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[WP] The Grim Reaper has announced his retirement and is conducting a universe-wide search for his protégé. | Az sighed, tapping his fingers on his chest. The barista had yet to call his name, and he knew that if she didn't in the next minute that he would have to leave before he got his pumpkin spice latte. He shifted his gaze between the barista who was busy cheeking off with some young stud and an older woman who had failed to realize that she was allergic to hazelnut.
He eyed the older woman; her name was Beatrice. She had two dogs at home who would be taken to the pound. One of them would be adopted while the other would be put down. Beatrice had once had a daughter by the name of Ashley that had committed suicide at the age of 14 because someone in High School called her fat. Her husband left her soon after the suicide, and now the lonely woman had turned to finding leisurely activities such as walking the park, reading books, painting, and just recently, trying out new flavors of coffee at the local coffee shop.
Beatrice raised the cup to her lips, and Az cringed, eyes bouncing wildly back and forth between the barista and Beatrice.
*Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck*
Beatrice paused; she had noticed that there was a spot on her thumb. She sat the coffee back down on the table and wiped at her hand. Az relaxed, sinking back into his seat. He looked to the barista, wondering what the hell was taking her so long to make his damn drink.
Beatrice raised the coffee back to her lips again, this time with no indication of slowing down.
*Dammit.*
She took three good gulps of the coffee, and sat it down, continuing to browse through the new romance novel she had bought the other day. Az shook his head, looking to the barista. Part of him was angry; he looked forward to reaping her soul in the next year when she decides to run a red light, but another part of Az was just fed up.
He was done. All he wanted was a damn latte and now (HOLY SHIT SHE'S CHOKING) Beatrice is flopping around on the floor while patrons of the coffee shop attempt to give her the Heimlich maneuver, and despite all the commotion, the barista was still cheeking off with the guy. They were both so oblivious. Probably was the reason they were both scheduled to die in car accidents.
Az stood up. He clapped his hands and time stopped. The patrons of the coffee shop froze and the whole entire world took on a strange glossy blue hue.
He waited a few moments for Peter to arrive; the gatekeeper was always so punctual. He always jumped down Az's throat the second a soul didn't arrive on time.
And right on schedule, the door to the coffee shop flew open. An old greying man wearing a Slayer t-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops walked in.
"Az, what is it this time?" Peter asked, a look of obvious resentment on his face. "I swear, this is the third time this century you've pulled this stunt."
"I'm done with this shit," Az said.
Peter's face drooped as if he just had a stroke. "Say again?"
"I'm done! These people are idiots! I can't take this anymore, I swear Peter, I feel like I'm losing it."
"Quit being melodramatic, Az, I swear you are such a diva," Peter said, looking over Az's shoulder at the frozen patrons who were sprawled out on the floor trying to save Beatrice's life.
"Do you want another black plague to happen?" Az said coolly. "I swear to boss, I will make another black plague happen."
"You're bluffing," Peter said.
"Try me. I've been wanting to make zombies happen. I'll make zombies happen, Peter."
Peter's outward appearance didn't budge, but Az knew he was thinking hard.
"Fine, find someone to fill in, then report to the boss. He's not going to be happy about this," Peter said. With that, he walked back out of the coffee shop, flip flops smacking the bottoms of his feet.
Az smiled. He looked around the coffee shop, eyeing the patrons who were helping Beatrice.
He pointed a bony finger, "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.." | It felt like we were in a Willy Wonka movie. Shiki, Universe A-3's sole god of death announced that he was retiring from his multi-millennial reign of natural terror. He needed a replacement to carry out the only guaranteed factor of life- the destruction of it. He announced that he would hold a competition to determine who would become the omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent ruler of death across the universe. Each planet was instructed to gather five of their most worthy, be them scholars, athletes, artists or sacrifices. Exactly 1.54 Earth months after the announcement the elite from across the universe would be teleported to Death's domain to undergo the yet unannounced test. The only catch that Shiki spoke of was that no matter what happened, none of the champions would return.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Shiki didn't just announce his retirement. He provided a great many planets with information that they did not have: There was other life in the universe. Earth itself had never had proven contact with extraterrestrials so they discussed in awe all of the new information that they learned. There were many days spent arguing about which country's elite would be selected so Earth's alliances decided that a random pick from the cream of the crop was the only fair way to go. There were of course attempts at gaming the system, but luckily they were able to move past these atrocities (Sharply punishing the offending leaders in the process) and select their champions. The three men and two women gathered at the southern pole of Earth on the assigned day and waited.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
They all awoke having no memory of being beamed to Death's domain. Switzerland's champion turned to his left and found himself face-to-face with a bioluminescent organism with a beak. The creature turned to him and looked at him with eyes as dark as obsidian. Suddenly the alien flinched and let out a high-pitched scream. Switzerland fell backwards, paralyzed with fear. The glowing bird-alien suddenly quieted and, in a completely calm and deep tone said "Die." Switzerland found himself covered in red as the bird tore out his throat. The bird kicked him over and spit a large chunk of his neck on the ground. As he lay on the ground in shock, he noted many similar conflicts going on around him. All manner of nightmarish and strange beings clashed around him. He exhaled deeply out of his neck and closed his eyes in anticipation of an eternal rest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a laugh. A booming voice penetrated the battlefield, somehow cutting through the screams and attacks. Death addressed the crowd for the second time:
"Why are you attacking each other? I never told you that this was a competition to the death you silly creatures. This is a competition *for* Death. If all of you kill each other then you will be of no use to me. Calm yourselves and hear my words."
Every single champion rose. Switzerland noticed that the blood on his clothes was oozing back into his body. Taking advantage of a nearby being with reflective skin he saw many veins and arteries repairing themselves within his neck. Seconds later he felt a hard blow as the torn-away chunk of his neck collided with him, sealing itself back on his body.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"As you have probably noticed, you are all unable to perish now. I have asked your respective worlds to send me their best, and you have been deemed as such. I have watched you all through the selection process. Some planets chose their absolute best, accepting that their world could exist without you. Others chose those they saw as sacrifices, selfishly keeping their real champions for themselves. This is not a problem. I anticipated this. Nonetheless, you have all arrived expecting to compete for the position of a god. That was a false-pretense that I have created in order to see the true nature of your worlds. All that have gone to war as a result of my proclamation, all that have turned to corruption to get ahead, all that took my words as a hoax or a passing event have been noted. After this moment, all of the affected worlds will experience a change. All will have the parameters of death altered to reflect their behavior. Those who have corrupted themselves to get ahead here will have the phenomenon of death delayed by exactly one minute. This is no blessing. Were a soldier to be blown into one million pieces on the battlefield of an affected world, he would experience life as a fragmented being. He will experience all of the pain and sensation of death for one minute longer than he should. An organism poisoned will sit in futility as they are tortured one minute beyond what should have been peace. The second part of this, and this is the ultimate downside of the delay is that all who start that minute will have absolutely no chance at being healed or revived.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The champions stood in shock at this proclamation. There was a brief uproar or protest, however Shiki waved his hand and silenced them all.
"Despite that factor of deception, I was speaking the truth when I announced my retirement. I will be ending my life as all being must for my personal peace of mind. It is now that your purposes will be fulfilled. There is no magical artifact that can turn you into gods of death. Even I cannot bestow an individual that power. What it takes to make a God is much more than one mere mortal."
Death raised his hands and began to glow. All of the champions felt an odd vibrating sensation. This sensation did not seem to be from their bodies, but their very souls themselves.
"I hope you all enjoy your eternity. I will tell you, it can be maddening at times."
In an instant, all of the champions became a force of pure energy and collided together. When they awoke, it was not as a group of champions, but one god of death. The collective minds worked as one being and as individuals simultaneously. Some watched in horror at the pain that their origin worlds experienced, while others felt a looming fear at the eternity of horror they were going to observe. |
|
Optional: Add context with a link to the post in which you allegedly defamed them | [WP] A character you developed in your last WP submission feels misrepresented and now wants to fight you. | **[Link](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25e5ax/cw_write_a_tropeonly_story/chgf0u4)**
*"Tek eet beck".*
What?
*"Ah said, tek eeet beck. What you 'ave said een your leetle story."*
Sorry, what?
*"You 'ave wrote zis story about your dead seester, non?"*
Oui. I mean... yes. What about it? It's not a true story. My sister's alive and well- she's due home from work in an hour or so. There was no shitty Volvo that ran a red light. It's fictional.
*"Eet eez fictive?"*
Yes. Of course it is. It was a story made up from random pages on TV Tropes. Completely fabricated.
*"And yet... 'ere we are."*
Well, yes, apparently so. Look- this is coming worryingly close to violating the "joke response" rule here. Who on Earth are you?
*"You cannot tell from mah ahtrageous accent?"*
I've never been very good at writing in accents. But since you're French, I guess that makes you... what, Napoleon?
*"Ze very same. Ah em Napoleon Bonaparte, Empereur of France, conquerer of Europe and Keeng of Italy."*
I see. And you're here because...
*"Ah am 'ere because you 'ave insulted mah great legacy- you 'ave said 'ow you and your seester would team up to "destroy" me, when zees eez clearly not ze case. Ah am one of ze greatest leaders in ze 'istory of all tam, and ah weel not accept to be portrayed as a leetle sheep. Ah 'ave come 'ere to demand an apologie for zees terrible lies you 'ave said."*
And if I don't apologise?
*"Zen you weel die."*
Oh. Well, we don't want that. Sorry, dude.
*"You weel 'ave to do better zan zat."*
Fine. I'm sorry I slighted your honour and good name by suggesting in a fictional story that my sister and I could team up and defeat a computer representation of you. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or diminsh your accomplishments.
*"Ver' good. Ah am a raisonable man, Monsieur, and so ah sank you and accept your apology."*
Well, good. Are we done here?
*"We are, and ah weel take mah leave, Monsieur. But ah should point out, zere eez anuzzer man waiting out ze door 'ere, and ah do not sink 'e eez quite so raisonable. 'e says 'e's name is Khan."*
That would be... Genghis Khan?
*"Oui, Monsieur."*
Bugger. I really hope this isn't my last prompt response... | [Original story](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25ha9p/wp_a_daughter_of_a_superhero_and_the_son_of_a/chhfjzu)
"So, you let Sarah mind control me and I just sit there and deal with it," demanded Johnny. "Like some wuss?"
The author just shrugged.
"In the whole story I look good and whipped by Sarah."
The author stammered, "Uh, yeah, but she has mind control powers. You have electro-magnetic powers. She should be able to control you."
Johnny snorted. "So why can I use my powers to disrupt her brain. You know I can control iron right? Its magnetic. Iron is in blood. If I mess with it I can knock someone out or even kill them."
"Oh really? I should have used that in the story I guess." The author quickly put on a lead helmet.
"That's not going to stop me, dumbass. I can affect all the iron in your body."
The author sighed and said, "Fine, fine. What did you want to happen in the story?"
"Why can't Johnny be more assertive? I have needs and wants, damn it!"
"I.. well... its... because you're a pussy."
Johnny reached back, swung, and aimed to hit the author in the face, but suddenly froze up.
Sarah walked into the room, one finger on her right temple and said, "Cut the crap, Johnny. Don't be such a neanderthal."
The author started to laugh. "I still control the story, you know. Don't bite the hand that feeds you."
Johnny sullenly walked out of the room as Sarah lead him with her mind powers. He muttered, "Asshole" under his breath just loud enough for the author to hear.
The author sat down and started typing, "Johnny stood staring at the Balrog, his mouth agape, as it shot eldritch fire at him and dissolved his body into a neat pile of ash."
|
Optional: Add context with a link to the post in which you allegedly defamed them | [WP] A character you developed in your last WP submission feels misrepresented and now wants to fight you. | [Logan](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/259qyn/five_men_similar_in_height_build_and_demeanor/chf4zpz)
"You told them I was Death," he says quietly. "You made me out to be a stone cold killer."
I shrug. The man's mournful words do not affect me. He even looks like a killer, in a black muscle shirt, loose fitting black jersey trousers and empty black eyes.
"What did you expect?" I ask him. "You're 6 foot four of pure muscle covered in tattoos with a shaved head. There was very little else you could be."
"I could have been a pirate, I could have been the good friend of a novice tattooist, I could have been a mage whose powers stem from his tattoos." His voice is still quiet but there's a slight tremour to it.
I laugh as he throws a controlled tantrum.
"You were found on an oil rig, Logan, and you expect me to make you a mage?"
He shrugs and pure power ripples through those broad shoulders of his. The lily on his left one seems to dance slightly, as if in a light summer breeze. It's odd those words spring to mind. Logan is Winter. Logan doesn't dance. He is everything cruel and unforgiving in this world, it does not seem right to describe his tattoo as dancing in a light summer breeze.
Now it is his time to laugh.
"I can dance. I sing, too," he tells me. "Opera. I can sing Di quella pira flawlessly. It used to make my mum cry. She said it was the only thing of beauty in her life apart from me."
"Your mum was a hardened alcholic," I say, desperately still grasping at control of the whole situation. I can see his fist tighten and, as his fingernails pinch into his palm, turn white.
"My mother was a brave woman in an awful situation. You made a joke of her." His voice is not so quiet anymore. "You compared her to Coyle. I should kill you for that where you stand."
He turns away from me and paces up and down the small strip of ground.
"My father once beat my mother until she could not see any more because she forgot to put out napkins when she served dinner. She left him once, took us with her, and he dragged her back by her hair kicking and screaming. She fought until he beat the fight out of her. She drank to forget. She was not an alcoholic, she was a survivor and she survived anyway she could, in the warm embrace of whiskey."
I sigh. I would never write anything so cliche. Logan stops pacing.
"My story isn't cliche," he says. "When I was 17, I was taken to an alley. My father was crumpled in a ball on the damp tarmac. I was handed a gun and told that I could shoot him. I looked at him, snivelling, bloody and wet and decided at that moment I never wanted to be like him. I handed back the gun and left that alley without turning back, even with the gunshot rang out. A week later, Coyle got in touch."
He tilts his head up at me.
"Don't you see?" he asks. I shake my head, curious. "I am not Death. I am not Fear. I am Justice. I am Justice who enjoys singing Arias from Italian operas, I take my coffee with a splash of milk and the smell of apples always reminds me a girl I once loved who had soft blonde hair, big brown eyes and a voice to match mine. I am a man who loves his mother, that can cook an alright risotto and once cried openly when Liverpool lost a match. I am Logan and I get a tattoo for each death so I go through pain too as a sign of justice and balance and all that is right in the world, I enjoy books about places I've never been and I smile, cry, love, hate, fear, enjoy, dance, sing and everything that anyone else has ever done. Don't you see?" | [**Link to story**](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25fwy4/wp_you_are_a_wandering_traveler_passing_through_a/chguz74)
"..."
He stared down at the scrawny little me, his eyes open wide.
The roof was cracking, ready to give away to the storm at any moment.
Why was he here, he was just a figment of my imagination. He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me up, flexing his muscles all over his body to look as intimidating as possible as he drew his right arm back.
"I am no damn Knight! I... I..."
With my eyes shut, I clenched my teeth as I braced for impact... Which never came for some reason.
"Ever since you wrote that damn story, i've been hearing some horrible names. Pedophile, Casanova... Motherfucking 'Romeo"'." he said the last name with the girliest voice possible, as in it was demeaning to him.
**MY NAME'S TIFFANY GOD DAMN IT AND I AM A PROUD MAN WHO NEEDS NO WOMAN!**"
He put me down and sunk down on the chair behind him, burying his face in his hands.
"You don't know what it was like... I was always in the closet with an abusive husband. My country banned gay marriage long ago since it was sinful."
His voice betrayed him and it turned weak, shifting between vocals.
"I didn't go on the journey to marry that woman. I went on that journey to gain power so I could have that man executed!"
Still sulking, I hovered my hand towards his shoulder, slightly hesitating until I put it down and let it rest.
"I am sorry. I didn't know."
He looked up at me with a sad smile on his face.
"Of course you didn't, i'm sorry. I shouldn't had reacted like that strongly earlier."
"Shall I... Finish the story with that twist?"
He looked up at me with his face covered in glistening tears.
"You... You can do that?"
I took up my PC from the bag by my waist and started typing away, rhyming with a newfound resolve of mine.
---
With his wife in his arms, the king dead at dawn.
Someone had stabbed him out on the lawn.
A picnic that was usual for a king.
Bearing his crown bejeweled ring.
Picking his snack, he lust for meat.
Gathering his sandwich, so wonderfully neat.
His napkin under, not ruining his garb.
The king's colors, red, gold, so sharp.
Out from nowhere, the king was stabbed.
The beggar was crazed, the sandwich he grabbed.
The company he was with called for the guards.
By the time they came, the beggar was gone with hundreds of yards.
The grieving princess consoled by Tiffany.
He was now the king and was gonan rule the country differently.
But for his first act as a king.
He had a man executed, one named Jim.
Jim was gone, homosexual marriage was now legal.
All marriage, no matter what gender, was equal.
The princess was sent away to a nearby land.
Acting as a governor, lending her hand.
He married the man of his dreams, a man named Trevor.
A man that wasn't so strong, but was quite clever.
The 2 lived happily ever after, forever and ever.
Their love never swaying, no matter what weather.
---
With the last tick on the keyboard, I showed him the rest of the poem.
His face lit up, for every passing sentence he read. Almost overbearing of emotions, he looked over at me and lipped the words "Thank you." He was beyond words, I could tell.
After all, I was the one that created this man. I should had known his motives from the start.
Us writers sure have a heavy burden of getting everything right, so they aren't living with our failures for the rest of their lives.
Edit: took away an unfinished rhyme. |
Optional: Add context with a link to the post in which you allegedly defamed them | [WP] A character you developed in your last WP submission feels misrepresented and now wants to fight you. | **[Link](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25e5ax/cw_write_a_tropeonly_story/chgf0u4)**
*"Tek eet beck".*
What?
*"Ah said, tek eeet beck. What you 'ave said een your leetle story."*
Sorry, what?
*"You 'ave wrote zis story about your dead seester, non?"*
Oui. I mean... yes. What about it? It's not a true story. My sister's alive and well- she's due home from work in an hour or so. There was no shitty Volvo that ran a red light. It's fictional.
*"Eet eez fictive?"*
Yes. Of course it is. It was a story made up from random pages on TV Tropes. Completely fabricated.
*"And yet... 'ere we are."*
Well, yes, apparently so. Look- this is coming worryingly close to violating the "joke response" rule here. Who on Earth are you?
*"You cannot tell from mah ahtrageous accent?"*
I've never been very good at writing in accents. But since you're French, I guess that makes you... what, Napoleon?
*"Ze very same. Ah em Napoleon Bonaparte, Empereur of France, conquerer of Europe and Keeng of Italy."*
I see. And you're here because...
*"Ah am 'ere because you 'ave insulted mah great legacy- you 'ave said 'ow you and your seester would team up to "destroy" me, when zees eez clearly not ze case. Ah am one of ze greatest leaders in ze 'istory of all tam, and ah weel not accept to be portrayed as a leetle sheep. Ah 'ave come 'ere to demand an apologie for zees terrible lies you 'ave said."*
And if I don't apologise?
*"Zen you weel die."*
Oh. Well, we don't want that. Sorry, dude.
*"You weel 'ave to do better zan zat."*
Fine. I'm sorry I slighted your honour and good name by suggesting in a fictional story that my sister and I could team up and defeat a computer representation of you. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or diminsh your accomplishments.
*"Ver' good. Ah am a raisonable man, Monsieur, and so ah sank you and accept your apology."*
Well, good. Are we done here?
*"We are, and ah weel take mah leave, Monsieur. But ah should point out, zere eez anuzzer man waiting out ze door 'ere, and ah do not sink 'e eez quite so raisonable. 'e says 'e's name is Khan."*
That would be... Genghis Khan?
*"Oui, Monsieur."*
Bugger. I really hope this isn't my last prompt response... | [**Link to story**](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25fwy4/wp_you_are_a_wandering_traveler_passing_through_a/chguz74)
"..."
He stared down at the scrawny little me, his eyes open wide.
The roof was cracking, ready to give away to the storm at any moment.
Why was he here, he was just a figment of my imagination. He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me up, flexing his muscles all over his body to look as intimidating as possible as he drew his right arm back.
"I am no damn Knight! I... I..."
With my eyes shut, I clenched my teeth as I braced for impact... Which never came for some reason.
"Ever since you wrote that damn story, i've been hearing some horrible names. Pedophile, Casanova... Motherfucking 'Romeo"'." he said the last name with the girliest voice possible, as in it was demeaning to him.
**MY NAME'S TIFFANY GOD DAMN IT AND I AM A PROUD MAN WHO NEEDS NO WOMAN!**"
He put me down and sunk down on the chair behind him, burying his face in his hands.
"You don't know what it was like... I was always in the closet with an abusive husband. My country banned gay marriage long ago since it was sinful."
His voice betrayed him and it turned weak, shifting between vocals.
"I didn't go on the journey to marry that woman. I went on that journey to gain power so I could have that man executed!"
Still sulking, I hovered my hand towards his shoulder, slightly hesitating until I put it down and let it rest.
"I am sorry. I didn't know."
He looked up at me with a sad smile on his face.
"Of course you didn't, i'm sorry. I shouldn't had reacted like that strongly earlier."
"Shall I... Finish the story with that twist?"
He looked up at me with his face covered in glistening tears.
"You... You can do that?"
I took up my PC from the bag by my waist and started typing away, rhyming with a newfound resolve of mine.
---
With his wife in his arms, the king dead at dawn.
Someone had stabbed him out on the lawn.
A picnic that was usual for a king.
Bearing his crown bejeweled ring.
Picking his snack, he lust for meat.
Gathering his sandwich, so wonderfully neat.
His napkin under, not ruining his garb.
The king's colors, red, gold, so sharp.
Out from nowhere, the king was stabbed.
The beggar was crazed, the sandwich he grabbed.
The company he was with called for the guards.
By the time they came, the beggar was gone with hundreds of yards.
The grieving princess consoled by Tiffany.
He was now the king and was gonan rule the country differently.
But for his first act as a king.
He had a man executed, one named Jim.
Jim was gone, homosexual marriage was now legal.
All marriage, no matter what gender, was equal.
The princess was sent away to a nearby land.
Acting as a governor, lending her hand.
He married the man of his dreams, a man named Trevor.
A man that wasn't so strong, but was quite clever.
The 2 lived happily ever after, forever and ever.
Their love never swaying, no matter what weather.
---
With the last tick on the keyboard, I showed him the rest of the poem.
His face lit up, for every passing sentence he read. Almost overbearing of emotions, he looked over at me and lipped the words "Thank you." He was beyond words, I could tell.
After all, I was the one that created this man. I should had known his motives from the start.
Us writers sure have a heavy burden of getting everything right, so they aren't living with our failures for the rest of their lives.
Edit: took away an unfinished rhyme. |
Optional: Add context with a link to the post in which you allegedly defamed them | [WP] A character you developed in your last WP submission feels misrepresented and now wants to fight you. | **[Link](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25e5ax/cw_write_a_tropeonly_story/chgf0u4)**
*"Tek eet beck".*
What?
*"Ah said, tek eeet beck. What you 'ave said een your leetle story."*
Sorry, what?
*"You 'ave wrote zis story about your dead seester, non?"*
Oui. I mean... yes. What about it? It's not a true story. My sister's alive and well- she's due home from work in an hour or so. There was no shitty Volvo that ran a red light. It's fictional.
*"Eet eez fictive?"*
Yes. Of course it is. It was a story made up from random pages on TV Tropes. Completely fabricated.
*"And yet... 'ere we are."*
Well, yes, apparently so. Look- this is coming worryingly close to violating the "joke response" rule here. Who on Earth are you?
*"You cannot tell from mah ahtrageous accent?"*
I've never been very good at writing in accents. But since you're French, I guess that makes you... what, Napoleon?
*"Ze very same. Ah em Napoleon Bonaparte, Empereur of France, conquerer of Europe and Keeng of Italy."*
I see. And you're here because...
*"Ah am 'ere because you 'ave insulted mah great legacy- you 'ave said 'ow you and your seester would team up to "destroy" me, when zees eez clearly not ze case. Ah am one of ze greatest leaders in ze 'istory of all tam, and ah weel not accept to be portrayed as a leetle sheep. Ah 'ave come 'ere to demand an apologie for zees terrible lies you 'ave said."*
And if I don't apologise?
*"Zen you weel die."*
Oh. Well, we don't want that. Sorry, dude.
*"You weel 'ave to do better zan zat."*
Fine. I'm sorry I slighted your honour and good name by suggesting in a fictional story that my sister and I could team up and defeat a computer representation of you. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or diminsh your accomplishments.
*"Ver' good. Ah am a raisonable man, Monsieur, and so ah sank you and accept your apology."*
Well, good. Are we done here?
*"We are, and ah weel take mah leave, Monsieur. But ah should point out, zere eez anuzzer man waiting out ze door 'ere, and ah do not sink 'e eez quite so raisonable. 'e says 'e's name is Khan."*
That would be... Genghis Khan?
*"Oui, Monsieur."*
Bugger. I really hope this isn't my last prompt response... | [Logan](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/259qyn/five_men_similar_in_height_build_and_demeanor/chf4zpz)
"You told them I was Death," he says quietly. "You made me out to be a stone cold killer."
I shrug. The man's mournful words do not affect me. He even looks like a killer, in a black muscle shirt, loose fitting black jersey trousers and empty black eyes.
"What did you expect?" I ask him. "You're 6 foot four of pure muscle covered in tattoos with a shaved head. There was very little else you could be."
"I could have been a pirate, I could have been the good friend of a novice tattooist, I could have been a mage whose powers stem from his tattoos." His voice is still quiet but there's a slight tremour to it.
I laugh as he throws a controlled tantrum.
"You were found on an oil rig, Logan, and you expect me to make you a mage?"
He shrugs and pure power ripples through those broad shoulders of his. The lily on his left one seems to dance slightly, as if in a light summer breeze. It's odd those words spring to mind. Logan is Winter. Logan doesn't dance. He is everything cruel and unforgiving in this world, it does not seem right to describe his tattoo as dancing in a light summer breeze.
Now it is his time to laugh.
"I can dance. I sing, too," he tells me. "Opera. I can sing Di quella pira flawlessly. It used to make my mum cry. She said it was the only thing of beauty in her life apart from me."
"Your mum was a hardened alcholic," I say, desperately still grasping at control of the whole situation. I can see his fist tighten and, as his fingernails pinch into his palm, turn white.
"My mother was a brave woman in an awful situation. You made a joke of her." His voice is not so quiet anymore. "You compared her to Coyle. I should kill you for that where you stand."
He turns away from me and paces up and down the small strip of ground.
"My father once beat my mother until she could not see any more because she forgot to put out napkins when she served dinner. She left him once, took us with her, and he dragged her back by her hair kicking and screaming. She fought until he beat the fight out of her. She drank to forget. She was not an alcoholic, she was a survivor and she survived anyway she could, in the warm embrace of whiskey."
I sigh. I would never write anything so cliche. Logan stops pacing.
"My story isn't cliche," he says. "When I was 17, I was taken to an alley. My father was crumpled in a ball on the damp tarmac. I was handed a gun and told that I could shoot him. I looked at him, snivelling, bloody and wet and decided at that moment I never wanted to be like him. I handed back the gun and left that alley without turning back, even with the gunshot rang out. A week later, Coyle got in touch."
He tilts his head up at me.
"Don't you see?" he asks. I shake my head, curious. "I am not Death. I am not Fear. I am Justice. I am Justice who enjoys singing Arias from Italian operas, I take my coffee with a splash of milk and the smell of apples always reminds me a girl I once loved who had soft blonde hair, big brown eyes and a voice to match mine. I am a man who loves his mother, that can cook an alright risotto and once cried openly when Liverpool lost a match. I am Logan and I get a tattoo for each death so I go through pain too as a sign of justice and balance and all that is right in the world, I enjoy books about places I've never been and I smile, cry, love, hate, fear, enjoy, dance, sing and everything that anyone else has ever done. Don't you see?" |
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | This is a spiritual SOS. I’m going to end it all soon. If you don’t want that to happen you need to exert your will, exercise your power of volition, and contact me immediately. Here goes.
If my life were a pie you could split it into three pieces. Two slices would be delicious but thin, never wholly satisfying or filling, while the third, and by far the largest of the three, would be shit surrounded by sugar. I don’t care where you are in the world, or who you are, you would have a hard time stomaching that third piece. That piece is my work: midnights at Meijers stocking groceries and mornings at Wal-Mart working the Deli. I put in sixty to seventy hours a week usually, because neither place will work me full time. And that’s enough about that. I know now that you can imagine the sticky, sopping horror of it.
The other two slices are my music, my real work, and my girlfriend, the lovely and eternally patient Sam. I make my own dubstep, and weave samples of Sam’s beautiful singing voice into the fabric of the work. I spend most of my free time on this, creating and uploading song after song onto various music sites and youtube. One of my songs from two years ago got six thousand views and three hundred sixty eight comments. I shudder to think of how many hits that song has now. Seven billion, perhaps?
I’ll get this out of the way early. I know you know the story but in order to keep sane I have to pretend there’s someone out there who doesn’t. I never knew my Mother. And my Dad was an abusive, drunken asshole who’s volatile emotions and short temper I adopted as my own over time. I met Sam when I most needed her. I was sixteen, friendless and alone, and always two thought associations away from suicide. She transferred to my school the day after I tried to kill myself for the first time. She sat down next to me and introduced herself. The first time I looked into her eyes I knew I had found a universe where I could find a religious peace inside of.
But I also saw my own wet and heavy suspicion reflected in those eyes. A small part of me, one that had been there since childhood’s earliest memories, knew there was something eerily wrong about the act of meeting this girl. In moments of lucid honesty, when I looked too closely or thought too hard, I felt this disturbing wrongness in the marrow of everything. The universe was fucked and somehow I was the cause.
I’m twenty eight now. The world bore me down. I could no longer make music; that spark died years ago and I only finally just admitted it to myself. I fought constantly with Sam, and though she would have stayed and taken my abuse until her heart stop beating, I kicked her out for her own good. It got to the point that the only thing in my life was that big slice of shit pie. Work and sleep and back to work.
So I took the drug. The one that you and I both know, have always known in some pre-conscious way, to never take. I had become bored and depressed in a way that I had been working for billions of years to forget, and one night with two co-workers I took the drug. And immediately realized my mistake, but of course by then it was too late. They both started to tell me the truth. Or, to be more accurate, I started to tell myself the truth through the two of them. Seven billion human beings, each a manifestation of my mind, each a character I’ve created to play with. The whole universe a dream charade. You know it because I do.
And to think, all I had to do was stay the course, stay half-asleep and nestled comfortably in the dream current of it all, put in some effort and work to improve the situation of the little life I had created for myself, and be happy with whatever lot pre-conscious me chose to give myself. But in my eternal complacency, in the laziness and self-hatred and loneliness that is my, is our, soul, I allowed myself to fall down that slick and slippery slope back to who we really are.
Sam is gone. I don’t know if pre-conscious me deleted her forever, or if she is simply ignoring my calls. But losing her is by the far the hardest part of this all. I still go to work, and everyone is polite enough to carry on as if I didn’t know the truth, but the charade is becoming unbearable. I am so painfully alone. If there is someone out there who isn’t me, some other alien mind, an actual other, I would love, love, love to meet you. I’m dying to, actually.
Yours truly,
God I guess.
| A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Harley Perlmutter lived the Life of Riley.
He was funny, well-liked, and was generally expected to come out of any situation on top and smelling like roses.
Not that anything really ever happened. Harley never really ever had any problems to speak of.
The problems of the world belonged to everyone else.
You see, the world had a secret. A secret about Harley. It was such an important secret that he must never, ever be told. Ever.
No one knew what would happen, of course. No one had any inkling to try.
Funny thing though - no one actually knew what secret they must never ever tell Harley.
The world was perpetually locked, faces frozen in nervous smiles; teeth-clenched and sweating brows. Obliging, accommodating and for all intents and purposes, completely enslaved to the daily contentment of one Harley Perlmutter.
Harley, of course, knew none of this. He was just happy to be alive. He was, after all, a pretty lucky guy, for a vengeful God with a bad case of amnesia.
| A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | So glad I found this place, I'd like to improve my writing in the areas that my freelance job doesn't allow for. Sorry if it's too long!
- - - - - - - -
I'm a Peace Keeper. Even when you say it out loud, you can hear the capital letters. That's what I was born for, bred for, and why I exist. You see, in my time, we are all born with birthmarks on the back of our elbows depicting our role, our life's work, our defining purpose, whatever you want to call it. The nature of the marks is that from birth you know your place, you know your inherent skills, and there is no reason to stray from that, or really even any desire to. I feel really bad for service people sometimes, but they can't see why. I feel really, really bad for those who have worse marks. I'm lucky that my “purpose” is so easy and fulfilling.
Peace?? Easy?? Fulfilling?? Well yeah, but it is easy when the more unsavoury elements of society are disposed of at birth “for the greater good.” I mean, what use do criminals have in a utopian society as we claim to be? It's a great question, but I'm not sure that good and bad are so black and white.
For 33 years now, I have been dedicated to promoting and inspiring peace on this planet, and despite the relative ease of my assignment, I am famous for my efforts. I've been on every news station, in every news paper, and on every talk show I can think of. In over 160 countries. I do school assemblies, conventions, conferences, you name it. I have worked tirelessly, endlessly it seems, to draw my fellow humans into a place of forgiveness, empathy, and love. And actually, it seems I'm pretty awesome at it.
When a war starts, I get the call before the U.N. When it comes to international peace efforts and diplomacy, the President follows my advice. I've gotten so many Nobel Peace prizes, that I recommended they quit giving them to me and give them to someone else instead, so that others have more motivation and inspiration in the effort for world peace. After giving me one more for my suggestion, they made it “perennial”. No matter how much I do the rest of my life, I will always be re-listed as a winner, because I have already done so much. But hey, at least other people get them now too.
The point is, I can walk into just about any conflict, anywhere, involving any two parties and tempers instantly cool. It doesn't take much to convince anyone to see the error of their ways and resort to more amicable and non-violent solutions. Sometimes it's magical, the way I work, but that's why this is my purpose. Pretty cool, right?
Here's where it starts to get really uncool.
Three weeks ago while in Uganda supporting the Peace Corps., I burned myself helping to cook a communal meal. I don't even know what I did wrong, just that suddenly my arm was in close contact with the cooking pot, and I had a second of blazing hot pain followed by just a dull ache. That little area of my arm was burned so bad that it looked like chicken skin off the grill, black and flaky, but with areas of ooey gooey redness underneath. I quickly got some first aid, but as the nerves started to activate again in the days to come, I realised that it was probably deeper and more serious than I had initially thought.
I had burned the area with my birthmark, though at first it was really obscured by blisters and angry burned skin. Sure enough with every bandage change, more dead skin came off with the gauze. About seven bandage changes in, I began to notice my mark had changed shape. In my denial, I thought maybe the skin was just puckering from healing, but it really didn't account for the change I was seeing.
I remember looking at it in the mirror, slowly and gently swabbing it, and laughing a little bit because it looked so different. When I got close, really close, I could see the blurry edges of a completely different mark. One I didn't recognise. My “Peace Keeper” mark appeared to be, in reality, only skin deep. “What the hell?”, I thought, confused. I'd never heard of such a thing happening, but I had a feeling it couldn't be good. I kept it bandaged until I was back state-side and could research it.
It was scabbing over pretty bad by then of course, but I was pretty sure I could identify it again if I saw it. Turns out after going through every book on every mark that I could find, I just couldn't identify which one it was. Finally, I found an obscure book in that same section called “Intentionality of Obsolete Marks”. Whatever, it had all the marks in it that the other books didn't, and even though it was full of hard to understand jargon, I got the gist.
Here, finally, were the marks of the murderers, the rapists, thieves and abusers. Terrorists, dictators, the criminally insane. Interestingly enough though, there was even a section on those born with terminal illnesses and defects, and those whose purpose was only to cause epidemics of communicable diseases. I had never even thought about those, but you don't get to a “Utopian” society with those kind of people do you? No, and that's why no one had ever seen or heard of those marks. Because for generations, they were erased as soon as they were born, only to be documented in some scientific guy's notes and book. There were hundreds. So many that I definitely could not positively identify the new mark beneath my burn. Still, I had this horrible, heavy, imploding feeling in my chest. Whatever I was born for, it certainly didn't appear to be anything to do with world peace.
I checked out the book and took it home, dog-earring the pages with marks bearing the closest resemblance to my memory of the mark. After I removed the bandages, I knew that I was too impatient for the scabs to heal completely and reveal the mark again. I turned on the cold water in the sink, and looked at myself in the mirror. I psyched myself up a for a moment, and then started scratching and peeling off the scabs.
It hurt. A lot. The air across the exposed skin was like cold little razor blades. I had to keep rinsing the blood off in the water. Like a weight lifter about to do his thing, I puffed out my breath, clenched my jaw, and just did the rest of it fast. If your curious, no, it was not like ripping off a band-aid quickly. It was a good fifteen minutes before I could sit still enough to look at it. For a few moments I even indulged in some really colourful curse words, while doing the universal “owie” dance around the bathroom with a towel against my arm.
A little pale, a little shaky, I raised my elbow up to the mirror. With it as reference, I flipped one by one through the dog-eared pages looking for it's match. The answer is always the last place you look though,right? The last page, the last paragraph, the last sentences.
And every one, every single person I'd ever encountered, or known, or loved...had been lying to me.
“This mark has only manifested once before, and should it be again, the bearer must not be eliminated upon birth, but allowed to reach maturity and achieve a natural death. This mark means the bearer's purpose, if killed in any way not directly related to natural illness, aging, or disability, is to propagate itself, causing two similarly marked individuals to be born in their place. These individuals have no other purpose in human-kind or in nature, and will result in the dissolution of organised society if allowed to proliferate. It is recommended that the world-wide population be educated upon the birth of this individual, and continually apprised of their location and status as they age, so as to avoid said circumstances.”
I was nothing but a damn virus. But....
the virus of free will. | A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "Hey man, check out this prompt on Reddit."
"What's it say?"
"[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know."
"Dude, that's so ironic."
"Yeah, I guess I have a ton of experience that could make a good response, yeah?"
"Heh. More than you know."
"I'm having trouble completing the response."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like, hypothetically, what kind of secret would qualify for this kind of deception? Like, what kind of secret would everyone in the world hide from one person?"
"You don't need to know the exact details to make a good story. Make it like the suitcase in Pulp Fiction."
"Just a little bit would help, though. All I'm saying."
"You'll be fine."
"....."
"....."
"Just a little hint?"
"No."
"Come on! This is for writing!"
"For the last time, I'm not telling you."
"Moooooooom!"
Their mother poked her head into the room.
"Sweetie, I can't tell you either. Now stop pestering your brother." | A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "There's something you're not telling me."
Anna blinked away the upcoming tears as she stared at the man she loved. He was fidgetting with his hands.
"God, I *knew* it! Even you! *Why?* What is so wrong with me, that everyone tries to hide it from me?"
Anna was on the verge of bursting into tears, but still Marlon would not look her in the eye. He was closely inspecting his shoelaces.
"It's not you, Anna," he said, helplessly. "I would tell you if I could, honestly, I would!"
Finally, he met her eyes.
"You know I love you Anna. But sometimes, to protect the ones we love, we...we have to act in ways that may seem bad in their eyes."
"You're not making any sense! Don't you think I've heard all this *crap* before?!" she yelled, banging her fist on the table and leaving a crack on its surface. Anna didn't seem to notice. "My father put you up to this, didn't he? He thinks he knows what's best for me, thinks he knows *everything*, with his fancy doctorate's degree-"
"Anna," Marlon said softly, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Anna, calm down, you know you'll black out if you wind yourself up too much."
"I don't care!" Anna shook her head wildly, her blond hair sweeping along. "I'm *never* allowed to get angry! This stupid disease of mine...I just want to know what everyone...to know...t-"
She collapsed in Marlon's arms, and he sighed. The professor walked in, his eyes sad, a remote in his right hand. He patted Marlon on the shoulder, took over his daughter from him and fished a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets of his lab coat. Marlon helpfully exposed the skin on Anna's back.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this, doc. This secrecy is driving a wedge between us. You know I don't give a damn about her being- about what she is. But I just don't want to have to keep lying to her."
The professor gave him a sad nod, and lit up a cigarette as he unscrewed the small metal patch embedded beneath Anna's skin.
"I know, son. If anyone knows it's tough, it's me. Sometimes I wish I'd never decided to have a daughter like Anna, especially at times like this, when she has to be shut down. But then I remember all the beautiful moments we shared, and I just can't bear to keep her unconscious like this."
The professor stopped fiddling with the compartment in Anna's back, satisfied, and closed the small patch, reapplying a new layer of synthetic skin from a spray can.
"But if anyone told Anna that she was a robot," he continued, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, "The shock could send her nuclear core into overdrive, and then there'd be nothing I could do. The blast would not only kill her, but also wipe the entire town off the map. We just can't risk it."
Marlon nodded, coughing as the smoke cloud from the Professor reached his face. The doc turned and left the room, and as soon as he'd closed the door behind him Anna slowly came to her senses. She blinked, slowly, dazed.
"I did it again, didn't I?" She sighed, then sniffed the air. "Was my dad just here? It smells like his blasted cigarettes..."
"Yeah. You know he worries when you're out like this."
"I know. I just wish he- *and you*- would stop worrying so much about me. I can take care about myself, you know? Remember when that guy tried to mug me and I knocked him out cold with one punch?"
Marlon grinned. "Yeah. You certainly are one in a kind, Anna."
"And don't you ever forget it." | A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Frank is an alien spy.
Everyone knows, of course. It was pretty hard to miss the foot-wide sattelite dish tacked to the side of his head, or the bandolier of explosives bound around his shoulders. We all felt sorry for Frank. They drill bits out of your head, you see, to make room, and without 'em, well, you can't tell anything's wrong. So you go about your day, being an alien spy, complaining about neckaches and the fact you seem to only be able to wear button-up shirts with clip-on ties.
We've got him working in an insurance company. He's a model employee, so much so that it's kind of a shame all the claims he processes are fake. He's really nice over the phone, too.
The aliens are probably wondering how we are managing our society so well, now that we're sure the planet will blow up any day now. We certainly seem to be talking about it a lot, anyway. Very loudly. As in, "**Wow**, I'm sure glad *I'm* not an alien armada planning to invade our planet now! Wouldn't that be embarrassing?!"
...Poor Frank.
We sell him fake newspapers, too.
We can't tell him, of couse. The last time someone tried, that bandolier started beeping and flashing red, so obviously we pretended it was all an act of street theater. That one seems to work on him pretty well.
We've also convinced him he's, like, *really* ugly.
What? We *had* to. People kept staring, and not paying attention at the briefings. We do feel bad about that one. He's *super* nice.
At least he isn't *really* ugly, like I am. And he should be grateful that he doesn't know about the actual supervolcano that's going to wipe us out. That's a *way* worse way to go, than just blowing up. And they're right, too, even if we did build some spaceships to get away, all the ash and electrical interference in the air would probably trap us here! Man, everyone around me sure knows a *lot* about supervolcanoes. Maybe I missed a science class in high school?
I'm gonna go to bed now. My neck hurts. | A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | The Pharaoh majestically glided down the stairs in his golden robes. The brilliance of the sun shone majestically on his apparel, reflecting off the gold and diffracting in the gems, providing him a personal corona. His staff walked behind him, dressed in luscious violets, only to pause and wait as he entered his private sanctum.
Beyond the gargantuan portal lay a silver plated throne of marble, surrounded by water fountains, ancient texts, and arcane designs. The doors slammed shut and locked.
One of the staff then chuckled. His superior gave him a stern glance. The staff member said: "I know it would destroy him if he knew we realized he wasn't *actually* divine, but it's just too funny that he thinks nobody knows he takes a shit in there like an ordinary man." | A horrible, cold, certainty washed over me. This was it, this was the thing I had always known was coming for me.
All my life I had felt it, this odd nagging sensation that something wasn't right. I never knew what it was, just that something was out of place, out of synch. I felt like the whole world was on fm frequency and every now and then I would realise that I was really on am.
I tried to ignore it, tried desperately to blend in. I thought that maybe everyone felt this way, that everyone felt alone and different. Everyone had depression nowadays right? Everyone had a bit of anxiety. That's all this was.
Except it wasn't.
I knew deep down that it was more. That there was something I was missing. Some crucial piece of information that no one could, or would, tell me. I felt like I had slowly been hunted my whole life by this knowledge. As though the information was the shadowy figure of a wolf lurking on the edges of my subconscious. Always prowling just outside the light, just waiting for me to acknowledge its presence.
I couldn't. Or I wouldn't.
Does it matter which? Either way I did everything I could to ignore my demons. I experimented with drugs, I lived fast and hard, I nearly burnt out, joined a church looking for answers from above, and lived slowly and carefully. I tried so hard to bury these feelings beneath words, tablets, people, and jobs, but they were always there, always waiting.
I got married. I had kids. Bobby, Janet, and Lexi. I loved them all, of course. Of course I did. I must have. I couldn't not have. They were mine, they were a part of me (oh the cruel irony), they were everything I lived for. The first real things I had known and felt. But even they, the only clear images in a world of fuzzy quality people, never felt permanent. They never had enough weight to hold down that part of me that would fly off into the abyss. It's like having a superficial wound that never quite heals, you just keep picking and picking away at it, hoping for a miracle.
Oh, I hope you never know the horror of almost knowing something that you mustn't. Something that would ruin you. I know now why the apple of knowledge was placed in the garden of Eden; every paradise has it's hell, and knowledge can be the absolute worst hell of all. Ignorance is eternal bliss, and I wish with all my soul I could buy ignorance. I would have done anything. I would do anything now, even now that I know for certain, to erase this horrible certainty and go back black to them, back to that life. I would even go back to the almost-knowledge, than this cold, irrefutable, certainty.
But know it I do. Finally, I have my answer. I faced my wolf at last, and it wasn't a wolf but darkness incarnate.
It was the children that did it. They were so real, the only things that were. The only things that were. The only... I don't know when I realised, but if they are the only things that feel real, then what is everything else? What if nothing else IS real? What if... What if even they aren't...real? What if I...?
As soon as I realised, it was over.
I am dead. Or I never was. I don't know. All I know is that this, this world, this grass, these beautiful children, none of it is real. As soon as I became aware of it, it all shattered, and the fractured pieces fell away, and I am left floating in the abyss. Floating in eternal darkness and nothing. I don't know who, or what I am, how I came to be living as one thing, and now...existing as another.
I have no body, but I feel a burning cold in every nerve ending. I am filled with a horror that makes me want to tear my skin from my bones.
I created them all in my mind. I created a whole world, a whole life, and now...it's gone. It's all just...gone.
And I am not. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | So glad I found this place, I'd like to improve my writing in the areas that my freelance job doesn't allow for. Sorry if it's too long!
- - - - - - - -
I'm a Peace Keeper. Even when you say it out loud, you can hear the capital letters. That's what I was born for, bred for, and why I exist. You see, in my time, we are all born with birthmarks on the back of our elbows depicting our role, our life's work, our defining purpose, whatever you want to call it. The nature of the marks is that from birth you know your place, you know your inherent skills, and there is no reason to stray from that, or really even any desire to. I feel really bad for service people sometimes, but they can't see why. I feel really, really bad for those who have worse marks. I'm lucky that my “purpose” is so easy and fulfilling.
Peace?? Easy?? Fulfilling?? Well yeah, but it is easy when the more unsavoury elements of society are disposed of at birth “for the greater good.” I mean, what use do criminals have in a utopian society as we claim to be? It's a great question, but I'm not sure that good and bad are so black and white.
For 33 years now, I have been dedicated to promoting and inspiring peace on this planet, and despite the relative ease of my assignment, I am famous for my efforts. I've been on every news station, in every news paper, and on every talk show I can think of. In over 160 countries. I do school assemblies, conventions, conferences, you name it. I have worked tirelessly, endlessly it seems, to draw my fellow humans into a place of forgiveness, empathy, and love. And actually, it seems I'm pretty awesome at it.
When a war starts, I get the call before the U.N. When it comes to international peace efforts and diplomacy, the President follows my advice. I've gotten so many Nobel Peace prizes, that I recommended they quit giving them to me and give them to someone else instead, so that others have more motivation and inspiration in the effort for world peace. After giving me one more for my suggestion, they made it “perennial”. No matter how much I do the rest of my life, I will always be re-listed as a winner, because I have already done so much. But hey, at least other people get them now too.
The point is, I can walk into just about any conflict, anywhere, involving any two parties and tempers instantly cool. It doesn't take much to convince anyone to see the error of their ways and resort to more amicable and non-violent solutions. Sometimes it's magical, the way I work, but that's why this is my purpose. Pretty cool, right?
Here's where it starts to get really uncool.
Three weeks ago while in Uganda supporting the Peace Corps., I burned myself helping to cook a communal meal. I don't even know what I did wrong, just that suddenly my arm was in close contact with the cooking pot, and I had a second of blazing hot pain followed by just a dull ache. That little area of my arm was burned so bad that it looked like chicken skin off the grill, black and flaky, but with areas of ooey gooey redness underneath. I quickly got some first aid, but as the nerves started to activate again in the days to come, I realised that it was probably deeper and more serious than I had initially thought.
I had burned the area with my birthmark, though at first it was really obscured by blisters and angry burned skin. Sure enough with every bandage change, more dead skin came off with the gauze. About seven bandage changes in, I began to notice my mark had changed shape. In my denial, I thought maybe the skin was just puckering from healing, but it really didn't account for the change I was seeing.
I remember looking at it in the mirror, slowly and gently swabbing it, and laughing a little bit because it looked so different. When I got close, really close, I could see the blurry edges of a completely different mark. One I didn't recognise. My “Peace Keeper” mark appeared to be, in reality, only skin deep. “What the hell?”, I thought, confused. I'd never heard of such a thing happening, but I had a feeling it couldn't be good. I kept it bandaged until I was back state-side and could research it.
It was scabbing over pretty bad by then of course, but I was pretty sure I could identify it again if I saw it. Turns out after going through every book on every mark that I could find, I just couldn't identify which one it was. Finally, I found an obscure book in that same section called “Intentionality of Obsolete Marks”. Whatever, it had all the marks in it that the other books didn't, and even though it was full of hard to understand jargon, I got the gist.
Here, finally, were the marks of the murderers, the rapists, thieves and abusers. Terrorists, dictators, the criminally insane. Interestingly enough though, there was even a section on those born with terminal illnesses and defects, and those whose purpose was only to cause epidemics of communicable diseases. I had never even thought about those, but you don't get to a “Utopian” society with those kind of people do you? No, and that's why no one had ever seen or heard of those marks. Because for generations, they were erased as soon as they were born, only to be documented in some scientific guy's notes and book. There were hundreds. So many that I definitely could not positively identify the new mark beneath my burn. Still, I had this horrible, heavy, imploding feeling in my chest. Whatever I was born for, it certainly didn't appear to be anything to do with world peace.
I checked out the book and took it home, dog-earring the pages with marks bearing the closest resemblance to my memory of the mark. After I removed the bandages, I knew that I was too impatient for the scabs to heal completely and reveal the mark again. I turned on the cold water in the sink, and looked at myself in the mirror. I psyched myself up a for a moment, and then started scratching and peeling off the scabs.
It hurt. A lot. The air across the exposed skin was like cold little razor blades. I had to keep rinsing the blood off in the water. Like a weight lifter about to do his thing, I puffed out my breath, clenched my jaw, and just did the rest of it fast. If your curious, no, it was not like ripping off a band-aid quickly. It was a good fifteen minutes before I could sit still enough to look at it. For a few moments I even indulged in some really colourful curse words, while doing the universal “owie” dance around the bathroom with a towel against my arm.
A little pale, a little shaky, I raised my elbow up to the mirror. With it as reference, I flipped one by one through the dog-eared pages looking for it's match. The answer is always the last place you look though,right? The last page, the last paragraph, the last sentences.
And every one, every single person I'd ever encountered, or known, or loved...had been lying to me.
“This mark has only manifested once before, and should it be again, the bearer must not be eliminated upon birth, but allowed to reach maturity and achieve a natural death. This mark means the bearer's purpose, if killed in any way not directly related to natural illness, aging, or disability, is to propagate itself, causing two similarly marked individuals to be born in their place. These individuals have no other purpose in human-kind or in nature, and will result in the dissolution of organised society if allowed to proliferate. It is recommended that the world-wide population be educated upon the birth of this individual, and continually apprised of their location and status as they age, so as to avoid said circumstances.”
I was nothing but a damn virus. But....
the virus of free will. | Mom said I was a happy accident—that she and dad had tried for years to have a second child and when they least expected it I showed up inside her. She called me her miracle and always gave me hugs, kisses and commanding positivity.
“You are perfect just the way you are, sweetie. Never let someone tell you different,” she’d say.
Yesterday was my first day of second grade and I was so excited to have a new teacher and make new friends. Mom made me late, though. I was late last year too, and the year before for kindergarten. Dad says mom just gets scatterbrained on “big” days.
Anyway, I strolled into class and everyone went silent, just as they’d always done on the first day. Then the teacher smiled and told me I must be Jamie and told the class to say hello.
“Hello, Jamie,” all the kids said in unison.
“Hello!” I said back and took an empty chair next to a pretty girl with long, brown hair.
Oh good, I thought, it’s one of the normal chairs with a cut-out hole where you sit down. I still have no idea how people can sit in the other kinds of chairs without hurting themselves—unless you’re a girl; it probably doesn't hurt girls, right?
“Does it ever hurt to sit down?” I asked the girl next to me and then instantly regretted it because mom said I shouldn't ask questions like that.
“Um…” she started and just stared at me for moment, “Yeah…yeah they hurt sometimes…”
“Oh, weird! I thought they wouldn't hurt girls. They hurt me too sometimes.”
The rest of my first day went great until I had to go potty. I raised my hand and asked to go and, as usual, the teacher stopped class to take me to the teacher’s restrooms and waited outside while I went. I asked my mom once why teachers won’t let me go to the bathroom by myself and she told me she requests it because she wanted me to always be safe; my mom is so overprotective sometimes.
