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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. | 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.
--- |
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." | 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.
--- |
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." | "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. |
[WP] 6.5.Billion years from now, Earthlings are now a race of space-faring giants with an 80,000 year lifespan, thereby losing touch with their "humanity". Give us a little love story. | They were discovered on the remote planet called LIR-567 by the interstellar maps, but the natives, according to the records, called it Eden. It had been one of the earliest colonies outside of their original solar system. Naming had not been very creative in those early days of humanity. They considered themselves a little better now.
The things could barely be called humans, and they certainly weren't people. The population had bottlenecked tens of thousands of years ago despite once being a large colony of several billion. They'd cut off contact when the last of the long voyage ships left for good, choosing to stay behind where they could just barely see their original sun in a telescope. Fools. They'd avoided genetic maladies with stored genetic material while the technology lasted, but it was all old. They were comfortable, content, living in an almost original atmosphere. They had no need to evolve, no technological means to grow physically, mentally, spiritually.
By the time the archeology team found them, they were living in caves, their speech beyond normal translators. Experts sussed out ways to speak to them, but their thoughts were minimalistic. Food, fables, sex... Many found them distasteful, but more found them amusing. That faction won in the vote between mercifully euthanasizing all two hundred of them and bringing them back to the traveling zoological ship Schonburnn.
On Eden there had been two tribes living near but apart, and so they preserved those groups, putting them in separate habitats. Giving them proper nutrition, adding simple toys for their enrichment. Perhaps the little humans thought the gods had taken them to some heaven or another. They treated their caretakers with the reverence of a god, but that may have been because their six foot tall bodies were so dwarfed by the twenty feet of the average person.
One tribe, deemed the reds for their preference in painting themselves in it, grew to become used to the visitors behind the barrier. Even became performing tricks, trying to make plays. They always seemed happy when people laughed and clapped.
The other tribe, the blues, they were an angrier group. After people grew bored at them throwing their little rocks at the barrier and their squeaky, odd cursing was no longer novel, the barrier was altered to be one-way. The head caretaker said it was simply stressing them too much. Her assistant planned on doing her senior thesis on the differences between the tribes. They merely reverted to their old ways of gathering what was put in their enclosure. While the young loved the reds more, scientists enjoyed the blue. How fascinating, they were almost real cave people, they'd observe. A window into the past.
They were simple creatures. Why wouldn't they be? They were so short lived. A year was forever to them because their lives were no more than eighty. In a month they had forgotten any other life. They had simple fears, simple wants. No depression, no sense of responsibility. No wonder people loved them.
And this was true of all the creatures, save for two. One blue, one red.
At first they all tried to get out. Why wouldn't they? They did not yet know that this was a far preferable cage to the rock they'd been rescued from. But within a week they'd settled, all but those two. They continued to try to escape for another two weeks. An eternity from their perspective.
And after that, mere sadness took over. They'd sit by the walls, projecting its pictures, listless. They would not eat, they would barely take water. No amusement would distract them.
The caretakers were too hesitant to administer drugs without more research into their anatomy, but they were unwillingly to lose even two of their precious specimens and moneymakers. They ran tests, read studies from the far past dredged up from the bowels of early days, what was left after so much time anyway. But they found nothing medical, nothing psychological, no reason only these two creatures were so similarly affected.
It was an intern, barely past adolescence at twenty thousand years old, who first suggested it.
"Maybe," xe said, hesitant for good reason. "Maybe they're in love."
"With what?" snorted the head caretaker.
"With each other."
It was a foolish notion. What would these beasts know of love? They could no more devout themselves to beauty or to an idea or a theory than they could grow wings and fly through space. They formed attachments with each other, yes, but those seemed to be strictly for physical pleasure or help with raising the young or other domestic duties. How could something that only lived to eighty really know what love it?
"They're going to die soon anyway," insisted the intern. "Let's try."
So they took the red and the blue from their enclosures, away from their tribe, and they gave them a place of their own.
The reaction was immediate. They embraced, they pressed their faces together, their hands went all over their bodies as they wailed in their high pitches and cried their salt water out. And that night they made love. Even for such a disgusting act, even the head caretaker was touched by the primitive display. Even in their small minds, even in their simplicity, there was some vague notion of love in these creatures.
If the pair missed their tribes, they gave no indication. They began to paint themselves in purple and spent their days together. Sometimes doing activities apart, but always coming to sleep in one another's arms.
They showed mild depression again in several years. The intern, who had made further progress in communicating with the creatures than anyone before xer, made the sign for "want" before their window. It took him a day or so to decipher their meanings.
"They want a baby," the intern relayed. "A child."
"Can't they make one? The others do."
"They're both females."
"I always forget that. Primitives."
The other tribes were always abandoning their young if they thought them beyond help. The caretakers usually managed to get to them before they tried to bury them and would re-start their hearts and tend to them before releasing them back to the tribe. In the early days they had completely rejected these "ghost children", as the intern claimed they called them, and they had to be reared by hand. They sometimes switched the tribes' babies about. The primitives never noticed.
In several days there happened to be such a rejected infant. The creatures bred like crazy given enough food and time. The team was more than happy to have one less primitive to care for.
The lead caretaker carried the infant in the crease of xer palm, carefully and slowly. Xe leaned over the barrier, sitting it down before the two members of the purple tribe.
Both regarded it for a moment before one (xe could no longer remember which had been red and which had been blue) took it up and cradled it. They were both leaking again. Xe wondered if they were sad and would kill it. But instead they took it to their cave. On the monitor, xe saw them mix up some of their purple paint from their berries and mark its forehead purple.
The lead caretaker felt a stinging of xer eyes. They were leaking despite no irritations near the eyes. Only a little, enough to quickly dab. Otherwise xe'd be in a cage next to the stupid little creatures. Another primitive human.
| A message in space debris reads:
"Red, white and the time of our life"
In loving memory, this is what she said
Blinked out lights, one after another dead dead dead
Once small in stature, people barely ascended
A magnificent new form though humanity has descended
Musical notes blend with times passing voices
Heads full of pain tend to regret its past choices
"Red, white and the time of our life"
She optioned home
I'm now counted alone.
Enslaved for a million years and suddenly free to chose to just be.
"Red, white and the time of our life"
The vastness of space-time
A complex race that is only mine.
It will take the rest of my life to get there.
One more minute reunited would be fair.
"Red, white and the time of our life"
I will repeat this until the end of time
When the Universe returns me to my dearest Wife.
|
|
[WP] Video games are illegal. You are an undercover cop about to do a bust. | Alright Ladies, listen up! The Boston Special Investigations Unit has fumbled the ball, again. And its up to the V.E.A. to dip our fingers into yet another fuckberry pie these assholes have cooked up.
Now it's too early for your bedtime stories so I'm gonna make this brief! As you know, the russians have been running an underground MMORPG for almost 2 years now. Now we havn't had much chance catching these game bangers in the act, but intel has told us there is a meeting tonight between them and the Yakuza.
The russian leader is an Igor Glukhov, believed to be former EA. He was linked to a stolen shipment of Wii controllers that had been confiscated by the Washington division last year. We believe he's going to sell them back to the Yakuza in return for a truck load of consoles.
Now I can see from your confused little faces your thinkin "Gee whiz lieutenant, I spent most of this talk starring at your massive genitals so I might have miss heard you, but why would we give a shit if Igor fucking Vodka fuck gets his hands on some fucking consoles?" Well allow me to enlighten you like the magestic fucking buddah I am!
Igor Glukhov was one of the last known associates of the Big Cheese. That's right folks I shit you not! Public enemy number 1, Gaben fucking Newell. This lard ass fucker hasn't been seen in public in 5 fucking years. People don't even know if he's alive and with colesteral like that, I wouldn't be fucking surprised. But the Russian will have more info then all of your special units files put together and multiplied by ten!
So...we have our men on the inside record the deal and when time is right we bust in there and catch these playstation pushing fucks in the act. We do this by the book folks, and if any of you fuck this up and Igor gets off the hook, I will personally plant that gameboy in your desk drawer along with a copy of Kirby's fucking dreamland, and send you down in his place myself!
Right, lets move the fuck out and pull the plug on these fucking nerds. | Cold rain falls down like lead, and the Constable’s heart is full of dread,
And I caress the handle of the pistol resting in my harness.
The night gives us no solace, and the world haunts me in its calmness
As we move through the darkened alleys towards our target.
The Constable balances her shotgun, ready to provide its violent exclaim.
The house appears like any other, and the fence provides adequate cover
As we ready ourselves to advance and break down the door.
The Constable appears to be uneasy, and her gaze tells that she is queasy
But it is too late to leave her here and bring another who is ready more.
The others have reached their spots on the far side of our quarry’s solemn domain.
I send the shivering Constable in first, and her shotgun escorts with its piercing burst
And we pour into the house with our weapons drawn.
The lights inside are all so dim, and the darkness threatens an ending grim
So I move the Constable close behind me to help her find her brawn.
These criminal artists are not nearly above providing traps to wound and maim.
As we move on in our deadly sport I hear a pistol’s loud report
And fall sharply to the ground clutching in pain at my chest.
The Constable does her grave work, and dispatches my assailant with a smirk
Then turns to check that I’ve indeed been saved by my vest.
As she helps me to my feet she seems almost to feel a sense of shame.
I struggle nervously to catch my breath, having so narrowly escaped certain death
And I see the Constable trying to hold back confused tears.
I reassure her that she’s done her part, and I look around at the graphic art,
This is where the criminals used levels and characters to exorcize their fears.
For all of these groups I’ve infiltrated I still always feel the twinge of shame.
“Do not shed tears for these men,” I tell these officers time and again.
“They are the worst and most dangerous of their kind.”
The Constable nods rather than assume, and helps investigate the room,
Though I can understand the feelings that grip her mind.
It seems a waste to do such violence over these beautiful, harmless games.
EDIT: formatting
|
|
[WP] Video games are illegal. You are an undercover cop about to do a bust. | Alright Ladies, listen up! The Boston Special Investigations Unit has fumbled the ball, again. And its up to the V.E.A. to dip our fingers into yet another fuckberry pie these assholes have cooked up.
Now it's too early for your bedtime stories so I'm gonna make this brief! As you know, the russians have been running an underground MMORPG for almost 2 years now. Now we havn't had much chance catching these game bangers in the act, but intel has told us there is a meeting tonight between them and the Yakuza.
The russian leader is an Igor Glukhov, believed to be former EA. He was linked to a stolen shipment of Wii controllers that had been confiscated by the Washington division last year. We believe he's going to sell them back to the Yakuza in return for a truck load of consoles.
Now I can see from your confused little faces your thinkin "Gee whiz lieutenant, I spent most of this talk starring at your massive genitals so I might have miss heard you, but why would we give a shit if Igor fucking Vodka fuck gets his hands on some fucking consoles?" Well allow me to enlighten you like the magestic fucking buddah I am!
Igor Glukhov was one of the last known associates of the Big Cheese. That's right folks I shit you not! Public enemy number 1, Gaben fucking Newell. This lard ass fucker hasn't been seen in public in 5 fucking years. People don't even know if he's alive and with colesteral like that, I wouldn't be fucking surprised. But the Russian will have more info then all of your special units files put together and multiplied by ten!
So...we have our men on the inside record the deal and when time is right we bust in there and catch these playstation pushing fucks in the act. We do this by the book folks, and if any of you fuck this up and Igor gets off the hook, I will personally plant that gameboy in your desk drawer along with a copy of Kirby's fucking dreamland, and send you down in his place myself!
Right, lets move the fuck out and pull the plug on these fucking nerds. | "Game over."
That's what officer Cromwell said to me right before we busted open the door of the The Gamer that faithful night. Those words stuck to me like a stone sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
I'd been on The Gamer's trail for months. Thousands of hours were spent reading his every message on the famous website reddot.com. Ever since video games were deemed illegal, its been the go to place for gaming related talk, and there was one person in particular who loved talking all about them. He would brag about his collection of retro consoles and games, and about how he just acquired a rare video game. His name was The Gamer and he just loved playing video games and telling everyone about it. Little did he know I was watching him the entire time. He's been in my sights and I've been waiting on something big before making the jump.
My patience paid off. He posted about a big order, about a hundred copies of the latest Souls game from a black market distributor in Japan. This was it, I knew I had to act.
It was 2 a.m. on a quiet family neighborhood. It was me, Cromwell and Logan with backup just a block down the road if anything got too serious. We slowly and silently walked up the stairs of The Gamer's house, got close to the door, and I kneeled down to put my ear against it. I could hear something like knives clambering against each other, soft screams and something like sound effects. I could tell he was playing a video game. I looked over at Cromwell and nodded, and that's when he said it.
"Game over."
I stood up and kicked the door as hard as I could. It flew open and I aimed my gun straight ahead while yelling "Freeze!" I couldn't believe what I saw. In between stacks and stacks of video game boxes was what looked like a 9 year old kid sitting in front of a T.V. screen, staring blankly at me. I'd been reading The Gamer's messages for months and never suspected that he could be this young.
After what seemed like an eternity of staring at me, he started to get up slowly. I yelled, "Don't move!" He was eyeballing something on the ground, I think it was a game controller of some sort. Just then, he darted towards it.
I shot.
I got him right in the chest. He flew back against a stack of game boxes and they scattered across the room. I was in shock. Did I just shoot a kid?
Then I felt a hand grab my shoulder. It was Cromwell. I look at his face and he says, "Why'd you shoot?!" in a surprised and upset voice. I look back at the kid lying there. I walk towards him and look down. I can't help but read the game boxes he's lying on.
"Dark Souls." |
|
[WP] Video games are illegal. You are an undercover cop about to do a bust. | "Move in, move in!"
"Sniper on the roof!" I flicked the joystick up and to the left, and slammed my finger on the trigger.
"Wow, nice headshot." Tommy gave me a quick slap on the thigh before jumping back into action. I couldn't help but smile. Having lived with the guy for 2 months now, nothing seemed to bring him out of his head more than Halo.
When I had first moved in, the guy had could barely raise his chin to me without bursting into a slew of neurotic ticks and adjustments. I can't imagine how many people he must have scared off. My kid brother was autistic, so I was more used to these bizarre, asocial outburts.
"Aww man." Tommy slouched back into the couch, giving the rotating image a look of malice. "Lag. I'm going to reset the modem."
"Don't worry, man, I got it." I told him, hopping up. "You want some Coke?"
"Mountain Dew, actually." He said, pushing his glasses back up his face. "Please." He added, smiling proudly for remembering.
I unplugged the router and began counting to twenty as I moved through the kitchen. My count was interrupted by a voice in my head.
"Agent Moreland, come in, Moreland."
I shot my hand up to my ear, pressing on my cochlear receiver.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Hey Moreland, it's time. Make a quick arrest, we have officers downstairs standing by to escort him to the station."
My stomach twisted. I waited to respond, dropping the ice into the fizzing cups of Mountain Dew. I stepped around the corner to avoid Tommy's earshot.
"Look," I hissed, "I need more time. I am still trying to work who's supplying. Give me another week."
"No more extentions, Moreland. This is straight from Captain Phillip himself - he says we have all the evidence we need to put this fucker away for a long time. You have your orders."
I had known this day was coming, but I had tried to put it out of my mind, figured I could work something out to help Tommy avoid the extended jail sentence.
"Hey, you plugged back in yet?" He shouted from the front room.
"Nah, sorry, Tom, here we go." I swept around the corner, plugging the modem back in and placing the sodas on the coffee table.
"Tommy, not Tom, Tommy." He shook a little, correcting me.
"Right, sorry, I know that." I took a deep breath. "Listen, Tommy." He looked up at me, watching my mouth. This was something I remember someone teaching my brother as well. I tried to reconcile how to do this as easily as possible. Tommy shook more violently, and his gaze darted away.
"Tommy, you know what happens if you get caught with these video games? You can get locked up for a long time."
"I know." He mumbled, "Dad always used to play with me. He told mom I was fun and nice and calm when I played."
My stomach sank to my feet and I chewed the inside of my cheek. The department always pressed their anti-games agenda. These things trained serial killers and criminals. Terrorist simulators.
"You're taking too long, Moreland," came the voice in my ear again.
There was a heavy knocking at the door. "Police, open up. We know you have visual/audio contraband in there."
Tommy yelled, and curled his knees to his chest. He rocked violently, mumbling to himself.
"No, no, no, no, no, no."
I jumped up and began to destroy what evidence of Tommy's collection that I could. The door blew off its hinges and two officers rushed in and threw Tommy to the ground, throwing handcuffs on him as Tommy began to hyperventilate.
As they picked him up to sweep him out the door, the officer nearest me gave me a pat on the back.
"Nice work, Moreland, couldn't have bagged this one without you."
Tommy looked me right in the eyes as the pulled him out the door. Right before he disappeared from sight, one word escaped from his lips:
Betrayal. | "Game over."
That's what officer Cromwell said to me right before we busted open the door of the The Gamer that faithful night. Those words stuck to me like a stone sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
I'd been on The Gamer's trail for months. Thousands of hours were spent reading his every message on the famous website reddot.com. Ever since video games were deemed illegal, its been the go to place for gaming related talk, and there was one person in particular who loved talking all about them. He would brag about his collection of retro consoles and games, and about how he just acquired a rare video game. His name was The Gamer and he just loved playing video games and telling everyone about it. Little did he know I was watching him the entire time. He's been in my sights and I've been waiting on something big before making the jump.
My patience paid off. He posted about a big order, about a hundred copies of the latest Souls game from a black market distributor in Japan. This was it, I knew I had to act.
It was 2 a.m. on a quiet family neighborhood. It was me, Cromwell and Logan with backup just a block down the road if anything got too serious. We slowly and silently walked up the stairs of The Gamer's house, got close to the door, and I kneeled down to put my ear against it. I could hear something like knives clambering against each other, soft screams and something like sound effects. I could tell he was playing a video game. I looked over at Cromwell and nodded, and that's when he said it.
"Game over."
I stood up and kicked the door as hard as I could. It flew open and I aimed my gun straight ahead while yelling "Freeze!" I couldn't believe what I saw. In between stacks and stacks of video game boxes was what looked like a 9 year old kid sitting in front of a T.V. screen, staring blankly at me. I'd been reading The Gamer's messages for months and never suspected that he could be this young.
After what seemed like an eternity of staring at me, he started to get up slowly. I yelled, "Don't move!" He was eyeballing something on the ground, I think it was a game controller of some sort. Just then, he darted towards it.
I shot.
I got him right in the chest. He flew back against a stack of game boxes and they scattered across the room. I was in shock. Did I just shoot a kid?
Then I felt a hand grab my shoulder. It was Cromwell. I look at his face and he says, "Why'd you shoot?!" in a surprised and upset voice. I look back at the kid lying there. I walk towards him and look down. I can't help but read the game boxes he's lying on.
"Dark Souls." |
|
[WP] Video games are illegal. You are an undercover cop about to do a bust. | "Move in, move in!"
"Sniper on the roof!" I flicked the joystick up and to the left, and slammed my finger on the trigger.
"Wow, nice headshot." Tommy gave me a quick slap on the thigh before jumping back into action. I couldn't help but smile. Having lived with the guy for 2 months now, nothing seemed to bring him out of his head more than Halo.
When I had first moved in, the guy had could barely raise his chin to me without bursting into a slew of neurotic ticks and adjustments. I can't imagine how many people he must have scared off. My kid brother was autistic, so I was more used to these bizarre, asocial outburts.
"Aww man." Tommy slouched back into the couch, giving the rotating image a look of malice. "Lag. I'm going to reset the modem."
"Don't worry, man, I got it." I told him, hopping up. "You want some Coke?"
"Mountain Dew, actually." He said, pushing his glasses back up his face. "Please." He added, smiling proudly for remembering.
I unplugged the router and began counting to twenty as I moved through the kitchen. My count was interrupted by a voice in my head.
"Agent Moreland, come in, Moreland."
I shot my hand up to my ear, pressing on my cochlear receiver.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Hey Moreland, it's time. Make a quick arrest, we have officers downstairs standing by to escort him to the station."
My stomach twisted. I waited to respond, dropping the ice into the fizzing cups of Mountain Dew. I stepped around the corner to avoid Tommy's earshot.
"Look," I hissed, "I need more time. I am still trying to work who's supplying. Give me another week."
"No more extentions, Moreland. This is straight from Captain Phillip himself - he says we have all the evidence we need to put this fucker away for a long time. You have your orders."
I had known this day was coming, but I had tried to put it out of my mind, figured I could work something out to help Tommy avoid the extended jail sentence.
"Hey, you plugged back in yet?" He shouted from the front room.
"Nah, sorry, Tom, here we go." I swept around the corner, plugging the modem back in and placing the sodas on the coffee table.
"Tommy, not Tom, Tommy." He shook a little, correcting me.
"Right, sorry, I know that." I took a deep breath. "Listen, Tommy." He looked up at me, watching my mouth. This was something I remember someone teaching my brother as well. I tried to reconcile how to do this as easily as possible. Tommy shook more violently, and his gaze darted away.
"Tommy, you know what happens if you get caught with these video games? You can get locked up for a long time."
"I know." He mumbled, "Dad always used to play with me. He told mom I was fun and nice and calm when I played."
My stomach sank to my feet and I chewed the inside of my cheek. The department always pressed their anti-games agenda. These things trained serial killers and criminals. Terrorist simulators.
"You're taking too long, Moreland," came the voice in my ear again.
There was a heavy knocking at the door. "Police, open up. We know you have visual/audio contraband in there."
Tommy yelled, and curled his knees to his chest. He rocked violently, mumbling to himself.
"No, no, no, no, no, no."
I jumped up and began to destroy what evidence of Tommy's collection that I could. The door blew off its hinges and two officers rushed in and threw Tommy to the ground, throwing handcuffs on him as Tommy began to hyperventilate.
As they picked him up to sweep him out the door, the officer nearest me gave me a pat on the back.
"Nice work, Moreland, couldn't have bagged this one without you."
Tommy looked me right in the eyes as the pulled him out the door. Right before he disappeared from sight, one word escaped from his lips:
Betrayal. | ‘You ready, sir?’, the young officer asked.
I nodded my head. Another day, another poor young man that we would put away.
I remembered the days when we would put away real thugs. Drug dealers, mobsters, human traffickers.
The young officer was excited, psyching himself up.
‘You know what Karl, you lead this bust’ I told him
He banged loudly on the apartment door.
‘Phillip Fehr, open the door. This is the police. We know you’ve being developing games’
We heard scurrying inside.
Karl ushered over three other officers. They stepped back a couple of lengths before busting down the door.
The young man inside was half way towards the window with his computer and keyboard in tow before we tackled him.
I’d put away many like him, young men developing video games with an anti-government message. They were effective, too effective.
We read him his rights, if he was cooperative he wouldn’t be put away for too long, if he wasn’t, he’d be lobotomised like all the other great artists of our time.
What a waste. |
|
[WP] An angel is dispatched from Heaven at the same time as a demon from Hell to claim the last eligible soul on Earth after the Apocalypse. Outside this survivor's shelter, they meet and realize they recognize one another. | The stone hut had somehow survived a nuclear war and seventy separate judgments from Heaven with nothing more than minor cosmetic damage: a few scorch marks, one or two smaller stones dislodged from meteor impacts, but still standing strong. As for looters, it was so far out in the desert that most travelers would have died of heat exhaustion, thirst, starvation or sheer madness by the time they made it out there, and the concept of a return trip with extra weight would have fried the few remaining brain cells of any lunatic who actually survived the first one. Adam Geller had chosen his home well when he could no longer tolerate the rest of humanity.
Ironically, he was unaware that humanity was no longer a problem.
****
Half a kilometer from Adam's home, in a curvy patch of dunes whose troughs were practically filled by animal's bones, a small cloud of fire the color of oil slick on a pavement opened out of thin air and disappeared just as quickly. A woman, wearing a sheer gray dress that told the imagination its role in the matter was redundant, stepped barefoot on the sand and began to follow the light. Her tracks turned to glass as she stepped away; she'd have liked to take credit for the trick, but it was the physics of heat and sand, pure and simple.
Perched on the furthest corner of the hut, a ball of light the size of a bean bag pulsed brighter and dimmer. A figure strobed in and out of view--feminine, one might say Rubenesque, kneeling in position.
"Neat trick," the woman from the dunes said sarcastically. "When did Heaven install the dimmer switches?"
The light faded, leaving Adam's patch of desert almost completely dark. Years ago, star- and moonlight would have lit the area, but the stars and moon had been destroyed in a great battle. Nonetheless, the woman from the dunes could see the kneeling figure like it was daytime. She thought it might be the last time she'd ever be surprised, depending on how the night went.
The woman from the rooftop jumped from a kneeling position, arched in the air, and landed exactly one meter away from the woman from the dunes. Any onlookers wouldn't have seen a moment where she'd actually stretched her legs and exerted effort to rise; there hadn't been one.
"Serious question: Have you ever wondered how humans don't notice all this shit we do? The lights, the phenomena, all right in front of their faces? Dude should have noticed the first nighttime light in years, and yet he's sleeping like a baby."
The woman from the rooftop didn't acknowledge the question. "You need to leave."
"Yeah, you wanna write me a permission slip? I'm sure the boss is gonna love that. 'I hereby give your servant permission to fail to acquire the last soul on Earth. Now pinky-swear you won't torture her for however long any of us have left to exist. Signed, Heaven.' Fuck off."
The woman from the rooftop showed no emotion, but neither did she rise to the bait. They stared defiantly at each other for a moment before the woman from the dunes began to laugh. "Seriously, they chose well. You're the only one I wouldn't kill on sight."
"Nobody chose me. I came because I knew they'd send you."
"That a fact? Well, it's been nice chatting with you, but I believe I'm owed a soul."
The woman from the rooftop held up a hand. "I can't let you do that, and you know it."
"What are you going to do? Kill me? Send me to Hell? I already went to Hell, remember? Hey, do you know how long the fall actually lasts? It is literally, to the second, the EXACT amount of time you spent being happy pre-damnation. I bet you haven't forgotten how long that was for me."
She hadn't; the concept of falling through the celestial equivalent of broken glass and shit and fire for seven years did not appeal to the woman from the rooftop. The concept made her turn her face from the woman from the dunes.
"You know, I see all this human media about sacrificing yourself for love means automatic redemption, but Heaven's sense of justice has nothing to do with sacrifice, does it? I turned away, just like you're doing now, when I knew you sympathized with him. It killed me to know you hid it from me, but I never reported you. And when Michael showed up at our cloud, knowing that Lucifer had been sighted there, it didn't occur to me not to say I'd done it. But has God ever spared me a second of torment for trying to save the woman I loved? I doubt He even noticed my absence in the court. Did you?"
Tears splashed down the woman from the rooftop's cheeks; they made the sound of a waterfall cascading to the ocean. The woman from the dunes scowled at the effect. "Fucking physics," she thought to herself.
Finally, the woman from the rooftop looked up. "I...I must take my leave. I return to Heaven to give my full confession. In my absence, I hope you'll take this man's soul to your boss. Consider it a reparation for the soul I didn't save. And...I'm sorry."
The woman from the dunes was suddenly alone. She smiled as she walked into the stone hut. | Ok, This is my first short since high school, so I am very rusty with the spelling and the grammar, but here it goes:
As the Angel descended to earth, he passed through clouds thick with dust and ash, rank with decay. Below he could see a large sprawling city. A testament to the achievements of man, now empty and lifeless as Armageddon dropped it's final curtain. One soul left to come Home.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the flash of "blacklight" from Hell between two building. No, this wasn't going to be easy was it? The last human soul will finally bring an end to 1000 years of war. 1000 year of suffering. The last human soul that will bring down final judgment on the denizens of Hell.
As he approached his destination, he wondered who his opponent would be. Surely Lucifer would be sending his strongest warrior to collect this soul. He understands the importance of this soul. What it will mean for him if brought to Heaven. He knows he has to have it.
His boots make a soft scraping sound as he touches down and begins to walk towards the building. The building seemingly as empty as the rest, but almost seemed to stand out as well, as if beaming with pride of it's sole occupant.
Far off to the right he sees his opponent approaching. He tries to hide his surprise as he recognizes Curiel. How many millennia have passed since his fall? Far too many to count. It was one of the saddest days in his existence. His brother, friend, companion... turned his back on God and Heaven, preferring to follow Lucifer in his uprising.
Honestly, it was all pretty stupid. Lucifer had been tasked with processing the newly departed before they entered Heaven. At first, it was fairly easy. But as the earth's population grew, so did the number of souls needing processing. It had to be stressful. Maybe Lucifer snapped under the strain, maybe it was his ego growing to big after billions of souls mistake him for our Lord when they first cross over. Either way, he rebelled, saying he could do a better job. He was very persuasive in his case, but the Angel knew he was wrong. Why didn't Curiel see that? Even after all this time, it still breaks his heart.
"Michael? Thought it was you. Still working for the Tyrant?" A slight hiss in the demon's voice.
"Shut your mouth, Curiel. You never did see the Truth very clearly."
"Truth?" the demon asked in mock surprise, "there are many versions of Truth, my friend. That's something you could never see."
"Not this again...", Michael began.
"Why is it so hard to believe? You actually see it ALL THE TIME! We were not then, not now, and never will be free to make our own choices. Free will is a MYTH! We were created to serve, nothing more."
“If free will is a Myth, then you are saying that you didn't choose to follow Lucifer, and Lucifer rebelling was all part of His plan? Hell has made you delusional, Curiel." Michael countered.
"That is exactly what I am saying!"
"Well, if there is no free will, then you will have no problem stepping aside and letting me take this soul home, since you know that will be the end result either way."
"I said we were made to serve. I am here to fight for that soul, doing as I was told to do. You know what is at stake."
"You just contradicted yourself. If there is no free will, and this is all part of His grand plan, then you have no chance in winning. This is it, the end of all things, and the elevation of Heaven."
"Only if you defeat me. And how do you know that this is not part of His plan? What if that soul is supposed to go to Hell as part of His grand design? Neither of us can fathom why He would allow such a thing, but we are also not equipped to understand all that He does."
"That's the most logical thing you have ever said, even if it is completely absurd. If the soul was supposed to go to Hell, why send me to retrieve it?" Michael, getting slightly annoyed at this point. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."
Curiel's eyebrows raised almost to his horns, "what do you mean? Wait… you don't think I am trying to convert you to Lucifer's side, do you? No, sorry my friend. That ship sailed long ago. You made your choice abundantly clear when you sent me over the side."
"You know I had no choice in the matter."
"Exactly."
"So", Michael growing a little impatient, "are we going to fight now?"
"If that is what you want. Or we can sit here and talk some more. I find your blind devotion even more fascinating now than I did back then."
"When the Creator of All tells you to do something, you don't hesitate, you don't question, you simply do." Michael's agitation is growing by the second.
"And What if He is not the Creator of All?"
"BLASPHEMY!!"
"But how do you know? It's because He told you. You have no other way of knowing anything beyond what He shows you. What if there is something more?
Michael stands silent, his hands balled into tight fists trembling at his sides.
"What if I could show you?"
|
|
[WP] An angel is dispatched from Heaven at the same time as a demon from Hell to claim the last eligible soul on Earth after the Apocalypse. Outside this survivor's shelter, they meet and realize they recognize one another. | Apart from the dust blowing through the air, nothing moved. Flames flickered in the distance, but other than that, everything was dark. The sun hadn’t managed to fight through the thick clouds for months. In the middle of this wasteland stood a hut, cobbled together from lumps of wood and sheets of metal that by now were mostly rust.
There was a flash of blinding light, and the sound of a choir singing in Latin. When the light faded away, there was a figure standing in the ashes, a figure clothed entirely in white, with enormous white wings.
He glanced down at the dirt already covering his white brogues and scowled. Taking a deep breath, he set off towards the hut.
A rumble sounded behind him. If the figure had turned round, he would have seen the earth open up. An ugly, blood-red light shone out of. As people screamed and howled far below, a gnarled hand reached out of the crack, and a creature in rags pulled themselves up into the open air.
The creature giggled and rolled around in the dirt for a few seconds, before shivering. He wasn’t used to being out of the heat. Looking around, he saw the figure in white, rapidly approaching the hut. He dropped to all fours and raced to catch up with the angel.
“Oi!” he called.
The angel ignored him.
“Gabriel, right?”
Gabriel spun round. “What?”
“Just wanted to say hi.”
“Excellent. Sorry,” Gabriel said, gesturing to the nearby hut, “but I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Don’t you remember me?”
“Should I?”
“I’d hope so. The name’s Legion. All my mates call me Lee.”
“Oh, yes. You. Nice to see you again, Legion.”
Gabriel started off to the hut again, with Legion skipping besides him.
“So what are you up to, Gabe?”
“The same as you, I expect.”
“Probably,” Legion said. “This guy must be important if The Big Man’s sent you. I thought you were meant to be his right-hand man.”
“And what’s that meant to mean?”
Legion shrugged. “Nothing. Just thought you’d have better things to do than come all the way down here. You in his bad books or something?”
“No. If I was in his bad books, I’d be down with you and your kind. This is the last soul on Earth, and...”
“Oh, I know that,” Legion interrupted. “You think I came up here for fun? I’d rather be back home. It’s Cannibal Friday today, I was looking forward to it. But no – I’ve got to get this guy and bring him back with me.”
Gabriel laughed, a laugh that sounded like tinkling bells. “I don’t think so, Lee. I’m taking him back with me.”
Legion pounced in front of the angel, and snarled. “So do you want to fight for him or something? Bring it, Feathers.”
“I’m not going to fight you.”
“Oh yeah? There’s no way I’m giving him a choice between going with you and me. Why would he go to Hell? Only one of us is talking to him, and it’s me.”
“Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. He’s coming to Heaven. His Father wants to welcome his child home.”
Legion snorted loudly. “Don’t give me that. You’ll be trying to convince me next.”
“Actually, I…”
“No.”
“We’re here now,” Gabriel said, pointing to the hut, only a few feet away now. “Why don’t we just both go in, introduce ourselves, and let him decide what he wants to do.”
“I already told you! He’ll want to go with you!”
“We don’t even know who’s in there. For all I know, he’s an axe murderer, or a Satanist. I think they’ll be pretty keen on following you. And if they want to join me, well… Between you and me,” Gabriel whispered, “God’s not so keen on Satanists.”
Legion rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’ve convinced me. Let’s do it.”
Before either of them could walk up to the door and knock on it, someone yanked it open. An old man stood there in the doorway, staring blankly into the distance.
“Hello there!” Gabriel called out, brightly. “I’ve come to…”
The man yawned and stretched. He didn’t seem to have noticed the angel at all, let alone heard him.
Frowning, Gabriel gave a little wave, but the man just picked up a little bag and stepped out of his hut, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Mate!” Legion shouted, but the man trudged past him. When Legion yelled again, right in his ear, the man didn’t even blink.
Legion looked up at the angel and shrugged.
“Great,” Gabriel sighed. “Another atheist.”
EDIT: Ooh, Gold. Thank you, kind stranger!
| The earth cracked open, and a spiral of hellfire erupted from the ground. A clawed hand reaches up, grabbing the ledge and hoisting himself up from the depth of the Earth. He was a demon from hell, boasting great horns and crimson skin. His serpentine eyes darted to and fro, searching for the target soul his lord had sent him to acquire. The survivor of the Apocalypse had done as well as he could have given the circumstances, but he was weakening and his time had finally come. His eyes didn't fail him, he located the shelter and made for it, effortlessly leaping the distance with his powerful legs. Just as he reached to tear the makeshift door off it's hinges, a bright light interrupted the motion. Recoiling, the demon squinted and cursed, realizing that an Angel had come from the world above to claim the soul as well. Well, he would not fail his lord- the punishment was too great.
"Whoa. Jim? Is that you?" Came the heavenly voice. The demon froze in shock. How did it know his mortal-life's name? Squinting past the glowing aura that surrounded the angel, He realized why the angel knew his name.
"Karen? Karen from Accounting?!" He exclaimed, recognizing the female Angel instantly from his workplace when he was still a mortal.
"Jim from Legal! It really is you! It's been centuries!" The Angel gushed, rushing to hug Jim the Demon. Jim hugged awkwardly back, not knowing exactly why or how she was so comfortable with socializing with demons as an angel. Pulling away, Karen examined him for a moment. "Those horns really fit you." She commented, smiling a radiant smile that only angels could.
