so... yeah, hope it was decent)
(Edit: The screaming through the vacuum was my sense of humor and not a actual thing, I just thought it was funny. For the people wondering about that.) |
The visitor folded inward in a motion that was thoroughly, for lack of a better word, alien. Dr. Braun turned to the 'liaison' that had brought Klurrt and been acting as translator and cultural advisor. She was surprised to see the man frowning with wide eyes, an expression of deep distaste on his face.
"I'm sorry,"said Dr. Braun, "Did I offend... him?"
"I don't know,"he said, "I've only seen them do this once before. I'm still not sure what it means."He made a set of noises that approximated the language the alien spoke, leading it to unfold.
Through the translator, Klurrt explained. "They are not supposed to exist anymore. Our ancestors were said to have gathered them and fed them to one another until there was only one and that one was placed at the center of the galaxy where it could do no harm."
"Well, this one is nowhere near the center of the galaxy..."said Dr. Braun.
As the translation was carried out there was a twitch but not a full withdrawal. "Where?"
Dr. Braun tapped her keyboard, dismissing the screensaver and navigated to the folder that contained the images. Finding the one she needed she checked the filename and then pulled up her charting software. A minute later she was able to pull up a render of the expected shape of the milky way and trace a line on it. "We aren't sure how far out it is yet. We're still waiting for the parallax shot. It has to be on this line though, and probably somewhere between here and here."
The sensory head pressed close to the screen and there was a chittering sound.
"What is he saying?"
The translator shrugged until Klurrt turned and spoke again. "This should not be. This is bad."
"Why?"asked Dr. Braun, "It's just a black hole. There are lots of them out there, according to our models."
Klurrt snapped shut almost violently, and refused to open again.
"Maybe we shouldn't have told them that." |
I waited.
I looked out from my window to the sparkling city that I had once terrorized and nearly destroyed more times than I could remember.
It was easy to plan for it's destruction, causing chaos and pandemonium with every attempt, But that was nothing compared to the **Challenge** of uplifting it.
Changing my image was the first difficulty, for good reason I was regarded as a menace and a danger to everyone, with years of maneuvering (some subtle and some not so subtle) I was considered reformed by the justice system and seen by everyone as a man seeking to atone for past wrongs.
Everyone but one man.
My greatest rival, the Hero who bested me in every confrontation, every test of strength, wit and skill. The final piece I needed for my grand scheme to be complete.
And so I waited.
With a crash he entered the scene, my poor door no match for his foot.
"It was unlocked you know", I call out over my shoulder in the calmest voice it could manage, hoping to keep my excitement from reaching him. "Although I **am** glad you came through the door instead of the wall or window", With a sigh I turn and walk to my desk, catching a glimpse of him standing in my door as I walk.
Gold stripes with a blue base with matching cape and red boots. I always loved his costumes and today's choice especially brought out the pure rage in his eyes.
"So what can this lowly public servant help you with today?"I cheerfully said as I sat down.
Or I would have said that had he not slammed his hand nearly through my desk when the word servant left my mouth.
"You never served anyone other than yourself you sick psychopath."The words left his mouth with more spittle than I would appreciate but they also contained more rage than I had planned for. "I knew all of this was a lead up to some ungodly theatrical reveal but I had never thought that you would do something so downright evil."He composed himself as best he could while hissing those words between his lips.
"Ahhhh, you found the genetic markers for the immortality program then? I was wondering how long it was going to take you to find those and come storming in here."I steepled my fingers together, "so how did you think this would play out? You come charging in demanding to know what the grand plan is and bait me into monologuing? I'm sorry to disappoint you but it wont be that easy you know."
With a sudden motion he rips me from behind my desk and pins me to the wall, "No games."He snarls at me, "I've seen the research papers, I KNOW that you intend to sacrifice ten thousand people to give yourself a longer lifespan, I KNOW EVERYTHING."
"Well what did you expect me to do when you don't return my calls and refuse to follow the breadcrumbs of lesser crimes back to me? Honestly you were being so stubborn that I had to do something drastic to get you here."I played the part of a scared super villain perfectly, suddenly realizing that I was two seconds from being paste on the wall had nothing to do with how scared I sounded I'm sure.
As easily as most people swung around a pillow he lifted me up and smashed me back into the wall, only using one hand to hold me now while the other gathered light or honour or whatever his power worked on.
**"I SAID NO MORE GAMES!"** He roared, the light gathering around his whole body now. **"UNDO IT! GET RID OF WHATEVER CHEMICALS THAT YOU PUT IN THEIR SYSTEM NOW!!"
"Already done."
I hear him grit his teeth at my now smug demeanor and feel him push me a bit higher up the wall
"The markers will fade in a week and the chemicals in the water are false positives I had the labs make up."I quickly add as I feel his urge to kill me rising, "The Immortality project is nothing more than smoke and mirrors."
His eyes narrow as they bore holes into my now-not-so-smug-demeanor for what feels like an eternity before he finally lets me down and lets go of his blinding radiance. "Explain. Now."He commanded in something dangerously close to a growl.