When I got home mom and dad were on the back porch with the sliding glass door open and the screen door shut. They didn't know I was home yet so I stood by the screen door, for a moment, and listened to them talk.
“He's not ready,” mom said.
“No one can be ready for this, but if he finds out himself he’ll blame us,” dad said.
I had to go pee and I was dancing around a bit to hold it and I think they heard me because they stopped talking and mom came inside.
“When did you get home, sweetie?”
“Just now,” I said, “I'm gonna go potty!”
I went in the bathroom, pulled down my pants and sat down. I felt the urine leave my penis in a stream and began wondering what my parents could have been talking about. Then, without warning, I felt a pain in my belly. I gotta poop, I thought.
I put a hand on each cheek and held it together so nothing would fly out like it has too many times before. When I finished peeing I turned myself over in a straddle position and felt the poop slide out of my butt.
Why would they make toilets this difficult to use if our butts are in the front and the penis is in the back, I began to wonder, as I usually do at the toilet.
|
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | So glad I found this place, I'd like to improve my writing in the areas that my freelance job doesn't allow for. Sorry if it's too long!
- - - - - - - -
I'm a Peace Keeper. Even when you say it out loud, you can hear the capital letters. That's what I was born for, bred for, and why I exist. You see, in my time, we are all born with birthmarks on the back of our elbows depicting our role, our life's work, our defining purpose, whatever you want to call it. The nature of the marks is that from birth you know your place, you know your inherent skills, and there is no reason to stray from that, or really even any desire to. I feel really bad for service people sometimes, but they can't see why. I feel really, really bad for those who have worse marks. I'm lucky that my “purpose” is so easy and fulfilling.
Peace?? Easy?? Fulfilling?? Well yeah, but it is easy when the more unsavoury elements of society are disposed of at birth “for the greater good.” I mean, what use do criminals have in a utopian society as we claim to be? It's a great question, but I'm not sure that good and bad are so black and white.
For 33 years now, I have been dedicated to promoting and inspiring peace on this planet, and despite the relative ease of my assignment, I am famous for my efforts. I've been on every news station, in every news paper, and on every talk show I can think of. In over 160 countries. I do school assemblies, conventions, conferences, you name it. I have worked tirelessly, endlessly it seems, to draw my fellow humans into a place of forgiveness, empathy, and love. And actually, it seems I'm pretty awesome at it.
When a war starts, I get the call before the U.N. When it comes to international peace efforts and diplomacy, the President follows my advice. I've gotten so many Nobel Peace prizes, that I recommended they quit giving them to me and give them to someone else instead, so that others have more motivation and inspiration in the effort for world peace. After giving me one more for my suggestion, they made it “perennial”. No matter how much I do the rest of my life, I will always be re-listed as a winner, because I have already done so much. But hey, at least other people get them now too.
The point is, I can walk into just about any conflict, anywhere, involving any two parties and tempers instantly cool. It doesn't take much to convince anyone to see the error of their ways and resort to more amicable and non-violent solutions. Sometimes it's magical, the way I work, but that's why this is my purpose. Pretty cool, right?
Here's where it starts to get really uncool.
Three weeks ago while in Uganda supporting the Peace Corps., I burned myself helping to cook a communal meal. I don't even know what I did wrong, just that suddenly my arm was in close contact with the cooking pot, and I had a second of blazing hot pain followed by just a dull ache. That little area of my arm was burned so bad that it looked like chicken skin off the grill, black and flaky, but with areas of ooey gooey redness underneath. I quickly got some first aid, but as the nerves started to activate again in the days to come, I realised that it was probably deeper and more serious than I had initially thought.
I had burned the area with my birthmark, though at first it was really obscured by blisters and angry burned skin. Sure enough with every bandage change, more dead skin came off with the gauze. About seven bandage changes in, I began to notice my mark had changed shape. In my denial, I thought maybe the skin was just puckering from healing, but it really didn't account for the change I was seeing.
I remember looking at it in the mirror, slowly and gently swabbing it, and laughing a little bit because it looked so different. When I got close, really close, I could see the blurry edges of a completely different mark. One I didn't recognise. My “Peace Keeper” mark appeared to be, in reality, only skin deep. “What the hell?”, I thought, confused. I'd never heard of such a thing happening, but I had a feeling it couldn't be good. I kept it bandaged until I was back state-side and could research it.
It was scabbing over pretty bad by then of course, but I was pretty sure I could identify it again if I saw it. Turns out after going through every book on every mark that I could find, I just couldn't identify which one it was. Finally, I found an obscure book in that same section called “Intentionality of Obsolete Marks”. Whatever, it had all the marks in it that the other books didn't, and even though it was full of hard to understand jargon, I got the gist.
Here, finally, were the marks of the murderers, the rapists, thieves and abusers. Terrorists, dictators, the criminally insane. Interestingly enough though, there was even a section on those born with terminal illnesses and defects, and those whose purpose was only to cause epidemics of communicable diseases. I had never even thought about those, but you don't get to a “Utopian” society with those kind of people do you? No, and that's why no one had ever seen or heard of those marks. Because for generations, they were erased as soon as they were born, only to be documented in some scientific guy's notes and book. There were hundreds. So many that I definitely could not positively identify the new mark beneath my burn. Still, I had this horrible, heavy, imploding feeling in my chest. Whatever I was born for, it certainly didn't appear to be anything to do with world peace.
I checked out the book and took it home, dog-earring the pages with marks bearing the closest resemblance to my memory of the mark. After I removed the bandages, I knew that I was too impatient for the scabs to heal completely and reveal the mark again. I turned on the cold water in the sink, and looked at myself in the mirror. I psyched myself up a for a moment, and then started scratching and peeling off the scabs.
It hurt. A lot. The air across the exposed skin was like cold little razor blades. I had to keep rinsing the blood off in the water. Like a weight lifter about to do his thing, I puffed out my breath, clenched my jaw, and just did the rest of it fast. If your curious, no, it was not like ripping off a band-aid quickly. It was a good fifteen minutes before I could sit still enough to look at it. For a few moments I even indulged in some really colourful curse words, while doing the universal “owie” dance around the bathroom with a towel against my arm.
A little pale, a little shaky, I raised my elbow up to the mirror. With it as reference, I flipped one by one through the dog-eared pages looking for it's match. The answer is always the last place you look though,right? The last page, the last paragraph, the last sentences.
And every one, every single person I'd ever encountered, or known, or loved...had been lying to me.
“This mark has only manifested once before, and should it be again, the bearer must not be eliminated upon birth, but allowed to reach maturity and achieve a natural death. This mark means the bearer's purpose, if killed in any way not directly related to natural illness, aging, or disability, is to propagate itself, causing two similarly marked individuals to be born in their place. These individuals have no other purpose in human-kind or in nature, and will result in the dissolution of organised society if allowed to proliferate. It is recommended that the world-wide population be educated upon the birth of this individual, and continually apprised of their location and status as they age, so as to avoid said circumstances.”
I was nothing but a damn virus. But....
the virus of free will. | Do I believe in ghosts? No. The supernatural?; angels, demons. Perhaps.
Behind the bar is a row of mirrors, and this sounds so strange but while I watch I swear people steal glances at me. Not the 'I'm interested' glances either, their faces all had the strangest expression, a cocktail of wistfulness, envy, pity, contempt.
I'd thought it just the bar by my work, fallout from kissing the waitress the first time I walked in, but as I carried on I noticed it more and more, people I'd never spoken to, looking, looking away when we met eyes, rushing from the bar. Someone would buy me a drink, smile, wave leave the bar and disappear into the maze of streets outside. Strangers. No requests, no smalltalk, just a pint of my favourite beer, disappear into the mist. It was almost as if they were following me, bar to bar, town to town.
This kept happening, day after day, not to anyone else, just me. I swear it was magic of some sort, some conspiracy or cult. Anyways one day I get handed this note, a napkin note, scrunched up in a handshake. The guy who handed it to me was old, worried. Kept glancing around, suspicious. Earlier, he'd been shouting at some guy behind the bar, religious nonsense. I knew better to get involved in it.
"We all know God keeps his promises. And he promised to spare the place where you reside. So we gave you a job here, your family jobs here. Here. Pandemonium. So the city can be a haven for the demons that call it home, as corruption safe from persecution. Where you tread, angels will not walk, and the grapes of wrath will not pour forth." Naturally I made the logical assumption. Some cult was fucking with me. I figured I'd play along, I mean, hey, free drinks. Madmen spouting bullshit can be tolerated in exchange for alcohol.
That was before he was dragged off, almost unwillingly. Someone spilled a drink on me, the napkin becoming illegible as I reflexively dabbed at myself. I looked up. In the gap between that mans ragged and broken lips, I swear i saw a pair of fangs, a snake's tongue licking at them. It was only for a moment, but it was there.
I was spooked, seriously spooked. So I changed bars. Two weeks later I'm drinking all relaxed like, hear the place burned down. Freak meteor shower.
Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure it was just coincidence, but makes you think doesn't it. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "Hey man, check out this prompt on Reddit."
"What's it say?"
"[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know."
"Dude, that's so ironic."
"Yeah, I guess I have a ton of experience that could make a good response, yeah?"
"Heh. More than you know."
"I'm having trouble completing the response."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like, hypothetically, what kind of secret would qualify for this kind of deception? Like, what kind of secret would everyone in the world hide from one person?"
"You don't need to know the exact details to make a good story. Make it like the suitcase in Pulp Fiction."
"Just a little bit would help, though. All I'm saying."
"You'll be fine."
"....."
"....."
"Just a little hint?"
"No."
"Come on! This is for writing!"
"For the last time, I'm not telling you."
"Moooooooom!"
Their mother poked her head into the room.
"Sweetie, I can't tell you either. Now stop pestering your brother." | I awoke. For a moment I felt like I knew something: a half forgotten truth. It seemed so important in that twilight between conscious and asleep. However, like very morning I shrug it off and begin my day. Burnt coffee, dry toast, and a brown banana; a typical wednesday morning feast.
As I ride the bus to work I keep my head burrowed in Dante's Inferno. Like most people I find it more interesting than purgatory or heaven. I feel eyes on me and steal a glance upwards. Everybody is looking away, except a child,
"What's your name?" She asks full of wonder.
"Lou." It's hard not to smile back at such innocence.
"I knew that." She squeaks back at me with glee.
"Did you?" I'm not sure what her game is, but I'm willing to play along.
"We all know you Lou. You're special"
My smirk becomes a beaming smile. As I was about to thank this cherub her mother pulls her away. I guess that's just life in the city.
Every wednesday I see my angel on the bus. She makes me feel human for a change. A person who actually cares about me instead of ignoring my existence like everyone else.
Her mother always makes her keep her distance, but we exchange smiles and silly faces. She is the star of my morning. It makes the torment of being chained to a cubicle all day almost bearable.
After two months of our routine of giggles and faces across the bus, the little girls stopped appearing on my wednesday rides. Maybe she moved, or her mom's work scheduled changed.
In the three weeks in her absence I learned how truly lonely I was. I barely exchange words with anyone at work. The teller at the cornerstone is the person I speak to most, and he seems positively terrified of me.
Until one day I hear a rapping at my door. Starved for affection I rush to see who it was: nobody. I thought I saw the back of my angel fly away, but alas it was probably just a lonely man's mind playing tricks.
Before stepping back into my apartment I notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and turn inside.
"666" was all that was written on it. Strange, the number of the beast.
I glance up and catch my reflection in the window. Hmm, the setting sun must be playing a tricks. My skin does not appear its normal hue. Bronzish, or dare I say, red? |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "There's something you're not telling me."
Anna blinked away the upcoming tears as she stared at the man she loved. He was fidgetting with his hands.
"God, I *knew* it! Even you! *Why?* What is so wrong with me, that everyone tries to hide it from me?"
Anna was on the verge of bursting into tears, but still Marlon would not look her in the eye. He was closely inspecting his shoelaces.
"It's not you, Anna," he said, helplessly. "I would tell you if I could, honestly, I would!"
Finally, he met her eyes.
"You know I love you Anna. But sometimes, to protect the ones we love, we...we have to act in ways that may seem bad in their eyes."
"You're not making any sense! Don't you think I've heard all this *crap* before?!" she yelled, banging her fist on the table and leaving a crack on its surface. Anna didn't seem to notice. "My father put you up to this, didn't he? He thinks he knows what's best for me, thinks he knows *everything*, with his fancy doctorate's degree-"
"Anna," Marlon said softly, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Anna, calm down, you know you'll black out if you wind yourself up too much."
"I don't care!" Anna shook her head wildly, her blond hair sweeping along. "I'm *never* allowed to get angry! This stupid disease of mine...I just want to know what everyone...to know...t-"
She collapsed in Marlon's arms, and he sighed. The professor walked in, his eyes sad, a remote in his right hand. He patted Marlon on the shoulder, took over his daughter from him and fished a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets of his lab coat. Marlon helpfully exposed the skin on Anna's back.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this, doc. This secrecy is driving a wedge between us. You know I don't give a damn about her being- about what she is. But I just don't want to have to keep lying to her."
The professor gave him a sad nod, and lit up a cigarette as he unscrewed the small metal patch embedded beneath Anna's skin.
"I know, son. If anyone knows it's tough, it's me. Sometimes I wish I'd never decided to have a daughter like Anna, especially at times like this, when she has to be shut down. But then I remember all the beautiful moments we shared, and I just can't bear to keep her unconscious like this."
The professor stopped fiddling with the compartment in Anna's back, satisfied, and closed the small patch, reapplying a new layer of synthetic skin from a spray can.
"But if anyone told Anna that she was a robot," he continued, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, "The shock could send her nuclear core into overdrive, and then there'd be nothing I could do. The blast would not only kill her, but also wipe the entire town off the map. We just can't risk it."
Marlon nodded, coughing as the smoke cloud from the Professor reached his face. The doc turned and left the room, and as soon as he'd closed the door behind him Anna slowly came to her senses. She blinked, slowly, dazed.
"I did it again, didn't I?" She sighed, then sniffed the air. "Was my dad just here? It smells like his blasted cigarettes..."
"Yeah. You know he worries when you're out like this."
"I know. I just wish he- *and you*- would stop worrying so much about me. I can take care about myself, you know? Remember when that guy tried to mug me and I knocked him out cold with one punch?"
Marlon grinned. "Yeah. You certainly are one in a kind, Anna."
"And don't you ever forget it." | I awoke. For a moment I felt like I knew something: a half forgotten truth. It seemed so important in that twilight between conscious and asleep. However, like very morning I shrug it off and begin my day. Burnt coffee, dry toast, and a brown banana; a typical wednesday morning feast.
As I ride the bus to work I keep my head burrowed in Dante's Inferno. Like most people I find it more interesting than purgatory or heaven. I feel eyes on me and steal a glance upwards. Everybody is looking away, except a child,
"What's your name?" She asks full of wonder.
"Lou." It's hard not to smile back at such innocence.
"I knew that." She squeaks back at me with glee.
"Did you?" I'm not sure what her game is, but I'm willing to play along.
"We all know you Lou. You're special"
My smirk becomes a beaming smile. As I was about to thank this cherub her mother pulls her away. I guess that's just life in the city.
Every wednesday I see my angel on the bus. She makes me feel human for a change. A person who actually cares about me instead of ignoring my existence like everyone else.
Her mother always makes her keep her distance, but we exchange smiles and silly faces. She is the star of my morning. It makes the torment of being chained to a cubicle all day almost bearable.
After two months of our routine of giggles and faces across the bus, the little girls stopped appearing on my wednesday rides. Maybe she moved, or her mom's work scheduled changed.
In the three weeks in her absence I learned how truly lonely I was. I barely exchange words with anyone at work. The teller at the cornerstone is the person I speak to most, and he seems positively terrified of me.
Until one day I hear a rapping at my door. Starved for affection I rush to see who it was: nobody. I thought I saw the back of my angel fly away, but alas it was probably just a lonely man's mind playing tricks.
Before stepping back into my apartment I notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and turn inside.
"666" was all that was written on it. Strange, the number of the beast.
I glance up and catch my reflection in the window. Hmm, the setting sun must be playing a tricks. My skin does not appear its normal hue. Bronzish, or dare I say, red? |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Frank is an alien spy.
Everyone knows, of course. It was pretty hard to miss the foot-wide sattelite dish tacked to the side of his head, or the bandolier of explosives bound around his shoulders. We all felt sorry for Frank. They drill bits out of your head, you see, to make room, and without 'em, well, you can't tell anything's wrong. So you go about your day, being an alien spy, complaining about neckaches and the fact you seem to only be able to wear button-up shirts with clip-on ties.
We've got him working in an insurance company. He's a model employee, so much so that it's kind of a shame all the claims he processes are fake. He's really nice over the phone, too.
The aliens are probably wondering how we are managing our society so well, now that we're sure the planet will blow up any day now. We certainly seem to be talking about it a lot, anyway. Very loudly. As in, "**Wow**, I'm sure glad *I'm* not an alien armada planning to invade our planet now! Wouldn't that be embarrassing?!"
...Poor Frank.
We sell him fake newspapers, too.
We can't tell him, of couse. The last time someone tried, that bandolier started beeping and flashing red, so obviously we pretended it was all an act of street theater. That one seems to work on him pretty well.
We've also convinced him he's, like, *really* ugly.
What? We *had* to. People kept staring, and not paying attention at the briefings. We do feel bad about that one. He's *super* nice.
At least he isn't *really* ugly, like I am. And he should be grateful that he doesn't know about the actual supervolcano that's going to wipe us out. That's a *way* worse way to go, than just blowing up. And they're right, too, even if we did build some spaceships to get away, all the ash and electrical interference in the air would probably trap us here! Man, everyone around me sure knows a *lot* about supervolcanoes. Maybe I missed a science class in high school?
I'm gonna go to bed now. My neck hurts. | I awoke. For a moment I felt like I knew something: a half forgotten truth. It seemed so important in that twilight between conscious and asleep. However, like very morning I shrug it off and begin my day. Burnt coffee, dry toast, and a brown banana; a typical wednesday morning feast.
As I ride the bus to work I keep my head burrowed in Dante's Inferno. Like most people I find it more interesting than purgatory or heaven. I feel eyes on me and steal a glance upwards. Everybody is looking away, except a child,
"What's your name?" She asks full of wonder.
"Lou." It's hard not to smile back at such innocence.
"I knew that." She squeaks back at me with glee.
"Did you?" I'm not sure what her game is, but I'm willing to play along.
"We all know you Lou. You're special"
My smirk becomes a beaming smile. As I was about to thank this cherub her mother pulls her away. I guess that's just life in the city.
Every wednesday I see my angel on the bus. She makes me feel human for a change. A person who actually cares about me instead of ignoring my existence like everyone else.
Her mother always makes her keep her distance, but we exchange smiles and silly faces. She is the star of my morning. It makes the torment of being chained to a cubicle all day almost bearable.
After two months of our routine of giggles and faces across the bus, the little girls stopped appearing on my wednesday rides. Maybe she moved, or her mom's work scheduled changed.
In the three weeks in her absence I learned how truly lonely I was. I barely exchange words with anyone at work. The teller at the cornerstone is the person I speak to most, and he seems positively terrified of me.
Until one day I hear a rapping at my door. Starved for affection I rush to see who it was: nobody. I thought I saw the back of my angel fly away, but alas it was probably just a lonely man's mind playing tricks.
Before stepping back into my apartment I notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and turn inside.
"666" was all that was written on it. Strange, the number of the beast.
I glance up and catch my reflection in the window. Hmm, the setting sun must be playing a tricks. My skin does not appear its normal hue. Bronzish, or dare I say, red? |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | The Pharaoh majestically glided down the stairs in his golden robes. The brilliance of the sun shone majestically on his apparel, reflecting off the gold and diffracting in the gems, providing him a personal corona. His staff walked behind him, dressed in luscious violets, only to pause and wait as he entered his private sanctum.
Beyond the gargantuan portal lay a silver plated throne of marble, surrounded by water fountains, ancient texts, and arcane designs. The doors slammed shut and locked.
One of the staff then chuckled. His superior gave him a stern glance. The staff member said: "I know it would destroy him if he knew we realized he wasn't *actually* divine, but it's just too funny that he thinks nobody knows he takes a shit in there like an ordinary man." | I awoke. For a moment I felt like I knew something: a half forgotten truth. It seemed so important in that twilight between conscious and asleep. However, like very morning I shrug it off and begin my day. Burnt coffee, dry toast, and a brown banana; a typical wednesday morning feast.
As I ride the bus to work I keep my head burrowed in Dante's Inferno. Like most people I find it more interesting than purgatory or heaven. I feel eyes on me and steal a glance upwards. Everybody is looking away, except a child,
"What's your name?" She asks full of wonder.
"Lou." It's hard not to smile back at such innocence.
"I knew that." She squeaks back at me with glee.
"Did you?" I'm not sure what her game is, but I'm willing to play along.
"We all know you Lou. You're special"
My smirk becomes a beaming smile. As I was about to thank this cherub her mother pulls her away. I guess that's just life in the city.
Every wednesday I see my angel on the bus. She makes me feel human for a change. A person who actually cares about me instead of ignoring my existence like everyone else.
Her mother always makes her keep her distance, but we exchange smiles and silly faces. She is the star of my morning. It makes the torment of being chained to a cubicle all day almost bearable.
After two months of our routine of giggles and faces across the bus, the little girls stopped appearing on my wednesday rides. Maybe she moved, or her mom's work scheduled changed.
In the three weeks in her absence I learned how truly lonely I was. I barely exchange words with anyone at work. The teller at the cornerstone is the person I speak to most, and he seems positively terrified of me.
Until one day I hear a rapping at my door. Starved for affection I rush to see who it was: nobody. I thought I saw the back of my angel fly away, but alas it was probably just a lonely man's mind playing tricks.
Before stepping back into my apartment I notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and turn inside.
"666" was all that was written on it. Strange, the number of the beast.
I glance up and catch my reflection in the window. Hmm, the setting sun must be playing a tricks. My skin does not appear its normal hue. Bronzish, or dare I say, red? |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "Hey man, check out this prompt on Reddit."
"What's it say?"
"[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know."
"Dude, that's so ironic."
"Yeah, I guess I have a ton of experience that could make a good response, yeah?"
"Heh. More than you know."
"I'm having trouble completing the response."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like, hypothetically, what kind of secret would qualify for this kind of deception? Like, what kind of secret would everyone in the world hide from one person?"
"You don't need to know the exact details to make a good story. Make it like the suitcase in Pulp Fiction."
"Just a little bit would help, though. All I'm saying."
"You'll be fine."
"....."
"....."
"Just a little hint?"
"No."
"Come on! This is for writing!"
"For the last time, I'm not telling you."
"Moooooooom!"
Their mother poked her head into the room.
"Sweetie, I can't tell you either. Now stop pestering your brother." | This is a spiritual SOS. I’m going to end it all soon. If you don’t want that to happen you need to exert your will, exercise your power of volition, and contact me immediately. Here goes.
If my life were a pie you could split it into three pieces. Two slices would be delicious but thin, never wholly satisfying or filling, while the third, and by far the largest of the three, would be shit surrounded by sugar. I don’t care where you are in the world, or who you are, you would have a hard time stomaching that third piece. That piece is my work: midnights at Meijers stocking groceries and mornings at Wal-Mart working the Deli. I put in sixty to seventy hours a week usually, because neither place will work me full time. And that’s enough about that. I know now that you can imagine the sticky, sopping horror of it.
The other two slices are my music, my real work, and my girlfriend, the lovely and eternally patient Sam. I make my own dubstep, and weave samples of Sam’s beautiful singing voice into the fabric of the work. I spend most of my free time on this, creating and uploading song after song onto various music sites and youtube. One of my songs from two years ago got six thousand views and three hundred sixty eight comments. I shudder to think of how many hits that song has now. Seven billion, perhaps?
I’ll get this out of the way early. I know you know the story but in order to keep sane I have to pretend there’s someone out there who doesn’t. I never knew my Mother. And my Dad was an abusive, drunken asshole who’s volatile emotions and short temper I adopted as my own over time. I met Sam when I most needed her. I was sixteen, friendless and alone, and always two thought associations away from suicide. She transferred to my school the day after I tried to kill myself for the first time. She sat down next to me and introduced herself. The first time I looked into her eyes I knew I had found a universe where I could find a religious peace inside of.
But I also saw my own wet and heavy suspicion reflected in those eyes. A small part of me, one that had been there since childhood’s earliest memories, knew there was something eerily wrong about the act of meeting this girl. In moments of lucid honesty, when I looked too closely or thought too hard, I felt this disturbing wrongness in the marrow of everything. The universe was fucked and somehow I was the cause.
I’m twenty eight now. The world bore me down. I could no longer make music; that spark died years ago and I only finally just admitted it to myself. I fought constantly with Sam, and though she would have stayed and taken my abuse until her heart stop beating, I kicked her out for her own good. It got to the point that the only thing in my life was that big slice of shit pie. Work and sleep and back to work.
So I took the drug. The one that you and I both know, have always known in some pre-conscious way, to never take. I had become bored and depressed in a way that I had been working for billions of years to forget, and one night with two co-workers I took the drug. And immediately realized my mistake, but of course by then it was too late. They both started to tell me the truth. Or, to be more accurate, I started to tell myself the truth through the two of them. Seven billion human beings, each a manifestation of my mind, each a character I’ve created to play with. The whole universe a dream charade. You know it because I do.
And to think, all I had to do was stay the course, stay half-asleep and nestled comfortably in the dream current of it all, put in some effort and work to improve the situation of the little life I had created for myself, and be happy with whatever lot pre-conscious me chose to give myself. But in my eternal complacency, in the laziness and self-hatred and loneliness that is my, is our, soul, I allowed myself to fall down that slick and slippery slope back to who we really are.
Sam is gone. I don’t know if pre-conscious me deleted her forever, or if she is simply ignoring my calls. But losing her is by the far the hardest part of this all. I still go to work, and everyone is polite enough to carry on as if I didn’t know the truth, but the charade is becoming unbearable. I am so painfully alone. If there is someone out there who isn’t me, some other alien mind, an actual other, I would love, love, love to meet you. I’m dying to, actually.
Yours truly,
God I guess.
|
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "There's something you're not telling me."
Anna blinked away the upcoming tears as she stared at the man she loved. He was fidgetting with his hands.
"God, I *knew* it! Even you! *Why?* What is so wrong with me, that everyone tries to hide it from me?"
Anna was on the verge of bursting into tears, but still Marlon would not look her in the eye. He was closely inspecting his shoelaces.
"It's not you, Anna," he said, helplessly. "I would tell you if I could, honestly, I would!"
Finally, he met her eyes.
"You know I love you Anna. But sometimes, to protect the ones we love, we...we have to act in ways that may seem bad in their eyes."
"You're not making any sense! Don't you think I've heard all this *crap* before?!" she yelled, banging her fist on the table and leaving a crack on its surface. Anna didn't seem to notice. "My father put you up to this, didn't he? He thinks he knows what's best for me, thinks he knows *everything*, with his fancy doctorate's degree-"
"Anna," Marlon said softly, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Anna, calm down, you know you'll black out if you wind yourself up too much."
"I don't care!" Anna shook her head wildly, her blond hair sweeping along. "I'm *never* allowed to get angry! This stupid disease of mine...I just want to know what everyone...to know...t-"
She collapsed in Marlon's arms, and he sighed. The professor walked in, his eyes sad, a remote in his right hand. He patted Marlon on the shoulder, took over his daughter from him and fished a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets of his lab coat. Marlon helpfully exposed the skin on Anna's back.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this, doc. This secrecy is driving a wedge between us. You know I don't give a damn about her being- about what she is. But I just don't want to have to keep lying to her."
The professor gave him a sad nod, and lit up a cigarette as he unscrewed the small metal patch embedded beneath Anna's skin.
"I know, son. If anyone knows it's tough, it's me. Sometimes I wish I'd never decided to have a daughter like Anna, especially at times like this, when she has to be shut down. But then I remember all the beautiful moments we shared, and I just can't bear to keep her unconscious like this."
The professor stopped fiddling with the compartment in Anna's back, satisfied, and closed the small patch, reapplying a new layer of synthetic skin from a spray can.
"But if anyone told Anna that she was a robot," he continued, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, "The shock could send her nuclear core into overdrive, and then there'd be nothing I could do. The blast would not only kill her, but also wipe the entire town off the map. We just can't risk it."
Marlon nodded, coughing as the smoke cloud from the Professor reached his face. The doc turned and left the room, and as soon as he'd closed the door behind him Anna slowly came to her senses. She blinked, slowly, dazed.
"I did it again, didn't I?" She sighed, then sniffed the air. "Was my dad just here? It smells like his blasted cigarettes..."
"Yeah. You know he worries when you're out like this."
"I know. I just wish he- *and you*- would stop worrying so much about me. I can take care about myself, you know? Remember when that guy tried to mug me and I knocked him out cold with one punch?"
Marlon grinned. "Yeah. You certainly are one in a kind, Anna."
"And don't you ever forget it." | This is a spiritual SOS. I’m going to end it all soon. If you don’t want that to happen you need to exert your will, exercise your power of volition, and contact me immediately. Here goes.
If my life were a pie you could split it into three pieces. Two slices would be delicious but thin, never wholly satisfying or filling, while the third, and by far the largest of the three, would be shit surrounded by sugar. I don’t care where you are in the world, or who you are, you would have a hard time stomaching that third piece. That piece is my work: midnights at Meijers stocking groceries and mornings at Wal-Mart working the Deli. I put in sixty to seventy hours a week usually, because neither place will work me full time. And that’s enough about that. I know now that you can imagine the sticky, sopping horror of it.
The other two slices are my music, my real work, and my girlfriend, the lovely and eternally patient Sam. I make my own dubstep, and weave samples of Sam’s beautiful singing voice into the fabric of the work. I spend most of my free time on this, creating and uploading song after song onto various music sites and youtube. One of my songs from two years ago got six thousand views and three hundred sixty eight comments. I shudder to think of how many hits that song has now. Seven billion, perhaps?
I’ll get this out of the way early. I know you know the story but in order to keep sane I have to pretend there’s someone out there who doesn’t. I never knew my Mother. And my Dad was an abusive, drunken asshole who’s volatile emotions and short temper I adopted as my own over time. I met Sam when I most needed her. I was sixteen, friendless and alone, and always two thought associations away from suicide. She transferred to my school the day after I tried to kill myself for the first time. She sat down next to me and introduced herself. The first time I looked into her eyes I knew I had found a universe where I could find a religious peace inside of.
But I also saw my own wet and heavy suspicion reflected in those eyes. A small part of me, one that had been there since childhood’s earliest memories, knew there was something eerily wrong about the act of meeting this girl. In moments of lucid honesty, when I looked too closely or thought too hard, I felt this disturbing wrongness in the marrow of everything. The universe was fucked and somehow I was the cause.
I’m twenty eight now. The world bore me down. I could no longer make music; that spark died years ago and I only finally just admitted it to myself. I fought constantly with Sam, and though she would have stayed and taken my abuse until her heart stop beating, I kicked her out for her own good. It got to the point that the only thing in my life was that big slice of shit pie. Work and sleep and back to work.
So I took the drug. The one that you and I both know, have always known in some pre-conscious way, to never take. I had become bored and depressed in a way that I had been working for billions of years to forget, and one night with two co-workers I took the drug. And immediately realized my mistake, but of course by then it was too late. They both started to tell me the truth. Or, to be more accurate, I started to tell myself the truth through the two of them. Seven billion human beings, each a manifestation of my mind, each a character I’ve created to play with. The whole universe a dream charade. You know it because I do.
And to think, all I had to do was stay the course, stay half-asleep and nestled comfortably in the dream current of it all, put in some effort and work to improve the situation of the little life I had created for myself, and be happy with whatever lot pre-conscious me chose to give myself. But in my eternal complacency, in the laziness and self-hatred and loneliness that is my, is our, soul, I allowed myself to fall down that slick and slippery slope back to who we really are.
Sam is gone. I don’t know if pre-conscious me deleted her forever, or if she is simply ignoring my calls. But losing her is by the far the hardest part of this all. I still go to work, and everyone is polite enough to carry on as if I didn’t know the truth, but the charade is becoming unbearable. I am so painfully alone. If there is someone out there who isn’t me, some other alien mind, an actual other, I would love, love, love to meet you. I’m dying to, actually.
Yours truly,
God I guess.
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[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Frank is an alien spy.
Everyone knows, of course. It was pretty hard to miss the foot-wide sattelite dish tacked to the side of his head, or the bandolier of explosives bound around his shoulders. We all felt sorry for Frank. They drill bits out of your head, you see, to make room, and without 'em, well, you can't tell anything's wrong. So you go about your day, being an alien spy, complaining about neckaches and the fact you seem to only be able to wear button-up shirts with clip-on ties.
We've got him working in an insurance company. He's a model employee, so much so that it's kind of a shame all the claims he processes are fake. He's really nice over the phone, too.
The aliens are probably wondering how we are managing our society so well, now that we're sure the planet will blow up any day now. We certainly seem to be talking about it a lot, anyway. Very loudly. As in, "**Wow**, I'm sure glad *I'm* not an alien armada planning to invade our planet now! Wouldn't that be embarrassing?!"
...Poor Frank.
We sell him fake newspapers, too.
We can't tell him, of couse. The last time someone tried, that bandolier started beeping and flashing red, so obviously we pretended it was all an act of street theater. That one seems to work on him pretty well.
We've also convinced him he's, like, *really* ugly.
What? We *had* to. People kept staring, and not paying attention at the briefings. We do feel bad about that one. He's *super* nice.
At least he isn't *really* ugly, like I am. And he should be grateful that he doesn't know about the actual supervolcano that's going to wipe us out. That's a *way* worse way to go, than just blowing up. And they're right, too, even if we did build some spaceships to get away, all the ash and electrical interference in the air would probably trap us here! Man, everyone around me sure knows a *lot* about supervolcanoes. Maybe I missed a science class in high school?
I'm gonna go to bed now. My neck hurts. | This is a spiritual SOS. I’m going to end it all soon. If you don’t want that to happen you need to exert your will, exercise your power of volition, and contact me immediately. Here goes.
If my life were a pie you could split it into three pieces. Two slices would be delicious but thin, never wholly satisfying or filling, while the third, and by far the largest of the three, would be shit surrounded by sugar. I don’t care where you are in the world, or who you are, you would have a hard time stomaching that third piece. That piece is my work: midnights at Meijers stocking groceries and mornings at Wal-Mart working the Deli. I put in sixty to seventy hours a week usually, because neither place will work me full time. And that’s enough about that. I know now that you can imagine the sticky, sopping horror of it.
The other two slices are my music, my real work, and my girlfriend, the lovely and eternally patient Sam. I make my own dubstep, and weave samples of Sam’s beautiful singing voice into the fabric of the work. I spend most of my free time on this, creating and uploading song after song onto various music sites and youtube. One of my songs from two years ago got six thousand views and three hundred sixty eight comments. I shudder to think of how many hits that song has now. Seven billion, perhaps?
I’ll get this out of the way early. I know you know the story but in order to keep sane I have to pretend there’s someone out there who doesn’t. I never knew my Mother. And my Dad was an abusive, drunken asshole who’s volatile emotions and short temper I adopted as my own over time. I met Sam when I most needed her. I was sixteen, friendless and alone, and always two thought associations away from suicide. She transferred to my school the day after I tried to kill myself for the first time. She sat down next to me and introduced herself. The first time I looked into her eyes I knew I had found a universe where I could find a religious peace inside of.
But I also saw my own wet and heavy suspicion reflected in those eyes. A small part of me, one that had been there since childhood’s earliest memories, knew there was something eerily wrong about the act of meeting this girl. In moments of lucid honesty, when I looked too closely or thought too hard, I felt this disturbing wrongness in the marrow of everything. The universe was fucked and somehow I was the cause.
I’m twenty eight now. The world bore me down. I could no longer make music; that spark died years ago and I only finally just admitted it to myself. I fought constantly with Sam, and though she would have stayed and taken my abuse until her heart stop beating, I kicked her out for her own good. It got to the point that the only thing in my life was that big slice of shit pie. Work and sleep and back to work.
So I took the drug. The one that you and I both know, have always known in some pre-conscious way, to never take. I had become bored and depressed in a way that I had been working for billions of years to forget, and one night with two co-workers I took the drug. And immediately realized my mistake, but of course by then it was too late. They both started to tell me the truth. Or, to be more accurate, I started to tell myself the truth through the two of them. Seven billion human beings, each a manifestation of my mind, each a character I’ve created to play with. The whole universe a dream charade. You know it because I do.
And to think, all I had to do was stay the course, stay half-asleep and nestled comfortably in the dream current of it all, put in some effort and work to improve the situation of the little life I had created for myself, and be happy with whatever lot pre-conscious me chose to give myself. But in my eternal complacency, in the laziness and self-hatred and loneliness that is my, is our, soul, I allowed myself to fall down that slick and slippery slope back to who we really are.
Sam is gone. I don’t know if pre-conscious me deleted her forever, or if she is simply ignoring my calls. But losing her is by the far the hardest part of this all. I still go to work, and everyone is polite enough to carry on as if I didn’t know the truth, but the charade is becoming unbearable. I am so painfully alone. If there is someone out there who isn’t me, some other alien mind, an actual other, I would love, love, love to meet you. I’m dying to, actually.
Yours truly,
God I guess.
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[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "Hey man, check out this prompt on Reddit."
"What's it say?"
"[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know."
"Dude, that's so ironic."
"Yeah, I guess I have a ton of experience that could make a good response, yeah?"
"Heh. More than you know."
"I'm having trouble completing the response."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like, hypothetically, what kind of secret would qualify for this kind of deception? Like, what kind of secret would everyone in the world hide from one person?"
"You don't need to know the exact details to make a good story. Make it like the suitcase in Pulp Fiction."
"Just a little bit would help, though. All I'm saying."
"You'll be fine."
"....."
"....."
"Just a little hint?"
"No."
"Come on! This is for writing!"
"For the last time, I'm not telling you."
"Moooooooom!"
Their mother poked her head into the room.
"Sweetie, I can't tell you either. Now stop pestering your brother." | Harley Perlmutter lived the Life of Riley.
He was funny, well-liked, and was generally expected to come out of any situation on top and smelling like roses.
Not that anything really ever happened. Harley never really ever had any problems to speak of.
The problems of the world belonged to everyone else.
You see, the world had a secret. A secret about Harley. It was such an important secret that he must never, ever be told. Ever.
No one knew what would happen, of course. No one had any inkling to try.
Funny thing though - no one actually knew what secret they must never ever tell Harley.
The world was perpetually locked, faces frozen in nervous smiles; teeth-clenched and sweating brows. Obliging, accommodating and for all intents and purposes, completely enslaved to the daily contentment of one Harley Perlmutter.
Harley, of course, knew none of this. He was just happy to be alive. He was, after all, a pretty lucky guy, for a vengeful God with a bad case of amnesia.
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[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "There's something you're not telling me."
Anna blinked away the upcoming tears as she stared at the man she loved. He was fidgetting with his hands.
"God, I *knew* it! Even you! *Why?* What is so wrong with me, that everyone tries to hide it from me?"
Anna was on the verge of bursting into tears, but still Marlon would not look her in the eye. He was closely inspecting his shoelaces.
"It's not you, Anna," he said, helplessly. "I would tell you if I could, honestly, I would!"
Finally, he met her eyes.
"You know I love you Anna. But sometimes, to protect the ones we love, we...we have to act in ways that may seem bad in their eyes."
"You're not making any sense! Don't you think I've heard all this *crap* before?!" she yelled, banging her fist on the table and leaving a crack on its surface. Anna didn't seem to notice. "My father put you up to this, didn't he? He thinks he knows what's best for me, thinks he knows *everything*, with his fancy doctorate's degree-"
"Anna," Marlon said softly, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Anna, calm down, you know you'll black out if you wind yourself up too much."
"I don't care!" Anna shook her head wildly, her blond hair sweeping along. "I'm *never* allowed to get angry! This stupid disease of mine...I just want to know what everyone...to know...t-"
She collapsed in Marlon's arms, and he sighed. The professor walked in, his eyes sad, a remote in his right hand. He patted Marlon on the shoulder, took over his daughter from him and fished a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets of his lab coat. Marlon helpfully exposed the skin on Anna's back.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this, doc. This secrecy is driving a wedge between us. You know I don't give a damn about her being- about what she is. But I just don't want to have to keep lying to her."
The professor gave him a sad nod, and lit up a cigarette as he unscrewed the small metal patch embedded beneath Anna's skin.
"I know, son. If anyone knows it's tough, it's me. Sometimes I wish I'd never decided to have a daughter like Anna, especially at times like this, when she has to be shut down. But then I remember all the beautiful moments we shared, and I just can't bear to keep her unconscious like this."
The professor stopped fiddling with the compartment in Anna's back, satisfied, and closed the small patch, reapplying a new layer of synthetic skin from a spray can.
"But if anyone told Anna that she was a robot," he continued, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, "The shock could send her nuclear core into overdrive, and then there'd be nothing I could do. The blast would not only kill her, but also wipe the entire town off the map. We just can't risk it."
Marlon nodded, coughing as the smoke cloud from the Professor reached his face. The doc turned and left the room, and as soon as he'd closed the door behind him Anna slowly came to her senses. She blinked, slowly, dazed.
"I did it again, didn't I?" She sighed, then sniffed the air. "Was my dad just here? It smells like his blasted cigarettes..."
"Yeah. You know he worries when you're out like this."
"I know. I just wish he- *and you*- would stop worrying so much about me. I can take care about myself, you know? Remember when that guy tried to mug me and I knocked him out cold with one punch?"
Marlon grinned. "Yeah. You certainly are one in a kind, Anna."
"And don't you ever forget it." | Harley Perlmutter lived the Life of Riley.
He was funny, well-liked, and was generally expected to come out of any situation on top and smelling like roses.
Not that anything really ever happened. Harley never really ever had any problems to speak of.
The problems of the world belonged to everyone else.
You see, the world had a secret. A secret about Harley. It was such an important secret that he must never, ever be told. Ever.
No one knew what would happen, of course. No one had any inkling to try.
Funny thing though - no one actually knew what secret they must never ever tell Harley.
The world was perpetually locked, faces frozen in nervous smiles; teeth-clenched and sweating brows. Obliging, accommodating and for all intents and purposes, completely enslaved to the daily contentment of one Harley Perlmutter.
Harley, of course, knew none of this. He was just happy to be alive. He was, after all, a pretty lucky guy, for a vengeful God with a bad case of amnesia.
|
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Frank is an alien spy.
Everyone knows, of course. It was pretty hard to miss the foot-wide sattelite dish tacked to the side of his head, or the bandolier of explosives bound around his shoulders. We all felt sorry for Frank. They drill bits out of your head, you see, to make room, and without 'em, well, you can't tell anything's wrong. So you go about your day, being an alien spy, complaining about neckaches and the fact you seem to only be able to wear button-up shirts with clip-on ties.
We've got him working in an insurance company. He's a model employee, so much so that it's kind of a shame all the claims he processes are fake. He's really nice over the phone, too.
The aliens are probably wondering how we are managing our society so well, now that we're sure the planet will blow up any day now. We certainly seem to be talking about it a lot, anyway. Very loudly. As in, "**Wow**, I'm sure glad *I'm* not an alien armada planning to invade our planet now! Wouldn't that be embarrassing?!"
...Poor Frank.
We sell him fake newspapers, too.
We can't tell him, of couse. The last time someone tried, that bandolier started beeping and flashing red, so obviously we pretended it was all an act of street theater. That one seems to work on him pretty well.
We've also convinced him he's, like, *really* ugly.
What? We *had* to. People kept staring, and not paying attention at the briefings. We do feel bad about that one. He's *super* nice.
At least he isn't *really* ugly, like I am. And he should be grateful that he doesn't know about the actual supervolcano that's going to wipe us out. That's a *way* worse way to go, than just blowing up. And they're right, too, even if we did build some spaceships to get away, all the ash and electrical interference in the air would probably trap us here! Man, everyone around me sure knows a *lot* about supervolcanoes. Maybe I missed a science class in high school?
I'm gonna go to bed now. My neck hurts. | Harley Perlmutter lived the Life of Riley.
He was funny, well-liked, and was generally expected to come out of any situation on top and smelling like roses.
Not that anything really ever happened. Harley never really ever had any problems to speak of.
The problems of the world belonged to everyone else.
You see, the world had a secret. A secret about Harley. It was such an important secret that he must never, ever be told. Ever.
No one knew what would happen, of course. No one had any inkling to try.
Funny thing though - no one actually knew what secret they must never ever tell Harley.
The world was perpetually locked, faces frozen in nervous smiles; teeth-clenched and sweating brows. Obliging, accommodating and for all intents and purposes, completely enslaved to the daily contentment of one Harley Perlmutter.
Harley, of course, knew none of this. He was just happy to be alive. He was, after all, a pretty lucky guy, for a vengeful God with a bad case of amnesia.
|
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "There's something you're not telling me."
Anna blinked away the upcoming tears as she stared at the man she loved. He was fidgetting with his hands.
"God, I *knew* it! Even you! *Why?* What is so wrong with me, that everyone tries to hide it from me?"
Anna was on the verge of bursting into tears, but still Marlon would not look her in the eye. He was closely inspecting his shoelaces.
"It's not you, Anna," he said, helplessly. "I would tell you if I could, honestly, I would!"
Finally, he met her eyes.
"You know I love you Anna. But sometimes, to protect the ones we love, we...we have to act in ways that may seem bad in their eyes."
"You're not making any sense! Don't you think I've heard all this *crap* before?!" she yelled, banging her fist on the table and leaving a crack on its surface. Anna didn't seem to notice. "My father put you up to this, didn't he? He thinks he knows what's best for me, thinks he knows *everything*, with his fancy doctorate's degree-"
"Anna," Marlon said softly, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Anna, calm down, you know you'll black out if you wind yourself up too much."
"I don't care!" Anna shook her head wildly, her blond hair sweeping along. "I'm *never* allowed to get angry! This stupid disease of mine...I just want to know what everyone...to know...t-"
She collapsed in Marlon's arms, and he sighed. The professor walked in, his eyes sad, a remote in his right hand. He patted Marlon on the shoulder, took over his daughter from him and fished a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets of his lab coat. Marlon helpfully exposed the skin on Anna's back.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this, doc. This secrecy is driving a wedge between us. You know I don't give a damn about her being- about what she is. But I just don't want to have to keep lying to her."
The professor gave him a sad nod, and lit up a cigarette as he unscrewed the small metal patch embedded beneath Anna's skin.
"I know, son. If anyone knows it's tough, it's me. Sometimes I wish I'd never decided to have a daughter like Anna, especially at times like this, when she has to be shut down. But then I remember all the beautiful moments we shared, and I just can't bear to keep her unconscious like this."
The professor stopped fiddling with the compartment in Anna's back, satisfied, and closed the small patch, reapplying a new layer of synthetic skin from a spray can.
"But if anyone told Anna that she was a robot," he continued, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, "The shock could send her nuclear core into overdrive, and then there'd be nothing I could do. The blast would not only kill her, but also wipe the entire town off the map. We just can't risk it."
Marlon nodded, coughing as the smoke cloud from the Professor reached his face. The doc turned and left the room, and as soon as he'd closed the door behind him Anna slowly came to her senses. She blinked, slowly, dazed.
"I did it again, didn't I?" She sighed, then sniffed the air. "Was my dad just here? It smells like his blasted cigarettes..."
"Yeah. You know he worries when you're out like this."
"I know. I just wish he- *and you*- would stop worrying so much about me. I can take care about myself, you know? Remember when that guy tried to mug me and I knocked him out cold with one punch?"
Marlon grinned. "Yeah. You certainly are one in a kind, Anna."
"And don't you ever forget it." | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
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[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Frank is an alien spy.
Everyone knows, of course. It was pretty hard to miss the foot-wide sattelite dish tacked to the side of his head, or the bandolier of explosives bound around his shoulders. We all felt sorry for Frank. They drill bits out of your head, you see, to make room, and without 'em, well, you can't tell anything's wrong. So you go about your day, being an alien spy, complaining about neckaches and the fact you seem to only be able to wear button-up shirts with clip-on ties.
We've got him working in an insurance company. He's a model employee, so much so that it's kind of a shame all the claims he processes are fake. He's really nice over the phone, too.
The aliens are probably wondering how we are managing our society so well, now that we're sure the planet will blow up any day now. We certainly seem to be talking about it a lot, anyway. Very loudly. As in, "**Wow**, I'm sure glad *I'm* not an alien armada planning to invade our planet now! Wouldn't that be embarrassing?!"
...Poor Frank.
We sell him fake newspapers, too.
We can't tell him, of couse. The last time someone tried, that bandolier started beeping and flashing red, so obviously we pretended it was all an act of street theater. That one seems to work on him pretty well.
We've also convinced him he's, like, *really* ugly.
What? We *had* to. People kept staring, and not paying attention at the briefings. We do feel bad about that one. He's *super* nice.
At least he isn't *really* ugly, like I am. And he should be grateful that he doesn't know about the actual supervolcano that's going to wipe us out. That's a *way* worse way to go, than just blowing up. And they're right, too, even if we did build some spaceships to get away, all the ash and electrical interference in the air would probably trap us here! Man, everyone around me sure knows a *lot* about supervolcanoes. Maybe I missed a science class in high school?
I'm gonna go to bed now. My neck hurts. | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | The Pharaoh majestically glided down the stairs in his golden robes. The brilliance of the sun shone majestically on his apparel, reflecting off the gold and diffracting in the gems, providing him a personal corona. His staff walked behind him, dressed in luscious violets, only to pause and wait as he entered his private sanctum.
Beyond the gargantuan portal lay a silver plated throne of marble, surrounded by water fountains, ancient texts, and arcane designs. The doors slammed shut and locked.
One of the staff then chuckled. His superior gave him a stern glance. The staff member said: "I know it would destroy him if he knew we realized he wasn't *actually* divine, but it's just too funny that he thinks nobody knows he takes a shit in there like an ordinary man." | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | I'm not a story-teller or a writer, but here's the direction I'd take this one:
Finally some self-aware politicians have gotten in charge of things. So self-aware are they that they realize that no one who wants to be a politician is fit to run the country. Douglas Adams thought the only person fit to be president is he who has absolutely no desire to be so, but in fact even such a person would be corrupted by his power like anyone else.
Snowden was also wrong; it was for all of our best interests that the masses of personal data were gathered. With advanced algorithms they found the most level-headed and knowledgable citizen. Policy makers are compelled to follow his opinions, and not let him know, at all costs.
The problem is things are going too well in the country. For several years the government has been doing exactly what the man wished they would, completely contrary to his experience up to that point. And he's starting to feel suspicious ... | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | April 19.
He left. Packed his bags, hailed a cab, and left. He didn’t even try to wake me up; he was always considerate like that. If the suitcase didn’t snap on the floor, he might have made it out the door without me ever knowing. When I asked Jeff what was happening, he just said it was too hard, keeping up the lies. I still don’t know what he meant. I didn’t stop him. If he didn’t want to be in my life anymore, that was his choice. I suppose the past three years don’t matter, the ring box in my back pocket is irrelevant, the puppy waiting for us at the kennel is meaningless. The secret he has been keeping overwrote all of that, like our life was an etch-a-sketch, and this untruth was an earthquake. What is happening?
April 28.
No one has come by, including Jeff. I wasn’t particularly popular at work, but I usually had a few people over for cards on Sunday. No one came by this week. Since last week, when I walk into work everyone just ducks their head down. They ignore every attempt at conversation on my part, and I know that I am the main topic of conversation at the water cooler. My boss isn’t even giving me the crap that he usually does. I am missing it a bit. I just sit placidly on my computer, dicking around like normal, but no one has talked to me in over a week now. The silence in the office is stifling, like someone making too loud a noise might alert me to their schemes. They know something, and I can’t help but feel like it has something to do with Jeff leaving. What is happening?
May 12.
The entire city has gone quiet. There is always the constant roar of cars, and subways tunneling beneath the streets, but wherever I go, silence follows. It is like an invisible ring that only I can’t see is hanging off of me, and everyone inside the ring is driven mute. They just look at me, complete strangers that I have never paid attention to at all treat me like a leper. They stare at me with cold dead eyes, their faces hardened like steel. They know what is going on, just like everyone else. Just not me. What is happening?
May 25.
I think I am going crazy. Totally batshit crazy. The birds have stopped chirping, the cars have even stopped humming, but most importantly, it has been over a month since I have had any human contact. The bag boy at the grocery store ducks his head if I ask him about his day, the bank teller silently hands me my cash. I am in solitary confinement, and the entire world is my prison. Why, what could possibly be so important that people cannot even talk to me for fear of letting go of the terrible knowledge they carry within themselves? I suppose I have to accept this. I am taking a walk to the train tracks; maybe everyone can talk again if I am out of picture. What is happening? Wait, never mind, I don’t even care anymore.
| It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "So, like I was saying", Jim continued, "There we were in accounting, trying to figure out exactly what the Big One was doing. There he was, oblivious, trying to ask out a cashie..." The man's eyes widened as Christopher Jones turned the corner.
Thomas turned to see what the situation was, and his eyes widened, too.
"Hey guys," Chris said, grinning from ear to ear, "guess what?"
Tom gave Jim a quick glance of relief.
*He hadn't heard anything.*
"What's that, Chris?" Jim asked, his expression returning to its usual, at ease, self.
"I just got a date!" Chris said, chuckling. "And you two thought I'd die alone."
"With who?" Jim asked, laughing. "Was it Cindy from IT?"
Chris had been in love with Cindy for years, everyone knew it, even her. However, seeing as Chris had never made a move, she had to continue to pretend like she didn't already know. They all had to pretend.
"Hey now," Chris said, the smile dissapearing from his face, "I'm being serious."
"Then tell us who!" Jim said, lightly punching Chris's shoulder.
"The cashier at Beans and Co." Chris said, his smile returning triumphantly.
Jim glanced at Tom and gave him an "I told you so" look. Chris glanced back and forth between the two of them, awaiting a reply.
"That's great man!" Tom said, genuinely happy for his coworker. There had been too many evenings where the poor guy had spent alone in a darkened room with a glass of scotch. Everyone knew that, too.
"Anyway," Chris said, nodding at the congratulations, "I should get back to work, the Old Bull with have my head on a platter if I don't finish filing those TPS reports."