"Wh- Karen, it's been a while, and it's cool to see you again and everything, but aren't you the least bit put off that I'm a demon and you're an angel?" Jim asked, his head reeling. Sure, he had seen some of his co-workers in Hell and he assumed the rest were in Heaven, but this was a whole different story.
"Not really, Heaven has been really progressive, Jim. Lots of 'Demon Acceptance and Education' seminars going around. Things have really changed. Anything like that in Hell?" She jabbered.
"Uh, not really. Just burning the souls of the damned for eternity, really."
"You need to get some reforms going, Jim. Hell is so old-school, I'm betting. I bet there's still gates at the entrance-- we replaced ours with automated doors!"
"Well, maybe we *should* replace those rusty, charred old ga-- Okay hold on a second." Jim said, refusing to be drawn into this conversation, "Sorry to be the spoilsport Karen, but I have a job to do and I have to claim that soul over there. It's been great meeting you and all but Lord Satan really doesn't like to wait."
"Hey! That's my job too!" Karen said, grabbing my shoulder as I turned for the door once more.
"Karen, please. I don't know about Heaven, but Lord Satan hates it when people fail, and the punishments hurt. Can't you let this one go?" He asked irritably, not looking forward to getting my liver eaten repeatedly by Cerebus again.
"Not this time! I'm haven't let anything go ever since I let you go!" Karen declared. Jim, who had turned to the door again, froze.
"Wh- I you wait... what?" Jim spluttered, whirling back to Karen, who had an uncharacteristically teary pout on her face.
"I worked with you for five years before you got married, Jim. For those five years I sat there hoping that I would either work up the courage to talk to you more, or that you would ask me out." Karen said, her cheery countenance crumbling.
"You... You liked me?" Jim asked, completely dumbfounded.
"I loved you, Jim. It killed me when you announced you were getting married." Karen said.
"I... well... I actually liked you too, Karen. I just always thought you had someone else. You, uh, you were always so cheerful and happy. It made me happy talking to you." Jim said. It had been hundreds of years since he's had to deal with petty mortal emotional stuff like this. Karen wiped a single tear from her eye and went back in for a fierce hug. For a while, they just stood there embracing each other before finally breaking away. Both of them cast absent glances at the shelter, before looking back at each other.
"Well, what now?" asked Jim. |
|
[WP] After World War III, a college student studying abroad from his home country starts walking with one word in mind: home. | The world was in shambles, the air was thick with smoke and the smell of razed land. I stumbled, almost dreamlike, across the barren landscape in a single direction. The goal was not in sight, but I had it firmly in mind. Home.
It was two years before the war started, when my dad convinced me to move across the country and to a city where I would spend the rest of my life studying and getting my degree. I said goodbye to my friends, my crush, my teachers, and my mother and sister who I left behind. I miss them all so terribly. I was only in my first year when the tensions between the nations finally broke, and the bombs started dropping. Like other students, it was all I could do to find shelter. We had feared that war would break out for some time, but after a while the fear became intangible, almost surreal. If they hadn't fought then, why fight now? We were horribly wrong. Many died, some shot in the street, other vaporized by tanks, some suffocated or crushed in the tombs of collapsed buildings. I survived. For two years, me and a group of students scavenged and lived however we could. It was a base life, but I was quite willing to live with it. I needed to, if I ever wanted to make it home again. I said goodbye to my comrades, who didn't come with me. It was still too dangerous. Even after two years, we have no idea who won or lost because all communications were fried. I only had one word in my head- home. So I set out.
It felt like hours, days, or even years, and I'm still walking. I hoped I was getting closer. I passed by patches of unbombed land, but even the plant-life there was withering under the harsh conditions man had set for them. Home. I ignored all of it, and kept on walking. Home. I needed to see my mother and sister. Home. It would be a long walk, but this was something that I need. Home.
"Jesus. How old do you think this kid is?" asked a soldier, his uniform in tatters. His unit paused, craning their heads to observe what their squadmate was looking at.
"God. Can't be any older than 22. Poor guy." One replied. All of them continued to stare at the malnourished, glassy-eyed man flailing weakly against the ground. His mouth opened and closed, but only wheezed breaths came out.
"Wh-what should we do, commander?" One soldier asked. The clear leader stared hard at the pathetic thing for a while.
"There's nothing we can do to help him, I think. Not with what we have. Let's set up camp here- suns about to go out. Let's keep the poor fuck company until he finds home." He said gruffly. | Edit: Oops. Took too many poetic licenses with the prompt.
---
Scorched earth. You can still feel the heat of the fire that burned this place to ashes. New stars appear and wink out every night in the sky. Jumpships warping in and out. I am done here. After narrowly losing my life seventeen times, I am going home.
This is Wrerker III. Warzone, recent. Not home.
---
Trees. Green trees all around everywhere I look.
Twenty five feet tall trees extend to the trees extend to the horizon. Impossible beasts with their entire body consisting of necks and stomachs munched on the green coniferous leaves in extreme lethargy. There was an air of peace that is not found on any human habitat.
I was in need of transit fare to home, I ran out of money. Space travel is expensive. I guess I am a lumberjack now.
Arbor VI. Home to the very concept of solitude. However, not my home.
---
Sweeping valleys of brown dotted with black triangles chasing a gray cloud. The cloud is vast and slow. It wont go far.
Ship making a fuel stop at Aeol VI, gas giant. Not home.
---
My feet sink down in green grass. Birds chirp in the trees. The blue hills in the distance implore you to explore their mystery. The gentle hubub of people assures you you are among friends.
Sirenus I. A cheap old Earth imitation tourist world. It is fun. Bit it is not home.
---
The large leaves like fern fronds five feet in length never move. There is no wind. The red moss feels soft underneath my naked feet. The landscape just outside the spaceport is naked red to the horizon, broken occasionally by small groves of fern-palms. The gravity is light and fighting in higher gravity planets have strengthened me. I can jump six feet into the air!
A litter honks at me hoping for a potential customer. I give it an irritable look while jumping over it. Do I look like tourist ? Cant you see?
Crimsyn I. I am finally home!
|
|
The math is very difficult. | [WP] At the age of 10, everyone takes a reasoning test that determines their social class for the rest of their lives | I looked over the paper for the third time, unable to take in the truth that was presenting itself to me in ink.
"This is a perfect score. A full two hundred marks..."
My companion palmed at his mouth, trying to find some words to say but finding nothing.
I continued. "Has this every happened before? I mean, ever? In the history of the test?"
Robert continued to just look confused as he spoke "I, I've heard of 190?"
"Yes but that was just a rumour wasn't it? A lie sent to spark imaginations and keep up hope in the lower classes? Right?"
"Well Oak I thought so too but now we're looking at a perfect test."
I shook my head. "We must have gotten at least one wrong-"
"It's been through through 3 separate markers before it even got up to our offices, and you know fine well everyone under us has already double checked it."
"Yes but that's only 8 people, maybe-"
Robert cut me off. "We need to call the GGI. There isn't any other option. We're out of our depth here."
I picked up the test, holding up the last page to the light as if- "Robert wait."
Oak looked back at me, still putting on his coat "What?"
I pointed. "He's left a message for the GGI, that you can only see if you hold it up to the light."
The statement hung in the air, like a damp cloth lying flatly over a washing line.
*Question 24 is unfair if you've never heard about Gallians.*
"He also knows how to write..." I stammered. The subject matter didn't concern me, who taught a common child how to write?
Robert pulled across some paper and grabbed a quill, furiously writing down details. "Oak, I'm making a note of this just now, this is like nothing I've ever seen. What was that boys name?"
I stood up, walking over to the window, looking out into the courtyard to look at a small, black haired boy "Rui. Rui Gorlas." | It was simple, really. Mark A,B,C,or D. At the end, I was asked to write down my input. I wrote that my input was that I could not fathom of how knowing what letter to choose meant you were rich. Simple test, complex for some, but it only filters out few people away from a middle class social status.
I was then put in charge of making the tests. |
The math is very difficult. | [WP] At the age of 10, everyone takes a reasoning test that determines their social class for the rest of their lives | We call it the Test, the name of the person who invented it has long passed from societies collective memory, but everyone took it when they were 10 and it locks us into this weird social structure for the rest of your life. It gives you your income, it gives you your job, it gives you everything you apparently need.
Parents proudly dress their children in the best clothes they can afford, walk down with them to the testing halls and anxiously wait to hear if their child is destined to become a noble, a writer, an accountant or a scientist. It doesn't even matter if you know a thing about science, that's what you become.
Everyone refuses to talk openly about the Test, referring to it only in veiled whispers, so that it becomes an object of legend for children, a great rite of passage. In fact, the test is very simple and little do most people know, it is the same for everyone. I remember my own vividly, it's difficult to forget.
I was taken from my parents and led into a small sterilised room, there were three men gathered around a computer, each with clipboards, ready to take notes. I was sat at a table, on which there was an egg. That was it, there were no instructions, they just watched me.
I asked questions and they refused to respond, they continued to watch me. After a while I cracked the egg on the side of the desk, letting the yolk run to the floor. I broke the eggshell up into small pieces making as many patterns as I could. After a while one of the men ordered me to stop, he took their notes and fed them into the computer, I was returned to my parents and we waited for the results.
I achieved one of the best results possible, my parents were overjoyed, at the age of 16 I was given a flashy apartment and immediately began earning the largest salary society can provide. Most of society are subservient to me and I must appear as some sort of god, or mystic prophet to them.
These days I wake up, put on my white coat and head to work. I grab my clipboard and watch 10 year old children play with an egg in a small sterilised room. Nobody ever told me what the egg is for.
| It was simple, really. Mark A,B,C,or D. At the end, I was asked to write down my input. I wrote that my input was that I could not fathom of how knowing what letter to choose meant you were rich. Simple test, complex for some, but it only filters out few people away from a middle class social status.
I was then put in charge of making the tests. |
The math is very difficult. | [WP] At the age of 10, everyone takes a reasoning test that determines their social class for the rest of their lives | We call it the Test, the name of the person who invented it has long passed from societies collective memory, but everyone took it when they were 10 and it locks us into this weird social structure for the rest of your life. It gives you your income, it gives you your job, it gives you everything you apparently need.
Parents proudly dress their children in the best clothes they can afford, walk down with them to the testing halls and anxiously wait to hear if their child is destined to become a noble, a writer, an accountant or a scientist. It doesn't even matter if you know a thing about science, that's what you become.
Everyone refuses to talk openly about the Test, referring to it only in veiled whispers, so that it becomes an object of legend for children, a great rite of passage. In fact, the test is very simple and little do most people know, it is the same for everyone. I remember my own vividly, it's difficult to forget.
I was taken from my parents and led into a small sterilised room, there were three men gathered around a computer, each with clipboards, ready to take notes. I was sat at a table, on which there was an egg. That was it, there were no instructions, they just watched me.
I asked questions and they refused to respond, they continued to watch me. After a while I cracked the egg on the side of the desk, letting the yolk run to the floor. I broke the eggshell up into small pieces making as many patterns as I could. After a while one of the men ordered me to stop, he took their notes and fed them into the computer, I was returned to my parents and we waited for the results.
I achieved one of the best results possible, my parents were overjoyed, at the age of 16 I was given a flashy apartment and immediately began earning the largest salary society can provide. Most of society are subservient to me and I must appear as some sort of god, or mystic prophet to them.
These days I wake up, put on my white coat and head to work. I grab my clipboard and watch 10 year old children play with an egg in a small sterilised room. Nobody ever told me what the egg is for.
| As on every Futures Day, stone-faced Government Affinity Reps trekked between the towering apartment blocks. Bags hung at their shoulders filled with letters addressed to each of the 10 year olds living in housing complexes C2 through C15. Each Rep remembers the day they received their own letter and know how important this task is, a fact accentuated by the hand delivery of real paper letters, as opposed to direct digital message.
At every door, subdeci families living near street level waited anxiously for their deliveries and Reps greeted them with indifference or outright contempt. While the Reps hated the subdecis, they loved and feared the superdecis who lived high above in the luxury sky aparatment. They knew that, as 10's themselves, they were inferior to the superdecis and accepted the abuse they suffered, as those above them were always just, as they were just to those below themselves.
Aaron Ramirez had watched his parents abuse these Reps his entire life. When his older brother's letter had arrived his father had joked, "You better score well, Paulo, or you'll end up a waste of space like this glorified mailman!"
Aaron did not know what a mailman was, but from how his mother and grandparents laughed, and the nervous and hurt but polite smile that crossed the Delivery Rep's face, a mailman was either something very funny or very bad.
Today was Aaron's Futures day, and he was nervous. His brother Paulo had scored a 15 and his parents, who were both 14's themselves, had been overjoyed, but Aaron was not as confident. He had never excelled in anything academic like Paulo and the testing that had lasted 12 hours had confused him from start to finish. His parents had not picked up on how he was feeling, and they were already in celebration mode as they heard the tone sound from the doorbell.
As his father made jokes about the Rep at the door Aaron could barely think straight.
Please be at least 12. 11 even. He thought. 11 is still superdeci. 11 is alright.
Scores like these would disappoint his parents but he knew he wouldn't disappear. He had heard one of Paulo's friends had scored well below his parents and was now no longer in school. What happened to him and other children like him was never discussed but the parents of children who scored low and remained at home were gossiped about relentlessly among his parents and their friends.
Aaron had to make it.
As his father closed the front door and handed him the letter, Aaron sprinted to his room, locking his door behind him. He had to know.. now. But didn't want to let everyone see. His family knocked at his door, still in a celebratory mood, assuring Aaron not to be nervous.
"Come out, sweetie." Crooned his mother. "Don't be nervous."
At this Aaron tore open his envelope, ruining the pristine paper that many kept with them framed along with their number, marking the day that they officially entered the superdeci world.
Aaron did not enter the superdeci world that day, nor would he ever be able to. As he saw that plainly written number "9", the blood drained from his face. Silently he opened his window, and slipped through the bars that were their to keep him safe, and flung himself into the night.
Aaron was one of 14 suicides that Futures Day, and one of 119 that week, as subdecis raised by superdecis ended their lives, avoiding a humiliating, painful future.
|
The math is very difficult. | [WP] At the age of 10, everyone takes a reasoning test that determines their social class for the rest of their lives | We call it the Test, the name of the person who invented it has long passed from societies collective memory, but everyone took it when they were 10 and it locks us into this weird social structure for the rest of your life. It gives you your income, it gives you your job, it gives you everything you apparently need.
Parents proudly dress their children in the best clothes they can afford, walk down with them to the testing halls and anxiously wait to hear if their child is destined to become a noble, a writer, an accountant or a scientist. It doesn't even matter if you know a thing about science, that's what you become.
Everyone refuses to talk openly about the Test, referring to it only in veiled whispers, so that it becomes an object of legend for children, a great rite of passage. In fact, the test is very simple and little do most people know, it is the same for everyone. I remember my own vividly, it's difficult to forget.
I was taken from my parents and led into a small sterilised room, there were three men gathered around a computer, each with clipboards, ready to take notes. I was sat at a table, on which there was an egg. That was it, there were no instructions, they just watched me.
I asked questions and they refused to respond, they continued to watch me. After a while I cracked the egg on the side of the desk, letting the yolk run to the floor. I broke the eggshell up into small pieces making as many patterns as I could. After a while one of the men ordered me to stop, he took their notes and fed them into the computer, I was returned to my parents and we waited for the results.
I achieved one of the best results possible, my parents were overjoyed, at the age of 16 I was given a flashy apartment and immediately began earning the largest salary society can provide. Most of society are subservient to me and I must appear as some sort of god, or mystic prophet to them.
These days I wake up, put on my white coat and head to work. I grab my clipboard and watch 10 year old children play with an egg in a small sterilised room. Nobody ever told me what the egg is for.
| I looked over the paper for the third time, unable to take in the truth that was presenting itself to me in ink.
"This is a perfect score. A full two hundred marks..."
My companion palmed at his mouth, trying to find some words to say but finding nothing.
I continued. "Has this every happened before? I mean, ever? In the history of the test?"
Robert continued to just look confused as he spoke "I, I've heard of 190?"
"Yes but that was just a rumour wasn't it? A lie sent to spark imaginations and keep up hope in the lower classes? Right?"
"Well Oak I thought so too but now we're looking at a perfect test."
I shook my head. "We must have gotten at least one wrong-"
"It's been through through 3 separate markers before it even got up to our offices, and you know fine well everyone under us has already double checked it."
"Yes but that's only 8 people, maybe-"
Robert cut me off. "We need to call the GGI. There isn't any other option. We're out of our depth here."
I picked up the test, holding up the last page to the light as if- "Robert wait."
Oak looked back at me, still putting on his coat "What?"
I pointed. "He's left a message for the GGI, that you can only see if you hold it up to the light."
The statement hung in the air, like a damp cloth lying flatly over a washing line.
*Question 24 is unfair if you've never heard about Gallians.*
"He also knows how to write..." I stammered. The subject matter didn't concern me, who taught a common child how to write?
Robert pulled across some paper and grabbed a quill, furiously writing down details. "Oak, I'm making a note of this just now, this is like nothing I've ever seen. What was that boys name?"
I stood up, walking over to the window, looking out into the courtyard to look at a small, black haired boy "Rui. Rui Gorlas." |
The math is very difficult. | [WP] At the age of 10, everyone takes a reasoning test that determines their social class for the rest of their lives | We call it the Test, the name of the person who invented it has long passed from societies collective memory, but everyone took it when they were 10 and it locks us into this weird social structure for the rest of your life. It gives you your income, it gives you your job, it gives you everything you apparently need.
Parents proudly dress their children in the best clothes they can afford, walk down with them to the testing halls and anxiously wait to hear if their child is destined to become a noble, a writer, an accountant or a scientist. It doesn't even matter if you know a thing about science, that's what you become.
Everyone refuses to talk openly about the Test, referring to it only in veiled whispers, so that it becomes an object of legend for children, a great rite of passage. In fact, the test is very simple and little do most people know, it is the same for everyone. I remember my own vividly, it's difficult to forget.
I was taken from my parents and led into a small sterilised room, there were three men gathered around a computer, each with clipboards, ready to take notes. I was sat at a table, on which there was an egg. That was it, there were no instructions, they just watched me.
I asked questions and they refused to respond, they continued to watch me. After a while I cracked the egg on the side of the desk, letting the yolk run to the floor. I broke the eggshell up into small pieces making as many patterns as I could. After a while one of the men ordered me to stop, he took their notes and fed them into the computer, I was returned to my parents and we waited for the results.
I achieved one of the best results possible, my parents were overjoyed, at the age of 16 I was given a flashy apartment and immediately began earning the largest salary society can provide. Most of society are subservient to me and I must appear as some sort of god, or mystic prophet to them.
These days I wake up, put on my white coat and head to work. I grab my clipboard and watch 10 year old children play with an egg in a small sterilised room. Nobody ever told me what the egg is for.
| 1) You are very hungry because your unemployed parents cannot afford to feed you breakfast, and due to the food shortage from the Crisis in the West, the Apple-Pill machine is offline. You find an Apple-Pill on the ground. Do you:
* Eat the Apple-Pill
* Report your parents
* Pray for the soldiers fighting the West Coast insurgency
2) It's three-thirty, time for your favorite show on the Republican Broadcast System. Your parents want you to finish your homework before you plug in. And, today is also Election Day and you have been designated as a Child Crisis Actor to assist your friendly SWAT team while they practice quelling the imminent riots. Do you:
* Experience RBS in holoscopic reality, and then play your role in the imminent Election Day riot
* Do your homework like your parents commanded? (Warning: Willfully ignoring your parents may lead to your arrest and subsequent trial as an adult)
* Answer Hollywood's call and be a crisis actor
3) Your friends Mac and Chez have told you about an unprotected port in the school bathroom. Do you:
* Report your friends as likely terrorists
* Report the unprotected port
* Report your parents for sending you to an unsecured school
4) A strange man from the government visits your classroom and passes out a pill to each student. He tells you the pill is to protect you from the Liberal thinking. Your friends Mac and Chez hide their pill and don't take it. After taking your pill, do you:
* Report Mac and Chez as likely terrorists
* Don't report Mac and Chez because they must be scheduled for catatonia
* Report the students sitting next to Mac and Chez for not reporting them
5) The most effective tool for quelling a student insurgency is a:
* Hammer
* Baseball Bat
* 9mm Pistol
6) Write an essay about why you think the US collapsed. Discuss why the militarized police of the West Coast are still fighting the New US military. Explain why the New US is the best place on Earth.
7) In the following space, write how much you love your Dear Leader
Scoring
There are fifteen points possible on the exam, with a possible ten points of extra credit total for reporting suspicious test taking activity, parental violations, or suspected anti-Republican sympathies, for a total of twenty five points.
* 0 - 3: Suspected anti-Republican sympathies. Schedule for "Rebirth".
* 4 - 5: Stock Class. Future food supplier
* 6 - 8: "My People" class. Does all the hard work. Very important job.
* 9 - 10: "My Beloved People" class. Supervises "My People" class. Very, very important job.
* 11 - 12: "My Protectors" class. Makes sure "My People" and "My Beloved People" are doing their jobs.
* 13 - 15: "My Pretty" class. Reserved for the best looking women.
* 16 - 17: "My Pretty Pony" class. This is a test. I like My Pretty Pony. Execute the teacher if a student scores this.
* 18 - 19: "My Proud People" class. Own and run the businesses I want to shop in.
* 20 - 21: "My Family" class. Reserved for important people.
* 22 - 25: "My 'Real' Family" class. Must be related by blood.
|
[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | Super Dave was known as the perfect super hero. Smart, funny, handsome, strong, fast, and could fly. He wasn't the most creative person though. He stole his theme song from a fictional comic book character.
Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a train... Blah blah blah. It's Super Dave!
Dave's friend John had questioned him on his obviously plagiarized theme song.
John asked "I know you're an intelligent guy. You've got a doctorate for crying out loud. How could you be okay with stealing your theme song?"
Dave quipped "I like it."
"Is it even true?"
Dave hesitated before sheepishly answering "I don't know. Haven't done any of those things."
John stared at his friend in amazement. "Shouldn't we at least verify that you can do those things?"
"Sure, will be fun!"
John said "Ok, first thing first." He pulls out the handgun he always carries around with him. "Dodge, this!"
John fires the gun and to his amazement, he killed Super Dave with a single shot to the head. | The room is dark, clouded with smoke and dread. A thick black round table sits in the middle of the room with black chairs all around it, the seats are filled with men who are even darker and colder than this mountain peak room. At the head of the round table sits a bigger, blacker throne, the arm rests are decorated with skulls made from the very rock taken from the Moon-O.G itself. Sitting within this throne is a man, a man who is now the most infamous super villain in human history. The man who the public cower in fear from the sound of his name alone, The Pincher.
But it wasn't always like this, that throne was once mine. I was once the Supreme Super Villain known as The Skull and this was once my mountain lair that I named, The Skulldorm. These dark figures were *my* men and The Pincher was one of my low-level street crooks.
New America Kingdom was once safeguarded by a hero simply known as The Savior. This man was someone that the people of Earth Attempt #2 looked up to and praised. He abolished diseases, hunger and poverty, he was the greatest hero that humanity has ever known and as the most fearful person on Earth Attempt #2 I even had a level of respect and admiration for him. We were complete opposites, we battled hundreds of times, he would defeat me and I would be forced to retreat and think of a new way to enslave the entire World© McDonalds-Fifa-Coke 2105-∞. But on that one Summer night it all changed and what followed was something not expected at all.
It was a dark night, darker than usual and I was watching from The Skulldrom through my Henchmen's GoPro3000's as my lower tier men were doing the usual street business to earn income, recruit new villains and remind humanity that fear is real, and then The Savior came.
He cleaned up the entire crew and right before teleporting he saw him, that disgusting, soft looking nervous cat-piss smelling joke of a human, The Pincher. He was called that because he would steal things and use them as his weapons and on this night he happened to steal peanuts.
The Savior leaps at The Pincher and in a fright, The Pincher throws his bag of peanuts in the face of The Savior who stops dead still in his tracks, murmurs out a word and then starts to swell, and swell and swell. The greatest hero humanity ever known was dead and it was due to an extreme peanut allergy, something none of us knew, which was caused by The Pincher. I vomited in my mouth as a single tear ran down my cheek.
He returned as soon as possible to The Skulldrom to report the news, but word already reached back. My men all took a knee as he entered The Dark Halls to the man who conquered the World© McDonalds-Fifa-Coke 2105-∞ and caused villainy to reign ruler.
Now years later after that event, he sits in MY CHAIR, he rules MY MEN, he takes MY GLORY AND MY ATTENTION. Nobody remembers me, I am just a fool sitting in seat number 13 next to two villains I would not even class as villa-
"The Skull...", the voice rings through my ears like needles being slowly pushed into eardrums. "The Skull...", the voice, something I couldn't stand more than this suckers face.
"Here", I ooze lack of joy, contempt and hatred.
"Thank you, The Vile Finger...? The Vile Finger...?" The voice.
"Here.".
___________
I hope you enjoyed this short story, I have wanted to join writing prompts for a while and this was a topic that inspired me to start. Feel free to critique and give me tips on my writing!
edit: fixed a word. |
|
[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | He always stuck around long enough to gloat, long enough to mug for the cameras and the fans. long enough to lift a car for the firemen that wasn't really in their way, but boy, did he make it look cool. The way he had that damned smug smile every time he picked us up by scruff of our neck when he would load us into the paddy-wagons, and spout off his stupid platitudes to the onlookers ( If I had a dollar for every time I heard 'Remember kids, crime doesn't pay!' I wouldnt need to rob banks). I respected the ones who just gave a beating, or left a guy tied up for the authorities- at least then you didn't get to see the news clips played on repeat on the TV in lockup.
I never really cared to be part of the cartel, but they look after their own. Technically, I didn't even have powers to qualify me to be in the meta-max wing, but on that night I was glad that I was in there with the scariest, and deadliest players. Lady luck must have been looking out for me that night, first the news came on with the bulletin of the assault. All the heavies in the Cartel who weren't in here with me hit the city like the wrath of god, didn't seem like there was any plan other than destroy everything. In hindsight, I see the plan worked even better than the boss could have hoped.
They hit fast and hard, I heard the whoomph of the perimeter wall go down, then not even a minute later, a little louder whoomph and the second wall was breached. The place went full red alert, and the hacks all started scrambling. Their radios were just howling chaos by the time the last wall blew open, super reinforced concrete, steel and god knows what else spraying across the cell block. The hacks barely stood a chance, the lucky ones were killed in the explosion, the ones wounded didnt even have the chance to lament their plight before the doors opened, and even though the collars killed whatever powers a guy had, a hundred angry criminals with a chance at freedom will get the job done.
HE showed up just as the main switch to the collars were killed, but it didn't even matter. I hid really, I'm not even in the weight class that they even have a collar on me. They clattered to the ground, and I saw his eyes get a lot harder than they ever do for the TV cameras, and he smiled. I scrambled and got to the control room, and in all honesty I didnt really see a lot of what heppened, but I could hear him laugh as he was punching his way through all the would be escapees, he took his fair share of shots, nothing that slowed him down more than it took for him to dust the remnants of a wall off his cape, except for that last time.
The last minute was so slowed down I could probably remember how many raindrops were pouring in from outside- The moment before I remember cowering for cover as I got showered with the glass as he came flying through it. I saw the collar on the ground and before I could even contemplate at just how stupid an idea it was, I had grabbed it and was skittering across the room to get it on him before he got up. For what it is meant to do, it snapped on a lot smoother and easier than I expected. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed me by the throat, his grip thankfully still restrained enough that he didnt just pop my head off like a dandelion. He tossed me across the room before he realized who I was, then he laughed. That smug prick laugh of his. His laugh cut short when he realized where exactly we were, and what he had thrown me next to.
The collar power switch.
Before his mouth could even open to say 'Stop' I slammed my fistdown on the switch, the red lights coming on the indicator on the front of his (and anyone who didnt rip theirs off the second the power was killed in the first place) and I swear I could see the strength just drain right out of him. An added security feature of the collars (which actually made me glad that I wasnt powerful enough to rate getting one) was that in addition to counteracting the powers of any enhanced person, if the prison was in an alarm state, it shocked anyone wearing one to the point that they could not resist detainment.
Or, defend themselves.
My body shaking with Adrenaline, I grabbed a shard of the glass (which wasnt supposed to break, but if a guy who can bench press a tank throws someone through it, its going to break) and without even thinking, I darted over to him grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hissed " I guess crime does pay, huh?" into his ear as I jammed the shard into the side of his neck. Again, and again. His blood came out in gouts, splattering against me, before he dropped to the ground.
The greatest hero the planets has known, shived to death in prison like a bitch. Powers or not, I think people will take me a little more serious now. | The room is dark, clouded with smoke and dread. A thick black round table sits in the middle of the room with black chairs all around it, the seats are filled with men who are even darker and colder than this mountain peak room. At the head of the round table sits a bigger, blacker throne, the arm rests are decorated with skulls made from the very rock taken from the Moon-O.G itself. Sitting within this throne is a man, a man who is now the most infamous super villain in human history. The man who the public cower in fear from the sound of his name alone, The Pincher.
But it wasn't always like this, that throne was once mine. I was once the Supreme Super Villain known as The Skull and this was once my mountain lair that I named, The Skulldorm. These dark figures were *my* men and The Pincher was one of my low-level street crooks.
New America Kingdom was once safeguarded by a hero simply known as The Savior. This man was someone that the people of Earth Attempt #2 looked up to and praised. He abolished diseases, hunger and poverty, he was the greatest hero that humanity has ever known and as the most fearful person on Earth Attempt #2 I even had a level of respect and admiration for him. We were complete opposites, we battled hundreds of times, he would defeat me and I would be forced to retreat and think of a new way to enslave the entire World© McDonalds-Fifa-Coke 2105-∞. But on that one Summer night it all changed and what followed was something not expected at all.
It was a dark night, darker than usual and I was watching from The Skulldrom through my Henchmen's GoPro3000's as my lower tier men were doing the usual street business to earn income, recruit new villains and remind humanity that fear is real, and then The Savior came.
He cleaned up the entire crew and right before teleporting he saw him, that disgusting, soft looking nervous cat-piss smelling joke of a human, The Pincher. He was called that because he would steal things and use them as his weapons and on this night he happened to steal peanuts.
The Savior leaps at The Pincher and in a fright, The Pincher throws his bag of peanuts in the face of The Savior who stops dead still in his tracks, murmurs out a word and then starts to swell, and swell and swell. The greatest hero humanity ever known was dead and it was due to an extreme peanut allergy, something none of us knew, which was caused by The Pincher. I vomited in my mouth as a single tear ran down my cheek.
He returned as soon as possible to The Skulldrom to report the news, but word already reached back. My men all took a knee as he entered The Dark Halls to the man who conquered the World© McDonalds-Fifa-Coke 2105-∞ and caused villainy to reign ruler.
Now years later after that event, he sits in MY CHAIR, he rules MY MEN, he takes MY GLORY AND MY ATTENTION. Nobody remembers me, I am just a fool sitting in seat number 13 next to two villains I would not even class as villa-
"The Skull...", the voice rings through my ears like needles being slowly pushed into eardrums. "The Skull...", the voice, something I couldn't stand more than this suckers face.
"Here", I ooze lack of joy, contempt and hatred.
"Thank you, The Vile Finger...? The Vile Finger...?" The voice.
"Here.".
___________
I hope you enjoyed this short story, I have wanted to join writing prompts for a while and this was a topic that inspired me to start. Feel free to critique and give me tips on my writing!
edit: fixed a word. |
|
[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | He always stuck around long enough to gloat, long enough to mug for the cameras and the fans. long enough to lift a car for the firemen that wasn't really in their way, but boy, did he make it look cool. The way he had that damned smug smile every time he picked us up by scruff of our neck when he would load us into the paddy-wagons, and spout off his stupid platitudes to the onlookers ( If I had a dollar for every time I heard 'Remember kids, crime doesn't pay!' I wouldnt need to rob banks). I respected the ones who just gave a beating, or left a guy tied up for the authorities- at least then you didn't get to see the news clips played on repeat on the TV in lockup.
I never really cared to be part of the cartel, but they look after their own. Technically, I didn't even have powers to qualify me to be in the meta-max wing, but on that night I was glad that I was in there with the scariest, and deadliest players. Lady luck must have been looking out for me that night, first the news came on with the bulletin of the assault. All the heavies in the Cartel who weren't in here with me hit the city like the wrath of god, didn't seem like there was any plan other than destroy everything. In hindsight, I see the plan worked even better than the boss could have hoped.
They hit fast and hard, I heard the whoomph of the perimeter wall go down, then not even a minute later, a little louder whoomph and the second wall was breached. The place went full red alert, and the hacks all started scrambling. Their radios were just howling chaos by the time the last wall blew open, super reinforced concrete, steel and god knows what else spraying across the cell block. The hacks barely stood a chance, the lucky ones were killed in the explosion, the ones wounded didnt even have the chance to lament their plight before the doors opened, and even though the collars killed whatever powers a guy had, a hundred angry criminals with a chance at freedom will get the job done.
HE showed up just as the main switch to the collars were killed, but it didn't even matter. I hid really, I'm not even in the weight class that they even have a collar on me. They clattered to the ground, and I saw his eyes get a lot harder than they ever do for the TV cameras, and he smiled. I scrambled and got to the control room, and in all honesty I didnt really see a lot of what heppened, but I could hear him laugh as he was punching his way through all the would be escapees, he took his fair share of shots, nothing that slowed him down more than it took for him to dust the remnants of a wall off his cape, except for that last time.
The last minute was so slowed down I could probably remember how many raindrops were pouring in from outside- The moment before I remember cowering for cover as I got showered with the glass as he came flying through it. I saw the collar on the ground and before I could even contemplate at just how stupid an idea it was, I had grabbed it and was skittering across the room to get it on him before he got up. For what it is meant to do, it snapped on a lot smoother and easier than I expected. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed me by the throat, his grip thankfully still restrained enough that he didnt just pop my head off like a dandelion. He tossed me across the room before he realized who I was, then he laughed. That smug prick laugh of his. His laugh cut short when he realized where exactly we were, and what he had thrown me next to.
The collar power switch.
Before his mouth could even open to say 'Stop' I slammed my fistdown on the switch, the red lights coming on the indicator on the front of his (and anyone who didnt rip theirs off the second the power was killed in the first place) and I swear I could see the strength just drain right out of him. An added security feature of the collars (which actually made me glad that I wasnt powerful enough to rate getting one) was that in addition to counteracting the powers of any enhanced person, if the prison was in an alarm state, it shocked anyone wearing one to the point that they could not resist detainment.
Or, defend themselves.
My body shaking with Adrenaline, I grabbed a shard of the glass (which wasnt supposed to break, but if a guy who can bench press a tank throws someone through it, its going to break) and without even thinking, I darted over to him grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hissed " I guess crime does pay, huh?" into his ear as I jammed the shard into the side of his neck. Again, and again. His blood came out in gouts, splattering against me, before he dropped to the ground.
The greatest hero the planets has known, shived to death in prison like a bitch. Powers or not, I think people will take me a little more serious now. | Sure, the grease traps weren't clean, but so what?
To a lot of normal folks, the people pass by the Cook's restaurant, and see nothing but a shit-hole. You joke to each-other about how you feel lousy for the people who eat here... Well, he doesn't give a damned about the health code, and he cooks good food. He has regulars, and they're quite loyal. It was just before closing time, when Ol' Jimmy Richardson walked in.
"Hey, Jackie boy. I'm hungry as a siberian cattle herd. Rustle me up a burger, nice and quick, medium rare." Jim was a tough looking sort. Always covered in bruises, and scrapes, but the Cook just chalked it up to a hard day's work. Normally, he wouldn't serve a man a rare burger, but he felt Jim could handle it. He fried it up and served it to Jimmy-boy.
"Mmm-Mmm-MMm.. Now, this is a tasty burger. How much do I owe you?" He wolfed it down in double time.
"Two fifty." He paid up, left, and the cook turned on the television.
"Early this morning, a masked vigilante foiled a robbery today. Three in critical condition, no fatalities.." He flipped the channel. The news was garbage anyway.
Outside, Jimmy wretched into a trashcan. There had been something wrong with that burger. Something very wrong. The signal was in the sky, but he felt off, sick, unwieldy. His powers wouldn't work. Gradually, his muscles locked up. Soon, even the muscle that pumped his life's blood stopped.