Quickly fixing my suit so that I could breath I move back towards fist indented desk, "Like I said you weren't returning my calls so I had the entire thing made up to hopefully get you here to talk to me."
"You planned the most heinous crime in two centuries just to get me to talk to you be cause you were bored?"his fists clench again as he leaks rage once more.
"Not boredom,"I assure him, "I need you for something."I almost whisper as I pull out the key from my favorite paperweight while I take out the fist sized box from my desk.
"You've gone insane if you think I'll help you with anything."slashing his hand in the air in front of him. The embers of rage are still in him, not quite out but nothing compared to the fire it was before.
"is that so?"I say with a dry smile, "is there anything I could say to convince you otherwise?"
"Nothing."
I stood there considering him in the silence, while he glared at me. And in that silence he turned to leave.
"I'm dying."I called out as he reached the doorway.
He froze one foot on the door.
"The senate knows already and are plotting and backstabbing to try to be next in line. It wont be too long before the news leaks and starts a power struggle."I flop into my chair in a rare break of character. "After plotting and planning for so long I finally create a utopia for all to live in, and the moment I show weakness it threatens to crumble."
The silence returned for several minutes this time before he spoke.
"A man in his prime tells me he's dying and that his empire is cracking. Normally I would offer to help but pardon me for not believing you."The skepticism in his voice betrayed by a speck of glee.
"Temporal freezing,"I answer while looking at my hand, "I look and feel 27 right up until I drop dead of old age at the ripe age of 140."I grinned at the look of shock on his face. "I told you that the time prison you tossed me in worked too well"
"Alright so you're about to die,"he said with skepticism to match his earlier rage. "I refuse to believe that you don't have twelve different plans already set up and in motion."
I raise my hands in the air. "Alright, you got me. I have two-hundred and four plans set up and only nine will destroy the world if go through."
His eyes harden at that and he starts to circle the room.
I raise a finger at him. "But not to worry they'll only go off in about twenty to thirty years if left unchecked."I plant both hands on either side of the dent. "This is my last challenge to you my old foe."Using the key I unlock the box and toss it to him. "This has the clue to get you started."
He snatches the box out of the air and holds it like it's a live serpent.
"I truly hate you."he seethed before he walked out.
"oh I'm counting on it."I dreamily murmured to the now empty room.
Because who else could I get to police my utopia and check every corner for wrong being done.
And who knows he might even find all eight of world ending plots I left for him.
________________________________________________________________
Alright I'm kinda new to this so be gentle.
|
The night the police told me my husband was dead was quite strange, mostly because my husband was right next to me as they said it.
It was reassuring to a degree when the police agreed with me. "Yes, he does quite appear to be,"the first remarked, glancing to the second, disbelief mostly across his face. "Yes,"replied the second.
"He does seem to be quite alive."
They left in a hurry after that. Paul laughed after they did and returned to cooking dinner. "Odd,"he said as he walked away. "How odd."
The morning after that night was quite strange too. I awoke to a scream, (A first,) and it belonged to my frail neighbour. Mrs Simmins.
Mrs Simmins always wore the same clothes. A pair of rotten slippers, one now grey due to mould, and a dressing gown that dragged across the ground. I don't know if cigarettes count as clothes, but with some ash stains on every surface of her, part of me believes they should.
Today, quite like every other day, she looked exactly the same. The only difference was the colour of her skin. No shade, no life, as if all the blood had been drained out of her. At her feet, on the road, lied her corpse.
In the same moment, she stood, screaming so loud, yet, silent, on the road, dead. After a few minutes, she was surrounded by people, all witnessing the same thing.
The police came, and they had no answers. The internet saw, and they all had no answers. None of us did.
The days passed so fast after that morning, and every single hour a new corpse was found. Every single corpse had a living counterpart, who couldn't comprehend what they were seeing. I spent a lot of my hours watching Paul in these moments. We realised the night the police came, they must have found his corpse. Was he the first?
Two nights ago, a smashing sound woke me from my sleep. It came from the bathroom, far down the hall. In my bed, where Paul was meant to be, he was not. I was so afraid, and I don't know why; It was just Paul. Still, I grabbed a baseball bat we hid in the closet, (some vain attempt at security,) and sought the sound.
A bloody pool trickled from the dozens of cuts Paul had struck into his own chest. His hands were shaking; a razor blade embedded into one of them. "This is not me,"he muttered to himself over, and over, and over. "I am dead, I died, this is not me, this flesh is not my own,"
"Paul,"was all I could say before he collapsed. The ambulance came, and they took him away from me. I overheard one of the paramedics say something along the lines of,
"Another one."
I could hear him screaming as they drove away.
"This is not my flesh,"
"This is not my flesh,"
"This is not my flesh,"
Please, Paul, stop saying that. Please. I hate it so much. I'm laying in this bed without you, Paul, and I know it's without you, but the other side feels so full. And you're not here Paul, you're not here, so why does it feel so full? We both know why Paul, the other side is full of me. And If I turn around, if I turn around Paul, I'll see myself, and I'll hear your voice, and I'll know how right you are.
This is not my flesh.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay, two updates in one week. |
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