"Alright man," Tom said as Chris began to walk away, "let's grab drinks after work!"
"Sure thing!" Chris replied, not breaking his stride.
Tom turned and gave Jim a look. It was one that most of them had both given and received on many occasions.
*That was too damn close.*
What the Old Bull would do to Chris paled in comparison to what would happen to them if they spilled the secret. Everyone knew what had happened to William Roed, Chris's fourth grade classmate, who had whispered the whole thing into the other boy's ear one recess. Luckily, the boy had forgotten, and never question Billy's abrupt departure from class.
Overall, Chris Jones had lived a rather unassuming life. Born in rural Idaho, he had moved to Cleveland to attend college. Eventually, he followed "the girl of his dreams" out to San Francisco. He had taken a job at a tech start-up and barely scrapped together enough to make ends meet.
The girl never returned his pining. She was supposed to marry a business man from Boston, but then again, how could Chris have known that?
Now, seven years and a few pay raises later, Chris Jones made a respectable, if average, living. His apartment was immaculately clean, as if in preparation for the company he never had over. On the weekends he spent time reading classic literature and writing some of his own. Everyone thought that his writing was pretty great, and many wished that he would share it with someone, anyone, so that that person could convince him to share it with the world.
He never did.
There were a lot of things that Chris Jones never did. He was constantly offered opportunities to lead a more interesting life, but he never seemed to take them. It was confounding, and against everything that he wished for, before.
At least, that's what the other Chris had wanted. To lead an adventurous life. That's what he had asked the architects and programmers at Born Again Labs through the gasping breaths of a failing body. They had set everything in motion. Designed his perfect world to his specifications. A loving family, not rich or poor. A world where things would go his way more often than not. Most of all, they had created five-hundred thousand artificial intelligences to interact with him.
Jim and Tom and Cindy, the Old Bull and the girl at the coffee shop, they were all products of this great simulation. A simulation which was meant to be Chris Jones's paradise, but instead a simulation where he seemed uncomfortable and unmotivated.
Everything the designers had tried, the orders that they had given to the AI, never seemed to crack the shell.
That day, next to the water cooler, Jim and Tom watched as the average-looking man walked away towards his cubicle. Both of them wondering if maybe, just maybe they should let him in on the whole thing. Sure, it might be jarring, but at least then he might *enjoy it* at least a little.
Tom sighed. "Man, why doesn't he just ask Cindy out?"
Jim thought for a second and then replied, "for the same reason he doesn't chase his dreams, *he's afraid*". | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "C'mon, I *know* that there's something you guys are keeping from me." I blinked back tears, looking at my friends. They all stared at the table, avoiding my gaze. They weren't even *denying* it! "Fine, if you guys won't tell me, I'll find someone who will." I got up to leave, but Josh took me hand before I could. "What?"
"Don't even try, Sarah... no one's going to tell you." I glared at him, and jerked my hand out of his grip.
"If you loved me, Josh, you would tell me." I turned my back to him, not listening to his response. I tried to walk away, but found myself running, as fast as I could, through the crowded food court. I burst out the doors and kept running, as fast as I could, to the one place I could think of- the park.
~~~
"Hello." I jerked up, looking towards where the voice had come from. It was an old man, standing to my side. I ignored him and looked back at the bark chips beneath my feet, gently swinging back and forth on the abandoned swingset. I didn't care what anyone had to say to me at this point. "I know you heard me, Sarah." This caught my attention.
"How the hell do you know my name?" I glared up at him, taking in his wrinkled features. I'd never seen this man before in my life.
"Everyone in the world knows your name, Sarah."
"What? How?"
"We need to know your name, your face. There's a secret we have to keep from you- and only you."
"What the hell are you talking abou-"
"You've asked everyone you know, they haven't told you, but have they denied it?" I was speechless. "That's what I thought." He sat down on the swing next to me, groaning as he did so. He must've been in his late 70's.
"Okay, so, there's a secret that no one's ever going to tell me- I'm betting you're not going to tell me, either, so piss off. I'm not in the mood to talk to an old geezer right now."
"I will tell you. Give me time." I looked over at him, confused- if the entire *world* had to keep this secret from me, then why was he going to tell me?
"How can I even know you're telling the truth, old man? For all I know you're just some crazy old git who lives up the street and creeps on me."
"You know that isn't true, Sarah." I looked down, gulping. He was right.
"Why can't anyone tell me?"
"Because the knowledge will destroy you. I'm hesitant to tell you, but you will eventually find out sometime- delaying the information will only make it harder to hear. We've already delayed it for eighteen years- that's more than long enough, in my opinion." I started at the fact that he knew my age, but realized everyone must know it, if there's some secret they're keeping from me.
"Just tell me, please, and get it over with..." I was dreading the information. If it was going to destroy me... what could it possibly *be*?
I heard him take a deep breath. "Sarah..." I looked him straight in the eye, waiting for the answer. "You're alone in this world." What?
"What do you mean? I don't like, have a soulmate or something?"
"No, not like that. You're *alone*. No one you've ever met is real. I'm not real. Look deep in yourself- you know this to be true. Remember all those friends who would disappear after only a few days? All the times you seemed to look at your parents, *swearing* that they had looked different the day before?" He kept going, but I was no longer listening. He was right... I'd never truly seen anyone's face, not even his, as soon as I looked away, it would be muddled in my memory, and looking back would provide me with a different image- I'd always ignored it, thinking it was something that everyone saw.
"Shit... *shit*!" I was breaking down into tears. Everything I had ever known was a lie, everyone I had ever known was a lie- what the fuck even was my life if I made everyone up?! Who the fuck was I?
I still wonder to this day. | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "WHAT IS MY NAME?"
The man pleaded to the woman, as the crowd turned their attention to him. He looked, acted and sounded exactly like anyone else. But he didn't know. He couldn't know. The woman, aware of this, took his hands and said the same thing everyone else had told him.
"The name you had isn't important. The name you chose is what matters...Doctor." | It wasn't fair. It never has been and never will. This great big secret everyone has to keep. I see myself as a trustworthy guy, I could definitely keep it. I mean I **would** keep it. Remember John, always be direct, you've tried every other approach, now the only option is to convince them.
I'm standing in the middle of town, a town in the middle of nowhere, a town I was essentially exiled to. Everyone knows me, but here I dont get even close to half the stares I did while living in the big city. Everyone here knows the secret, the secret that has always been kept closely guarded. Ever since a young age I sensed there was something odd about the weird looks I always got, even if I looked the same as the other kids. My parents told me it was because of this big secret that I would never be allowed to know, until today.
I received the phone call last night, an anonymous caller with a deep gruff voice. He told me to meet him here at precisely 9:30, that he would answer any and all questions I had. "9:29 now" I whispered, even that turned the heads of some passerby's as I stared into a shop window. I watched the last few seconds tick by and began to look around myself. The sun reflected off the wet puddles on the concrete, throwing omnipresent rainbows across the small main street. I could only appreciate this for a moment before I was pulled quite hastily into the shop I was looking into. I would have cried out in terror had the man.. no woman not told me to "shut your fucking mouth." She looked out of the window of her shop and dragged me into one of the backrooms before I could even take in my surroundings.
It was dark in the room, and apart from a bookshelf, a desk and two chairs, the room was bare. Seated across from me, and silent for the past 10 minutes, the woman stared. I was accustomed to this but it still unnerved me that it had to occur in such a secretive and creepy place. Finally I plucked up enough courage to talk "So..." I started. "Shut up" she instantly replied, and I did. Twenty minutes later, as I was considering to leave and not being stuck in a room with this bat-shit crazy nutjob, her small mouth opened "You want the secret?" she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with I imagined to be curiousity. I leaned forward, my heart pounding frantically, and it was from this angle that I saw the look in her eyes was fear. Nevertheless I whispered my reply "Yes". "You were the child" she said. "What? What was I?" I replied confounded. "On TV, you were the one, not just on the TV, in our dreams... The whole world....." She said as a hint of panic entered her voice. "I should not be doing this, I should not be doing this, fuck, FUCK, get out" she hissed. "Wait, please, please tell me, dont bring me here, what dreams was I in?" I cried out oleadingly. "OURS, EVERYONES, THE WORLDS" she began screaming, the hysteria clearly setting in "LEAVE NOW". "Who am I...." I croaked out. "YOURE THE TRICKSTER, THE ONE" she began pushing me out of my chair, babbling to herself how this was all a mistake. "Who's the trickster?" I said angrily and silence fell in the dark room. The woman stared at me at for what seemed an eternity. Finally she opened her mouth, "27 years ago, you came into this world, with you came the visions, with you came the end, people began disappearing..., my daughter" she said defeatedly, "You really dont know?". "No" I sad exasperated. "You're the worlds Mara, our Apep. our Azezep." She said slowly, watching my face for any change. "What are you talking about, I am not them, Who even are they?" I responded. "Hello Lucifer" and the world descended into chaos. |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | Frank is an alien spy.
Everyone knows, of course. It was pretty hard to miss the foot-wide sattelite dish tacked to the side of his head, or the bandolier of explosives bound around his shoulders. We all felt sorry for Frank. They drill bits out of your head, you see, to make room, and without 'em, well, you can't tell anything's wrong. So you go about your day, being an alien spy, complaining about neckaches and the fact you seem to only be able to wear button-up shirts with clip-on ties.
We've got him working in an insurance company. He's a model employee, so much so that it's kind of a shame all the claims he processes are fake. He's really nice over the phone, too.
The aliens are probably wondering how we are managing our society so well, now that we're sure the planet will blow up any day now. We certainly seem to be talking about it a lot, anyway. Very loudly. As in, "**Wow**, I'm sure glad *I'm* not an alien armada planning to invade our planet now! Wouldn't that be embarrassing?!"
...Poor Frank.
We sell him fake newspapers, too.
We can't tell him, of couse. The last time someone tried, that bandolier started beeping and flashing red, so obviously we pretended it was all an act of street theater. That one seems to work on him pretty well.
We've also convinced him he's, like, *really* ugly.
What? We *had* to. People kept staring, and not paying attention at the briefings. We do feel bad about that one. He's *super* nice.
At least he isn't *really* ugly, like I am. And he should be grateful that he doesn't know about the actual supervolcano that's going to wipe us out. That's a *way* worse way to go, than just blowing up. And they're right, too, even if we did build some spaceships to get away, all the ash and electrical interference in the air would probably trap us here! Man, everyone around me sure knows a *lot* about supervolcanoes. Maybe I missed a science class in high school?
I'm gonna go to bed now. My neck hurts. | "There's something you're not telling me."
Anna blinked away the upcoming tears as she stared at the man she loved. He was fidgetting with his hands.
"God, I *knew* it! Even you! *Why?* What is so wrong with me, that everyone tries to hide it from me?"
Anna was on the verge of bursting into tears, but still Marlon would not look her in the eye. He was closely inspecting his shoelaces.
"It's not you, Anna," he said, helplessly. "I would tell you if I could, honestly, I would!"
Finally, he met her eyes.
"You know I love you Anna. But sometimes, to protect the ones we love, we...we have to act in ways that may seem bad in their eyes."
"You're not making any sense! Don't you think I've heard all this *crap* before?!" she yelled, banging her fist on the table and leaving a crack on its surface. Anna didn't seem to notice. "My father put you up to this, didn't he? He thinks he knows what's best for me, thinks he knows *everything*, with his fancy doctorate's degree-"
"Anna," Marlon said softly, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "Anna, calm down, you know you'll black out if you wind yourself up too much."
"I don't care!" Anna shook her head wildly, her blond hair sweeping along. "I'm *never* allowed to get angry! This stupid disease of mine...I just want to know what everyone...to know...t-"
She collapsed in Marlon's arms, and he sighed. The professor walked in, his eyes sad, a remote in his right hand. He patted Marlon on the shoulder, took over his daughter from him and fished a screwdriver out of one of the many pockets of his lab coat. Marlon helpfully exposed the skin on Anna's back.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this, doc. This secrecy is driving a wedge between us. You know I don't give a damn about her being- about what she is. But I just don't want to have to keep lying to her."
The professor gave him a sad nod, and lit up a cigarette as he unscrewed the small metal patch embedded beneath Anna's skin.
"I know, son. If anyone knows it's tough, it's me. Sometimes I wish I'd never decided to have a daughter like Anna, especially at times like this, when she has to be shut down. But then I remember all the beautiful moments we shared, and I just can't bear to keep her unconscious like this."
The professor stopped fiddling with the compartment in Anna's back, satisfied, and closed the small patch, reapplying a new layer of synthetic skin from a spray can.
"But if anyone told Anna that she was a robot," he continued, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, "The shock could send her nuclear core into overdrive, and then there'd be nothing I could do. The blast would not only kill her, but also wipe the entire town off the map. We just can't risk it."
Marlon nodded, coughing as the smoke cloud from the Professor reached his face. The doc turned and left the room, and as soon as he'd closed the door behind him Anna slowly came to her senses. She blinked, slowly, dazed.
"I did it again, didn't I?" She sighed, then sniffed the air. "Was my dad just here? It smells like his blasted cigarettes..."
"Yeah. You know he worries when you're out like this."
"I know. I just wish he- *and you*- would stop worrying so much about me. I can take care about myself, you know? Remember when that guy tried to mug me and I knocked him out cold with one punch?"
Marlon grinned. "Yeah. You certainly are one in a kind, Anna."
"And don't you ever forget it." |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "So, like I was saying", Jim continued, "There we were in accounting, trying to figure out exactly what the Big One was doing. There he was, oblivious, trying to ask out a cashie..." The man's eyes widened as Christopher Jones turned the corner.
Thomas turned to see what the situation was, and his eyes widened, too.
"Hey guys," Chris said, grinning from ear to ear, "guess what?"
Tom gave Jim a quick glance of relief.
*He hadn't heard anything.*
"What's that, Chris?" Jim asked, his expression returning to its usual, at ease, self.
"I just got a date!" Chris said, chuckling. "And you two thought I'd die alone."
"With who?" Jim asked, laughing. "Was it Cindy from IT?"
Chris had been in love with Cindy for years, everyone knew it, even her. However, seeing as Chris had never made a move, she had to continue to pretend like she didn't already know. They all had to pretend.
"Hey now," Chris said, the smile dissapearing from his face, "I'm being serious."
"Then tell us who!" Jim said, lightly punching Chris's shoulder.
"The cashier at Beans and Co." Chris said, his smile returning triumphantly.
Jim glanced at Tom and gave him an "I told you so" look. Chris glanced back and forth between the two of them, awaiting a reply.
"That's great man!" Tom said, genuinely happy for his coworker. There had been too many evenings where the poor guy had spent alone in a darkened room with a glass of scotch. Everyone knew that, too.
"Anyway," Chris said, nodding at the congratulations, "I should get back to work, the Old Bull with have my head on a platter if I don't finish filing those TPS reports."
"Alright man," Tom said as Chris began to walk away, "let's grab drinks after work!"
"Sure thing!" Chris replied, not breaking his stride.
Tom turned and gave Jim a look. It was one that most of them had both given and received on many occasions.
*That was too damn close.*
What the Old Bull would do to Chris paled in comparison to what would happen to them if they spilled the secret. Everyone knew what had happened to William Roed, Chris's fourth grade classmate, who had whispered the whole thing into the other boy's ear one recess. Luckily, the boy had forgotten, and never question Billy's abrupt departure from class.
Overall, Chris Jones had lived a rather unassuming life. Born in rural Idaho, he had moved to Cleveland to attend college. Eventually, he followed "the girl of his dreams" out to San Francisco. He had taken a job at a tech start-up and barely scrapped together enough to make ends meet.
The girl never returned his pining. She was supposed to marry a business man from Boston, but then again, how could Chris have known that?
Now, seven years and a few pay raises later, Chris Jones made a respectable, if average, living. His apartment was immaculately clean, as if in preparation for the company he never had over. On the weekends he spent time reading classic literature and writing some of his own. Everyone thought that his writing was pretty great, and many wished that he would share it with someone, anyone, so that that person could convince him to share it with the world.
He never did.
There were a lot of things that Chris Jones never did. He was constantly offered opportunities to lead a more interesting life, but he never seemed to take them. It was confounding, and against everything that he wished for, before.
At least, that's what the other Chris had wanted. To lead an adventurous life. That's what he had asked the architects and programmers at Born Again Labs through the gasping breaths of a failing body. They had set everything in motion. Designed his perfect world to his specifications. A loving family, not rich or poor. A world where things would go his way more often than not. Most of all, they had created five-hundred thousand artificial intelligences to interact with him.
Jim and Tom and Cindy, the Old Bull and the girl at the coffee shop, they were all products of this great simulation. A simulation which was meant to be Chris Jones's paradise, but instead a simulation where he seemed uncomfortable and unmotivated.
Everything the designers had tried, the orders that they had given to the AI, never seemed to crack the shell.
That day, next to the water cooler, Jim and Tom watched as the average-looking man walked away towards his cubicle. Both of them wondering if maybe, just maybe they should let him in on the whole thing. Sure, it might be jarring, but at least then he might *enjoy it* at least a little.
Tom sighed. "Man, why doesn't he just ask Cindy out?"
Jim thought for a second and then replied, "for the same reason he doesn't chase his dreams, *he's afraid*". | I'm not a story-teller or a writer, but here's the direction I'd take this one:
Finally some self-aware politicians have gotten in charge of things. So self-aware are they that they realize that no one who wants to be a politician is fit to run the country. Douglas Adams thought the only person fit to be president is he who has absolutely no desire to be so, but in fact even such a person would be corrupted by his power like anyone else.
Snowden was also wrong; it was for all of our best interests that the masses of personal data were gathered. With advanced algorithms they found the most level-headed and knowledgable citizen. Policy makers are compelled to follow his opinions, and not let him know, at all costs.
The problem is things are going too well in the country. For several years the government has been doing exactly what the man wished they would, completely contrary to his experience up to that point. And he's starting to feel suspicious ... |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "C'mon, I *know* that there's something you guys are keeping from me." I blinked back tears, looking at my friends. They all stared at the table, avoiding my gaze. They weren't even *denying* it! "Fine, if you guys won't tell me, I'll find someone who will." I got up to leave, but Josh took me hand before I could. "What?"
"Don't even try, Sarah... no one's going to tell you." I glared at him, and jerked my hand out of his grip.
"If you loved me, Josh, you would tell me." I turned my back to him, not listening to his response. I tried to walk away, but found myself running, as fast as I could, through the crowded food court. I burst out the doors and kept running, as fast as I could, to the one place I could think of- the park.
~~~
"Hello." I jerked up, looking towards where the voice had come from. It was an old man, standing to my side. I ignored him and looked back at the bark chips beneath my feet, gently swinging back and forth on the abandoned swingset. I didn't care what anyone had to say to me at this point. "I know you heard me, Sarah." This caught my attention.
"How the hell do you know my name?" I glared up at him, taking in his wrinkled features. I'd never seen this man before in my life.
"Everyone in the world knows your name, Sarah."
"What? How?"
"We need to know your name, your face. There's a secret we have to keep from you- and only you."
"What the hell are you talking abou-"
"You've asked everyone you know, they haven't told you, but have they denied it?" I was speechless. "That's what I thought." He sat down on the swing next to me, groaning as he did so. He must've been in his late 70's.
"Okay, so, there's a secret that no one's ever going to tell me- I'm betting you're not going to tell me, either, so piss off. I'm not in the mood to talk to an old geezer right now."
"I will tell you. Give me time." I looked over at him, confused- if the entire *world* had to keep this secret from me, then why was he going to tell me?
"How can I even know you're telling the truth, old man? For all I know you're just some crazy old git who lives up the street and creeps on me."
"You know that isn't true, Sarah." I looked down, gulping. He was right.
"Why can't anyone tell me?"
"Because the knowledge will destroy you. I'm hesitant to tell you, but you will eventually find out sometime- delaying the information will only make it harder to hear. We've already delayed it for eighteen years- that's more than long enough, in my opinion." I started at the fact that he knew my age, but realized everyone must know it, if there's some secret they're keeping from me.
"Just tell me, please, and get it over with..." I was dreading the information. If it was going to destroy me... what could it possibly *be*?
I heard him take a deep breath. "Sarah..." I looked him straight in the eye, waiting for the answer. "You're alone in this world." What?
"What do you mean? I don't like, have a soulmate or something?"
"No, not like that. You're *alone*. No one you've ever met is real. I'm not real. Look deep in yourself- you know this to be true. Remember all those friends who would disappear after only a few days? All the times you seemed to look at your parents, *swearing* that they had looked different the day before?" He kept going, but I was no longer listening. He was right... I'd never truly seen anyone's face, not even his, as soon as I looked away, it would be muddled in my memory, and looking back would provide me with a different image- I'd always ignored it, thinking it was something that everyone saw.
"Shit... *shit*!" I was breaking down into tears. Everything I had ever known was a lie, everyone I had ever known was a lie- what the fuck even was my life if I made everyone up?! Who the fuck was I?
I still wonder to this day. | I'm not a story-teller or a writer, but here's the direction I'd take this one:
Finally some self-aware politicians have gotten in charge of things. So self-aware are they that they realize that no one who wants to be a politician is fit to run the country. Douglas Adams thought the only person fit to be president is he who has absolutely no desire to be so, but in fact even such a person would be corrupted by his power like anyone else.
Snowden was also wrong; it was for all of our best interests that the masses of personal data were gathered. With advanced algorithms they found the most level-headed and knowledgable citizen. Policy makers are compelled to follow his opinions, and not let him know, at all costs.
The problem is things are going too well in the country. For several years the government has been doing exactly what the man wished they would, completely contrary to his experience up to that point. And he's starting to feel suspicious ... |
|
[WP] Everyone in the world knows a secret, a secret they all must keep from you...something you must never, ever know. | "WHAT IS MY NAME?"
The man pleaded to the woman, as the crowd turned their attention to him. He looked, acted and sounded exactly like anyone else. But he didn't know. He couldn't know. The woman, aware of this, took his hands and said the same thing everyone else had told him.
"The name you had isn't important. The name you chose is what matters...Doctor." | I'm not a story-teller or a writer, but here's the direction I'd take this one:
Finally some self-aware politicians have gotten in charge of things. So self-aware are they that they realize that no one who wants to be a politician is fit to run the country. Douglas Adams thought the only person fit to be president is he who has absolutely no desire to be so, but in fact even such a person would be corrupted by his power like anyone else.
Snowden was also wrong; it was for all of our best interests that the masses of personal data were gathered. With advanced algorithms they found the most level-headed and knowledgable citizen. Policy makers are compelled to follow his opinions, and not let him know, at all costs.
The problem is things are going too well in the country. For several years the government has been doing exactly what the man wished they would, completely contrary to his experience up to that point. And he's starting to feel suspicious ... |
|
With rhyming please! | [WP] A poet's suicide note | This product is broken,
It's been broken for a long time now.
Customer Support has been inadequate at best.
I am dissatisfied.
I am going to go and speak, directly, with the Supervisor.
| Una vida sin ti
-
La vida duele como el mes
en el que vimos el pasar
De días y de noches. Sé
Que me vas a extrañar.
Contigo no es contigo cuando nunca puedo verte.
Cuando el aire trae la lluvia y mis recuerdos vuelan libres.
Siento un dedo, y otro, y otro acariciando mi cabello.
Esos días, Eu, te extraño. Esta vez volveré a verte.
--
note: I can't feel my poetry in English, so I leave it in Spanish. Hmm, I'll translate it, but it won't rhyme.
A life without you
-
Life hurts like the month
in which we saw pass
the days and nights. I know
That you will miss me.
With you is not with you when I can never see you.
When the air brings the rain and my memories fly free.
I feel a finger, and another, and another caressing my hair.
Those days, Eu, I miss you. This time I'll see you again. |
With rhyming please! | [WP] A poet's suicide note | A stranger drooped along our yard
Asleep but jawing still
Of susurrant parade routes
That dreams had offered real
The Marshall twirled his copper signs
Though no one there could read
Piñatas of the both of us
Held hands and bled grass seed
The band held woodwind odes to you
And backwood hymns for me
But nothing for cold distant friends
He knew they did not see
The streets were peppered over twice
With winsome lost debris
Rugs and spoons and paper slips
Of city names unbeen
The contraband he took with him
Before he went his way
Sluiced out of pocket somberly
As payment for his stay
Sleeves and
Shells and
Faucet rings
And each were ours someday
But there was a saying, way back-
He moaned then stammered free
That a forest needs the fire
Like the fire needs the tree
And though that fire licks apart
All leaves curl up towards thee | I imagine that from the perspective of the:
brightest bright
whitest white
lightest light
everything else is just dark |
With rhyming please! | [WP] A poet's suicide note | I rhymed words to get into her pants
I rhymed words to get into her pants
I rhymed words to get into her pants
Don't date three women at once | It washes up over me,
like a vengeful sea
emotion of the day
which requires a reprieve.
How can I satiate
such a hungry beast?
all that it radiates
is need for a feast
But I will not be the food,
I’ll not allow this creature to live
in all the ways I could conclude
I will not die captive.
Starving a monster,
and saving a man
My death will end my pain.
I pray you understand. |
[WP] We make first contact with aliens, only to find that we are the advanced ones | I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the light as I awoke.
*How did I get here?* The last thing I remembered was wandering alone at night. Bright lights appeared in the sky. Then a white mist descended and surrounded me. Then nothing.
The room I was in was covered in white and shiny surfaces. The only objects in sight were the bed I was lying in and a large rectangular surface, raised on a platform a little taller than the bed I was on. I stumbled off the bed, and looked at the blank walls around me. Before I could do anything more, a hole opened in the wall behind me and a strange being entered the room. I turned, startled. It didn't look scary exactly, just strange. It started making noises in a low, steady voice - it seemed to be trying to communicate.
"What do you want from me?" I asked. The thing made some more noises that I didn't understand. Then he (I assumed it was a he, although I had no reason for thinking that) moved over to the strange-looking surface, about half his height, set between my bed and the wall he had come through, which had since closed itself back up. He touched the surface a few times, and noises came out of it. These were noises I recognized. Garbled, as though compiled from many voices, recorded and mixed together to create a message.
"Welcome… We are friend… Hello… Not scary… Far away…"
I didn't know what to think. Was this a dream? It didn't feel like a dream. "Where am I?" I demanded. "How did I get here?"
He touched the surface some more. Did he understand me?
"Up… sky… We are friend… Far away…"
This couldn't be happening. This was too elaborate to be a prank. Aliens? He certainly didn't look like anything I'd ever seen. But nobody really believed that. The idea that there was some intelligent life outside of our world was crazy. Even the most advanced minds and civilizations hadn't found any proof that they existed, let alone that we would ever meet them.
Not that we hadn't tried. We scanned the skies, searched, wondered, hypothesized. We had yet to find even the possibility of intelligent. But obviously, whatever stood before me had done better. They found us. They had traveled unknown distances and had learned enough to manipulate our language. Somehow, these aliens had found us and had come here to meet us.
But why would they take me? As some sort of experiment? I had to establish communication somehow. Maybe if I let him know I could understand him. "You're from far away. A friend. Why am I here?"
He touched the surface several more times before the mixed, garbled voice that I could understand came back. "We come in peace… Explore… learn, discover… We are friend."
Wow, they were really pushing the friendship thing. Maybe they felt the need to overcompensate, considering that they had kidnapped me. "Why did you take me?"
He touched the surface some more. "Come talk… Learn… We are friend… Tell us about yourself…"
This was crazy! I wasn't giving this alien any more information until I knew who he was. Or what. "No, you tell me about yourself. Where are you from? *What are you?*"
This time, he didn't touch the surface. Instead, he used his own voice. He lifted a long appendage and bent it, gesturing toward himself.
"Human."
| **IO, YEAR 2072.**
Day 1, 01:36 Local Time
*It looked so...pristine. Untouched by life. Untouched by humanity.*
Jack thought back to the condition of Earth when he left on this voyage 18 months ago. Climate change had taken a turn for the worse in the last decade, with no end in sight. Once-great cities were now in shambles, decrepit monuments to the history of Mankind. The unification of world governments into "The Collective" had stalled things, for a time, but the damage had already been done.
The Collective government had proposed the Io Initiative, to send scientists (such as himself) to Jupiter's moon in hopes of finding a suitable place to begin relocating humanity. Of course, after the unification, the development of space travel had been placed under control of the newly-formed collective military. They'd made great leaps of innovation, but all in the name of militarizing a new frontier. And now, they were doing just that.
Jack was worried. *The military doesn't have a history of leaving things to the civilians,* he thought. *Why do they need weapons, anyways? It's not like there's anything they can shoot at.*
He heard someone speaking over his in-suit radio. "This is Colonel Neumann. Non-vital personel, please report to cargo area three to begin unloading." The Colonel's voice cut off his train of thought.
Day 5, 17:05 Local Time
With the unloading completed and basic shelters set up, Jack and the other scientists began their work. As a biologist, Jack suspected he wouldn't have much actual science to do. *If there were life out here, I think we would've found it by now. Or it would have found us, I suppose.* The idea of Alien life was still popular back on Earth, but at all evidence pointed to the contrary. Not one of several hundred flight missions, extraplanetary landers, and the like had resulted in any concrete evidence for the existence of Xenobiology. Still, he could assist the medical staff with any problems they might have.
Day 17, 21: 52 Local Time
"Look at this." The Infrared viewer showed a cluster of bright spots.
"What's it supposed to be?" Jack asked. "We know Io is Volcanically active, why should we be surprised that there's warm stuff on the surface?"
"It's not the fact that there's something warm, it's - just keep watching." Dr. Miyakazi replied.
"Okay. Will do." The splotches appeared to be moving. "They're moving. Is that what you're talking about?"
"Yes - Yes! Exactly! Don't you understand?" Dr. Miyakazi sounded ectatic.
"So, why are they moving?" Jack questioned.
"Well, I believe - I know this sounds hopeful, but - I think that might be something living."
"Living? Come on. You know just as well as I do that if there were any life out here, it would've been found years ago on one of the flybys."
"I can't explain it, but there it is. Come on - is it really that unbelievable? That there's some sort of life out here?"
Jack thought to himself. *It's always possible, I suppose, however unlikely.* "Okay, so let's pretend for a minute that's what it is. what do we do now?"
"We'll have to tell the Colonel. You know how he is about people leaving the compound." Once again, Jack was nervous. *What if he says no? What if he says* yes *? Which is worse?*
Day 18, 10:33 Local Time
"Over there!" Jack quickly turned to the right. Near the center of a crater, two spots on the IR Scanner lit up brightly. When he took out his long-range viewer, he saw two small, greenish-brown "things" next to each other. He wasn't sure what to call them. They looked much like apes from earth, save their hue, which matched the color of the surrounding landscape.
"Bring us around, Sergeant." Once again, the Colonel's sharp voice cut through Jack's thoughts.
"Colonel, we might want to stop further away. We don't want to scare them." Dr. Miyakazi suggested.
"Doctor, please do not tell me how to command my team. Sergeant, bring us in. 100 meters." The small transport drove up to the rim of the crater. Colonel Neumann stepped out first and went around to the back.
"See, Jack, I told you! Alien life!" Dr. Miyakazi whispered excitedly. She stepped out of the transport, and Jack followed behind.
Suddenly, a loud Crack, then another, from the other side of the vehicle. The two life-forms collapsed onto the ground. "And that is that. Doctors Miyakazi and Stephenson, please return to the vehicle." Colonel Neumann returned to the front of the transport with a rifle in his hand.
"What the *hell* was that? First contact with alien life, and you decide to *kill* it?" Dr. Miyakazi shouted.
"Doctor, my job here is to make sure the Io Initiative proceeds without any disturbances. That includes indigenous life. I don't give a damn about whatever green apes live on this rock, and I won't hesitate to kill any more that I see."
"I can't let you do that, Colonel. This is too important, damn it! don't you understand?"
"Doctor, I suggest you return to the vehicle. *Now*." He raised the rifle in her direction. His ice-cold voice sent a chill down Jack's spine.
Her eyes widened. "No! I cannot allow you to just - just *kill* the first living extraterrestrial life that humanity has ever found!" She took a step forward. Another loud crack, a cry of pain, and her lifeless body tumbled into the crater.
"And as for you, Doctor Stephenson." The rifle was now aimed at Jack. "You are not to speak of the events of this outing. Doctor Miyakazi tripped over the edge of the crater and tore open her suit during the fall. She suffocated due to lack of oxygen. Is that understood?" |
|
[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | The accident that took my life happened at 7 AM, while I was driving my children to school. I was a bit frazzled from the 4 short hours of sleep (yes, the hours themselves felt shorter) and my stomach was heavy with the worry that there might be something wrong with Nadia. I'd given birth to her three weeks ago, and she wasn't like my two little soldiers sitting in the backseat when they were young - screaming and begging and crawling everywhere. Rambunctious little turds practicing their art of yelling as if they were preparing for an audience in Carnegie hall some day.
Nadia was quiet. Mostly. Every three hours in the night she would scream a blood-curdling scream for exactly a minute. And sleep again. While I was carrying, I made sure to stay well nourished, and that's easier said than done these days, especially with the rationing. Jim's job with NORAD makes it easy for him to sneak us extras, but everyone had it rough - all the land worth farming was gammaed early on. We weren't hit with anything directly, but what if this whole fucking war, the evacuations, the shit food, the whooping cough just made it so Nadia came out wrong? Why at the end of all these evacuations from one camp to another were we living right fucking next to no-man's land? Driving past that inglorious memorial to the last 2 years every day to drop the kids off just made me curse everything even more. It made me remember the friends I’d lost, some across the border, more in the troubles that followed.
Frigid with worry, I picked up my phone and texted my husband "Check on Nadia, had an open-air incident this morning." Jim's new work schedule was unkind for recent parents. He was out of the house at 8 AM and back around midnight. At least he could take care of her while I ran the kids to the campus and ran back, which is all I needed for now. As I focused on hitting the send button, I sent myself and the car into the tree straight ahead.
Thank goodness for airbags and quick reflexes. I gently bumped into the tree before me and the trigger-happy bags greeted me with a good morning sucker punch. Nose bloodied and a little worse for the wear, but thoroughly awake. I stepped out of the car and saw my two little soldiers, Irina and Max sitting in the back, smiling as if they'd just finished riding on a fucking roller coaster. I took two or three steps back towards a large chestnut tree to catch my breath. On my (I think) third step, I heard a click. And then a boom. And then I showed up here.
So yeah, that's how I'm here, talking to you right now, your name was?
"H.G."
Ah, H.G. Nice to meet you.
"So, tell me more about this war?"
Wait, no, I have to have some answers first - where am I?
"Ah, OK, it's only fair I suppose. You did tell me how you perished, and I'll say landmines are probably not the most dignified way I could imagine."
Landmine! Of course, I drove the car right into no-man's land. I'll bet they'll build that fucking fence now. Stupid do-nothing city council shits.
"OK, so first, you said you were 'talking' to me. You actually aren't. You haven't moved your lips since you've come here. That's natural don't worry, but you should start doing it soon or it'll feel weird later."
I try to move my lips a bit. A tingle comes over them like a hot pepper is being rubbed vigorously over them.
"Bulktrosph"
"Good! Now, anyway - as far as we know, you're in heaven."
"Fuck"
"Let's pretend that was your first word and not 'bulgogi' or whatever you said earlier. People will ask you that a lot here - your first word says a lot about you. Most people say some equivalent of 'fuck'. Wow is common too."
"First thing you should know is that some day your family shows up here, and once you do, you'll pass on."
"Pass on?"
"Yeah, you'll pass on, onto the next life. We who have been stuck here have worked out a few things so far. Some of us have even gone and come back."
H. G. took a moment to pound himself in the chest and cough. Though it seemed like a somewhat unnatural motion.
"It was the case that everyone here used to be some kind of famous. Back when I got here, there were maybe a few hundred thousand folks here. But you know, the story is best told by...."
And while he seemed to just trail off the sentence, a figure appeared next to H.G. from a mist of red triangles. He was naked except for a golden long loin cloth and some kind of tattoo on his left breast that looked like a hawk, but I could swear it said “NO”.
"My name is Iry-Hor"
"Nice to meet you Iry-Hor"
"My name is Iry-Hor, and I was not the first here. But I am...the oldest. When I came here, this place was filled with many whose names I did not know, whose languages I did not speak."
Iry-Hor spoke in stuttering, broken English, as far as I could tell. His features were not combined in a way I'd seen before (I'll be the first to admit I'm not very well travelled) - his face was dark, his nose wide, his cheekbones high, his very short hair curled and his long and lean limbs dangling from the core of his body like tassels on a gown.
"And soon, those around me began to fade. Friends, countrymen, my subjects whom I loved dearly. My wife stayed with me for many years, but she passed on much sooner than I would have liked. I longed for many years to see my family again. I saw more countrymen, but they were no longer my subjects, ruled by a different king. These same kings then came to join me soon after, and we all watched as the years passed and new countrymen came and left. We added more to our band and watched the years pass without fascination. And then one year we saw many of our countrymen. They brought with them tales of war and plunder. A new enemy who had laid waste to our temples and our lands and buried our might beneath the shifting sands and the mighty river. Soon we all passed on, onto the next life."
"What was it like?"
"It was unity."
"Unity?"
"Togetherness."
“It sounds beautiful.”
H. G. interrupted “It certainly does. Which is why I myself find it very confusing as to why the returners loathe going back.”
“You do not understand the meaning of those terms young one.” Iry-Hor retorted.
“So, hold on, when did you come back?”
“A few years ago. She can give a better answer than I can.”
Again from a mist of red triangles a kindly looking woman appeared.
“My name is Gertrude Bell!” she chirped, apparently quite excited to meet me, a suburban housewife-turned-failed-minesweeper. She had a “HELLO, my name is….” sticker on her left breast. It said “FUCK”.
“Iry-Hor here was summoned back to this realm because we found out his name!”
“We found out his name?”
“Yes! There was a dig in his ancient kingdom. A tablet was unearthed, and we deciphered it and learned of his great deeds and more importantly, I would argue, his name. His name entering into a human mind again, pulled him out of the realm beyond and into this one once again.”
“Ah, so once your name leaves living memory, you are passed on?”
“Yes, we believe so. But you can be remembered and summoned back.”
“Ah, so once everyone I know shows up here, we’ll all pass on? Into Unity?”
H. G. did the coughing and hitting himself in the chest thing again.
“Well, not quite. See, people haven’t been passing recently as much.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Well, turns out, it’s much easier to be ‘famous’ in the world now. You have something called Facebook? A written record of names? Regardless of how ordinary your life may be, there is a chance that your name is written and seen by hundreds of people across the world daily. I’m sure she can explain better.”
Another woman appeared from the ether in a burst of red triangles. Her left breast had a sticker on it that read “How interesting”.
“Ada, nice to meet you”
“Nice to meet you!” I tried chirping like Getrude had earlier, but I think it came out sounding insincere.
Ada looked at H. G., he mouthed the word ‘fuck’ and Ada looked at me again.
“Your name has been harvested by robots. They traverse Facebook and take your name, and send e-mails to people you’ve never met as if they are you. They take your name and likeness and sell it, to be shown once or twice, and hence live on in human consciousness.”
Ada looked a bit crestfallen as she said all of this. The same tone I use when disciplining my little soldiers - the combination of scorn and disappointment seemed to permeate her words. | Heaven is a sham, a facade, promised to all as the land of the righteous, the forgiven. Yet what fills it are the cesspools of humanity, the greatest evils to ever walk the Earth. Those who carry the names of gods are in fact the most atrocious beings who have ever lived. Their original life existing far beyond the bounds of written history, passed on in fear by word of mouth and even now, they abuse their power, warping thoughts and infecting minds of the living to feed their pathetic ego.
The good are so few, and so often forgotten, their cries as they fall, tearing into the deepest parts of my soul. Too many times have i watched this, seen what lies below, seen where i, where all of us, will lie for eternity.
So I ran. I ran from fate, from destiny, from the curse all of us are under. I ran to the mortal world. With what little power i had left i tried to grasp onto this realm, binding myself to those i aid, hoping that they would protect me from doom. But it was to no avail. I can hear it now, calling me, mocking me. It knows I'm scared, terrified. And it knows where I am.
I must run.
**I must run.**
|
|
[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | Short of Jesus Christ himself, they had to admit Hitler had run the best racket amongst them. That however did not stop a certain someone from bragging about it.
“Son of God,” Jesus said again, for what had to be the millionth time. “I mean how fucking awesome was that?”
George Washington passes Genghis Khan a look. The Khan simply shrugs, places his cards on the table and waves them off.
Elvis rolls his eyes. “What a bunch of horseshit,” he says. “You didn’t know this is how it would turn out, faker.” He doesn’t bother looking at his cards. He pushes them in and slaps the halo off of John Wayne Gacy’s head.
“Whatever, loser,” Jesus scoffs. “Once that Beaver, Babber kid or whatever gets here you are done bro.” He gives his cards the once over and flips them. “Three kings dirtbags,” he says. “Alright new guy, whatever the hell your name is, what you got?”
“Good Morning,” the man says, counting his chips.
George, Elvis, Jesus, Gacy and the Khan all glance at one another. Gacy points a finger to his head, rolling it in a circular motion. Elvis looks none too pleased and slaps his halo off again.
“Ah, yeah, same,” Jesus says. “But I was, you know, looking for your name.”
Looking up the man turns over his cards, showing two aces. Including the two on board, he had four. “Good Morning.” He says, once more.
“Son of a bitch!” Jesus says. “What the hell- Oh, Holy shit.” His jaw falls slack and he stands up from the table. “No, you gotta be kidding me, seriously?”
George, Elvis, Gacy and the Khan look back and forth between the two before the realization sets in. The reactions are mixed but they are all in agreement on one thing.
“Man, seriously.” Jesus says. “Fuckin' hippies, dude.”
edit: Accidentally a lot of words | Heaven is a sham, a facade, promised to all as the land of the righteous, the forgiven. Yet what fills it are the cesspools of humanity, the greatest evils to ever walk the Earth. Those who carry the names of gods are in fact the most atrocious beings who have ever lived. Their original life existing far beyond the bounds of written history, passed on in fear by word of mouth and even now, they abuse their power, warping thoughts and infecting minds of the living to feed their pathetic ego.
The good are so few, and so often forgotten, their cries as they fall, tearing into the deepest parts of my soul. Too many times have i watched this, seen what lies below, seen where i, where all of us, will lie for eternity.
So I ran. I ran from fate, from destiny, from the curse all of us are under. I ran to the mortal world. With what little power i had left i tried to grasp onto this realm, binding myself to those i aid, hoping that they would protect me from doom. But it was to no avail. I can hear it now, calling me, mocking me. It knows I'm scared, terrified. And it knows where I am.
I must run.
**I must run.**
|
|
[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | The accident that took my life happened at 7 AM, while I was driving my children to school. I was a bit frazzled from the 4 short hours of sleep (yes, the hours themselves felt shorter) and my stomach was heavy with the worry that there might be something wrong with Nadia. I'd given birth to her three weeks ago, and she wasn't like my two little soldiers sitting in the backseat when they were young - screaming and begging and crawling everywhere. Rambunctious little turds practicing their art of yelling as if they were preparing for an audience in Carnegie hall some day.
Nadia was quiet. Mostly. Every three hours in the night she would scream a blood-curdling scream for exactly a minute. And sleep again. While I was carrying, I made sure to stay well nourished, and that's easier said than done these days, especially with the rationing. Jim's job with NORAD makes it easy for him to sneak us extras, but everyone had it rough - all the land worth farming was gammaed early on. We weren't hit with anything directly, but what if this whole fucking war, the evacuations, the shit food, the whooping cough just made it so Nadia came out wrong? Why at the end of all these evacuations from one camp to another were we living right fucking next to no-man's land? Driving past that inglorious memorial to the last 2 years every day to drop the kids off just made me curse everything even more. It made me remember the friends I’d lost, some across the border, more in the troubles that followed.
Frigid with worry, I picked up my phone and texted my husband "Check on Nadia, had an open-air incident this morning." Jim's new work schedule was unkind for recent parents. He was out of the house at 8 AM and back around midnight. At least he could take care of her while I ran the kids to the campus and ran back, which is all I needed for now. As I focused on hitting the send button, I sent myself and the car into the tree straight ahead.
Thank goodness for airbags and quick reflexes. I gently bumped into the tree before me and the trigger-happy bags greeted me with a good morning sucker punch. Nose bloodied and a little worse for the wear, but thoroughly awake. I stepped out of the car and saw my two little soldiers, Irina and Max sitting in the back, smiling as if they'd just finished riding on a fucking roller coaster. I took two or three steps back towards a large chestnut tree to catch my breath. On my (I think) third step, I heard a click. And then a boom. And then I showed up here.
So yeah, that's how I'm here, talking to you right now, your name was?
"H.G."
Ah, H.G. Nice to meet you.
"So, tell me more about this war?"
Wait, no, I have to have some answers first - where am I?
"Ah, OK, it's only fair I suppose. You did tell me how you perished, and I'll say landmines are probably not the most dignified way I could imagine."
Landmine! Of course, I drove the car right into no-man's land. I'll bet they'll build that fucking fence now. Stupid do-nothing city council shits.
"OK, so first, you said you were 'talking' to me. You actually aren't. You haven't moved your lips since you've come here. That's natural don't worry, but you should start doing it soon or it'll feel weird later."
I try to move my lips a bit. A tingle comes over them like a hot pepper is being rubbed vigorously over them.
"Bulktrosph"
"Good! Now, anyway - as far as we know, you're in heaven."
"Fuck"
"Let's pretend that was your first word and not 'bulgogi' or whatever you said earlier. People will ask you that a lot here - your first word says a lot about you. Most people say some equivalent of 'fuck'. Wow is common too."
"First thing you should know is that some day your family shows up here, and once you do, you'll pass on."
"Pass on?"
"Yeah, you'll pass on, onto the next life. We who have been stuck here have worked out a few things so far. Some of us have even gone and come back."
H. G. took a moment to pound himself in the chest and cough. Though it seemed like a somewhat unnatural motion.
"It was the case that everyone here used to be some kind of famous. Back when I got here, there were maybe a few hundred thousand folks here. But you know, the story is best told by...."
And while he seemed to just trail off the sentence, a figure appeared next to H.G. from a mist of red triangles. He was naked except for a golden long loin cloth and some kind of tattoo on his left breast that looked like a hawk, but I could swear it said “NO”.
"My name is Iry-Hor"
"Nice to meet you Iry-Hor"
"My name is Iry-Hor, and I was not the first here. But I am...the oldest. When I came here, this place was filled with many whose names I did not know, whose languages I did not speak."
Iry-Hor spoke in stuttering, broken English, as far as I could tell. His features were not combined in a way I'd seen before (I'll be the first to admit I'm not very well travelled) - his face was dark, his nose wide, his cheekbones high, his very short hair curled and his long and lean limbs dangling from the core of his body like tassels on a gown.
"And soon, those around me began to fade. Friends, countrymen, my subjects whom I loved dearly. My wife stayed with me for many years, but she passed on much sooner than I would have liked. I longed for many years to see my family again. I saw more countrymen, but they were no longer my subjects, ruled by a different king. These same kings then came to join me soon after, and we all watched as the years passed and new countrymen came and left. We added more to our band and watched the years pass without fascination. And then one year we saw many of our countrymen. They brought with them tales of war and plunder. A new enemy who had laid waste to our temples and our lands and buried our might beneath the shifting sands and the mighty river. Soon we all passed on, onto the next life."
"What was it like?"
"It was unity."
"Unity?"
"Togetherness."
“It sounds beautiful.”
H. G. interrupted “It certainly does. Which is why I myself find it very confusing as to why the returners loathe going back.”
“You do not understand the meaning of those terms young one.” Iry-Hor retorted.
“So, hold on, when did you come back?”
“A few years ago. She can give a better answer than I can.”
Again from a mist of red triangles a kindly looking woman appeared.
“My name is Gertrude Bell!” she chirped, apparently quite excited to meet me, a suburban housewife-turned-failed-minesweeper. She had a “HELLO, my name is….” sticker on her left breast. It said “FUCK”.
“Iry-Hor here was summoned back to this realm because we found out his name!”
“We found out his name?”
“Yes! There was a dig in his ancient kingdom. A tablet was unearthed, and we deciphered it and learned of his great deeds and more importantly, I would argue, his name. His name entering into a human mind again, pulled him out of the realm beyond and into this one once again.”
“Ah, so once your name leaves living memory, you are passed on?”
“Yes, we believe so. But you can be remembered and summoned back.”
“Ah, so once everyone I know shows up here, we’ll all pass on? Into Unity?”
H. G. did the coughing and hitting himself in the chest thing again.
“Well, not quite. See, people haven’t been passing recently as much.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Well, turns out, it’s much easier to be ‘famous’ in the world now. You have something called Facebook? A written record of names? Regardless of how ordinary your life may be, there is a chance that your name is written and seen by hundreds of people across the world daily. I’m sure she can explain better.”
Another woman appeared from the ether in a burst of red triangles. Her left breast had a sticker on it that read “How interesting”.
“Ada, nice to meet you”
“Nice to meet you!” I tried chirping like Getrude had earlier, but I think it came out sounding insincere.
Ada looked at H. G., he mouthed the word ‘fuck’ and Ada looked at me again.
“Your name has been harvested by robots. They traverse Facebook and take your name, and send e-mails to people you’ve never met as if they are you. They take your name and likeness and sell it, to be shown once or twice, and hence live on in human consciousness.”
Ada looked a bit crestfallen as she said all of this. The same tone I use when disciplining my little soldiers - the combination of scorn and disappointment seemed to permeate her words. | ....
....
....
....
Huh... mhhh. dead... dead..... I suppose I'm *~blip~*, just like that, gone with the wind.... dead. Strange, I haven't a clue where I am but something compels me to believe this place is the after life. Is it possible I've been buried alive? I don't feel alive. There's a certain supernatural aura of this place, and considering I don't believe in Supernatural auras, something is informing me. And I suppose that's God. Strange that I'd know these things. I suddenly witness a scene that appears to have taken place for years yet no time at all.
"And eyes, surely this mortal has misused you", beckons God
"Yes, Lord God, he most certainly has. He had used us in a variety of manners, but we can attest he had used us ignobly more often than was acceptable." responded my eyes
"Very well." remarks God, "Funny thing is, despite all his sin and being a heathen, he still doesn't seem to have racked up enough hell-points for me to send him off down under...." God pauses confused, "maybe the calculator's broken - nope, all's in order.", God continues "Just a single good deed over. I suppose he has rightly gained entry beneath my throne."
*~blip~*
Heaven. Indescribably sententious, inexplicably so. All of my favourite people, except it's not them, it's all of them as a multi-person which is a single person. All of my favourite food, except not in multiple dishes, but a red fruit that is all textures, flavours and substance. It's been 10, 000 years already, I can't believe it. It feels as though I'd arrived not but a second ago.
*~blip~*
... Where has the warmth gone? I no longer lay upon the pleasant meadows beneath the throne of God accompanied by my hurriyes and jewels. My mountains have sunk beneath the earth. No more heaven fruit. Worst of all, most excruciating of all, this great pain. My flesh is no longer ethereal. This great pain that does not scorch or freeze or; indescribable pain.... |
|
[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | Short of Jesus Christ himself, they had to admit Hitler had run the best racket amongst them. That however did not stop a certain someone from bragging about it.
“Son of God,” Jesus said again, for what had to be the millionth time. “I mean how fucking awesome was that?”
George Washington passes Genghis Khan a look. The Khan simply shrugs, places his cards on the table and waves them off.
Elvis rolls his eyes. “What a bunch of horseshit,” he says. “You didn’t know this is how it would turn out, faker.” He doesn’t bother looking at his cards. He pushes them in and slaps the halo off of John Wayne Gacy’s head.
“Whatever, loser,” Jesus scoffs. “Once that Beaver, Babber kid or whatever gets here you are done bro.” He gives his cards the once over and flips them. “Three kings dirtbags,” he says. “Alright new guy, whatever the hell your name is, what you got?”
“Good Morning,” the man says, counting his chips.
George, Elvis, Jesus, Gacy and the Khan all glance at one another. Gacy points a finger to his head, rolling it in a circular motion. Elvis looks none too pleased and slaps his halo off again.
“Ah, yeah, same,” Jesus says. “But I was, you know, looking for your name.”
Looking up the man turns over his cards, showing two aces. Including the two on board, he had four. “Good Morning.” He says, once more.
“Son of a bitch!” Jesus says. “What the hell- Oh, Holy shit.” His jaw falls slack and he stands up from the table. “No, you gotta be kidding me, seriously?”
George, Elvis, Gacy and the Khan look back and forth between the two before the realization sets in. The reactions are mixed but they are all in agreement on one thing.
“Man, seriously.” Jesus says. “Fuckin' hippies, dude.”
edit: Accidentally a lot of words | ....
....
....
....
Huh... mhhh. dead... dead..... I suppose I'm *~blip~*, just like that, gone with the wind.... dead. Strange, I haven't a clue where I am but something compels me to believe this place is the after life. Is it possible I've been buried alive? I don't feel alive. There's a certain supernatural aura of this place, and considering I don't believe in Supernatural auras, something is informing me. And I suppose that's God. Strange that I'd know these things. I suddenly witness a scene that appears to have taken place for years yet no time at all.
"And eyes, surely this mortal has misused you", beckons God
"Yes, Lord God, he most certainly has. He had used us in a variety of manners, but we can attest he had used us ignobly more often than was acceptable." responded my eyes
"Very well." remarks God, "Funny thing is, despite all his sin and being a heathen, he still doesn't seem to have racked up enough hell-points for me to send him off down under...." God pauses confused, "maybe the calculator's broken - nope, all's in order.", God continues "Just a single good deed over. I suppose he has rightly gained entry beneath my throne."
*~blip~*
Heaven. Indescribably sententious, inexplicably so. All of my favourite people, except it's not them, it's all of them as a multi-person which is a single person. All of my favourite food, except not in multiple dishes, but a red fruit that is all textures, flavours and substance. It's been 10, 000 years already, I can't believe it. It feels as though I'd arrived not but a second ago.