"Here's to the solstice, Great One... Here's to the chalice from which we all drink." The Cook had foiled the city's bright light, and appeased his gods at the same time. Many people thought his restaurant was a roach motel, but that was as far from the truth as possible. Anything that stepped through the doors of his restaurant was destined to die. Roaches had aneurysms as they entered. Flies dropped out of the air. And the Cook just smiled, like he always did. There would be another customer coming along soon. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | He always stuck around long enough to gloat, long enough to mug for the cameras and the fans. long enough to lift a car for the firemen that wasn't really in their way, but boy, did he make it look cool. The way he had that damned smug smile every time he picked us up by scruff of our neck when he would load us into the paddy-wagons, and spout off his stupid platitudes to the onlookers ( If I had a dollar for every time I heard 'Remember kids, crime doesn't pay!' I wouldnt need to rob banks). I respected the ones who just gave a beating, or left a guy tied up for the authorities- at least then you didn't get to see the news clips played on repeat on the TV in lockup.
I never really cared to be part of the cartel, but they look after their own. Technically, I didn't even have powers to qualify me to be in the meta-max wing, but on that night I was glad that I was in there with the scariest, and deadliest players. Lady luck must have been looking out for me that night, first the news came on with the bulletin of the assault. All the heavies in the Cartel who weren't in here with me hit the city like the wrath of god, didn't seem like there was any plan other than destroy everything. In hindsight, I see the plan worked even better than the boss could have hoped.
They hit fast and hard, I heard the whoomph of the perimeter wall go down, then not even a minute later, a little louder whoomph and the second wall was breached. The place went full red alert, and the hacks all started scrambling. Their radios were just howling chaos by the time the last wall blew open, super reinforced concrete, steel and god knows what else spraying across the cell block. The hacks barely stood a chance, the lucky ones were killed in the explosion, the ones wounded didnt even have the chance to lament their plight before the doors opened, and even though the collars killed whatever powers a guy had, a hundred angry criminals with a chance at freedom will get the job done.
HE showed up just as the main switch to the collars were killed, but it didn't even matter. I hid really, I'm not even in the weight class that they even have a collar on me. They clattered to the ground, and I saw his eyes get a lot harder than they ever do for the TV cameras, and he smiled. I scrambled and got to the control room, and in all honesty I didnt really see a lot of what heppened, but I could hear him laugh as he was punching his way through all the would be escapees, he took his fair share of shots, nothing that slowed him down more than it took for him to dust the remnants of a wall off his cape, except for that last time.
The last minute was so slowed down I could probably remember how many raindrops were pouring in from outside- The moment before I remember cowering for cover as I got showered with the glass as he came flying through it. I saw the collar on the ground and before I could even contemplate at just how stupid an idea it was, I had grabbed it and was skittering across the room to get it on him before he got up. For what it is meant to do, it snapped on a lot smoother and easier than I expected. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed me by the throat, his grip thankfully still restrained enough that he didnt just pop my head off like a dandelion. He tossed me across the room before he realized who I was, then he laughed. That smug prick laugh of his. His laugh cut short when he realized where exactly we were, and what he had thrown me next to.
The collar power switch.
Before his mouth could even open to say 'Stop' I slammed my fistdown on the switch, the red lights coming on the indicator on the front of his (and anyone who didnt rip theirs off the second the power was killed in the first place) and I swear I could see the strength just drain right out of him. An added security feature of the collars (which actually made me glad that I wasnt powerful enough to rate getting one) was that in addition to counteracting the powers of any enhanced person, if the prison was in an alarm state, it shocked anyone wearing one to the point that they could not resist detainment.
Or, defend themselves.
My body shaking with Adrenaline, I grabbed a shard of the glass (which wasnt supposed to break, but if a guy who can bench press a tank throws someone through it, its going to break) and without even thinking, I darted over to him grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hissed " I guess crime does pay, huh?" into his ear as I jammed the shard into the side of his neck. Again, and again. His blood came out in gouts, splattering against me, before he dropped to the ground.
The greatest hero the planets has known, shived to death in prison like a bitch. Powers or not, I think people will take me a little more serious now. | "There are some things that can beat smartness and foresight? Awkwardness and stupidity can. The best swordsman in the world doesn't need to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before; he doesn't do the thing he ought to do, and so the expert isn't prepared for him; he does the thing he ought not to do; and often it catches the expert out and ends him on the spot." ~Mark Twain
* Damien Swift was at home dozing in his recliner. His day job was hard enough but his night job really took it out of him. His wife wouldn't be back home until tomorrow so this was still the realm of beer cans and no pants. He'd take care of it in the morning. Just before he could drift completely off, the phone rang.
* It was Keil Jacoby's first night back in costume. He stood in the parking lot of a strip mall gazing longingly through the front window of the Taco Bell. He was so hungry; he hadn't had anything to eat this week other than some bird seed he'd stolen from some old lady at the park. He'd been paroled last month but he just couldn't find work! He lied to himself again saying it was because he was a felon; deep down he knew he was just too awkward and inept for anyone to hire. It was a great deal of what had driven him to crime in the first place. Everyone knew his name though. At least he had that going for him, even infamy was kind of nice in its own way. No one would ever forget when The Stumbling Leotard had nearly blown up city hall. "Dammit, couldn't they have at least let me pick my own name?"
* "...broken into the Savings and Loan. I told Burrows that cheap strip mall was a horrible location, but he just kept going on about how many people he could help by keeping his rent low. Why couldn't he just..."
"Right Chief, Savings and Loan, I'll be right there."
Why couldn't they just let him sleep one night? Couldn't the cops handle even one petty criminal? Ever since he had started this gig it was like they had forgotten how to do their jobs!
* Keil picked up a brick that had fallen from the dilapidated walls; wound up for the pitch, and threw it as hard as he could. He watched helplessly as it spiraled to the right, missed his mark and sailed straight through the window of the Savings and Loan. He wailed in agony as the alarm went off. He knew it was already too late for him to escape. But that had never stopped him from trying. He shed a tear for his lost meal, oh God he was hungry.
* The Speed Demon zipped through the streets faster than the eye could follow. He stopped off at the Waffle House for a bacon egg and cheese sandwich (running like this was hungry work). He knew he had more than enough time before the perps could get away.
* He heard a sonic crack come from a mile down the road. He turned to look and could just make out the sickly yellow sign of the Waffle House. Of course, it was just like that bastard to stop for a snack on the way. He turned on his heel to run... and tripped! Just as his nosed touched the pavement, pain exploded in his side.
* He careened into the parking lot while taking the last bite of his sandwich, he saw the broken window, but no one was here! How could he have missed them? Before he could finish wiping the grease from his mouth his toe caught on something soft and he flew forward, tumbling head over heels. The plate glass of the Taco Bell slashed his throat as he crashed through it. He might have still made it to the hospital in time if slamming into the freezer had not knocked him unconscious.
* He limped to the window. He had at least two broken ribs where the fool had stumbled over him. He peeked through; Speed Demon was out cold and fountaining blood as far as his supercharged heart could shoot it, soaking the Stumbling Leotard in the process. He hated to see the man die. Not that he minded his death, he hated the guy, he just couldn't stand the sight of blood. He passed out from the agony of the dry heaves. When he recovered it was way to late for the Speed Demon, his body was already cold. The Crimson Leotard shielded his eyes from the sight as he picked his way through the debris, and cooked some tacos.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Dammit, every time I leave he wrecks the house! I'll bet he hasn't worn pants in *days*! When I get my hands on him I'll..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
*This is the first fiction I've written in years; I just couldn't pass this prompt up. I hope you enjoy it!*
*edit: grammar
*edit 2: changed formatting to make it a little more readable |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | "Really?"
"Yeah, do it."
Fartface stood before the worlds greatest hero, hands trembling he pressed the button and watched as Mary Sue stood there defeated.
"You aren't even going to break free?"
"Nope"
"No backup coming?"
Mary Sue sighed and rolled her eyes, "Not for another 30 minutes minimum."
Fartface smiled with glee before pulling onto the lever causing the large vat to move over the chained heroine. He was so close to the ultimate goal, the destruction of Mary Sue... Yet, despite his soon to be victory, a single question nipped at the back of his mind.
"Why?" His voice echoed through the empty warehouse, He could hear Mary's chains rattle slightly as she raised her head.
"What?"
"Why?" He repeated, the machine moved into place and the last portion of his plan about to be executed.
"Why what?" Mary questioned, her eyes were half closed, defeated. The once powerful figure of justice and authority reduced to a weak kneeling prisoner.
"Why are you doing this? Those chains could barely hold a normal human yet you aren't even going to try? You will die you know? You won't live from this."
"I know."
Fartface tensed, it wasn't the answer he expected nor the one he wanted. He wanted her begging, struggling and giving her all when he won. Yet she done none of that.
"Is this pity? Because I haven't killed anyone? I will you know. I don't need pity!" He screamed, but she didn't move nor react to his outburst. Sitting in his seat he shook his head. His crowning moment of glory once again destroyed by Mary. So what if he wasn't as feared as the others, so what if he wasn't able to take his first kill because it was a child? He was still a killer, he could still rule!
But Mary just sat there, waiting for the final blow, a blow he wasn't prepared to take until he got the answer he wanted.
"It isn't pity Fartface." She said quietly until it was almost a whisper, her mask hid her face well, and Fartface was too far away to see the growing lines of stress that had accumulated over her long battle with crime. "A time must come for all of us, and now is my time. And this is yours. Give us both what we deserve." Her voice was grated and weak, almost begging but it was too quiet to be sure.
"Wow, after all this time, this whole thing is still about you." Fartface jumped to his feet, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "You could have gone to any other villain! buttscraper, the milkman or even Baby Mask, but you went to me! Why?"
Mary peered through the corner of her mask, she could see Fartface trembling, his right hand hanging over the big red button that spelled her doom. She could feel her muscles ached from being in her kneeling position for so long, her costume had been ripped from several places and the chains that bound her cut into her skin. Already she knew any longer in this position and the blood would stop running to her legs.
""Not that I will need them soon."* She thought to herself laughing silently.
"What's so funny?" She heard Fartface ask. *"He was taking too long to do this"* She thought to herself once again.
"Just thinking of things." She muttered. Fartface took his hand off the button and sat back down onto his chair.
"Why are you doing this? Just tell me and we can all go home." He bargained with his captor, but Mary Sue made no indication of accepting it.
"Fine. Sit there and wallow until the police arrive. I won't even bother. You will not get your satisfaction until I get mine." Fartface turned to leave, tipping over his chair in annoyance.
"For the weak to be strong, sometimes the strong must let them walk on their own." Mary called out to him.
Spinning around he rushed to her side "What the hell does that mean?"
"That's all I'm saying, and it will make sense to you when I die. So please" Mary turned her head with great visible pain, and stared up at Fartface, "kill me".
Being this close to her, Fartface could truly see Mary Sue. He had of course seen her the multiple times taking him down as well as in the news. But this was the first time he could see her up close. She was as beautiful as everyone had proclaimed her to be. Her scars and bruises did not ruin her natural features but only enhanced them. Yet he could see it on her face, the years had done a number on her health, she looked years older than she should be and the bright glow her eyes she once had every time she faced an adversary were dimmed.
"Fine." Fartface walked briskly to the control panel once again. "If you are going to be cryptic with me, then I will see you in the afterlife." Hands trembling, he rested his fingers gently over the big red button that would end the life of the world's, strongest and mightiest heroine.
"He pressed the button and the machine once again spun back into life, it's loud motors whirred and buzzed as Fartface turned to walk back out into his much less impeded life of crime.
""Thank you."*
A whisper, over the roar of the machines, Fartface stopped to face Mary Sue for the last time, he thought he heard something, something he had never heard in his entire life. Something he believed belong to those who do others good, for those who were good. Taking a deep breath and shaking his head, Fartface turned back out pushing the words out of his head.
*" She's not thanking me for anything, anytime soon."* he thought to himself as he got into his truck and left as the blaring of the police siren could be heard miles away.
------------------- A few days before------------------------
"Are you serious Mary Sue? There has to be another way?" Police Chief Michael stared confounded at the silhouette of Mary Sue in the darkness, the plan she had just spoken off was insane and at the very least wouldn't work.
"I need your help Chief Michael, you are important to this plan. I need you to keep the police away, or it won't work."
"But you need to die! This plan won't stop anyone. The people of this city can't stand up to the villains without you."
"No Chief. The people of this city can't stand at all, my death will be their wakeup." Police Chief Michael fell silent, allowing the hero that saved his life so many years ago to speak.
"The people have grown complacent and so have the police, I can't put away bad guys if the citizens of this city give them a playground to destroy when they come out." Mary Sue stepped down from the window ledge and sat onto the seat provided in Michaels office. "And I need to show them that even the weakest of criminals are dangerous, I need them to throw out any and all criminals in their streets."
"But Fartface? He is a joke, he is going to humiliate you in ways you can't imagine before you die. Are you sure that's the way you want to go?"
"It has to be."
Mary took a step out of the window, saluting the Chief, she disappeared out into the night.
Sorry for bad english, I'm not really good at writing stories. | The Magician, had been practising his art for years and was still many years off from being ready to making his debut on the stand. Unfortunately he already developed a name in the dark underworld, The Intern, a strange boy who kept pestering the dark and dangerous of the city for hints, tips and advice pleading to apprenticed to them. He was constantly rebuffed and occasionally taken in only to be abused and humiliated by his master.
However he had spent a stint with an embezzler and fraudster who used him to fetch coffees, order dry cleaning and finally when the Feds caught up to take the fall. "I'm just an intern I don't know anything" those words followed him with their cowardly tone, shameful and heavy.
The Magician had buried himself in the utility tunnels of a decrepit office in the outer suburbs having been given the bums rush out of his last three lairs, two taken by crack dens and the third by an urban redevelopment project. Practising his tricks and plans on his own as much as he could except when he couldn't deal with the repeated failure he'd go on the internet and procrastinate browsing fan forums for the various villains of the city waiting to be inspired.
Five in the morning and a bleary eyed Magician downloaded his hundredth PDF for a doomsday device he'd build some time in the future, no really he would after bulked up a bit first for the heavy lifting. There was a series of small explosions and Mister Strong kicked in the door to the other side of the room smashing clutter aside everywhere.
"INTERN!" Strong's voice boomed in the tiny flithy room and Magician squealed in terror, he fell backwards off his stool and landed in a pile of fast food wrappers scrabbling backwards away from the imposing superhero. Mr Strong picked up the panicking failure and brought him seven feet up to eye level "You should never have gotten involved with the Decorator" he threw The Magician into shelves clattering hundreds of Betamax tapes onto the ground. "I never did anything with him he wouldn't take me" The Magican tried to hide behind an out of date printer "Lies, the Decorator named you to the FBI when managed to pull him out of the ceiling" Mr Strong stomped the printer into fragments and lifted the Magician back up again shaking him. The Magician tried to beat at Mr Strong's chest and then it happened.
One of the few devices the Magician had managed to afford was a wrist mounted spring loaded card holder he had planned to use to hustle poker and gather capital. The card holder sprung out and by pure luck managed to pierce My Strong's throat, the filmy metal broke off and snagged inside. The Magician was thrown once again and landed heavily on his toppled chair knocking all the wind out of him, Mr Strong pawed at the piece of tiny metal sprouting out his throat his large hands unable to get any grip.
Mr Strong fell onto his back wheezing, struggling to breathe he had never been so exposed before. The Magician tried to get up and help Mr Strong, he couldn't cope with the dying man in front of him and he hadn't yet recovered from being thrown. He managed to crawl over to Mr Strong who was now purple and barely moving, he hauled himself up and went to remove the jagged metal hopefully freeing up the hole letting the fallen hero breathe once more like in those medical shows. Cruel misfortune meant however that the clumsy villain accidentally poked the metal through the hole completely sealing the hero's fate completely. All the magician could do was sit and watch Mr Strong slowly die and foul himself.
No one found Mr Strong for many weeks, a hobo came into the room for safe place to sleep that night and discovered the desiccated mouse nibbled body. It was several months later when the authorities finally found the body, a shaken up young man gave them the tip and confessed to the murder, there wasn't enough evidence to determine cause of death or establish a case against the young man on murder charges. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | Ultraguy stands atop the Daily World, admiring the sunset. He rarely needs to look after his city anymore, aside from the rare Kartonian invasion or an attack by Deathfreak. The citizens of Big City know that Ultraguy will always be there for them, and subsequently crime has been reduced to an all-time low. You'd have to be crazy to go up against Ultraguy.
Suddenly, a tingling on his ultra-ears: a cry for help. Someone is being mugged. Mugged? In Big City? The Big City protected by Ultraguy? Are they serious? Ultraguy almost decides to let the police handle it before realizing he has nothing better to do.
Faster than a speeding projectile, Ultraguy is on the scene. A decrepit little back alley. A business man. A thug with a gun. Ultraguy stands between them, the wind of his arrival knocks down some empty trash cans. "Can I help?" Ultraguy asks in his deep heroic voice. Unperturbed, the thug continues to point his gun at the businessman.
"Gimme your wallet!" Then, even without his perfect ultra-zoom vision, Ultraguy notices the thug's face.
"Fred? Fred Peterson?" The thug pays no notice.
"Gimme your wallet!"
"Fred, you must be, what, 70? 75? What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Didn't I put you away before for that failed jeweller's heist and...and before that with the botched kidnapping of Dr. Barclay and then before that with your attempted murder of the Crowley twins and then--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, what's your point?"
"Well, didn't you do your time...every time? I don't recall hearing you escape...ever."
"So?"
"So shouldn't you be reformed by now?" Fred chuckles and spits out of the corner of his mouth.
"I been in an outta prison since I was 14. Prison ain't gonna change no one."
"But you're 70, Fred. Why don't you give this up? What are you doing with yourself?"
"I'm a crim. Always was, always will be."
"But this is *my* city, Fred. You'd have to be crazy to think you can take me on and get away with it."
"*I'm* crazy? You think you can stop *crime*!" Ultraguy frowns. His forehead furrows.
"But...I...I do." Ultraguy looks at the old man pointing the gun and thinks about the hundreds of thousands of times he's seen the exact same situation. Unhappy, Ultraguy slowly levitates out of the alley.
"Ultraguy? Ultraguy?" the businessman calls out feebly.
Ultraguy slowly floats up to the top of the Daily World. The sunset has gone now and it was the beginning of night. Ultraguy muses on how when he first started out on the Big City beat he would always get nervous and excited when night would fall. Now he just felt worried.
A long way off a gunshot sounded. Ultraguy chose not to hear it. | The Magician, had been practising his art for years and was still many years off from being ready to making his debut on the stand. Unfortunately he already developed a name in the dark underworld, The Intern, a strange boy who kept pestering the dark and dangerous of the city for hints, tips and advice pleading to apprenticed to them. He was constantly rebuffed and occasionally taken in only to be abused and humiliated by his master.
However he had spent a stint with an embezzler and fraudster who used him to fetch coffees, order dry cleaning and finally when the Feds caught up to take the fall. "I'm just an intern I don't know anything" those words followed him with their cowardly tone, shameful and heavy.
The Magician had buried himself in the utility tunnels of a decrepit office in the outer suburbs having been given the bums rush out of his last three lairs, two taken by crack dens and the third by an urban redevelopment project. Practising his tricks and plans on his own as much as he could except when he couldn't deal with the repeated failure he'd go on the internet and procrastinate browsing fan forums for the various villains of the city waiting to be inspired.
Five in the morning and a bleary eyed Magician downloaded his hundredth PDF for a doomsday device he'd build some time in the future, no really he would after bulked up a bit first for the heavy lifting. There was a series of small explosions and Mister Strong kicked in the door to the other side of the room smashing clutter aside everywhere.
"INTERN!" Strong's voice boomed in the tiny flithy room and Magician squealed in terror, he fell backwards off his stool and landed in a pile of fast food wrappers scrabbling backwards away from the imposing superhero. Mr Strong picked up the panicking failure and brought him seven feet up to eye level "You should never have gotten involved with the Decorator" he threw The Magician into shelves clattering hundreds of Betamax tapes onto the ground. "I never did anything with him he wouldn't take me" The Magican tried to hide behind an out of date printer "Lies, the Decorator named you to the FBI when managed to pull him out of the ceiling" Mr Strong stomped the printer into fragments and lifted the Magician back up again shaking him. The Magician tried to beat at Mr Strong's chest and then it happened.
One of the few devices the Magician had managed to afford was a wrist mounted spring loaded card holder he had planned to use to hustle poker and gather capital. The card holder sprung out and by pure luck managed to pierce My Strong's throat, the filmy metal broke off and snagged inside. The Magician was thrown once again and landed heavily on his toppled chair knocking all the wind out of him, Mr Strong pawed at the piece of tiny metal sprouting out his throat his large hands unable to get any grip.
Mr Strong fell onto his back wheezing, struggling to breathe he had never been so exposed before. The Magician tried to get up and help Mr Strong, he couldn't cope with the dying man in front of him and he hadn't yet recovered from being thrown. He managed to crawl over to Mr Strong who was now purple and barely moving, he hauled himself up and went to remove the jagged metal hopefully freeing up the hole letting the fallen hero breathe once more like in those medical shows. Cruel misfortune meant however that the clumsy villain accidentally poked the metal through the hole completely sealing the hero's fate completely. All the magician could do was sit and watch Mr Strong slowly die and foul himself.
No one found Mr Strong for many weeks, a hobo came into the room for safe place to sleep that night and discovered the desiccated mouse nibbled body. It was several months later when the authorities finally found the body, a shaken up young man gave them the tip and confessed to the murder, there wasn't enough evidence to determine cause of death or establish a case against the young man on murder charges. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | A thoroughly undignified man takes a seat on a thoroughly undignified stool. It's a piece of furniture made specifically to humiliate anyone who uses it, stolen directly from an elementary school dunce corner earlier today. Finding a dunce corner in modern-day America had proven a challenge, but the Council of Super-Villains is always willing to put in the extra effort to poke fun at Victorian Caesar, laughingstock of evil.
When you think of lackluster B-Movie antagonists, you think of Victorian Caesar. He's the one who reveals plans instead of shooting the hero. He's the one who selects obvious double-agents to be his right-hand men. He's the one who doesn't bother administering vision tests to his henchmen before handing them a gun. Victorian Caesar is the cliché, and his existence amuses everyone greatly.
Expecting a show, the Council of Super-Villains files into the room. Eight well-dressed individuals take their spots in a semicircle of leather recliners in front of Caesar. Normally, ridicule would have begun right away, but this meeting is convened under unusual circumstances. Victorian appears to have done something right. Very right, in fact. Something so right that members of the Council feel enough respect to hear him out before bringing out the dunce hat that customarily comes with the stool.
“We hear you've killed the Übermensch.”
A faint smile of pride graced Caesar's face. “That I did.”
“Would you mind telling us how?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, yes it does. What if someone else like him comes along? We need to know how to win.”
“Well, it's a long an' enthrallin' story, so you best take a seat.”
“You're stalling.”
“Called building intrigue. So. There I was, holdin' up this one couple on the street, walkin' with their kid. Then, the man o' the house starts resisting, yellin' at me. So I shoot at him. Out o' nowhere comes this big burly dude. Dunno how he did it, but he stepped straight in front o' the bullet an' it just bounced off o' him like nothin'. Family ran away, leavin' me alone with the Übermensch fellow. Who was it that made that name? Freddy Noosh? Franky Nash?”
“Friedrich Nietzsche”
“Uh huh. Well, he punches me right in the gut, I fly ten feet into a brick wall. I look up at the sky, sun's shining-”
“You mugged someone in broad daylight?”
“Yeah, element o' surprise. No one expects to get mugged in broad daylight.”
“Your logic is impeccable. Continue.”
“Sun was shining, everything was nice. I figured, hell, if I'm dying today, it's not a halfway bad thing. Then it starts to cloud up, real fast-like. Dunno where it came from, wind or something. But these clouds just start comin' an' they don't stop. Cover the sun an' ruin my mood. Can't even let me pass away peacefully, no, world's gotta keep giving me problems. I look over at the Übermensch, an' he ain't lookin' so hot. Bit sickly, you know, like how you look when you just threw up. That face. Now, at this point, I'm pretty sickly too. I've just been bashed into a brick wall. Not feelin' good. But I stand up, an' I go over to him, an' I give him the best punch I can. Well, more like a slap, really. I slapped 'im. I slapped the Übermensch. An' he looked at me all insulted-like an' slaps me right back. 'Cept this time I don't go flying. It's just a normal slap. I look him up an' down, an' I kick him in the shin. Opens his eyes wide like a panda bear on the way down. Falls for a bit, you know, as people tend to do. Then he hits the ground, knocks his head, an' he's out.”
“That's it? You kicked his shin?”
“Mhm.”
“And he's dead?”
“Checked his pulse an' everything. Dead as a doornail. Must've gotten one o' them brain problem things when he hit the pavement.”
“This is the same Übermensch that's been giving us trouble for fifty years?”
“Yeah, well, I mean, gets his powers from the sun, don't he? Figure if its overcast he's just your normal dude.”
“His weakness was bad weather?”
“Near as I can tell. Explains why he's never given you any trouble in Seattle.”
The Council of Super-Villains looks each other over. They call over one of the henchmen guarding the door to the meeting room.
“Could you fetch seven more dunce hats?” one of the Councilors asks. | The Magician, had been practising his art for years and was still many years off from being ready to making his debut on the stand. Unfortunately he already developed a name in the dark underworld, The Intern, a strange boy who kept pestering the dark and dangerous of the city for hints, tips and advice pleading to apprenticed to them. He was constantly rebuffed and occasionally taken in only to be abused and humiliated by his master.
However he had spent a stint with an embezzler and fraudster who used him to fetch coffees, order dry cleaning and finally when the Feds caught up to take the fall. "I'm just an intern I don't know anything" those words followed him with their cowardly tone, shameful and heavy.
The Magician had buried himself in the utility tunnels of a decrepit office in the outer suburbs having been given the bums rush out of his last three lairs, two taken by crack dens and the third by an urban redevelopment project. Practising his tricks and plans on his own as much as he could except when he couldn't deal with the repeated failure he'd go on the internet and procrastinate browsing fan forums for the various villains of the city waiting to be inspired.
Five in the morning and a bleary eyed Magician downloaded his hundredth PDF for a doomsday device he'd build some time in the future, no really he would after bulked up a bit first for the heavy lifting. There was a series of small explosions and Mister Strong kicked in the door to the other side of the room smashing clutter aside everywhere.
"INTERN!" Strong's voice boomed in the tiny flithy room and Magician squealed in terror, he fell backwards off his stool and landed in a pile of fast food wrappers scrabbling backwards away from the imposing superhero. Mr Strong picked up the panicking failure and brought him seven feet up to eye level "You should never have gotten involved with the Decorator" he threw The Magician into shelves clattering hundreds of Betamax tapes onto the ground. "I never did anything with him he wouldn't take me" The Magican tried to hide behind an out of date printer "Lies, the Decorator named you to the FBI when managed to pull him out of the ceiling" Mr Strong stomped the printer into fragments and lifted the Magician back up again shaking him. The Magician tried to beat at Mr Strong's chest and then it happened.
One of the few devices the Magician had managed to afford was a wrist mounted spring loaded card holder he had planned to use to hustle poker and gather capital. The card holder sprung out and by pure luck managed to pierce My Strong's throat, the filmy metal broke off and snagged inside. The Magician was thrown once again and landed heavily on his toppled chair knocking all the wind out of him, Mr Strong pawed at the piece of tiny metal sprouting out his throat his large hands unable to get any grip.
Mr Strong fell onto his back wheezing, struggling to breathe he had never been so exposed before. The Magician tried to get up and help Mr Strong, he couldn't cope with the dying man in front of him and he hadn't yet recovered from being thrown. He managed to crawl over to Mr Strong who was now purple and barely moving, he hauled himself up and went to remove the jagged metal hopefully freeing up the hole letting the fallen hero breathe once more like in those medical shows. Cruel misfortune meant however that the clumsy villain accidentally poked the metal through the hole completely sealing the hero's fate completely. All the magician could do was sit and watch Mr Strong slowly die and foul himself.
No one found Mr Strong for many weeks, a hobo came into the room for safe place to sleep that night and discovered the desiccated mouse nibbled body. It was several months later when the authorities finally found the body, a shaken up young man gave them the tip and confessed to the murder, there wasn't enough evidence to determine cause of death or establish a case against the young man on murder charges. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | The Nefarious League of Doom was meeting in its usual vista, a large dark metal dome assembled in the middle of a feted swamp, far from the prying eyes of the mindless public and their do-gooder heroes who spoiled the endeavors of the League’s many members. While it served as a convenient home base for the hundreds of villains who inhabited the globe, rarely did it see any significant number of villains gather at one time except for the rarest or most dire of conditions.
… This was both of those times.
A loud gavel echoed through the main meeting hall, as more than a hundred costumed psychopaths, egotistical billionaires, eldritch creatures, maniacal aliens, terrifying daemons, unappreciated geniuses, misunderstood laboratory experiments and childhood rivals stood at attention, murmuring around themselves about the recent threat.
“Alright, sssssssettle down!” League president and resident King of the Snakemen, Slithar called to the group as he whacked a large ceremonial mace on the podium. As the murmuring continued, he shouted “Ssssssssshut up already!”, as the crowed finally quieted down, he began his speech.
“Finally. Alright, lissssssssssen up everybody, asssssssss we all know, recently many of our bassssssesssssss have come under attack, with dozenssssss of our fellowsssssssss aressssssssssted an…”
“Hey can we get someone without a speech impediment to make the announcements?!? Some of us have places to be!” a man dressed as a red lightning bolt shouted, waving his arms around in an exaggerated blur.
“Ssssssssssshut up Crimssssssson Sssssssssstorm, I have the mace, ssssssssssssssso I can sssssssssssssspeak!” Slithar shouted angrily, waving the mace as a toddler would a rattle.
“Asssssssss I wassssssssss sssssssssaying” Slithar continued to the low groan of the crowd “It’ssssssss come to our attention that thessssssse attacksssssss were all done by one persssssssssson. Alphaman!”
The crowd began to erupt in shouts.
“What?’ Crimson Storm shouted
“Alphaman? No way!” Morlok the Mighty groaned as he cradled his three giant adamantite battle axes to his chest.
“But wasn't he banished to the Effervescence Plains of Sulfur?” Iron Reaper asked through his vocal slits in the dull grey armor he wore, his voice echoing in a low tone.
“Apparently he esssssscaped…Ssssssorcero! Do you have anything to sssssssay?”
“Don’t look at me!” a man in a domino mask and top hat shouted as he waved his cane around, he white cloak flowing behind him as he huffed in indignation “I performed the ritual perfectly, it must have been those power crystals Psylon brought me”
“DO NOT QUESTION THE INTEGRITY OF PSYLON THE GREAT!” A floating purple orb with a dozen graspers shouted back “I STOLE THOSE POWER CRYSTALS FROM THE FINEST TRITANIAN MINE IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE, THEY WOULD HAVE PERFORMED AS PROMISED. CLEARLY THEY WEREN'T THE PROPER UTENSIL, FOR WHIT I BLAME ASHUR! HE WAS THE ONE WHO DID THE RESEARCH ON THAT ANCIENT SPELL!”
A beaded man in a crimson toga began to reach for his sword “You dare! I used all my ancient wisdom and the scrolls I spirited away from the Library of Alexandria to find that spell! It should have worked, I was using our working knowledge of weaknesses Alphaman had!”
“But I thought he had no weakness apart from plutonite” someone shouted.
“Incorrect! Lamia recently managed to seduce him and learn of his weakness to magic.” Ashur shouted back
“Well, it’s a good thing I saw through that deception and lied!” A proud voice boomed over the din of the arguing. Everyone’s head snapped up to see a single figure hovering over the proceedings, arms crossed as a blue cape bellowed in behind him, clad in his immaculate white uniform with his arms crossed, was Alphaman.
“If you’re quite finished, I think it’s time I take out the trash, try to reduce the pollution here in the Amazon somehow!” he quipped as he zoomed towards the assembled crowd.
To the credit of the supervillans, they all reacted as quickly as they could, at least four different ice beams bounced off Alphaman, followed by several manner of other beams, rays and lasers, ranging from heat, fire and particle. Slamming into the ground, he picked up Iron Reaper and threw him at five more mechanical supervillans with such a force that they all collapsed into a pile of scrap metal. As the villainous super speedsters began to try and encircle him in a manmade tornado, Alphaman, with one fierce stomp, cracked the buildings foundation and sent them sprawling in every which direction. He then cold clocked Morlok and threw his axes to pin three bizzaro and clone versions of himself. Magic users attempting to concentrate in order to cast their destructive magics were foiled when Alphaman sent out subsonic shouts, causing pain in their ears, breaking their concentrations. The explosions of a dozen failed spells knocked out or incapacitated most of the other villains.
Surprisingly, the only one left standing was a man dressed as an 18th century socialite, holding a large violin as he quivered in his place.
“Really? The Fiddler? You’re all that’s left? Wow…Just wow, the League’s really lowering its standards.” Alpha man said as he landed, taking small steps forward.
“S…s…stand back!” he yelled in faux posh accent “Or else!”
“Or else what, you’ll play a concerto at me?” Alphaman asked with a small laugh. Through the hall, the defeated villains groaned both in pain and at their last champion.
Shaking, the man dropped his violin and withdrew a flintlock pistol from a holster in his back. Holding it up, he pointed it at Alphaman’s chest.
At this point, the hero lost it, he stopped and doubled over in laughter. After several moments, he straightened himself up, clutching his sides.
“You’ve…you’ve gotta be kidding me! This is the villain I've got to face to defeat the League. My god, no wonder the military doesn't just carpet bomb this place, you losers are all just a jok...” a loud boom echoed through the hall as the faint smell of sulfur permeated the air.
Alphaman felt nothing for just a moment, then a searing pain in his chest overtook him. Looking down, he saw a bright red spot appear on his white uniform. A red spot that was growing at an alarming rate. Panicked, he tried to move forward, only to be debilitated by pain through is body, causing him to fall forward instead, landing on his face. As he blacked out into oblivion he took one last pained gasp, followed my a involuntary spasm. The blood now formed a small pool around his body, soaking the uniform in a soiled crimson.
The hall was filled with a stunned silence, no one spoke for several minutes. The Fiddler just sat on the floor, staring slack jawed at the corpse of Alphaman. Finally, Crimson Storm regained consciousness and looked at the body.
“Fiddler…What the hell did you do?” he asked, holding his broken leg as he shouted in pain.
“I…I don’t know, I just, I just shot him!” the man screamed, his natural Brooklyn accent finally showing though as he abandoned the fake noble accent no one believed.
“Whad’ya mean just shot him?!? He’s freaking Alphaman, he’s bulletproof for Christsake!”
“I…I used a ball made from a bit of Plutonite. I know we were trying to use other weaknesses because no matter hard we tried, we couldn't kill him with the thing that make him weak, but I had a pistol ball made when we were still working on that plan and I didn't wanna waste money.”
“Wait you mean to tell me a plutonite bullet can kill Alphaman?!?”
“I didn’t know, I figured you guys already tried that and it failed, it seemed so frggin obvious I thought one of you must have tried that!” Fiddler shouted, his powdered wig falling off as he yelled.
As the crowed of villains looked in awe at Alphaman’s body and his unlikely killer, they stood in silence for several minutes before Fiddler spoke up again.
“So…now what do we do?”
| The Magician, had been practising his art for years and was still many years off from being ready to making his debut on the stand. Unfortunately he already developed a name in the dark underworld, The Intern, a strange boy who kept pestering the dark and dangerous of the city for hints, tips and advice pleading to apprenticed to them. He was constantly rebuffed and occasionally taken in only to be abused and humiliated by his master.
However he had spent a stint with an embezzler and fraudster who used him to fetch coffees, order dry cleaning and finally when the Feds caught up to take the fall. "I'm just an intern I don't know anything" those words followed him with their cowardly tone, shameful and heavy.
The Magician had buried himself in the utility tunnels of a decrepit office in the outer suburbs having been given the bums rush out of his last three lairs, two taken by crack dens and the third by an urban redevelopment project. Practising his tricks and plans on his own as much as he could except when he couldn't deal with the repeated failure he'd go on the internet and procrastinate browsing fan forums for the various villains of the city waiting to be inspired.