*~blip~*
... Where has the warmth gone? I no longer lay upon the pleasant meadows beneath the throne of God accompanied by my hurriyes and jewels. My mountains have sunk beneath the earth. No more heaven fruit. Worst of all, most excruciating of all, this great pain. My flesh is no longer ethereal. This great pain that does not scorch or freeze or; indescribable pain.... |
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[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | The accident that took my life happened at 7 AM, while I was driving my children to school. I was a bit frazzled from the 4 short hours of sleep (yes, the hours themselves felt shorter) and my stomach was heavy with the worry that there might be something wrong with Nadia. I'd given birth to her three weeks ago, and she wasn't like my two little soldiers sitting in the backseat when they were young - screaming and begging and crawling everywhere. Rambunctious little turds practicing their art of yelling as if they were preparing for an audience in Carnegie hall some day.
Nadia was quiet. Mostly. Every three hours in the night she would scream a blood-curdling scream for exactly a minute. And sleep again. While I was carrying, I made sure to stay well nourished, and that's easier said than done these days, especially with the rationing. Jim's job with NORAD makes it easy for him to sneak us extras, but everyone had it rough - all the land worth farming was gammaed early on. We weren't hit with anything directly, but what if this whole fucking war, the evacuations, the shit food, the whooping cough just made it so Nadia came out wrong? Why at the end of all these evacuations from one camp to another were we living right fucking next to no-man's land? Driving past that inglorious memorial to the last 2 years every day to drop the kids off just made me curse everything even more. It made me remember the friends I’d lost, some across the border, more in the troubles that followed.
Frigid with worry, I picked up my phone and texted my husband "Check on Nadia, had an open-air incident this morning." Jim's new work schedule was unkind for recent parents. He was out of the house at 8 AM and back around midnight. At least he could take care of her while I ran the kids to the campus and ran back, which is all I needed for now. As I focused on hitting the send button, I sent myself and the car into the tree straight ahead.
Thank goodness for airbags and quick reflexes. I gently bumped into the tree before me and the trigger-happy bags greeted me with a good morning sucker punch. Nose bloodied and a little worse for the wear, but thoroughly awake. I stepped out of the car and saw my two little soldiers, Irina and Max sitting in the back, smiling as if they'd just finished riding on a fucking roller coaster. I took two or three steps back towards a large chestnut tree to catch my breath. On my (I think) third step, I heard a click. And then a boom. And then I showed up here.
So yeah, that's how I'm here, talking to you right now, your name was?
"H.G."
Ah, H.G. Nice to meet you.
"So, tell me more about this war?"
Wait, no, I have to have some answers first - where am I?
"Ah, OK, it's only fair I suppose. You did tell me how you perished, and I'll say landmines are probably not the most dignified way I could imagine."
Landmine! Of course, I drove the car right into no-man's land. I'll bet they'll build that fucking fence now. Stupid do-nothing city council shits.
"OK, so first, you said you were 'talking' to me. You actually aren't. You haven't moved your lips since you've come here. That's natural don't worry, but you should start doing it soon or it'll feel weird later."
I try to move my lips a bit. A tingle comes over them like a hot pepper is being rubbed vigorously over them.
"Bulktrosph"
"Good! Now, anyway - as far as we know, you're in heaven."
"Fuck"
"Let's pretend that was your first word and not 'bulgogi' or whatever you said earlier. People will ask you that a lot here - your first word says a lot about you. Most people say some equivalent of 'fuck'. Wow is common too."
"First thing you should know is that some day your family shows up here, and once you do, you'll pass on."
"Pass on?"
"Yeah, you'll pass on, onto the next life. We who have been stuck here have worked out a few things so far. Some of us have even gone and come back."
H. G. took a moment to pound himself in the chest and cough. Though it seemed like a somewhat unnatural motion.
"It was the case that everyone here used to be some kind of famous. Back when I got here, there were maybe a few hundred thousand folks here. But you know, the story is best told by...."
And while he seemed to just trail off the sentence, a figure appeared next to H.G. from a mist of red triangles. He was naked except for a golden long loin cloth and some kind of tattoo on his left breast that looked like a hawk, but I could swear it said “NO”.
"My name is Iry-Hor"
"Nice to meet you Iry-Hor"
"My name is Iry-Hor, and I was not the first here. But I am...the oldest. When I came here, this place was filled with many whose names I did not know, whose languages I did not speak."
Iry-Hor spoke in stuttering, broken English, as far as I could tell. His features were not combined in a way I'd seen before (I'll be the first to admit I'm not very well travelled) - his face was dark, his nose wide, his cheekbones high, his very short hair curled and his long and lean limbs dangling from the core of his body like tassels on a gown.
"And soon, those around me began to fade. Friends, countrymen, my subjects whom I loved dearly. My wife stayed with me for many years, but she passed on much sooner than I would have liked. I longed for many years to see my family again. I saw more countrymen, but they were no longer my subjects, ruled by a different king. These same kings then came to join me soon after, and we all watched as the years passed and new countrymen came and left. We added more to our band and watched the years pass without fascination. And then one year we saw many of our countrymen. They brought with them tales of war and plunder. A new enemy who had laid waste to our temples and our lands and buried our might beneath the shifting sands and the mighty river. Soon we all passed on, onto the next life."
"What was it like?"
"It was unity."
"Unity?"
"Togetherness."
“It sounds beautiful.”
H. G. interrupted “It certainly does. Which is why I myself find it very confusing as to why the returners loathe going back.”
“You do not understand the meaning of those terms young one.” Iry-Hor retorted.
“So, hold on, when did you come back?”
“A few years ago. She can give a better answer than I can.”
Again from a mist of red triangles a kindly looking woman appeared.
“My name is Gertrude Bell!” she chirped, apparently quite excited to meet me, a suburban housewife-turned-failed-minesweeper. She had a “HELLO, my name is….” sticker on her left breast. It said “FUCK”.
“Iry-Hor here was summoned back to this realm because we found out his name!”
“We found out his name?”
“Yes! There was a dig in his ancient kingdom. A tablet was unearthed, and we deciphered it and learned of his great deeds and more importantly, I would argue, his name. His name entering into a human mind again, pulled him out of the realm beyond and into this one once again.”
“Ah, so once your name leaves living memory, you are passed on?”
“Yes, we believe so. But you can be remembered and summoned back.”
“Ah, so once everyone I know shows up here, we’ll all pass on? Into Unity?”
H. G. did the coughing and hitting himself in the chest thing again.
“Well, not quite. See, people haven’t been passing recently as much.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Well, turns out, it’s much easier to be ‘famous’ in the world now. You have something called Facebook? A written record of names? Regardless of how ordinary your life may be, there is a chance that your name is written and seen by hundreds of people across the world daily. I’m sure she can explain better.”
Another woman appeared from the ether in a burst of red triangles. Her left breast had a sticker on it that read “How interesting”.
“Ada, nice to meet you”
“Nice to meet you!” I tried chirping like Getrude had earlier, but I think it came out sounding insincere.
Ada looked at H. G., he mouthed the word ‘fuck’ and Ada looked at me again.
“Your name has been harvested by robots. They traverse Facebook and take your name, and send e-mails to people you’ve never met as if they are you. They take your name and likeness and sell it, to be shown once or twice, and hence live on in human consciousness.”
Ada looked a bit crestfallen as she said all of this. The same tone I use when disciplining my little soldiers - the combination of scorn and disappointment seemed to permeate her words. | Five years have passed, and I've been living it up. Parties with Honest Abe, poker with Freud; hell, I've even had shots with Teddy Roosevelt. It was great. That is, until Jesus Christ came to visit. He took me by the shoulders and led me to a small hole in the cloud floor. I stared at the empty area for a moment, and turned to look at him.
"Kneel, and look." Reluctantly, I done as told, kneeling and staring down into the black expanse of the hole. The darkness seemed to disperse and form into an image: A man I used to know, sitting in front of a computer, his mouse hovering over a Skype contact. The contact read: 'Kain Crow', my name... I thought he had deleted me when we were teenagers. We practically hated each other. "I wonder what would've happened if we were different? If either of us were compassionate enough to say we're sorry, or to just forget about it?" He chuckled to himself, a depressed tone ringing in the laughter. "I wasn't able to make it to your funeral, and I'm really sorry about that. I don't know if you can hear me, wherever you may be, but I just wanted to say: I'm sorry Kain."
I felt a pressure against my back, turning my neck just in time to see Jesus mouth the word sorry. He pushed, sending me into the hole, breaking the image into a thousand pieces only to be replaced by fiery spires. I shut my eyes as I descended, tears rolling down my face with a smile. "I just wanted to hear that. For forty long years I waited to hear that. You're forgiven..." |
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[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | Short of Jesus Christ himself, they had to admit Hitler had run the best racket amongst them. That however did not stop a certain someone from bragging about it.
“Son of God,” Jesus said again, for what had to be the millionth time. “I mean how fucking awesome was that?”
George Washington passes Genghis Khan a look. The Khan simply shrugs, places his cards on the table and waves them off.
Elvis rolls his eyes. “What a bunch of horseshit,” he says. “You didn’t know this is how it would turn out, faker.” He doesn’t bother looking at his cards. He pushes them in and slaps the halo off of John Wayne Gacy’s head.
“Whatever, loser,” Jesus scoffs. “Once that Beaver, Babber kid or whatever gets here you are done bro.” He gives his cards the once over and flips them. “Three kings dirtbags,” he says. “Alright new guy, whatever the hell your name is, what you got?”
“Good Morning,” the man says, counting his chips.
George, Elvis, Jesus, Gacy and the Khan all glance at one another. Gacy points a finger to his head, rolling it in a circular motion. Elvis looks none too pleased and slaps his halo off again.
“Ah, yeah, same,” Jesus says. “But I was, you know, looking for your name.”
Looking up the man turns over his cards, showing two aces. Including the two on board, he had four. “Good Morning.” He says, once more.
“Son of a bitch!” Jesus says. “What the hell- Oh, Holy shit.” His jaw falls slack and he stands up from the table. “No, you gotta be kidding me, seriously?”
George, Elvis, Gacy and the Khan look back and forth between the two before the realization sets in. The reactions are mixed but they are all in agreement on one thing.
“Man, seriously.” Jesus says. “Fuckin' hippies, dude.”
edit: Accidentally a lot of words | The fire in the barrel was beginning to run low, for the final time. I no longer have the strength to collect more garbage to fuel the flames. My tattered sleeping bag provides little relief from the cold autumn air. Though, I'm fortunate to have the overpass to protect me from steady rain.
At least I'll die dry.
It has been weeks since I have been able to pan handle enough cash for food. I don't have the strength to travel to the more heavily populated areas of the city, and the cold is keeping people inside more.
At least I had lead a good life. I helped others as much as I could. I never intentionally hurt anyone, and I prayed nightly. That should be enough... enough to get into heaven.
The time is getting closer. I can feel it now, the fluid in my lungs is finally going to win. I close my eyes as my chest shutters trying to get one last breath.
Aaaah yes. I can finally feel the warmth of Heaven. The sound of... the sound of fires? The... the smell of brimstone? |
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[WP] The saying that is that we die twice, once by mortal wound and the second when somebody says our name for the last time. Between these two deaths exists heaven, filled with all the greatest people from history. After the second death is Hell. Write about your experience. | Short of Jesus Christ himself, they had to admit Hitler had run the best racket amongst them. That however did not stop a certain someone from bragging about it.
“Son of God,” Jesus said again, for what had to be the millionth time. “I mean how fucking awesome was that?”
George Washington passes Genghis Khan a look. The Khan simply shrugs, places his cards on the table and waves them off.
Elvis rolls his eyes. “What a bunch of horseshit,” he says. “You didn’t know this is how it would turn out, faker.” He doesn’t bother looking at his cards. He pushes them in and slaps the halo off of John Wayne Gacy’s head.
“Whatever, loser,” Jesus scoffs. “Once that Beaver, Babber kid or whatever gets here you are done bro.” He gives his cards the once over and flips them. “Three kings dirtbags,” he says. “Alright new guy, whatever the hell your name is, what you got?”
“Good Morning,” the man says, counting his chips.
George, Elvis, Jesus, Gacy and the Khan all glance at one another. Gacy points a finger to his head, rolling it in a circular motion. Elvis looks none too pleased and slaps his halo off again.
“Ah, yeah, same,” Jesus says. “But I was, you know, looking for your name.”
Looking up the man turns over his cards, showing two aces. Including the two on board, he had four. “Good Morning.” He says, once more.
“Son of a bitch!” Jesus says. “What the hell- Oh, Holy shit.” His jaw falls slack and he stands up from the table. “No, you gotta be kidding me, seriously?”
George, Elvis, Gacy and the Khan look back and forth between the two before the realization sets in. The reactions are mixed but they are all in agreement on one thing.
“Man, seriously.” Jesus says. “Fuckin' hippies, dude.”
edit: Accidentally a lot of words | I fall. I fall through the earth, the weight of my body growing heavier and heavier until it sinks through the ground and I find myself falling through the sky. Clouds are everywhere. Golden gates and a city of marble and pearls lie beneath me as I fall through the sky, hurtling towards the surface of Heaven. I
want to reach out, but my arm won't move. The anticipation grows within me as I become closer and closer to Paradise, to the cloud-coated ground...
Then I fall through the clouds. Only fire remains. |
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[WP] Your deity has visited you and asks that you write their doctrine. | Alfred just sat there waiting for his deity to come.
But none came.
Alfred was an atheist.
Alfred died a lonely man. | A jarring CLAP shook him from his early-afternoon daydream. The noise came from the sound of the toaster's springs launching a crispy, golden-brown bagel into the air. It was a sound that he hated: he always loved the bagel the toaster produced, but he cursed under his breath nearly every time the contraption ejected the food with a sound not entirely unlike that of a car crash. He was so startled that as he rose from his small, wooden table in the corner of the kitchen, he couldn't recall the daydream that was occupying his uneventful afternoon. He often gazed outside as he daydreamed, thinking about things he would like to do but is getting too old to do, books he'd like to write but is getting too tired to write. He makes his way to the toaster and the delicious bagel, realizing that he needs a plate and knife, and he turns to the shelf to retrieve them. He thinks about sitting outside on the porch, but he knows that the weather is far too warm, the mosquitoes too thirsty, and his love for air conditioning too great. He puts the knife on the edge of the blue ceramic plate, and opens the cabinet. Should I have peanut butter with my bagel? he thought. Am I getting too old for peanut butter? He laughs to himself, one can never be too old for peanut butter, he said to himself in a whisper. He reached for the bagel but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Had a person just knocked on my door? It had just happened and yet he was suddenly doubting that he had actually heard it. He left the bagel in the toaster; he moved toward the door. He opened the door, and a man with a clever smile and combed back blonde hair was standing on the porch. The man was dressed business-casual, had a small amount of perspiration on his tanned and yet handsomely wrinkled forehead, and carried a coat upon his left shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up, and he said with a smile, "Hello, Mr. - ", but he was interrupted by the man standing in the doorway, "You're the actor from that television show, what's it called?, the uh, ah!, it's on the tip of my tongue, ahh!, it's called the M -", "The Mentalist?" said the man with the clever smile, his left eyebrow raised playfully, "I get that a lot, but that's not me, I'm afraid. I-I didn't come here by chance, I know that you used to be a writer, and I was hoping to pitch a story for you to write." His clever smile was gone, an intense stare was replaced. The man standing in the doorway scratched his head of messy, grey curls. "Here, come inside, I'll hear what you have to say" he laughed quietly to himself as turned to go inside, "and I'm flattered that you'd choose me as your writer" he stopped and looked back into the man's intense stare, "but I haven't written anything in years, and I'm stumped as to why you'd choose me. . . " The man's intense stare collapsed into a warm smile, "We'll talk about that, but let's step inside, it's unbearable out here."
...
The man with curly grey hair was chewing on the inside of cheek, he was trying not to smile. "So you're telling me you're a god?" The two men were sitting at the small, wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. The bagel was still sitting in the toaster, cold and yet tinged with black, the blue ceramic plate sitting on the counter, the knife on the edge of the plate. The two men each had a perspiring glass of water sitting in front of them, making circles of water on the old, wooden table. The last light of the afternoon sun was lighting up the grass and trees and the bugs, mere specks, and cast orange rays through the windows. The blonde man replied with a smirk, "I am God, yes. This is when you test me; give me your best shot!" The older man burst into laughter, "You've got to be kidding me!" he reached for his glass of water, sipping it, the water drops on the exterior of the glass falling onto his wrinkled shirt. He placed the drink back down on the table. He was smiling, curious, and playfully skeptical: "We've been exchanging empty pleasantries for the past half-hour and you suddenly drop this on me? And now you want me to test you? Oh, I'll argue with a *person* about God, or at least I used to, but argue *with* God *about* God? How silly!" The man who said he was God smiled, said with an air of hesitation, "Ah, but I take that to mean you aren't convinced." His host responded quickly, "Well, of course not! I shouldn't have to make my reasons clear. I would argue that not believing in god is quite easy, and not believing that a stranger claiming to be god is even astronomically easier than that! Ah, but I've already said too much, because if you were God you'd know all that I think, have thought, and will think and will say. My, oh, my! You must be quite bored with this conversation having already experienced it in all possible combinations." The blonde man laughed, his dimples forming, disappearing, reappearing, "Mmm, yes, but I am a patient God, and I'm quite capable of casting a shadow, a human, with which to communicate with you. And I come to you for one reason: I would like you to write a book for me. I told you I'd pitch a story for you, and whether or not you believe I am God doesn't matter at all! All you need to do is write, and title it, and credit it in any which way that pleases you." The grey haired writer smiled, "I can take the credit? God doesn't want credit for his next good book? Why, I'm surprised!" his eyes suddenly lit up, he quickly got up from the table, "ah, I was fixing myself a bagel before you arrived, hmm, should I prepare another or simply toast it again?" he stood above the toaster that bothered him and began to mutter to himself "I'll just toast it again, no need to waste a bagel." He pressed down on the lever, returned to his seat, his mouth was dry from the talking, he finished his glass, told himself to refill it when he got up for the bagel. The man across from him with his sleeves rolled up, and his handsome and dry forehead sat with his leg crossed upon the other, his hands folded in his lap, leaning backward into his chair, his clever smile and whimsical eyes looking out the window. "So, where were we? Would you like to tell me your story? If I get around to publishing it I'll do it anonymously" The writer released a silly smile at the corner of his mouth, laughed through his nose, and kept speaking "I might give the author the name, ah, but I'll have to think for a while about that one . . ." The man with curly grey hair and bright eyes stared into his empty glass as it sat on the old, wooden table. There was more water in the pool under the glass than there was inside of it; the light from the window cast beautiful shapes of light that sparkled and refracted in an area around the pool. He turned his eyes toward the window, enjoying the setting sun as it retreated behind the thick, darkening green trees. The two men brought their eyes to meet each other, and the man who sat back in his chair with his hands lying in his lap said, "I think we ought to begin. I'm glad you've still got a good memory." The man with curly hair nodded, "Mmm, I'll remember everything you say and more. You don't mind the 'more', do you?" the silence prompted the writer to answer his own question, "I see, you obviously don't mind if I take creative liberties, you wouldn't have me write it if otherwise." God's shadow nodded, he closed his intense eyes as he did so, and then opened them again. "Here are my first words: - " A jarring CLAP shook him from his early-afternoon daydream. The noise came from the sound of the toaster's springs launching a crispy, golden-brown bagel into the air. It was a sound that he hated: he always loved the bagel the toaster produced, but he cursed under his breath nearly every time the contraption ejected the food with a sound not entirely unlike that of a car crash. He was so startled that as he rose from his small, wooden table in the corner of the kitchen, he couldn't recall the daydream that was occupying his uneventful afternoon. He often gazed outside as he daydreamed, thinking about things he would like to do but is getting too old to do, books he'd like to write but is getting too tired to write. |
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[WP] Your deity has visited you and asks that you write their doctrine. | Alfred just sat there waiting for his deity to come.
But none came.
Alfred was an atheist.
Alfred died a lonely man. | "Nah," I told her. "Not doing it. It's your homework."
"But you're the *Chosen One!*" she pressed.
"I really wish you'd stop calling me that. It *was* flattering, and *now* it's just creepy because I think you believe yourself."
"Why don't *you* believe me?" she implored. "Have I not shown you spectacles beyond even the wonders of your Las Vegas?"
"You do some pretty cool tricks," I allowed. "Since you're in front of me, I have to believe you exist. And I don't know how you turned wine back into grapes; that was duly impressive. But I can't really verify that you *made* me, let alone the *universe.* And the more impressive your spectacles, the more I question why you need my help with anything. Maybe... I don't know, just work on your *own* self-esteem? I know it can be pretty rough out there."
She bit her lip and looked like she was trying to be patient with me. I was trying hard to stay objective, but *damn* was she cute!
"People need to know that they shouldn't hurt each other!" she told me.
"Yeah, but I think that's its own lesson. People hurt each other, they have to live in a world where people hurt each other."
"Then why are they still doing it?"
"Why are *you* asking *me?* And why can't you just tell them yourself?"
We were both silent for an uncomfortable moment. Then she spoke: "Look, I can tell you're not really into this, so I'm going to leave you alone." And then she vanished.
There one second, gone the next. Tripped me the fuck out. The hardest part was knowing no one would believe me.
She never returned. I tried to call, tried to write, but I don't know where to find her. So, night after night, I make lists. Lists of what I think she'd want us to do with our lives. Most of them I crumple up and throw away. Occasionally, I write something that stands out and I think *that's closer to divine than I usually get,* and I highlight it and cut it out on a strip about the size of a cookie fortune. My cell walls are covered with those little things.
I can't help but wonder what I missed out on. Night after night, I call to her. Always a different name. Night after night, all I can hear are my own echoes. |
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No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | The Hunched Woman
Everyone looked away when she entered the cafe and stood at the entrance briefly to gain her composure. It was a sweltering hot summer day, a bit too early in the morning for these temperatures. Her upper spine was permanently bent forward at 45 degrees near her elbow level. She stood in line looking for her coin purse and when she found it she had to crane her head even lower and bend her back even more just so that she could look into it.
She had a beautiful face, framed by a mop of sun bleached hair in a tidy ponytail. Her wrinkles betrayed her comely features but it was not hard to peel back time just enough to see that she was very beautiful in her youth. I'm sure men chased her around back in the days but I wonder if they saw her crooked back first. I wonder if she's married. I wonder if she's lonely. I wonder if she ever fell in love. I wonder if she tried her best to attract him. I wonder how she felt when he rejected her. I wonder how he broke her heart. I wonder if she still to tends to it. I wonder if she has left it broken.
Her drink is called from the bar. A large iced green tea frap. She takes a sip and gingerly places it at the bottom of one of those two wheeled grocery carts and leaves the cafe, dragging her drink behind her.
No one noticed her.
| She skips down the hallway, stopping in the wash room to fix her braided hair and tries to scrub the dirt off her leggings. Being only 6 there's only so much she can do, but she tries to look her best because today is special.
The entire car ride is silent, no one dares to speak. She swings her feet back and forth and tries to stretch herself tall enough to see out the window. They're getting closer now, there's the high school full of big kids, the clinic, the hospital - they're here.
She jumps out of the back seat and runs towards the door ready to burst with excitement, she knows the way. The elevator takes an eternity, and time is running low. Finally the metal doors open, and there before her is everyone she's ever known.
She smiles and waves hello, she peaks in the rooms while she walks by. There's people lying there grey and old. She reaches the last room on the right, runs inside smiling from ear to ear.
"Mommy!" she screams, excited to finally visit again.
Her mother doesn't move, she isn't old but she's so grey she's almost blue. She cannot speak, she can barely keep her eyes open, she's tired all of the time now. She strains to keep them open, staring at the little girl before her. Someone tells the little girl it's time to say goodbye, her mommy has to go.
"Goodbye Mommy! I love you!" She skips out of the room and down the hall, her mother closes her eyes for the last time. |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | Dear mom;
Twenty two years ago, you brought me into this world. I can't imagine the pain you were in, being so small yet carrying two children. I know we put a strain on you. I'm sorry for that.
I remember the way you used to talk to us. When we had friends, you would be the perfect mom, or just the "cool mom". But as soon as we were alone, you went back to treating us like shit. You hit us, beat us, said hurtful things. But you tried your best, mom, I know. I'm sorry.
Then, you tried to be cool. You didn't want to be our mother, you wanted to be our friend. It didn't work with me. I tried so hard, but after you cancelled plans for the hundredth time, I gave up. Even though it was awhile ago, I shouldn't have ever given up. I'm sorry.
Finally, when I became twenty one, you stopped trying so hard. I found that I could stand being with you for more than an hour. That was nice. We finally started mending. I apologized for not being there for you; you apologized for virtually the same. I'm sorry for everything.
We were worried about my stepdad's health. We knew yours wasn't the best, but we focused on him, thinking it would be him that goes first. We may still be right, but now it doesn't matter. I remember when you first told me about your diagnosis; hepatic encephalopathy. I learned very quickly what it was, and it terrified me. But I have to stay strong for you. I try my hardest, but it's too hard sometimes. I'm sorry.
When you got to the point where you couldn't walk more than five steps, I took it in stride. I didn't show you that it kills me to see my mom so weak. I can't tell you, so I act nonchalant. I'm your son, the only one near you right now. I have to be brave. I know you need me. I'm sorry mom.
I need you too. I'm 22, and we finally have the relationship I've always wanted. We talk every few days, and I visit you as often as possible. We have fun, you worry about me, I push it aside. Yes mom; things in my life are as bad as they seem sometimes. But I will not lean on you; you, who needs help in the shower sometimes, you who forgets things now, you who can't stand alone. I'm sorry. I will not add more weight to your burden.
We've had our relationship little over a year. And now they're trying to tell me that you have Alzheimers? You cried on my shoulder, and told me you'd rather die. I know you would. I'm so sorry mama. It'll be okay.
Now I spend hours crying like a child. We spent so long at each other's throats, but now that we have a solid relationship, I have to worry about losing you. It's not fair. Thank the gods you're still here for now. I love you. I'm sorry.
Love, spacepuppy69
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"Mom, I wrote you a letter."
I open the door, wondering why you didn't respond. "You still want me to come over today, right?" I walk into the empty living room. "Mom?"
Finally, I hear sounds coming from the bedroom. "Mom!" I cry, as I rush into the room. "Why are you crying? What's wrong?"
I see your shrunken shoulders heave with your sobs. Finally, you raise your blue eyes to meet my brown ones.
"Mom... I wrote you something. I want you to read it, okay?"
She looks at me quizzically, no longer sobbing. Thank the gods. You seem confused. "Mom...?"
Finally, you look me in the eye and I see something. A twinkle. A small smile. You always put on a happy face for company. And you say the three words that rip my heart through my throat.
"Who are you?"
EDIT: I know this isn't the best thing to be read. But you provided an outlet, thank you. | She skips down the hallway, stopping in the wash room to fix her braided hair and tries to scrub the dirt off her leggings. Being only 6 there's only so much she can do, but she tries to look her best because today is special.
The entire car ride is silent, no one dares to speak. She swings her feet back and forth and tries to stretch herself tall enough to see out the window. They're getting closer now, there's the high school full of big kids, the clinic, the hospital - they're here.
She jumps out of the back seat and runs towards the door ready to burst with excitement, she knows the way. The elevator takes an eternity, and time is running low. Finally the metal doors open, and there before her is everyone she's ever known.
She smiles and waves hello, she peaks in the rooms while she walks by. There's people lying there grey and old. She reaches the last room on the right, runs inside smiling from ear to ear.
"Mommy!" she screams, excited to finally visit again.
Her mother doesn't move, she isn't old but she's so grey she's almost blue. She cannot speak, she can barely keep her eyes open, she's tired all of the time now. She strains to keep them open, staring at the little girl before her. Someone tells the little girl it's time to say goodbye, her mommy has to go.
"Goodbye Mommy! I love you!" She skips out of the room and down the hall, her mother closes her eyes for the last time. |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | He’s lost touch with the world.
The teachers call his parents with concern, because its gone past the point of simple make believe a child his age goes through. I don’t know which makes me sadder: the fact that I’ve lost him, or the fact that I envy how easy it was for him to lose himself. Make believe, so much better than the real world. Those kinds of things shouldn’t happen to kids, but they do. It happened to both of us. Being raised with an abusive parent, a mad man. Very mad. These things happen. The only difference between him and me is that I was born first. Old enough to run away, but not enough to take him with me. They tell me he asks for me, but I don’t think I’ll visit. Knowing him, or how he used to be, he would ask me how to make the voices and nightmares go away. I haven’t figured it out yet.
| She skips down the hallway, stopping in the wash room to fix her braided hair and tries to scrub the dirt off her leggings. Being only 6 there's only so much she can do, but she tries to look her best because today is special.
The entire car ride is silent, no one dares to speak. She swings her feet back and forth and tries to stretch herself tall enough to see out the window. They're getting closer now, there's the high school full of big kids, the clinic, the hospital - they're here.
She jumps out of the back seat and runs towards the door ready to burst with excitement, she knows the way. The elevator takes an eternity, and time is running low. Finally the metal doors open, and there before her is everyone she's ever known.
She smiles and waves hello, she peaks in the rooms while she walks by. There's people lying there grey and old. She reaches the last room on the right, runs inside smiling from ear to ear.
"Mommy!" she screams, excited to finally visit again.
Her mother doesn't move, she isn't old but she's so grey she's almost blue. She cannot speak, she can barely keep her eyes open, she's tired all of the time now. She strains to keep them open, staring at the little girl before her. Someone tells the little girl it's time to say goodbye, her mommy has to go.
"Goodbye Mommy! I love you!" She skips out of the room and down the hall, her mother closes her eyes for the last time. |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | Dear mom;
Twenty two years ago, you brought me into this world. I can't imagine the pain you were in, being so small yet carrying two children. I know we put a strain on you. I'm sorry for that.
I remember the way you used to talk to us. When we had friends, you would be the perfect mom, or just the "cool mom". But as soon as we were alone, you went back to treating us like shit. You hit us, beat us, said hurtful things. But you tried your best, mom, I know. I'm sorry.
Then, you tried to be cool. You didn't want to be our mother, you wanted to be our friend. It didn't work with me. I tried so hard, but after you cancelled plans for the hundredth time, I gave up. Even though it was awhile ago, I shouldn't have ever given up. I'm sorry.
Finally, when I became twenty one, you stopped trying so hard. I found that I could stand being with you for more than an hour. That was nice. We finally started mending. I apologized for not being there for you; you apologized for virtually the same. I'm sorry for everything.
We were worried about my stepdad's health. We knew yours wasn't the best, but we focused on him, thinking it would be him that goes first. We may still be right, but now it doesn't matter. I remember when you first told me about your diagnosis; hepatic encephalopathy. I learned very quickly what it was, and it terrified me. But I have to stay strong for you. I try my hardest, but it's too hard sometimes. I'm sorry.
When you got to the point where you couldn't walk more than five steps, I took it in stride. I didn't show you that it kills me to see my mom so weak. I can't tell you, so I act nonchalant. I'm your son, the only one near you right now. I have to be brave. I know you need me. I'm sorry mom.
I need you too. I'm 22, and we finally have the relationship I've always wanted. We talk every few days, and I visit you as often as possible. We have fun, you worry about me, I push it aside. Yes mom; things in my life are as bad as they seem sometimes. But I will not lean on you; you, who needs help in the shower sometimes, you who forgets things now, you who can't stand alone. I'm sorry. I will not add more weight to your burden.
We've had our relationship little over a year. And now they're trying to tell me that you have Alzheimers? You cried on my shoulder, and told me you'd rather die. I know you would. I'm so sorry mama. It'll be okay.
Now I spend hours crying like a child. We spent so long at each other's throats, but now that we have a solid relationship, I have to worry about losing you. It's not fair. Thank the gods you're still here for now. I love you. I'm sorry.
Love, spacepuppy69
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"Mom, I wrote you a letter."
I open the door, wondering why you didn't respond. "You still want me to come over today, right?" I walk into the empty living room. "Mom?"
Finally, I hear sounds coming from the bedroom. "Mom!" I cry, as I rush into the room. "Why are you crying? What's wrong?"
I see your shrunken shoulders heave with your sobs. Finally, you raise your blue eyes to meet my brown ones.
"Mom... I wrote you something. I want you to read it, okay?"
She looks at me quizzically, no longer sobbing. Thank the gods. You seem confused. "Mom...?"
Finally, you look me in the eye and I see something. A twinkle. A small smile. You always put on a happy face for company. And you say the three words that rip my heart through my throat.
"Who are you?"
EDIT: I know this isn't the best thing to be read. But you provided an outlet, thank you. | The gentle rustling of the leaves below his feet dissolved into the serene silence of the night air. Dylan had always enjoyed silence when he walked. It let his thoughts flow more freely, as if his memories were timid children, only coming out to play when there was no noise to scare them back to the recesses of his mind. He looked up and smiled. The sky was clear tonight. The stars always reminded him of her.
Sabrina the Unicorn - that’s what she called it, her first constellation. She was four at the time, and Dylan was seven. The two of them had snuck out past their bedtimes to watch the stars in the backyard, as they often did. On the few occasions they were caught, Dylan had always been relieved the punishment seemed too light - two days without television. Of course, years later, he realized his parents had always known the kids were playing astronomer at night, and had only caught them to make the successful escapades more satisfying. On that one particular evening, she had stared intently at the sky for what seemed like forever, as if demanding the universe answer an unspoken question. Dylan knew not to interrupt, but it was unusually long, even for her. Without breaking her staring contest with the universe, she had emphatically declared, “There! That’s Sabrina the Unicorn!” They would name many more constellations together as the years went by, though that first one always was the most memorable. Dylan never had the heart to tell her it already had a name. The Big Dipper.
The air had become chilly and the intruder in Dylan’s jacket pocket had begun to make its presence felt. But he didn’t mind. He was, however, concerned with being late. Even though where he was going punctuality mattered to no one but himself. His footsteps quickened nevertheless, as if he was hoping the steady rhythm would drown out the memories that had come floating to the surface.
They had grown apart over the years. Different cities, different friends, different families. Dylan reminisced on his own children marveling at those infinite little sparks of hope resting on a pristine canvas. He was sure his nephews had done the same. She had grown into a busy person, as had he. They didn’t talk often. Every once in a while, though, at a holiday gathering or a family reunion, they would still try to find time to stargaze. It was in those rare moments that they truly shared their problems, their dreams, and their fears. He had not been able to talk to her like that in years. The last time they talked, she had told him about the cancer.
A soft breeze brought Dylan out of his reverie. He had long ago stopped walking. His feet knew the way without his help. He took a deep breath, and stared into the heavens, searching for something he knew he would not find. As his eyes grew watery from the strain, he finally looked down. He reached into his jacket and retrieved a miniature telescope. Gently, he brushed the surface of the headstone with his palm and set the gift on top of it.
“Hi sis, happy birthday.”
|
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | He’s lost touch with the world.
The teachers call his parents with concern, because its gone past the point of simple make believe a child his age goes through. I don’t know which makes me sadder: the fact that I’ve lost him, or the fact that I envy how easy it was for him to lose himself. Make believe, so much better than the real world. Those kinds of things shouldn’t happen to kids, but they do. It happened to both of us. Being raised with an abusive parent, a mad man. Very mad. These things happen. The only difference between him and me is that I was born first. Old enough to run away, but not enough to take him with me. They tell me he asks for me, but I don’t think I’ll visit. Knowing him, or how he used to be, he would ask me how to make the voices and nightmares go away. I haven’t figured it out yet.
| The Hunched Woman
Everyone looked away when she entered the cafe and stood at the entrance briefly to gain her composure. It was a sweltering hot summer day, a bit too early in the morning for these temperatures. Her upper spine was permanently bent forward at 45 degrees near her elbow level. She stood in line looking for her coin purse and when she found it she had to crane her head even lower and bend her back even more just so that she could look into it.
She had a beautiful face, framed by a mop of sun bleached hair in a tidy ponytail. Her wrinkles betrayed her comely features but it was not hard to peel back time just enough to see that she was very beautiful in her youth. I'm sure men chased her around back in the days but I wonder if they saw her crooked back first. I wonder if she's married. I wonder if she's lonely. I wonder if she ever fell in love. I wonder if she tried her best to attract him. I wonder how she felt when he rejected her. I wonder how he broke her heart. I wonder if she still to tends to it. I wonder if she has left it broken.
Her drink is called from the bar. A large iced green tea frap. She takes a sip and gingerly places it at the bottom of one of those two wheeled grocery carts and leaves the cafe, dragging her drink behind her.
No one noticed her.
|
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | "Remember David, don't be shy. Stand up straight, this is very important to the family." My mother said to me whilst brushing off my clothes. I was nervous, I had known love in the form of a poor girl who worked for her father in the market. However, I was forbidden from seeing her. "Families like that do not mix with ours" My father had told me, tears rushing down my face from the lashing I'd received. I never saw that girl again, but I will never forget her face. I think about her every waking second, about them pulling us apart. About the last time I was ever truly happy. Would I feel this way with the girl whom I'd been arranged with? I opened the door and walked into the room. She was standing there, nervous as well, her face red. She had obviously been crying. "Hello, my name is Ashley" she muttered out unable to look into my eyes. I greeted her back but felt nothing but emptiness inside. I did not instantly fall in love with her but maybe, one day, we would grow to enjoy each other's company. We were to be married in two months time and it was decided that we should meet and get to know one another. We spent the next two months learning about the other and got married just as our parents wished. We both gave it our best shot at love but I could not forget the girl from the market, she too had someone on her mind. I asked her one particularly dreary morning, "Who is it that you love? I know I am not that person, neither you mine but I must find out who your heart truly belongs to." She started to weep, and then for the first time, she looked me in the eyes. She looked at me with tears falling off her cheeks and said "I love a boy from a lower class then I, when I found I was to be married I left him so as not to upset the family. I ran into him at the market yesterday. He had married a poor girl who's father worked there and they seemed truly happy together." My eyes began to water. Not because my wife and I did not love one another. Not because our parents kept us from the one's we did love. But because both of our loves had found true happiness, these were tears of joy. | It was a rainy day. He was sitting on their bench in the park. Something about the rain compelled him to this bench. Sometimes he acted upon this compulsion while others life got in the way. He still couldn’t understand what it was about the rain that brought him here. He had no connection with it and the bench, but the feeling was always there. He could sense it growing inside him as he smelled the rain approaching in the air. He would start to feel anxious. If he was in his office he would get up and pace around, almost gasping for different, dry air. Hoping the emotions would subside.
But often enough he went. And when he did he cried. Releasing everything he had been keeping in the past 4 years. He didn’t know why he couldn’t let the past go, just as he didn’t understand his connection to the rain. He supposed it was because in the rain no one could see you cry. Who would be able to discern the difference between raindrops and tear drops? Or maybe it was because you could be alone. Not many people visit the park in the rain. Especially to sit on the very same bench he did.
So maybe he went to be alone. He had felt so alone these past 4 years. This is the most he had ever thought about how things had changed for him. How he had changed. This is the first time he let himself remember that day.
It was not a rainy day. It was one of those warm summer evenings. You could hear the little frogs peeping in the pond. Maybe even an occasional rustle in the bushes. But besides that it was silent. He was sitting on the bench with her. Holding her in his arms as she rambled on about something she and her sister had planned for the upcoming weekend. He wasn’t listening. He was just absorbed in the moment. Letting the air push them together, where he knew he wanted to be.
The night had been so flawless. It was like a dream. They had gone to supper together at her favorite restaurant on the pier. After their meal they walked to her favorite spot, this bench. He touched his pocket and felt the little box. He interrupted her in a burst of confidence. She stopped and pulled away looking up at him. He was nervous but managed to find his one knee to the ground and ask her to marry him. Of course she said yes and a wave of relief washed over him. By this time the sun had gone down and the moon was rising so he decided it was time for him to bring her home. At her steps they said good night. He was watching her but as she was walking to the door she stopped. She turned around, he noticed a tear falling down her cheek, “I love you,” and she went inside.
That was 4 years ago. The last time he saw her. He tried to contact her and eventually sought information from her family but no one knew where she had gone. Still to this day no new discoveries had been made, her case was completely dismissed and he was left with nothing.
He now noticed the rain had stopped but he was still crying. He got up from the bench and tried to compose himself as best as possible as he thought, “Now back to life.” |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | Happiness means sacrifice. It doesn't necessarily mean success. Happiness doesn't always mean victories. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a bitter defeat. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a great sadness. Yet, even after all the sadness and the losses… happiness arrives. Unceremoniously and suddenly.
Ella believed that happiness would come one day. She’s one of those people who believe that everything happens for a reason. When she told everyone in her grade nine class that she would someday go to Harvard, some called her an optimist. When she struggled throughout high school to just pass, some teachers called her hopeless. When she ran off with her boyfriend to go to Boston to be closer to Harvard, her parents called her a dreamer. Ella, however, thought herself to be a fighter. A warrior, even. She proudly wore her hard earned battle scars.
She worked two full time jobs. She attended a local college part time. When she left her boyfriend, she found her own place. When her old car broke down, she learned how to pay for it when she couldn't afford to get it fixed. When a faucet leaked or her computer broke down, she learned how to fix those as well. She fought for her independence. She won.
Sometimes, the victory would feel bitter. She spent the past Christmas alone for the first time in her life. The last time she heard from her parents was when her mother sent her a letter to break the news that her father had passed away. Pangs of loneliness ached in her heart when she heard her upstairs neighbours going at it in a passionate bout of love making.
She won that battle as well. She remembered the first time he hit her. He said he was sorry. She remembered when he cheated on her. He said it didn't mean anything. He said he was sorry. He’s told her “sorry” countless times after that. Before she stormed out of their apartment, she slapped him as hard she could. She looked at him in the eyes and told him,
“I’m not sorry”.
Ella touched her belly. Her last victory wasn't just hers. No, from now on, Ella would be fighting for two. Ella blocked out her upstairs neighbours. She didn't have much; but what she did have, she earned it through her hard work. Ella went to bed, content and happy.
A few days later, Ella collapsed at work from an intense pain in her lower stomach. She was cold all over. Her co-workers told her she looked pale. They called an ambulance, but Ella couldn't remember much after that.
She woke up in a hospital bed, her mother asleep in a chair next to her.
Ella touched her belly.
Something was wrong.
“Mom?” she whispered weakly.
“Oh! Ella! Baby, I’m so glad you’re alive. How are you feeling, sweetheart?” her mother asked, coming closer to hold her hand.
“Mom…my baby…”
Her mom’s face dropped. Ella’s eyes began to burn. Her hands shook and trembled.
“Oh… Ella… honey…sweetheart,” her mother began.
Happiness means sacrifice. It doesn't necessarily mean success. Happiness doesn't always mean victories. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a bitter defeat. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a great sadness. Yet, even after all the sadness and the losses… happiness arrives. Unceremoniously and suddenly.
Ella once believed that happiness would come one day. A year after her miscarriage, Ella realized that she had to find happiness herself. She couldn't wait for happiness to come for her anymore. Ella went outside to the rooftop of her building and she jumped off the edge.
Unceremoniously and suddenly.
| It was a rainy day. He was sitting on their bench in the park. Something about the rain compelled him to this bench. Sometimes he acted upon this compulsion while others life got in the way. He still couldn’t understand what it was about the rain that brought him here. He had no connection with it and the bench, but the feeling was always there. He could sense it growing inside him as he smelled the rain approaching in the air. He would start to feel anxious. If he was in his office he would get up and pace around, almost gasping for different, dry air. Hoping the emotions would subside.
But often enough he went. And when he did he cried. Releasing everything he had been keeping in the past 4 years. He didn’t know why he couldn’t let the past go, just as he didn’t understand his connection to the rain. He supposed it was because in the rain no one could see you cry. Who would be able to discern the difference between raindrops and tear drops? Or maybe it was because you could be alone. Not many people visit the park in the rain. Especially to sit on the very same bench he did.
So maybe he went to be alone. He had felt so alone these past 4 years. This is the most he had ever thought about how things had changed for him. How he had changed. This is the first time he let himself remember that day.
It was not a rainy day. It was one of those warm summer evenings. You could hear the little frogs peeping in the pond. Maybe even an occasional rustle in the bushes. But besides that it was silent. He was sitting on the bench with her. Holding her in his arms as she rambled on about something she and her sister had planned for the upcoming weekend. He wasn’t listening. He was just absorbed in the moment. Letting the air push them together, where he knew he wanted to be.
The night had been so flawless. It was like a dream. They had gone to supper together at her favorite restaurant on the pier. After their meal they walked to her favorite spot, this bench. He touched his pocket and felt the little box. He interrupted her in a burst of confidence. She stopped and pulled away looking up at him. He was nervous but managed to find his one knee to the ground and ask her to marry him. Of course she said yes and a wave of relief washed over him. By this time the sun had gone down and the moon was rising so he decided it was time for him to bring her home. At her steps they said good night. He was watching her but as she was walking to the door she stopped. She turned around, he noticed a tear falling down her cheek, “I love you,” and she went inside.
That was 4 years ago. The last time he saw her. He tried to contact her and eventually sought information from her family but no one knew where she had gone. Still to this day no new discoveries had been made, her case was completely dismissed and he was left with nothing.
He now noticed the rain had stopped but he was still crying. He got up from the bench and tried to compose himself as best as possible as he thought, “Now back to life.” |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | Happiness means sacrifice. It doesn't necessarily mean success. Happiness doesn't always mean victories. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a bitter defeat. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a great sadness. Yet, even after all the sadness and the losses… happiness arrives. Unceremoniously and suddenly.
Ella believed that happiness would come one day. She’s one of those people who believe that everything happens for a reason. When she told everyone in her grade nine class that she would someday go to Harvard, some called her an optimist. When she struggled throughout high school to just pass, some teachers called her hopeless. When she ran off with her boyfriend to go to Boston to be closer to Harvard, her parents called her a dreamer. Ella, however, thought herself to be a fighter. A warrior, even. She proudly wore her hard earned battle scars.
She worked two full time jobs. She attended a local college part time. When she left her boyfriend, she found her own place. When her old car broke down, she learned how to pay for it when she couldn't afford to get it fixed. When a faucet leaked or her computer broke down, she learned how to fix those as well. She fought for her independence. She won.
Sometimes, the victory would feel bitter. She spent the past Christmas alone for the first time in her life. The last time she heard from her parents was when her mother sent her a letter to break the news that her father had passed away. Pangs of loneliness ached in her heart when she heard her upstairs neighbours going at it in a passionate bout of love making.
She won that battle as well. She remembered the first time he hit her. He said he was sorry. She remembered when he cheated on her. He said it didn't mean anything. He said he was sorry. He’s told her “sorry” countless times after that. Before she stormed out of their apartment, she slapped him as hard she could. She looked at him in the eyes and told him,
“I’m not sorry”.
Ella touched her belly. Her last victory wasn't just hers. No, from now on, Ella would be fighting for two. Ella blocked out her upstairs neighbours. She didn't have much; but what she did have, she earned it through her hard work. Ella went to bed, content and happy.
A few days later, Ella collapsed at work from an intense pain in her lower stomach. She was cold all over. Her co-workers told her she looked pale. They called an ambulance, but Ella couldn't remember much after that.
She woke up in a hospital bed, her mother asleep in a chair next to her.
Ella touched her belly.
Something was wrong.
“Mom?” she whispered weakly.
“Oh! Ella! Baby, I’m so glad you’re alive. How are you feeling, sweetheart?” her mother asked, coming closer to hold her hand.
“Mom…my baby…”
Her mom’s face dropped. Ella’s eyes began to burn. Her hands shook and trembled.
“Oh… Ella… honey…sweetheart,” her mother began.
Happiness means sacrifice. It doesn't necessarily mean success. Happiness doesn't always mean victories. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a bitter defeat. Sometimes, happiness comes at the price of a great sadness. Yet, even after all the sadness and the losses… happiness arrives. Unceremoniously and suddenly.
Ella once believed that happiness would come one day. A year after her miscarriage, Ella realized that she had to find happiness herself. She couldn't wait for happiness to come for her anymore. Ella went outside to the rooftop of her building and she jumped off the edge.
Unceremoniously and suddenly.
| "Remember David, don't be shy. Stand up straight, this is very important to the family." My mother said to me whilst brushing off my clothes. I was nervous, I had known love in the form of a poor girl who worked for her father in the market. However, I was forbidden from seeing her. "Families like that do not mix with ours" My father had told me, tears rushing down my face from the lashing I'd received. I never saw that girl again, but I will never forget her face. I think about her every waking second, about them pulling us apart. About the last time I was ever truly happy. Would I feel this way with the girl whom I'd been arranged with? I opened the door and walked into the room. She was standing there, nervous as well, her face red. She had obviously been crying. "Hello, my name is Ashley" she muttered out unable to look into my eyes. I greeted her back but felt nothing but emptiness inside. I did not instantly fall in love with her but maybe, one day, we would grow to enjoy each other's company. We were to be married in two months time and it was decided that we should meet and get to know one another. We spent the next two months learning about the other and got married just as our parents wished. We both gave it our best shot at love but I could not forget the girl from the market, she too had someone on her mind. I asked her one particularly dreary morning, "Who is it that you love? I know I am not that person, neither you mine but I must find out who your heart truly belongs to." She started to weep, and then for the first time, she looked me in the eyes. She looked at me with tears falling off her cheeks and said "I love a boy from a lower class then I, when I found I was to be married I left him so as not to upset the family. I ran into him at the market yesterday. He had married a poor girl who's father worked there and they seemed truly happy together." My eyes began to water. Not because my wife and I did not love one another. Not because our parents kept us from the one's we did love. But because both of our loves had found true happiness, these were tears of joy. |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | "Can I hold her?"
Tears in his eyes, he lifts the tiny bundle and hands her to me.
"Hello baby," I croon, "Mommy's going to tell you a story."
I brush a tiny hair off her forehead, and swaddle her more tightly in her blanket.
*Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess.*
*Her mother the queen and her father the king were so happy when she was born.*
*They threw a party and invite all the fairies in the land. All but one.*
I hear my voice through a fog, as I tell my daughter her first fairy tale. Sleeping beauty. I gaze done and her eyes are closed. She can't hear me.
I finish the story anyway.
*The princess pricked her finger and fell into a deep sleep. She would sleep so long that no one now alive outside the castle would be alive when she woke.*
*While she slept, vines grew up around the castle, and around the hearts of all those she loved. The ivy covered them and sent them to rest with her.*
The whole day was surreal. My life was surreal. How could anyone ever imagine something so intense.
Love for this tiny baby swelled my heart till I thought I might choke on it. A sob caught in my throat.
*... the end.*
A man stood over me. I attempted to meet his gaze. "It's time," he said.
I nodded slowly, barely comprehending.
I took a deep breath and looked down at my baby girl. Then, gently laying a kiss on her purple-blue lips, I laid her back in her coffin and walked away.
| She walks down the aisle white
And she cries
Not because she loves him
But because she does not
(Opted for something simple this time). |
No rules. I'll submit mine in the comments. | [WP] Write something that breaks my heart. | I will never, ever tell her.
I'll never tell her how, the day we walked through the doors of Walker County High School, she was the only person who said hello to the new kid, me. Not about how, for the next four years, she was the only one who said hello, every day, to the antisocial kid, me. As much as she'd love to hear it, she'll never know how she was the one who pulled me from the brink in senior year after my parents died, or how, when the college entrance essays asked you about your "role model," I filled pages with descriptions of her contagious enthusiasm, her compassion, or her zest for knowledge.
I'll never tell her how I won that scholarship to MIT. I said I'd been rejected, and even the DUI settlement wasn't enough to pay for tuition anywhere besides Walker County Community College. No way I'd tell her the truth that, when I heard she hadn't made it into Juliard or her backups, I'd called the admissions counselor as soon as I found a phone to tell them I'd changed my mind. She'll never know that she was the reason I stayed home, in backwater Walker County.
I'll never tell her how, that autumn day ten years ago, I fell in love. I can't tell her how stopping by her diner for my morning coffee is the highlight of my day, or how whenever she laughs at one of my lame jokes my soul is set on fire. I've never told her just how her laugh is so warm that it made a summer day seem chilly, or how the little upturn in her smile whenever she gets a crazy idea makes my mind go blank.
I'll never tell her that I know she feels the same way about me.
I'll never tell her for the same reasons that I never told her about my dad's genetic curse, or about the hospital bills that keep growing by the week no matter how much I cut from my grocery budget, or about how the doctors are naming the disease after me. She can never know that the coffee and donut I compliment her on every morning just come back up an hour later, no matter what pills they give me. She doesn't know that every morning I spend with her is in defiance of a thousand case studies, and that every night I update my will just in case I don't wake up the next morning.
I can't bear for her to know. So I will never, ever tell her. | She walks down the aisle white
And she cries
Not because she loves him
But because she does not
(Opted for something simple this time). |
Just make it interesting. Does he/she give powers to everyone? Are the powers random? Does he/she make them symbolic to the tattoo? Let's see what you guys can come up with :) | [WP] You are a tattoo artist who has the ability to give people powers from the tattoos you give them | I looked at the walk-in with disdain, and a little pity. Unkempt beard, greasy hair, crooked teeth as he flashed a self-conscious smile...I could already tell what it would be. He pulled off his ragged ballcap and began a familiar chatter.
"So you're the uh, the *Artist*?" the man said, wrinkling his hat in his hands.
"You got it boyo. You'll be wanting a temp?"
He nodded emphatically.
One hour later it was done. As he waved on his way out, I caught the syringe tattoo emptying and evaporating. It's funny, they always said tattoos were addictive. | Reddit, be kind, this is my first time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I would love to say that I’m world-weary, or at least jaded, but when you have so much entertainment at your disposal, you can’t be anything else but slightly off-kilter, and willing to laugh at just about everything. See, I have a curse, or a gift (depending on your perspective). It wasn’t something that just happened, one day, but more over a period of several years. Apparently, my tattoos can come to life. No, that’s not right. They give life. No, that’s not right, either. Every tattoo I’ve done for the last seventeen years has in one way, or another, given someone, well……*abilities*.
I italicized that to give emphasis. See, that creative writing class in third grade really did pay off. I wonder where Mrs. Pinkerton is now…… Anyways, *abilities* (see, there’s that creative writing again, folks!). I grew up a dreamer of sorts, reading all the Marvel, DC, Image, Dark Cow comics I could get my hands on. I was obsessed throughout my entire childhood with gaining superpowers. I would do my best to draw and write stories, trying to become like the greats: Stan Lee, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, way too many others to name. After a while, my drawings got better, and even in my teens I won a few contests. People would tell me how life-like my drawings and sketches were, how much they imitated what they would see in their minds. When I was studying in art school (yes, I was one of those kids), I found more and more that I could draw tattoos that people really loved, and got an internship at a really great parlor in downtown Raleigh. You might even recognize it (no, I’m not dumb enough to say the name, you’ve got to find it); it’s the little shop next to the bakery that always does these amazing(see, italics again!) wedding cakes for people.
After a year or internship, I was allowed to rent my own chair, and do my own designs. To be honest, I was floored. To be in control of what goes onto a person’s skin, that’s a kind of power to enlighten, dedicate, and improve someone that few ever get to experience. Except me, of course. After the first few years, I noticed people would come back for more tattoos from mostly me, and I thought, “Why not? I’m an independent woman, I should open my own shop!” So, I did. Most of my clients came with me, and my old shop was sad to see me go, but I decided to do the intrepid thing (my gawd, that’s the first time I’ve used that word in serious conversation), and struck out on my own. Everything was going great, until about a year ago. There were people that wanted to come back for more designs, but would be REALLY vague, and it was tough getting nailed down what they wanted. It seemed like they wanted something very specific, but weren’t willing to tell me. It was all pretty mundane stuff, too: tigers, sleeves with flying men, voluptuous women on arms, concepts of steel for the guys, fairies and such for the women, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even begin to rattle off, because I just don’t have the time.
It wasn’t until people started being really vague that I’d just tell them outright that they can find a new artist if they won’t work with me that I found out what my tattoos were doing to people; subtly, over the years, but with increasing frequency, until it’s all the same, now. My tattoos give abilities. I’m not talking run-of-the-mill normal stuff, either. The chick that wanted barbed wire on her ankle, she can whip it off her skin like it was real, and it’s almost three feet long. That older fella that wanted me to fill in his armband with “clouds” can make a whole room fog up in an instant. The real young guy that wanted lightning on his back apparently makes breakers and fuses pop everywhere he goes. The woman last fall, even, with a dragon on her hips, well, you can imagine what her “time of the month” is like.
And you really want me to put “that” drawing of Mickey on your butt?
|
Just make it interesting. Does he/she give powers to everyone? Are the powers random? Does he/she make them symbolic to the tattoo? Let's see what you guys can come up with :) | [WP] You are a tattoo artist who has the ability to give people powers from the tattoos you give them | I only wanted to do this because of Tmoore4748, thanks for inspiration.
____________________________________________________________
I gave life. It was beautiful in the beginning. I learned how to draw when I was so young. I was always so fascinated by the curve in a line, or by the beauty in hard rectangle. Everything seemed so interesting back then. Every dot could tell me a story. Every line a life. But as I grew I needed more. Everything I touched needed to be more. It started simply. Little by little until I was filling entire books with the best drawing I could. I didn't bother much with anything else at that point. It didn't seem worthwhile. Until I grew bored. I wanted more than paper. I wanted something living, but I saw no way to get it. So I stopped drawing.
Yet as the years past and I entered college I remembered my origins. I found my way into a little room in the back of the art school and saw tattoos for the first time. I saw what it looked like to etch upon human flesh. I saw life and movement in simplistic drawings. I knew I could make it more in that moment.
I became consumed within months. Everything I did revolved around etching upon leather. I was unwilling to do less than perfection upon a living canvas. I had to be the best first.
My friend underwent my needle first. He was the first one. The one I remember most. He wanted it simple a lightning bolt arching across his shoulder. However the moment I touched his skin with my needle I couldn't see the design. I only knew the emotion. The truth in the drawing itself. I wanted it to be as electric as the principle itself. I don't remember stopping. I don't even remember him saying anything during it, yet in the end I thought it was perfect. It honestly took his breath away.
I thought that would be it. The drawing and the life I had sacrificed would end when I removed the needle. His love for it was beautiful, but in truth I only cared about the artwork. I wanted it to be the best and it was. The way the stroke of lightning moved through the clouds was breathtaking. It seemed to move every time he his heart beat. It took us a while to see what happened next. It started slowly. A few micro shocks here a few there. Then he fried his computer. He didn't understand what was happening, but I felt oddly involved. I tried to ignore it until the entire city block went out. I tried to ignore it even when the phone rang with his voice crying out that I help him. Even as he explained how he had gotten furious at a guy near some random club. The way the lights had flickered even as he stuck wasn't enough to warn him. I almost dropped the phone when he finally told me how the entire block had gotten black when he actually stuck the dude. It seemed stupid. Until he told me the way the eletricity flowed out of the lights into him. Arching across the sky to touch his skin. Touch where I had brought life.
I swore of art for a while after that. I felt responsible for his actions. For his arrogance when he called me. I even felt responsible when he died. I should of seen the way he acted was a sign. He eventually fell to the cops when they came for him. It took a toll on the force but all was quiet afterwards. Until my girlfriend asked for one. She swore she was worth it. That if I loved her I should give her the most beautiful rose in the world, carved upon her own flesh. I remember smiling even though I was scared. I didn't really want to work, but my body was craving it. I vaguely remember the way her rose seemed to flicker as she smiled. The way it curved across her neck. I felt weaker but it was worth it, for her.
It didn't take nearly as long to change her. Her garden was more beautiful by the day. She didn't tell me anything important until it was to late though. Her skin was turning green under all the clothing. I wondered why she had been hiding so much. I was almost sad to be craving another canvas, but the beauty was worth it.
The way the ink flowed from there was astonishing. Each person that lined up at my door was given a new piece of art to walk away with. But I didn't feel as satisfied anymore. I was growing bored again, bored and weak. I kept going at first, one after another. I think I hit over a hundred before I actually craved more. That's when I started pouring myself into the work. I don't know why I did it but at some point I put my own blood in the ink. The ink became so much more at that point. It drew better than the finest quills, in any color I desired. I think I did ten like that. Ten gorgeous drawings etched in human skin. I was too tired after that.
But those ten became gods in my new world. I don't remember when I knew what I could do but they proved it. I was the true creator in this existence. It was all up to me. Ten people hand chosen at my own door. Ten of the best individuals each gifted with the ability of their own choosing. Some could even create their own new life. It was perhaps my greatest creation. But even with whimpering breaths I wanted more. I wanted myself.
I remember turning the needle on my own arms, my neck, my legs. Anything I could reach became a canvas of life, until I had done everything. Everything in the robes that men had always feared. My greatest canvas hugged my figure, etched in the color of darkness. I was tired of creation. I wanted to take things back now. I wanted to bring things with me. I wanted to collect the perfect beauty. I wanted life itself to be mine. No I wanted to destroy it. I remember now, I wanted to undo it all. I wanted art to end. The perfection of life to unravel. Yet the very tool of creation wasn't enough, far too small.
Wonder if I could draw a scythe with these bony fingers... | Reddit, be kind, this is my first time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I would love to say that I’m world-weary, or at least jaded, but when you have so much entertainment at your disposal, you can’t be anything else but slightly off-kilter, and willing to laugh at just about everything. See, I have a curse, or a gift (depending on your perspective). It wasn’t something that just happened, one day, but more over a period of several years. Apparently, my tattoos can come to life. No, that’s not right. They give life. No, that’s not right, either. Every tattoo I’ve done for the last seventeen years has in one way, or another, given someone, well……*abilities*.
I italicized that to give emphasis. See, that creative writing class in third grade really did pay off. I wonder where Mrs. Pinkerton is now…… Anyways, *abilities* (see, there’s that creative writing again, folks!). I grew up a dreamer of sorts, reading all the Marvel, DC, Image, Dark Cow comics I could get my hands on. I was obsessed throughout my entire childhood with gaining superpowers. I would do my best to draw and write stories, trying to become like the greats: Stan Lee, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, way too many others to name. After a while, my drawings got better, and even in my teens I won a few contests. People would tell me how life-like my drawings and sketches were, how much they imitated what they would see in their minds. When I was studying in art school (yes, I was one of those kids), I found more and more that I could draw tattoos that people really loved, and got an internship at a really great parlor in downtown Raleigh. You might even recognize it (no, I’m not dumb enough to say the name, you’ve got to find it); it’s the little shop next to the bakery that always does these amazing(see, italics again!) wedding cakes for people.
After a year or internship, I was allowed to rent my own chair, and do my own designs. To be honest, I was floored. To be in control of what goes onto a person’s skin, that’s a kind of power to enlighten, dedicate, and improve someone that few ever get to experience. Except me, of course. After the first few years, I noticed people would come back for more tattoos from mostly me, and I thought, “Why not? I’m an independent woman, I should open my own shop!” So, I did. Most of my clients came with me, and my old shop was sad to see me go, but I decided to do the intrepid thing (my gawd, that’s the first time I’ve used that word in serious conversation), and struck out on my own. Everything was going great, until about a year ago. There were people that wanted to come back for more designs, but would be REALLY vague, and it was tough getting nailed down what they wanted. It seemed like they wanted something very specific, but weren’t willing to tell me. It was all pretty mundane stuff, too: tigers, sleeves with flying men, voluptuous women on arms, concepts of steel for the guys, fairies and such for the women, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even begin to rattle off, because I just don’t have the time.
It wasn’t until people started being really vague that I’d just tell them outright that they can find a new artist if they won’t work with me that I found out what my tattoos were doing to people; subtly, over the years, but with increasing frequency, until it’s all the same, now. My tattoos give abilities. I’m not talking run-of-the-mill normal stuff, either. The chick that wanted barbed wire on her ankle, she can whip it off her skin like it was real, and it’s almost three feet long. That older fella that wanted me to fill in his armband with “clouds” can make a whole room fog up in an instant. The real young guy that wanted lightning on his back apparently makes breakers and fuses pop everywhere he goes. The woman last fall, even, with a dragon on her hips, well, you can imagine what her “time of the month” is like.
And you really want me to put “that” drawing of Mickey on your butt?
|
Just make it interesting. Does he/she give powers to everyone? Are the powers random? Does he/she make them symbolic to the tattoo? Let's see what you guys can come up with :) | [WP] You are a tattoo artist who has the ability to give people powers from the tattoos you give them | The latest client was a nervous man in his mid-forties, his face red from the bitter cold of Chicago winter, his black hair thinning after years of apparent stress. His curious stare made a long sweep around my little shop before meeting my own eyes.
It was clear he had never been in a tattoo parlor before, especially one like mine. He had a distressed air about him, the opposite of my usual clientele of spoiled young suburbanites and Superman fan-boys that showed like packs of wolves looking to see if the tales were true.
Most of those types of clients I turned away due to my own code of ethics. Through trial and error I had come to consider myself a solid judge of who would handle the responsibilities my tattoos entailed and who would crash and burn.
The man before me now seemed to be of a different breed than those who came to my shop for a thrill or a dare. There was a desperate look about him that I liked to see in my clients. Desperation always meant a good tale, and usually an interesting power as well that could test my always-developing skills.
It’s never really been about the money you see; if it were I’d have become the equivalent of a superpower crack dealer long ago. For me, it’s always been about the stories. People need to convince me they *need* the power, not simply that they want it. Call me selfish, call me an asshole, but when I’m the one holding the needle, we play by my rules.
Wordlessly, I motioned the man over to sit on a nearby sofa while I worked on my current client, a woman who had nearly drowned in a cruise-ship accident a few months ago. I delicately placed the needle to her skin as the man sunk into the couch. He stared inquiringly as I slowly perfected my latest artwork.
After I finished with the client, who began admiring the pair of inked gills on her neck in a nearby mirror, I turned my attention to the awkward man on the sofa.
At this point he was clearly uncomfortable, and might have even had second thoughts if I hadn’t called him over. He laid back uneasily on the chair where I did my work, and waited for me to give him instruction.
After a moment of awkward silence, he finally realized I was waiting for him to talk.
“I…I heard you could give people tattoos,” he muttered, head bent low.
I scoffed at the simplicity of that statement.
“Well this is a tattoo parlor,” I responded cheerfully. I wasn’t about to let him in that easily, especially since I still received a fair share of customers that actually just wanted a tattoo. For all I knew, he could have been in the midst of a mid-life crisis and was trying to scare his wife into sleeping with him again.
“I meant…you see…I heard you could give people *special* tattoos,” he mumbled, trying to get the message across.
“All tattoos can be special,” I replied. Despite feeling a bit sorry for the guy, I liked to have my fun with clients. “It just depends on how the person being inked feels about them.”
“No, you know what I mean,” he said, clearly getting flustered. “I heard you could give people powers.”
Ah. The magic word. Just was I was waiting to hear.
“I see,” I said, preparing for my favorite part. “And why would a man like you have need for powers?”
The man paused, contemplating whether to share his story. I leaned forward in anticipation, pondering what kind of tale the nervous man would spin. It always was always my belief that the origin story held twice as much fun as the actual powers themselves.
“My wife was the love of my life,” he began. “We married at 22, after meeting during our freshman year of college. She wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. It was the happiest day of my life.”
The man paused, emotion surfacing in his pale eyes. After a few moments he continued.
“Two months ago a man broke into our home. He took as much as he could and then shot my wife in the chest. She has been in a coma ever since. I’ve found the man who did this. Apparently he has a heroin addiction. He shot the person I care most about just to get a fix.”
The man shook his head in disbelief.
“You’d like to hurt him,” I interjected, preparing to turn this man down. One of my cardinal rules was that my powers would not directly cause harm.
“No,” the man responded immediately, as if shocked by what I was suggesting. “I’d like to heal him. That man’s addiction is what destroyed my family. If you can give me the power to destroy that addiction, it will be enough to honor her.”
I was taken aback, and at first could not think of how to help this man. After a few moments of thought, the idea suddenly came to me. I gently grabbed the man’s arm, wiped it with a sterilizing pad, and brought the needle to his skin. He flinched initially when the pain first hit, but soon became numb to it. I wasn’t surprised. The man’s story taught me he was clearly used to pain.
After what seemed like seconds of work, I revealed my creation to the man. On his pale skin lay an exact copy of my needle, inked in shades of black and blue.
“Think of it as the cure to others’ pain,” I explained.
The man nodded, placed a few twenties in my hand, and left without a word.
You see it’s never about the money with me. It’s always been about the stories. And I love a good ending.
| Reddit, be kind, this is my first time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I would love to say that I’m world-weary, or at least jaded, but when you have so much entertainment at your disposal, you can’t be anything else but slightly off-kilter, and willing to laugh at just about everything. See, I have a curse, or a gift (depending on your perspective). It wasn’t something that just happened, one day, but more over a period of several years. Apparently, my tattoos can come to life. No, that’s not right. They give life. No, that’s not right, either. Every tattoo I’ve done for the last seventeen years has in one way, or another, given someone, well……*abilities*.
I italicized that to give emphasis. See, that creative writing class in third grade really did pay off. I wonder where Mrs. Pinkerton is now…… Anyways, *abilities* (see, there’s that creative writing again, folks!). I grew up a dreamer of sorts, reading all the Marvel, DC, Image, Dark Cow comics I could get my hands on. I was obsessed throughout my entire childhood with gaining superpowers. I would do my best to draw and write stories, trying to become like the greats: Stan Lee, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, way too many others to name. After a while, my drawings got better, and even in my teens I won a few contests. People would tell me how life-like my drawings and sketches were, how much they imitated what they would see in their minds. When I was studying in art school (yes, I was one of those kids), I found more and more that I could draw tattoos that people really loved, and got an internship at a really great parlor in downtown Raleigh. You might even recognize it (no, I’m not dumb enough to say the name, you’ve got to find it); it’s the little shop next to the bakery that always does these amazing(see, italics again!) wedding cakes for people.
After a year or internship, I was allowed to rent my own chair, and do my own designs. To be honest, I was floored. To be in control of what goes onto a person’s skin, that’s a kind of power to enlighten, dedicate, and improve someone that few ever get to experience. Except me, of course. After the first few years, I noticed people would come back for more tattoos from mostly me, and I thought, “Why not? I’m an independent woman, I should open my own shop!” So, I did. Most of my clients came with me, and my old shop was sad to see me go, but I decided to do the intrepid thing (my gawd, that’s the first time I’ve used that word in serious conversation), and struck out on my own. Everything was going great, until about a year ago. There were people that wanted to come back for more designs, but would be REALLY vague, and it was tough getting nailed down what they wanted. It seemed like they wanted something very specific, but weren’t willing to tell me. It was all pretty mundane stuff, too: tigers, sleeves with flying men, voluptuous women on arms, concepts of steel for the guys, fairies and such for the women, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even begin to rattle off, because I just don’t have the time.
It wasn’t until people started being really vague that I’d just tell them outright that they can find a new artist if they won’t work with me that I found out what my tattoos were doing to people; subtly, over the years, but with increasing frequency, until it’s all the same, now. My tattoos give abilities. I’m not talking run-of-the-mill normal stuff, either. The chick that wanted barbed wire on her ankle, she can whip it off her skin like it was real, and it’s almost three feet long. That older fella that wanted me to fill in his armband with “clouds” can make a whole room fog up in an instant. The real young guy that wanted lightning on his back apparently makes breakers and fuses pop everywhere he goes. The woman last fall, even, with a dragon on her hips, well, you can imagine what her “time of the month” is like.
And you really want me to put “that” drawing of Mickey on your butt?
|
Just make it interesting. Does he/she give powers to everyone? Are the powers random? Does he/she make them symbolic to the tattoo? Let's see what you guys can come up with :) | [WP] You are a tattoo artist who has the ability to give people powers from the tattoos you give them | "Anything?"
"Anything." The man sat down, pulling his shirt off to reveal a body that had seen abused, from the inside and out. It was clear that he had been a cutter at some point, probably after some point he had stopped being physically abused by whoever he was with, be it a lover, a parent, someone. Scars littered his flesh, burns, tears, bullet holes even, years of torment, lightly faded yet bold enough not to ignore. Some of the scars on his arms were old track marks, veins torn and collapsed, leaving thin blackened lines, permanently etched on the inside of his arms. The redden eyes, the shaking hands, the light sweat on his brow, all signs of something I had seen firsthand hand.
I changed my equipment, donning new gloves as I moved to his upper arm, a design already set in my head. With the pen in my hand, I went to work, carefully watching the man lean back and relax the best he could, his brow furrowed either in deep contemplation or an attempt to relieve the throbbing pain that buried itself inside his skull.
The simple goblet was easy enough to draw, at least the main piece, getting the details right would be the task. With the gun in my hand, I started, concentrating on both design and recipient, making sure that both remained in the best condition while under my hands. Gold and black, little details to make it come to life. I had to make sure that this was right, he needed this and I wasn't about to about to fail someone who could use the help.
"When was your last drink?" An eye creaked opened, slowly focusing on me before falling back close. A sigh, heavy with years of guilt attached to it, slipped from his lips followed by a grim chuckle.
"Barely a two days ago..."
"How many times have you tried to stop?"
"Too many." Another laugh, this time lighter than the first one, sounded. "Is it that obvious?"
"To someone who is sitting on a ten year coin, yes." The silence returned over the two of us, the repeating needle the only thing echoing in the small shop. I finished before the clock struck 1 AM, sitting back to admire the work I had created in less than an hour. The detailed goblet with a cross section, making it look as if the cup would empty. The gold and black nearly shone in the dim light, and it was my turn to smile. "I think you'll fine yourself just fine."
He twisted to look, his thick eyebrow raising up, silently questioning what I had given him. "Okay... I'm lost. What is it.?"
"A Pythagorean cup. Fill it with a bit of alcohol and you're fine. Too much and all of it drains out." Wiping away the last bit of extra ink, I moved to put my things away.
"...well, I did say anything." He reached for his wallet, still unsure of what to think of the tattoo, but I shook my head.
"Don't worry about it. It was my pleasure."
"You sure?"
"I am." I stood, heading towards a small refrigerator I had in the back, my boots clicking on the tile. "Sit still for a bit. Don't want you passing out after all of that. Can I get you anything to drink?" Grabbing a soda for myself, I waited for his answer, letting the magic sink in, hoping that I had done a good enough job to have the desired effect.
"Yeah... got a bottle of water or something?"
-094 | Reddit, be kind, this is my first time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I would love to say that I’m world-weary, or at least jaded, but when you have so much entertainment at your disposal, you can’t be anything else but slightly off-kilter, and willing to laugh at just about everything. See, I have a curse, or a gift (depending on your perspective). It wasn’t something that just happened, one day, but more over a period of several years. Apparently, my tattoos can come to life. No, that’s not right. They give life. No, that’s not right, either. Every tattoo I’ve done for the last seventeen years has in one way, or another, given someone, well……*abilities*.
I italicized that to give emphasis. See, that creative writing class in third grade really did pay off. I wonder where Mrs. Pinkerton is now…… Anyways, *abilities* (see, there’s that creative writing again, folks!). I grew up a dreamer of sorts, reading all the Marvel, DC, Image, Dark Cow comics I could get my hands on. I was obsessed throughout my entire childhood with gaining superpowers. I would do my best to draw and write stories, trying to become like the greats: Stan Lee, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman, way too many others to name. After a while, my drawings got better, and even in my teens I won a few contests. People would tell me how life-like my drawings and sketches were, how much they imitated what they would see in their minds. When I was studying in art school (yes, I was one of those kids), I found more and more that I could draw tattoos that people really loved, and got an internship at a really great parlor in downtown Raleigh. You might even recognize it (no, I’m not dumb enough to say the name, you’ve got to find it); it’s the little shop next to the bakery that always does these amazing(see, italics again!) wedding cakes for people.
After a year or internship, I was allowed to rent my own chair, and do my own designs. To be honest, I was floored. To be in control of what goes onto a person’s skin, that’s a kind of power to enlighten, dedicate, and improve someone that few ever get to experience. Except me, of course. After the first few years, I noticed people would come back for more tattoos from mostly me, and I thought, “Why not? I’m an independent woman, I should open my own shop!” So, I did. Most of my clients came with me, and my old shop was sad to see me go, but I decided to do the intrepid thing (my gawd, that’s the first time I’ve used that word in serious conversation), and struck out on my own. Everything was going great, until about a year ago. There were people that wanted to come back for more designs, but would be REALLY vague, and it was tough getting nailed down what they wanted. It seemed like they wanted something very specific, but weren’t willing to tell me. It was all pretty mundane stuff, too: tigers, sleeves with flying men, voluptuous women on arms, concepts of steel for the guys, fairies and such for the women, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even begin to rattle off, because I just don’t have the time.
It wasn’t until people started being really vague that I’d just tell them outright that they can find a new artist if they won’t work with me that I found out what my tattoos were doing to people; subtly, over the years, but with increasing frequency, until it’s all the same, now. My tattoos give abilities. I’m not talking run-of-the-mill normal stuff, either. The chick that wanted barbed wire on her ankle, she can whip it off her skin like it was real, and it’s almost three feet long. That older fella that wanted me to fill in his armband with “clouds” can make a whole room fog up in an instant. The real young guy that wanted lightning on his back apparently makes breakers and fuses pop everywhere he goes. The woman last fall, even, with a dragon on her hips, well, you can imagine what her “time of the month” is like.
And you really want me to put “that” drawing of Mickey on your butt?
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Just make it interesting. Does he/she give powers to everyone? Are the powers random? Does he/she make them symbolic to the tattoo? Let's see what you guys can come up with :) | [WP] You are a tattoo artist who has the ability to give people powers from the tattoos you give them | I only wanted to do this because of Tmoore4748, thanks for inspiration.
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I gave life. It was beautiful in the beginning. I learned how to draw when I was so young. I was always so fascinated by the curve in a line, or by the beauty in hard rectangle. Everything seemed so interesting back then. Every dot could tell me a story. Every line a life. But as I grew I needed more. Everything I touched needed to be more. It started simply. Little by little until I was filling entire books with the best drawing I could. I didn't bother much with anything else at that point. It didn't seem worthwhile. Until I grew bored. I wanted more than paper. I wanted something living, but I saw no way to get it. So I stopped drawing.
Yet as the years past and I entered college I remembered my origins. I found my way into a little room in the back of the art school and saw tattoos for the first time. I saw what it looked like to etch upon human flesh. I saw life and movement in simplistic drawings. I knew I could make it more in that moment.
I became consumed within months. Everything I did revolved around etching upon leather. I was unwilling to do less than perfection upon a living canvas. I had to be the best first.
My friend underwent my needle first. He was the first one. The one I remember most. He wanted it simple a lightning bolt arching across his shoulder. However the moment I touched his skin with my needle I couldn't see the design. I only knew the emotion. The truth in the drawing itself. I wanted it to be as electric as the principle itself. I don't remember stopping. I don't even remember him saying anything during it, yet in the end I thought it was perfect. It honestly took his breath away.
I thought that would be it. The drawing and the life I had sacrificed would end when I removed the needle. His love for it was beautiful, but in truth I only cared about the artwork. I wanted it to be the best and it was. The way the stroke of lightning moved through the clouds was breathtaking. It seemed to move every time he his heart beat. It took us a while to see what happened next. It started slowly. A few micro shocks here a few there. Then he fried his computer. He didn't understand what was happening, but I felt oddly involved. I tried to ignore it until the entire city block went out. I tried to ignore it even when the phone rang with his voice crying out that I help him. Even as he explained how he had gotten furious at a guy near some random club. The way the lights had flickered even as he stuck wasn't enough to warn him. I almost dropped the phone when he finally told me how the entire block had gotten black when he actually stuck the dude. It seemed stupid. Until he told me the way the eletricity flowed out of the lights into him. Arching across the sky to touch his skin. Touch where I had brought life.
I swore of art for a while after that. I felt responsible for his actions. For his arrogance when he called me. I even felt responsible when he died. I should of seen the way he acted was a sign. He eventually fell to the cops when they came for him. It took a toll on the force but all was quiet afterwards. Until my girlfriend asked for one. She swore she was worth it. That if I loved her I should give her the most beautiful rose in the world, carved upon her own flesh. I remember smiling even though I was scared. I didn't really want to work, but my body was craving it. I vaguely remember the way her rose seemed to flicker as she smiled. The way it curved across her neck. I felt weaker but it was worth it, for her.
It didn't take nearly as long to change her. Her garden was more beautiful by the day. She didn't tell me anything important until it was to late though. Her skin was turning green under all the clothing. I wondered why she had been hiding so much. I was almost sad to be craving another canvas, but the beauty was worth it.
The way the ink flowed from there was astonishing. Each person that lined up at my door was given a new piece of art to walk away with. But I didn't feel as satisfied anymore. I was growing bored again, bored and weak. I kept going at first, one after another. I think I hit over a hundred before I actually craved more. That's when I started pouring myself into the work. I don't know why I did it but at some point I put my own blood in the ink. The ink became so much more at that point. It drew better than the finest quills, in any color I desired. I think I did ten like that. Ten gorgeous drawings etched in human skin. I was too tired after that.
But those ten became gods in my new world. I don't remember when I knew what I could do but they proved it. I was the true creator in this existence. It was all up to me. Ten people hand chosen at my own door. Ten of the best individuals each gifted with the ability of their own choosing. Some could even create their own new life. It was perhaps my greatest creation. But even with whimpering breaths I wanted more. I wanted myself.
I remember turning the needle on my own arms, my neck, my legs. Anything I could reach became a canvas of life, until I had done everything. Everything in the robes that men had always feared. My greatest canvas hugged my figure, etched in the color of darkness. I was tired of creation. I wanted to take things back now. I wanted to bring things with me. I wanted to collect the perfect beauty. I wanted life itself to be mine. No I wanted to destroy it. I remember now, I wanted to undo it all. I wanted art to end. The perfection of life to unravel. Yet the very tool of creation wasn't enough, far too small.
Wonder if I could draw a scythe with these bony fingers... | I looked at the walk-in with disdain, and a little pity. Unkempt beard, greasy hair, crooked teeth as he flashed a self-conscious smile...I could already tell what it would be. He pulled off his ragged ballcap and began a familiar chatter.
"So you're the uh, the *Artist*?" the man said, wrinkling his hat in his hands.
"You got it boyo. You'll be wanting a temp?"
He nodded emphatically.
One hour later it was done. As he waved on his way out, I caught the syringe tattoo emptying and evaporating. It's funny, they always said tattoos were addictive. |
It can be any kind of monster. And sort of love. | [WP] A person falls in love with the monster under their bed. The monster in their closet is none too pleased. | Cathy was at home, annoyed that her husband was working late. My colleagues were still at work, annoyed that I was at home with my wife.
Sarah was in bed, annoyed by the sound of a car pulling into her driveway. I was annoyed by the sudden naked dash from the bed to Sarah's wardrobe.
In the darkness behind the closed doors, I wondered what sort of monster was I to give in to my passions so easily? Discovery would cause so much pain to Cathy, and to Robert, a cuckold husband.
"Tommy!" gasped Sarah, "you should have knocked!" I heard a deep voice laugh. "I saw the light on, and I knew Robert was at the conference, so I wanted to surprise you."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! The two-timing...no make that triple-timing bitch. Soon the sounds of their passion were mixed with the squeaking bedsprings. And Tommy, of all people. The monster was Robert's best friend.
Then the unmistakable voice of Jeremy, the neighbor, came from beyond the curtains. "Sarah, babe, I'm coming in." It was hard to discern which sounds were Jeremy clambering through the window and which were Robert scrambling under the bed.
I knew I was bad, but I now realized Sarah was the real monster.
| The dull heartbeat of the underground matched my own as I stared at my book, not really reading it, just using it as something to look at when I am not looking at the next station. Green Park, Piccadilly, then Leicester, I’d be home. The train starts to slow down, Green Park. Only two more to go, I look at my watch, still the same time as when I last looked. I look around the carriage, grey faces and grey suits, lifeless eyes staring into nothing. I look past the soul crushing boredom to see them, the monsters, and they are far more interesting. One great purple octopus creature lounges on the ceiling, every visible surface covered in eyes. Two small red children, bloated bellies and spindly arms are hiding beneath the chairs. I smile as a gigantic kaleidoscopic lion sprawled on the floor snores heavily with its luscious belly presented to the air, asking me to stroke it. As he breathes, a grey man’s newspaper flutters.
Piccadilly.
Just one more stop. I used to be afraid of them, when I was younger. That seems so foolish now, most of them are harmless, almost like children. The red goblins under the chairs have started taking it in turns to pull at the lion’s tail, then run back under the chairs. After one particularly vicious pull the lion jolts awake, his massive form shaking the whole train. The greys grasp the handles and lean against the movement, oblivious to its origin.
Leicester Square, mine.
I stand in front of the doors, press the button. The doors open, coincidence. I step off and make my way up the platform, up the stairs. My footsteps match my heart as I rush towards the barriers, as close to running as walking will allow.
Up a street, down an alley, I ignore an old man being eaten by crimson locusts, they have been eating him for days. Open door, up stairs. Open door, and I am home.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and look around my apartment. Three rooms, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, no floor space, but it was home. It was mine. I throw my book on the singular counter and flump down onto the bed. That should wake him. I have to wait only a few seconds until I see seven long green fingers grip the edge of the bed, they haul up a long thin arm followed by an almost skeletal body, green skin tight across the bones like a drum. The face above is eerily human, but for the lack of eyes. I’m not looking at his eyes, I’m looking at his mouth, the warm smile of a friend, my only friend.
He drags himself closer, revealing his lower half, or lack thereof. His long fingers stroke my face, remembering who I am, and his smile grows once more. I hold his hand as it tries to retreat, and kiss each fingertip in turn, my lips lingering on the last. With that he moves as quick as lightning, closing the gap between his lips and mine. His fingers in my hair, his body pressed against mine. I return the favour, my tongue slips against his, my teeth clash against his. Too excited, too rushed. We laugh, I hate my laugh but his is like velvet. WE kiss again, slower this time, on my part it is to savour the moment, on his part it is because he is concentrating with his other hand behind my back, seven fingers does not make a bra strap easier. Finally he is victorious and he stops kissing my mouth, he plants one on my neck. He kisses a little lower. A little lower. A button of my shirt needs removing. Another kiss. Another button. Another kiss. Another button. Kiss, button, kiss, button, kiss. One more button, he darts his tongue into it and I laugh, he knows that I will but he does it every single time. His seven fingers roll their way up my back, tangling my blouse in my arms above my head, I close my eyes as a wave of warmth rises through me.
A screech echoes in my ears, I open my eyes and am confronted by a half naked woman with eagle’s wings and beak ripping my love from me. She had burst from the cupboard and had now grabbed Buddy by the shoulders and smashed him against the wall. Once, twice. He managed to grasp her throat with one of his hands and started to crush. Panic entered her eyes as she squawked, clawing at where Buddy’s own eyes should be. She bit at his wrist with her razor sharp beak but it was too late, she was too weak. They both fell on the bed beside me in a flurry of feathers and blows.
A deafening crack signalled the end of the show. The harpy lay quite lifeless on the bed. Buddy cracked his own neck, rolled his shoulder and gave me his wonderful grin.
I went to him, freeing my arms from my grey suit and we entangled ourselves in each other, caring not a whit for the corpse we shared a bed with. We were monsters after all.
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It can be any kind of monster. And sort of love. | [WP] A person falls in love with the monster under their bed. The monster in their closet is none too pleased. | Cathy was at home, annoyed that her husband was working late. My colleagues were still at work, annoyed that I was at home with my wife.
Sarah was in bed, annoyed by the sound of a car pulling into her driveway. I was annoyed by the sudden naked dash from the bed to Sarah's wardrobe.
In the darkness behind the closed doors, I wondered what sort of monster was I to give in to my passions so easily? Discovery would cause so much pain to Cathy, and to Robert, a cuckold husband.
"Tommy!" gasped Sarah, "you should have knocked!" I heard a deep voice laugh. "I saw the light on, and I knew Robert was at the conference, so I wanted to surprise you."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! The two-timing...no make that triple-timing bitch. Soon the sounds of their passion were mixed with the squeaking bedsprings. And Tommy, of all people. The monster was Robert's best friend.
Then the unmistakable voice of Jeremy, the neighbor, came from beyond the curtains. "Sarah, babe, I'm coming in." It was hard to discern which sounds were Jeremy clambering through the window and which were Robert scrambling under the bed.
I knew I was bad, but I now realized Sarah was the real monster.
| Vultric's six arms laid limp over the thin leather couch. It wasn't too comfortable. Every few seconds he reminded himself of that fact. His twelve eyes were closed, dreaming of a better time. There was a fan in the room. Every few seconds it blew Vultric's thick fur around. He hated it.
"Can we turn it off?" He asked.
His eyes opened and he looked at a balding creature who sat across from him. The creature, Dr. Greox, didn't speak. He never spoke. Vultric ignored Greox and stood up on his six legs. It took a few strides, but he reached the fan and shut it off. Then he returned to the couch.
"As I was saying. This is the third time she's hugged him this week." With his eyes closed Vultric imagined Amy, the human girl whom he became familiar with over the past few years. "You know, this all happened because of the father. Back when she had the Princess Mattress it was fine."
Vultric's situation, like many other closet creatures, was dire. The human who inhabited his room was changing. Every few years her bed changed. With a new bed, came a new neighbor. Normally the monsters under the bed were quite normal. They understood the game. You wait for the lights to go out. Then you scare. There was no cuddling, no hugs, no friendship with the human. But this guy. This big hunk of fur wasn't scary. No. He was deemed "Adoreable."
Vultric sat up on his couch.
"I should kill him." Vultric though to himself. It truly was the only way.
Suddenly Vultric stood up. He left the couch and exited the room. He was back in his home. Fresh human clothes brushed against his unwelcoming fur as he crept through the corridors of the closet. Finally he was at the door. He pushed it open ever so slightly.
Vultric moved out of his home and into the battlefield. The only sentry, a fairy nightlight stood guard near the bed. He crawled forward along the carpet. Toys scattered and blocked his way, so he mere climbed over them. Then he was where he needed to be. The entrance to the bed. He snuck under some sheets that hid that creature.
The covers touched his fur as he entered his enemies fortress. He was there. Standing in front of him, next to a snickers candy wrapper. Quickly Vultric launched himself at his enemy. With his twin fangs he sank himself into his enemies back. It was all going according to plan. Then that creature pushed Vultric up against the bed. Smack! The bed moved. Yet still Vultric's bite held firm.
"Amy!" A voice broke the trance of battle. Footsteps came racing across the hallway floor. The door opened and the lights flickered on. The footsteps became louder as something approached the bed. Suddenly the covered were whisked up and Amy looked directly into her fathers face. "Hunny it's bed time." He said.
Amy groaned and dropped her toys. She crawled out from under the bed and brushed off the dust that was on her pajamas. Then she leaped into bed and dragged the covers over her. Her father leaned in and kissed her goodnight.
"Go to sleep." He said closing the door.
"Fine." She fired back.
Amy's eyes closed and darkness once again came upon the room. The only light came from the fairy nightlight. Under the bed though, the battle had been decided. Vultric released his fangs from the other monster and crawled out from under the bed. Then he returned to his closet victorious. |
[WP] Three men are sat down in a room looking at a revolver, what happens next.. | A collective sigh emanated from the men.
One by one they stood and pushed two rounds into the chambers until the last man placed the revolver on the table, loaded and cocked.
Said one to the other, "I have a family you know. Back in Conneticut."
"We all have families, snub," said the other, his head in his hands, "Don't try to get out of this. Just…man up and -", he broke off with a catch in his voice.
The first man sat back resignedly and stared directly at the revolver with an intensity that had nothing to do with imminent gunpowder and lead. Eyes wide, it was apparent to the others that a life lived and unlived was passing before him.
With a creak, the silent third eased himself off his chair. "Waiting will bring no joy. Let's finish this."
The second man sighed into his hands and looked up.
"I suppose you're right but…I can't just..", he mumbled into silence.
The second man jerked out of his dream and stared in horror at the third, saying, "And just how do you expect this to go? Who stays?"
"If I do it right, no one stays. You have to trust me on this. I've done it before."
"You've…you've what?! How can you have! That's impossible!"
"No," said the first, "i've seen him do it. I just…didn't recognize him till now."
The third made no indication he heard him. "Ready?"
The first man trembled. The second man sighed. They each stood.
"Alright. I'll go first," announced the second. He stepped forward and picked up the revolver. Holding it in one hand, barrel to his temple, he fired.
The third walked round the table and extracted the revolver from the remains. Placing it on the table, he looked toward the first.
"I…I can't!" said the first. His eyes had regained their look of horror from before. The third man could see his nerve leaving him.
"You know there's no other option," reminded the third.
Stumbling backwards, the first man appeared ready to run.
"You won't make it. No one ever has."
"Not like this!" screamed the first, turning to run.Before he could complete his turn, tendrils of inky darkness whipped around his body and compressed him into the blackness. No sound was heard.
The third man stared where the first had vanished, trying to see something. Anything. Every time at least one ran. But each time he could never see what it was that took him.
Well, it was for the best. There really was no other choice.
"Next time, can I please be taller? This race doesn't cater towards height and people tend to look over me. It's rather disconcerting."
**YOU WILL BE WHAT YOU ARE DECIDED TO BE** a voice intoned from nowhere in particular.
The third sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot. There was no point arguing, but it made him feel more human to do it.
Picking up the revolver, he spun the chamber once, then emptied it. That was the funny thing about the deal they all made. Even if you read the fine print, no one ever understood that pulling the trigger doesn't imply loading the chamber.
Placing the pistol against his own temple, he closed his eyes and breathed.
**WOULD YOU HURRY, THERE'S A PARTY SCHEDULED FOR FOUR.**
Oh seriously. He pulled the trigger. | "... And this was my grandfather's." He pulled out the last box and set it on the table in front of them. It was an ornate wooden box that smelled of rich mahogany. It was clearly very old as most of the original carvings had been worn away over the decades. There were remnants of what looked like trees, perhaps some smoke clouds as well. The only engravings that remained clear were the intials "JPR" etched on the bottom left, presumably standing for the original owner.
Inside the box was an old revolver. The handle of the gun, like the box that had housed it, was worn from overuse and years of neglect thereafter. The rest of the gun had become almost entirely rust covered. The idea of taking it outside to try shooting it was unappealing at best, criminally negligent at worst.
The man and his two friends sat there looking at it. The grandson sat there with a mostly straight face, though with shades of disappointment, staring at the gun. His friend grabbed the Guinness next to the gun and took a sip. "Neat." They continued watching the Browns throw away their season. |
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[WP] The enemy force is breaking down the gates to the city. You're left with a small squad inside the walls, and must hold out until reinforcements arrive. | The young soldiers looked at me.
“He’s a legend. Let him be.”
Weak and pale, and old and frail,
I do not resemble much.
But OH! I wear the armor!
Navy blue, and polished true,
I still wear the armor.
“Old man, tell us your tale.”
Young and brave, and strong of arm,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Endless hordes; an army vast.
Barbarians at our gates.
Navy blue and polished true,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Bow and arrow; axe and sword,
marched onward, the endless horde.
“Do not flinch! Do not falter!”
Twelve hundred stood before them.
With sunset, the gates came down.
All night, the battle raged.
Steel and blood, till rising sun
navy blue, died one by one.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred, save one, were dead.
But thousands more, no colors wore,
for navy blue, the battle won.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred stood before them. | 'I never called my mother after I got home from visiting. Why didn't I? It was a simple thing. It was a lovely visit. And I didn't visit dad. The Grave yard is on the way.'
BOOOOOM! The first attempt fails.
I never finished the second bedroom renovations. They were coming along nicely. Marie was going to help paint it. I never could figure out that painting business.
"Sir! What do we do?' yells the corporal shaking me out of my stupor. 'One more rpg and they are through that wall. we need orders!"
What does he want? What could I possibly say? I was promoted because I was told to leave the chopper for that young couple.
"Sir. We need orders!'
BOOOOOOM! The wall collapses. Bullets start pouring in.
"Sir! Orders! Now! We need orders!"
I stare up at the young man, dried blood covers his face. Dried blood and terror. I glance at the wall. Then back at the young corporal. What else can I say....? I answer him.
"fight." |
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[WP] The enemy force is breaking down the gates to the city. You're left with a small squad inside the walls, and must hold out until reinforcements arrive. | The young soldiers looked at me.
“He’s a legend. Let him be.”
Weak and pale, and old and frail,
I do not resemble much.
But OH! I wear the armor!
Navy blue, and polished true,
I still wear the armor.
“Old man, tell us your tale.”
Young and brave, and strong of arm,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Endless hordes; an army vast.
Barbarians at our gates.
Navy blue and polished true,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Bow and arrow; axe and sword,
marched onward, the endless horde.
“Do not flinch! Do not falter!”
Twelve hundred stood before them.
With sunset, the gates came down.
All night, the battle raged.
Steel and blood, till rising sun
navy blue, died one by one.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred, save one, were dead.
But thousands more, no colors wore,
for navy blue, the battle won.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred stood before them. | “They made it past the river! They are advancing!” The private screamed to his commanding squad leader.
“We need to retreat!” Another private screamed.
“Shut your mouth son! We were given an order to defend this building at all costs! And we will defend this building. I don’t care if every other squad has fallen back; we are not going to give them an inch! Am I clear?” The lieutenant ordered.
“Yes sir!” the four man squad shouted in unison.
“Watson, set up a machine gun on the roof and cover the south and west streets that lead here. Morrison, take your M1 and set up on the north side of the building. There are several empty crates that should provide you with enough cover to keep you from getting your head blown to pieces. You cover the alleyway that leads here. Burton, clear the east road so reinforcements can get to us. Monroe, you take the prisoner upstairs, and make sure he stays tied to his chair (the squad had taken a messenger hostage, and tied him down to a chair).” The lieutenant ordered.
Watson climbed on the roof and set up his machine gun on the corner of the building in order to cover both streets. He said “These Krauts are never going to know what hit them.” He saw ten or so Germans approaching the building to the south. He did not shoot immediately, but waited in order to draw them out. He gazed upon the enemy soldiers. They were not old scruffy mean men, but boys. They looked to be fresh recruits, who were as “bad” as he was. They came closer to the building, but he couldn’t shoot. He finger was frozen on the trigger. He had never killed anyone before.
The lieutenant glanced out the window to see the enemy closing in on the building. He knew that Watson was chocking, he had seen it a dozen times. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the enemy through the windows. He shot twice. The enemy was instantly alerted, and began blind firing back. Watson, even though he was not being shot at, reacted to the German fire and pulled the trigger. Machine gun fire roared from the roof. It seemed as if every bullet hit its mark. The Germans ran for cover, but found none.
To the north Morrison was set up behind the supply crates. He saw a couple of Krauts rushing down the alley, and he opened fire. They were both surprised, and had to cover. He dropped them both with one shot each. After firing he then saw dozens of Germans running down the north alleyway screaming. He couldn’t take them all. He saw that they were running towards a bus in the middle of the road, and hiding behind it. They would pop out from the windows and fire back. He was pinned down, and couldn’t fire back.
“I need some support over here!” Morrison yelled.
The lieutenant heard him, and grabbed his M1 Garand. He ran out the building towards where Morrison was. While he was running a bullet hit him dead center in the chest. He grasped for breath, but couldn’t take in any. The gasping stopped, and the squad leader died. Enraged Morrison pulled the pin on his only grenade, and threw it at the bus. After he threw it he stood up and began unleashing fire. His clip ran out, and the Germans began rushing forward towards him. He pulled out his pistol, and started firing that in a last effort. He killed some, but more kept on charging. The Germans came closer, and would be on him any minute. He panicked, and turned the gun on himself, and shot himself.
Monroe watched the scene unfold from the second floor window. He had his pistol out, but left his rifle downstairs. His back was turned on the prisoner. The messenger, still tied to the chair, charged at Monroe. He head butted Monroe, and knocked him over. Monroe dropped his pistol. The prisoner them turned around and thrust the back of the chair onto Monroe. The chair broke, and the rope tying him to the chair came loose. His arms were now free, and he began to choke Monroe. With one hand he choked, and with the other he punched him in the face. Monroe stopped moving, and let out one last breath.
The messenger came running out of the building towards the north. He tried to reunite with his countrymen, but they mistook him for an American and shot him multiple times. Meanwhile, Watson managed to keep the south and west sides clear. The Germans from the north charged into the building. One soldier ran upstairs, and heard gunshots coming from the roof. He found the source of the shots, and shot upwards through the ceiling. One bullet hit Watson in the stomach. It wasn’t fatal, but after he was shot his body reacted by jerking over to his left side. He couldn’t control it, and he fell off the building. He snapped his neck, and was killed.
Burton saw all that was happening, and decided to run for it. He reasoned that he would only die if he stayed, and wouldn’t an alive soldier be better than a dead one? He ran to the east, fleeing from danger. He eventually made it back to the rest of his platoon, and was reassigned to another squad. He was shot and killed three months later.
Edit: sorry the formatting messed up, and the paragraphs are not showing.
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[WP] The enemy force is breaking down the gates to the city. You're left with a small squad inside the walls, and must hold out until reinforcements arrive. | The young soldiers looked at me.
“He’s a legend. Let him be.”
Weak and pale, and old and frail,
I do not resemble much.
But OH! I wear the armor!
Navy blue, and polished true,
I still wear the armor.
“Old man, tell us your tale.”
Young and brave, and strong of arm,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Endless hordes; an army vast.
Barbarians at our gates.
Navy blue and polished true,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Bow and arrow; axe and sword,
marched onward, the endless horde.
“Do not flinch! Do not falter!”
Twelve hundred stood before them.
With sunset, the gates came down.
All night, the battle raged.
Steel and blood, till rising sun
navy blue, died one by one.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred, save one, were dead.
But thousands more, no colors wore,
for navy blue, the battle won.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred stood before them. | (First time I've ever posted on my phone, not sure how this will turn out.)
Captain Hawkes raised herself from the ash and blood around her, sword firmly in hand, armor stained crimson. We could no longer see the sun- soot from our burning city and the Damned's siege machines blocked out those last rays of hope, leaving us, the last one hundred men and women, fighting for life in the sudden, unwelcoming darkness.
"Listen to me, all of you!" Hawkes screamed over the roar of the approaching siege machines. "You are all that is left. YOU are all that stands in the way of 100,000 soulless creatures from raping your wives and children, slaughtering your families and burning your homes to the ground." Many soldiers began slamming on their shields in a show of loyalty. Good way to inspire a person, threats against their family. "YOU are all that stands in the way of the Damned from getting to the Capitol! When they write the history of this war, this will be the defining moment! They will sing songs about us for generations come!" We were all cheering now, smashing the hilts of our swords into our shields. Even I must admit, I was a bit disillusioned at my name being sung by bards in taverns and palaces.
The gates before us began to buckle under the pressure of their massive Clockwork Ram.
"They will breach these walls any second, soldiers! Hold the line, men! Reinforcements will be here within the hour! Put these bastards in the ground!" An astounding roar from the remaining one hundred troops seemed to fill the soul with fire.
The gates burst open. A volley of crossbow bolts soared across the gap between us.
Captain Hawkes was the first to fall.
|
|
[WP] The enemy force is breaking down the gates to the city. You're left with a small squad inside the walls, and must hold out until reinforcements arrive. | The young soldiers looked at me.
“He’s a legend. Let him be.”
Weak and pale, and old and frail,
I do not resemble much.
But OH! I wear the armor!
Navy blue, and polished true,
I still wear the armor.
“Old man, tell us your tale.”
Young and brave, and strong of arm,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Endless hordes; an army vast.
Barbarians at our gates.
Navy blue and polished true,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Bow and arrow; axe and sword,
marched onward, the endless horde.
“Do not flinch! Do not falter!”
Twelve hundred stood before them.
With sunset, the gates came down.
All night, the battle raged.
Steel and blood, till rising sun
navy blue, died one by one.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred, save one, were dead.
But thousands more, no colors wore,
for navy blue, the battle won.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred stood before them. | (Posting from phone, we'll see how this goes)
I wasn't born a soldier, and I sure as hell didn't want to be one when I was growing up. I'm of the belief that humanity is a peaceful lot, and it's the bad eggs who enjoy violence. But men make mistakes, it's what we do as humans. We fall down but get right back up.
Now honestly, the only reason I volunteered when that damned civil war arose was to keep my family safe. Now, I stand with my remaining comrades-in-arms in this hellhole of a town as we await an assault from an enemy that far exceeds our capabilities. I guess that I didn't make the smartest decision, moving to the edge of the No-Man's Land, but it was ironically the easiest place to keep my family safe, with them huddled in shelters not fifty miles from our army, as safe a place as I can afford them while still granting them what meager time I have free. It's a tedious life for both my wife and my children, and to an extent I feel it too, both when I patrol and when I return to them. But we get through it, we're human after all.
Now, as I stand at the gates waiting for reinforcements on foot that won't get here soon enough, I prepare my last meal. I always wanted to be a chef, in fact, it was just last summer at the State Fair that I prepared food in a tiny little shack for fair attendees. I'm overjoyed to say that although it wasn't the best, it was good enough for over a thousand people, and when I finished the week of work I was proud of my cooking, even if i did muff up a couple times. The stove is burning, the wood inside heating my last portion of eggs as I scramble them.
As I go to add more pieces of wood to the stove, there's a knock on the door. I leave the stove, promising myself I won't forget my eggs and burn them like I did last time when we were rounded up to fight. I'm a little nervous, with so few numbers it's certain we won't survive long enough to see dusk--in fact, as I mull over my fate, I allow myself a fantasy, dying next to my comrades in front of the large gate, our staunch bastion throughout our defense. Returning to present, I open the door in time to see my panicked sergeant as he nervously fidgets, waiting for me.
"I've got something to ask ya, can I come in? I've been thinking about your family, and I know that if you die they'll be helpless just fifty-odd miles from the battlefield," he stammers out. "I've been thinking, how open would you be to possibly deserting the gatehouse to get your family to safety?"
"Absolutely not sir, I'm not a fool! I'll be scapegoated for a battle that's already lost and my family will be humiliated--and our pride is the only thing we've got left."
"Alright, suit yourself. I hope you realize that ya' won't live to see tomorrow, Tom. I could have set you up on the winning side with a guaranteed new life, but now you don't get a fresh start!"
I begin to mull over his words even as I usher him out the door, and by the time I return my eggs have blackened. Beyond salvation, I begin to ponder what was suggested. It's a human response, I tell myself. Nobody is infallible, certainly not in war. The enemy *is* just across the door and they outnumber us five to one, and fight like demons with their blades. I hope my wife and kids survive the next few days, they're all they have in this world, because I'll soon be gone too. My eye catches on the still burning stove, I think I've gotten an idea.
--
The fire spreading throughout the town under the shadow of the looming gates, I can only trust that my family evacuates once they see the huge cloud of smoke arising from my house. I hope they think I died a heroic death, it will ease my desertion, I imagine they'll find the sergeant's body that I left there. It's a shame this was such a rout but I suppose as death approaches through the undefended gates, I have to accept the fact that I'm only human. |
|
[WP] The enemy force is breaking down the gates to the city. You're left with a small squad inside the walls, and must hold out until reinforcements arrive. | The young soldiers looked at me.
“He’s a legend. Let him be.”
Weak and pale, and old and frail,
I do not resemble much.
But OH! I wear the armor!
Navy blue, and polished true,
I still wear the armor.
“Old man, tell us your tale.”
Young and brave, and strong of arm,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Endless hordes; an army vast.
Barbarians at our gates.
Navy blue and polished true,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Bow and arrow; axe and sword,
marched onward, the endless horde.
“Do not flinch! Do not falter!”
Twelve hundred stood before them.
With sunset, the gates came down.
All night, the battle raged.
Steel and blood, till rising sun
navy blue, died one by one.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred, save one, were dead.
But thousands more, no colors wore,
for navy blue, the battle won.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred stood before them. | Every rumble is accompanied by a thin trickle of dust that hangs in the air, ready to choke each passing man. Flashlight beams became less beacons, more tethers. Holding together five men and thirteen civilians as they sealed the manhole behind them.
"Down."
Down deeper, ever deeper. At first modern tiled passages. Neat bundles of pipes and wires. Should be lights, but the thunder has long since snuffed them. Then sewers. Stinking. Now catacombs.
Skulls stare blankly as the lights swipe over them. Now and again one of the small children glances up. Utters a stifled cry. Returns to mewling and dribbling unto its mothers' breast. And still they go deeper.