Five in the morning and a bleary eyed Magician downloaded his hundredth PDF for a doomsday device he'd build some time in the future, no really he would after bulked up a bit first for the heavy lifting. There was a series of small explosions and Mister Strong kicked in the door to the other side of the room smashing clutter aside everywhere.
"INTERN!" Strong's voice boomed in the tiny flithy room and Magician squealed in terror, he fell backwards off his stool and landed in a pile of fast food wrappers scrabbling backwards away from the imposing superhero. Mr Strong picked up the panicking failure and brought him seven feet up to eye level "You should never have gotten involved with the Decorator" he threw The Magician into shelves clattering hundreds of Betamax tapes onto the ground. "I never did anything with him he wouldn't take me" The Magican tried to hide behind an out of date printer "Lies, the Decorator named you to the FBI when managed to pull him out of the ceiling" Mr Strong stomped the printer into fragments and lifted the Magician back up again shaking him. The Magician tried to beat at Mr Strong's chest and then it happened.
One of the few devices the Magician had managed to afford was a wrist mounted spring loaded card holder he had planned to use to hustle poker and gather capital. The card holder sprung out and by pure luck managed to pierce My Strong's throat, the filmy metal broke off and snagged inside. The Magician was thrown once again and landed heavily on his toppled chair knocking all the wind out of him, Mr Strong pawed at the piece of tiny metal sprouting out his throat his large hands unable to get any grip.
Mr Strong fell onto his back wheezing, struggling to breathe he had never been so exposed before. The Magician tried to get up and help Mr Strong, he couldn't cope with the dying man in front of him and he hadn't yet recovered from being thrown. He managed to crawl over to Mr Strong who was now purple and barely moving, he hauled himself up and went to remove the jagged metal hopefully freeing up the hole letting the fallen hero breathe once more like in those medical shows. Cruel misfortune meant however that the clumsy villain accidentally poked the metal through the hole completely sealing the hero's fate completely. All the magician could do was sit and watch Mr Strong slowly die and foul himself.
No one found Mr Strong for many weeks, a hobo came into the room for safe place to sleep that night and discovered the desiccated mouse nibbled body. It was several months later when the authorities finally found the body, a shaken up young man gave them the tip and confessed to the murder, there wasn't enough evidence to determine cause of death or establish a case against the young man on murder charges. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | Ultraguy stands atop the Daily World, admiring the sunset. He rarely needs to look after his city anymore, aside from the rare Kartonian invasion or an attack by Deathfreak. The citizens of Big City know that Ultraguy will always be there for them, and subsequently crime has been reduced to an all-time low. You'd have to be crazy to go up against Ultraguy.
Suddenly, a tingling on his ultra-ears: a cry for help. Someone is being mugged. Mugged? In Big City? The Big City protected by Ultraguy? Are they serious? Ultraguy almost decides to let the police handle it before realizing he has nothing better to do.
Faster than a speeding projectile, Ultraguy is on the scene. A decrepit little back alley. A business man. A thug with a gun. Ultraguy stands between them, the wind of his arrival knocks down some empty trash cans. "Can I help?" Ultraguy asks in his deep heroic voice. Unperturbed, the thug continues to point his gun at the businessman.
"Gimme your wallet!" Then, even without his perfect ultra-zoom vision, Ultraguy notices the thug's face.
"Fred? Fred Peterson?" The thug pays no notice.
"Gimme your wallet!"
"Fred, you must be, what, 70? 75? What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Didn't I put you away before for that failed jeweller's heist and...and before that with the botched kidnapping of Dr. Barclay and then before that with your attempted murder of the Crowley twins and then--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, what's your point?"
"Well, didn't you do your time...every time? I don't recall hearing you escape...ever."
"So?"
"So shouldn't you be reformed by now?" Fred chuckles and spits out of the corner of his mouth.
"I been in an outta prison since I was 14. Prison ain't gonna change no one."
"But you're 70, Fred. Why don't you give this up? What are you doing with yourself?"
"I'm a crim. Always was, always will be."
"But this is *my* city, Fred. You'd have to be crazy to think you can take me on and get away with it."
"*I'm* crazy? You think you can stop *crime*!" Ultraguy frowns. His forehead furrows.
"But...I...I do." Ultraguy looks at the old man pointing the gun and thinks about the hundreds of thousands of times he's seen the exact same situation. Unhappy, Ultraguy slowly levitates out of the alley.
"Ultraguy? Ultraguy?" the businessman calls out feebly.
Ultraguy slowly floats up to the top of the Daily World. The sunset has gone now and it was the beginning of night. Ultraguy muses on how when he first started out on the Big City beat he would always get nervous and excited when night would fall. Now he just felt worried.
A long way off a gunshot sounded. Ultraguy chose not to hear it. | "Really?"
"Yeah, do it."
Fartface stood before the worlds greatest hero, hands trembling he pressed the button and watched as Mary Sue stood there defeated.
"You aren't even going to break free?"
"Nope"
"No backup coming?"
Mary Sue sighed and rolled her eyes, "Not for another 30 minutes minimum."
Fartface smiled with glee before pulling onto the lever causing the large vat to move over the chained heroine. He was so close to the ultimate goal, the destruction of Mary Sue... Yet, despite his soon to be victory, a single question nipped at the back of his mind.
"Why?" His voice echoed through the empty warehouse, He could hear Mary's chains rattle slightly as she raised her head.
"What?"
"Why?" He repeated, the machine moved into place and the last portion of his plan about to be executed.
"Why what?" Mary questioned, her eyes were half closed, defeated. The once powerful figure of justice and authority reduced to a weak kneeling prisoner.
"Why are you doing this? Those chains could barely hold a normal human yet you aren't even going to try? You will die you know? You won't live from this."
"I know."
Fartface tensed, it wasn't the answer he expected nor the one he wanted. He wanted her begging, struggling and giving her all when he won. Yet she done none of that.
"Is this pity? Because I haven't killed anyone? I will you know. I don't need pity!" He screamed, but she didn't move nor react to his outburst. Sitting in his seat he shook his head. His crowning moment of glory once again destroyed by Mary. So what if he wasn't as feared as the others, so what if he wasn't able to take his first kill because it was a child? He was still a killer, he could still rule!
But Mary just sat there, waiting for the final blow, a blow he wasn't prepared to take until he got the answer he wanted.
"It isn't pity Fartface." She said quietly until it was almost a whisper, her mask hid her face well, and Fartface was too far away to see the growing lines of stress that had accumulated over her long battle with crime. "A time must come for all of us, and now is my time. And this is yours. Give us both what we deserve." Her voice was grated and weak, almost begging but it was too quiet to be sure.
"Wow, after all this time, this whole thing is still about you." Fartface jumped to his feet, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "You could have gone to any other villain! buttscraper, the milkman or even Baby Mask, but you went to me! Why?"
Mary peered through the corner of her mask, she could see Fartface trembling, his right hand hanging over the big red button that spelled her doom. She could feel her muscles ached from being in her kneeling position for so long, her costume had been ripped from several places and the chains that bound her cut into her skin. Already she knew any longer in this position and the blood would stop running to her legs.
""Not that I will need them soon."* She thought to herself laughing silently.
"What's so funny?" She heard Fartface ask. *"He was taking too long to do this"* She thought to herself once again.
"Just thinking of things." She muttered. Fartface took his hand off the button and sat back down onto his chair.
"Why are you doing this? Just tell me and we can all go home." He bargained with his captor, but Mary Sue made no indication of accepting it.
"Fine. Sit there and wallow until the police arrive. I won't even bother. You will not get your satisfaction until I get mine." Fartface turned to leave, tipping over his chair in annoyance.
"For the weak to be strong, sometimes the strong must let them walk on their own." Mary called out to him.
Spinning around he rushed to her side "What the hell does that mean?"
"That's all I'm saying, and it will make sense to you when I die. So please" Mary turned her head with great visible pain, and stared up at Fartface, "kill me".
Being this close to her, Fartface could truly see Mary Sue. He had of course seen her the multiple times taking him down as well as in the news. But this was the first time he could see her up close. She was as beautiful as everyone had proclaimed her to be. Her scars and bruises did not ruin her natural features but only enhanced them. Yet he could see it on her face, the years had done a number on her health, she looked years older than she should be and the bright glow her eyes she once had every time she faced an adversary were dimmed.
"Fine." Fartface walked briskly to the control panel once again. "If you are going to be cryptic with me, then I will see you in the afterlife." Hands trembling, he rested his fingers gently over the big red button that would end the life of the world's, strongest and mightiest heroine.
"He pressed the button and the machine once again spun back into life, it's loud motors whirred and buzzed as Fartface turned to walk back out into his much less impeded life of crime.
""Thank you."*
A whisper, over the roar of the machines, Fartface stopped to face Mary Sue for the last time, he thought he heard something, something he had never heard in his entire life. Something he believed belong to those who do others good, for those who were good. Taking a deep breath and shaking his head, Fartface turned back out pushing the words out of his head.
*" She's not thanking me for anything, anytime soon."* he thought to himself as he got into his truck and left as the blaring of the police siren could be heard miles away.
------------------- A few days before------------------------
"Are you serious Mary Sue? There has to be another way?" Police Chief Michael stared confounded at the silhouette of Mary Sue in the darkness, the plan she had just spoken off was insane and at the very least wouldn't work.
"I need your help Chief Michael, you are important to this plan. I need you to keep the police away, or it won't work."
"But you need to die! This plan won't stop anyone. The people of this city can't stand up to the villains without you."
"No Chief. The people of this city can't stand at all, my death will be their wakeup." Police Chief Michael fell silent, allowing the hero that saved his life so many years ago to speak.
"The people have grown complacent and so have the police, I can't put away bad guys if the citizens of this city give them a playground to destroy when they come out." Mary Sue stepped down from the window ledge and sat onto the seat provided in Michaels office. "And I need to show them that even the weakest of criminals are dangerous, I need them to throw out any and all criminals in their streets."
"But Fartface? He is a joke, he is going to humiliate you in ways you can't imagine before you die. Are you sure that's the way you want to go?"
"It has to be."
Mary took a step out of the window, saluting the Chief, she disappeared out into the night.
Sorry for bad english, I'm not really good at writing stories. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | The Nefarious League of Doom was meeting in its usual vista, a large dark metal dome assembled in the middle of a feted swamp, far from the prying eyes of the mindless public and their do-gooder heroes who spoiled the endeavors of the League’s many members. While it served as a convenient home base for the hundreds of villains who inhabited the globe, rarely did it see any significant number of villains gather at one time except for the rarest or most dire of conditions.
… This was both of those times.
A loud gavel echoed through the main meeting hall, as more than a hundred costumed psychopaths, egotistical billionaires, eldritch creatures, maniacal aliens, terrifying daemons, unappreciated geniuses, misunderstood laboratory experiments and childhood rivals stood at attention, murmuring around themselves about the recent threat.
“Alright, sssssssettle down!” League president and resident King of the Snakemen, Slithar called to the group as he whacked a large ceremonial mace on the podium. As the murmuring continued, he shouted “Ssssssssshut up already!”, as the crowed finally quieted down, he began his speech.
“Finally. Alright, lissssssssssen up everybody, asssssssss we all know, recently many of our bassssssesssssss have come under attack, with dozenssssss of our fellowsssssssss aressssssssssted an…”
“Hey can we get someone without a speech impediment to make the announcements?!? Some of us have places to be!” a man dressed as a red lightning bolt shouted, waving his arms around in an exaggerated blur.
“Ssssssssssshut up Crimssssssson Sssssssssstorm, I have the mace, ssssssssssssssso I can sssssssssssssspeak!” Slithar shouted angrily, waving the mace as a toddler would a rattle.
“Asssssssss I wassssssssss sssssssssaying” Slithar continued to the low groan of the crowd “It’ssssssss come to our attention that thessssssse attacksssssss were all done by one persssssssssson. Alphaman!”
The crowd began to erupt in shouts.
“What?’ Crimson Storm shouted
“Alphaman? No way!” Morlok the Mighty groaned as he cradled his three giant adamantite battle axes to his chest.
“But wasn't he banished to the Effervescence Plains of Sulfur?” Iron Reaper asked through his vocal slits in the dull grey armor he wore, his voice echoing in a low tone.
“Apparently he esssssscaped…Ssssssorcero! Do you have anything to sssssssay?”
“Don’t look at me!” a man in a domino mask and top hat shouted as he waved his cane around, he white cloak flowing behind him as he huffed in indignation “I performed the ritual perfectly, it must have been those power crystals Psylon brought me”
“DO NOT QUESTION THE INTEGRITY OF PSYLON THE GREAT!” A floating purple orb with a dozen graspers shouted back “I STOLE THOSE POWER CRYSTALS FROM THE FINEST TRITANIAN MINE IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE, THEY WOULD HAVE PERFORMED AS PROMISED. CLEARLY THEY WEREN'T THE PROPER UTENSIL, FOR WHIT I BLAME ASHUR! HE WAS THE ONE WHO DID THE RESEARCH ON THAT ANCIENT SPELL!”
A beaded man in a crimson toga began to reach for his sword “You dare! I used all my ancient wisdom and the scrolls I spirited away from the Library of Alexandria to find that spell! It should have worked, I was using our working knowledge of weaknesses Alphaman had!”
“But I thought he had no weakness apart from plutonite” someone shouted.
“Incorrect! Lamia recently managed to seduce him and learn of his weakness to magic.” Ashur shouted back
“Well, it’s a good thing I saw through that deception and lied!” A proud voice boomed over the din of the arguing. Everyone’s head snapped up to see a single figure hovering over the proceedings, arms crossed as a blue cape bellowed in behind him, clad in his immaculate white uniform with his arms crossed, was Alphaman.
“If you’re quite finished, I think it’s time I take out the trash, try to reduce the pollution here in the Amazon somehow!” he quipped as he zoomed towards the assembled crowd.
To the credit of the supervillans, they all reacted as quickly as they could, at least four different ice beams bounced off Alphaman, followed by several manner of other beams, rays and lasers, ranging from heat, fire and particle. Slamming into the ground, he picked up Iron Reaper and threw him at five more mechanical supervillans with such a force that they all collapsed into a pile of scrap metal. As the villainous super speedsters began to try and encircle him in a manmade tornado, Alphaman, with one fierce stomp, cracked the buildings foundation and sent them sprawling in every which direction. He then cold clocked Morlok and threw his axes to pin three bizzaro and clone versions of himself. Magic users attempting to concentrate in order to cast their destructive magics were foiled when Alphaman sent out subsonic shouts, causing pain in their ears, breaking their concentrations. The explosions of a dozen failed spells knocked out or incapacitated most of the other villains.
Surprisingly, the only one left standing was a man dressed as an 18th century socialite, holding a large violin as he quivered in his place.
“Really? The Fiddler? You’re all that’s left? Wow…Just wow, the League’s really lowering its standards.” Alpha man said as he landed, taking small steps forward.
“S…s…stand back!” he yelled in faux posh accent “Or else!”
“Or else what, you’ll play a concerto at me?” Alphaman asked with a small laugh. Through the hall, the defeated villains groaned both in pain and at their last champion.
Shaking, the man dropped his violin and withdrew a flintlock pistol from a holster in his back. Holding it up, he pointed it at Alphaman’s chest.
At this point, the hero lost it, he stopped and doubled over in laughter. After several moments, he straightened himself up, clutching his sides.
“You’ve…you’ve gotta be kidding me! This is the villain I've got to face to defeat the League. My god, no wonder the military doesn't just carpet bomb this place, you losers are all just a jok...” a loud boom echoed through the hall as the faint smell of sulfur permeated the air.
Alphaman felt nothing for just a moment, then a searing pain in his chest overtook him. Looking down, he saw a bright red spot appear on his white uniform. A red spot that was growing at an alarming rate. Panicked, he tried to move forward, only to be debilitated by pain through is body, causing him to fall forward instead, landing on his face. As he blacked out into oblivion he took one last pained gasp, followed my a involuntary spasm. The blood now formed a small pool around his body, soaking the uniform in a soiled crimson.
The hall was filled with a stunned silence, no one spoke for several minutes. The Fiddler just sat on the floor, staring slack jawed at the corpse of Alphaman. Finally, Crimson Storm regained consciousness and looked at the body.
“Fiddler…What the hell did you do?” he asked, holding his broken leg as he shouted in pain.
“I…I don’t know, I just, I just shot him!” the man screamed, his natural Brooklyn accent finally showing though as he abandoned the fake noble accent no one believed.
“Whad’ya mean just shot him?!? He’s freaking Alphaman, he’s bulletproof for Christsake!”
“I…I used a ball made from a bit of Plutonite. I know we were trying to use other weaknesses because no matter hard we tried, we couldn't kill him with the thing that make him weak, but I had a pistol ball made when we were still working on that plan and I didn't wanna waste money.”
“Wait you mean to tell me a plutonite bullet can kill Alphaman?!?”
“I didn’t know, I figured you guys already tried that and it failed, it seemed so frggin obvious I thought one of you must have tried that!” Fiddler shouted, his powdered wig falling off as he yelled.
As the crowed of villains looked in awe at Alphaman’s body and his unlikely killer, they stood in silence for several minutes before Fiddler spoke up again.
“So…now what do we do?”
| A thoroughly undignified man takes a seat on a thoroughly undignified stool. It's a piece of furniture made specifically to humiliate anyone who uses it, stolen directly from an elementary school dunce corner earlier today. Finding a dunce corner in modern-day America had proven a challenge, but the Council of Super-Villains is always willing to put in the extra effort to poke fun at Victorian Caesar, laughingstock of evil.
When you think of lackluster B-Movie antagonists, you think of Victorian Caesar. He's the one who reveals plans instead of shooting the hero. He's the one who selects obvious double-agents to be his right-hand men. He's the one who doesn't bother administering vision tests to his henchmen before handing them a gun. Victorian Caesar is the cliché, and his existence amuses everyone greatly.
Expecting a show, the Council of Super-Villains files into the room. Eight well-dressed individuals take their spots in a semicircle of leather recliners in front of Caesar. Normally, ridicule would have begun right away, but this meeting is convened under unusual circumstances. Victorian appears to have done something right. Very right, in fact. Something so right that members of the Council feel enough respect to hear him out before bringing out the dunce hat that customarily comes with the stool.
“We hear you've killed the Übermensch.”
A faint smile of pride graced Caesar's face. “That I did.”
“Would you mind telling us how?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, yes it does. What if someone else like him comes along? We need to know how to win.”
“Well, it's a long an' enthrallin' story, so you best take a seat.”
“You're stalling.”
“Called building intrigue. So. There I was, holdin' up this one couple on the street, walkin' with their kid. Then, the man o' the house starts resisting, yellin' at me. So I shoot at him. Out o' nowhere comes this big burly dude. Dunno how he did it, but he stepped straight in front o' the bullet an' it just bounced off o' him like nothin'. Family ran away, leavin' me alone with the Übermensch fellow. Who was it that made that name? Freddy Noosh? Franky Nash?”
“Friedrich Nietzsche”
“Uh huh. Well, he punches me right in the gut, I fly ten feet into a brick wall. I look up at the sky, sun's shining-”
“You mugged someone in broad daylight?”
“Yeah, element o' surprise. No one expects to get mugged in broad daylight.”
“Your logic is impeccable. Continue.”
“Sun was shining, everything was nice. I figured, hell, if I'm dying today, it's not a halfway bad thing. Then it starts to cloud up, real fast-like. Dunno where it came from, wind or something. But these clouds just start comin' an' they don't stop. Cover the sun an' ruin my mood. Can't even let me pass away peacefully, no, world's gotta keep giving me problems. I look over at the Übermensch, an' he ain't lookin' so hot. Bit sickly, you know, like how you look when you just threw up. That face. Now, at this point, I'm pretty sickly too. I've just been bashed into a brick wall. Not feelin' good. But I stand up, an' I go over to him, an' I give him the best punch I can. Well, more like a slap, really. I slapped 'im. I slapped the Übermensch. An' he looked at me all insulted-like an' slaps me right back. 'Cept this time I don't go flying. It's just a normal slap. I look him up an' down, an' I kick him in the shin. Opens his eyes wide like a panda bear on the way down. Falls for a bit, you know, as people tend to do. Then he hits the ground, knocks his head, an' he's out.”
“That's it? You kicked his shin?”
“Mhm.”
“And he's dead?”
“Checked his pulse an' everything. Dead as a doornail. Must've gotten one o' them brain problem things when he hit the pavement.”
“This is the same Übermensch that's been giving us trouble for fifty years?”
“Yeah, well, I mean, gets his powers from the sun, don't he? Figure if its overcast he's just your normal dude.”
“His weakness was bad weather?”
“Near as I can tell. Explains why he's never given you any trouble in Seattle.”
The Council of Super-Villains looks each other over. They call over one of the henchmen guarding the door to the meeting room.
“Could you fetch seven more dunce hats?” one of the Councilors asks. |
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[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain. | Twas a hero, savior of the land,
Call his name he'll give you a hand,
Nemesis hated his fame and glory,
Sadly, this is the end of the story,
He was a hero, brave and strong,
Ask him for advice, he's never wrong,
He made people happy, laugh, and smile,
Fought crime until the very last mile,
He was my idol, a man of power,
Stood up straight, tall like a tower,
Invincible no villain could stop ,
But one day his body will drop,
He was just minding himself on a cold winter day,
But in the wrong place he decided to stay,
After he put his gear in his trunk,
A drive hit him, the drive was drunk.
RIP dad.
| He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He twiddled his thumbs like it was his job.
"I just... Can't support your...decision," he said. To think of the fearless hero anything but confident in the mild-mannered life of his alter ego? Ridiculous.
He averted his eyes from her curious, almost intrusive gaze. The slight woman with jet black hair, severely cut, sat across from him in her iron-walled home. "Darling," she says, "You know I only have your best interest in mind. This is your safety we're talking about."
He rolls his eyes and plants both feet on the floor, suddenly remembering who he thinks he is. "It's MY final choice, you know. This shouldn't even be a discussion. I'm employing you to do what I ask. You have an order to fill, and I expect it to be done."
The woman sits up straighter and stares at her arrogant commissioner. "Fine," she slides through her teeth after a taught silence. "But know this, Dynaguy- this is the last order you'll ever place."
And so it was, for Dynaguy had chosen to add a cape to his super suit, and a snag on a still-active missile had ended his brief post-evil-dooer-defeat celebration, as well as his life.
EDIT: T'was Thunderhead who was fallen by the missile. Dynaguy was still dumb though. |
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | People usually talk about life being invaluable. That no two humans are equal, and so their replacement cost is infinite. In my vein of work, however, human life has a price. A high price, but still limited. Depending on how much a death is needed, the price will be higher or lower. After all, if you had a 75 kg bag of meat, you would be able to put a price on it, wouldn't you?
And so, my life consisted on getting the name of my next target. I'd then go, do the deed, and get the money.
Things changed when I got a call, requesting for a meeting at a shadowy corner of the industrial district, where at night it'd be quiet and calm. As I was walking to the intended place, I noticed the man that was waiting couldn't even stand still.
As I got there, I got a better look at him: bald, old, obviously trying not to arouse suspicion, with circular lenses wider than my arm. Thin and tall, I could smell he had never asked this kind of thing from anyone.
"Hi." I started.
"Hi. Uhm, are you the man for the, eh, job?"
Such a question was frowned upon in my industry. It'd be like if a computer instead of asking your password, asked you "Is your password so-and-so?"
"Yes, and don't ask that again. Who am I going to do?"
"Ah, a man. He killed my wife ten years ago, and the case got filed away. Here's the file on him, I got it with a, uhm, friend's help. Please, get rid of him. I can't stand knowing he got away."
"I wasn't asking your life story. Just give me the folder and the money."
He handed it to me, and as I was about to check it's contents, he asked me if I had fire. Once he lit up the cigarette, he coughed. When he returned my lighter, I noticed a kid walking down the street.
You see, this kind of situation is where one would try to act natural. It is unwise to panic and run. Yet that is exactly what this old asshole did. He got into the car and sped away. Now the kid would tell his parents, they'd get scared, they'd be more prone to talking to the police if they saw something, and it made this place less conductive to have meetings.
So, as he left, I walked back home, opening the folder to see the contents. My photo. Well, this was new. There wasn't much in the way of evidence. The file stated that I was suspicious, but it never got resolved.
And then I remembered. It was the first time I had been interrogated. I had managed to stay calm and get out, but files stay there forever. It had been a successful murder: the woman had a debt that required payment, but it was long overdue. Interests had accumulated, and she didn't have anything of the same value, except her life. And so I went and did the thing I do best.
And so, I needed to get rid of myself. There's an old thought experiment, about answering the question of whether if you change every plank in a ship it's still the same ship or not. I know where I stand: Having changed my name, my identity, my country, my job, my family and my body made me a different man, with the memories of the one I used to be. Technically, I got rid of the man that murdered his wife, didn't I? | As always before entering my home, I checked the door. No tampering, nothing unusual. But even so, I put my hand inside my coat, to ready my gun before I opened it. You can never be too careful in this business. Others would call it paranoid, but I’ve seen plenty of my coworkers taken out by a disgruntled companion of a target. *Hell, I’ve taken a few of those jobs myself. Not something to be proud of, granted, but at times the money is necessary. Just to survive.*
The lock clicked, and the door opened silently. I quickly scanned the hallway, and any room within sight. Nothing. I froze for a few seconds, just listening. Still nothing. Slowly I opened the door fully.
There was a small yellow envelope on the floor. *Another one. I expected a few weeks more before they find me something new.* Slowly, without losing my focus on the surroundings, I picked it up, and slowly walked into the flat.
Stepping over a few almost invisible strings on the way, my anxiety slowly relented. *No sign of intruders. No alarms, none of my safety checks are damaged. Looks like today, I’m safe.*
Removing my coat, I simply threw it on a chair. Finally I let go of my gun, putting the safety back on.
*So, let’s see what we got.*
Pulling out a small but sharp knife, from a hidden pouch in my belt, I open the envelope. As usual, when I turn it around, a few papers spill out onto the table. But not everything is as normal.
This time, the target is someone I know. Probably better than anyone.
I read the information on the back of the photo, unable to believe it. Someone sent me a hit letter to kill myself.
*Is this a joke of some kind? Or a mistake?*
The photo… It’s an old one. About, five years ago? Before I started growing my beard.
And all the info. My current address. Name of an alias. When did I use this one again? Oh yes, now I remember. A couple of years back, a hit on a mob boss. Looks like using new ID during every job I do, finally paid off. I have a trail.
I pick up my phone, and start calling my contacts.
*If this is a joke, it’s not a good one. Someone is going to end up either very sorry, or very dead.
And I have a long night before me, to make sure I won’t fit into either one of those categories.*
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | 35 years of blood and shit and terror. Not to mention the money. All that money.
How much do I have stacked away?
Doesn't matter. Hadn't been about the money for a long time...had it ever?
Lies.
Of course it had. The money and the cars and the women and the drugs and the pleading and bleeding and the beatings. 35 years of it and for what? For this? Staring up at the ceiling of some shit hole hotel room. To rat face drunk to hear the buzz of the ten dozen flies they didn't tell you you'd be sharing your room with. Too burnt out to give anything remotely resembling a shit...probably a good thing. It's long past boiling point. Fuck, there's nothing left to boil, just hissing cracking metal. That one last chance.
It comes down to this: run with the money you can for as long as you can until they find you, and they will. And then they will make you give her up, you've done it a thousand times before. Fuck. It will be someone you know doing it to you. You'll hold out best you can but they'll start to ask hard and you'll tell them everything they want to know and then some and if you're lucky they don't tell you what they're going to do to her or make you beg for that bullet. So what? So then it's two bodies instead of one. One last chance to do one good thing. Was it ever a question?
A long hard gulp. The whisky burns. Another. Another. The third seems to clarify the matter as much as it needs to. The bottle clinks to the floor forgotten. Underneath the pillow where she'd always lived. Even in this sweatbox heat the metal is cold agaisnt the skin.
Safety is flicked
The lever clicks.
There is a bang he never hears.
| As always before entering my home, I checked the door. No tampering, nothing unusual. But even so, I put my hand inside my coat, to ready my gun before I opened it. You can never be too careful in this business. Others would call it paranoid, but I’ve seen plenty of my coworkers taken out by a disgruntled companion of a target. *Hell, I’ve taken a few of those jobs myself. Not something to be proud of, granted, but at times the money is necessary. Just to survive.*
The lock clicked, and the door opened silently. I quickly scanned the hallway, and any room within sight. Nothing. I froze for a few seconds, just listening. Still nothing. Slowly I opened the door fully.
There was a small yellow envelope on the floor. *Another one. I expected a few weeks more before they find me something new.* Slowly, without losing my focus on the surroundings, I picked it up, and slowly walked into the flat.
Stepping over a few almost invisible strings on the way, my anxiety slowly relented. *No sign of intruders. No alarms, none of my safety checks are damaged. Looks like today, I’m safe.*
Removing my coat, I simply threw it on a chair. Finally I let go of my gun, putting the safety back on.
*So, let’s see what we got.*
Pulling out a small but sharp knife, from a hidden pouch in my belt, I open the envelope. As usual, when I turn it around, a few papers spill out onto the table. But not everything is as normal.
This time, the target is someone I know. Probably better than anyone.
I read the information on the back of the photo, unable to believe it. Someone sent me a hit letter to kill myself.
*Is this a joke of some kind? Or a mistake?*
The photo… It’s an old one. About, five years ago? Before I started growing my beard.
And all the info. My current address. Name of an alias. When did I use this one again? Oh yes, now I remember. A couple of years back, a hit on a mob boss. Looks like using new ID during every job I do, finally paid off. I have a trail.
I pick up my phone, and start calling my contacts.
*If this is a joke, it’s not a good one. Someone is going to end up either very sorry, or very dead.
And I have a long night before me, to make sure I won’t fit into either one of those categories.*
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | I don't think anyone has ever explored just how dangerous a single piece of paper can be. The one I was holding in my hand would hold a death. Paid for and ordered by some anonymous donor.
I wedged my fingernail under the opening of the letter, ripping it open. My eyes widened marginally at the contents . . . *this was new*.
You see things in my business, some that would make the average man pale. I am rarely surprised any more, but *this . . .*
. . . *this was unprecedented.*
Crisp and white, the slip hovered in the air, drifting slowly from my empty hand.
This one had a name on it.
*Mine*
Never let it be said that I failed a contract.
I raised smooth steel to my temple.
| As always before entering my home, I checked the door. No tampering, nothing unusual. But even so, I put my hand inside my coat, to ready my gun before I opened it. You can never be too careful in this business. Others would call it paranoid, but I’ve seen plenty of my coworkers taken out by a disgruntled companion of a target. *Hell, I’ve taken a few of those jobs myself. Not something to be proud of, granted, but at times the money is necessary. Just to survive.*
The lock clicked, and the door opened silently. I quickly scanned the hallway, and any room within sight. Nothing. I froze for a few seconds, just listening. Still nothing. Slowly I opened the door fully.
There was a small yellow envelope on the floor. *Another one. I expected a few weeks more before they find me something new.* Slowly, without losing my focus on the surroundings, I picked it up, and slowly walked into the flat.
Stepping over a few almost invisible strings on the way, my anxiety slowly relented. *No sign of intruders. No alarms, none of my safety checks are damaged. Looks like today, I’m safe.*
Removing my coat, I simply threw it on a chair. Finally I let go of my gun, putting the safety back on.
*So, let’s see what we got.*
Pulling out a small but sharp knife, from a hidden pouch in my belt, I open the envelope. As usual, when I turn it around, a few papers spill out onto the table. But not everything is as normal.
This time, the target is someone I know. Probably better than anyone.
I read the information on the back of the photo, unable to believe it. Someone sent me a hit letter to kill myself.
*Is this a joke of some kind? Or a mistake?*
The photo… It’s an old one. About, five years ago? Before I started growing my beard.
And all the info. My current address. Name of an alias. When did I use this one again? Oh yes, now I remember. A couple of years back, a hit on a mob boss. Looks like using new ID during every job I do, finally paid off. I have a trail.
I pick up my phone, and start calling my contacts.
*If this is a joke, it’s not a good one. Someone is going to end up either very sorry, or very dead.
And I have a long night before me, to make sure I won’t fit into either one of those categories.*
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | People usually talk about life being invaluable. That no two humans are equal, and so their replacement cost is infinite. In my vein of work, however, human life has a price. A high price, but still limited. Depending on how much a death is needed, the price will be higher or lower. After all, if you had a 75 kg bag of meat, you would be able to put a price on it, wouldn't you?
And so, my life consisted on getting the name of my next target. I'd then go, do the deed, and get the money.
Things changed when I got a call, requesting for a meeting at a shadowy corner of the industrial district, where at night it'd be quiet and calm. As I was walking to the intended place, I noticed the man that was waiting couldn't even stand still.
As I got there, I got a better look at him: bald, old, obviously trying not to arouse suspicion, with circular lenses wider than my arm. Thin and tall, I could smell he had never asked this kind of thing from anyone.
"Hi." I started.
"Hi. Uhm, are you the man for the, eh, job?"
Such a question was frowned upon in my industry. It'd be like if a computer instead of asking your password, asked you "Is your password so-and-so?"
"Yes, and don't ask that again. Who am I going to do?"
"Ah, a man. He killed my wife ten years ago, and the case got filed away. Here's the file on him, I got it with a, uhm, friend's help. Please, get rid of him. I can't stand knowing he got away."
"I wasn't asking your life story. Just give me the folder and the money."
He handed it to me, and as I was about to check it's contents, he asked me if I had fire. Once he lit up the cigarette, he coughed. When he returned my lighter, I noticed a kid walking down the street.
You see, this kind of situation is where one would try to act natural. It is unwise to panic and run. Yet that is exactly what this old asshole did. He got into the car and sped away. Now the kid would tell his parents, they'd get scared, they'd be more prone to talking to the police if they saw something, and it made this place less conductive to have meetings.
So, as he left, I walked back home, opening the folder to see the contents. My photo. Well, this was new. There wasn't much in the way of evidence. The file stated that I was suspicious, but it never got resolved.
And then I remembered. It was the first time I had been interrogated. I had managed to stay calm and get out, but files stay there forever. It had been a successful murder: the woman had a debt that required payment, but it was long overdue. Interests had accumulated, and she didn't have anything of the same value, except her life. And so I went and did the thing I do best.
And so, I needed to get rid of myself. There's an old thought experiment, about answering the question of whether if you change every plank in a ship it's still the same ship or not. I know where I stand: Having changed my name, my identity, my country, my job, my family and my body made me a different man, with the memories of the one I used to be. Technically, I got rid of the man that murdered his wife, didn't I? | [NSFW]
"You need my money, and I want his fucking head. That is all you need to know, now quit asking me questions and go do your god damned job."
He was right. I *did* need his money. More money equals more control, and that was just about the only thing I had left in my life, or so I thought.
The offer was $50,000. I had never been offered anything before, it was just always a flat rate. I stared at the picture of my next victim, almost like it was wrong to take a human life. Everything seemed so familiar, the tight, black, cut-off shorts wrapped around his opaque thighs, the skin tight tank-top that boasted the logo of a surf shop, one that I had been to countless times in my past, and last, his shoes. The exact same pair of shoes I owned, just in much better condition.
Why this man offered me 5 times the normal price, I have no idea. This man was nothing special, but then again, nobody was. So, I took the job. I told my client I'd have this guy dead in a month, which was much longer than it usually took.
I sat down at my desk, and began to research my new puppet. As the hours passed, the sounds of my monotonous typing grew louder and louder, something I had thought I was used to. I couldn't find one piece of information on this guy. I exhausted everything in my playbook, reverse image search, geo-lookups, they all came back with zero results each time. I was a sitting duck without a name.
Not having a name was never a problem, I didn't need it when I had a face and a location. But, I had none of these. Days passed and I was running out of ideas.
Suddenly, on one bright, cloudless, and otherwise beautiful day, something hit me. What if this guy didn't have a name? Then, it came to me. There was only one person that I had ever known to not have a name.
It was me.
One week ago exactly, I accepted a $50,000 offer to kill myself. Questions raced through my mind like cars on an Atlanta highway at 5 P.M, crowded and not sure if there was an end. Why me? What have I done? More importantly, how did this guy even get a picture of me? I hadn't shown my face to the world in decades. Nevertheless, my bank account was fat with murder money, and I had to come up with a course of action, and soon.