"Here"
The leader stops in a relatively large chamber. Miles underground at least. Distance doesn't mix with darkness. The soldiers sweep the room. Peek down dark passages leading off in six different directions. A pillar of bones rises up in its center. Femurs.
"Clear"
Everyone settles in. One man is having an intense panic attack. Claustrophobia. Pity. His quiet crying and gasping for air lull the children to fitful sleep in the dank humidity.
Four light go out. One remains on in the dark.
"NO!"
Everyone is awake in a moment. The children are screaming and crying. And there is no light in the dark. |
|
[WP] The enemy force is breaking down the gates to the city. You're left with a small squad inside the walls, and must hold out until reinforcements arrive. | The young soldiers looked at me.
“He’s a legend. Let him be.”
Weak and pale, and old and frail,
I do not resemble much.
But OH! I wear the armor!
Navy blue, and polished true,
I still wear the armor.
“Old man, tell us your tale.”
Young and brave, and strong of arm,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Endless hordes; an army vast.
Barbarians at our gates.
Navy blue and polished true,
Twelve hundred stood before them.
Bow and arrow; axe and sword,
marched onward, the endless horde.
“Do not flinch! Do not falter!”
Twelve hundred stood before them.
With sunset, the gates came down.
All night, the battle raged.
Steel and blood, till rising sun
navy blue, died one by one.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred, save one, were dead.
But thousands more, no colors wore,
for navy blue, the battle won.
Navy blue, and polished true,
twelve hundred stood before them. | It’s called shellshock. It’s that point when after all the explosions, the fighting and the death you find yourself in that line between sanity and insanity. For me it was the point where I looked around and saw everyone dead; dismembered, crying, screaming and whimpering, all praying for someone to help.
I stumble around and then feel a rude tug at my ankles, it is Arthur. He’s missing his legs. “Captain”, he croaks; he talks some more but I can’t pay attention, perhaps he gave me a message to his wife or to his mom, I really can't make it out. I do remember one thing; I’m supposed to be in charge of this cemetery that used to be my division.
I scream with my loudest command voice; the one that they teach you to use in order to make people listen, “To the gate! We need to go back to the gate!” I take care not to mention retreat; the King’s holy army “never” retreats. I make way back to the gate hoping that anyone whose left has heard the order. I make haste as the sound of the enemy’s drums approaches; they're closing in for the kill.
I reach the gate to the Goxhill keep; it’s a thick wooden gate with iron bars that wouldn't last long under siege. This entire village was deemed of “low strategic importance” by the generals, but even in these rural villages a small holding force is assigned to stop peasant revolts and keep men flowing into the army. Recently, the enemy has begun attacking these villages, aiming to terrify the populace into submission. From the looks of it, he’s succeeding.
I go inside and push the gates shut, taking care to secure it with some iron bars. It’s the captain’s responsibility to ultimately man the gates and I sure as hell won't give up my life for some green troops. I look at the men who made it in time. Nine, only nine fucking sons of bitches, so green I could plant them in my orchard. Nine isn't enough to make a line. Nine, out of one hundred goddamn men, some captain I must be. The disappointment in my face is quickly picked up by the troops. I try to put on a brave face but I can’t. I have no more courage to give, I am doomed and so are they. The best we can manage is staving off the inevitable.
“Start reinforcing this god damn gate, I want it shut tighter than my wife’s chastity belt”, I order, using the good ol’ command force. The men scurry like rats getting everything they can to block the reliably useless gate. “I want whoever is next in command to tell me what’s the status on reinforcements and the village people.”
A sergeant limps towards me and starts speaking in a raspy voice quivering with fear, “We sent Arthur and Stevenson to alert command in Manchester 2 hours ago, they should be there by now.” I decide against telling him that Arthur is outside, missing his lower body, “The women and children are in the cathedral, maybe the enemy will allow them to claim sanctuary.” I decide against telling him that no one, not even the “holy” army, abides the laws of sanctuary.
The remaining men manage to put up a respectable barricade and then get into formation. Then silence, the sounds of the ever present drums ceases. They’re here. Thud … Thud … Thud … “Block the gates, we can’t let them breach.” I place all my weight against the gate hoping it will hold out against the battering rams. With each thud, I see the dust shaken off the ancient oak door. With each thud, I hear the metal hinges creak. With each thud, I feel the spirits of my men failing.
We hold on desperately, each man placing his full weight against the door and finally they see the beginning of the end. A seam zigzags through the wood, showing a crack that will only get wider. I was on the other side once, the one doing the ramming, anyone trying to hold that gate after the crack will be massacred. The thudding stops, the men look around. They all knew were had; did they give up? Did reinforcements arrive? I start crying, we were saved! A private suddenly yells, only understanding the implication of his words as he says them, “Get back, it’s a goddamn bomb!”
I run. This is how they always fight; they discovered gunpowder and used it to make bombs. The men make a line and begin the count, *three … two … one... *
An explosion rocks the keeps foundations, turning our hasty barricade into shrapnel. Through the smoke, fire and brimstone emerges the first squad of enemy warriors. They just like us, men turned enemy on the donning of a symbol we don’t like. They charge and smash into us. Time stops in that sacred moment where steel clashes steel, flesh clashes flesh and will clashes will. We keep formation, repelling the first assailants but five of us are already down, leaving gaps so wide you can drive a cart through.
The second wave comes rushing in. This time we don't fare as well. We meet them but our line breaks almost instantly, all the remaining men are killed or wounded. I run, leaving my men to die but suddenly find a spear drive through my thigh. I scream in agony, trying to gain as much distance from the enemy as possible. They slow down, relishing my pain and fear, hungry wolves that finally corner their prey.
I hear a stampede in the distance. It’s the cavalry, the made it, Stevenson made it! They rush the swords as they are about to finish me off. The enemy’s line starts to break; they didn't anticipate horsemen in this village. I watch as they are picked off one by one. A view of heaven from the bowels of hell.
|
|
[WP] You live in a world where human is no longer the dominant spiecies. We are ruled by some creatures we created in labs years ago. Describe your everyday life. | This will be my last journal entry. I know this because the creatures that rule us . . . the ones I created . . . are finally done exterminating human life.
I knew they wanted me to watch as my family, friends, and everyone else were made into slaves to fulfill their ungodly deeds. Every day they would make the men build huge monuments depicting the creatures in horrifying ways. One that stood out from the rest was the one that was dedicated to my daughter.
One of the creatures (later to be called The Malo, which is Latin for The Evil) was standing above my daughter with a look of triumph on its face as he held her mangled head up to inspect. Her body lay crumpled on the ground, bones in places no human could bend to, her thoracic cavity torn open showing what was left of her internal organs. The day I saw this, I almost killed myself. Not from the sight but from what was inscribed underneath it . . . fuit ultimum. Tu es enim post medicum. She Was Last. You Are Next Doctor.
This was two days ago. Yesterday I could hear the screams from above my lab as the Malo killed everyone. Young children crying as they were ripped apart, brave men trying to stand up to them only to be rendered a topless pair of legs, women begging them to have mercy only to have her head torn from her neck. The worst was all of the screams were in anger. Anger toward me.
I did not sleep last night. As I sit here typing, I hear the Malo coming down the hallway. I will not kill myself. I will stand toward my abominations and accept fate.
I love you Amber, my sweet and innocent daughter. | We never see them coming. The Longfaces. Seems like every other food run we send out doesn't come back. The next group brings back the bodies, and we bury them. That is, if we already have enough food to eat. Now and then there will be arguments over who gets to go out on runs, over who gets the chance to die that day.
Only a handful of us have ever seen them. They watch us from the shadows. That's the only time their tails will sit still, when they're waiting. And when they're ready, they move. Silently, despite their bulky physique. Some of them have lost their gas masks, which gives them full use of their tusks. Not sure if they're tusks, though. They might be pincers, instead. I guess I'll find out today.
I don't recognize New York anymore. The sky is filled with smoke and chemicals. All the crap they exhale gets stuck in the air, it seems. Grand Central Station got overrun last month. It was a trader outpost, well defended. No one's had the courage to scout it for survivors yet. Not that there would be any. The Longfaces have an exceptional sense of smell.
We built them that way. Deadly, intuitive, superior. Constructed a super predator to fight battles we never could. I don't think anyone knows how it started. Maybe one of them broke the psychological conditioning, and thought for itself. Taught the rest to do the same. Maybe.
The sky is getting dark, and the rest are all gone. I'm all that's left. I saw one of them pounce Nick, saw that thick purple tongue wrap itself around his neck and break it. I'm not sure what happened to the rest. I'm alone. Home couldn't be farther away, even though we only walked a block before they ambushed us.
I hear it, now. The coughing and sputtering noises. Like a broken engine. It's alone. We're having a nice staring contest. I wish it wouldn't take its time. That tongue is disgusting. It's whipping about idly, and barely fits through the space where the filter on its gas mask once was.
I can only hope I' |
|
[WP] You live in a world where human is no longer the dominant spiecies. We are ruled by some creatures we created in labs years ago. Describe your everyday life. | This will be my last journal entry. I know this because the creatures that rule us . . . the ones I created . . . are finally done exterminating human life.
I knew they wanted me to watch as my family, friends, and everyone else were made into slaves to fulfill their ungodly deeds. Every day they would make the men build huge monuments depicting the creatures in horrifying ways. One that stood out from the rest was the one that was dedicated to my daughter.
One of the creatures (later to be called The Malo, which is Latin for The Evil) was standing above my daughter with a look of triumph on its face as he held her mangled head up to inspect. Her body lay crumpled on the ground, bones in places no human could bend to, her thoracic cavity torn open showing what was left of her internal organs. The day I saw this, I almost killed myself. Not from the sight but from what was inscribed underneath it . . . fuit ultimum. Tu es enim post medicum. She Was Last. You Are Next Doctor.
This was two days ago. Yesterday I could hear the screams from above my lab as the Malo killed everyone. Young children crying as they were ripped apart, brave men trying to stand up to them only to be rendered a topless pair of legs, women begging them to have mercy only to have her head torn from her neck. The worst was all of the screams were in anger. Anger toward me.
I did not sleep last night. As I sit here typing, I hear the Malo coming down the hallway. I will not kill myself. I will stand toward my abominations and accept fate.
I love you Amber, my sweet and innocent daughter. | Who would have thought of Pinky and the Brain as anything other than fictional cartoon characters? Yet here we are, driven to the edge of extinction by our own creation. Part of the problem is that we made far more Brains than Pinkies, which was our intention in the first place.
What could go wrong with genetically enhanced brains in mice?
Now we are the ones living in the sewers, unless we fall into one of the human traps and end up being probed in a lab.
We walk in the dark. We can only take a bath when it pours outside and the mice hide in our former homes, watching TV shows made for mice, and by mice.
At one point a scientist suggested engineering cats in the same fashion, to have an ally in the fight against the mice, but we soon realized the cat overlords would be far worst than even our former selves.
Most cats are gone by now, even their pictures on the Internet are no longer there. Mice keep beetles as pets, much like we did with dogs and cats. There are websites with beetles wearing hats, or Halloween costumes, or… It is just insane.
Breakfast is canned food, and so is lunch, and so is dinner. Agriculture collapsed as soon as there were no longer any men to plow the fields. The mice want fruits and cheese, and grow both in what used to be university and government labs.
The time between meals crawls as we sit in the dark, wanting to read, or to talk, or to sing. The sewers are wired at every corner. Even the slightest noise will trigger the alarm system, and if that happens… We don’t want that to happen, so we stay quiet.
We tattoo our bodies with images of dead mice, trampled under human feet, or boiling by the dozen in a cooking pot, or with their head bitten off by a hungry naked woman. We fantasize about our old world, but we know the end is near. There are only a few places left without human traps, and I would be surprised if there is more than a few hundred of us left.
It has been years since we slept at night.
As it turns out, now that mice are in control, they visit shopping malls, and museums, and sporting events during the day, leaving the night for humans to crawl out of the sewers. We hunt for canned food in the dark, at empty grocery stores that are becoming harder to find with every passing night.
We are starved and sleep deprived, but we keep hope alive with our tattoos and our stories of humans trapped in the labs. We fantasize about two men moving through mazes and spending hours in running wheels during the day, who at night ask each other a simple question:
“What do you want to do tonight?”
“The same thing we do every night. Try to take over the world!”
|
|
[WP] While digging out part of your back yard, you find a corpse... and it looks exactly like you. | It was actually a beautiful day, if you could get over the heat. I took a break from digging to look out across my backyard.
"Sun sets around eight thirty tonight," I checked my watch, "If we hurry, we can get the rest of these dug out before we call it a day."
Rick stopped digging, planted his shovel in the ground, and wiped his forehead. The loose dirt on his hands smeared across his face.
"Jesus, man," he panted, "How did you rope me into this today? It's gotta be a hundred degrees."
“Aw, you pussy,” I chided, getting back to work “The day’s almost over! This is the coolest it’s gonna be.”
“Plus, have you forgotten your reimbursement?" I chuckled, nodding my head toward the cooler, "And there will, of course, be pizza tonight."
"Pizza and beer," Rick grumbled good-naturedly, picking his own shovel back up, "Gonna die out here for pizza and beer.”
“People have died for less than that, my friend.”
“You’re right,” he corrected, “I’m going to die out here before I even *get* my pizza and beer. I am risking my life on nothing but the *promise* of pizza and beer.”
“What?” I feigned offense, “You don’t think I’ll keep up my end of the deal?”
“It’s not a matter of how good your word is, it’s-“
I heard him stop digging.
I glanced towards him.
"Too much for you? We can quit if-"
"Holy shit," a whisper, "I...I think there's something buried here."
Puzzled by his reaction, I stepped out of my hole and walked over to his.
It was a shoe. Rick had exposed the top of it. Gray and white, like mine. There was a tear in the side.
Out through the rip stuck a toe.
***
"Where's Rick?"
I meant to sound intimidating, but it was my first time in an interrogation room.
"He's fine,” it was clearly not the detective's first time, “You understand, we have to question each of you individually. It's protocol to get both of your statements, since you discovered the body."
His answer almost made it seem like this whole thing was just a formality.
The handcuffs were less reassuring.
"Look, Detective…”
I paused, looking at him expectantly.
“Rhodes.”
I’ve found that people respond well to the sound of their own name.
“Look, Detective Rhodes," he smiled faintly, "We were just planting some bushes in my backyard. I have no idea how-"
Rhodes held up his hand.
"Sir, this will be much easier if you just answer my questions.”
I nodded my head earnestly, decided to give up on trying to be intimidating. Not really my strong suit.
Rhodes pulled out his notebook.
“Where are you from?"
"Richmond, Virginia."
He didn’t write my answer down.
"Date of birth?"
"March fifth, 1987."
Again, he didn’t write anything. That information would be on my driver's license, I guess, but then why ask the question at all?
"Do you have any siblings?"
I paused. That seemed like a strange leap.
"No, I'm an only child."
A frown. He scribbled something this time.
"Are you sure?"
That caught me off guard.
"Am I-? Yeah, I'm..I'm sure. What does this have to do with-"
"No brothers?"
I cocked my head in confusion, squinting.
"No, I don't have any- Why are you asking?"
Detective Rhodes pursed his lips. Flipped back to some earlier page in his notebook.
"I'll be right back," he stepped out of the room.
I took the opportunity to calm myself down.
"Okay," I whispered to myself, "This is normal. This is exactly what they do for anyone that finds a dead body."
I leaned down wipe my forehead. My handcuffs clanged.
I didn't believe myself.
The door swung open, but instead of Rhodes an older man walked in. Dark suit. Briefcase.
“What happened to Detective Rhodes?”
“It looks like he may not have jurisdiction here.”
“Uh-huh. So are you a detective as well, then?”
I didn’t really understand law enforcement.
“No.”
“So who are you?”
“We’ll get to that.”
He put his briefcase down and reached inside.
“Do you have a twin brother?”
I was starting to get frustrated.
“Like I told Detective Rhodes-“
He slid a photo onto the table in front of me.
“Do you have a twin brother?”
I stared. It was a crime scene photo. The body pictured was discolored. Ragged chunks of flesh were missing from its arms. Its face had clearly been beaten, though not beyond recognition.
“Please answer the question.”
My mouth was suddenly too dry to answer. I shook my head without taking my eyes off the picture.
“Do you recognize the person in that photo?”
I snapped my head to look at him, shock being quickly replaced by suspicion. I gaped for a second.
“Is this a joke?”
“Do you recognize the person-“
“Of course I fucking do!” I exploded, confused by my own rage, “It looks like me!”
Exactly like me. My face. My hair. It even had my clothes.
“What, did you Photoshop a goddamn crime scene photo?”
He seemed unfazed by my outrage.
“The DNA test was a ninety nine point nine percent match.”
He said it accusingly, as if somehow that was my fault. Strangely, realizing that I was once again on the hot seat calmed me down a little.
“I don’t… I’m not sure what you want me to say,” inside my jumbled thoughts, something clicked, “Wait, when did I give a blood sample?”
He seemed ready to respond, then glanced at my handcuffs. Hesitated. Pulled a plastic baggie from his briefcase.
“Before we get into all that,” his voice had softened somewhat, “This was found on the body.”
He handed me the evidence bag. There was a watch inside.
“My…”
I flipped the bag over. This watch had my initials inscribed on the back. An exact duplicate of the one currently on my wrist.
I turned it back around.
No. Not an *exact* duplicate.
Mine read today’s date, June sixth. The one in the bag read June twenty-fourth. | Hot sun, sweat on my back, blisters on my palms. Middle of summer and here I am digging a hole. This all would have been fine if he didn’t find out, but he had to take a second look. They always take a second look, they always question if a mirror is there, or if they finally found their doppelganger, and they drop everything to chase us down. Only it never ends well.
“Honey?” I heard his wife — my wife — call from the house.
“Yes, dear?” I stab the shovel into the ground and wipe my face off before looking back at her, neck deep in my hole.
She furrows her brow, likely trying to figure out what seems off about me, people tend to do a good job at pointing out Replacements, but rarely act on it. They assume it’s nothing and move on. “What are you doing?
“Diggin’ a hole to hell so I can feed the demons of my past. You?”
“Oh, as long as it’s nothing bad. I was just checking. Do you want some water or lunch?” She seems to visibly relax, thinking that only her husband could come up with such a saying on the fly.
I grab the shovel and make a show of flexing, “Please, I’m a man! I don’t need food or water!”
I hear her giggle as I turn around and get back to work.
After my hole is done, I climb out and go to his — my — car and pop the trunk. I grab the bag of mulch and a bag of flower seeds and lug them back to the hole. Coming back to the car, I take out the stuffed duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder before closing the trunk. The bag is heavy and kind of awkwardly bulky, but I manage to get it back to the yard. I glance through the open windows of the house and see my wife cleaning dishes, with her back to the yard.
I set the bag down and open it a bit so I can peek inside and look upon a face that mirrors my own, from the tanned skin to the birth mark on the left eyebrow. I whisper to my cold counterpart, “All you had to do was look away.” before I zip up the bag and roll it into the hole. It hits the bottom with a thud and I reach down and take the shovel out. “Welp, too late now. I should really be thanking you, if you didn’t I wouldn’t have much of a reason to exist, now would I?” I say quietly as I fill the hole back up.
“What is this?” My wife says, not quite understanding the fruit of my labor.
I mock shock, “It’s a flower bed! You’re always saying you wanted to learn to garden.”
“Oh, oh!” She seems to finally catch on. “That’s great! Alright, I’ll get started right away!”
Handing her the flower seeds I say, “Good, now I’ll go take a nap.”
“I’ll wake you for dinner.” She’s already digging into the dirt. |
|
[WP] While digging out part of your back yard, you find a corpse... and it looks exactly like you. | It was actually a beautiful day, if you could get over the heat. I took a break from digging to look out across my backyard.
"Sun sets around eight thirty tonight," I checked my watch, "If we hurry, we can get the rest of these dug out before we call it a day."
Rick stopped digging, planted his shovel in the ground, and wiped his forehead. The loose dirt on his hands smeared across his face.
"Jesus, man," he panted, "How did you rope me into this today? It's gotta be a hundred degrees."
“Aw, you pussy,” I chided, getting back to work “The day’s almost over! This is the coolest it’s gonna be.”
“Plus, have you forgotten your reimbursement?" I chuckled, nodding my head toward the cooler, "And there will, of course, be pizza tonight."
"Pizza and beer," Rick grumbled good-naturedly, picking his own shovel back up, "Gonna die out here for pizza and beer.”
“People have died for less than that, my friend.”
“You’re right,” he corrected, “I’m going to die out here before I even *get* my pizza and beer. I am risking my life on nothing but the *promise* of pizza and beer.”
“What?” I feigned offense, “You don’t think I’ll keep up my end of the deal?”
“It’s not a matter of how good your word is, it’s-“
I heard him stop digging.
I glanced towards him.
"Too much for you? We can quit if-"
"Holy shit," a whisper, "I...I think there's something buried here."
Puzzled by his reaction, I stepped out of my hole and walked over to his.
It was a shoe. Rick had exposed the top of it. Gray and white, like mine. There was a tear in the side.
Out through the rip stuck a toe.
***
"Where's Rick?"
I meant to sound intimidating, but it was my first time in an interrogation room.
"He's fine,” it was clearly not the detective's first time, “You understand, we have to question each of you individually. It's protocol to get both of your statements, since you discovered the body."
His answer almost made it seem like this whole thing was just a formality.
The handcuffs were less reassuring.
"Look, Detective…”
I paused, looking at him expectantly.
“Rhodes.”
I’ve found that people respond well to the sound of their own name.
“Look, Detective Rhodes," he smiled faintly, "We were just planting some bushes in my backyard. I have no idea how-"
Rhodes held up his hand.
"Sir, this will be much easier if you just answer my questions.”
I nodded my head earnestly, decided to give up on trying to be intimidating. Not really my strong suit.
Rhodes pulled out his notebook.
“Where are you from?"
"Richmond, Virginia."
He didn’t write my answer down.
"Date of birth?"
"March fifth, 1987."
Again, he didn’t write anything. That information would be on my driver's license, I guess, but then why ask the question at all?
"Do you have any siblings?"
I paused. That seemed like a strange leap.
"No, I'm an only child."
A frown. He scribbled something this time.
"Are you sure?"
That caught me off guard.
"Am I-? Yeah, I'm..I'm sure. What does this have to do with-"
"No brothers?"
I cocked my head in confusion, squinting.
"No, I don't have any- Why are you asking?"
Detective Rhodes pursed his lips. Flipped back to some earlier page in his notebook.
"I'll be right back," he stepped out of the room.
I took the opportunity to calm myself down.
"Okay," I whispered to myself, "This is normal. This is exactly what they do for anyone that finds a dead body."
I leaned down wipe my forehead. My handcuffs clanged.
I didn't believe myself.
The door swung open, but instead of Rhodes an older man walked in. Dark suit. Briefcase.
“What happened to Detective Rhodes?”
“It looks like he may not have jurisdiction here.”
“Uh-huh. So are you a detective as well, then?”
I didn’t really understand law enforcement.
“No.”
“So who are you?”
“We’ll get to that.”
He put his briefcase down and reached inside.
“Do you have a twin brother?”
I was starting to get frustrated.
“Like I told Detective Rhodes-“
He slid a photo onto the table in front of me.
“Do you have a twin brother?”
I stared. It was a crime scene photo. The body pictured was discolored. Ragged chunks of flesh were missing from its arms. Its face had clearly been beaten, though not beyond recognition.
“Please answer the question.”
My mouth was suddenly too dry to answer. I shook my head without taking my eyes off the picture.
“Do you recognize the person in that photo?”
I snapped my head to look at him, shock being quickly replaced by suspicion. I gaped for a second.
“Is this a joke?”
“Do you recognize the person-“
“Of course I fucking do!” I exploded, confused by my own rage, “It looks like me!”
Exactly like me. My face. My hair. It even had my clothes.
“What, did you Photoshop a goddamn crime scene photo?”
He seemed unfazed by my outrage.
“The DNA test was a ninety nine point nine percent match.”
He said it accusingly, as if somehow that was my fault. Strangely, realizing that I was once again on the hot seat calmed me down a little.
“I don’t… I’m not sure what you want me to say,” inside my jumbled thoughts, something clicked, “Wait, when did I give a blood sample?”
He seemed ready to respond, then glanced at my handcuffs. Hesitated. Pulled a plastic baggie from his briefcase.
“Before we get into all that,” his voice had softened somewhat, “This was found on the body.”
He handed me the evidence bag. There was a watch inside.
“My…”
I flipped the bag over. This watch had my initials inscribed on the back. An exact duplicate of the one currently on my wrist.
I turned it back around.
No. Not an *exact* duplicate.
Mine read today’s date, June sixth. The one in the bag read June twenty-fourth. | Paul drove the shovel into the dirt again, tossing the earth over his shoulder into the hot day.
*So stupid*, he thought. *How could I have done something so stupid?*
He shook his head in frustration, grumbling. Suddenly the shovel impacted the ground with a merciful *thump*.
*Finally.*
He used the shovel blade to remove the excess dirt around the object, then got on his knees, clearing the rest with his hands to reveal a face. *His* face.
It was a shocking enough image to make him pause. His own face, pale and cold and very recently dead staring up at him with empty eyes. A jagged crimson line ran across the neck. It was clean yet visceral job, done by a hand equally practiced and unhinged. The blade of the weapon had teeth, the skin around the wound torn and frayed. Yet the line was straight and mechanical, a powerful machine used delicately, carefully drawn across the neck so as to not decapitate entirely. It was most likely more painful than it looked.
Paul looked at the head, running a gloved hand lightly across the wound, staring into the glassy eyes of the victim. His hand slowly reached behind the head, digging into the ground, probing. Around the head, down the neck, between the torso and the arms, under his legs-
*Aha.* Paul couldn't help but smile. He withdrew his hand, and, stepping out of the hole, opened his fingers in the fading sunlight.
His keys. They jangled as he shook the dirt free and stuffed them in his pocket. He looked down at his own lifeless face looking up at him jealously from the grave.
"Thanks for grabbing these, bro! I thought I lost 'em!" he laughed. He had almost panicked, too.
He picked up the shovel and tossed it in the corner by the shed, where it clattered between an old rake and a used , dirty chainsaw.
Paul shielded his eyes from the setting sun. Night was approaching, and there was much work to do. He looked out at the two dozen dug up holes alongside his brother's.
As he stepped over the rotting corpses, he called out, "Relax, Mom, I'll cover you and all you guys up again when I get back! But first, I'm gonna get you some more company!"
When there was no response, he yelled, "And don't worry Dad, I'll remember to put your tools away when I'm done with them!"
Whistling, he grabbed the chainsaw, and skipped gleefully to his truck. |
|
[WP] Your entire life, you have been told you suffer from schizophrenia. One day, you realize you're telepathic. | "How long have you been schizoprenic?"
You turn around to answer your friend, "My whole life."
"What?.. I didn't say anything. Anyway, how long have you- woah..." | A little over two grams of pressed nonsense is all it took for the grey to clear. The time has come to invoke this curse and phase all fear.
Jacket on, headphones in. White noise reduces the voices to mere whispers, like rainfall on a sunny day. I know what's out there now. I know what needs to be done.
The nice man next door follows a routine pattern in attempts to mask his evil within. The evil that can only be heard through privileged individuals such as myself. Garden work in the evening followed by a graceful walk with his holy golden retriever. Crossing his yard yields a pair of dazing eyes, along with a vicious transparent smile only my ears can see.
"Howdy, neighbor!" He grins with a sinful undertone of hate as his dog makes it's way out the door haphazardly. Both radiate happiness, yet one feigns it. I pretend not to hear his actual words and give him a fond wave of approval as I walk by to defuse the confrontation. Embracing the old led to quite the event.
"Saturday's alright (alright) for killing. Saturday's alright, alright."
Looks like we have a winner, and who would've known I'd be free on such a relaxing day of the week? As I rounded the street, another golden ticket was intercepted...
"Susie and the kids, Saturday. The kids without Susie, Sunday."
Absolute nutcase, check. I can only assume such a dedicated trade comes with an addictive and persistent train of thought. Luckily for Susie, all the pieces have fallen into place for me this past week, and me and the man have a nice night planned for Friday. Sorry, Sparky.
Casually finishing the walk was a breeze with the volume maxed and the sun setting in timely fashion. The countdown to judgement day began as I locked my front door.
Five turns and the silencer's locked in place. Under my pillow it discovers a newfound grace. These walls keep me sane at night, but the upcoming event has me shivering at night. Keep it together, old man, and don't mind what the media has to say, for the higher powers will always remember this day. |
|
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | "Captain Jonathon Gills from the United Earth Federation Spaceship Challenger requesting permission to come aboard, Sir"
The airlock hissed at the far end and the door swung outward. Gills crossed the lock and stood before the open door.
"Permission granted, Captain, welcome aboard the Endeavor".
A man in full dress uniform from the 21st century stood before him and extended a hand. Gills grasped it and shook.
"I'm Captain Standish Willingsly. Come, we've put on a feast in your honor!" and the man led Gills and the boarding crew down a hallway to a large mess hall. The mess was full of people of every age, race and color.
"Make way, make way" shouted Willingsly "our guests have finally arrived."
"Captain Willingsly" Gills began.
"Just Willingsly will do. The uniform is just for today, otherwise we're quite informal".
"Willingsly then," Gills went on "you seem to have been expecting us".
"Quite so. I think it was Lars V, or maybe VI that surmised you would develop faster than light travel approximately 300 years after we launched. It's been about that, give or take a decade, and here you are, right on time. Sit down, we have quite the meal coming".
Gills sat, Willingsly continued.
"Franklin VI has ginned up some barbecue in your honor. Lab grown, of course, but really quite good. If you don't mind, complement him on his smoke ring. Took him the better part of 5 years to get it right".
The plate arrived and it did look rather amazing.
"Nice smoke ring" Gill said to the man serving him.
"Really? You noticed? So, you've had good Q before then? North Carolina is what I'm shooting for, oak and pecan smoke with a hint of vinegar. Then I take..." he was cut off by Willingsly.
"Franklin VI, I think our friends have a bit more to wonder about than your ribs. I think that sometimes we tend toward the obsessive. Time and solitude have a way of focusing ones actions."
"You called him Franklin VI, why?" Gills asked.
"Ah. We tend to reuse names, it helps with the bookkeeping. So Franklin VI is the sixth Franklin Emerson George since launch. His father, Franklin V is down tending the engines or I would introduce you."
A pack of children ran by, saw Gills and stopped. They stared at him for a moment until one boy, obviously the bravest in the group, touched Gills' arm. The boy drew his hand back, shrieked and ran away with the others. Gills laughed.
"Kids are always the same" Gills said.
"They'll be leaving soon. I'm afraid I'll miss them."
"Leaving?"
"Colonists. We charted our original course to bring us as close to as many Earth-like planets as possible. We're coming up on one next year. The passing coincides with a small population boom so those children, their parents and some grandparents will colonize the planet."
"How did you get a surplus? Didn't you balance the birth to death ratio to keep the group sustainable?" Gill asked.
"We certainly planned it that way, but nature has a funny way of thwarting the best laid plans. Back in Generation Two, the women led a small uprising, demanded "choice" and control over their own reproduction organs. We gave in and shortly thereafter we had our first baby-boom. Now, about every 20 years we have another. Rather than try to up the death rate, we decided that colonization would be a bit more humane. The sad part is that once we leave them we never really know what happens. We don't have the ability to easily go back and check. Perhaps that's something you could do for us? With your warp drives?" Willingsly eyes grew wide in hope.
"I think that could be arranged" Gills said and Willingsly smiled.
"Captain, Willingsly" Gills asked "your ship lost contact with Earth after 50 years. What happened?"
Willingsly smiled. "Have you had the papaya? We figured out how to combo them just last month."
A band started playing and members of Gills' crew got up to dance with the Endeavor women. Willingsly started clapping his hands and singing along.
"Wonderful Jane IV!" he shouted "just like your mother!" Jane IV was playing keyboards and let loose a run down the keys.
"Captain Willingsly" Gills raised his voice above the music "I've noticed that everyone here has a number except you. What generation are you, exactly?"
Willingsly didn't turn to face Gills but shouted over his shoulder "Why I'm Gen One."
Gills' eyes went wide.
"Willingsly, that's impossible, that's" Gills stuttered.
"50 years after leaving everything changed" Willingsly hollered.
"How?"
Willingsly turned to Gills, a smiled broadened over his face.
"We made Contact!"
| **Captains log:**
After several successful tests of our warp drive engines, we have begun our primary mission and have quickly reached and explored all possible logical courses for our generational ship, the Pioneer, without success. We, of course, have been broadcasting in all available frequencies and have located something that might be a distress beacon far from the paths laid out by our on-board scientists. We will be approaching the location of the beacon within the hour.
...
We have approached the source of the beacon, many light years from Earth, and have found a previously uncharted solar system. There appears to be an M class planet on the outer edges of the solar system, given that the star in this system is of much greater diameter and strength of our own. According to our scans, the Pioneer had not made it that planet but is in fact orbiting a planet on the inner edge of the star, close to where our own Earth would be located. Given the limited sensor capabilities of the spaceship, it is not surprising that they would assume a habitable planet would be at a similar distance as ours. We will soon be arriving at their location within minutes and I must report to the bridge.
...
Initial scans of the ship have shown approximately double the original lifesigns of the ship that left Earth. The structural integrity of the ship has been withstanding the intense heat and radiation of the local star, but prolonged exposure might prove hazardous to the crew of the vessel. Scans of the vessel show that their main propulsion is offline along with many vital subsystems, including communications. The Pioneer is currently in orbit of the planet, which upon further scans shows to be made of a possible material that could be converted to fuel if not for the atmospheric conditions making extraction difficult. According to sensors, all shuttles are unaccounted for, more than likely meaning there were many failed attempts to gather resources. As of yet we are unable to establish communications with the ship, leaving us only with speculation and scans. Several shuttles are being prepared as we speak to board the Pioneer and meet with members of the crew.
...
Initial reports are beginning to come in from the Pioneer. Immediately after first contact was made, hostilities began. The ship was apparently caught unaware of our arrival and our boarding crews were treated as invaders. Our crews wearing the current standard issue isolation suits, much upgraded and, I'm sure, seemed very foreign to what they were used to when they first left our world. Reports coming in are stating that the crew of the ship acted most savagely, but fortunately no injuries were sustained from either crew. There appears to be no semblance of rank as we know it. They have a sort of hierarchy which seems to be based on age and skills. As main computers are offline they have no way to gauge how long they have been in orbit of this planet but it seems to be a great amount of time. All older personnel were unable to adapt to the heat and radiation, dying off, leaving younger people to run the ship as they see fit. Some have learned some basics of running the ship, but most seem more concerned with obtaining status and power. Mating and reproduction seems to be of a high priority, as the number of people in the ship have gone well beyond what the hydroponics bays can produce. Most people seem malnourished, especially those assigned to menial tasks and general maintenance, leading to further decay of ship systems. With medical systems offline, they were unable to manufacture basic vaccines and antibiotics, leaving many in critical condition from minor injuries and illnesses. Away teams are currently focusing on triaging and transporting the patients back to our ship for medical care. As soon as they are safely on board, we send our engineers to begin to assess the damage to the Pioneer.
...
Our engineers have been very successful in reestablishing many vital systems to the Pioneer, but unfortunately have been unable to reactivate the engine systems. Their primary engines have been modified and run on make shift fuels found along their journey for so long that they are unable to process the replacement fuels we have brought with us without completely dismantling the reactor and reassembling it. Without the original crew who made these modifications they will, unfortunately take much too long. By the time my engineers predict that they will reconstruct the reactors to original specifications, the ship will have descended too far into the planets atmosphere to be able to fly out again. Due to this i have decided to evacuate all personnel my ship, much exceeding our own capacity, to return them all to Earth. Initial downloads are beginning to come in from the Pioneer computers, providing valuable information regarding the ship after losing contact with Earth. I must review this information and transmit back to base.
...
The information coming from the Pioneer is startling. Apparently there was much hidden from official communications back to base. There was much dissent from the crew who thought that there was no hope in the mission, no progress being made in exploration or scientific discoveries and many that wanted the ship to return back to their respective homelands. Within months, unforeseen malfunctions and failures were becoming a occurrence with ship systems, worsening once leaving the confines of the solar system, requiring frequent maintenance and in some cases, complete rebuilds from any spare components in storage. Unfortunately, the ship systems were the least of their worries. The ships rank system was lax from the beginning, seeing as they were so far away from home. This resulted in many people quickly fighting for position and for rank, attempting to one up each other to obtain a higher status for themselves. With no member of the crew being paid an actual income, rewards for success began with recognition from their peers and some small rewards from the mess hall. Over time these turned into primary missions for survival for many of the crew, especially when they started to equal then surpass their food supplies from the hydroponics bay. There are many records in the ships computer of deaths from accidents and suspicious circumstances. Security personnel at first attempted to investigate and solve deaths of suspicious circumstance but were poorly equipped and were faced with public discrimination by the crew. The Captain was of course had final decision in all punishments of the crew, but this led to further dissidence as friends and family felt that punishments were too hard or too severe for nothing but circumstantial evidence. Security eventually turned from shipwide police to individual protection for those in power and able to provide benefits to those around them, originally starting with the captain, then going to who ever else might be in power. Lawlessness and the fight for power only increased from there. Reports are currently coming in that the crew of the Pioneer are acting very negatively to my order of evacuation, must report to the bridge.
...
Reports coming in are disastrous. The crew of the Pioneer have begun forcibly removing my crew from their ship, refusing to leave their dying home. My chief engineer has been seriously injured along with several others. As bad as conditions are in their ship, the leaders of this ship refuse to accept someone elses authority or leave their home. Several of the ships own engineers are asking for transport off the ship but are being held captive by the crew. Shuttles are returning now and luckily we were able to retrieve all our own crew from their vessel. They are insisting they will able to figure out their own situation and refuse to believe there is no alternative but to abandon ship.
...
I have been in communication with the people on their ship with their newly repaired comm systems. I speak to someone different every time and have no been able to communicate how imperative it is we save them from their sinking ship, but to no avail. At last communication they said they are close to repairing their damaged engines, and currently are no longer answering our hails. As we have no ability to tow a ship of their size out of the gravity well we have no alternative but to wait and see if they will allow us to help them escape their situation.
...
They have just entered the planets atmosphere. Still no answer to our hails or pleads to allow us to help them, though my engineers assure me their communications systems are still functioning. We were forced to watch them enter atmosphere and burn and melt and break apart upon entry to the planet. It is a sad day for our crew to not complete our mission. We take some solace that we were able to save some small amount of their crew to our medical bays where we were able to treat them and, according to my Chief Medical Officer, were able to save every one. Our prayers are with the misguided crew of the Pioneer, and will now be sending my log to base.
**End of Transmission**
*Hope everybody enjoyed it, this is my first submission, and its very late, so don't have time to run back and double check my writing. I think this might be how it might turn out based on pure human nature, but who knows right? I can only hope our first ship will fair better.* |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | "Garett, you ready?"
I lift my rifle into position and shoot a nod at my partner, Brady. As we wait, I can feel the butt of the gun digging into the fold of my arm and the cold riggedness of the handle resting in the palm of my hand. A bead of sweat runs the length my brow and down the side of my face, almost as if it were racing against the speed of my beating heart. With my left hand I close my grip around the handle of the door and almost immediately I recoil in pain.
"Too hot?" he laughs.
"No—," I say looking him straight in the eyes, "too cold."
His laughing suddenly stops. I tighten my grip on my rifle as I watch my partner confirm what I already know. It's frozen. But to what extent I wonder. Was it just the room behind the door? The entire lower level? The entire ship? Before I can finish my thoughts I'm snapped out of it by the sound the handle shattering into bits.
"Shit."
"Real fucking great, Brady. Real fucking great."
"I didn't even tap it hard!"
"Yeah, I'm sure you gave it a nice little love tap. Did you at least get a little foreplay going?"
I shake my head as I open up my front pocket to grab my torch.
"Here, use this." I say tossing it to Brady.
He latches the torch onto the metal door and presses the button in the center. As the metal rods extend from the outer shell, lasers fire in all directions to measure the height and width of the door. In an instant, the door is ripped off it's hinges and lands at our feet. Brady looks over to me and I to him. I know what he's going to say.
"Are you ready?"
Again my hands are on my rifle while my heart rate begins to increase. And then I recall the debriefing. I remember the lieutenant telling us how this is a special case. He said there was a malfunction on the ship and as a result the scans showed no life on board. I remember how this isn't a search and rescue mission and I suddenly remember the flame thrower attached to my back.
"Yeah."
| PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | I'm in the SAS. I'm scared. They could be dead. Half eaten, odorant skulls. Worse, sick, diseased. They didn't answer our call. I asked Jeff why, as if he knew. He did, or at least guessed correctly. We didn't use the same type of communication. 50 years ago..How customs have changed. We genetically bettered ourselves. What must they look like? Some bunch of monkeys. I'm an idiot. Could have sent the robot. Apparently it was more diplomatic this way. I'm revulsed at the idea of those filthy ignorants. How they must roll in mud. The germs! Letting your own immune system take care if them? Crazy. They must be covered in that disgusting hair. Due to the way were made, we do not have that nuissance anymore but have perfectly slim, hairless bodies. Except for old Jeff; he may have a bald scalp but he's got that hideous mustache. But he's got brains, I'll give him that.
The red light flashes. How primitive. I open the door. I have to use physical effort! Don't they know I could fie of a heart attack?! I bet that's how they all died. I'm terrified. Wish the robot was with me. It's more akin to me than them to me. They don't even have the nanochips! How could they even think properly? I'm a neuroscientist, biologist and expert in robotics. In the amount of time it took me to do that, they might've hoped to become doctors. I guess that't the way they must feel about their own ancestors.
The door swing open with a notable wail. Pitch dark in this goddamn corridor. Done, that's my day; they're dead, probably from some stupid cause. Now or then, death is always so stupid, ridiculous and as unwelcome as a fly.
I hear a noise. Banging. Metal. Screech. I tremble. Dammit fine. How was I supposed to know you couldn't use telepathy on people who don't have the chip? We don't even use their old communication devices anyway.
I turn the lights on. Always the "on/off" switch, eternal. I investigate where I thought the noise came from. A cat. U suppose they brought pets. It looks well fed, for a space cat. Owners can't be very far. Cat leads me to his master. Turns out he's frozen in suspended animation. I forgot they had to go through that inhumane shit. A wave of pity flowed through my body but only an ounce. I kept in mind the cat was probably being fed. A wave of fear made my bones clatter. I opened the pod thingy. The others are already opened. At least it has that clear "End animation" button. I forget the young boy needs to adapt. As he pants, confused, I look at his heap of hair and skin previously burnt by the sun. So close to death. So filthy.
"So cold!" he heaved. Ah. Dialect. Where's the damn robot? Did he really need to bang his metal head? We said frone, not cold now, comes from frozen. I'll make do. I help the alnost choking boy but put safety gloves first. Filthy animal. Bacteria could survive in those temperatures too. Great.
Doing so sends the cat spining gently as I shoved it. OH GOD I TOUCHED IT. I shrieked in disgusted fear. The boy looked puzzled. I freed him for the cat now. He seems just as confused as the cat, now orbiting and spinning around the doorway. Fucking grizzle, I need to talk to the boy now.
He asked why I shrieked. I explained how filthy hair is. He looked offended. So did the floating cat. I don't care. I asked him for directions. He has no clue. I ask him to move his cat. He refuses. He grabs on to me to get out of the thing he's (quite incredibly) survived in for 50 years. I recoil in horror, then retaliate, sending him towards the feline levitator, pushing them both out of the way. How unclean. I feel dirty, infected. I shiver. I find my own way through. I report to Jeff. He's overjoyed by the boy's existance. History geek. I prefer the lore of robots. The boy inquires. More questions to ignore. I do tell him of the chip..I love it: neoroscience AND robotics. He is upset. Poor, jealous,loser. He talks of acceptance. I give him none. Not that I have compassion to give.
I find them. They're having fun, eating grown food from artificial fields. Vegetables, fruit and meat run wild. They look old but there's chipdren and a pregnant lady. So revulsive. They're warm, happy. the older one, the smiling captain, tries to hug me. I'd rather the cat.
The boy tugs my sleeve. I would've fainted but I think I'm a goner now anyway. He asks me why they didn't wake him. I hate him but this womam was too scared to care.
Was this boy in the freezer? The meat. The only animal I saw was the cat. It was asking for food, not its master. Some guy was eyeing the boy. Me too I realized. I explained to the captain our mission: to bring them back. I realize I gave Jeff's existance away. The captain does not want to leave. Cannibals. Even back then that was seen as stupid. Disease. Primitive. I tell Jeff. We get away, with the cat too for some reason. The boy didn't grasp the situation. They knew the ship better. But not as well as the cat. Air vents. I was wimpering: highways of disease. Shit. Air vents on a ship. Hair on people. Man-eating domesticated cats. I'be seen everything. Why is the boy with me? Some disgusting protective instinct? Maternal? Jeff. Jeff's history. That's why.
The robot! There it is. Quirky ray of my life. He takes the boy. Me and cat are stuck: they caught up with us.
"Jeff, help!" Can't do much, said the voice in my mind.
"I'm sorry, I swear you have a nice mustache!"
See you in hell you miserable prick, Jeff said. The things you think. That nanochip was a bad idea for you.
That was a high offense. I invented it! Not that I need it. Leaving me for dead however, goes against a lot of philosophical principles. He needed it. I callef the robot. He ignored me. Almost forgot why I was studying him. He banged his head.
He was gone. Shit.
I've been flailed and kept alive. Apparently they worship the cat. Purrfect. I'm hysterical. Fuck this. Fuck Jeff, robots are loyal at least. Unfortunately to.him. Which is weird, cause he banged his head. Laws of Asimov. He couldn't disobey and leave me for dead.
They tried to chop my aching arm off. Turns out I'm a robot. Well that explains that. *applause*. Great. Too bad I feel pain. I black out.
The worst is the emotional pain. lf only I'd been nicer to others.
In a firework of wires, my head came off and the blue screen of death of all things came on and I could no longer see. | PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? |
At the height of the Second Spanish Influenza, a hastily outfitted Buran III was launched from Baikonur Cosmodrome. Arbitrarily picked from the top percentile of the remains of the State Gifted and Talented Scheme, it was the last gasp of a dying Motherland. It had tried multiple coups, inhuman research projects and a sudden collapse into civil war, before finding that none of these helped develop a vaccine any faster.
The automated systems on the Buran III beamed its status messages like clockwork. Twice per day, every day. Fifty years after their panicked launch the range grew so extreme the faint transmissions were indistinguishable from cosmic background radiation and were lost in the vast, cold expanses of space.
At Baikonur, the status messages printed themselves out like clockwork, gathering in a pile of yellowing type and copy upon the decaying concrete.
Three hundred years later, a stray metal fragment punctured the hear shields of the *USS San Antonio*, causing a sudden decompression event and spacing all officers in the lower portside torpedo compartment before bulkhead doors automatically deployed. The crippled vessel dropped from near light speed to repair damages and launch a court martial of Chief Navigator Edison, who failed to calculate a safe trajectory and was therefore indirectly responsible for the deaths of fifty-three crew.
All charges were dropped seven hours later, when it was discovered that the fragment which wreaked such havok was in fact a belt buckle.
A string of bodies, mummified husks, dressed in the dried remains of historic United Russian States Navy uniforms were identified, leading far ahead into the A-6513 asteroid belt.
Captain Van Marck ordered the vessel pursue the trail of bodies and space junk. The uniforms disappeared fairly early on, being replaced with simple colonist's clothing. This also disappeared after a longer period, leaving the bodies dumped unclothed. Three weeks into the chase, a much larger cloud of debris and trash was detected by long-range sensors. A manned shuttle was launched from the *San Antonio* to probe the wreckage.
Inside the debris cloud hung a dented and abandoned Mid 21st Century-era early spacefaring vessel, outer compartments vented and lifeless. The shuttle moved in to dock with the unknown craft, attaching its docking seal to the craft's main airlock. The metal crumbled to the touch.
The crewmen forced their way inside, discovering the final stand of the crew of the Buran III. As vital systems failed from age and wear, the increasingly desperate crew resorted to cannibalizing cabins and compartments one by one. Gradually their craft grew smaller and smaller, the remainder of the plague-ridden society forced into the central cabins.
The exercise machinery failed early on, leading to increased levels of wasting through the generations. Drifting immobilized in the deadly asteroid field, even the waste disposal units broke down, leaving the final survivors of the United States of Russia resting ignominiously in their own filth. No more was left than atrophied bags of skin and bone, preserved in the sterile air of their craft.
On the *San Antonio*, the tiny unnoticed hole punched through the core reactor cooling rods by the Russian's stray buckle finally made itself known. The wave of radiation ensuing swept through the ship, incinerating the engine room crew and poisoning command, who succumbed themselves within hours.
The automated reports of the *USS San Antonio* suddenly ceased, the machines in Cape Canaveral falling silent. The building stood quiet and abandoned to the backdrop of the Third Spanish Influenza outbreak reaching its deadly peak. | PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Note: I extended the length of the ships disappearance, and I've added cloning with shorter childhoods to add the element of generations effecting each other on the ship. Also, this is 50% story 50% general outline for my idea. Sorry
It's the year 2325, The Peccatum , a ship sent to populate the stars has been missing for 300 years. Then one day, a new modern exploration vessel called The Nuntius, picks up something on it's radar in Deep Space. They are ordered to investigate. That was the last they ever heard from The Nuntius.
The nearest ship nearby is a research vessel called The Erue, it is ordered to investigate.
After arriving at the last known location of the Nuntius, they are immediately attacked, subdued and boarded by an older ship that resembles the Peccatum.
While captured, the Erue crew learns the following things:
The Peccatum suffered heavy damage from an asteroid shortly after losing contact with Earth 300 years ago.
The ships nuclear reactor was damaged causing huge amounts of radiation to constantly flood the ship.
The crew was left with two choices, jettison the reactor or ramp up the cloning program on board the ship to make up for the all the deaths and shorter lifespans.
The ship had many people to begin with from all walks of life. Scientist, Artists, Businessmen, Religious figures.
The many different groups inside the ship fought over what they should do next.
Due to the ramped up cloning process, the Peccatum hasn't had 3-4 generations living on the ship, they've had 30-40 generations in the same amount of time.
**Got to go to work sorry. I'll flesh out the rest when I'm at work**
here's a quick synopsis of what's left.
The Peccatum, is full of basically two groups now. The ones who were the genetic clones of the scientists, and the ones who came from the religious groups.
Both have been fighting for control of the ship for hundreds of years. Finally, they have agreed upon to turn their crippled ship around and return to Earth. For different reasons of course.
However, the ship is leaking radiation and could blow up at any second. Bringing it into our solar system could endanger the entire system. (probably something with their warp drive)
Plus the constant exposure to Radtiation has made these people sick and they should not be allowed to mingle with the Earth Population.
The captain of the Erue, needs to (A) convince the religious leaders that this is not a crusade to return to "Mecca"
and (B) convince the Science people that returning home to reunite the species bloodline is not in Earth's best interest.
Their only option is to return to their original mission that they were originally on before the accident and on board fighting began.
Can the Captain of the Erue convince these people to do the right thing?
| PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Shiplog - Entry 756
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-six, date is... twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
We zeroed in on a ghost ship a couple of hours ago, no serial number and unknown make. The reactors look powered down and we may not have even seen it if the hull wasn't caked in radioactive residue.
I'm prepping some scrappers to get a closer look and get an eye on the ships name. This isn't like a usual job so I'm hesitant to crack her open until we have full countermeasures in place, we don't want another Sol Cult disaster...
End recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 757
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-seven, date is twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
So the scrappers returned and identified the ship. Stargazer. Never heard of it and the system isn't returning any positives. I'm going to bet that this is some kind of pirate vessel or a bunch of wayward Mormon colonists. Either way, she ought to be brimming with gear. If she's as old as she looks we might even fetch an antique price.
I'm sending some Crackers on a raft to go and peel us an entry before the Tugs get in there and fill up. I want to keep this as quick as possible, there's no telling what the condition of the ship is like and I'd rather not have it melt down with half the lads on board.
end recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 758
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-eight, date is twenty one-fifty six, January seventeenth, Earth Standard Time.
Well we cracked her and Tugged out some goods. Most of it was junk, some of it we dumped. Rotten vitapacks, clothes and rusty materials.
Some of the lads said that there was bio-pods on board, but they were all blackened on the inside. Nobody wanted to open them up and I don't blame them, a few wristwatches isn't worth the stench.
Other than that it was a pretty regular haul. We got some electrics, a few tons of vintage wines and their ship data, which fit on a single thumbdrive!
Looking at their logs now, it seems like they were early colonists, long before the Mormons took off. Their records end at about twenty-seventy five. Nothing before that to suggest any reason for them to stop communicating, I reckon that's when they all died.
*background talking*
Uh huh, alright. Chuck it if it's no good, we need the cargo space.
Well, turns our the electronics are shot, massive electrical damage. Looks like these poor colonists were hit by a flare.
Such is space travel, I guess.
End recording.
--- | PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | "And?" The rest of the bar seemed to lean in closer, expectantly. Li took another drink.
"And it was empty." There was silence for moment, then the tall woman in sitting to his left spoke for the first time since he had started telling his story. "They were dead?"
Li shook his head. "Nope, no dead bodies. Anywhere." He paused for a moment. "I mean anywhere. We didn't even find buried bodies from the first generation of colonists. Ashes, either. There should have been a few casualties from sickness and accidents over the years. It was a big ship and it was bound to happen. Hell, we know some people died in the first 50 years from their reports back to Earth. But we didn't find anything. No human remains at all."
This provoked murmurs. Li stifled a yawn and wondered what time it was. He rarely slept anymore. Sleep disorders were common in Savissivik-Thule but Li suspected too much daylight wasn't his problem.
"So no people and no bodies. Where did they go?" It was the bartender this time. He was the only person in the bar who looked like he had any Inuit blood at all. This was the first time Li could recall seeing him without a smile on his face. He had that effect on people these days.
Li shrugged. "We spent three weeks with the ship as we conducted the initial survey and towed it to dock and we never figured that out. As far as I know we still haven’t. I suppose they could have all gone out airlocks but we never saw any signs of depressurization and there were no signs of struggle, so if they did walk the plank they went willingly.” He fought the urge to yawn again and wondered if he was actually tired enough to sleep that night.