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | 35 years of blood and shit and terror. Not to mention the money. All that money.
How much do I have stacked away?
Doesn't matter. Hadn't been about the money for a long time...had it ever?
Lies.
Of course it had. The money and the cars and the women and the drugs and the pleading and bleeding and the beatings. 35 years of it and for what? For this? Staring up at the ceiling of some shit hole hotel room. To rat face drunk to hear the buzz of the ten dozen flies they didn't tell you you'd be sharing your room with. Too burnt out to give anything remotely resembling a shit...probably a good thing. It's long past boiling point. Fuck, there's nothing left to boil, just hissing cracking metal. That one last chance.
It comes down to this: run with the money you can for as long as you can until they find you, and they will. And then they will make you give her up, you've done it a thousand times before. Fuck. It will be someone you know doing it to you. You'll hold out best you can but they'll start to ask hard and you'll tell them everything they want to know and then some and if you're lucky they don't tell you what they're going to do to her or make you beg for that bullet. So what? So then it's two bodies instead of one. One last chance to do one good thing. Was it ever a question?
A long hard gulp. The whisky burns. Another. Another. The third seems to clarify the matter as much as it needs to. The bottle clinks to the floor forgotten. Underneath the pillow where she'd always lived. Even in this sweatbox heat the metal is cold agaisnt the skin.
Safety is flicked
The lever clicks.
There is a bang he never hears.
| [NSFW]
"You need my money, and I want his fucking head. That is all you need to know, now quit asking me questions and go do your god damned job."
He was right. I *did* need his money. More money equals more control, and that was just about the only thing I had left in my life, or so I thought.
The offer was $50,000. I had never been offered anything before, it was just always a flat rate. I stared at the picture of my next victim, almost like it was wrong to take a human life. Everything seemed so familiar, the tight, black, cut-off shorts wrapped around his opaque thighs, the skin tight tank-top that boasted the logo of a surf shop, one that I had been to countless times in my past, and last, his shoes. The exact same pair of shoes I owned, just in much better condition.
Why this man offered me 5 times the normal price, I have no idea. This man was nothing special, but then again, nobody was. So, I took the job. I told my client I'd have this guy dead in a month, which was much longer than it usually took.
I sat down at my desk, and began to research my new puppet. As the hours passed, the sounds of my monotonous typing grew louder and louder, something I had thought I was used to. I couldn't find one piece of information on this guy. I exhausted everything in my playbook, reverse image search, geo-lookups, they all came back with zero results each time. I was a sitting duck without a name.
Not having a name was never a problem, I didn't need it when I had a face and a location. But, I had none of these. Days passed and I was running out of ideas.
Suddenly, on one bright, cloudless, and otherwise beautiful day, something hit me. What if this guy didn't have a name? Then, it came to me. There was only one person that I had ever known to not have a name.
It was me.
One week ago exactly, I accepted a $50,000 offer to kill myself. Questions raced through my mind like cars on an Atlanta highway at 5 P.M, crowded and not sure if there was an end. Why me? What have I done? More importantly, how did this guy even get a picture of me? I hadn't shown my face to the world in decades. Nevertheless, my bank account was fat with murder money, and I had to come up with a course of action, and soon.
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | People usually talk about life being invaluable. That no two humans are equal, and so their replacement cost is infinite. In my vein of work, however, human life has a price. A high price, but still limited. Depending on how much a death is needed, the price will be higher or lower. After all, if you had a 75 kg bag of meat, you would be able to put a price on it, wouldn't you?
And so, my life consisted on getting the name of my next target. I'd then go, do the deed, and get the money.
Things changed when I got a call, requesting for a meeting at a shadowy corner of the industrial district, where at night it'd be quiet and calm. As I was walking to the intended place, I noticed the man that was waiting couldn't even stand still.
As I got there, I got a better look at him: bald, old, obviously trying not to arouse suspicion, with circular lenses wider than my arm. Thin and tall, I could smell he had never asked this kind of thing from anyone.
"Hi." I started.
"Hi. Uhm, are you the man for the, eh, job?"
Such a question was frowned upon in my industry. It'd be like if a computer instead of asking your password, asked you "Is your password so-and-so?"
"Yes, and don't ask that again. Who am I going to do?"
"Ah, a man. He killed my wife ten years ago, and the case got filed away. Here's the file on him, I got it with a, uhm, friend's help. Please, get rid of him. I can't stand knowing he got away."
"I wasn't asking your life story. Just give me the folder and the money."
He handed it to me, and as I was about to check it's contents, he asked me if I had fire. Once he lit up the cigarette, he coughed. When he returned my lighter, I noticed a kid walking down the street.
You see, this kind of situation is where one would try to act natural. It is unwise to panic and run. Yet that is exactly what this old asshole did. He got into the car and sped away. Now the kid would tell his parents, they'd get scared, they'd be more prone to talking to the police if they saw something, and it made this place less conductive to have meetings.
So, as he left, I walked back home, opening the folder to see the contents. My photo. Well, this was new. There wasn't much in the way of evidence. The file stated that I was suspicious, but it never got resolved.
And then I remembered. It was the first time I had been interrogated. I had managed to stay calm and get out, but files stay there forever. It had been a successful murder: the woman had a debt that required payment, but it was long overdue. Interests had accumulated, and she didn't have anything of the same value, except her life. And so I went and did the thing I do best.
And so, I needed to get rid of myself. There's an old thought experiment, about answering the question of whether if you change every plank in a ship it's still the same ship or not. I know where I stand: Having changed my name, my identity, my country, my job, my family and my body made me a different man, with the memories of the one I used to be. Technically, I got rid of the man that murdered his wife, didn't I? | I walk to the post office and check my box. cant have these coming to my home address, and emails. Ive never been much of a cyber guy. So i this week i have 3 manilla envelopes in there.
I start walking home while skimming them out of curiosity. usually just look at the dollar amount and think of what to do with it. my next few are going to a yacht. I open the prongs holding the envelope shut and slide only the top of each paperclipped stack out. If i'm not careful the picture comes flying out then i'm chasing it in a breeze. not going to make that mistake again.
A contract for $20000 on some teen age kid who keeps egging a very pissed off mans house. a contract for $50000 from some accountant who found out his wife has been sleeping with a cop, he wants them both dead. and one for.. Hello $5.5 Million dollars. this one catches my attention.Its from my agency. I could retire on this! i quickly duck into. *Don't Talk to Me Till I've Had my Morning Coffee*
its a popular coffee shop around here since much like *Wiener Circle* In Chicago the employees and the customers take out all of their aggression of having to work and wake up on mondays at each other. Except this middle class predominantly white town in the suburbs so you don't get quite the insulting degrading humour you would in a big city.
God i miss Chicago, but its too high profile there.
So i duck into the shop and theres a small old lady going off at the young pimple faced barista. She is one of the few people i actually like in this town. Mrs. Hayworth, I see her in public all the time. She always is fighting with her husband so she has plenty of time to prepare for coffee. Well going to my usual booth i catch a line that makes me chuckle.
"Listen you chubby lunchbox, if i wanted to get fucked i would have stayed at home."
Even all the way in the back of the restaurant i can still here her screaming in the background.
" i came here for a cup of coffee and you hand me this frapa-crapa-chino with whipped cream and little pieces of chocolate candy on it. Do I look like im in a sorority or do i look like the kind of lady who will poop on the hood of your toyota. "
I yell out "she'll do it too!"
i'm holding in laughter at this point while opening the files and trying to read. papers and pictures are spilling over everywhere.
" you know what just take me to your car now, i want you to see it happen"
I pick them up and try to shuffle them back into order and a picture flys out and flutters towards the ground. I lunge for it and grab it inches away from touching the wet floor. I think to myself even as im aging i still got it.
i place the picture on the table suddenly im not laughing anymore. The picture is me. Then written on the picture in red letters it says "think about your family"
i flip the page over and theres a picture of my son who i havent talked to in years infront of his house walking a labrador.
It is obvious what happens next i either
A) kill myself hope they fund my account and the money goes to my family.
B) kill myself and they kill him anyway no one gets the money.
C) Ignore the contract but then they will kill my son, and most likely me as well
D) Go after them which is a suicide mission and they will take him out anyway, but at least ill have some revenge.
No matter what I wont survive but there is at least a chance he will. and who knows maybe they will do the right thing if i save them the hassle.
I pick up the photo of my son, and shed a tear that hits the table and makes a small splash.
I get up to walk out of the restaurant although my mind is already made up.
Mrs. Hayworth has already left and instead there a soccer mom complaining about how exhausted she is and how stressful of a day She is having. " the bitch doesn't even know the meaning of stress"
i shuffle out unnoticed by anyone in there. i walk around back to the alley with the dumpster. I rip and throw the contracts away. I sit against the dumpster despite the smell and I pull out my conceal pistal of a .22 snub nose that i picked up at a gun show and never put under my name.
I place the small barrel in my mouth upwards facing the top back of my head and bite down on the metal.
I shed a few more tears and feel my finger go on the trigger. my whole hand is shaking now. All i can do is hope i made the right choice.
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | 35 years of blood and shit and terror. Not to mention the money. All that money.
How much do I have stacked away?
Doesn't matter. Hadn't been about the money for a long time...had it ever?
Lies.
Of course it had. The money and the cars and the women and the drugs and the pleading and bleeding and the beatings. 35 years of it and for what? For this? Staring up at the ceiling of some shit hole hotel room. To rat face drunk to hear the buzz of the ten dozen flies they didn't tell you you'd be sharing your room with. Too burnt out to give anything remotely resembling a shit...probably a good thing. It's long past boiling point. Fuck, there's nothing left to boil, just hissing cracking metal. That one last chance.
It comes down to this: run with the money you can for as long as you can until they find you, and they will. And then they will make you give her up, you've done it a thousand times before. Fuck. It will be someone you know doing it to you. You'll hold out best you can but they'll start to ask hard and you'll tell them everything they want to know and then some and if you're lucky they don't tell you what they're going to do to her or make you beg for that bullet. So what? So then it's two bodies instead of one. One last chance to do one good thing. Was it ever a question?
A long hard gulp. The whisky burns. Another. Another. The third seems to clarify the matter as much as it needs to. The bottle clinks to the floor forgotten. Underneath the pillow where she'd always lived. Even in this sweatbox heat the metal is cold agaisnt the skin.
Safety is flicked
The lever clicks.
There is a bang he never hears.
| I walk to the post office and check my box. cant have these coming to my home address, and emails. Ive never been much of a cyber guy. So i this week i have 3 manilla envelopes in there.
I start walking home while skimming them out of curiosity. usually just look at the dollar amount and think of what to do with it. my next few are going to a yacht. I open the prongs holding the envelope shut and slide only the top of each paperclipped stack out. If i'm not careful the picture comes flying out then i'm chasing it in a breeze. not going to make that mistake again.
A contract for $20000 on some teen age kid who keeps egging a very pissed off mans house. a contract for $50000 from some accountant who found out his wife has been sleeping with a cop, he wants them both dead. and one for.. Hello $5.5 Million dollars. this one catches my attention.Its from my agency. I could retire on this! i quickly duck into. *Don't Talk to Me Till I've Had my Morning Coffee*
its a popular coffee shop around here since much like *Wiener Circle* In Chicago the employees and the customers take out all of their aggression of having to work and wake up on mondays at each other. Except this middle class predominantly white town in the suburbs so you don't get quite the insulting degrading humour you would in a big city.
God i miss Chicago, but its too high profile there.
So i duck into the shop and theres a small old lady going off at the young pimple faced barista. She is one of the few people i actually like in this town. Mrs. Hayworth, I see her in public all the time. She always is fighting with her husband so she has plenty of time to prepare for coffee. Well going to my usual booth i catch a line that makes me chuckle.
"Listen you chubby lunchbox, if i wanted to get fucked i would have stayed at home."
Even all the way in the back of the restaurant i can still here her screaming in the background.
" i came here for a cup of coffee and you hand me this frapa-crapa-chino with whipped cream and little pieces of chocolate candy on it. Do I look like im in a sorority or do i look like the kind of lady who will poop on the hood of your toyota. "
I yell out "she'll do it too!"
i'm holding in laughter at this point while opening the files and trying to read. papers and pictures are spilling over everywhere.
" you know what just take me to your car now, i want you to see it happen"
I pick them up and try to shuffle them back into order and a picture flys out and flutters towards the ground. I lunge for it and grab it inches away from touching the wet floor. I think to myself even as im aging i still got it.
i place the picture on the table suddenly im not laughing anymore. The picture is me. Then written on the picture in red letters it says "think about your family"
i flip the page over and theres a picture of my son who i havent talked to in years infront of his house walking a labrador.
It is obvious what happens next i either
A) kill myself hope they fund my account and the money goes to my family.
B) kill myself and they kill him anyway no one gets the money.
C) Ignore the contract but then they will kill my son, and most likely me as well
D) Go after them which is a suicide mission and they will take him out anyway, but at least ill have some revenge.
No matter what I wont survive but there is at least a chance he will. and who knows maybe they will do the right thing if i save them the hassle.
I pick up the photo of my son, and shed a tear that hits the table and makes a small splash.
I get up to walk out of the restaurant although my mind is already made up.
Mrs. Hayworth has already left and instead there a soccer mom complaining about how exhausted she is and how stressful of a day She is having. " the bitch doesn't even know the meaning of stress"
i shuffle out unnoticed by anyone in there. i walk around back to the alley with the dumpster. I rip and throw the contracts away. I sit against the dumpster despite the smell and I pull out my conceal pistal of a .22 snub nose that i picked up at a gun show and never put under my name.
I place the small barrel in my mouth upwards facing the top back of my head and bite down on the metal.
I shed a few more tears and feel my finger go on the trigger. my whole hand is shaking now. All i can do is hope i made the right choice.
|
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | 35 years of blood and shit and terror. Not to mention the money. All that money.
How much do I have stacked away?
Doesn't matter. Hadn't been about the money for a long time...had it ever?
Lies.
Of course it had. The money and the cars and the women and the drugs and the pleading and bleeding and the beatings. 35 years of it and for what? For this? Staring up at the ceiling of some shit hole hotel room. To rat face drunk to hear the buzz of the ten dozen flies they didn't tell you you'd be sharing your room with. Too burnt out to give anything remotely resembling a shit...probably a good thing. It's long past boiling point. Fuck, there's nothing left to boil, just hissing cracking metal. That one last chance.
It comes down to this: run with the money you can for as long as you can until they find you, and they will. And then they will make you give her up, you've done it a thousand times before. Fuck. It will be someone you know doing it to you. You'll hold out best you can but they'll start to ask hard and you'll tell them everything they want to know and then some and if you're lucky they don't tell you what they're going to do to her or make you beg for that bullet. So what? So then it's two bodies instead of one. One last chance to do one good thing. Was it ever a question?
A long hard gulp. The whisky burns. Another. Another. The third seems to clarify the matter as much as it needs to. The bottle clinks to the floor forgotten. Underneath the pillow where she'd always lived. Even in this sweatbox heat the metal is cold agaisnt the skin.
Safety is flicked
The lever clicks.
There is a bang he never hears.
| I sat, contemplating what I must do next. This business is for the hard. If I've learned anything over the years, it was that no one really comes out on top. But still. I have plenty left to do. I've known since I started that it would have to end like this, but does it have to end now? What about my daughter, now living with Tony and my bitch ex-wife? Could I really abandon her?
*Well, you sort of already have. When's the last time you saw Ellie? A month ago? Three?*
I curled my lip, hating the voice that had come alive again in the last year or so. I thought I gotten rid of it, left it behind, but I guess the stress from the divorce had gotten to me.
No, not just the divorce. Plenty of people get through a divorce, even a nasty one where you learn your wife has been cheating on you for the last four years of your life together. Even one where she gets the house, the dog, and to keep your only daughter from seeing her father. Even one where she takes the life you've spent so long building, even leaving the business that enabled you to do so because she wants you in a "legitimate" job. A desk. A boss that hates you. And you leave, and it all falls apart...
I put the gun to my temple. It was good being my own boss again. |
|
[WP] You work as an anonymous hitman. Your next job is to eliminate yourself. | I don't think anyone has ever explored just how dangerous a single piece of paper can be. The one I was holding in my hand would hold a death. Paid for and ordered by some anonymous donor.
I wedged my fingernail under the opening of the letter, ripping it open. My eyes widened marginally at the contents . . . *this was new*.
You see things in my business, some that would make the average man pale. I am rarely surprised any more, but *this . . .*
. . . *this was unprecedented.*
Crisp and white, the slip hovered in the air, drifting slowly from my empty hand.
This one had a name on it.
*Mine*
Never let it be said that I failed a contract.
I raised smooth steel to my temple.
| Retrieving the envelope is usually the most intense part of this briefing, until I was handed the Wilson.
Never before was I handed a 9 mm handgun, a gun that matched my name, Wilson!
Leaving the cafe, pocketing both the gun and the envelope, I rushed to the loft.
Quickly opening the envelope upon my entry to the loft, I only then realized what my next job was...*boom* went the gun.
|
|
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | longest two minutes,
horizontal blue blessing.
phew it's negative. | Hate for bugs, hard book.
Broken glass and blood, killed fly.
Don't be that dumb guy. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could not open eyes
My body on the cold floor
Tried to scream, couldn't
---------
Sleep paralysis is frightenng. | Hate for bugs, hard book.
Broken glass and blood, killed fly.
Don't be that dumb guy. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | Hate for bugs, hard book.
Broken glass and blood, killed fly.
Don't be that dumb guy. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could be malignant
Probably not but we'll check
Turns out that it was | Hate for bugs, hard book.
Broken glass and blood, killed fly.
Don't be that dumb guy. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | Hate for bugs, hard book.
Broken glass and blood, killed fly.
Don't be that dumb guy. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | longest two minutes,
horizontal blue blessing.
phew it's negative. | Cuts all on my arm
All I wanted was to die
Can't leave this earth yet. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could not open eyes
My body on the cold floor
Tried to scream, couldn't
---------
Sleep paralysis is frightenng. | Cuts all on my arm
All I wanted was to die
Can't leave this earth yet. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | Cuts all on my arm
All I wanted was to die
Can't leave this earth yet. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could be malignant
Probably not but we'll check
Turns out that it was | Cuts all on my arm
All I wanted was to die
Can't leave this earth yet. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | Cuts all on my arm
All I wanted was to die
Can't leave this earth yet. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | longest two minutes,
horizontal blue blessing.
phew it's negative. | Kayaking, when Smack
Something from above, near miss
Suicide witness. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could not open eyes
My body on the cold floor
Tried to scream, couldn't
---------
Sleep paralysis is frightenng. | Kayaking, when Smack
Something from above, near miss
Suicide witness. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | Kayaking, when Smack
Something from above, near miss
Suicide witness. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could be malignant
Probably not but we'll check
Turns out that it was | Kayaking, when Smack
Something from above, near miss
Suicide witness. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | Kayaking, when Smack
Something from above, near miss
Suicide witness. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | Underneath water,
In a very public place,
Sprawled on the pool deck. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | Underneath water,
In a very public place,
Sprawled on the pool deck. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | Breath can't come in, choking
But no hands be seen
Sleep paralysis, nightmare |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | Breath can't come in, choking
But no hands be seen
Sleep paralysis, nightmare |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | His body flew from
the thirteenth floor. Brains, blood, and
broken bones. I watched. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Watch Lord of the Rings
Frodo rests in Rivendell
Bilbo goes crazy | Phone call, my sister
House gone, we lost everything
I don't know what's next |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | Could be malignant
Probably not but we'll check
Turns out that it was | longest two minutes,
horizontal blue blessing.
phew it's negative. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | longest two minutes,
horizontal blue blessing.
phew it's negative. |
**Nothing NSFW.** Here's mine:
Rumor in high school,
Said I was dating someone,
Wished for suicide.
(seriously, this was a real experience of mine) | [WP] Write about the most terrifying experience you've ever had in haiku format. | You know what they say:
Life goes on. But death, you see
It comes for us all. | Could not open eyes
My body on the cold floor
Tried to scream, couldn't
---------
Sleep paralysis is frightenng. |
[WP] The monsters inside your child's head have stepped into reality, and they are very, very real. | He’d been wrapped up in a world all his own ever since he’d arrived in this one. We’d been concerned, thought he might have a developmental disorder; he kept missing the “mile markers”: didn’t speak when he should have, didn’t toddle at the appropriate time, didn’t “engage” the way he ought. We took him to a professional: Autism, Aspergers, something, but no. He came up eventually, started doing proper, started acting normal, relatively speaking.
He’d described them, the phantasms, the foggy, blurry creatures that ran between his synaptic fissures. He, didn’t quite have the words, didn’t know “vampire”, “ghoul”, “gremlin”, “demon”, “monster”, not yet, not that they were sufficient. He made do with “pointy”, “dark”, “wrong”, but eventually, eventually he pinned them, found the word, found the right word: “evil”.
That was at the heart of it, that was at the core, the wyrm that chewed at the root of my son’s soul, and he’d found the word.
An imagination like that, well, we figured art. We thought he’d enjoy writing, painting, clay, something. If nothing else, it’d help exorcise the nightmares. We had hoped, we’d hoped that things would get a bit brighter, that he’d start saying “light”, “fluffy”, “beautiful”, and the rest would be pinned to the paper, glazed behind the paint, frozen in the clay. We had hoped.
After he’d built a vocabulary, what struck me most was the specificity. I didn’t know where he was getting it. He asked for iron on his door, he asked for salt around his bed, he begged for steaks living wood. We obliged sometimes, if only to get some sleep, if only to avoid waking up, and seeing our son staring down, calmly and serenely asking if something could live after its head was chopped off.
Now, now the shadows drizzle down the walls, now I’m forced to use my vocabulary. Now I have to pin down what’s gnawing at the heart of the world, the heart of my son, the core of myself.
“Daddy, I tried.”
“I know son,” God forgive me, I know. | **A Bad Day**
Slam went the door. Richard pressed his back against it, sweat pouring from his brow. The wood began to creak as it, whatever it was, smashed against it again. Richard almost lost his balance, falling forward. He scrambled to press against the door again, closing his eyes tight. Victoria came quickly now with the couch she had shoved from the other side of the room. Richard moved away from the door just in time. Joining his wife they pushed it up and against the door. Quickly they began to pile things behind it. The room shuttered rhythmically as they looked around.
“We have to get out.”
“What, what was that?”
“I don’t know. We have to get out.”
The stood in stunned silence. Slam. Crack. The door was busted. Long, green spotted yellow tentacles began to reach in. Victoria screamed. Richard through a chair through the window.
As they began to climb through, they saw it. It dropped from almost nowhere. And then another, and another. Little pink blobs with no eyes. Razor teeth. Purple spikes all over coming in and out of its body. They bounced towards the window, maws gaped.
“Fuck.”
They both backed away, a tentacle slapped Richards leg.
“Oh, Jesus!” the pain was excruciating. Tiny needles were smashed into his ankle. Victoria helped him up and they hobble, ran to the side door and out into the kitchen. Richard collapsed onto the floor. Victoria grabbed an oven mit.
“Do it.”
She wrenched the needles out of Richards leg. He screamed. There was no blood. The pain stopped.
Richard breathed deep and got up. The pink blobs were bouncing off the window. Long breaks were showing up. They had to get up stairs. Who knew if Bobby was still there, still alive. If that damn thing had got him. Richard wasn’t sure what he’d do.
They heard a crash in the next room. It had gotten through the barricade. Richard shoved the fridge over with all his strength. It fell against the wall, blocking the door. Who knew how long it would last. Out the next door. The whole house a circle.
The dining room now. Open floor. There’s the stairs. Up now. They scrambled, and slipped, leaving everything behind them. End of the hall. Bobby’s room. They rushed. They opened the door.
A roar of hot, disgusting garbage and slimey drool. There, before them, stood a beast. A beast beyond reason. Red horns broke through deep, brown fur. Yellow eyes stared at them. Blue fangs bared, and a nose snorting steam. What was this. Richard had seen this before. He thought of the fridge for some reason.
They backed away slowly. The beast pressed itself through the door and stood its full, eight foot height. It roared again.
“Get Bobby. Make sure he’s safe.”
Victoria jumped over the rail and landed on the halfway point of the stairs. She screamed at the beast to come and get her. It looked back and forth, and then charged down at her, boards crushing beneath him.
Richard stood for a moment, then ran down the hall and into his son’s room, not knowing what he’d find.
There, in his race-car bed, slept Bobby. Sweet, sleeping Bobby. Richard picked him up, and held him tight. He was okay. He was fine. He squirmed a bit, and rubbed his eyes.
“Hi, dad.” Such sweet words in this chaos. This… this… silence.
The house had stopped shuddering. The steps of the beast fell silent. There was nothing. Richard looked all about, and slowly stood. He walked back into the hall, and down his perfectly fine stairs. There, in the dining room stood Victoria, unscathed.
She stared at him. He stared at her. They both looked at Bobby. Bobby giggled, and asked for milk. |
|
[WP] The monsters inside your child's head have stepped into reality, and they are very, very real. | James was 23. He had been living on his own for six months in a small house outside of Baltimore. My wife and I were paying some of his rent, as he had been taking a lot of sick days from work. He never said why, and it was frustrating. He had a long history of depression, so I chalked it up to that. We would sometimes go weeks without talking to him.
Two weeks ago we got a call from his childhood friend Ryan. He said that he hadn’t heard from James for “some time.” After making plenty of unreturned calls, Ryan visited his house and noticed his car was missing. When he knocked, there was nothing. Curtains covered the windows, and when he peeked in he only saw darkness. He visited later in the evening and again knocked on the door. This time, he said, he saw through the window a light flicker. The curtain shifted slightly, and the light went off. He called out James' name, but got no response. He banged on the window, and still nothing. It was completely silent.
I wasn't too concerned. James went through depressive episodes where he could barely get out of bed or even talk. Ryan knew all about this, but he kept saying this was different, that something was wrong. He wouldn't say what.
On the night Ryan called me I made the two hour drive in my old truck. I picked Ryan up along the way. He seemed tired and shaken. I asked him what was wrong.
"It's been a long week," he said. "Do you remember Aunt Bunny?"
"Yes," I shook my head. "We don't talk about that. Freaks me out."
He kept silent as we headed for James' house. It was annoying. He was always a paranoid kid, but when someone tells you they think your child is in some sort of danger, it's a bit difficult to ignore.
I had never visited the area before, but I could tell immediately which place was James'. It looked like a shack. The yard was nothing but dead grass, and the whole house was a moldy wreck sinking into the earth. I couldn't imagine what it looked like during the daytime. "Pull in over here. Visitor parking," Ryan said.
I banged on the front door and called his name. There was no answer. I looked around to see if I might be bothering the neighbors, but the whole area was quiet.
I pressed my face against the front window and tried to catch a glimpse of anything through a slit in the curtains. It was too dark. "I have a key," I muttered to Ryan.
"Right. I brought a hunting knife."
I stepped back. "Why?"
"We don't know what's in there. I've never been inside," he said.
"James is in there. He's probably asleep. Put that fucking knife back in the car." After some protest, he finally tossed it in the backseat.
I pushed open the front door and felt for a light switch. I stepped forward and ran into something. It crashed to the floor. I cursed and finally managed to turn on the light.
What was supposed to be the living room was filled with stacks of boxes and trash. It smelled of mildew and rotting food. "God dammit," I said. "He's a hoarder?" I went through one of the boxes, trying to avoid touching anything sticky. It was just old newspapers and magazines--unsorted and completely unorganized. Ryan was shaking.
"What?" I said, annoyed. "What is it now?"
He pulled out his phone and held it in front of me. "He left me this message this morning. It's why I came over here, and why I called you."
He put it on speakerphone. The first few seconds were just static, but James' voice slowly came through, like he had had trouble speaking. "She said she would come back," he groaned. "She has a mouth now, and it smiles. I...told her...what she wanted to hear...but she said I'm not good enough. She wants more--" He was cut short by a sudden wailing in the background. It sounded inhuman. James' voice grew quieter. "She won't leave. She won't ever leave. I can't leave. She's been here so long. So long. Hiding until now. I can't--" The message ended abruptly.
"We need to find him," I said. "He's not right. Maybe it's the pills. They're making him loopy."
Ryan shook his head. "You know what it is."
"Just shut up. He's got to be in his room." Ryan was starting to get to me. We didn't talk about it. It was something in the past. A childhood fantasy gone amok. We had all moved on.
We pushed through the boxes, knocking some over in the process. I stepped on a full bowl of cereal that had to have been sitting there for at least a month.
My disgust turned to horror when we reached the stairs. There was a drawing taped to the wall. Notebook paper. It looked like the drawings he made when he was a kid, but this was much more detailed--almost lifelike. It was of a female figure with long arms and legs, and long, gnarled fingers and toes. Her eyes were very sunken, corpse-like, and at the very center were small pupils, like she was staring right at you. Her mouth was wide with very thin lips, and her face was expressionless. Long, dark hair spilled down to her waist. But worst of all, she was completely nude; she was shaped like a woman but had no breasts or genitals. Just those long appendages and those sunken eyes. The figure almost looked like it was moving.
"Aunt Bunny," Ryan whispered, horrified.
"No! He said he was over that. You said she 'left him alone.' It was just his stupid version of a bogeyman! It’s been fifteen years!" My voice cracked, but I maintained my composure.
"He said that she told him she would come back. He didn't know when."
I sighed and started up the stairs. "I need my hunting knife," Ryan said. "Don't go up yet. I'll get it." He ran out and I ignored him and continued up the stairs.
I could not see anything, and once again I was fumbling for a light switch. I walked around and ran my hand along the wall. I finally managed to get the lights on. All of the doors in the hallway were shut. I turned around and tried to figure out which one might be James' room.
But there was one door that wasn’t closed. The eyes were watching through the crack. They were so white, and those pupils so dark. The head slithered out further. Her mouth was curled. Within seconds door slammed shut. I screamed and Ryan came running up the stairs. “What happened?” For a moment I couldn’t speak.
“I saw something...a face,” I said. “James!” I yelled out. But there was nothing. All I could hear was the sound of our own breathing.
Ryan’s eyes went wide and he pulled the knife close. “It’s not real,” he whispered. “He kept trying to show her to me, but she was always ‘hiding.’ She only wanted him.”
Another screech. My heart sunk. It was like a woman crying out in unimaginable pain, but it was inhuman.
I kicked open two of the doors. A linen closet and an office. There were only two others, each at opposite ends of the hallway. We approached James’ room with our eyes set on the bathroom door, but there was no noise. I felt for the bedroom doorknob and pushed it open.
The stench made me wretch almost immediately, and again it was completely dark. The light from the hallway barely made its way into the room. All I could see was what looked to be an empty bed. I stepped over to the nightstand and turned on the light.
And there was James.
When the police arrived he was still nailed to that wall, spread-eagle and nude. His torso was stretched and his face was mutilated; his genitals were severed off. There were scratch marks along the wall all around him. Carved into his stomach was the message “NOT ENOUGH.”
I still haven’t told my wife what we saw. The police searched the house and found nothing. The bathroom, they said, was completely empty. There were no leads on what may have taken place.
All we had was the drawing of Aunt Bunny. | **A Bad Day**
Slam went the door. Richard pressed his back against it, sweat pouring from his brow. The wood began to creak as it, whatever it was, smashed against it again. Richard almost lost his balance, falling forward. He scrambled to press against the door again, closing his eyes tight. Victoria came quickly now with the couch she had shoved from the other side of the room. Richard moved away from the door just in time. Joining his wife they pushed it up and against the door. Quickly they began to pile things behind it. The room shuttered rhythmically as they looked around.
“We have to get out.”
“What, what was that?”
“I don’t know. We have to get out.”
The stood in stunned silence. Slam. Crack. The door was busted. Long, green spotted yellow tentacles began to reach in. Victoria screamed. Richard through a chair through the window.
As they began to climb through, they saw it. It dropped from almost nowhere. And then another, and another. Little pink blobs with no eyes. Razor teeth. Purple spikes all over coming in and out of its body. They bounced towards the window, maws gaped.
“Fuck.”
They both backed away, a tentacle slapped Richards leg.
“Oh, Jesus!” the pain was excruciating. Tiny needles were smashed into his ankle. Victoria helped him up and they hobble, ran to the side door and out into the kitchen. Richard collapsed onto the floor. Victoria grabbed an oven mit.
“Do it.”
She wrenched the needles out of Richards leg. He screamed. There was no blood. The pain stopped.
Richard breathed deep and got up. The pink blobs were bouncing off the window. Long breaks were showing up. They had to get up stairs. Who knew if Bobby was still there, still alive. If that damn thing had got him. Richard wasn’t sure what he’d do.
They heard a crash in the next room. It had gotten through the barricade. Richard shoved the fridge over with all his strength. It fell against the wall, blocking the door. Who knew how long it would last. Out the next door. The whole house a circle.
The dining room now. Open floor. There’s the stairs. Up now. They scrambled, and slipped, leaving everything behind them. End of the hall. Bobby’s room. They rushed. They opened the door.
A roar of hot, disgusting garbage and slimey drool. There, before them, stood a beast. A beast beyond reason. Red horns broke through deep, brown fur. Yellow eyes stared at them. Blue fangs bared, and a nose snorting steam. What was this. Richard had seen this before. He thought of the fridge for some reason.
They backed away slowly. The beast pressed itself through the door and stood its full, eight foot height. It roared again.
“Get Bobby. Make sure he’s safe.”
Victoria jumped over the rail and landed on the halfway point of the stairs. She screamed at the beast to come and get her. It looked back and forth, and then charged down at her, boards crushing beneath him.
Richard stood for a moment, then ran down the hall and into his son’s room, not knowing what he’d find.
There, in his race-car bed, slept Bobby. Sweet, sleeping Bobby. Richard picked him up, and held him tight. He was okay. He was fine. He squirmed a bit, and rubbed his eyes.
“Hi, dad.” Such sweet words in this chaos. This… this… silence.
The house had stopped shuddering. The steps of the beast fell silent. There was nothing. Richard looked all about, and slowly stood. He walked back into the hall, and down his perfectly fine stairs. There, in the dining room stood Victoria, unscathed.
She stared at him. He stared at her. They both looked at Bobby. Bobby giggled, and asked for milk. |
|
[WP] The monsters inside your child's head have stepped into reality, and they are very, very real. | He’d been wrapped up in a world all his own ever since he’d arrived in this one. We’d been concerned, thought he might have a developmental disorder; he kept missing the “mile markers”: didn’t speak when he should have, didn’t toddle at the appropriate time, didn’t “engage” the way he ought. We took him to a professional: Autism, Aspergers, something, but no. He came up eventually, started doing proper, started acting normal, relatively speaking.
He’d described them, the phantasms, the foggy, blurry creatures that ran between his synaptic fissures. He, didn’t quite have the words, didn’t know “vampire”, “ghoul”, “gremlin”, “demon”, “monster”, not yet, not that they were sufficient. He made do with “pointy”, “dark”, “wrong”, but eventually, eventually he pinned them, found the word, found the right word: “evil”.
That was at the heart of it, that was at the core, the wyrm that chewed at the root of my son’s soul, and he’d found the word.
An imagination like that, well, we figured art. We thought he’d enjoy writing, painting, clay, something. If nothing else, it’d help exorcise the nightmares. We had hoped, we’d hoped that things would get a bit brighter, that he’d start saying “light”, “fluffy”, “beautiful”, and the rest would be pinned to the paper, glazed behind the paint, frozen in the clay. We had hoped.
After he’d built a vocabulary, what struck me most was the specificity. I didn’t know where he was getting it. He asked for iron on his door, he asked for salt around his bed, he begged for steaks living wood. We obliged sometimes, if only to get some sleep, if only to avoid waking up, and seeing our son staring down, calmly and serenely asking if something could live after its head was chopped off.
Now, now the shadows drizzle down the walls, now I’m forced to use my vocabulary. Now I have to pin down what’s gnawing at the heart of the world, the heart of my son, the core of myself.
“Daddy, I tried.”
“I know son,” God forgive me, I know. | We've gotten used to it, I guess. Everybody has. I mean, you don't really have a choice; that's one of the things you accept when you have a kid, you know? You go into it knowing that there will be a "monster" attached to him or her until they learn that the only to stop it or make it go away is to not be afraid of it. We all did it, and all the other kids are able to do it, and now we know about it, it actually makes it easier as parents. I mean, think about it: how much easier would it have been for us, as kids, to know exactly why we were scared of the dark, and to have our parents believe us? We're at that point now, even though that means being forced to live with that...thing for all these years.
The docs say hers is a little stronger than normal, but what can I do about it? It only bothers her, never leaves her room, and she isn't physically injured by it like some of those kids you see on the news, which I'm grateful for. We can't let her sleep in our room anymore, we found that out. The thing gets jealous and goes after me, likes its attached to Celeste or something. It absolutely hates me, and I've got the scars to prove it. But it never touches Celeste. Sometimes, I think its watching over her, and if it wasn't so damned ugly she wouldnt be scared of it. She's still young, though, so maybe it will go away faster than normal, since it isn't doing anything to her. I hope that doesn't change.
I remember its manifestation, when Celeste called me into her room. I didn't expect it, at all, not so soon. She was crying when I walked in, and i realized too late the thing was waiting behind the door for me. It jumped me; I barely got my arm up in time to stop it from scratching my face off. I fought it, of course, but you know the parents can't hurt the kids imagination. Not physically anyway. But boy, did it take a big chunk out of my skin.
I dont know, its just something all parents have to go through, but its worth it, you know? I'm scared things will change, of course, they can't always stay like this, but I'm hopeful. It could always be worse anyway, like the house across the way. Their kid had to go to one of those facilities the manifestation was so bad. Kept breaking things and attacking everyone. Poor kids in a wheel chair for the third time this year.
I guess we're not so bad off after all. |
|
[WP] The monsters inside your child's head have stepped into reality, and they are very, very real. | James was 23. He had been living on his own for six months in a small house outside of Baltimore. My wife and I were paying some of his rent, as he had been taking a lot of sick days from work. He never said why, and it was frustrating. He had a long history of depression, so I chalked it up to that. We would sometimes go weeks without talking to him.
Two weeks ago we got a call from his childhood friend Ryan. He said that he hadn’t heard from James for “some time.” After making plenty of unreturned calls, Ryan visited his house and noticed his car was missing. When he knocked, there was nothing. Curtains covered the windows, and when he peeked in he only saw darkness. He visited later in the evening and again knocked on the door. This time, he said, he saw through the window a light flicker. The curtain shifted slightly, and the light went off. He called out James' name, but got no response. He banged on the window, and still nothing. It was completely silent.
I wasn't too concerned. James went through depressive episodes where he could barely get out of bed or even talk. Ryan knew all about this, but he kept saying this was different, that something was wrong. He wouldn't say what.
On the night Ryan called me I made the two hour drive in my old truck. I picked Ryan up along the way. He seemed tired and shaken. I asked him what was wrong.
"It's been a long week," he said. "Do you remember Aunt Bunny?"
"Yes," I shook my head. "We don't talk about that. Freaks me out."
He kept silent as we headed for James' house. It was annoying. He was always a paranoid kid, but when someone tells you they think your child is in some sort of danger, it's a bit difficult to ignore.
I had never visited the area before, but I could tell immediately which place was James'. It looked like a shack. The yard was nothing but dead grass, and the whole house was a moldy wreck sinking into the earth. I couldn't imagine what it looked like during the daytime. "Pull in over here. Visitor parking," Ryan said.
I banged on the front door and called his name. There was no answer. I looked around to see if I might be bothering the neighbors, but the whole area was quiet.
I pressed my face against the front window and tried to catch a glimpse of anything through a slit in the curtains. It was too dark. "I have a key," I muttered to Ryan.
"Right. I brought a hunting knife."
I stepped back. "Why?"
"We don't know what's in there. I've never been inside," he said.
"James is in there. He's probably asleep. Put that fucking knife back in the car." After some protest, he finally tossed it in the backseat.
I pushed open the front door and felt for a light switch. I stepped forward and ran into something. It crashed to the floor. I cursed and finally managed to turn on the light.
What was supposed to be the living room was filled with stacks of boxes and trash. It smelled of mildew and rotting food. "God dammit," I said. "He's a hoarder?" I went through one of the boxes, trying to avoid touching anything sticky. It was just old newspapers and magazines--unsorted and completely unorganized. Ryan was shaking.
"What?" I said, annoyed. "What is it now?"
He pulled out his phone and held it in front of me. "He left me this message this morning. It's why I came over here, and why I called you."
He put it on speakerphone. The first few seconds were just static, but James' voice slowly came through, like he had had trouble speaking. "She said she would come back," he groaned. "She has a mouth now, and it smiles. I...told her...what she wanted to hear...but she said I'm not good enough. She wants more--" He was cut short by a sudden wailing in the background. It sounded inhuman. James' voice grew quieter. "She won't leave. She won't ever leave. I can't leave. She's been here so long. So long. Hiding until now. I can't--" The message ended abruptly.
"We need to find him," I said. "He's not right. Maybe it's the pills. They're making him loopy."
Ryan shook his head. "You know what it is."
"Just shut up. He's got to be in his room." Ryan was starting to get to me. We didn't talk about it. It was something in the past. A childhood fantasy gone amok. We had all moved on.
We pushed through the boxes, knocking some over in the process. I stepped on a full bowl of cereal that had to have been sitting there for at least a month.
My disgust turned to horror when we reached the stairs. There was a drawing taped to the wall. Notebook paper. It looked like the drawings he made when he was a kid, but this was much more detailed--almost lifelike. It was of a female figure with long arms and legs, and long, gnarled fingers and toes. Her eyes were very sunken, corpse-like, and at the very center were small pupils, like she was staring right at you. Her mouth was wide with very thin lips, and her face was expressionless. Long, dark hair spilled down to her waist. But worst of all, she was completely nude; she was shaped like a woman but had no breasts or genitals. Just those long appendages and those sunken eyes. The figure almost looked like it was moving.
"Aunt Bunny," Ryan whispered, horrified.
"No! He said he was over that. You said she 'left him alone.' It was just his stupid version of a bogeyman! It’s been fifteen years!" My voice cracked, but I maintained my composure.
"He said that she told him she would come back. He didn't know when."
I sighed and started up the stairs. "I need my hunting knife," Ryan said. "Don't go up yet. I'll get it." He ran out and I ignored him and continued up the stairs.
I could not see anything, and once again I was fumbling for a light switch. I walked around and ran my hand along the wall. I finally managed to get the lights on. All of the doors in the hallway were shut. I turned around and tried to figure out which one might be James' room.
But there was one door that wasn’t closed. The eyes were watching through the crack. They were so white, and those pupils so dark. The head slithered out further. Her mouth was curled. Within seconds door slammed shut. I screamed and Ryan came running up the stairs. “What happened?” For a moment I couldn’t speak.
“I saw something...a face,” I said. “James!” I yelled out. But there was nothing. All I could hear was the sound of our own breathing.
Ryan’s eyes went wide and he pulled the knife close. “It’s not real,” he whispered. “He kept trying to show her to me, but she was always ‘hiding.’ She only wanted him.”
Another screech. My heart sunk. It was like a woman crying out in unimaginable pain, but it was inhuman.
I kicked open two of the doors. A linen closet and an office. There were only two others, each at opposite ends of the hallway. We approached James’ room with our eyes set on the bathroom door, but there was no noise. I felt for the bedroom doorknob and pushed it open.
The stench made me wretch almost immediately, and again it was completely dark. The light from the hallway barely made its way into the room. All I could see was what looked to be an empty bed. I stepped over to the nightstand and turned on the light.
And there was James.
When the police arrived he was still nailed to that wall, spread-eagle and nude. His torso was stretched and his face was mutilated; his genitals were severed off. There were scratch marks along the wall all around him. Carved into his stomach was the message “NOT ENOUGH.”
I still haven’t told my wife what we saw. The police searched the house and found nothing. The bathroom, they said, was completely empty. There were no leads on what may have taken place.
All we had was the drawing of Aunt Bunny. | We've gotten used to it, I guess. Everybody has. I mean, you don't really have a choice; that's one of the things you accept when you have a kid, you know? You go into it knowing that there will be a "monster" attached to him or her until they learn that the only to stop it or make it go away is to not be afraid of it. We all did it, and all the other kids are able to do it, and now we know about it, it actually makes it easier as parents. I mean, think about it: how much easier would it have been for us, as kids, to know exactly why we were scared of the dark, and to have our parents believe us? We're at that point now, even though that means being forced to live with that...thing for all these years.
The docs say hers is a little stronger than normal, but what can I do about it? It only bothers her, never leaves her room, and she isn't physically injured by it like some of those kids you see on the news, which I'm grateful for. We can't let her sleep in our room anymore, we found that out. The thing gets jealous and goes after me, likes its attached to Celeste or something. It absolutely hates me, and I've got the scars to prove it. But it never touches Celeste. Sometimes, I think its watching over her, and if it wasn't so damned ugly she wouldnt be scared of it. She's still young, though, so maybe it will go away faster than normal, since it isn't doing anything to her. I hope that doesn't change.
I remember its manifestation, when Celeste called me into her room. I didn't expect it, at all, not so soon. She was crying when I walked in, and i realized too late the thing was waiting behind the door for me. It jumped me; I barely got my arm up in time to stop it from scratching my face off. I fought it, of course, but you know the parents can't hurt the kids imagination. Not physically anyway. But boy, did it take a big chunk out of my skin.
I dont know, its just something all parents have to go through, but its worth it, you know? I'm scared things will change, of course, they can't always stay like this, but I'm hopeful. It could always be worse anyway, like the house across the way. Their kid had to go to one of those facilities the manifestation was so bad. Kept breaking things and attacking everyone. Poor kids in a wheel chair for the third time this year.
I guess we're not so bad off after all. |
|
[WP] The monsters inside your child's head have stepped into reality, and they are very, very real. | He’d been wrapped up in a world all his own ever since he’d arrived in this one. We’d been concerned, thought he might have a developmental disorder; he kept missing the “mile markers”: didn’t speak when he should have, didn’t toddle at the appropriate time, didn’t “engage” the way he ought. We took him to a professional: Autism, Aspergers, something, but no. He came up eventually, started doing proper, started acting normal, relatively speaking.
He’d described them, the phantasms, the foggy, blurry creatures that ran between his synaptic fissures. He, didn’t quite have the words, didn’t know “vampire”, “ghoul”, “gremlin”, “demon”, “monster”, not yet, not that they were sufficient. He made do with “pointy”, “dark”, “wrong”, but eventually, eventually he pinned them, found the word, found the right word: “evil”.
That was at the heart of it, that was at the core, the wyrm that chewed at the root of my son’s soul, and he’d found the word.
An imagination like that, well, we figured art. We thought he’d enjoy writing, painting, clay, something. If nothing else, it’d help exorcise the nightmares. We had hoped, we’d hoped that things would get a bit brighter, that he’d start saying “light”, “fluffy”, “beautiful”, and the rest would be pinned to the paper, glazed behind the paint, frozen in the clay. We had hoped.
After he’d built a vocabulary, what struck me most was the specificity. I didn’t know where he was getting it. He asked for iron on his door, he asked for salt around his bed, he begged for steaks living wood. We obliged sometimes, if only to get some sleep, if only to avoid waking up, and seeing our son staring down, calmly and serenely asking if something could live after its head was chopped off.
Now, now the shadows drizzle down the walls, now I’m forced to use my vocabulary. Now I have to pin down what’s gnawing at the heart of the world, the heart of my son, the core of myself.
“Daddy, I tried.”
“I know son,” God forgive me, I know. | "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
The screams in the middle of the night were too familiar to even startle me anymore. My daughter Megan's cries came as regular as a rooster's crowing; always in the middle of the night. I sighed into my pillow and feigned sleep, hoping my wife would wake up.
"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
My wife woke, rolled over and nudged me. "Honey go see what Megan wants," she mumbled, thick tongued from her sleeping pill. I cursed, walking through the dark house I stepped on a lego. I cursed more. 3AM read the clock on the cable box.I open the door to my little Megan's room. She was sitting bolt upright in the middle of the bed, drawing a breath to scream again.
"Sweetie Mommy's sleeping. What's up?"
"I need to go to the bathroom!"
"Okay Megan. That's why we got you the gosh darn nightlight. You are too old for this junk. You go to the bathroom all day at school without Mommy or me. It is no different at night if there's light," I turned to leave.
"Daddy no! There a monster under the bed! Please! I have to go bad!"
I took her hand and we walked from her bed to the bathroom just steps away from her bedroom door.
Waiting for her to finish I rested against the wall and inspected probed the sole of my foot with my fingers in the dark. The lego was embedded in my instep and felt moist. Blood? Yes, certainly, I had tracked blood all over the carpet. My wife would be upset when she saw. Work would be a nightmare on no sleep. I was suddenly more angry with Megan than I had ever been. When she opened the bathroom door the words just came out.
"Megan! There is no such thing as monsters. The only thing under that bed is what you put there!"
Even in dark I saw the shine of tears in her eyes. "Yes there are! Yes there are! If you loved me you'd believe me!"
I knelt and held her shoulders. I told her I loved her but there really were no monsters, just bad dreams. Sobbing still, she insisted there were. I carried her back to her bed. As I stooped to gently lay her down, icy cold bony fingers with razor-like nails seized my ankles and tugged with an unnatural force. My shins slammed the bed frame. I tossed Megan to the middle of her mattress as I fell flat on my back. The lego in my foot hurt no more. The sound of my legs being devoured bit by bit in the snapping bone-crushing jaws of whatever was under there took care of that.
The last thing I saw before the monster pulled me under the bed with it was Megan's eyes shining in the darkness.
"See Daddy? I told you!"
|
|
[WP] Unimaginable power surges through your body. You don't know why but you aren't waiting around to find out. | At first, it was funny. Maybe even hilarious. Flying about the city, seeing their awed faces as I lifted buses and outran trains. I never questioned. I became intoxicated. It was like a movie, and I wasn't waiting for the baddie to show up.
Then it turned for the worse.
I lost my family. My wife sent away my two beautiful children. What had been the light of my life, gone.
I can remember the fear, the disgust on my mother's face. Her final words to me before she close that faded red front door that I remembered from my childhood... "You just aren't the son I remember."
I can remember the FBI kicking down my door... that's when my wife finally left.
Great power, great responsibility, right? I guess some people aren't meant for this. | Glenn opened his eyes slowly. His entire body felt numb and his head pulsated with pain. *Where am I?* He sat up, drawing heavy, raspy breaths. The pants he wore had been torn and burned, his shoes were charcoal and the ground he had laid on was burned in spiderweb like patterns. He looked to the skies, but they were blue, and the sun bathed him in its comfortable glow. A sudden chestpain made him gasp for air and pound on his chest, and Glenn's entire body vibrated, shaking as if he were cold. As he clenched his fist from the pain, a static, vibrant humming emerged from around him, very much like the sound a powerplant would make. The grass around him slowly rised to the skies, crackling with electricity. That's when he noticed his arm were full of life and energy. His otherwise blue-green veins on his pale arms now flowed with pure, blue energy. When he clenched his fists, the flow would speed up, and accumulate in his palm. Glenn quickly learned that he could release loud, powerful controlled explosions from his hands, in the form of kinectic energy, or raw crackling lightning. He didn't know how, or why, but he refused to waste these abilities.
Chuckling quietly to himself, feeling empowered and awesome, he looked to the skies. They felt somehow within his reach. He took off, running as quickly as he could. The wind felt like a wall continuously pressing against his face with unimaginable force as he sped up, trees and lightposts soaring past him. His reflexes had been sped up by the thousands and he ran past a hundred cars per second in the city. *I'm fast. Really fuckin' fast.* He finally came to a stop about fifty miles from where he woke up, a shy minute from when he started. Glenn looked up to the skies once more and bent his knees, jumping with all of his strength. A sonic boom exploded beneath him as he soared into the air at the speed of sound, litteraly flying. Electricity cracked all around him as he flew through a cloud, laughing enthusiastically. *This has to be a dream, right?* Up ahead, he saw a storm, with dark clouds. It rumbled with thunder and a lightning bolt struck the ground below it. Glenn smiled and flew towards it, penetrating right through the dark clouds, into the heart of the storm. His laughs of joy quickly turned to worry as he litteraly felt the electrified clouds sap energy out of his body. The flowing energy seeped out of his veins, storing itself in the cloud. As he lost his abilities and plummeted to his death, the dark cloud above him let out a thunderous boom with the force of an atomic bomb from the energy it had stolen from him. It was the last thing he heard, for he was dead long before he hit the ground. |
|
[WP] Unimaginable power surges through your body. You don't know why but you aren't waiting around to find out. | At first, it was funny. Maybe even hilarious. Flying about the city, seeing their awed faces as I lifted buses and outran trains. I never questioned. I became intoxicated. It was like a movie, and I wasn't waiting for the baddie to show up.
Then it turned for the worse.
I lost my family. My wife sent away my two beautiful children. What had been the light of my life, gone.
I can remember the fear, the disgust on my mother's face. Her final words to me before she close that faded red front door that I remembered from my childhood... "You just aren't the son I remember."
I can remember the FBI kicking down my door... that's when my wife finally left.
Great power, great responsibility, right? I guess some people aren't meant for this. | "Yeeeessss." and with a burst of raw uncomprehensible energy he burst out of the room as if he was no longer bound by the laws of physics.
Soon he thought soon his hearts desire will be his and not even god himself had the power to stand in his way.
As his mind began to question how he come about this power he had arrived at the boon his powers had delivered him.
Never in the history of man has such exquisite exhalation turned to complete and utter loss. With a roar that no longer resembled anything from this dimension he raged at the empty room.
"WHO THE FUCK ATE ALL THE DONUTS!" |
|
[WP] Unimaginable power surges through your body. You don't know why but you aren't waiting around to find out. | At first, it was funny. Maybe even hilarious. Flying about the city, seeing their awed faces as I lifted buses and outran trains. I never questioned. I became intoxicated. It was like a movie, and I wasn't waiting for the baddie to show up.
Then it turned for the worse.
I lost my family. My wife sent away my two beautiful children. What had been the light of my life, gone.
I can remember the fear, the disgust on my mother's face. Her final words to me before she close that faded red front door that I remembered from my childhood... "You just aren't the son I remember."
I can remember the FBI kicking down my door... that's when my wife finally left.
Great power, great responsibility, right? I guess some people aren't meant for this. | Warning: Mild Language
You’ve felt like this before. Everything tensed, every movement ecstasy; everything executed with unrestrained, unrepentant, utterly impossible speed and strength. Before it’d been hormones, alcohol, drugs, an illusion or delusion that vanished with the light of day, but this is real, it has to be real.
You fly out the door, still putting on your shirt, feet bare, blood pounding, blood forcing, blood beating you forward, forward, forward. You have to fight, you have to push, you have to succeed, you will succeed, but….what?
Broken beer bottles refuse to cut your feet, the sun begs not to blind, the roar of the city denies it can deafen, and you march down the alley, mind churning.
Your soles hit the asphalt, tingling, burning. Your soul strains, and you’d like to fly, but toward what and for what?
All of this potential, all this force, all of this, all of this, and it’s tearing you apart. For what and toward what?
Their minds are just as broken, their minds will always be broken. Out of the alley and onto the street, the cars screaming, slamming, wrapping around a body that tears them as it persists. You hardly notice, you’ve retreated into thought; you walk through brick, mortar, concrete, mind pounding with your heels, beating to the blood, and you hardly notice.
For what, toward what?
For what, toward what?
You’d thought, you’d always thought, everyone thinks that they could, they could fix….everything.
But you’d better be damn sure.
You’d better be damn sure, or you’ll split this world in two. |
|
[WP] Tumblr tried to stop 4chan. 4chan raided Tumblr. Write about a war scenario where websites are forced to choose sides. | The war was a small conflict at first, 4chan versus Tumblr. Child's play: shock image raids, account hacks, etc. Things did not stay that way for long, though. After a bit of silence, things got hot. Like they said in the old days, the war escalated quickly.
Reddit was the first to go. The site just vanished overnight. The domain name was in the hands of cybersquatters. The founders were nowhere to be seen. Then followed the Tumblr purge. All Tumblr blogs that weren't involved with this war - the hipsters, the anime fans, the superwholocks, all banned. Tumblr fell to SJWs' hands.
With Tumblr in their pocket, the rest of Yahoo fell as well. And we should've known what that would lead to… and Yahoo… It was more powerful than anyone ever thought. Everyone considered it a zombie, a collection of dead Web 1.0 startups - but one investment they made changed the entire internet. A large stake in a now-massive Chinese internet company, worth *billions*. And they used it to its full extent.
They took down Google, and threw internet into complete chaos. YouTube, Gmail, and most importantly, search, all gone. The internet fell into complete chaos.
Back at the start, nobody noticed a seemingly insignificant event happening: /pol/ went completely dark. Days later, Tumblr became much more efficient. Now, after taking Google, they revealed it all. They *owned* the internet. Suddenly it did not matter much if you used a Mac or a PC, if you were a Christian or an Atheist, we were at war.
With 4chan being the last standing free community, former Tumblrites and Redditors all retreated there, plotting their next move, hoping to save the internet. Everyone always thought the war would be between 4chan and the rest of the internet. Guess they weren't wrong. | Lord Paramount Bobb of reddit was sitting together with his Moderatormen, discussing choosing sides in the 4chan-Tumbler War.
"But we are all white, straight cis men, Tumblr will just ask us to check our privilege."
"You can't mean to declare us for 4chan, m'lord, they call us newfags, NEWFAGS!", the Lord of r/pics responded.
"Pedobear did make me lol though", the Lord of r/funny interjected.
"But they have like 70 % women in Tumblr. We don't listen to women! Well except our dear Lady of r/gonewild.", Bobb retorted.
The discussion devolved into General bickering, until one voice drowned them all out. It was the Lord of r/asoiaf.
"MY LORDS, My Lords! This is what I think of Tumblr, and of 4chan." He spat on the floor, much to the amusement of the assembked Lords and Lady.
"What do These radfems and /btards know of r/Militaryporn? Or of r/Philosophy? Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again?
We bowed to good memes, but all the good memes are dead! Here sits the only Website I mean to bow my knee to. THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
The Lord of r/GameofThrones stood up.
"Aye. I will have peace on these terms. They can keep their feminism, and their Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life too. THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
All other Lords stood up and shouted in Unison.
"THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
"THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
"THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
Then they all died.
|
|
[WP] Tumblr tried to stop 4chan. 4chan raided Tumblr. Write about a war scenario where websites are forced to choose sides. | The Big ones were there. Facebook, wearing her slutty T-shirt and hipster glasses. Twitter, highlighting random sentences on a book and posting them. Youtube, filming and narrating everything, always impartial, always impractical. Wikipedia, writing negative comments about Twitter for highlighting his book. Reddit, petting a penguin and taking dick selfies on the corner. Neither was particularly interested, but they had no choice.
Then there were the teens. 9gag. Funnyjunk. KnowYourMeme. UrbanDictionary. They were having a fart contest and laughing their ass off. Youtube gave them a few seconds on camera, then he changed mind and went back to the documentary.
Some children had obliged, despite the protests from both sides. ClubPenguin was playing with some dolls until Habbo slapped him and took one. The two started to fight.
And then there were the reporters, a big line of blogs watching, typing and recording everything that happened.
4chan kicked Habbo on the face and she left crying. Tumblr was about to start protesting, but then the speaker called her name. Google-sama was the moderator, as he was the only one whose opinion nobody asked for. Tumblr climbed up the stairs and took the microphone on the stage. Google turned off the ads so everyone looked at her.
“Fellow websites,” she said, discretely showing her cleavage, “This is a dark day for internet history. A war, an uncalled war, has contaminated our utopic paradise.”
“Why does your shoulder say *misandry*?” Reddit asked. He was healing Habbo with vodka, but nobody seemed to notice.
“Misandry is bigotry against men,” UrbanDictionary said. “It’s promoted by sick branches of feminism, LGBT and some made up genders.”
“They’re not made up, I swear I’m a wolf in a human’s body!” yelled Tumblr.
“Good one, son, but next time try to be more neutral” said Wikipedia.
“Shut up, you are not my father!” UrbanDictionary stormed out. “Go rule-34 yourself!”
“Order! Order!” Google cornered them all with pop-ups until everyone was looking at the podium again. “Let the poor girl finish her speech, and then we can discuss it.”
The whole world was watching. It was time.
“Thank you, shi- I mean, thank you, good man.” She moved her blue hair, trying to call more attention. 9gag was shamelessly looking at her boobs. “I know I’ve been a bit harsh in the past, but all I want is justice to be served. The Doctor would never tolerate our previous behaviour and we realised just today that we have been wrong. I understand now that not all white males are monsters. Just them.” She pointed at 4chan. “You and all your anons are guilty of everything. You planted the seed, it was an ambush all along! None of my dear tumblrites would ever do something like this if not for your trolls! And now you’re hacking us! We want justice! We want equality! And we do not want to be triggered!”
Tumblr took off her shirt. Her bare boobs were exposed, and everyone applauded. Youtube hurried to cover ClubPenguin’s eyes. Funnyjunk promptly uncovered them. Twitter and Reddit took tons of pics and 9gag reposted them.
She had made her case. She had a clear advantage and everyone’s attention. Now we wait, she said, climbing off the stage.
“Thank you, Tumblr, for that… revealing… exposition of your case,” Google said. “It will not be censored. Now, the rival. 4chan, you have the word. Please refrain yourself from posting gore for at least five minutes, remember there are children present.”
“Yeah, like that would work!” KnowYourMeme yelled, holding up a picture of Scumbag Steve. “Go for it, dad!”
Now it was his turn.
4chan, tall and green, wearing his always-impeccable Anonymous suit, walked towards the podium. He took the microphone. Everyone was waiting. While Tumblr alone couldn’t hold it against him, enough allies could cause a DDOS, and that would fuck off the power balance. You don’t mess with 4chan, that was the rule number one of the internet. If she could get away with it once, it was all lost. He’d be relegated as a neckbeard more and his control over the information flux would be gone.
He had to do it fast, and he had to do it now.
His green mouth opened slowly. Only three words came out of it.
“Shrek is life.”
An incredible ovation filled the room. The reporters were shocked; Wordpress and Yahoo were making it huge, while Slate and the Huffington Post raged on his laziness. Everyone cheered him and took him on arms, carrying him to the winner’s table.
Later that night Tumblr was sitting on the stage, still crying. The place was empty. She had cut herself a few times but then realised it was pointless if nobody was looking.
4chan entered the room.
“What are you doing here, you cis scum?” She said, resentful.
“I forgot my mask. Why are you still here, all by yourself?”
“That’s not your problem. Stop oppressing me, you shitlord.”
4chan sat right next to her.
“You know why I like that word? It has ‘lord’ in it. Like you still think I’m superior.”
“Shut up, you ruined everything, stop triggering me.”
4chan put her hair behind her ear and looked at her in the eyes. Still angry, she tried to hide the fact that she was blushing.
“Come on, everything is not ruined. Just go to the outernet, wash off those obviously fake tattoos and try to socialise. You’ll do all right.”
“How could I? The world is horrible, and it’s all fault of people like you. I wish I had a TARDIS to just run away forever.”
He held her hand. She wanted to take it away, but she couldn’t find the will to do it.
“I would if I could, too. But we can’t. I find that it’s easier to cope with all that shit by making fun of it. It won’t go away, so we can at least laugh. It’s kind of sick, but it’s better than just complaining.
She looked at him in the eyes. Without a warning, Tumblr hugged 4chan.
“I don’t know what to do, the world’s scary and I’m not ready to go out there.”
“I’m scared too.” He held her face softly. “Just because I’m big and scary doesn’t mean that I’m not afraid. We’re both young, virgin and lonely. We’re just opposite sides of the same coin. But that means we can fight it together.”
There was a spark. For a moment, the world was just the two of them.
He kissed her. They held on each other for what felt like hours. The world was perfect.
When they went apart, she smiled. “You’re an asshole, but also a good friend. How could I ever repay you?”
“I guess it would be enough with your love, your compassion… and *about tree fiddy*.”
Then he turned into a 500-feet-tall monster from the Palaeolithic era.
*“I fucking hate you!”* she yelled, slapping him over and over.
| Lord Paramount Bobb of reddit was sitting together with his Moderatormen, discussing choosing sides in the 4chan-Tumbler War.
"But we are all white, straight cis men, Tumblr will just ask us to check our privilege."
"You can't mean to declare us for 4chan, m'lord, they call us newfags, NEWFAGS!", the Lord of r/pics responded.
"Pedobear did make me lol though", the Lord of r/funny interjected.
"But they have like 70 % women in Tumblr. We don't listen to women! Well except our dear Lady of r/gonewild.", Bobb retorted.
The discussion devolved into General bickering, until one voice drowned them all out. It was the Lord of r/asoiaf.
"MY LORDS, My Lords! This is what I think of Tumblr, and of 4chan." He spat on the floor, much to the amusement of the assembked Lords and Lady.
"What do These radfems and /btards know of r/Militaryporn? Or of r/Philosophy? Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again?
We bowed to good memes, but all the good memes are dead! Here sits the only Website I mean to bow my knee to. THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
The Lord of r/GameofThrones stood up.
"Aye. I will have peace on these terms. They can keep their feminism, and their Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life too. THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
All other Lords stood up and shouted in Unison.
"THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
"THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
"THE KING OF NECKBEARDS!"
Then they all died.
|
|
[WP] Tumblr tried to stop 4chan. 4chan raided Tumblr. Write about a war scenario where websites are forced to choose sides. | The Big ones were there. Facebook, wearing her slutty T-shirt and hipster glasses. Twitter, highlighting random sentences on a book and posting them. Youtube, filming and narrating everything, always impartial, always impractical. Wikipedia, writing negative comments about Twitter for highlighting his book. Reddit, petting a penguin and taking dick selfies on the corner. Neither was particularly interested, but they had no choice.
Then there were the teens. 9gag. Funnyjunk. KnowYourMeme. UrbanDictionary. They were having a fart contest and laughing their ass off. Youtube gave them a few seconds on camera, then he changed mind and went back to the documentary.
Some children had obliged, despite the protests from both sides. ClubPenguin was playing with some dolls until Habbo slapped him and took one. The two started to fight.
And then there were the reporters, a big line of blogs watching, typing and recording everything that happened.
4chan kicked Habbo on the face and she left crying. Tumblr was about to start protesting, but then the speaker called her name. Google-sama was the moderator, as he was the only one whose opinion nobody asked for. Tumblr climbed up the stairs and took the microphone on the stage. Google turned off the ads so everyone looked at her.
“Fellow websites,” she said, discretely showing her cleavage, “This is a dark day for internet history. A war, an uncalled war, has contaminated our utopic paradise.”
“Why does your shoulder say *misandry*?” Reddit asked. He was healing Habbo with vodka, but nobody seemed to notice.
“Misandry is bigotry against men,” UrbanDictionary said. “It’s promoted by sick branches of feminism, LGBT and some made up genders.”
“They’re not made up, I swear I’m a wolf in a human’s body!” yelled Tumblr.
“Good one, son, but next time try to be more neutral” said Wikipedia.
“Shut up, you are not my father!” UrbanDictionary stormed out. “Go rule-34 yourself!”
“Order! Order!” Google cornered them all with pop-ups until everyone was looking at the podium again. “Let the poor girl finish her speech, and then we can discuss it.”
The whole world was watching. It was time.
“Thank you, shi- I mean, thank you, good man.” She moved her blue hair, trying to call more attention. 9gag was shamelessly looking at her boobs. “I know I’ve been a bit harsh in the past, but all I want is justice to be served. The Doctor would never tolerate our previous behaviour and we realised just today that we have been wrong. I understand now that not all white males are monsters. Just them.” She pointed at 4chan. “You and all your anons are guilty of everything. You planted the seed, it was an ambush all along! None of my dear tumblrites would ever do something like this if not for your trolls! And now you’re hacking us! We want justice! We want equality! And we do not want to be triggered!”
Tumblr took off her shirt. Her bare boobs were exposed, and everyone applauded. Youtube hurried to cover ClubPenguin’s eyes. Funnyjunk promptly uncovered them. Twitter and Reddit took tons of pics and 9gag reposted them.
She had made her case. She had a clear advantage and everyone’s attention. Now we wait, she said, climbing off the stage.
“Thank you, Tumblr, for that… revealing… exposition of your case,” Google said. “It will not be censored. Now, the rival. 4chan, you have the word. Please refrain yourself from posting gore for at least five minutes, remember there are children present.”
“Yeah, like that would work!” KnowYourMeme yelled, holding up a picture of Scumbag Steve. “Go for it, dad!”
Now it was his turn.
4chan, tall and green, wearing his always-impeccable Anonymous suit, walked towards the podium. He took the microphone. Everyone was waiting. While Tumblr alone couldn’t hold it against him, enough allies could cause a DDOS, and that would fuck off the power balance. You don’t mess with 4chan, that was the rule number one of the internet. If she could get away with it once, it was all lost. He’d be relegated as a neckbeard more and his control over the information flux would be gone.
He had to do it fast, and he had to do it now.
His green mouth opened slowly. Only three words came out of it.
“Shrek is life.”
An incredible ovation filled the room. The reporters were shocked; Wordpress and Yahoo were making it huge, while Slate and the Huffington Post raged on his laziness. Everyone cheered him and took him on arms, carrying him to the winner’s table.
Later that night Tumblr was sitting on the stage, still crying. The place was empty. She had cut herself a few times but then realised it was pointless if nobody was looking.
4chan entered the room.
“What are you doing here, you cis scum?” She said, resentful.
“I forgot my mask. Why are you still here, all by yourself?”
“That’s not your problem. Stop oppressing me, you shitlord.”
4chan sat right next to her.
“You know why I like that word? It has ‘lord’ in it. Like you still think I’m superior.”
“Shut up, you ruined everything, stop triggering me.”
4chan put her hair behind her ear and looked at her in the eyes. Still angry, she tried to hide the fact that she was blushing.
“Come on, everything is not ruined. Just go to the outernet, wash off those obviously fake tattoos and try to socialise. You’ll do all right.”
“How could I? The world is horrible, and it’s all fault of people like you. I wish I had a TARDIS to just run away forever.”
He held her hand. She wanted to take it away, but she couldn’t find the will to do it.
“I would if I could, too. But we can’t. I find that it’s easier to cope with all that shit by making fun of it. It won’t go away, so we can at least laugh. It’s kind of sick, but it’s better than just complaining.
She looked at him in the eyes. Without a warning, Tumblr hugged 4chan.
“I don’t know what to do, the world’s scary and I’m not ready to go out there.”
“I’m scared too.” He held her face softly. “Just because I’m big and scary doesn’t mean that I’m not afraid. We’re both young, virgin and lonely. We’re just opposite sides of the same coin. But that means we can fight it together.”
There was a spark. For a moment, the world was just the two of them.
He kissed her. They held on each other for what felt like hours. The world was perfect.
When they went apart, she smiled. “You’re an asshole, but also a good friend. How could I ever repay you?”
“I guess it would be enough with your love, your compassion… and *about tree fiddy*.”
Then he turned into a 500-feet-tall monster from the Palaeolithic era.
*“I fucking hate you!”* she yelled, slapping him over and over.
| The war was a small conflict at first, 4chan versus Tumblr. Child's play: shock image raids, account hacks, etc. Things did not stay that way for long, though. After a bit of silence, things got hot. Like they said in the old days, the war escalated quickly.
Reddit was the first to go. The site just vanished overnight. The domain name was in the hands of cybersquatters. The founders were nowhere to be seen. Then followed the Tumblr purge. All Tumblr blogs that weren't involved with this war - the hipsters, the anime fans, the superwholocks, all banned. Tumblr fell to SJWs' hands.
With Tumblr in their pocket, the rest of Yahoo fell as well. And we should've known what that would lead to… and Yahoo… It was more powerful than anyone ever thought. Everyone considered it a zombie, a collection of dead Web 1.0 startups - but one investment they made changed the entire internet. A large stake in a now-massive Chinese internet company, worth *billions*. And they used it to its full extent.
They took down Google, and threw internet into complete chaos. YouTube, Gmail, and most importantly, search, all gone. The internet fell into complete chaos.