But wasn’t he trying to sleep with the tall woman next time him? Was that why he was telling the story? He couldn’t remember. He forgot a lot of things these days. He hoped it was the lack of sleep. He had heard rumors about other members of his recovery crew developing inexplicable psychological disorders.
He suddenly realized that he didn’t know how long he had been silent. He needed to focus.
“We never figured it out,” he repeated. “All electronic records were wiped clean. There were no official logs, no video footage, no personal entries. Nothing.”
The tall woman spoke again: “You mean on the central computer or-”
“Anywhere. We didn’t find electronic records anywhere. Not in the central computer, not on any personal devices, not anywhere.” Did he interrupt her? Was that rude?
More muttering.
“And not just electronic records either.” He continued. “There was almost nothing written down. No old-fashioned diaries or printouts.”
“What do you mean ‘almost?’?” This was the heavyset-man with wraparound sunglasses at the table farthest from the door. He was sitting with his back to the wall, as he did every time Li saw him at the bar.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Li said as politely as he could. Sunglasses seemed vaguely terrifying and Li didn’t want to have to find a new bar if he pissed off the wrong person. “There were no written or electronic records of what happened before or after they stopped sending back reports.”
“So the computers had been wiped?” The bartender asked.
“Nope, there was no indication that there were ever any records to begin with. No traces of deleted files, no fragments, no breadcrumbs, no traces, no clues.” He was rambling. He needed to focus. “Our I.T. detachment went through everything over a dozen times over and said it was as if nothing had ever been recorded at all.”
“So strange,” the tall woman whispered.
“That wasn’t the strange part. Our social techs and salvage archaeologists decided that there had been ‘a disruptive social event’ at some point.”
Li paused but there was no response this time.
“Apparently at some point the entire population dismantled their personal living quarters and turned most of the ship into an enormous communal space. The closest comparison we could find for the layout they created was the atomic structure of quartz.”
“What? That makes no sense!” Exclaimed the tall woman. Li suddenly remembered that she had mentioned being a geologist.
“No shit,” he said dryly. She looked offended by his tone. Sex was probably off the table.
“I mean it didn’t make sense to us either,” he quickly added. “And there were the other things.”
“Other things?” The bartender was pouring himself a glass of something clear, not even pretending to pay attention to the other customers.
Li briefly considered how much to tell. They already thought he was more than a little crazy and he wasn’t getting laid tonight, he might as well give them something.
“From what we could recover from the hydroponic decks, they got rid of most of their seeds and only grew plants that were cultivated in pre-Colombian Mesoamerica.”
“What?” Almost everybody together that time.
“It was the only common factor we could find. Also they apparently melted down any metal that wasn’t essential to structural integrity and built 1,297 statues that they placed at regular intervals throughout the ship. They somehow managed to turn one of the bulkheads into a metal foundry.”
“Statues of what?” The dark-haired woman sitting with Sunglasses asked, speaking for the first time.
“Oh, of teeth.” Li said, almost as an afterthought.
“Teeth?” She asked.
“Yeah, human teeth. Well, a tooth. Just copied 1,297 times. Ranging from life-sized to about three feet high. They were all over the place, although there was supposedly some order to their placement.”
“Why 1,297?” The tall geologist asked. Li shrugged.
“I dunno. Prime number? There was lots of stuff like that. All the livestock onboard had been killed and there was a room full of their bones lined up next to each other and snaking around the room, going in order from smallest to largest. According to the tests they were all slaughtered or died about the same time.”
They were just staring at him in silence now. | PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | I jolted forward in my seat, and the nausea I'd been coping for with for the duration of the trip instantly subsided. 'Thank the stars,' I thought to myself, 'we are dropping out of FTL.' Taking a deep breath and choking down the acid taste in my mouth, I undid my belt and stood up. My legs had their strength back almost immediately after dropping out, and I felt just like I was back home.
"We're here," the captain announced, sounding no worse for the wear as he removed his headset and stretched his arms upwards. "Spectroscopy hasn't found anything worth our worry, just a few asteroids within the nearest AU, so until we hear otherwise, I suggest we all get some lunch. Even if you're not hungry, mind. Faster-than-light really screws with your appetite until you get your space legs." He was not wrong. But I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I was damned hungry.
"That's all well and good Captain Black," came Dr. Elan's voice, almost cutting off the captain. "But I don't need them looking for space rocks, I need them looking for my ship." She sounded angry.
"And I need my crew keeping us all safe, Doc! We're four jumps past our official course already. And I've agreed to it, which I didn't have to, but I'm not going to just charge ahead like a moron. Even if the insurance would cover it, it'd hardly matter if we all died out here." He sounded angry too. Calming down, he continued. "Don't sweat, we won't be long. Then they can start poking around for your boat."
Francine Elan slumped back in her chair. Normally the doctor was as affable as she was bright, but she was anxious as hell today. Understandable, given the circumstances.
We'd picked it up on TADAR a week ago, and been so stunned that no one was sure if it was real or just wishful thinking. But double and triple and quadruple checking it had settled it: there was no mistake, that was a ship. The question was whether it was some poor bastards who dropped out of FTL at the wrong time and been careening off into the deep ever since or the real deal. The one they launched during the glow.
The comm tone sounded. The Captain hopped back into his seat and snapped his headset back on to his head. "This is the bridge, tell me wha- what? No shit. Repeat please. Well I'll be goddamned. Yep. Yep. I'll let the Doc know."
He turned his seat to face Francine Elan, a famous archaeologist, and the head honcho on this trip. "Good news Doc, pretty sure they found your boat. It's 4.3 million km sunward." Even he was excited, though maybe that was for the bonus he'd negotiated.
"And get this. There's O2 onboard."
Oh. Oh shit.
After that we shot into overdrive. The captain and pilot began manoeuvring closer to the ship and the rest of the crew joined the team in getting ready for EVA. Within a half an hour, we packed into the shuttle and sped off. Within five minutes time, we saw the silhouette of the ship. The comm buoys had long since failed and any name had been scraped off by dust centuries ago, but I was sure of it - this was her.
Getting into the ship was trivial. We'd known that if this was really the ship, the airlocks were bound to be non-functional, so we'd brought a breeching craft along with us for just this purpose. There had been complaints about damaging an archaeological find like this, but in spite of the protests, everyone was more interested in getting inside the ship than they were keeping it in perfect condition.
We popped inside, I did a quick check for dangerous pathogens, and then I reached to open my visor before I thought better of it. The air scanned clean, but it'd been a long, long time, and I told everyone to keep themselves bolted up. We all started down the airlock corridor towards what appeared to be the center module.
Upon arriving at the center module, we discovered that, remarkable, the lights and some of the computer systems were operational. Deciding we'd use this module as a sort of basecamp, Francine devised a plan to cover the ship as efficiently as possible. It wasn't exactly intuitively to explore, and even though we were sure it was safe, we were all still a bit superstitious about a ship older than most cities on Earth. So we split up, and Dr. Elan and I started down one corridor and left the other teams to check out theirs while a few engineers banged away at the ship's log.
At last we came to one of the last module on the corridor we'd started down. It was cavernous, and while the module entrance was lit from the hallway, the room itself was damn near pitch black. Francine started fiddling with a console near the lit doorway, and suddenly the room exploded into light.
Holy sweet starlight, I thought.
My jaw dropped, and I fell backwards onto my ass in shock.
Francine ran over to check on me.
"Are you okay?"
I had no words.
"Answer me. Are you okay? Shit. Shit shit shit."
I was faintly aware of her calling for help into her commlink, but I was still transfixed by what I saw.
"Hey guys. Bill is acting really weird." My suit was shaking back and forth, but I couldn't look away.
"Get here right fucking now. Bill is having some kind of episode," she yelled into her comms.
The second mention of my name made me snap back to attention, and I tried to set her at ease. "No, no. I'm fine. But tell them to come here anyway."
She sighed with relief and hunched over with her hands on her knees. "Oh man, you really fucking scared me there Bill." She spoke into her comms, "false alarm everyone, he's okay. I'm gonna kill him later, but for now he's okay."
Turning to her, too amazed to be sheepish, I spoke. "Yeah, I'm sorry to have worried you." It was barely an apology. "Look it's good you called everyone here anyway. This is... wow..."
The blood was pumped so hard in my head that it hurt, but I made out a voice over the comms. "Hey, if Bill is all right, you gotta come see this section of the ship. It's like... a mausoleum or something. There's gold and platinum all over the place - just the value of the raw materials has got to be enough to have made us break even. Looks like the last of the crew died a looooooooooong time ago. Amazed anything still works on this sucker."
"Fuck the gold. Fuck the bones," I said back, "you have to come here. What I'm looking at is the single most important thing I've ever laid eyes on. There won't be a prize on Earth prestigious enough for us when we get back."
"Well shit, okay then" the voice came back, a little shocked. "We'll be right over." And the comms went silent.
There was silence for a moment, then Dr. Elan spoke. "So... Bill... want to let me in on why this room matters?"
I turned to her and pointed at the mess of tall green stalks in front of me. "That, Fran, is why we're here. That is why you brought a historian on a space voyage. That is going to save the fucking planet. No one alive but us has ever seen it."
"Well what the hell is it?"
"That, Francine," I said "is corn." | PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Day 1 12:23
Mikey matched the spin of the asteroid an hour ago: Why hadn’t we descended to the surface yet? There was something odd about this one. Initial scans indicated an extremely light mass.
“Maybe it’s geode-type,” Carol remarked, “And they’re calling an outfitted crew to mine this one.
“Those are hyper-rare,” I told her. “Besides, you can’t call a team without checking it first. Immense waste of resources,
if you were wrong.”
“If you were wrong,” she replied, and popped a grape into her mouth and crunched down.
I waved her off. “Low density, high rate of spin, hardly any surface craters… seems like an odd combination. This is no geode. Mikey’s not telling us something.”
She shrugged.
17:56
I’d been staring at the asteroid. I was intensely fascinated by it. Something called to me. The coal black, ice crusted surface hid something, and I could see it, like a fog on the edge of my vision. Like something dark hiding in the gloom.
Carol hung up the COM. “We’re descending now.”
“About damn time.”
The ship shuddered when it made contact with the asteroid surface. Touchdown.
We climbed down the ladder to the decon room. Carol bolted the hatch shut and I took her suit off the rack and handed it to her and then retrieved mine and stripped down to my long johns and put it on. I checked the fit of the oxygen connectors and brushed off the silver Mylar sleeves and then finally clasped my helmet on.
I nodded to Carol and she punched the drill rig release and it slid open. The air and water vapor froze white and whistled by me and disappeared into space.
“Dropping drill head.” Carol said and I looked up and saw the drill descend and the ship shuddered when it slammed into the surface. It immediately started churning up the rock and ore.
22:10
“Cut the drill! Cut the drill!” Carol yelled from the surface. I ran over and hit the emergency stop. Looked down at her. She approached the drill. It glowed faintly red on the edges. She knelt on the ground before it. “Come here,” she said and waved me over.
I sighed. “If this is another one of your damn--”
“Shaddup, and look at this,” She said, and removed a sheet of ice that had been loosened by the drill, and revealed a smooth dark surface.
“So?” I asked.
“Look where the drill bit the side. I’d say that’s bronze, or copper.”
“Hm. Yep.”
“This isn’t some organic formation. Look at it.”
“Alright, Alright, I’ll call Mikey.” I got him on the COM. “Mike we have something weird here.” I gave him the details.
“It’s probably crystalline growth. Keep drilling. We need to see what’s inside her.”
“You got it.” I shrugged at Carol and we kept drilling.
Day 2 1:23
“She’s hollow alright.” Carol said. “Kind of weird, that off-gassing, though. Can an asteroid stay airtight that long?”
“What do I care?” I asked. I always got angry when I was nervous. “Just get the light.”
She grabbed a chemical flare and snapped it and it started to glow green. She pitched it down the chasm we’d opened. I walked to the edge and knelt down and looked in. The flare bounced down maybe a few meters and boomeranged in the changing gravities and settled behind some kind of formation.
“I can’t see anything. I’m going in,” I told Carol and she tied me off and I jumped into the hole and gravity flipped when I left the confines of the ship. I crawled onto the surface and waited for my stomach to right itself and then stood.
I was surrounded by thin, frosted things. I studied them. There was something vaguely familiar about the figures they cut in the shadows. I gripped a shoot of one and rubbed it in my gloved hands and exposed a vibrant green color.
They were plants. Why were there plants inside an asteroid? I looked around with my headlamp and saw I was standing in some kind of garden… but now it was overgrown. It was like a godawful antediluvian forest, grown over. I aimed my headlamp at the large obelisk in the center, the one that the flare had rolled behind. The flickering light revealed a massive thing, grey-black and metal, frosted over. It had shiny bug eyes and grotesque arms. It was some kind of farming device. Even from a distance, I could tell it had been a long time since it was operational.
This was a hydroponic farm, I thought. But the people. Oh god, did we kill them? I looked around again. There was nothing. I must have destroyed the power to the lights that fed these plants. That’s all that must have been left, I told myself. Just the plants. I noticed I was breathing rapidly and I tried to check it.
“Carol,” I said, and her reply was imbedded in a mush of static. “Carol. Get Mikey on the COM. You’re not gonna believe this.”
Edited-Run on sentences
| PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | [ *META: the timeline of the prompt has been altered in this reply for the sake of basic realism* ]
CRAFT:
IISC *Sojourner*
DATE:
2253-06-08
LOCATION:
12.5 LY from Sol
OBJECTIVE:
Locate the lost Hyperion, humanity's first interstellar craft, which was launched in 2125 before disappearing in 2175. If possible, determine the cause of the loss of contact.
--- BEGIN REPORT ----
Initial scans extending for several AU along Hyperion's projected trajectory yielded nothing of interest. The search was expanded based on extrapolations of possible course corrections Hyperion could have attempted after losing contact. This route proved successful, and the craft was finally located 12.5 LY from Sol, drifting at 0.1 c and 0.04 LY off-course.
A visual examination of the exterior revealed numerous hull breaches in all (previously) habitable sections of the ship, while the propulsion and fuel modules were undamaged. The entire interior of the craft was in hard vacuum, leaving no chance for survivors. Analysis of the hull breaches by EVA crews suggest they were created by explosions originating inside the Hyperion, although the exact source of these explosions remain undetermined.
An all-sky-survey revealed a diffuse expanding debris cloud extending outward for many AU. Spectrographic analysis of said debris revealed materials consistent with Hyperion's hull, as well as traces of what was once the vessel's internal atmosphere. Onboard computer simulations tasked with "rewinding" the debris cloud put the original explosions somewhere near March 2175, very close to the day Hyperion lost contact with Sol.
Several EVA teams made their way inside Hyperion to explore the (previously) inhabited areas, taking advantage of the fact that Hyperion was still spinning and providing artificial gravity. Unfortunately, their expeditions yielded little: so many hull breaches in so short a time would have created hurricane-like winds inside the vessel, dismantling many of the interior structures and making forensic analysis near-impossible. They did, however, attempt to make their way to the computer cores, only to find them heavily damaged and inoperable.
Cross-referencing this new data with all communications between Hyperion and Sol pre-2175, the Psychology team has theorized a complete societal collapse on board might explain the craft's current condition. Dissent and civil unrest is apparent in Hyperion's final reports, and an all-out mutiny with explosive weapons could in theory have caused the hull breaches and resulting rapid decompression. Destruction of the computer cores may have been part of a plot to cripple the ship's internal communications and security systems so as to make such a mutiny possible. Obviously, whatever group was attempting to gain control of the ship failed.
Further analysis of the remains of Hyperion's computer cores will most likely yield valuable clues as to what led to the societal collapse on board. However, the Sojourner is not equipped for such a task. A dedicated science vessel prepared for extensive EVA operations is recommended. A means to seal Hyperion's numerous hull breaches would also be useful.
--- END REPORT --- | PSA: please review sidebar rules before posting. low effort replies will be removed. non story replies will be removed. please stick to stories and poems in response to OP's idea. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Note: I extended the length of the ships disappearance, and I've added cloning with shorter childhoods to add the element of generations effecting each other on the ship. Also, this is 50% story 50% general outline for my idea. Sorry
It's the year 2325, The Peccatum , a ship sent to populate the stars has been missing for 300 years. Then one day, a new modern exploration vessel called The Nuntius, picks up something on it's radar in Deep Space. They are ordered to investigate. That was the last they ever heard from The Nuntius.
The nearest ship nearby is a research vessel called The Erue, it is ordered to investigate.
After arriving at the last known location of the Nuntius, they are immediately attacked, subdued and boarded by an older ship that resembles the Peccatum.
While captured, the Erue crew learns the following things:
The Peccatum suffered heavy damage from an asteroid shortly after losing contact with Earth 300 years ago.
The ships nuclear reactor was damaged causing huge amounts of radiation to constantly flood the ship.
The crew was left with two choices, jettison the reactor or ramp up the cloning program on board the ship to make up for the all the deaths and shorter lifespans.
The ship had many people to begin with from all walks of life. Scientist, Artists, Businessmen, Religious figures.
The many different groups inside the ship fought over what they should do next.
Due to the ramped up cloning process, the Peccatum hasn't had 3-4 generations living on the ship, they've had 30-40 generations in the same amount of time.
**Got to go to work sorry. I'll flesh out the rest when I'm at work**
here's a quick synopsis of what's left.
The Peccatum, is full of basically two groups now. The ones who were the genetic clones of the scientists, and the ones who came from the religious groups.
Both have been fighting for control of the ship for hundreds of years. Finally, they have agreed upon to turn their crippled ship around and return to Earth. For different reasons of course.
However, the ship is leaking radiation and could blow up at any second. Bringing it into our solar system could endanger the entire system. (probably something with their warp drive)
Plus the constant exposure to Radtiation has made these people sick and they should not be allowed to mingle with the Earth Population.
The captain of the Erue, needs to (A) convince the religious leaders that this is not a crusade to return to "Mecca"
and (B) convince the Science people that returning home to reunite the species bloodline is not in Earth's best interest.
Their only option is to return to their original mission that they were originally on before the accident and on board fighting began.
Can the Captain of the Erue convince these people to do the right thing?
| I'm in the SAS. I'm scared. They could be dead. Half eaten, odorant skulls. Worse, sick, diseased. They didn't answer our call. I asked Jeff why, as if he knew. He did, or at least guessed correctly. We didn't use the same type of communication. 50 years ago..How customs have changed. We genetically bettered ourselves. What must they look like? Some bunch of monkeys. I'm an idiot. Could have sent the robot. Apparently it was more diplomatic this way. I'm revulsed at the idea of those filthy ignorants. How they must roll in mud. The germs! Letting your own immune system take care if them? Crazy. They must be covered in that disgusting hair. Due to the way were made, we do not have that nuissance anymore but have perfectly slim, hairless bodies. Except for old Jeff; he may have a bald scalp but he's got that hideous mustache. But he's got brains, I'll give him that.
The red light flashes. How primitive. I open the door. I have to use physical effort! Don't they know I could fie of a heart attack?! I bet that's how they all died. I'm terrified. Wish the robot was with me. It's more akin to me than them to me. They don't even have the nanochips! How could they even think properly? I'm a neuroscientist, biologist and expert in robotics. In the amount of time it took me to do that, they might've hoped to become doctors. I guess that't the way they must feel about their own ancestors.
The door swing open with a notable wail. Pitch dark in this goddamn corridor. Done, that's my day; they're dead, probably from some stupid cause. Now or then, death is always so stupid, ridiculous and as unwelcome as a fly.
I hear a noise. Banging. Metal. Screech. I tremble. Dammit fine. How was I supposed to know you couldn't use telepathy on people who don't have the chip? We don't even use their old communication devices anyway.
I turn the lights on. Always the "on/off" switch, eternal. I investigate where I thought the noise came from. A cat. U suppose they brought pets. It looks well fed, for a space cat. Owners can't be very far. Cat leads me to his master. Turns out he's frozen in suspended animation. I forgot they had to go through that inhumane shit. A wave of pity flowed through my body but only an ounce. I kept in mind the cat was probably being fed. A wave of fear made my bones clatter. I opened the pod thingy. The others are already opened. At least it has that clear "End animation" button. I forget the young boy needs to adapt. As he pants, confused, I look at his heap of hair and skin previously burnt by the sun. So close to death. So filthy.
"So cold!" he heaved. Ah. Dialect. Where's the damn robot? Did he really need to bang his metal head? We said frone, not cold now, comes from frozen. I'll make do. I help the alnost choking boy but put safety gloves first. Filthy animal. Bacteria could survive in those temperatures too. Great.
Doing so sends the cat spining gently as I shoved it. OH GOD I TOUCHED IT. I shrieked in disgusted fear. The boy looked puzzled. I freed him for the cat now. He seems just as confused as the cat, now orbiting and spinning around the doorway. Fucking grizzle, I need to talk to the boy now.
He asked why I shrieked. I explained how filthy hair is. He looked offended. So did the floating cat. I don't care. I asked him for directions. He has no clue. I ask him to move his cat. He refuses. He grabs on to me to get out of the thing he's (quite incredibly) survived in for 50 years. I recoil in horror, then retaliate, sending him towards the feline levitator, pushing them both out of the way. How unclean. I feel dirty, infected. I shiver. I find my own way through. I report to Jeff. He's overjoyed by the boy's existance. History geek. I prefer the lore of robots. The boy inquires. More questions to ignore. I do tell him of the chip..I love it: neoroscience AND robotics. He is upset. Poor, jealous,loser. He talks of acceptance. I give him none. Not that I have compassion to give.
I find them. They're having fun, eating grown food from artificial fields. Vegetables, fruit and meat run wild. They look old but there's chipdren and a pregnant lady. So revulsive. They're warm, happy. the older one, the smiling captain, tries to hug me. I'd rather the cat.
The boy tugs my sleeve. I would've fainted but I think I'm a goner now anyway. He asks me why they didn't wake him. I hate him but this womam was too scared to care.
Was this boy in the freezer? The meat. The only animal I saw was the cat. It was asking for food, not its master. Some guy was eyeing the boy. Me too I realized. I explained to the captain our mission: to bring them back. I realize I gave Jeff's existance away. The captain does not want to leave. Cannibals. Even back then that was seen as stupid. Disease. Primitive. I tell Jeff. We get away, with the cat too for some reason. The boy didn't grasp the situation. They knew the ship better. But not as well as the cat. Air vents. I was wimpering: highways of disease. Shit. Air vents on a ship. Hair on people. Man-eating domesticated cats. I'be seen everything. Why is the boy with me? Some disgusting protective instinct? Maternal? Jeff. Jeff's history. That's why.
The robot! There it is. Quirky ray of my life. He takes the boy. Me and cat are stuck: they caught up with us.
"Jeff, help!" Can't do much, said the voice in my mind.
"I'm sorry, I swear you have a nice mustache!"
See you in hell you miserable prick, Jeff said. The things you think. That nanochip was a bad idea for you.
That was a high offense. I invented it! Not that I need it. Leaving me for dead however, goes against a lot of philosophical principles. He needed it. I callef the robot. He ignored me. Almost forgot why I was studying him. He banged his head.
He was gone. Shit.
I've been flailed and kept alive. Apparently they worship the cat. Purrfect. I'm hysterical. Fuck this. Fuck Jeff, robots are loyal at least. Unfortunately to.him. Which is weird, cause he banged his head. Laws of Asimov. He couldn't disobey and leave me for dead.
They tried to chop my aching arm off. Turns out I'm a robot. Well that explains that. *applause*. Great. Too bad I feel pain. I black out.
The worst is the emotional pain. lf only I'd been nicer to others.
In a firework of wires, my head came off and the blue screen of death of all things came on and I could no longer see. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Shiplog - Entry 756
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-six, date is... twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
We zeroed in on a ghost ship a couple of hours ago, no serial number and unknown make. The reactors look powered down and we may not have even seen it if the hull wasn't caked in radioactive residue.
I'm prepping some scrappers to get a closer look and get an eye on the ships name. This isn't like a usual job so I'm hesitant to crack her open until we have full countermeasures in place, we don't want another Sol Cult disaster...
End recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 757
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-seven, date is twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
So the scrappers returned and identified the ship. Stargazer. Never heard of it and the system isn't returning any positives. I'm going to bet that this is some kind of pirate vessel or a bunch of wayward Mormon colonists. Either way, she ought to be brimming with gear. If she's as old as she looks we might even fetch an antique price.
I'm sending some Crackers on a raft to go and peel us an entry before the Tugs get in there and fill up. I want to keep this as quick as possible, there's no telling what the condition of the ship is like and I'd rather not have it melt down with half the lads on board.
end recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 758
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-eight, date is twenty one-fifty six, January seventeenth, Earth Standard Time.
Well we cracked her and Tugged out some goods. Most of it was junk, some of it we dumped. Rotten vitapacks, clothes and rusty materials.
Some of the lads said that there was bio-pods on board, but they were all blackened on the inside. Nobody wanted to open them up and I don't blame them, a few wristwatches isn't worth the stench.
Other than that it was a pretty regular haul. We got some electrics, a few tons of vintage wines and their ship data, which fit on a single thumbdrive!
Looking at their logs now, it seems like they were early colonists, long before the Mormons took off. Their records end at about twenty-seventy five. Nothing before that to suggest any reason for them to stop communicating, I reckon that's when they all died.
*background talking*
Uh huh, alright. Chuck it if it's no good, we need the cargo space.
Well, turns our the electronics are shot, massive electrical damage. Looks like these poor colonists were hit by a flare.
Such is space travel, I guess.
End recording.
--- | I'm in the SAS. I'm scared. They could be dead. Half eaten, odorant skulls. Worse, sick, diseased. They didn't answer our call. I asked Jeff why, as if he knew. He did, or at least guessed correctly. We didn't use the same type of communication. 50 years ago..How customs have changed. We genetically bettered ourselves. What must they look like? Some bunch of monkeys. I'm an idiot. Could have sent the robot. Apparently it was more diplomatic this way. I'm revulsed at the idea of those filthy ignorants. How they must roll in mud. The germs! Letting your own immune system take care if them? Crazy. They must be covered in that disgusting hair. Due to the way were made, we do not have that nuissance anymore but have perfectly slim, hairless bodies. Except for old Jeff; he may have a bald scalp but he's got that hideous mustache. But he's got brains, I'll give him that.
The red light flashes. How primitive. I open the door. I have to use physical effort! Don't they know I could fie of a heart attack?! I bet that's how they all died. I'm terrified. Wish the robot was with me. It's more akin to me than them to me. They don't even have the nanochips! How could they even think properly? I'm a neuroscientist, biologist and expert in robotics. In the amount of time it took me to do that, they might've hoped to become doctors. I guess that't the way they must feel about their own ancestors.
The door swing open with a notable wail. Pitch dark in this goddamn corridor. Done, that's my day; they're dead, probably from some stupid cause. Now or then, death is always so stupid, ridiculous and as unwelcome as a fly.
I hear a noise. Banging. Metal. Screech. I tremble. Dammit fine. How was I supposed to know you couldn't use telepathy on people who don't have the chip? We don't even use their old communication devices anyway.
I turn the lights on. Always the "on/off" switch, eternal. I investigate where I thought the noise came from. A cat. U suppose they brought pets. It looks well fed, for a space cat. Owners can't be very far. Cat leads me to his master. Turns out he's frozen in suspended animation. I forgot they had to go through that inhumane shit. A wave of pity flowed through my body but only an ounce. I kept in mind the cat was probably being fed. A wave of fear made my bones clatter. I opened the pod thingy. The others are already opened. At least it has that clear "End animation" button. I forget the young boy needs to adapt. As he pants, confused, I look at his heap of hair and skin previously burnt by the sun. So close to death. So filthy.
"So cold!" he heaved. Ah. Dialect. Where's the damn robot? Did he really need to bang his metal head? We said frone, not cold now, comes from frozen. I'll make do. I help the alnost choking boy but put safety gloves first. Filthy animal. Bacteria could survive in those temperatures too. Great.
Doing so sends the cat spining gently as I shoved it. OH GOD I TOUCHED IT. I shrieked in disgusted fear. The boy looked puzzled. I freed him for the cat now. He seems just as confused as the cat, now orbiting and spinning around the doorway. Fucking grizzle, I need to talk to the boy now.
He asked why I shrieked. I explained how filthy hair is. He looked offended. So did the floating cat. I don't care. I asked him for directions. He has no clue. I ask him to move his cat. He refuses. He grabs on to me to get out of the thing he's (quite incredibly) survived in for 50 years. I recoil in horror, then retaliate, sending him towards the feline levitator, pushing them both out of the way. How unclean. I feel dirty, infected. I shiver. I find my own way through. I report to Jeff. He's overjoyed by the boy's existance. History geek. I prefer the lore of robots. The boy inquires. More questions to ignore. I do tell him of the chip..I love it: neoroscience AND robotics. He is upset. Poor, jealous,loser. He talks of acceptance. I give him none. Not that I have compassion to give.
I find them. They're having fun, eating grown food from artificial fields. Vegetables, fruit and meat run wild. They look old but there's chipdren and a pregnant lady. So revulsive. They're warm, happy. the older one, the smiling captain, tries to hug me. I'd rather the cat.
The boy tugs my sleeve. I would've fainted but I think I'm a goner now anyway. He asks me why they didn't wake him. I hate him but this womam was too scared to care.
Was this boy in the freezer? The meat. The only animal I saw was the cat. It was asking for food, not its master. Some guy was eyeing the boy. Me too I realized. I explained to the captain our mission: to bring them back. I realize I gave Jeff's existance away. The captain does not want to leave. Cannibals. Even back then that was seen as stupid. Disease. Primitive. I tell Jeff. We get away, with the cat too for some reason. The boy didn't grasp the situation. They knew the ship better. But not as well as the cat. Air vents. I was wimpering: highways of disease. Shit. Air vents on a ship. Hair on people. Man-eating domesticated cats. I'be seen everything. Why is the boy with me? Some disgusting protective instinct? Maternal? Jeff. Jeff's history. That's why.
The robot! There it is. Quirky ray of my life. He takes the boy. Me and cat are stuck: they caught up with us.
"Jeff, help!" Can't do much, said the voice in my mind.
"I'm sorry, I swear you have a nice mustache!"
See you in hell you miserable prick, Jeff said. The things you think. That nanochip was a bad idea for you.
That was a high offense. I invented it! Not that I need it. Leaving me for dead however, goes against a lot of philosophical principles. He needed it. I callef the robot. He ignored me. Almost forgot why I was studying him. He banged his head.
He was gone. Shit.
I've been flailed and kept alive. Apparently they worship the cat. Purrfect. I'm hysterical. Fuck this. Fuck Jeff, robots are loyal at least. Unfortunately to.him. Which is weird, cause he banged his head. Laws of Asimov. He couldn't disobey and leave me for dead.
They tried to chop my aching arm off. Turns out I'm a robot. Well that explains that. *applause*. Great. Too bad I feel pain. I black out.
The worst is the emotional pain. lf only I'd been nicer to others.
In a firework of wires, my head came off and the blue screen of death of all things came on and I could no longer see. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | "And?" The rest of the bar seemed to lean in closer, expectantly. Li took another drink.
"And it was empty." There was silence for moment, then the tall woman in sitting to his left spoke for the first time since he had started telling his story. "They were dead?"
Li shook his head. "Nope, no dead bodies. Anywhere." He paused for a moment. "I mean anywhere. We didn't even find buried bodies from the first generation of colonists. Ashes, either. There should have been a few casualties from sickness and accidents over the years. It was a big ship and it was bound to happen. Hell, we know some people died in the first 50 years from their reports back to Earth. But we didn't find anything. No human remains at all."
This provoked murmurs. Li stifled a yawn and wondered what time it was. He rarely slept anymore. Sleep disorders were common in Savissivik-Thule but Li suspected too much daylight wasn't his problem.
"So no people and no bodies. Where did they go?" It was the bartender this time. He was the only person in the bar who looked like he had any Inuit blood at all. This was the first time Li could recall seeing him without a smile on his face. He had that effect on people these days.
Li shrugged. "We spent three weeks with the ship as we conducted the initial survey and towed it to dock and we never figured that out. As far as I know we still haven’t. I suppose they could have all gone out airlocks but we never saw any signs of depressurization and there were no signs of struggle, so if they did walk the plank they went willingly.” He fought the urge to yawn again and wondered if he was actually tired enough to sleep that night.
But wasn’t he trying to sleep with the tall woman next time him? Was that why he was telling the story? He couldn’t remember. He forgot a lot of things these days. He hoped it was the lack of sleep. He had heard rumors about other members of his recovery crew developing inexplicable psychological disorders.
He suddenly realized that he didn’t know how long he had been silent. He needed to focus.
“We never figured it out,” he repeated. “All electronic records were wiped clean. There were no official logs, no video footage, no personal entries. Nothing.”
The tall woman spoke again: “You mean on the central computer or-”
“Anywhere. We didn’t find electronic records anywhere. Not in the central computer, not on any personal devices, not anywhere.” Did he interrupt her? Was that rude?
More muttering.
“And not just electronic records either.” He continued. “There was almost nothing written down. No old-fashioned diaries or printouts.”
“What do you mean ‘almost?’?” This was the heavyset-man with wraparound sunglasses at the table farthest from the door. He was sitting with his back to the wall, as he did every time Li saw him at the bar.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Li said as politely as he could. Sunglasses seemed vaguely terrifying and Li didn’t want to have to find a new bar if he pissed off the wrong person. “There were no written or electronic records of what happened before or after they stopped sending back reports.”
“So the computers had been wiped?” The bartender asked.
“Nope, there was no indication that there were ever any records to begin with. No traces of deleted files, no fragments, no breadcrumbs, no traces, no clues.” He was rambling. He needed to focus. “Our I.T. detachment went through everything over a dozen times over and said it was as if nothing had ever been recorded at all.”
“So strange,” the tall woman whispered.
“That wasn’t the strange part. Our social techs and salvage archaeologists decided that there had been ‘a disruptive social event’ at some point.”
Li paused but there was no response this time.
“Apparently at some point the entire population dismantled their personal living quarters and turned most of the ship into an enormous communal space. The closest comparison we could find for the layout they created was the atomic structure of quartz.”
“What? That makes no sense!” Exclaimed the tall woman. Li suddenly remembered that she had mentioned being a geologist.
“No shit,” he said dryly. She looked offended by his tone. Sex was probably off the table.
“I mean it didn’t make sense to us either,” he quickly added. “And there were the other things.”
“Other things?” The bartender was pouring himself a glass of something clear, not even pretending to pay attention to the other customers.
Li briefly considered how much to tell. They already thought he was more than a little crazy and he wasn’t getting laid tonight, he might as well give them something.
“From what we could recover from the hydroponic decks, they got rid of most of their seeds and only grew plants that were cultivated in pre-Colombian Mesoamerica.”
“What?” Almost everybody together that time.
“It was the only common factor we could find. Also they apparently melted down any metal that wasn’t essential to structural integrity and built 1,297 statues that they placed at regular intervals throughout the ship. They somehow managed to turn one of the bulkheads into a metal foundry.”
“Statues of what?” The dark-haired woman sitting with Sunglasses asked, speaking for the first time.
“Oh, of teeth.” Li said, almost as an afterthought.
“Teeth?” She asked.
“Yeah, human teeth. Well, a tooth. Just copied 1,297 times. Ranging from life-sized to about three feet high. They were all over the place, although there was supposedly some order to their placement.”
“Why 1,297?” The tall geologist asked. Li shrugged.
“I dunno. Prime number? There was lots of stuff like that. All the livestock onboard had been killed and there was a room full of their bones lined up next to each other and snaking around the room, going in order from smallest to largest. According to the tests they were all slaughtered or died about the same time.”
They were just staring at him in silence now. | I'm in the SAS. I'm scared. They could be dead. Half eaten, odorant skulls. Worse, sick, diseased. They didn't answer our call. I asked Jeff why, as if he knew. He did, or at least guessed correctly. We didn't use the same type of communication. 50 years ago..How customs have changed. We genetically bettered ourselves. What must they look like? Some bunch of monkeys. I'm an idiot. Could have sent the robot. Apparently it was more diplomatic this way. I'm revulsed at the idea of those filthy ignorants. How they must roll in mud. The germs! Letting your own immune system take care if them? Crazy. They must be covered in that disgusting hair. Due to the way were made, we do not have that nuissance anymore but have perfectly slim, hairless bodies. Except for old Jeff; he may have a bald scalp but he's got that hideous mustache. But he's got brains, I'll give him that.
The red light flashes. How primitive. I open the door. I have to use physical effort! Don't they know I could fie of a heart attack?! I bet that's how they all died. I'm terrified. Wish the robot was with me. It's more akin to me than them to me. They don't even have the nanochips! How could they even think properly? I'm a neuroscientist, biologist and expert in robotics. In the amount of time it took me to do that, they might've hoped to become doctors. I guess that't the way they must feel about their own ancestors.
The door swing open with a notable wail. Pitch dark in this goddamn corridor. Done, that's my day; they're dead, probably from some stupid cause. Now or then, death is always so stupid, ridiculous and as unwelcome as a fly.
I hear a noise. Banging. Metal. Screech. I tremble. Dammit fine. How was I supposed to know you couldn't use telepathy on people who don't have the chip? We don't even use their old communication devices anyway.
I turn the lights on. Always the "on/off" switch, eternal. I investigate where I thought the noise came from. A cat. U suppose they brought pets. It looks well fed, for a space cat. Owners can't be very far. Cat leads me to his master. Turns out he's frozen in suspended animation. I forgot they had to go through that inhumane shit. A wave of pity flowed through my body but only an ounce. I kept in mind the cat was probably being fed. A wave of fear made my bones clatter. I opened the pod thingy. The others are already opened. At least it has that clear "End animation" button. I forget the young boy needs to adapt. As he pants, confused, I look at his heap of hair and skin previously burnt by the sun. So close to death. So filthy.
"So cold!" he heaved. Ah. Dialect. Where's the damn robot? Did he really need to bang his metal head? We said frone, not cold now, comes from frozen. I'll make do. I help the alnost choking boy but put safety gloves first. Filthy animal. Bacteria could survive in those temperatures too. Great.
Doing so sends the cat spining gently as I shoved it. OH GOD I TOUCHED IT. I shrieked in disgusted fear. The boy looked puzzled. I freed him for the cat now. He seems just as confused as the cat, now orbiting and spinning around the doorway. Fucking grizzle, I need to talk to the boy now.
He asked why I shrieked. I explained how filthy hair is. He looked offended. So did the floating cat. I don't care. I asked him for directions. He has no clue. I ask him to move his cat. He refuses. He grabs on to me to get out of the thing he's (quite incredibly) survived in for 50 years. I recoil in horror, then retaliate, sending him towards the feline levitator, pushing them both out of the way. How unclean. I feel dirty, infected. I shiver. I find my own way through. I report to Jeff. He's overjoyed by the boy's existance. History geek. I prefer the lore of robots. The boy inquires. More questions to ignore. I do tell him of the chip..I love it: neoroscience AND robotics. He is upset. Poor, jealous,loser. He talks of acceptance. I give him none. Not that I have compassion to give.
I find them. They're having fun, eating grown food from artificial fields. Vegetables, fruit and meat run wild. They look old but there's chipdren and a pregnant lady. So revulsive. They're warm, happy. the older one, the smiling captain, tries to hug me. I'd rather the cat.
The boy tugs my sleeve. I would've fainted but I think I'm a goner now anyway. He asks me why they didn't wake him. I hate him but this womam was too scared to care.
Was this boy in the freezer? The meat. The only animal I saw was the cat. It was asking for food, not its master. Some guy was eyeing the boy. Me too I realized. I explained to the captain our mission: to bring them back. I realize I gave Jeff's existance away. The captain does not want to leave. Cannibals. Even back then that was seen as stupid. Disease. Primitive. I tell Jeff. We get away, with the cat too for some reason. The boy didn't grasp the situation. They knew the ship better. But not as well as the cat. Air vents. I was wimpering: highways of disease. Shit. Air vents on a ship. Hair on people. Man-eating domesticated cats. I'be seen everything. Why is the boy with me? Some disgusting protective instinct? Maternal? Jeff. Jeff's history. That's why.
The robot! There it is. Quirky ray of my life. He takes the boy. Me and cat are stuck: they caught up with us.
"Jeff, help!" Can't do much, said the voice in my mind.
"I'm sorry, I swear you have a nice mustache!"
See you in hell you miserable prick, Jeff said. The things you think. That nanochip was a bad idea for you.
That was a high offense. I invented it! Not that I need it. Leaving me for dead however, goes against a lot of philosophical principles. He needed it. I callef the robot. He ignored me. Almost forgot why I was studying him. He banged his head.
He was gone. Shit.
I've been flailed and kept alive. Apparently they worship the cat. Purrfect. I'm hysterical. Fuck this. Fuck Jeff, robots are loyal at least. Unfortunately to.him. Which is weird, cause he banged his head. Laws of Asimov. He couldn't disobey and leave me for dead.
They tried to chop my aching arm off. Turns out I'm a robot. Well that explains that. *applause*. Great. Too bad I feel pain. I black out.
The worst is the emotional pain. lf only I'd been nicer to others.
In a firework of wires, my head came off and the blue screen of death of all things came on and I could no longer see. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | I jolted forward in my seat, and the nausea I'd been coping for with for the duration of the trip instantly subsided. 'Thank the stars,' I thought to myself, 'we are dropping out of FTL.' Taking a deep breath and choking down the acid taste in my mouth, I undid my belt and stood up. My legs had their strength back almost immediately after dropping out, and I felt just like I was back home.
"We're here," the captain announced, sounding no worse for the wear as he removed his headset and stretched his arms upwards. "Spectroscopy hasn't found anything worth our worry, just a few asteroids within the nearest AU, so until we hear otherwise, I suggest we all get some lunch. Even if you're not hungry, mind. Faster-than-light really screws with your appetite until you get your space legs." He was not wrong. But I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I was damned hungry.
"That's all well and good Captain Black," came Dr. Elan's voice, almost cutting off the captain. "But I don't need them looking for space rocks, I need them looking for my ship." She sounded angry.
"And I need my crew keeping us all safe, Doc! We're four jumps past our official course already. And I've agreed to it, which I didn't have to, but I'm not going to just charge ahead like a moron. Even if the insurance would cover it, it'd hardly matter if we all died out here." He sounded angry too. Calming down, he continued. "Don't sweat, we won't be long. Then they can start poking around for your boat."
Francine Elan slumped back in her chair. Normally the doctor was as affable as she was bright, but she was anxious as hell today. Understandable, given the circumstances.
We'd picked it up on TADAR a week ago, and been so stunned that no one was sure if it was real or just wishful thinking. But double and triple and quadruple checking it had settled it: there was no mistake, that was a ship. The question was whether it was some poor bastards who dropped out of FTL at the wrong time and been careening off into the deep ever since or the real deal. The one they launched during the glow.
The comm tone sounded. The Captain hopped back into his seat and snapped his headset back on to his head. "This is the bridge, tell me wha- what? No shit. Repeat please. Well I'll be goddamned. Yep. Yep. I'll let the Doc know."
He turned his seat to face Francine Elan, a famous archaeologist, and the head honcho on this trip. "Good news Doc, pretty sure they found your boat. It's 4.3 million km sunward." Even he was excited, though maybe that was for the bonus he'd negotiated.
"And get this. There's O2 onboard."
Oh. Oh shit.
After that we shot into overdrive. The captain and pilot began manoeuvring closer to the ship and the rest of the crew joined the team in getting ready for EVA. Within a half an hour, we packed into the shuttle and sped off. Within five minutes time, we saw the silhouette of the ship. The comm buoys had long since failed and any name had been scraped off by dust centuries ago, but I was sure of it - this was her.
Getting into the ship was trivial. We'd known that if this was really the ship, the airlocks were bound to be non-functional, so we'd brought a breeching craft along with us for just this purpose. There had been complaints about damaging an archaeological find like this, but in spite of the protests, everyone was more interested in getting inside the ship than they were keeping it in perfect condition.
We popped inside, I did a quick check for dangerous pathogens, and then I reached to open my visor before I thought better of it. The air scanned clean, but it'd been a long, long time, and I told everyone to keep themselves bolted up. We all started down the airlock corridor towards what appeared to be the center module.
Upon arriving at the center module, we discovered that, remarkable, the lights and some of the computer systems were operational. Deciding we'd use this module as a sort of basecamp, Francine devised a plan to cover the ship as efficiently as possible. It wasn't exactly intuitively to explore, and even though we were sure it was safe, we were all still a bit superstitious about a ship older than most cities on Earth. So we split up, and Dr. Elan and I started down one corridor and left the other teams to check out theirs while a few engineers banged away at the ship's log.
At last we came to one of the last module on the corridor we'd started down. It was cavernous, and while the module entrance was lit from the hallway, the room itself was damn near pitch black. Francine started fiddling with a console near the lit doorway, and suddenly the room exploded into light.
Holy sweet starlight, I thought.
My jaw dropped, and I fell backwards onto my ass in shock.
Francine ran over to check on me.
"Are you okay?"
I had no words.
"Answer me. Are you okay? Shit. Shit shit shit."
I was faintly aware of her calling for help into her commlink, but I was still transfixed by what I saw.
"Hey guys. Bill is acting really weird." My suit was shaking back and forth, but I couldn't look away.
"Get here right fucking now. Bill is having some kind of episode," she yelled into her comms.
The second mention of my name made me snap back to attention, and I tried to set her at ease. "No, no. I'm fine. But tell them to come here anyway."
She sighed with relief and hunched over with her hands on her knees. "Oh man, you really fucking scared me there Bill." She spoke into her comms, "false alarm everyone, he's okay. I'm gonna kill him later, but for now he's okay."
Turning to her, too amazed to be sheepish, I spoke. "Yeah, I'm sorry to have worried you." It was barely an apology. "Look it's good you called everyone here anyway. This is... wow..."
The blood was pumped so hard in my head that it hurt, but I made out a voice over the comms. "Hey, if Bill is all right, you gotta come see this section of the ship. It's like... a mausoleum or something. There's gold and platinum all over the place - just the value of the raw materials has got to be enough to have made us break even. Looks like the last of the crew died a looooooooooong time ago. Amazed anything still works on this sucker."
"Fuck the gold. Fuck the bones," I said back, "you have to come here. What I'm looking at is the single most important thing I've ever laid eyes on. There won't be a prize on Earth prestigious enough for us when we get back."
"Well shit, okay then" the voice came back, a little shocked. "We'll be right over." And the comms went silent.
There was silence for a moment, then Dr. Elan spoke. "So... Bill... want to let me in on why this room matters?"
I turned to her and pointed at the mess of tall green stalks in front of me. "That, Fran, is why we're here. That is why you brought a historian on a space voyage. That is going to save the fucking planet. No one alive but us has ever seen it."
"Well what the hell is it?"
"That, Francine," I said "is corn." | I'm in the SAS. I'm scared. They could be dead. Half eaten, odorant skulls. Worse, sick, diseased. They didn't answer our call. I asked Jeff why, as if he knew. He did, or at least guessed correctly. We didn't use the same type of communication. 50 years ago..How customs have changed. We genetically bettered ourselves. What must they look like? Some bunch of monkeys. I'm an idiot. Could have sent the robot. Apparently it was more diplomatic this way. I'm revulsed at the idea of those filthy ignorants. How they must roll in mud. The germs! Letting your own immune system take care if them? Crazy. They must be covered in that disgusting hair. Due to the way were made, we do not have that nuissance anymore but have perfectly slim, hairless bodies. Except for old Jeff; he may have a bald scalp but he's got that hideous mustache. But he's got brains, I'll give him that.
The red light flashes. How primitive. I open the door. I have to use physical effort! Don't they know I could fie of a heart attack?! I bet that's how they all died. I'm terrified. Wish the robot was with me. It's more akin to me than them to me. They don't even have the nanochips! How could they even think properly? I'm a neuroscientist, biologist and expert in robotics. In the amount of time it took me to do that, they might've hoped to become doctors. I guess that't the way they must feel about their own ancestors.
The door swing open with a notable wail. Pitch dark in this goddamn corridor. Done, that's my day; they're dead, probably from some stupid cause. Now or then, death is always so stupid, ridiculous and as unwelcome as a fly.
I hear a noise. Banging. Metal. Screech. I tremble. Dammit fine. How was I supposed to know you couldn't use telepathy on people who don't have the chip? We don't even use their old communication devices anyway.
I turn the lights on. Always the "on/off" switch, eternal. I investigate where I thought the noise came from. A cat. U suppose they brought pets. It looks well fed, for a space cat. Owners can't be very far. Cat leads me to his master. Turns out he's frozen in suspended animation. I forgot they had to go through that inhumane shit. A wave of pity flowed through my body but only an ounce. I kept in mind the cat was probably being fed. A wave of fear made my bones clatter. I opened the pod thingy. The others are already opened. At least it has that clear "End animation" button. I forget the young boy needs to adapt. As he pants, confused, I look at his heap of hair and skin previously burnt by the sun. So close to death. So filthy.
"So cold!" he heaved. Ah. Dialect. Where's the damn robot? Did he really need to bang his metal head? We said frone, not cold now, comes from frozen. I'll make do. I help the alnost choking boy but put safety gloves first. Filthy animal. Bacteria could survive in those temperatures too. Great.
Doing so sends the cat spining gently as I shoved it. OH GOD I TOUCHED IT. I shrieked in disgusted fear. The boy looked puzzled. I freed him for the cat now. He seems just as confused as the cat, now orbiting and spinning around the doorway. Fucking grizzle, I need to talk to the boy now.
He asked why I shrieked. I explained how filthy hair is. He looked offended. So did the floating cat. I don't care. I asked him for directions. He has no clue. I ask him to move his cat. He refuses. He grabs on to me to get out of the thing he's (quite incredibly) survived in for 50 years. I recoil in horror, then retaliate, sending him towards the feline levitator, pushing them both out of the way. How unclean. I feel dirty, infected. I shiver. I find my own way through. I report to Jeff. He's overjoyed by the boy's existance. History geek. I prefer the lore of robots. The boy inquires. More questions to ignore. I do tell him of the chip..I love it: neoroscience AND robotics. He is upset. Poor, jealous,loser. He talks of acceptance. I give him none. Not that I have compassion to give.
I find them. They're having fun, eating grown food from artificial fields. Vegetables, fruit and meat run wild. They look old but there's chipdren and a pregnant lady. So revulsive. They're warm, happy. the older one, the smiling captain, tries to hug me. I'd rather the cat.
The boy tugs my sleeve. I would've fainted but I think I'm a goner now anyway. He asks me why they didn't wake him. I hate him but this womam was too scared to care.
Was this boy in the freezer? The meat. The only animal I saw was the cat. It was asking for food, not its master. Some guy was eyeing the boy. Me too I realized. I explained to the captain our mission: to bring them back. I realize I gave Jeff's existance away. The captain does not want to leave. Cannibals. Even back then that was seen as stupid. Disease. Primitive. I tell Jeff. We get away, with the cat too for some reason. The boy didn't grasp the situation. They knew the ship better. But not as well as the cat. Air vents. I was wimpering: highways of disease. Shit. Air vents on a ship. Hair on people. Man-eating domesticated cats. I'be seen everything. Why is the boy with me? Some disgusting protective instinct? Maternal? Jeff. Jeff's history. That's why.
The robot! There it is. Quirky ray of my life. He takes the boy. Me and cat are stuck: they caught up with us.
"Jeff, help!" Can't do much, said the voice in my mind.
"I'm sorry, I swear you have a nice mustache!"
See you in hell you miserable prick, Jeff said. The things you think. That nanochip was a bad idea for you.
That was a high offense. I invented it! Not that I need it. Leaving me for dead however, goes against a lot of philosophical principles. He needed it. I callef the robot. He ignored me. Almost forgot why I was studying him. He banged his head.
He was gone. Shit.
I've been flailed and kept alive. Apparently they worship the cat. Purrfect. I'm hysterical. Fuck this. Fuck Jeff, robots are loyal at least. Unfortunately to.him. Which is weird, cause he banged his head. Laws of Asimov. He couldn't disobey and leave me for dead.
They tried to chop my aching arm off. Turns out I'm a robot. Well that explains that. *applause*. Great. Too bad I feel pain. I black out.
The worst is the emotional pain. lf only I'd been nicer to others.
In a firework of wires, my head came off and the blue screen of death of all things came on and I could no longer see. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Day 1 12:23
Mikey matched the spin of the asteroid an hour ago: Why hadn’t we descended to the surface yet? There was something odd about this one. Initial scans indicated an extremely light mass.
“Maybe it’s geode-type,” Carol remarked, “And they’re calling an outfitted crew to mine this one.
“Those are hyper-rare,” I told her. “Besides, you can’t call a team without checking it first. Immense waste of resources,
if you were wrong.”
“If you were wrong,” she replied, and popped a grape into her mouth and crunched down.
I waved her off. “Low density, high rate of spin, hardly any surface craters… seems like an odd combination. This is no geode. Mikey’s not telling us something.”
She shrugged.
17:56
I’d been staring at the asteroid. I was intensely fascinated by it. Something called to me. The coal black, ice crusted surface hid something, and I could see it, like a fog on the edge of my vision. Like something dark hiding in the gloom.
Carol hung up the COM. “We’re descending now.”
“About damn time.”
The ship shuddered when it made contact with the asteroid surface. Touchdown.
We climbed down the ladder to the decon room. Carol bolted the hatch shut and I took her suit off the rack and handed it to her and then retrieved mine and stripped down to my long johns and put it on. I checked the fit of the oxygen connectors and brushed off the silver Mylar sleeves and then finally clasped my helmet on.
I nodded to Carol and she punched the drill rig release and it slid open. The air and water vapor froze white and whistled by me and disappeared into space.
“Dropping drill head.” Carol said and I looked up and saw the drill descend and the ship shuddered when it slammed into the surface. It immediately started churning up the rock and ore.
22:10
“Cut the drill! Cut the drill!” Carol yelled from the surface. I ran over and hit the emergency stop. Looked down at her. She approached the drill. It glowed faintly red on the edges. She knelt on the ground before it. “Come here,” she said and waved me over.
I sighed. “If this is another one of your damn--”
“Shaddup, and look at this,” She said, and removed a sheet of ice that had been loosened by the drill, and revealed a smooth dark surface.