Back at the start, nobody noticed a seemingly insignificant event happening: /pol/ went completely dark. Days later, Tumblr became much more efficient. Now, after taking Google, they revealed it all. They *owned* the internet. Suddenly it did not matter much if you used a Mac or a PC, if you were a Christian or an Atheist, we were at war.
With 4chan being the last standing free community, former Tumblrites and Redditors all retreated there, plotting their next move, hoping to save the internet. Everyone always thought the war would be between 4chan and the rest of the internet. Guess they weren't wrong. |
|
[WP] A group of scientists conclusively prove that our 'reality' is in fact, a simulation. | Oddly enough, when the story hit the papers, streaked across the front page in big bold print, it wasn't panic or fear that gripped people. In fact, people were surprisingly accepting and complacent of the notion. It was like something they always knew; an old memory that had been replaced with the rest of their life.
No, the biggest change in everyone was an intense curiosity, a thought as potent and transforming as the headline, "Well if life is a simulation, then who has the high score?".
A strong yearning flared up in every man and woman; to leave their watermark on the computer they lived in, to make some part of circuitry that fueled them all show that they, and only they, were the best at some statistic. It was the only way they could truly exist.
So artists created art, pouring the vacuum of their soul into every medium, creating bold masterpieces that expanded into uncharted creativity. Scientists dug away at the walls of their computing, achieving great progress and ushering in golden age technologies.
Wars ceased. People were ashamed of the brutality of their past. Seeing that they fell into their into weakness and destroyed each other, they vowed collectively that they would not fail. As strong as their thirst for greatness, was a fear that failure meant obscurity. Just another failed test subject.
Thus mankind was still full of fears and hopes, but that was when man changed to truly achieved greatness. Because, God does exist, and he's grading you. | It was liberating.
The lives, the deaths, the stress and challenges of our lives were part a simulation for all humans. Nothing more.
The news was shocking to some. Instantaneously, you would know if the person was psychologically disturbed. Normal people were almost always relieved or curious about the simulation--but the crazy ones couldn't handle the news.
Maybe they wanted something more. Maybe they were jealous of God.
Sam told us he had been looking for instructions from God his entire life, and then God told him it didn't matter.
That was before he became our apocalyptic psychopomp. The power struggle in the aftermath of the revelation triggered a violent uprising, and Sam made it to the top of the world by acquiring a huge arsenal. He stormed the national government.
Before launching the nuclear missiles, he said:
"God should have given me a manual." |
|
[WP] A group of scientists conclusively prove that our 'reality' is in fact, a simulation. | "Are you *absolutely certain* that it's in our best interest to do this?" Michael asked, standing at the control panel. He was fully aware of the possible ramifications of this moment, as he was sure everyone in the room was as well. Scientists and news agencies from across the world had gathered here for this experiment. But with an event in human history of this magnitude, only double- and triple-checking your work was considered recklessly inadequate, and this was the final step. The basis of all human evolution and technological developments is the desire to learn and to adapt to the information. Knowledge is the ultimate power, and the pursuit of it is an inevitability. There's always going to be someone asking the questions.
But sometimes, the answers change everything.
Some things you can't un-learn.
Imagine for a moment: Human civilization evolves for millennia, and our technology grows exponentially along side it. Computer simulations are an integral part of the world; from weather forecasts to architectural design to future astronomical predictions, being able to simulate the physical world around us gives us knowledge that better prepare us for the future.
Technology advances on an exponential scale; Moore's law all but guarantees it. Computer power doubles every two years. In the early stages of computing, simulations were limited to small interactions and took days to process. But every two years, more processing power meant we could simulate more complex scenarios, and the evolution of artificial intelligence and physics engines means those simulations became more and more accurate.
This evolution rapidly increases until the present day, when simulating, for example, the movement of the Earth's tectonic plates or the migration patterns of bird populations in real time doesn’t sound all that absurd.
Now imagine if you extrapolate that data out into the distant future. Is it out of the realm of possibility that the simulations we would be able to run then could simulate, down to the atomic level, an entire planet, teeming with life? Or an entire galaxy? Or an entire *universe?* The mathematical answer is that it is not only possible, it is inevitable.
As unfathomably large as the universe that we live in is, everything is still made up of atoms. As uncalculatably large as the number of atoms in the universe is, it still *is* a number, finite just like the rest of them. So computing power will increase until, at some point, it can simulate that many atoms and their interactions. And that means at one point in the very distant future, an advanced civilization of humans will be able to simulate *the entire universe,* from the giant supernovae down to the smallest micro-organism and beyond.
And then two years after that point, computer power doubles again.
And suddenly, the simulation can run a simulation of it’s own. Two years after that, it can run 4 universes, all nested within each other. The amount of simulations possible doubles alongside computing power, and in just 100 short years, the number of simulations possible is in the billions.
So if there is only *one* real universe and *billions and billions* of simulated ones, what are the odds that *we* live in the one true reality?
The odds are against us.
“Michael, the amount of funding and research that has gone into this project is too much to just be abandoned at the last possible moment,” said John, a little too much contempt in his voice. He’d headed up the project to build the most power electron microscope ever conceived, and combined with a state-of-the-art particle accelerator, would attempt to try to reveal the “resolution” of the universe. The mathematics behind the idea are understandably complex, but it comes down to a very simple fact: The ‘real’ world wouldn’t have a resolution. Simulations would, and attempt to measure things small enough and you will eventually find it.
Knowing our entire existence was a fabrication was a possibility that could lead any number of ways. It’s possible that nobody would understand or care and life would continue as normal. It’s also possible that nuclear war could spark if all it took was one unstable world power thinking it all didn’t matter anyways. A fiery end to the civilizations of the world and the possible death of all humanity was possible at stake. John understood the implications very well, and was tired of Michael’s constant *are-you-sure*-ing throughout the years of development that he had given to this project.
“I just want to be sure this is information that the world is ready for.” Michael said quietly. He had resigned himself to the fact that the project would continue on regardless of his stance on the matter, but he still made meager attempts to ensure everyone knew what was at stake.
He turned the key and flipped the switch, and machinery all around them sparked to life, humming in increasing frequencies and building up to an anti-climactic *pop* as the particle accelerator fired.
An agonizing minute went by as the electron microscope processed and calculated it’s findings. Michael broke out into a cold sweat as the clock ticked by, while John cooly stared at the monitor, waiting for the results. The attending flock of scientists and media crowded silently behind them.
The monitor flickers and shows the outcome of it’s calculations:
**ERROR: Resolution limit reached. Unable to measure beyond .0125672 planck lengths**
The room fell absolutely silent for what seemed like an hour as everyone in attendance struggled to accept what they were seeing.
“Holy mother of god” Michael uttered finally, mouth agape, cold chills surging through his body. *It’s true!*
The room explodes in a flurry of hushed, frantic conversations and fingers hammering away at keyboards. Wide eyed news reporters struggle to find the words to explain to the camera the implications of what they now know to be true. *The entire world will know in a matter of hours,* Michael thought.
*What have we done?* | It was liberating.
The lives, the deaths, the stress and challenges of our lives were part a simulation for all humans. Nothing more.
The news was shocking to some. Instantaneously, you would know if the person was psychologically disturbed. Normal people were almost always relieved or curious about the simulation--but the crazy ones couldn't handle the news.
Maybe they wanted something more. Maybe they were jealous of God.
Sam told us he had been looking for instructions from God his entire life, and then God told him it didn't matter.
That was before he became our apocalyptic psychopomp. The power struggle in the aftermath of the revelation triggered a violent uprising, and Sam made it to the top of the world by acquiring a huge arsenal. He stormed the national government.
Before launching the nuclear missiles, he said:
"God should have given me a manual." |
|
[WP] Someone obeys the voices in their head. The voices were right, but to everyone else it is a textbook case of schizophrenia. | **She is, though. And you know it.**
"Yeah, well, thanks for the heads up. Maybe you could have warned me sooner."
**Told you as soon as I noticed.**
"Maybe you've got the attention span of a goldfish swimming in Red Bull, you ever think of that?"
**That was hurtful, man. That cut deep.**
"No, it didn't. You have to be deep to get cut deep, clown."
**Get out your phone, grab it grab it grab it**
A cough, delicate but definitely faked to draw my attention, did its job from across the aisle. I glanced over, and for the third time today regretted having an entire large box full of random crap in my cubicle - the first and second, of course, being having to clean out said cubicle, and having to find said box. The girl clearing her throat at me was that kind of girl, though. The kind that makes you regret decisions like calling your boss the names she actually deserves (and subsequently losing your job), or setting your box of office debris in the seat next to you on your bus ride home, denying yourself the chance that she might sit there. She was in the aisle seat - no way she'd have been able to fit legs that long into a window seat on this crappy bus, and darn sure not in a skirt that short. I smiled weakly and waggled my phone at her, trying to offer an explanation for talking to "myself". Her annoyance began to fade-
**SHIT MUTE MUTE MUTE THE**
The phone buzzed in my hand, betraying my deception with a miniature klaxon and flashing red light. The annoyance returned, squinting up blue eyes I could have sailed across and sharpening cheekbones that didn't need the help, and she turned away, tucking in an earbud with a dismissive finality. I sighed and hit Answer. "I'm sorry. Did I forget to sign one of the write-ups? I promise, I don't really care."
"DUDE! Did you really call Mrs. Hallimann a nuclear-powered, weapons-grade c-"
"Yes! Yes, please, stop repeating it. I have no idea what came over me-"
**Ooh, ooh, I know! ME!**
"-but since it got me fired, I'm not too keen on hearing it repeated ad nauseam, thank you."
"I don't even think I've ever heard you curse, dude. I can't even imagine. Can I buy you a beer? I want to buy the guy who said that to his own COO a beer."
**You're going to argue. I can feel it. Don't. It's not like you have work in the morning. Oh- Switch seats with the box. Get in the aisle seat.**
"... Thanks." And there's the fourth time I'm regretting this box - just having it on this crowded bus is awkward enough, but kneeing the back of the seats in front of me just to switch places with it isn't making me any friends.
"Great, dude! I'll pick you up - guess not buying that new car was a good idea, huh, dude? Anyway. I'll pick you up around 8, okay?"
**Hey, this is your stop! Screw the box, you don't need that junk. Just grab the keyboard, those mechanical ones in the metal casings are expensive.**
Dang, there she goes. Hey, I guess this is as good a stop as any, they're only a block or two apart on this street.
"Dude? 8?"
"Oh, sure. Yeah. 8 is fine." Darn, some guy in a trenchcoat, of all things, just stood up behind her. It's June, guy, and you're blocking my view. I was only even getting off here to watch... wait... this isn't even my-
**hit him hit him hit him HIT HIM HIT HIM HIT HIM HITHIMHITHIMHITHIMHITHIM**
The metal keyboard made a truly disgusting *thwock* as it collided with the back of Trenchcoat's head. His arms splayed out to both sides as he crashed between the seats. Something heavy, flung from his now boneless grip, cracked a window and fell into a little old lady's lap. Miss Blue Eyes spun around - an impressive feat, in those heels - and pierced me with that gaze for a moment before looking down at Trenchcoat. "Oh, my God. Steve?" I could have listened to that voice all day, for a change, but the little old lady with the busted window had other plans and, apparently, a missed opportunity as a bipedal tornado siren.
"GUN! GUN! Oh GOD oh GOD get it off me GUN! GUN!" The ugly chunk of metal in her lap tumbled to the floor. The one in my hands, now bent in the middle, stared up at me, a trace of blood on one corner.
The word immediately picked up around the bus. Trenchcoat was packing? What? Wait. Did I just... save the girl?
**Tell her you saw the gun when he stood up, and you had to do something.**
I glanced up from the keyboard to a perfectly stunning view - Miss Blue Eyes, squatted down in the middle of the bus aisle, bent forward looking at Trench- er, 'Steve'. The red bra peeking out from between the buttons of her blouse didn't match her eyes at all, but it darn sure matched the panties her skirt wasn't hiding any more. "He's unconscious, but he's alive. I didn't even know he was out of prison! Ohmigod, ohmigod." She looked up at me. Shock and gratitude fought in her eyes, and I lost. "I - uh..."
**Tell her! Shit, say something! Tell her you got up to ask her for her number and then you saw the guy with the gun!**
"I can't believe it. I think you saved my life! You're amazing! How did you know?" Even in her condition, her voice was Kryptonite. "I. I, uh - "
**Come on! Say anything! Tell her your name! Tell her your life story! Tell her why you're holding a keyboard! Shit, tell her you were trying to imagine her naked and ol' Steve just got in the way, come on-**
That tears it. "I am NOT going to tell the prettiest woman I've ever seen that I just cracked some guy's skull for blocking my view of her ass!"
**...**
"That was out loud, wasn't it."
**Yep.**
"I'm going to jail, aren't I."
**Probably.**
"I, uh..."
**I have to carry you everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Repeat after me. I think-**
"I think-"
**I'm going-**
"I'm going-"
**-into shock.**
"-into sh-"
I woke up on my back, with a paramedic pushing air into my mouth through a little plastic mask. He helped me sit up on the stretcher, asking me some questions - what day is it, how many fingers, what's your name. It was a little difficult to pay attention, though, with Miss Blue Eyes walking up behind him.
**Say yes.**
The paramedic tried to keep my attention, but he'd lost that battle before he even got here. She sounded... sarcastic. "The prettiest woman you've ever seen, huh?"
I didn't need help with that one, thanks. "Yes."
She handed me a Post-it, one that I immediately recognized from the stash of office clutter I'd tried to jettison on the bus, an eon ago. The digits inked on it were a welcome addition, though. "When they let you out of the hospital, give me a call."
**Say-**
"Yes."
**Wait. Shit. Where's the phone?** | *Stop!*
"Gah!" I jerked myself backwards as the red convertible sped right past me. "Holy shit that was close. Learn to fucking drive you dumbass!"
I looked around and noticed everyone staring at me as if I were some crazy grandpa. *Shit it happened again,* I thought to myself. Why do they keep giving those looks?
"Whoever said that, thanks. You saved my life."
More weird glances and stares were directed at me. A confused look came across this one old lady's face. I approached her and asked, "ma'am, did you not hear that?"
"Hear what? Get the hell away from me you psycho," she yelled as she whacked my leg with her walking stick.
"You didn't hear that? Did anyone else hear it?" I started to walk up to others with the same question.
"Hey did you hear that?"
"Did you?"
"Did you-" Right as I was about to finish, someone called my name.
I turned around and saw my wife running towards me.
"Brad! Where have you been all afternoon?" She had a worried look on her face.
"I was just taking a walk and then this car almost hit me! And oh, someone screamed at me to stop and saved my life!!" I replied excitedly.
She took my hand and pulled me towards her. As I followed along, she turned and apologized to everyone around us.
"It's okay, my father has the same disease." A mid-aged man said. He smiled at me as I walked by. "Try not to be bothered by those random voices in your head and you'll be just fine."
"Random voices? That voice just saved my life!"
My wife hurried me out. Her face was red, and I could tell that I had made a scene.
"I'm so sorry honey. I really didn't mean-"
"It's fine. Just come home and I'll make you some tea." |
|
[WP] Someone obeys the voices in their head. The voices were right, but to everyone else it is a textbook case of schizophrenia. | The knock on the door coupled with the sirens outside worried John. John tells Alex to stay calm, because everything will be alright. Alex knows that that's not true, but before he's able to say that to John, the banging on the door grows louder, with more force.
"Alex, open the door! It's Leighann! I just want to talk to you about something! Please let me in!" she yelled. The voice didn't sound like Leighann. It had the tone of her voice, but it didn't sound as pleasant, nor was it as inviting.
"Coming, sister," Alex lied. He took another peek outside of his window, and John told him to brace himself. The banging on the door became frantic. Suddenly, the door slammed open. Alex lay on his bed, curled up into a ball. This wasn't his fault. Everyone told him it was, but he knew that it wasn't. Leighann knew it wasn't either, but she wasn't going to stand up. She had always been the weaker of the two. A woman who obviously wasn't Leighann stepped through the door, along with two SWAT team members. He remained motionless on his bed, still curled up, while the SWAT members proceeded to pick him up and carry him out of his apartment. The last he ever saw of his apartment was the SWAT team carry all of his belongings out of it, one by one, as his heart slowly died with them.
He was taken to a humongous penitentiary-like building on the outskirts of the town where he lived. He had always been somewhat curious about the giant building right near his apartment, but had never taken much notice to it. *It's one hell of a coincidence,* he always though to himself to ease the thought that it might be there for a reason. Once taken inside, he was walked through a hallway of inmates, screaming for help. They looked like they were suffering from the same thing he was: voices in their head telling them things that had really happened. One cried "I knew 9/11! I KNEW IT!" while one sat criss-cross, leaning from side to side, droning monotonously "I didn't do it, I didn't do it, it wasn't me, I didn't do it..."
He was quickly escorted to a cell which was seemingly larger than any of the others. A man stood, facing him, with a condescending grin and piercing green eyes, resembling a tiger ready for the kill. *Is it really him?* Alex wondered. "Hello, Alex." *It is him. It's John.*
"Now, Alex, tell me about yourself," John said. Alex kept his stoic facial expression, and didn't respond. The tension in the room grew with each second that Alex didn't speak, and without warning the SWAT members standing beside the man pointed their guns at Alex, as if forcing him to speak.
"My name is Alex Markensen. I am 34 years old. I worked at and ran a bakery in Hell's Kitchen for three years until I moved, and began living in my apartment in Minneapolis. My parents' names are Eva and Dennis Markensen. My sister, Leighann, is 5 years younger than me. She began law school when she was 24. I have not seen her since."
"Funny that you say that, Alex, because our files here," he took out a manila folder, with official-looking documents inside of it, "indicate that your sister is only 12, and that your parents' names are Erin and Keith."
Alex changed his attitude for a moment. "You're lying to me, and I know it," he replied with certainty.
The man handed him three papers, which were all documents containing profiles of each of the three family members he had mentioned. They all seemingly proved that what the man said was correct. Alex stared down at his feet, not wanting to show that the man had gotten to him.
"Now, Alex, we've been hearing from various people that were close to you that you've been hearing a voice in your head, and that he claims his name to be John."
"That's correct," Alex droned, still staring down at his feet.
"Well, we've gotten several accounts from other patients saying similar things have been happening to them, and according to them, they also heard a voice named 'John'. Do you know why this might be?"
"No, why would I?"
The guards next to the man pointed their guns towards him.
"I think you do," the man replied, cracking his fingers.
"Are you accusing me for what's been happening? Listen, I have no clue how John has any knowledge of the events that have been occurring! I just hear him, and he tells me that they're going to happen. If I had done it, why would I save all of those people? I mean--"
"Like the bombing in Beijing?"
"But he--"
"And the sarin attack at LaGuardia?"
"But--"
"Not to mention the nuclear bombing in San Francisco..."
Alex finally stared up, tears in his eyes.
"I didn't ask for any of this to happen!" he yelled. "All I wanted was some peace and quiet after the divorce, but all of a sudden I started hearing voices! I just assumed it was some acute form of PTSD, until the incidents started to happen and I heard about them all before they occurred! And they were in your voice!"
"Well, since I am the president of the United States, you may have heard my voice on television, and associate--"
"But it was you! It didn't sound like how you speak during speeches, it sounded like how you're talking right now! And I could hear it like there was a speaker in my ear, not how schizophrenic people would hear it! I swear!"
The facetious grin faded from the man's face, and he snapped his fingers. A hologram of a young girl showed up.
"Please, Alex, you have to help!" the girl shouted. "They're making me y--" Before she could continue, she was cut off by a SWAT team member putting his hand over her mouth and abruptly silencing her as she attempted to scream through the hand.
The man snapped again, and the hologram disappeared.
"That was Leighann. But she was younger...you--you changed her! **You** did this!"
"She has always looked like this, Alex. And if you don't confess, I'm afraid you won't ever be able to see her face again." The rifles were pointed closer towards Alex. He hesitated. He was about to shout for help, but realized that this was a government monitored building, and nobody who was outside of bars in their right mind would respond. He continued to stare, plain-faced, at the man, and no matter how close the guns got, he remained the same. The man finally shouted "That's it, take him to the ECR with his sister!"
He was taken into a gigantic room, about the size of an entire house, which only held two chairs. Two *electric* chairs. Alex would have done something, but he was unable to move in the straitjacket. In one electric chair sat Leighann, sobbing, with the glove still placed over her mouth. She was not the Leighann that he knew: she was only twelve years old. Maybe he had been imagining everything, and his life was a lie. *Only more of a reason to let myself die,* he thought. He jumped towards her, only realizing afterwards that he could do nothing to save her. They placed him in his chair, and he spat in the guard's face. The guard simply wiped it off and walked away. The man was nowhere to be seen, but there was a one-way window parallel to him and Leighann. Alex heard John again all of a sudden, whispering "You're screwed. You have nothing and no one to help you. No one likes you anyway." It was the man who had talked to him in the other room's voice, he was sure of it. It had always been his voice...right? He had no time to ponder this thought, because he was too distracted by the combination of his sister's muffled screams and the guard's attempts to shut her up. Eventually, he heard a noise that sounded like something powering up. He knew that it was starting. But oddly enough, it stopped. And he heard a gunshot noise behind the one-way window. And for some reason, right when he heard it, the man holding Leighann's mouth collapsed. He saw an electric flickering from his head, and there was a hole right near, just about big enough for a pistol bullet.
The ropes holding Leighann and Alex down loosened somehow, and Leighann ran towards Alex, hugging him. "Oh god, Alex, they're making me younger!" she cried, "I don't know how to stop it!"
"They lied to me. I knew it."
"We need to get out of here," Leighann exclaimed, who, now that Alex noticed it, looked like she was getting younger by the second. Alex picked up the rifle and shot down the window.
"Let's go--" before Alex could finish, a bullet went straight through his head. Leighann whimpered, and went into the corner. Standing in the room behind the window were John, holding a magnum, and a few other people who looked like co-workers of his. She shouted for him to not kill her, and he put the gun down. "Go now." he muttered. She ran, but he took her for a second and injected her with a needle full of an orange substance. She suddenly grew back to her normal height, and appeared her actual age again. She ran away, faster than she ever had.
"John, why did you postpone the project? And-and why did you kill him?" one of the men standing next to the man asked him.
"He wasn't the one we were looking for. He was too believable. As for why I killed him: it would have become anarchy if our project was leaked. And don't refer to me as John. You are not my equal."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Looks like we'll have to find a new scapegoat. Poor guy. He knew it was me talking, but nobody believed him. Shame," He claimed sarcastically.
John tapped into the microphone.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
"Who are you?" a woman replied. "Am I hearing things?"
(Sorry that it was so long, if you read the entire thing then bravo)
| *Stop!*
"Gah!" I jerked myself backwards as the red convertible sped right past me. "Holy shit that was close. Learn to fucking drive you dumbass!"
I looked around and noticed everyone staring at me as if I were some crazy grandpa. *Shit it happened again,* I thought to myself. Why do they keep giving those looks?
"Whoever said that, thanks. You saved my life."
More weird glances and stares were directed at me. A confused look came across this one old lady's face. I approached her and asked, "ma'am, did you not hear that?"
"Hear what? Get the hell away from me you psycho," she yelled as she whacked my leg with her walking stick.
"You didn't hear that? Did anyone else hear it?" I started to walk up to others with the same question.
"Hey did you hear that?"
"Did you?"
"Did you-" Right as I was about to finish, someone called my name.
I turned around and saw my wife running towards me.
"Brad! Where have you been all afternoon?" She had a worried look on her face.
"I was just taking a walk and then this car almost hit me! And oh, someone screamed at me to stop and saved my life!!" I replied excitedly.
She took my hand and pulled me towards her. As I followed along, she turned and apologized to everyone around us.
"It's okay, my father has the same disease." A mid-aged man said. He smiled at me as I walked by. "Try not to be bothered by those random voices in your head and you'll be just fine."
"Random voices? That voice just saved my life!"
My wife hurried me out. Her face was red, and I could tell that I had made a scene.
"I'm so sorry honey. I really didn't mean-"
"It's fine. Just come home and I'll make you some tea." |
|
[WP] After making a suicide pact, a boyfriend and girlfriend jump off the Golden Gate bridge, one of them dies. The other finds out that they are immortal. | “Are you sure?” He looked into her eyes.
She looked happy, probably because she knew the pain of her existence was about to end. She nodded and gave him a wan smile. She didn’t ask him. She didn’t have to. He’d wanted to end it all for a long time. His life was a long series of disappointments, save for Caroline.
He’d never known his family, and been kicked around foster homes until he was 18. Then he’d met her, and for a time, knew peace. Two and a half years. They hadn’t been enough for each other though. Both carried too much baggage, too much pain. She wanted to die, and he didn’t want to live without her.
That brought them to the bridge, the Golden Gate. It was famous for this sort of thing. They’d gotten out of their car and were now standing at the edge. A few cars were pulling over, but it would be too late.
She pulled him down and kissed him, and tilted slightly. And… they were falling. His heart was pounding, the air was rushing past them, buffeting them. He was staring at her face. He saw the happiness drain out in a rush as she realized she was about to die.
Her face went from serene to horrified. She began to scream. Moments stretched into eternity and then…
Time stopped.
Some time later, he awoke. He’d washed ashore. He was alive. He was *alive*. And Caroline was dead. She hadn’t wanted to die, in the end. He remembered hearing that most people that jumped realized that on the way down.
He’d let her die and he.. was alive. He wasn’t even hurt.
It slowly sunk in that the only reason he’d ever had to draw breath had killed herself.
He tried to kill himself three more times that day.
It didn’t work.
His wrists healed before he’d but stained the water.
Jumping in front of a bus just tore his clothing.
The pills had no effect.
He couldn’t die. He was some how immortal. He crumpled to the ground and wept the tears of the damned. He was somehow sure he’d live forever. And he would see her face. Hear her scream, forever. Every moment of every day.
Every.
*Single*.
Day.
| "Kate" I say softly, she doesn't answer. She is sitting on the edge of my bed, arms on her knees staring at the floor. Her hair is hanging in front of her face, hiding her expression from me, it makes me nervous because I can't tell what she's thinking, I'm not sure I want to know. "Kate" I say louder... "Kate!", she picks up her head, "what?", her eyes meet mine, vacant with a deep sadness underneath that I refuse to let seep in. "Are you ready", She nods ever so slightly without breaking eye contact, her eyes starting to tear. I look away and take a deep breath, I just want her confirmation, I don't want to have to think about it. I don't want to feel the pain.
It's time to go.
The cab lets us out near the bridge, "nice day for a walk" he says. I reply "yeah" as I pay him, I feel like he knows what we are about to do. I wonder if he has "assisted" anyone else. We walk to the middle of the bridge, holding hands, heads low. She squeezes my hand and pulls herself close to me as we walk. "It is a nice day" I say, trying to make small talk, it sounds stupid as soon as it leaves my lips, she doesn't seem to notice though. We find a spot near the middle of the bridge as another couple passes us from the opposite direction. I look into the distance and point at nothing in particular just waiting for them to leave. They are walking so slow, I feel like screaming "get off my god damn bridge!". I don't.
It's time.
I look at Kate, she looks up at me. No words are spoken, there's not even a nod between us. We both know what comes next. I kiss her forehead softly, lingering for a moment as I breather her in one last time. We climb onto the railing together. Our feet hanging over, the water is so far below I get dizzy when I look down. This is it, just a twitch or a even a strong wind is all that separates us from eternity. I wish it could have been different, but there is no turning back now. I feel the sun on the back of my head as it breaks over the mountains, I feel a soft breeze cooling the sweat off my back, I hear wind whistling as it cuts through the bridge. It's strange how I feel so alive, it's a cruel joke. I look over at Kate, she is staring out into the distance, she turns her head and looks at me. She takes my hand.
We jump.
Our bodies leave the railing and give in to gravity, I see panic on Kate's face as we separate. I lose sight of her. My heart is pounding, it feels like it's going to explode. My head is spinning or maybe I'm spinning, I cant tell. Things are moving so fast and getting faster, but for a moment time seems to stop. It's not supposed to be like this! This is not what I wanted! how can I take this back? how can I make is stop? I can't. I can't.
...
I open my eyes, so dark, so cold. My limbs are heavy, it's hard to move. I see a dim light in the distance. Is this it, am I dead? No. I must be fifty feet under water, but I'm still alive, I don't know how, but I'm alive. I hold my breath and close my eyes waiting for the end. Panic sets in. I just want this to be over but I can't force myself to let go. Finally, mercifully, my body lets go for me, against my will, my lungs start to expand and draw in what they expect is air. My lungs fill with water and I try to scream into the river as I black out.
My eyes open, but I can't see anything, it's so dark. My limbs 6 still heavy, my lungs labor like I'm breathing molasses. I'm still underwater. I'm still alive. What's happening, how can I sill be alive? I finally allow myself to cry, the river steals my tears as my body drifts with the current. |
|
[WP] After making a suicide pact, a boyfriend and girlfriend jump off the Golden Gate bridge, one of them dies. The other finds out that they are immortal. | Tears ran down my face as we stepped onto the edge. He put his arm around me as I smiled sadly back at him. This was how it had to be. I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear as they moved.
"You don't have to do this" I breathed one last time.
"I know" he said.
He held my hand and looked gazed down at the waves.
"Ready?" he said, resolve firm in his tone.
"Ready", I whispered back.
In unison we stepped into the air. They couldn't hurt us now.
The night wind clawed at my jacket with its icy fingertips, whipping my long hair back. My ears were filled with the rush of my heartbeat and the scream of the wind.
For 5 and a half seconds that lasted forever, nothing mattered. We were flying, we were together, we were free.
The river rushed up to meet us too soon, but we didn't care. I saw my laughing face reflected in his grey eyes.
Then I saw nothing.
---
Rachel had laughed as we fell. I hadn't heard her laugh in months before then. She was the last thing I saw before we hit the water. I think the last moments of our lives were the best. Everything that had gone wrong, every worry and problem, tossed into the air and washed away by the sea. I died happy.
And then I woke up. Pain stabbed through me like electricity. I opened my mouth to scream and river water rushed in, burning like icy fire. Rachel was gone. I'd let go, lost my grip in my sleep, left her like I swore I wouldn't. I opened myself to the elements and willed them to let me join her. But they wouldn't. The current forced me onwards and I was forced under again.
I forced myself onto a beach two days later. The broken ribs from the fall had refused, and the constant drowning had become routine. I sat exhausted, clothes torn beyond recognition, on a hard rock. I stared at the rusting ring on my finger. I'd sworn to stay by her side. Now I knew I never could.
| They sat together, facing each other in a pair of old wooden dining chairs that sooner belonged half burnt and covered in ash at the bottom of a drunk's fire pit rather than on the crisp linoleum floor of the cramped bachelor apartment. The empty bottle was placed neatly on the floor between his feet, the red cap staring upward blankly. The glimmer from the street lights shone across her face and he could see that she was beginning to tire.
He squeezed her hands gently causing her to lock eyes with him. Her droopy eyelids offset by a thin smile that pierced her lips.
He smiled back at her hopelessly. This had been more her decision than his. He knew the baby meant the world to her but he had always held on to the hope that she would move on eventually.
Apparently not.
He knew that he couldn't live without her however, so when she proposed to end their suffering he begrudgingly agreed. He had resisted of course, but when he became convinced that her opinion could not be swayed he knew that he could not let her do it alone.
He began to feel his heart beat in his neck. Each rhythmic throb felt like waves of serenity passing through his body. He concentrated on the feeling while he watched her tiredly lay her head in her hands, the hair draping from her in such a way as to expose the bare skin of her neck.
His head was filled with brief memories of his lips resting on that neck. He closed his eyes tightly and held on to the memories for as long as he could. He remembered the smell of her hair as the world began to fall away around him. He remembered the faint tickle of her skin touching his as he relived every moment they had ever spent together. He...
She felt a rotting pain in her stomach and her mouth tasted like last night's vomit. She tried to lift her heavy body but could only manage to tilt her head back slightly and winced at the beam of light as it caught her in the eye. The pain from the sun forcefully imprinting an image on the back of her cornea was enough to motivate her out of her chair. She heard the dull clank of a plastic bottle skid across the floor as she shifted her weight on to her feet. With a sudden and horrific realisation her eyelids shot open. Her mouth fell agape and as her hand involuntarily rose to calm her quivering lip a well of tears began to run down her flushed cheeks. |
|
[WP] After making a suicide pact, a boyfriend and girlfriend jump off the Golden Gate bridge, one of them dies. The other finds out that they are immortal. | Tears ran down my face as we stepped onto the edge. He put his arm around me as I smiled sadly back at him. This was how it had to be. I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear as they moved.
"You don't have to do this" I breathed one last time.
"I know" he said.
He held my hand and looked gazed down at the waves.
"Ready?" he said, resolve firm in his tone.
"Ready", I whispered back.
In unison we stepped into the air. They couldn't hurt us now.
The night wind clawed at my jacket with its icy fingertips, whipping my long hair back. My ears were filled with the rush of my heartbeat and the scream of the wind.
For 5 and a half seconds that lasted forever, nothing mattered. We were flying, we were together, we were free.
The river rushed up to meet us too soon, but we didn't care. I saw my laughing face reflected in his grey eyes.
Then I saw nothing.
---
Rachel had laughed as we fell. I hadn't heard her laugh in months before then. She was the last thing I saw before we hit the water. I think the last moments of our lives were the best. Everything that had gone wrong, every worry and problem, tossed into the air and washed away by the sea. I died happy.
And then I woke up. Pain stabbed through me like electricity. I opened my mouth to scream and river water rushed in, burning like icy fire. Rachel was gone. I'd let go, lost my grip in my sleep, left her like I swore I wouldn't. I opened myself to the elements and willed them to let me join her. But they wouldn't. The current forced me onwards and I was forced under again.
I forced myself onto a beach two days later. The broken ribs from the fall had refused, and the constant drowning had become routine. I sat exhausted, clothes torn beyond recognition, on a hard rock. I stared at the rusting ring on my finger. I'd sworn to stay by her side. Now I knew I never could.
| We have to hurry, I think someone's spotted us. We get to the right spot, I hear sirens now. Pushed by the urgency, there's no time to think. We climb out and balance there. I look into her eyes and we both push off. The gut wrenching drop, then, blackness.
I wake up in my room, of course, drenched in sweat. It seems so real, it always does. I've had this dream on and off for as long as I can remember. I can smell the ocean, taste the salt spray. Describe every stitch of her clothes.
I loved her very much. At least that's how it feels in the dream. I really believe I could construct our entire lives given enough time in the dream. In fact, since I've discovered lucid dreaming, it seems I'm remembering more and more about us. I can't really control the dream, but I can slow it down kind of. I can discover more and more it seems.
If that sounds weird, I guess it's because it is! Most people would probably be scared to death and try to forget these kinds of dreams. I only feel more drawn to this one.
The other day her name actually came to me. Alicia. We met at a concert. I think. This is crazy, I can't go on like this. I don't go out. I just grind through my day, waiting for my chance to sleep. And dream.
Several months go by, lonely, endless days. I've started to unwind the dream even more. The concert we met at, the connections we made.I feel so alone and depressed without her. Like I've truely lost her. I must be crazy.
There's really no hope I tell myself. Nothing more to be done... I find the right spot, balanced on the edge...
|
|
[WP] In a world where every child is born with an instruction manual, one parent's child comes with a blank book. The book's first page simply states "Write your own destiny." | >It started after the third world war. A ravaged earth and dwindling population meant that the remaining governments needed some way to protect the future of humanity, at least that's how they sold it. Really, it is more like a way not to lose control again. Sure, you can rule a population by fear, but fear is difficult, it requires resources. Much easier to give the people a life and let them live it, and so the Bureau of Life Production was born.
"State Your Name."
*Mason Codd.*
"Please explain how you came to work for the Bureau"
*That's a bullshit question, and you know it.*
"Please, Mr. Codd."
*You're born into the work here, you have to be. If people knew it was just some guy writing out the rest of their life and how to live it, who would listen? It needs to be someone special, someone beyond question, and so the you throw thousands of reports and numbers out each year to solidify faith in the system. No one understand the numbers, how could they? It isn't in their plan.*
"Please explain the nature of your work for the Bureau"
*To date I have written 6,427 manuals, ranging from teachers to electricians to stay-at-home parents. The morals section is copied and pasted from a file, as is most of the childhood and the "how to" instructions for the parents. Sure, it gets slightly more complicated towards adulthood with first sexual experiences and all that, but nothing too difficult.*
"Are you aware why you're here"
*Yes.*
"Can you elaborate"
*And what would be the point exactly?*
"Please elaborate, Mr. Codd"
*I signed off on a blank manual*
"Mr. Codd, I would prefer you did not lie to the audience."