“So?” I asked.
“Look where the drill bit the side. I’d say that’s bronze, or copper.”
“Hm. Yep.”
“This isn’t some organic formation. Look at it.”
“Alright, Alright, I’ll call Mikey.” I got him on the COM. “Mike we have something weird here.” I gave him the details.
“It’s probably crystalline growth. Keep drilling. We need to see what’s inside her.”
“You got it.” I shrugged at Carol and we kept drilling.
Day 2 1:23
“She’s hollow alright.” Carol said. “Kind of weird, that off-gassing, though. Can an asteroid stay airtight that long?”
“What do I care?” I asked. I always got angry when I was nervous. “Just get the light.”
She grabbed a chemical flare and snapped it and it started to glow green. She pitched it down the chasm we’d opened. I walked to the edge and knelt down and looked in. The flare bounced down maybe a few meters and boomeranged in the changing gravities and settled behind some kind of formation.
“I can’t see anything. I’m going in,” I told Carol and she tied me off and I jumped into the hole and gravity flipped when I left the confines of the ship. I crawled onto the surface and waited for my stomach to right itself and then stood.
I was surrounded by thin, frosted things. I studied them. There was something vaguely familiar about the figures they cut in the shadows. I gripped a shoot of one and rubbed it in my gloved hands and exposed a vibrant green color.
They were plants. Why were there plants inside an asteroid? I looked around with my headlamp and saw I was standing in some kind of garden… but now it was overgrown. It was like a godawful antediluvian forest, grown over. I aimed my headlamp at the large obelisk in the center, the one that the flare had rolled behind. The flickering light revealed a massive thing, grey-black and metal, frosted over. It had shiny bug eyes and grotesque arms. It was some kind of farming device. Even from a distance, I could tell it had been a long time since it was operational.
This was a hydroponic farm, I thought. But the people. Oh god, did we kill them? I looked around again. There was nothing. I must have destroyed the power to the lights that fed these plants. That’s all that must have been left, I told myself. Just the plants. I noticed I was breathing rapidly and I tried to check it.
“Carol,” I said, and her reply was imbedded in a mush of static. “Carol. Get Mikey on the COM. You’re not gonna believe this.”
Edited-Run on sentences
| I'm in the SAS. I'm scared. They could be dead. Half eaten, odorant skulls. Worse, sick, diseased. They didn't answer our call. I asked Jeff why, as if he knew. He did, or at least guessed correctly. We didn't use the same type of communication. 50 years ago..How customs have changed. We genetically bettered ourselves. What must they look like? Some bunch of monkeys. I'm an idiot. Could have sent the robot. Apparently it was more diplomatic this way. I'm revulsed at the idea of those filthy ignorants. How they must roll in mud. The germs! Letting your own immune system take care if them? Crazy. They must be covered in that disgusting hair. Due to the way were made, we do not have that nuissance anymore but have perfectly slim, hairless bodies. Except for old Jeff; he may have a bald scalp but he's got that hideous mustache. But he's got brains, I'll give him that.
The red light flashes. How primitive. I open the door. I have to use physical effort! Don't they know I could fie of a heart attack?! I bet that's how they all died. I'm terrified. Wish the robot was with me. It's more akin to me than them to me. They don't even have the nanochips! How could they even think properly? I'm a neuroscientist, biologist and expert in robotics. In the amount of time it took me to do that, they might've hoped to become doctors. I guess that't the way they must feel about their own ancestors.
The door swing open with a notable wail. Pitch dark in this goddamn corridor. Done, that's my day; they're dead, probably from some stupid cause. Now or then, death is always so stupid, ridiculous and as unwelcome as a fly.
I hear a noise. Banging. Metal. Screech. I tremble. Dammit fine. How was I supposed to know you couldn't use telepathy on people who don't have the chip? We don't even use their old communication devices anyway.
I turn the lights on. Always the "on/off" switch, eternal. I investigate where I thought the noise came from. A cat. U suppose they brought pets. It looks well fed, for a space cat. Owners can't be very far. Cat leads me to his master. Turns out he's frozen in suspended animation. I forgot they had to go through that inhumane shit. A wave of pity flowed through my body but only an ounce. I kept in mind the cat was probably being fed. A wave of fear made my bones clatter. I opened the pod thingy. The others are already opened. At least it has that clear "End animation" button. I forget the young boy needs to adapt. As he pants, confused, I look at his heap of hair and skin previously burnt by the sun. So close to death. So filthy.
"So cold!" he heaved. Ah. Dialect. Where's the damn robot? Did he really need to bang his metal head? We said frone, not cold now, comes from frozen. I'll make do. I help the alnost choking boy but put safety gloves first. Filthy animal. Bacteria could survive in those temperatures too. Great.
Doing so sends the cat spining gently as I shoved it. OH GOD I TOUCHED IT. I shrieked in disgusted fear. The boy looked puzzled. I freed him for the cat now. He seems just as confused as the cat, now orbiting and spinning around the doorway. Fucking grizzle, I need to talk to the boy now.
He asked why I shrieked. I explained how filthy hair is. He looked offended. So did the floating cat. I don't care. I asked him for directions. He has no clue. I ask him to move his cat. He refuses. He grabs on to me to get out of the thing he's (quite incredibly) survived in for 50 years. I recoil in horror, then retaliate, sending him towards the feline levitator, pushing them both out of the way. How unclean. I feel dirty, infected. I shiver. I find my own way through. I report to Jeff. He's overjoyed by the boy's existance. History geek. I prefer the lore of robots. The boy inquires. More questions to ignore. I do tell him of the chip..I love it: neoroscience AND robotics. He is upset. Poor, jealous,loser. He talks of acceptance. I give him none. Not that I have compassion to give.
I find them. They're having fun, eating grown food from artificial fields. Vegetables, fruit and meat run wild. They look old but there's chipdren and a pregnant lady. So revulsive. They're warm, happy. the older one, the smiling captain, tries to hug me. I'd rather the cat.
The boy tugs my sleeve. I would've fainted but I think I'm a goner now anyway. He asks me why they didn't wake him. I hate him but this womam was too scared to care.
Was this boy in the freezer? The meat. The only animal I saw was the cat. It was asking for food, not its master. Some guy was eyeing the boy. Me too I realized. I explained to the captain our mission: to bring them back. I realize I gave Jeff's existance away. The captain does not want to leave. Cannibals. Even back then that was seen as stupid. Disease. Primitive. I tell Jeff. We get away, with the cat too for some reason. The boy didn't grasp the situation. They knew the ship better. But not as well as the cat. Air vents. I was wimpering: highways of disease. Shit. Air vents on a ship. Hair on people. Man-eating domesticated cats. I'be seen everything. Why is the boy with me? Some disgusting protective instinct? Maternal? Jeff. Jeff's history. That's why.
The robot! There it is. Quirky ray of my life. He takes the boy. Me and cat are stuck: they caught up with us.
"Jeff, help!" Can't do much, said the voice in my mind.
"I'm sorry, I swear you have a nice mustache!"
See you in hell you miserable prick, Jeff said. The things you think. That nanochip was a bad idea for you.
That was a high offense. I invented it! Not that I need it. Leaving me for dead however, goes against a lot of philosophical principles. He needed it. I callef the robot. He ignored me. Almost forgot why I was studying him. He banged his head.
He was gone. Shit.
I've been flailed and kept alive. Apparently they worship the cat. Purrfect. I'm hysterical. Fuck this. Fuck Jeff, robots are loyal at least. Unfortunately to.him. Which is weird, cause he banged his head. Laws of Asimov. He couldn't disobey and leave me for dead.
They tried to chop my aching arm off. Turns out I'm a robot. Well that explains that. *applause*. Great. Too bad I feel pain. I black out.
The worst is the emotional pain. lf only I'd been nicer to others.
In a firework of wires, my head came off and the blue screen of death of all things came on and I could no longer see. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Shiplog - Entry 756
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-six, date is... twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
We zeroed in on a ghost ship a couple of hours ago, no serial number and unknown make. The reactors look powered down and we may not have even seen it if the hull wasn't caked in radioactive residue.
I'm prepping some scrappers to get a closer look and get an eye on the ships name. This isn't like a usual job so I'm hesitant to crack her open until we have full countermeasures in place, we don't want another Sol Cult disaster...
End recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 757
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-seven, date is twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
So the scrappers returned and identified the ship. Stargazer. Never heard of it and the system isn't returning any positives. I'm going to bet that this is some kind of pirate vessel or a bunch of wayward Mormon colonists. Either way, she ought to be brimming with gear. If she's as old as she looks we might even fetch an antique price.
I'm sending some Crackers on a raft to go and peel us an entry before the Tugs get in there and fill up. I want to keep this as quick as possible, there's no telling what the condition of the ship is like and I'd rather not have it melt down with half the lads on board.
end recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 758
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-eight, date is twenty one-fifty six, January seventeenth, Earth Standard Time.
Well we cracked her and Tugged out some goods. Most of it was junk, some of it we dumped. Rotten vitapacks, clothes and rusty materials.
Some of the lads said that there was bio-pods on board, but they were all blackened on the inside. Nobody wanted to open them up and I don't blame them, a few wristwatches isn't worth the stench.
Other than that it was a pretty regular haul. We got some electrics, a few tons of vintage wines and their ship data, which fit on a single thumbdrive!
Looking at their logs now, it seems like they were early colonists, long before the Mormons took off. Their records end at about twenty-seventy five. Nothing before that to suggest any reason for them to stop communicating, I reckon that's when they all died.
*background talking*
Uh huh, alright. Chuck it if it's no good, we need the cargo space.
Well, turns our the electronics are shot, massive electrical damage. Looks like these poor colonists were hit by a flare.
Such is space travel, I guess.
End recording.
--- |
At the height of the Second Spanish Influenza, a hastily outfitted Buran III was launched from Baikonur Cosmodrome. Arbitrarily picked from the top percentile of the remains of the State Gifted and Talented Scheme, it was the last gasp of a dying Motherland. It had tried multiple coups, inhuman research projects and a sudden collapse into civil war, before finding that none of these helped develop a vaccine any faster.
The automated systems on the Buran III beamed its status messages like clockwork. Twice per day, every day. Fifty years after their panicked launch the range grew so extreme the faint transmissions were indistinguishable from cosmic background radiation and were lost in the vast, cold expanses of space.
At Baikonur, the status messages printed themselves out like clockwork, gathering in a pile of yellowing type and copy upon the decaying concrete.
Three hundred years later, a stray metal fragment punctured the hear shields of the *USS San Antonio*, causing a sudden decompression event and spacing all officers in the lower portside torpedo compartment before bulkhead doors automatically deployed. The crippled vessel dropped from near light speed to repair damages and launch a court martial of Chief Navigator Edison, who failed to calculate a safe trajectory and was therefore indirectly responsible for the deaths of fifty-three crew.
All charges were dropped seven hours later, when it was discovered that the fragment which wreaked such havok was in fact a belt buckle.
A string of bodies, mummified husks, dressed in the dried remains of historic United Russian States Navy uniforms were identified, leading far ahead into the A-6513 asteroid belt.
Captain Van Marck ordered the vessel pursue the trail of bodies and space junk. The uniforms disappeared fairly early on, being replaced with simple colonist's clothing. This also disappeared after a longer period, leaving the bodies dumped unclothed. Three weeks into the chase, a much larger cloud of debris and trash was detected by long-range sensors. A manned shuttle was launched from the *San Antonio* to probe the wreckage.
Inside the debris cloud hung a dented and abandoned Mid 21st Century-era early spacefaring vessel, outer compartments vented and lifeless. The shuttle moved in to dock with the unknown craft, attaching its docking seal to the craft's main airlock. The metal crumbled to the touch.
The crewmen forced their way inside, discovering the final stand of the crew of the Buran III. As vital systems failed from age and wear, the increasingly desperate crew resorted to cannibalizing cabins and compartments one by one. Gradually their craft grew smaller and smaller, the remainder of the plague-ridden society forced into the central cabins.
The exercise machinery failed early on, leading to increased levels of wasting through the generations. Drifting immobilized in the deadly asteroid field, even the waste disposal units broke down, leaving the final survivors of the United States of Russia resting ignominiously in their own filth. No more was left than atrophied bags of skin and bone, preserved in the sterile air of their craft.
On the *San Antonio*, the tiny unnoticed hole punched through the core reactor cooling rods by the Russian's stray buckle finally made itself known. The wave of radiation ensuing swept through the ship, incinerating the engine room crew and poisoning command, who succumbed themselves within hours.
The automated reports of the *USS San Antonio* suddenly ceased, the machines in Cape Canaveral falling silent. The building stood quiet and abandoned to the backdrop of the Third Spanish Influenza outbreak reaching its deadly peak. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | "And?" The rest of the bar seemed to lean in closer, expectantly. Li took another drink.
"And it was empty." There was silence for moment, then the tall woman in sitting to his left spoke for the first time since he had started telling his story. "They were dead?"
Li shook his head. "Nope, no dead bodies. Anywhere." He paused for a moment. "I mean anywhere. We didn't even find buried bodies from the first generation of colonists. Ashes, either. There should have been a few casualties from sickness and accidents over the years. It was a big ship and it was bound to happen. Hell, we know some people died in the first 50 years from their reports back to Earth. But we didn't find anything. No human remains at all."
This provoked murmurs. Li stifled a yawn and wondered what time it was. He rarely slept anymore. Sleep disorders were common in Savissivik-Thule but Li suspected too much daylight wasn't his problem.
"So no people and no bodies. Where did they go?" It was the bartender this time. He was the only person in the bar who looked like he had any Inuit blood at all. This was the first time Li could recall seeing him without a smile on his face. He had that effect on people these days.
Li shrugged. "We spent three weeks with the ship as we conducted the initial survey and towed it to dock and we never figured that out. As far as I know we still haven’t. I suppose they could have all gone out airlocks but we never saw any signs of depressurization and there were no signs of struggle, so if they did walk the plank they went willingly.” He fought the urge to yawn again and wondered if he was actually tired enough to sleep that night.
But wasn’t he trying to sleep with the tall woman next time him? Was that why he was telling the story? He couldn’t remember. He forgot a lot of things these days. He hoped it was the lack of sleep. He had heard rumors about other members of his recovery crew developing inexplicable psychological disorders.
He suddenly realized that he didn’t know how long he had been silent. He needed to focus.
“We never figured it out,” he repeated. “All electronic records were wiped clean. There were no official logs, no video footage, no personal entries. Nothing.”
The tall woman spoke again: “You mean on the central computer or-”
“Anywhere. We didn’t find electronic records anywhere. Not in the central computer, not on any personal devices, not anywhere.” Did he interrupt her? Was that rude?
More muttering.
“And not just electronic records either.” He continued. “There was almost nothing written down. No old-fashioned diaries or printouts.”
“What do you mean ‘almost?’?” This was the heavyset-man with wraparound sunglasses at the table farthest from the door. He was sitting with his back to the wall, as he did every time Li saw him at the bar.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Li said as politely as he could. Sunglasses seemed vaguely terrifying and Li didn’t want to have to find a new bar if he pissed off the wrong person. “There were no written or electronic records of what happened before or after they stopped sending back reports.”
“So the computers had been wiped?” The bartender asked.
“Nope, there was no indication that there were ever any records to begin with. No traces of deleted files, no fragments, no breadcrumbs, no traces, no clues.” He was rambling. He needed to focus. “Our I.T. detachment went through everything over a dozen times over and said it was as if nothing had ever been recorded at all.”
“So strange,” the tall woman whispered.
“That wasn’t the strange part. Our social techs and salvage archaeologists decided that there had been ‘a disruptive social event’ at some point.”
Li paused but there was no response this time.
“Apparently at some point the entire population dismantled their personal living quarters and turned most of the ship into an enormous communal space. The closest comparison we could find for the layout they created was the atomic structure of quartz.”
“What? That makes no sense!” Exclaimed the tall woman. Li suddenly remembered that she had mentioned being a geologist.
“No shit,” he said dryly. She looked offended by his tone. Sex was probably off the table.
“I mean it didn’t make sense to us either,” he quickly added. “And there were the other things.”
“Other things?” The bartender was pouring himself a glass of something clear, not even pretending to pay attention to the other customers.
Li briefly considered how much to tell. They already thought he was more than a little crazy and he wasn’t getting laid tonight, he might as well give them something.
“From what we could recover from the hydroponic decks, they got rid of most of their seeds and only grew plants that were cultivated in pre-Colombian Mesoamerica.”
“What?” Almost everybody together that time.
“It was the only common factor we could find. Also they apparently melted down any metal that wasn’t essential to structural integrity and built 1,297 statues that they placed at regular intervals throughout the ship. They somehow managed to turn one of the bulkheads into a metal foundry.”
“Statues of what?” The dark-haired woman sitting with Sunglasses asked, speaking for the first time.
“Oh, of teeth.” Li said, almost as an afterthought.
“Teeth?” She asked.
“Yeah, human teeth. Well, a tooth. Just copied 1,297 times. Ranging from life-sized to about three feet high. They were all over the place, although there was supposedly some order to their placement.”
“Why 1,297?” The tall geologist asked. Li shrugged.
“I dunno. Prime number? There was lots of stuff like that. All the livestock onboard had been killed and there was a room full of their bones lined up next to each other and snaking around the room, going in order from smallest to largest. According to the tests they were all slaughtered or died about the same time.”
They were just staring at him in silence now. |
At the height of the Second Spanish Influenza, a hastily outfitted Buran III was launched from Baikonur Cosmodrome. Arbitrarily picked from the top percentile of the remains of the State Gifted and Talented Scheme, it was the last gasp of a dying Motherland. It had tried multiple coups, inhuman research projects and a sudden collapse into civil war, before finding that none of these helped develop a vaccine any faster.
The automated systems on the Buran III beamed its status messages like clockwork. Twice per day, every day. Fifty years after their panicked launch the range grew so extreme the faint transmissions were indistinguishable from cosmic background radiation and were lost in the vast, cold expanses of space.
At Baikonur, the status messages printed themselves out like clockwork, gathering in a pile of yellowing type and copy upon the decaying concrete.
Three hundred years later, a stray metal fragment punctured the hear shields of the *USS San Antonio*, causing a sudden decompression event and spacing all officers in the lower portside torpedo compartment before bulkhead doors automatically deployed. The crippled vessel dropped from near light speed to repair damages and launch a court martial of Chief Navigator Edison, who failed to calculate a safe trajectory and was therefore indirectly responsible for the deaths of fifty-three crew.
All charges were dropped seven hours later, when it was discovered that the fragment which wreaked such havok was in fact a belt buckle.
A string of bodies, mummified husks, dressed in the dried remains of historic United Russian States Navy uniforms were identified, leading far ahead into the A-6513 asteroid belt.
Captain Van Marck ordered the vessel pursue the trail of bodies and space junk. The uniforms disappeared fairly early on, being replaced with simple colonist's clothing. This also disappeared after a longer period, leaving the bodies dumped unclothed. Three weeks into the chase, a much larger cloud of debris and trash was detected by long-range sensors. A manned shuttle was launched from the *San Antonio* to probe the wreckage.
Inside the debris cloud hung a dented and abandoned Mid 21st Century-era early spacefaring vessel, outer compartments vented and lifeless. The shuttle moved in to dock with the unknown craft, attaching its docking seal to the craft's main airlock. The metal crumbled to the touch.
The crewmen forced their way inside, discovering the final stand of the crew of the Buran III. As vital systems failed from age and wear, the increasingly desperate crew resorted to cannibalizing cabins and compartments one by one. Gradually their craft grew smaller and smaller, the remainder of the plague-ridden society forced into the central cabins.
The exercise machinery failed early on, leading to increased levels of wasting through the generations. Drifting immobilized in the deadly asteroid field, even the waste disposal units broke down, leaving the final survivors of the United States of Russia resting ignominiously in their own filth. No more was left than atrophied bags of skin and bone, preserved in the sterile air of their craft.
On the *San Antonio*, the tiny unnoticed hole punched through the core reactor cooling rods by the Russian's stray buckle finally made itself known. The wave of radiation ensuing swept through the ship, incinerating the engine room crew and poisoning command, who succumbed themselves within hours.
The automated reports of the *USS San Antonio* suddenly ceased, the machines in Cape Canaveral falling silent. The building stood quiet and abandoned to the backdrop of the Third Spanish Influenza outbreak reaching its deadly peak. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | I jolted forward in my seat, and the nausea I'd been coping for with for the duration of the trip instantly subsided. 'Thank the stars,' I thought to myself, 'we are dropping out of FTL.' Taking a deep breath and choking down the acid taste in my mouth, I undid my belt and stood up. My legs had their strength back almost immediately after dropping out, and I felt just like I was back home.
"We're here," the captain announced, sounding no worse for the wear as he removed his headset and stretched his arms upwards. "Spectroscopy hasn't found anything worth our worry, just a few asteroids within the nearest AU, so until we hear otherwise, I suggest we all get some lunch. Even if you're not hungry, mind. Faster-than-light really screws with your appetite until you get your space legs." He was not wrong. But I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I was damned hungry.
"That's all well and good Captain Black," came Dr. Elan's voice, almost cutting off the captain. "But I don't need them looking for space rocks, I need them looking for my ship." She sounded angry.
"And I need my crew keeping us all safe, Doc! We're four jumps past our official course already. And I've agreed to it, which I didn't have to, but I'm not going to just charge ahead like a moron. Even if the insurance would cover it, it'd hardly matter if we all died out here." He sounded angry too. Calming down, he continued. "Don't sweat, we won't be long. Then they can start poking around for your boat."
Francine Elan slumped back in her chair. Normally the doctor was as affable as she was bright, but she was anxious as hell today. Understandable, given the circumstances.
We'd picked it up on TADAR a week ago, and been so stunned that no one was sure if it was real or just wishful thinking. But double and triple and quadruple checking it had settled it: there was no mistake, that was a ship. The question was whether it was some poor bastards who dropped out of FTL at the wrong time and been careening off into the deep ever since or the real deal. The one they launched during the glow.
The comm tone sounded. The Captain hopped back into his seat and snapped his headset back on to his head. "This is the bridge, tell me wha- what? No shit. Repeat please. Well I'll be goddamned. Yep. Yep. I'll let the Doc know."
He turned his seat to face Francine Elan, a famous archaeologist, and the head honcho on this trip. "Good news Doc, pretty sure they found your boat. It's 4.3 million km sunward." Even he was excited, though maybe that was for the bonus he'd negotiated.
"And get this. There's O2 onboard."
Oh. Oh shit.
After that we shot into overdrive. The captain and pilot began manoeuvring closer to the ship and the rest of the crew joined the team in getting ready for EVA. Within a half an hour, we packed into the shuttle and sped off. Within five minutes time, we saw the silhouette of the ship. The comm buoys had long since failed and any name had been scraped off by dust centuries ago, but I was sure of it - this was her.
Getting into the ship was trivial. We'd known that if this was really the ship, the airlocks were bound to be non-functional, so we'd brought a breeching craft along with us for just this purpose. There had been complaints about damaging an archaeological find like this, but in spite of the protests, everyone was more interested in getting inside the ship than they were keeping it in perfect condition.
We popped inside, I did a quick check for dangerous pathogens, and then I reached to open my visor before I thought better of it. The air scanned clean, but it'd been a long, long time, and I told everyone to keep themselves bolted up. We all started down the airlock corridor towards what appeared to be the center module.
Upon arriving at the center module, we discovered that, remarkable, the lights and some of the computer systems were operational. Deciding we'd use this module as a sort of basecamp, Francine devised a plan to cover the ship as efficiently as possible. It wasn't exactly intuitively to explore, and even though we were sure it was safe, we were all still a bit superstitious about a ship older than most cities on Earth. So we split up, and Dr. Elan and I started down one corridor and left the other teams to check out theirs while a few engineers banged away at the ship's log.
At last we came to one of the last module on the corridor we'd started down. It was cavernous, and while the module entrance was lit from the hallway, the room itself was damn near pitch black. Francine started fiddling with a console near the lit doorway, and suddenly the room exploded into light.
Holy sweet starlight, I thought.
My jaw dropped, and I fell backwards onto my ass in shock.
Francine ran over to check on me.
"Are you okay?"
I had no words.
"Answer me. Are you okay? Shit. Shit shit shit."
I was faintly aware of her calling for help into her commlink, but I was still transfixed by what I saw.
"Hey guys. Bill is acting really weird." My suit was shaking back and forth, but I couldn't look away.
"Get here right fucking now. Bill is having some kind of episode," she yelled into her comms.
The second mention of my name made me snap back to attention, and I tried to set her at ease. "No, no. I'm fine. But tell them to come here anyway."
She sighed with relief and hunched over with her hands on her knees. "Oh man, you really fucking scared me there Bill." She spoke into her comms, "false alarm everyone, he's okay. I'm gonna kill him later, but for now he's okay."
Turning to her, too amazed to be sheepish, I spoke. "Yeah, I'm sorry to have worried you." It was barely an apology. "Look it's good you called everyone here anyway. This is... wow..."
The blood was pumped so hard in my head that it hurt, but I made out a voice over the comms. "Hey, if Bill is all right, you gotta come see this section of the ship. It's like... a mausoleum or something. There's gold and platinum all over the place - just the value of the raw materials has got to be enough to have made us break even. Looks like the last of the crew died a looooooooooong time ago. Amazed anything still works on this sucker."
"Fuck the gold. Fuck the bones," I said back, "you have to come here. What I'm looking at is the single most important thing I've ever laid eyes on. There won't be a prize on Earth prestigious enough for us when we get back."
"Well shit, okay then" the voice came back, a little shocked. "We'll be right over." And the comms went silent.
There was silence for a moment, then Dr. Elan spoke. "So... Bill... want to let me in on why this room matters?"
I turned to her and pointed at the mess of tall green stalks in front of me. "That, Fran, is why we're here. That is why you brought a historian on a space voyage. That is going to save the fucking planet. No one alive but us has ever seen it."
"Well what the hell is it?"
"That, Francine," I said "is corn." |
At the height of the Second Spanish Influenza, a hastily outfitted Buran III was launched from Baikonur Cosmodrome. Arbitrarily picked from the top percentile of the remains of the State Gifted and Talented Scheme, it was the last gasp of a dying Motherland. It had tried multiple coups, inhuman research projects and a sudden collapse into civil war, before finding that none of these helped develop a vaccine any faster.
The automated systems on the Buran III beamed its status messages like clockwork. Twice per day, every day. Fifty years after their panicked launch the range grew so extreme the faint transmissions were indistinguishable from cosmic background radiation and were lost in the vast, cold expanses of space.
At Baikonur, the status messages printed themselves out like clockwork, gathering in a pile of yellowing type and copy upon the decaying concrete.
Three hundred years later, a stray metal fragment punctured the hear shields of the *USS San Antonio*, causing a sudden decompression event and spacing all officers in the lower portside torpedo compartment before bulkhead doors automatically deployed. The crippled vessel dropped from near light speed to repair damages and launch a court martial of Chief Navigator Edison, who failed to calculate a safe trajectory and was therefore indirectly responsible for the deaths of fifty-three crew.
All charges were dropped seven hours later, when it was discovered that the fragment which wreaked such havok was in fact a belt buckle.
A string of bodies, mummified husks, dressed in the dried remains of historic United Russian States Navy uniforms were identified, leading far ahead into the A-6513 asteroid belt.
Captain Van Marck ordered the vessel pursue the trail of bodies and space junk. The uniforms disappeared fairly early on, being replaced with simple colonist's clothing. This also disappeared after a longer period, leaving the bodies dumped unclothed. Three weeks into the chase, a much larger cloud of debris and trash was detected by long-range sensors. A manned shuttle was launched from the *San Antonio* to probe the wreckage.
Inside the debris cloud hung a dented and abandoned Mid 21st Century-era early spacefaring vessel, outer compartments vented and lifeless. The shuttle moved in to dock with the unknown craft, attaching its docking seal to the craft's main airlock. The metal crumbled to the touch.
The crewmen forced their way inside, discovering the final stand of the crew of the Buran III. As vital systems failed from age and wear, the increasingly desperate crew resorted to cannibalizing cabins and compartments one by one. Gradually their craft grew smaller and smaller, the remainder of the plague-ridden society forced into the central cabins.
The exercise machinery failed early on, leading to increased levels of wasting through the generations. Drifting immobilized in the deadly asteroid field, even the waste disposal units broke down, leaving the final survivors of the United States of Russia resting ignominiously in their own filth. No more was left than atrophied bags of skin and bone, preserved in the sterile air of their craft.
On the *San Antonio*, the tiny unnoticed hole punched through the core reactor cooling rods by the Russian's stray buckle finally made itself known. The wave of radiation ensuing swept through the ship, incinerating the engine room crew and poisoning command, who succumbed themselves within hours.
The automated reports of the *USS San Antonio* suddenly ceased, the machines in Cape Canaveral falling silent. The building stood quiet and abandoned to the backdrop of the Third Spanish Influenza outbreak reaching its deadly peak. |
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Shiplog - Entry 756
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-six, date is... twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
We zeroed in on a ghost ship a couple of hours ago, no serial number and unknown make. The reactors look powered down and we may not have even seen it if the hull wasn't caked in radioactive residue.
I'm prepping some scrappers to get a closer look and get an eye on the ships name. This isn't like a usual job so I'm hesitant to crack her open until we have full countermeasures in place, we don't want another Sol Cult disaster...
End recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 757
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-seven, date is twenty one-fifty six, January fifteenth, Earth Standard Time.
So the scrappers returned and identified the ship. Stargazer. Never heard of it and the system isn't returning any positives. I'm going to bet that this is some kind of pirate vessel or a bunch of wayward Mormon colonists. Either way, she ought to be brimming with gear. If she's as old as she looks we might even fetch an antique price.
I'm sending some Crackers on a raft to go and peel us an entry before the Tugs get in there and fill up. I want to keep this as quick as possible, there's no telling what the condition of the ship is like and I'd rather not have it melt down with half the lads on board.
end recording.
---
Shiplog - Entry 758
Begin record. Captain Benza, entry seven-five-eight, date is twenty one-fifty six, January seventeenth, Earth Standard Time.
Well we cracked her and Tugged out some goods. Most of it was junk, some of it we dumped. Rotten vitapacks, clothes and rusty materials.
Some of the lads said that there was bio-pods on board, but they were all blackened on the inside. Nobody wanted to open them up and I don't blame them, a few wristwatches isn't worth the stench.
Other than that it was a pretty regular haul. We got some electrics, a few tons of vintage wines and their ship data, which fit on a single thumbdrive!
Looking at their logs now, it seems like they were early colonists, long before the Mormons took off. Their records end at about twenty-seventy five. Nothing before that to suggest any reason for them to stop communicating, I reckon that's when they all died.
*background talking*
Uh huh, alright. Chuck it if it's no good, we need the cargo space.
Well, turns our the electronics are shot, massive electrical damage. Looks like these poor colonists were hit by a flare.
Such is space travel, I guess.
End recording.
--- | Note: I extended the length of the ships disappearance, and I've added cloning with shorter childhoods to add the element of generations effecting each other on the ship. Also, this is 50% story 50% general outline for my idea. Sorry
It's the year 2325, The Peccatum , a ship sent to populate the stars has been missing for 300 years. Then one day, a new modern exploration vessel called The Nuntius, picks up something on it's radar in Deep Space. They are ordered to investigate. That was the last they ever heard from The Nuntius.
The nearest ship nearby is a research vessel called The Erue, it is ordered to investigate.
After arriving at the last known location of the Nuntius, they are immediately attacked, subdued and boarded by an older ship that resembles the Peccatum.
While captured, the Erue crew learns the following things:
The Peccatum suffered heavy damage from an asteroid shortly after losing contact with Earth 300 years ago.
The ships nuclear reactor was damaged causing huge amounts of radiation to constantly flood the ship.
The crew was left with two choices, jettison the reactor or ramp up the cloning program on board the ship to make up for the all the deaths and shorter lifespans.
The ship had many people to begin with from all walks of life. Scientist, Artists, Businessmen, Religious figures.
The many different groups inside the ship fought over what they should do next.
Due to the ramped up cloning process, the Peccatum hasn't had 3-4 generations living on the ship, they've had 30-40 generations in the same amount of time.
**Got to go to work sorry. I'll flesh out the rest when I'm at work**
here's a quick synopsis of what's left.
The Peccatum, is full of basically two groups now. The ones who were the genetic clones of the scientists, and the ones who came from the religious groups.
Both have been fighting for control of the ship for hundreds of years. Finally, they have agreed upon to turn their crippled ship around and return to Earth. For different reasons of course.
However, the ship is leaking radiation and could blow up at any second. Bringing it into our solar system could endanger the entire system. (probably something with their warp drive)
Plus the constant exposure to Radtiation has made these people sick and they should not be allowed to mingle with the Earth Population.
The captain of the Erue, needs to (A) convince the religious leaders that this is not a crusade to return to "Mecca"
and (B) convince the Science people that returning home to reunite the species bloodline is not in Earth's best interest.
Their only option is to return to their original mission that they were originally on before the accident and on board fighting began.
Can the Captain of the Erue convince these people to do the right thing?
|
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | "And?" The rest of the bar seemed to lean in closer, expectantly. Li took another drink.
"And it was empty." There was silence for moment, then the tall woman in sitting to his left spoke for the first time since he had started telling his story. "They were dead?"
Li shook his head. "Nope, no dead bodies. Anywhere." He paused for a moment. "I mean anywhere. We didn't even find buried bodies from the first generation of colonists. Ashes, either. There should have been a few casualties from sickness and accidents over the years. It was a big ship and it was bound to happen. Hell, we know some people died in the first 50 years from their reports back to Earth. But we didn't find anything. No human remains at all."
This provoked murmurs. Li stifled a yawn and wondered what time it was. He rarely slept anymore. Sleep disorders were common in Savissivik-Thule but Li suspected too much daylight wasn't his problem.
"So no people and no bodies. Where did they go?" It was the bartender this time. He was the only person in the bar who looked like he had any Inuit blood at all. This was the first time Li could recall seeing him without a smile on his face. He had that effect on people these days.
Li shrugged. "We spent three weeks with the ship as we conducted the initial survey and towed it to dock and we never figured that out. As far as I know we still haven’t. I suppose they could have all gone out airlocks but we never saw any signs of depressurization and there were no signs of struggle, so if they did walk the plank they went willingly.” He fought the urge to yawn again and wondered if he was actually tired enough to sleep that night.
But wasn’t he trying to sleep with the tall woman next time him? Was that why he was telling the story? He couldn’t remember. He forgot a lot of things these days. He hoped it was the lack of sleep. He had heard rumors about other members of his recovery crew developing inexplicable psychological disorders.
He suddenly realized that he didn’t know how long he had been silent. He needed to focus.
“We never figured it out,” he repeated. “All electronic records were wiped clean. There were no official logs, no video footage, no personal entries. Nothing.”
The tall woman spoke again: “You mean on the central computer or-”
“Anywhere. We didn’t find electronic records anywhere. Not in the central computer, not on any personal devices, not anywhere.” Did he interrupt her? Was that rude?
More muttering.
“And not just electronic records either.” He continued. “There was almost nothing written down. No old-fashioned diaries or printouts.”
“What do you mean ‘almost?’?” This was the heavyset-man with wraparound sunglasses at the table farthest from the door. He was sitting with his back to the wall, as he did every time Li saw him at the bar.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Li said as politely as he could. Sunglasses seemed vaguely terrifying and Li didn’t want to have to find a new bar if he pissed off the wrong person. “There were no written or electronic records of what happened before or after they stopped sending back reports.”
“So the computers had been wiped?” The bartender asked.
“Nope, there was no indication that there were ever any records to begin with. No traces of deleted files, no fragments, no breadcrumbs, no traces, no clues.” He was rambling. He needed to focus. “Our I.T. detachment went through everything over a dozen times over and said it was as if nothing had ever been recorded at all.”
“So strange,” the tall woman whispered.
“That wasn’t the strange part. Our social techs and salvage archaeologists decided that there had been ‘a disruptive social event’ at some point.”
Li paused but there was no response this time.
“Apparently at some point the entire population dismantled their personal living quarters and turned most of the ship into an enormous communal space. The closest comparison we could find for the layout they created was the atomic structure of quartz.”
“What? That makes no sense!” Exclaimed the tall woman. Li suddenly remembered that she had mentioned being a geologist.
“No shit,” he said dryly. She looked offended by his tone. Sex was probably off the table.
“I mean it didn’t make sense to us either,” he quickly added. “And there were the other things.”
“Other things?” The bartender was pouring himself a glass of something clear, not even pretending to pay attention to the other customers.
Li briefly considered how much to tell. They already thought he was more than a little crazy and he wasn’t getting laid tonight, he might as well give them something.
“From what we could recover from the hydroponic decks, they got rid of most of their seeds and only grew plants that were cultivated in pre-Colombian Mesoamerica.”
“What?” Almost everybody together that time.
“It was the only common factor we could find. Also they apparently melted down any metal that wasn’t essential to structural integrity and built 1,297 statues that they placed at regular intervals throughout the ship. They somehow managed to turn one of the bulkheads into a metal foundry.”
“Statues of what?” The dark-haired woman sitting with Sunglasses asked, speaking for the first time.
“Oh, of teeth.” Li said, almost as an afterthought.
“Teeth?” She asked.
“Yeah, human teeth. Well, a tooth. Just copied 1,297 times. Ranging from life-sized to about three feet high. They were all over the place, although there was supposedly some order to their placement.”
“Why 1,297?” The tall geologist asked. Li shrugged.
“I dunno. Prime number? There was lots of stuff like that. All the livestock onboard had been killed and there was a room full of their bones lined up next to each other and snaking around the room, going in order from smallest to largest. According to the tests they were all slaughtered or died about the same time.”
They were just staring at him in silence now. | Note: I extended the length of the ships disappearance, and I've added cloning with shorter childhoods to add the element of generations effecting each other on the ship. Also, this is 50% story 50% general outline for my idea. Sorry
It's the year 2325, The Peccatum , a ship sent to populate the stars has been missing for 300 years. Then one day, a new modern exploration vessel called The Nuntius, picks up something on it's radar in Deep Space. They are ordered to investigate. That was the last they ever heard from The Nuntius.
The nearest ship nearby is a research vessel called The Erue, it is ordered to investigate.
After arriving at the last known location of the Nuntius, they are immediately attacked, subdued and boarded by an older ship that resembles the Peccatum.
While captured, the Erue crew learns the following things:
The Peccatum suffered heavy damage from an asteroid shortly after losing contact with Earth 300 years ago.
The ships nuclear reactor was damaged causing huge amounts of radiation to constantly flood the ship.
The crew was left with two choices, jettison the reactor or ramp up the cloning program on board the ship to make up for the all the deaths and shorter lifespans.
The ship had many people to begin with from all walks of life. Scientist, Artists, Businessmen, Religious figures.
The many different groups inside the ship fought over what they should do next.
Due to the ramped up cloning process, the Peccatum hasn't had 3-4 generations living on the ship, they've had 30-40 generations in the same amount of time.
**Got to go to work sorry. I'll flesh out the rest when I'm at work**
here's a quick synopsis of what's left.
The Peccatum, is full of basically two groups now. The ones who were the genetic clones of the scientists, and the ones who came from the religious groups.
Both have been fighting for control of the ship for hundreds of years. Finally, they have agreed upon to turn their crippled ship around and return to Earth. For different reasons of course.
However, the ship is leaking radiation and could blow up at any second. Bringing it into our solar system could endanger the entire system. (probably something with their warp drive)
Plus the constant exposure to Radtiation has made these people sick and they should not be allowed to mingle with the Earth Population.
The captain of the Erue, needs to (A) convince the religious leaders that this is not a crusade to return to "Mecca"
and (B) convince the Science people that returning home to reunite the species bloodline is not in Earth's best interest.
Their only option is to return to their original mission that they were originally on before the accident and on board fighting began.
Can the Captain of the Erue convince these people to do the right thing?
|
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | I jolted forward in my seat, and the nausea I'd been coping for with for the duration of the trip instantly subsided. 'Thank the stars,' I thought to myself, 'we are dropping out of FTL.' Taking a deep breath and choking down the acid taste in my mouth, I undid my belt and stood up. My legs had their strength back almost immediately after dropping out, and I felt just like I was back home.
"We're here," the captain announced, sounding no worse for the wear as he removed his headset and stretched his arms upwards. "Spectroscopy hasn't found anything worth our worry, just a few asteroids within the nearest AU, so until we hear otherwise, I suggest we all get some lunch. Even if you're not hungry, mind. Faster-than-light really screws with your appetite until you get your space legs." He was not wrong. But I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I was damned hungry.
"That's all well and good Captain Black," came Dr. Elan's voice, almost cutting off the captain. "But I don't need them looking for space rocks, I need them looking for my ship." She sounded angry.
"And I need my crew keeping us all safe, Doc! We're four jumps past our official course already. And I've agreed to it, which I didn't have to, but I'm not going to just charge ahead like a moron. Even if the insurance would cover it, it'd hardly matter if we all died out here." He sounded angry too. Calming down, he continued. "Don't sweat, we won't be long. Then they can start poking around for your boat."
Francine Elan slumped back in her chair. Normally the doctor was as affable as she was bright, but she was anxious as hell today. Understandable, given the circumstances.
We'd picked it up on TADAR a week ago, and been so stunned that no one was sure if it was real or just wishful thinking. But double and triple and quadruple checking it had settled it: there was no mistake, that was a ship. The question was whether it was some poor bastards who dropped out of FTL at the wrong time and been careening off into the deep ever since or the real deal. The one they launched during the glow.
The comm tone sounded. The Captain hopped back into his seat and snapped his headset back on to his head. "This is the bridge, tell me wha- what? No shit. Repeat please. Well I'll be goddamned. Yep. Yep. I'll let the Doc know."
He turned his seat to face Francine Elan, a famous archaeologist, and the head honcho on this trip. "Good news Doc, pretty sure they found your boat. It's 4.3 million km sunward." Even he was excited, though maybe that was for the bonus he'd negotiated.
"And get this. There's O2 onboard."
Oh. Oh shit.
After that we shot into overdrive. The captain and pilot began manoeuvring closer to the ship and the rest of the crew joined the team in getting ready for EVA. Within a half an hour, we packed into the shuttle and sped off. Within five minutes time, we saw the silhouette of the ship. The comm buoys had long since failed and any name had been scraped off by dust centuries ago, but I was sure of it - this was her.
Getting into the ship was trivial. We'd known that if this was really the ship, the airlocks were bound to be non-functional, so we'd brought a breeching craft along with us for just this purpose. There had been complaints about damaging an archaeological find like this, but in spite of the protests, everyone was more interested in getting inside the ship than they were keeping it in perfect condition.
We popped inside, I did a quick check for dangerous pathogens, and then I reached to open my visor before I thought better of it. The air scanned clean, but it'd been a long, long time, and I told everyone to keep themselves bolted up. We all started down the airlock corridor towards what appeared to be the center module.
Upon arriving at the center module, we discovered that, remarkable, the lights and some of the computer systems were operational. Deciding we'd use this module as a sort of basecamp, Francine devised a plan to cover the ship as efficiently as possible. It wasn't exactly intuitively to explore, and even though we were sure it was safe, we were all still a bit superstitious about a ship older than most cities on Earth. So we split up, and Dr. Elan and I started down one corridor and left the other teams to check out theirs while a few engineers banged away at the ship's log.
At last we came to one of the last module on the corridor we'd started down. It was cavernous, and while the module entrance was lit from the hallway, the room itself was damn near pitch black. Francine started fiddling with a console near the lit doorway, and suddenly the room exploded into light.
Holy sweet starlight, I thought.
My jaw dropped, and I fell backwards onto my ass in shock.
Francine ran over to check on me.
"Are you okay?"
I had no words.
"Answer me. Are you okay? Shit. Shit shit shit."
I was faintly aware of her calling for help into her commlink, but I was still transfixed by what I saw.
"Hey guys. Bill is acting really weird." My suit was shaking back and forth, but I couldn't look away.
"Get here right fucking now. Bill is having some kind of episode," she yelled into her comms.
The second mention of my name made me snap back to attention, and I tried to set her at ease. "No, no. I'm fine. But tell them to come here anyway."
She sighed with relief and hunched over with her hands on her knees. "Oh man, you really fucking scared me there Bill." She spoke into her comms, "false alarm everyone, he's okay. I'm gonna kill him later, but for now he's okay."
Turning to her, too amazed to be sheepish, I spoke. "Yeah, I'm sorry to have worried you." It was barely an apology. "Look it's good you called everyone here anyway. This is... wow..."
The blood was pumped so hard in my head that it hurt, but I made out a voice over the comms. "Hey, if Bill is all right, you gotta come see this section of the ship. It's like... a mausoleum or something. There's gold and platinum all over the place - just the value of the raw materials has got to be enough to have made us break even. Looks like the last of the crew died a looooooooooong time ago. Amazed anything still works on this sucker."
"Fuck the gold. Fuck the bones," I said back, "you have to come here. What I'm looking at is the single most important thing I've ever laid eyes on. There won't be a prize on Earth prestigious enough for us when we get back."
"Well shit, okay then" the voice came back, a little shocked. "We'll be right over." And the comms went silent.
There was silence for a moment, then Dr. Elan spoke. "So... Bill... want to let me in on why this room matters?"
I turned to her and pointed at the mess of tall green stalks in front of me. "That, Fran, is why we're here. That is why you brought a historian on a space voyage. That is going to save the fucking planet. No one alive but us has ever seen it."
"Well what the hell is it?"
"That, Francine," I said "is corn." | Note: I extended the length of the ships disappearance, and I've added cloning with shorter childhoods to add the element of generations effecting each other on the ship. Also, this is 50% story 50% general outline for my idea. Sorry
It's the year 2325, The Peccatum , a ship sent to populate the stars has been missing for 300 years. Then one day, a new modern exploration vessel called The Nuntius, picks up something on it's radar in Deep Space. They are ordered to investigate. That was the last they ever heard from The Nuntius.
The nearest ship nearby is a research vessel called The Erue, it is ordered to investigate.
After arriving at the last known location of the Nuntius, they are immediately attacked, subdued and boarded by an older ship that resembles the Peccatum.
While captured, the Erue crew learns the following things:
The Peccatum suffered heavy damage from an asteroid shortly after losing contact with Earth 300 years ago.
The ships nuclear reactor was damaged causing huge amounts of radiation to constantly flood the ship.
The crew was left with two choices, jettison the reactor or ramp up the cloning program on board the ship to make up for the all the deaths and shorter lifespans.
The ship had many people to begin with from all walks of life. Scientist, Artists, Businessmen, Religious figures.
The many different groups inside the ship fought over what they should do next.
Due to the ramped up cloning process, the Peccatum hasn't had 3-4 generations living on the ship, they've had 30-40 generations in the same amount of time.
**Got to go to work sorry. I'll flesh out the rest when I'm at work**
here's a quick synopsis of what's left.
The Peccatum, is full of basically two groups now. The ones who were the genetic clones of the scientists, and the ones who came from the religious groups.
Both have been fighting for control of the ship for hundreds of years. Finally, they have agreed upon to turn their crippled ship around and return to Earth. For different reasons of course.
However, the ship is leaking radiation and could blow up at any second. Bringing it into our solar system could endanger the entire system. (probably something with their warp drive)
Plus the constant exposure to Radtiation has made these people sick and they should not be allowed to mingle with the Earth Population.
The captain of the Erue, needs to (A) convince the religious leaders that this is not a crusade to return to "Mecca"
and (B) convince the Science people that returning home to reunite the species bloodline is not in Earth's best interest.
Their only option is to return to their original mission that they were originally on before the accident and on board fighting began.
Can the Captain of the Erue convince these people to do the right thing?
|
By multi-generational ship I mean a large self sustaining ship that is propelled by modern means. People die and give birth on the vessel, counting on future generations to arrive at their destination. | [WP] In the year 2025 a multi-generational ship is sent out to explore spaceand After 50 years humanity loses contact with them. Hundreds of years later light speed travel is invented and a light speed ship catches up to the generational ship. What do they find inside? | Day 1 12:23
Mikey matched the spin of the asteroid an hour ago: Why hadn’t we descended to the surface yet? There was something odd about this one. Initial scans indicated an extremely light mass.
“Maybe it’s geode-type,” Carol remarked, “And they’re calling an outfitted crew to mine this one.
“Those are hyper-rare,” I told her. “Besides, you can’t call a team without checking it first. Immense waste of resources,
if you were wrong.”
“If you were wrong,” she replied, and popped a grape into her mouth and crunched down.
I waved her off. “Low density, high rate of spin, hardly any surface craters… seems like an odd combination. This is no geode. Mikey’s not telling us something.”
She shrugged.
17:56
I’d been staring at the asteroid. I was intensely fascinated by it. Something called to me. The coal black, ice crusted surface hid something, and I could see it, like a fog on the edge of my vision. Like something dark hiding in the gloom.
Carol hung up the COM. “We’re descending now.”
“About damn time.”
The ship shuddered when it made contact with the asteroid surface. Touchdown.
We climbed down the ladder to the decon room. Carol bolted the hatch shut and I took her suit off the rack and handed it to her and then retrieved mine and stripped down to my long johns and put it on. I checked the fit of the oxygen connectors and brushed off the silver Mylar sleeves and then finally clasped my helmet on.
I nodded to Carol and she punched the drill rig release and it slid open. The air and water vapor froze white and whistled by me and disappeared into space.
“Dropping drill head.” Carol said and I looked up and saw the drill descend and the ship shuddered when it slammed into the surface. It immediately started churning up the rock and ore.
22:10
“Cut the drill! Cut the drill!” Carol yelled from the surface. I ran over and hit the emergency stop. Looked down at her. She approached the drill. It glowed faintly red on the edges. She knelt on the ground before it. “Come here,” she said and waved me over.
I sighed. “If this is another one of your damn--”
“Shaddup, and look at this,” She said, and removed a sheet of ice that had been loosened by the drill, and revealed a smooth dark surface.
“So?” I asked.
“Look where the drill bit the side. I’d say that’s bronze, or copper.”
“Hm. Yep.”
“This isn’t some organic formation. Look at it.”
“Alright, Alright, I’ll call Mikey.” I got him on the COM. “Mike we have something weird here.” I gave him the details.
“It’s probably crystalline growth. Keep drilling. We need to see what’s inside her.”
“You got it.” I shrugged at Carol and we kept drilling.
Day 2 1:23
“She’s hollow alright.” Carol said. “Kind of weird, that off-gassing, though. Can an asteroid stay airtight that long?”
“What do I care?” I asked. I always got angry when I was nervous. “Just get the light.”
She grabbed a chemical flare and snapped it and it started to glow green. She pitched it down the chasm we’d opened. I walked to the edge and knelt down and looked in. The flare bounced down maybe a few meters and boomeranged in the changing gravities and settled behind some kind of formation.
“I can’t see anything. I’m going in,” I told Carol and she tied me off and I jumped into the hole and gravity flipped when I left the confines of the ship. I crawled onto the surface and waited for my stomach to right itself and then stood.
I was surrounded by thin, frosted things. I studied them. There was something vaguely familiar about the figures they cut in the shadows. I gripped a shoot of one and rubbed it in my gloved hands and exposed a vibrant green color.
They were plants. Why were there plants inside an asteroid? I looked around with my headlamp and saw I was standing in some kind of garden… but now it was overgrown. It was like a godawful antediluvian forest, grown over. I aimed my headlamp at the large obelisk in the center, the one that the flare had rolled behind. The flickering light revealed a massive thing, grey-black and metal, frosted over. It had shiny bug eyes and grotesque arms. It was some kind of farming device. Even from a distance, I could tell it had been a long time since it was operational.
This was a hydroponic farm, I thought. But the people. Oh god, did we kill them? I looked around again. There was nothing. I must have destroyed the power to the lights that fed these plants. That’s all that must have been left, I told myself. Just the plants. I noticed I was breathing rapidly and I tried to check it.
“Carol,” I said, and her reply was imbedded in a mush of static. “Carol. Get Mikey on the COM. You’re not gonna believe this.”
Edited-Run on sentences
| Note: I extended the length of the ships disappearance, and I've added cloning with shorter childhoods to add the element of generations effecting each other on the ship. Also, this is 50% story 50% general outline for my idea. Sorry
It's the year 2325, The Peccatum , a ship sent to populate the stars has been missing for 300 years. Then one day, a new modern exploration vessel called The Nuntius, picks up something on it's radar in Deep Space. They are ordered to investigate. That was the last they ever heard from The Nuntius.
The nearest ship nearby is a research vessel called The Erue, it is ordered to investigate.
After arriving at the last known location of the Nuntius, they are immediately attacked, subdued and boarded by an older ship that resembles the Peccatum.
While captured, the Erue crew learns the following things:
The Peccatum suffered heavy damage from an asteroid shortly after losing contact with Earth 300 years ago.
The ships nuclear reactor was damaged causing huge amounts of radiation to constantly flood the ship.
The crew was left with two choices, jettison the reactor or ramp up the cloning program on board the ship to make up for the all the deaths and shorter lifespans.
The ship had many people to begin with from all walks of life. Scientist, Artists, Businessmen, Religious figures.
The many different groups inside the ship fought over what they should do next.
Due to the ramped up cloning process, the Peccatum hasn't had 3-4 generations living on the ship, they've had 30-40 generations in the same amount of time.
**Got to go to work sorry. I'll flesh out the rest when I'm at work**
here's a quick synopsis of what's left.
The Peccatum, is full of basically two groups now. The ones who were the genetic clones of the scientists, and the ones who came from the religious groups.
Both have been fighting for control of the ship for hundreds of years. Finally, they have agreed upon to turn their crippled ship around and return to Earth. For different reasons of course.
However, the ship is leaking radiation and could blow up at any second. Bringing it into our solar system could endanger the entire system. (probably something with their warp drive)
Plus the constant exposure to Radtiation has made these people sick and they should not be allowed to mingle with the Earth Population.
The captain of the Erue, needs to (A) convince the religious leaders that this is not a crusade to return to "Mecca"
and (B) convince the Science people that returning home to reunite the species bloodline is not in Earth's best interest.
Their only option is to return to their original mission that they were originally on before the accident and on board fighting began.
Can the Captain of the Erue convince these people to do the right thing?
|
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