*You asked and I answered, Fred*
"This is not a casual conversation. Please tell the group why you are here"
*In how many sentences.*
"As many as you find necessary."
*Last week, an assignment came by my desk. Like I said, I've written manuals for teachers, plumbers, reporters, doctors, you name it. So you must understand my surprise when a file marked "Population Control" crossed my desk*
"The nature of our position within the Bureau is to write the lives that are assigned, Mr. Codd."
*Bite me, someone let this whole thing go to their head. I'm not condemning someone to be a murderer.*
"Mr. Codd, the population is rising. Now, we write limited pregnancies and births into plans, even limited deliveries by doctors, but accidents happen. They are only human. And so, occasionally, this must happen."
*Did you have a question or can I leave.*
"Please tell everyone what you wrote in your report"
*I told you, the report was blank*
"We both know that isn't true. The people here know, and the parents of that poor child know."
*This isn't going to keep working, this isn't a long term solution. People will figure it out.*
"Not as long as we re-issue the blank manual. How you got it through is beyond me"
*If it is all the same to you Fred, I'd like to be killed now. Those parents have the manual, re-issue or not, and they've read it. Maybe that'll stick, maybe it won't. Maybe you'll have to 'control the population'. One way or the other, fuck you and the Bureau.*
"Please tell the audience what you wrote, Mason."
*I wrote "Write your own destiny" and shipped it, I'm glad that freedom scares you.* | It took us the entire nine months to agree on a name. I wanted Corbin, she was more set on Laurence. We named him Ryan. He is adorable, and that’s saying a lot because up until 3 months ago I never used the name adorable. Then I saw the 3d ultrasound of my little guy and instantly “adorable” became a part of my everyday vocabulary. Blue binkies, adorable. Onesies with little monkey’s and hippos on them. Adorable. Everything in my life had become adorable leading up to the birth of my first child.
Until it wasn’t.
“Sir, could I beg of your time in the hallway, we need to speak?” a young woman with dimples and carrot blonde hair motions to me from the entrance to my wife’s hospital room.
“My name is Jamira Clones, and I need to speak to you about the NBIM (New Birth Instruction Manual) for your son Ryan, it seems that we’ve incurred an error. One that we’ve never dealt with before.”
“An error?” I reply
“Yes, as you know every child born, comes with an instruction manual, NBIM, for their parents, or caregivers usage, it seems that your sons, well – while we have a manual, it appears to be incomplete. Blank rather.”
“What do you mean blank? Let me see that” I reach to pull the dense manual from her grasp.
“Sir, please do not do that, I’d like you to first speak to –“
“Give me the manual, it is my right to have it in my possession”
“Fine, please sign this waiver that shows you’ve received it, but I do suggest you speak with our NBIM director, so that –“
I quickly sign off my name and hand her back the document which puts me in possession of my sons manual. I turn my back to her and flip through to the first page, which simply states Ryan Amere Camerlengo, 7.12.2085, and both my name and my wife’s name. The second page is blank. As is the 3rd and 4th, on the 5th page it simply states “Write your own destiny”.
Write your own destiny? What sick and cruel joke is this? What will I tell my wife? She’s been elated to receive our manual, to be the best mother to Ryan, assure of all his needs and expectations, and now I hold in my hands a blank manual. Fuck.
I reenter my wife’s room quietly, shuffling my feet at a slow pace. This is not something I’m ready to share with her. But not something I can keep from her either. What parent wants to be different? To have their child be different? What does this mean for our family?
“Look baby, he’s cooing, he’s looking for his daddy” my wife smiles looking back and forth between me and our son.
“Melanie, we need to talk. About Ryan, about his manual” I whisper
“What about Ryan? He’s a perfect boy,” again she looks between our son and myself.
“He is different baby, his manual – his manual is blank, there are no instructions for us” I cry.
“No instructions, what do you mean? What does it say? Does it say anything” she begs.
I hand her the manual. She hands me Ryan. As she flips through the manual from page to page, frantically searching for some works other than those on the first page, she begins to pout. Her lips pucker and her eyes begin to water.
“My mother was right, she, she was right” she cries.
“What do you mean she was right?” I question.
I look at my wife, confused. Searching her eyes for an answer, racking my brain to come up with my understanding of her words.
“I was born with a blank manual,” she answers.
I stare at her. I feel my mouth getting dry. I begin to speak but she stops me.
“I knew there was a chance, I was just praying that it didn’t happen again. The responsibility of choosing ones own destiny is extremely difficult, and I’d never wish that upon anyone, but he’s here now…and we can’t change it. We have to love him and move on.”
I’d never even heard of the possibility of being born without a manual, other than what was in history books, and those were always only mythical stories to me. A manual is an important part of ones life. My parents drilled that into me growing up. And now here I was before my wife and new son, two people whom I loved more than myself, and they lacked what I thought to be of such importance.
“You’re right baby, we can do this, and he’ll be as lovable and likable as his mother, we can just recycle that manual, it’s useless anyways”
|
|
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | I was called into the office, and faced a stern principle. They handed me the test for graduation. All the red ticks on the answer sheet indicated wrong answers, and the entire sheet practically was red in my eyes. I had failed, he said.
"Do you have an excuse, Peterson?" he asked softly.
I scratched my head nervously. I knew the answers. I was filling in the answers correctly. There was no possible way to fail unless I..
I did. Oh god fuck me I did.
"I missed a question and filled in the test wrong, sir." I stammered.
The principal narrowed his eyes, and took my sheet to compare with another sheet. Sure as day, he noticed that I had accidentally skipped over question #11, and if I had pushed all my answers a question down, I would have gotten a near-perfect score.
Fucking scantrons. | "I remember when I was first given this test. It seemed like a joke. I was going to intentionally do bad on it. But then I remembered why it needed to be done. This test determines your future. It tells you what you are good at, and what you want to be. From there, the government helps the students go into the career it chooses. But that doesn't mean you have to go that way. It's harder, yes. But you can do whatever you want to do." The principal looked back at me. He had been pacing through his speech for the whole past ten minutes. I leaned forward.
"You done, sir?" He moved over to my side of his desk and pointed at the test.
"You must take this seriously. Now, we've had students like you before, and with a little encouragement, we've managed to get them to pass the test. However, if I process this now, you will fail. Is that what you want?" I looked down at the test. The only writing on the test was my name. The rest of the document was blank apart from the questions.
"What if my answer was yes?" The principal stood up and walked back to his chair.
"If that is the case, you will need to be eliminated." I stood up quite quickly, knocking the chair to the ground.
"Excuse me?"
"There is a hidden law that only High Education officials are to know. Anyone that fails the test is to be eliminated. It's harsh, I know. But then again, we haven't had to do this in over a century." I started backing away towards the exit. "Of course, if you wish to try the test again, now is your chance." I didn't want to die, but something in the back of my mind was telling me I shouldn't do the test.
"I'm sorry, but I can't." The principal stood. He pushed a button on his desk and I could hear the lock move in the door behind me.
"That's what I thought. You want to know a secret about this test? There's actually a secret code in the questions. It makes certain people not want to touch it. Certain people, like you. Humans. This world is no longer yours. You may have been able to hide your humanity, but we always find your kind." The principal moved towards me till we were face to face. "Sorry, kiddo. This is our world now." |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | Another year, another test. Only this time was different. This was the first time the test was being verified.
The Major General stood behind the wall-screen. Through the innumerable pixels, he had an unobstructed view of the testing room. 30 students sat in 30 desks. Well, actually 32 desks, since someone had ordered more than necessary. But whatever, the number of desks was unimportant.
He considered pacing. He nearly fidgeted. But he had learned to control his habits and nervous actions long ago. Instead he stood at attention in a room full of scientists and technology, recording everything. He kept a close eye on a particular student.
* * *
I'd never heard of the test being redone. I didn't believe the teacher or the administrators. No one had cheated. Everyone passed this test; everyone knew it was so ridiculously easy to pass that they'd never even consider cheating.
I stopped letting myself get distracted and continued. The questions were different, and they were harder. Not particularly difficult still - the answers came into my mind almost unbidden it seemed. And honestly, I'm not sure where I even heard these things before. But it must be common knowledge that the United Defense Force had a Special Projects division (current leader: Major General Rockwell, secret ballet enthusiast with his wife, and connoisseur of Italian food). It seemed equally obvious that they were in charge of the test.
Each question was obvious like that one. His classmate's mother was of course a widow who lost her husband in a terrible accident. His best friend's sister naturally had six toes at birth but had lost it some years later. Mr. Shan was clearly from the Philippines but lied on his immigration papers when we were at war with them over their independence. These seemed like much more esoteric questions about these people than last time.
I filled in the bubbles on the old fashioned test. A. C. F. G. A. B. D. And so it went. I wondered in passing why we weren't using electronic tabulators this time. They wanted to make sure we weren't accessing the Net.
The last few questions were a bit weird, but they must have told me the answer before coming in the door. I tended to ignore what people were saying, but that never stopped me from remembering. So I filled in B. There were 7 scientists next door. And for the last question, D. Two were named Fred Hill, though not related.
I finished nearly about the same time as everyone else. I stood up, walked to the teacher's desk, and handed him my test.
He was running everyone's papers through the scanner. He ran them all but mine. All green lights from the device. He stood up and announced, "Okay, you may all leave. Except for Robert here." The other students stood up and made their way out, a few jokes at my expense being tossed my way.
I knew he hadn't run mine yet, and I wondered why. Clearly they knew I had failed the test with the others. Wait, what? I failed? I knew I got every answer correct. And the teacher knew it too. The other students had all randomly chosen answers because they didn't have any way to know the right ones.
I suddenly realized I was not supposed to get any of those questions correct. | "I remember when I was first given this test. It seemed like a joke. I was going to intentionally do bad on it. But then I remembered why it needed to be done. This test determines your future. It tells you what you are good at, and what you want to be. From there, the government helps the students go into the career it chooses. But that doesn't mean you have to go that way. It's harder, yes. But you can do whatever you want to do." The principal looked back at me. He had been pacing through his speech for the whole past ten minutes. I leaned forward.
"You done, sir?" He moved over to my side of his desk and pointed at the test.
"You must take this seriously. Now, we've had students like you before, and with a little encouragement, we've managed to get them to pass the test. However, if I process this now, you will fail. Is that what you want?" I looked down at the test. The only writing on the test was my name. The rest of the document was blank apart from the questions.
"What if my answer was yes?" The principal stood up and walked back to his chair.
"If that is the case, you will need to be eliminated." I stood up quite quickly, knocking the chair to the ground.
"Excuse me?"
"There is a hidden law that only High Education officials are to know. Anyone that fails the test is to be eliminated. It's harsh, I know. But then again, we haven't had to do this in over a century." I started backing away towards the exit. "Of course, if you wish to try the test again, now is your chance." I didn't want to die, but something in the back of my mind was telling me I shouldn't do the test.
"I'm sorry, but I can't." The principal stood. He pushed a button on his desk and I could hear the lock move in the door behind me.
"That's what I thought. You want to know a secret about this test? There's actually a secret code in the questions. It makes certain people not want to touch it. Certain people, like you. Humans. This world is no longer yours. You may have been able to hide your humanity, but we always find your kind." The principal moved towards me till we were face to face. "Sorry, kiddo. This is our world now." |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | I sit nervously in the waiting room look around me rubbing my arm. It's still a little sore from the test yesterday. I know there wasn't much to it, but it's still affecting me. The school secretary is hitting away at the keys of her computer, glancing over at me every so often. Honestly, she doesn't look a day over thirty, so I'm stealing glances at her when she isn't looking. The door to the principal's office suddenly opens startling me.
"I don't want to hear about why you started a fight with your teacher, just go back to class and apologize." The principal said to the underclassman being ushered out the door. "Ah." The principal exclaimed, looking at me, "Mr. Sanders, please come in." I noticed that the secretary whispered something to the principal as I made my way to his door. Stealing one last glance at the secretary, I noticed the plaque on her desk read *Beth Roberts*. She saw me staring and smiled.
"Close the door behind you, will you Eric?" The principal said to me, sitting at his desk. I closed the door and took a seat on the other side of the desk at his request. "Now, do you know why you are here today?" He gave me a quizzical look. Much like the secretary, the principal was actually a fairly young looking man, probably in his thirties. He didn't give off an angry or intimidating demeanor so I couldn't understand why I was there. During the summer no less. "No, I didn't even realize you could get me after graduation." I said without thinking.
The principal just laughed at me, not realizing I wasn't making a joke. "Well, I'll tell you why you're here." He said, his voice becoming more playful. "Your classmates are dead."
It took me a second to realize what he said. "What are you talking about?"
"Your classmates are dead and you are the only one left alive. That is why you're here." He said smiling.
"Principal Morty." I began, "I don't-"
"Please call me Daniel." He said cutting me off.
"I don't understand... They died? All of them? How?"
"Well... Yes, they died. Yes, all of them. We killed them. By we I mean the administrators."
"Administrators? Of what?"
"The test Eric, the test that was administered. You know, the one making you rub your arm. That test!" He exclaimed jovially.
"What the fuck!" I yelled, standing up from my seat quickly. "What the hell was that test! It killed all of my classmates? All of my friends? Why would there be such a test?"
"It's a mortality test, and you failed. All of your friends however, passed. You are the first one in a very, very long time to fail. I welcome you to the club." Daniel stood up and opened his arms as if he were going to embrace me.
"Put your arms down! What is this mortality test?" I yelled, more enraged at how lightly he took my classmates' deaths than the deaths themselves.
"Alright, I will tell you everything." Daniel sat down and gestured me to do the same. I reluctantly did so. "Good, now let me explain. You see, the mortality test was implemented thousands of years ago to test for immortals. The most recent before you being Miss Elizabeth Roberts. You know her as the attractive secretary outside of my office. You are living in a world filled with immortals. Everyone younger than you will most likely be dead by the time they finish graduating high school. Of course, it'll be a week after the test is administered. However, once every couple of hundred years, an immortal will be born. The immortal will not be affected by the test and at the most," he said gesturing at my arm, "your arm will get a little sore. Any questions?"
I sat there in awe at all the information given to me before saying, "What the fuck! How can you do this to people?"
"They were weak Eric, simple evolutionary failures. We immortals however, you, me, Miss Roberts, your parents, all of the adults you know, we are the elite beings in the universe. All of them approve of this." The principal said calmly, as if he had been through this hundreds of times before. "It's shocking at first, but before long all of your friends will be nothing but a minor part in your infinite life. You will get used to it, I promise" He smiled again.
"But what about their parents? Won't they be upset their kids are dead?" I asked feeling my resistance getting weaker.
"They have had hundreds of kids who have gone through the same deal. They grow up to become seniors in high school, die, and repeat. Over and over again. Any final questions?" He asked.
"Just one more." I asked, feeling the aggression leave my body, "Why do you call it a mortality test and not an immortality test?"
"That's because if we called it an immortality test, then most people would fail. They probably wouldn't want the last thing they know before they die be that they failed. So we tell them they pass and all immortals fail. Thus, the reasoning for the name!" He said with enthusiasm.
I got up to leave when he called out one last time. "Ah yes, Eric, I have one last thing for you." I turned around to see his hand moving under his desk. The sound of paper shuffling came out. He lifted his hand to reveal a rolled up piece of paper. Extending his arm out and smiling he said, "Congratulations on graduating, you have your whole life ahead of you." | "I remember when I was first given this test. It seemed like a joke. I was going to intentionally do bad on it. But then I remembered why it needed to be done. This test determines your future. It tells you what you are good at, and what you want to be. From there, the government helps the students go into the career it chooses. But that doesn't mean you have to go that way. It's harder, yes. But you can do whatever you want to do." The principal looked back at me. He had been pacing through his speech for the whole past ten minutes. I leaned forward.
"You done, sir?" He moved over to my side of his desk and pointed at the test.
"You must take this seriously. Now, we've had students like you before, and with a little encouragement, we've managed to get them to pass the test. However, if I process this now, you will fail. Is that what you want?" I looked down at the test. The only writing on the test was my name. The rest of the document was blank apart from the questions.
"What if my answer was yes?" The principal stood up and walked back to his chair.
"If that is the case, you will need to be eliminated." I stood up quite quickly, knocking the chair to the ground.
"Excuse me?"
"There is a hidden law that only High Education officials are to know. Anyone that fails the test is to be eliminated. It's harsh, I know. But then again, we haven't had to do this in over a century." I started backing away towards the exit. "Of course, if you wish to try the test again, now is your chance." I didn't want to die, but something in the back of my mind was telling me I shouldn't do the test.
"I'm sorry, but I can't." The principal stood. He pushed a button on his desk and I could hear the lock move in the door behind me.
"That's what I thought. You want to know a secret about this test? There's actually a secret code in the questions. It makes certain people not want to touch it. Certain people, like you. Humans. This world is no longer yours. You may have been able to hide your humanity, but we always find your kind." The principal moved towards me till we were face to face. "Sorry, kiddo. This is our world now." |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | Another year, another test. Only this time was different. This was the first time the test was being verified.
The Major General stood behind the wall-screen. Through the innumerable pixels, he had an unobstructed view of the testing room. 30 students sat in 30 desks. Well, actually 32 desks, since someone had ordered more than necessary. But whatever, the number of desks was unimportant.
He considered pacing. He nearly fidgeted. But he had learned to control his habits and nervous actions long ago. Instead he stood at attention in a room full of scientists and technology, recording everything. He kept a close eye on a particular student.
* * *
I'd never heard of the test being redone. I didn't believe the teacher or the administrators. No one had cheated. Everyone passed this test; everyone knew it was so ridiculously easy to pass that they'd never even consider cheating.
I stopped letting myself get distracted and continued. The questions were different, and they were harder. Not particularly difficult still - the answers came into my mind almost unbidden it seemed. And honestly, I'm not sure where I even heard these things before. But it must be common knowledge that the United Defense Force had a Special Projects division (current leader: Major General Rockwell, secret ballet enthusiast with his wife, and connoisseur of Italian food). It seemed equally obvious that they were in charge of the test.
Each question was obvious like that one. His classmate's mother was of course a widow who lost her husband in a terrible accident. His best friend's sister naturally had six toes at birth but had lost it some years later. Mr. Shan was clearly from the Philippines but lied on his immigration papers when we were at war with them over their independence. These seemed like much more esoteric questions about these people than last time.
I filled in the bubbles on the old fashioned test. A. C. F. G. A. B. D. And so it went. I wondered in passing why we weren't using electronic tabulators this time. They wanted to make sure we weren't accessing the Net.
The last few questions were a bit weird, but they must have told me the answer before coming in the door. I tended to ignore what people were saying, but that never stopped me from remembering. So I filled in B. There were 7 scientists next door. And for the last question, D. Two were named Fred Hill, though not related.
I finished nearly about the same time as everyone else. I stood up, walked to the teacher's desk, and handed him my test.
He was running everyone's papers through the scanner. He ran them all but mine. All green lights from the device. He stood up and announced, "Okay, you may all leave. Except for Robert here." The other students stood up and made their way out, a few jokes at my expense being tossed my way.
I knew he hadn't run mine yet, and I wondered why. Clearly they knew I had failed the test with the others. Wait, what? I failed? I knew I got every answer correct. And the teacher knew it too. The other students had all randomly chosen answers because they didn't have any way to know the right ones.
I suddenly realized I was not supposed to get any of those questions correct. | "Principal Riley?" you ask shyly as your head peeks through the door. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, come in. Have a seat."
You enter the principal's office. Walking to the chair you notice everything that surrounds you. All the plaques that scatter the wall, degrees, trophies, hunting souvenirs...
You were already intimidated by being called to the principal, but now, after seeing everything that seemingly makes who this principal actually *is*, fear starts to take hold. Principal Riley seems to be a person that doesn't mess around; if he wants something, he acquires it. He's the third smartest person in the state. Not just book smarts, but streets smarts as well. A tough ol' bastard, he served in the military for ten years before settling down in education.
'I'm so screwed', you think to yourself as you ease into the big, soft, yet uncomfortable, chair. 'Is it really all that serious?'
"We try to make things simple." Principal Riley said. "We have always wanted our students to be the best and the brightest. For a little over a hundred years, we have never had a problem. Unfortunately, now, we do. It is indeed a small problem, but a problem nonetheless."
"Principal Riley!" you begin, "I don't understand why I'm here!" You quickly realize that you might've made a mistake. Speaking to your elders isn't exactly punishable, but is looked down upon. Your fear diminishes for a second, comes back, but you quickly regain your confidence.
"I know that the test is made especially easy. I know it's more or less something the school has to do to get approval ratings from the Board. It can be seen as a laughable after-thought and dismissed just as quickly. But why? Why am I being reprimanded for doing something that isn't really wrong? I know I got all the answers right. A baby could do it. I mean, take question number one: 'What color is an apple?' I mean, come on! The test was ridiculously easy! What have I done?"
He let's you finish your rant. He takes in everything you had just said and swirls it around in his head. He reaches in his desk and takes out a paper and places it in front of you. You see that it is your test, the test you took two days ago. The only difference is there's a huge red **FAIL** stamped across it. The principal points his finger down to the upper right hand corner of the test.
"If it was so easy, why didn't you write the date?" |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | The last week of the first half of my senior year of high school is devoid of anything even remotely educational. All that we discuss, all that we do, all that anyone even has time for, are the OCATs. 'O' for 'omni', like a bad science fiction story. 'C' for 'career', 'A' for 'aptitude', and 'T' for 'the rest of your life', er, I mean 'test'. Everyone places a huge importance on it, because it determines where you fit in after high school--whether you get shipped off to medical school to become a doctor, or enlisted straight into the military, or whisked in front of a computer, or sentenced to become a trophy wife, barbie doll stripper, stewardess... Ugh.
Sure, I studied. I admit to that. Everyone studies for the OCATs. And now the principal's called me into the office to explain to me just how bad I did, that I somehow managed to bomb the OCATs, apparently to become the first person to do so in something like 100 years.
Go me.
I stroll through the lobby. The secretary is at her desk clacking away. She looks up at me then back at her monitor, breaking her typing stride for just a moment. There's a man sitting in a chair waiting, holding a suitcase in his lap, wearing a suit and a nervous expression. I go into the principal's office and close the door.
"Kendall..." the principal begins. She holds up an envelope. "I have your OCAT results here, and, well..."
"I failed," I say. I like being blunt.
"Well..."
"That's why the other students get theirs in their classroom, and I get to come down here to talk about it." I cross my arms.
She forces a smile. "You know how important the OCAT is for your future. You have your whole career ahead of you. I can hardly imagine a smart girl like you doing so poorly, on all metrics." She hands me the envelope. It's still sealed; the school has the results on the computer, of course. I open it and scan down the page. I got the minimum possible score on six sections, 2 points in three others. A statistical unlikelihood. And I'd left the essay blank. It would have made the test harder to bomb as a whole had I answered it at all, but leaving it blank made it rather obvious what I'd been trying to do.
The principal speaks as I read. "Kendall, the Oxcar admins--" [Oxcar, the company that produced the OCAT] "--came to the same conclusion we did. You intentionally failed. Not cheated, but intentionally failed." She clasps her hands together and shifts in her seat, leaning toward me. "They told me there's only one thing they can do now, and they've sent Mr. Riley here today to explain that to you." She pauses. "I'm going to bring him in now, if that's okay."
She walks around the desk, opens the door, and invites the nervous man inside. He steps inside, murmurs a greeting, gives a weak handshake, and sets his briefcase on her desk. "Thank you, Mrs. Lu. I'm afraid this needs to be a private conversation between me and Ms. Roulska." The principal nods and escapes the office.
The Oxcar rep smiles at me again and half-sits on the edge of the desk. "My name is Jed. May I call you Kendall?"
I shrug. "Sure, why not. So what's going to happen to me?"
"Ah," he says, scratching his head. "You want the short version. Well, the short of it is that we have to test you again. We usually reserve re-testing for students with abnormal results, that is, where the aptitude measurements disagree with each other, or for the students who did so well in all sectors we have to give them a more precisely calibrated test."
I groan and put my face in my hands. "You mean I have to sit through that thing again? It was murder the first time!" Three 3-hour sessions, with only minor breaks in between.
Jed laughs. "No, no, Kendall, nothing like that. For one, it's a take-home test instead of tightly proctored." He opens his suitcase and pulls out a large manila envelope, handing it to me. "This is one of the tests we might give to the more talented students; I have to ask you not to talk about it. Work on it over the weekend--over winter break if you need more time--and I'll pick it up whenever you're finished."
"Yeah, okay." I flip it over, glance at the instructions for printing my name, sealing the envelope, all the good stuff. It was the same kind of envelope we used during the actual OCATs. Jed's name and ID number were printed as the proctor.
"For another," Jed says, "it's really short."
I pull out the one sheet of paper inside. It is blank aside from a single line near the top, a simple open-ended question: "What do you want to be?" | "Principal Riley?" you ask shyly as your head peeks through the door. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, come in. Have a seat."
You enter the principal's office. Walking to the chair you notice everything that surrounds you. All the plaques that scatter the wall, degrees, trophies, hunting souvenirs...
You were already intimidated by being called to the principal, but now, after seeing everything that seemingly makes who this principal actually *is*, fear starts to take hold. Principal Riley seems to be a person that doesn't mess around; if he wants something, he acquires it. He's the third smartest person in the state. Not just book smarts, but streets smarts as well. A tough ol' bastard, he served in the military for ten years before settling down in education.
'I'm so screwed', you think to yourself as you ease into the big, soft, yet uncomfortable, chair. 'Is it really all that serious?'
"We try to make things simple." Principal Riley said. "We have always wanted our students to be the best and the brightest. For a little over a hundred years, we have never had a problem. Unfortunately, now, we do. It is indeed a small problem, but a problem nonetheless."
"Principal Riley!" you begin, "I don't understand why I'm here!" You quickly realize that you might've made a mistake. Speaking to your elders isn't exactly punishable, but is looked down upon. Your fear diminishes for a second, comes back, but you quickly regain your confidence.
"I know that the test is made especially easy. I know it's more or less something the school has to do to get approval ratings from the Board. It can be seen as a laughable after-thought and dismissed just as quickly. But why? Why am I being reprimanded for doing something that isn't really wrong? I know I got all the answers right. A baby could do it. I mean, take question number one: 'What color is an apple?' I mean, come on! The test was ridiculously easy! What have I done?"
He let's you finish your rant. He takes in everything you had just said and swirls it around in his head. He reaches in his desk and takes out a paper and places it in front of you. You see that it is your test, the test you took two days ago. The only difference is there's a huge red **FAIL** stamped across it. The principal points his finger down to the upper right hand corner of the test.
"If it was so easy, why didn't you write the date?" |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | I sit nervously in the waiting room look around me rubbing my arm. It's still a little sore from the test yesterday. I know there wasn't much to it, but it's still affecting me. The school secretary is hitting away at the keys of her computer, glancing over at me every so often. Honestly, she doesn't look a day over thirty, so I'm stealing glances at her when she isn't looking. The door to the principal's office suddenly opens startling me.
"I don't want to hear about why you started a fight with your teacher, just go back to class and apologize." The principal said to the underclassman being ushered out the door. "Ah." The principal exclaimed, looking at me, "Mr. Sanders, please come in." I noticed that the secretary whispered something to the principal as I made my way to his door. Stealing one last glance at the secretary, I noticed the plaque on her desk read *Beth Roberts*. She saw me staring and smiled.
"Close the door behind you, will you Eric?" The principal said to me, sitting at his desk. I closed the door and took a seat on the other side of the desk at his request. "Now, do you know why you are here today?" He gave me a quizzical look. Much like the secretary, the principal was actually a fairly young looking man, probably in his thirties. He didn't give off an angry or intimidating demeanor so I couldn't understand why I was there. During the summer no less. "No, I didn't even realize you could get me after graduation." I said without thinking.
The principal just laughed at me, not realizing I wasn't making a joke. "Well, I'll tell you why you're here." He said, his voice becoming more playful. "Your classmates are dead."
It took me a second to realize what he said. "What are you talking about?"
"Your classmates are dead and you are the only one left alive. That is why you're here." He said smiling.
"Principal Morty." I began, "I don't-"
"Please call me Daniel." He said cutting me off.
"I don't understand... They died? All of them? How?"
"Well... Yes, they died. Yes, all of them. We killed them. By we I mean the administrators."
"Administrators? Of what?"
"The test Eric, the test that was administered. You know, the one making you rub your arm. That test!" He exclaimed jovially.
"What the fuck!" I yelled, standing up from my seat quickly. "What the hell was that test! It killed all of my classmates? All of my friends? Why would there be such a test?"
"It's a mortality test, and you failed. All of your friends however, passed. You are the first one in a very, very long time to fail. I welcome you to the club." Daniel stood up and opened his arms as if he were going to embrace me.
"Put your arms down! What is this mortality test?" I yelled, more enraged at how lightly he took my classmates' deaths than the deaths themselves.
"Alright, I will tell you everything." Daniel sat down and gestured me to do the same. I reluctantly did so. "Good, now let me explain. You see, the mortality test was implemented thousands of years ago to test for immortals. The most recent before you being Miss Elizabeth Roberts. You know her as the attractive secretary outside of my office. You are living in a world filled with immortals. Everyone younger than you will most likely be dead by the time they finish graduating high school. Of course, it'll be a week after the test is administered. However, once every couple of hundred years, an immortal will be born. The immortal will not be affected by the test and at the most," he said gesturing at my arm, "your arm will get a little sore. Any questions?"
I sat there in awe at all the information given to me before saying, "What the fuck! How can you do this to people?"
"They were weak Eric, simple evolutionary failures. We immortals however, you, me, Miss Roberts, your parents, all of the adults you know, we are the elite beings in the universe. All of them approve of this." The principal said calmly, as if he had been through this hundreds of times before. "It's shocking at first, but before long all of your friends will be nothing but a minor part in your infinite life. You will get used to it, I promise" He smiled again.
"But what about their parents? Won't they be upset their kids are dead?" I asked feeling my resistance getting weaker.
"They have had hundreds of kids who have gone through the same deal. They grow up to become seniors in high school, die, and repeat. Over and over again. Any final questions?" He asked.
"Just one more." I asked, feeling the aggression leave my body, "Why do you call it a mortality test and not an immortality test?"
"That's because if we called it an immortality test, then most people would fail. They probably wouldn't want the last thing they know before they die be that they failed. So we tell them they pass and all immortals fail. Thus, the reasoning for the name!" He said with enthusiasm.
I got up to leave when he called out one last time. "Ah yes, Eric, I have one last thing for you." I turned around to see his hand moving under his desk. The sound of paper shuffling came out. He lifted his hand to reveal a rolled up piece of paper. Extending his arm out and smiling he said, "Congratulations on graduating, you have your whole life ahead of you." | "Principal Riley?" you ask shyly as your head peeks through the door. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, come in. Have a seat."
You enter the principal's office. Walking to the chair you notice everything that surrounds you. All the plaques that scatter the wall, degrees, trophies, hunting souvenirs...
You were already intimidated by being called to the principal, but now, after seeing everything that seemingly makes who this principal actually *is*, fear starts to take hold. Principal Riley seems to be a person that doesn't mess around; if he wants something, he acquires it. He's the third smartest person in the state. Not just book smarts, but streets smarts as well. A tough ol' bastard, he served in the military for ten years before settling down in education.
'I'm so screwed', you think to yourself as you ease into the big, soft, yet uncomfortable, chair. 'Is it really all that serious?'
"We try to make things simple." Principal Riley said. "We have always wanted our students to be the best and the brightest. For a little over a hundred years, we have never had a problem. Unfortunately, now, we do. It is indeed a small problem, but a problem nonetheless."
"Principal Riley!" you begin, "I don't understand why I'm here!" You quickly realize that you might've made a mistake. Speaking to your elders isn't exactly punishable, but is looked down upon. Your fear diminishes for a second, comes back, but you quickly regain your confidence.
"I know that the test is made especially easy. I know it's more or less something the school has to do to get approval ratings from the Board. It can be seen as a laughable after-thought and dismissed just as quickly. But why? Why am I being reprimanded for doing something that isn't really wrong? I know I got all the answers right. A baby could do it. I mean, take question number one: 'What color is an apple?' I mean, come on! The test was ridiculously easy! What have I done?"
He let's you finish your rant. He takes in everything you had just said and swirls it around in his head. He reaches in his desk and takes out a paper and places it in front of you. You see that it is your test, the test you took two days ago. The only difference is there's a huge red **FAIL** stamped across it. The principal points his finger down to the upper right hand corner of the test.
"If it was so easy, why didn't you write the date?" |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | I sit nervously in the waiting room look around me rubbing my arm. It's still a little sore from the test yesterday. I know there wasn't much to it, but it's still affecting me. The school secretary is hitting away at the keys of her computer, glancing over at me every so often. Honestly, she doesn't look a day over thirty, so I'm stealing glances at her when she isn't looking. The door to the principal's office suddenly opens startling me.
"I don't want to hear about why you started a fight with your teacher, just go back to class and apologize." The principal said to the underclassman being ushered out the door. "Ah." The principal exclaimed, looking at me, "Mr. Sanders, please come in." I noticed that the secretary whispered something to the principal as I made my way to his door. Stealing one last glance at the secretary, I noticed the plaque on her desk read *Beth Roberts*. She saw me staring and smiled.
"Close the door behind you, will you Eric?" The principal said to me, sitting at his desk. I closed the door and took a seat on the other side of the desk at his request. "Now, do you know why you are here today?" He gave me a quizzical look. Much like the secretary, the principal was actually a fairly young looking man, probably in his thirties. He didn't give off an angry or intimidating demeanor so I couldn't understand why I was there. During the summer no less. "No, I didn't even realize you could get me after graduation." I said without thinking.
The principal just laughed at me, not realizing I wasn't making a joke. "Well, I'll tell you why you're here." He said, his voice becoming more playful. "Your classmates are dead."
It took me a second to realize what he said. "What are you talking about?"
"Your classmates are dead and you are the only one left alive. That is why you're here." He said smiling.
"Principal Morty." I began, "I don't-"
"Please call me Daniel." He said cutting me off.
"I don't understand... They died? All of them? How?"
"Well... Yes, they died. Yes, all of them. We killed them. By we I mean the administrators."
"Administrators? Of what?"
"The test Eric, the test that was administered. You know, the one making you rub your arm. That test!" He exclaimed jovially.
"What the fuck!" I yelled, standing up from my seat quickly. "What the hell was that test! It killed all of my classmates? All of my friends? Why would there be such a test?"
"It's a mortality test, and you failed. All of your friends however, passed. You are the first one in a very, very long time to fail. I welcome you to the club." Daniel stood up and opened his arms as if he were going to embrace me.
"Put your arms down! What is this mortality test?" I yelled, more enraged at how lightly he took my classmates' deaths than the deaths themselves.
"Alright, I will tell you everything." Daniel sat down and gestured me to do the same. I reluctantly did so. "Good, now let me explain. You see, the mortality test was implemented thousands of years ago to test for immortals. The most recent before you being Miss Elizabeth Roberts. You know her as the attractive secretary outside of my office. You are living in a world filled with immortals. Everyone younger than you will most likely be dead by the time they finish graduating high school. Of course, it'll be a week after the test is administered. However, once every couple of hundred years, an immortal will be born. The immortal will not be affected by the test and at the most," he said gesturing at my arm, "your arm will get a little sore. Any questions?"
I sat there in awe at all the information given to me before saying, "What the fuck! How can you do this to people?"
"They were weak Eric, simple evolutionary failures. We immortals however, you, me, Miss Roberts, your parents, all of the adults you know, we are the elite beings in the universe. All of them approve of this." The principal said calmly, as if he had been through this hundreds of times before. "It's shocking at first, but before long all of your friends will be nothing but a minor part in your infinite life. You will get used to it, I promise" He smiled again.
"But what about their parents? Won't they be upset their kids are dead?" I asked feeling my resistance getting weaker.
"They have had hundreds of kids who have gone through the same deal. They grow up to become seniors in high school, die, and repeat. Over and over again. Any final questions?" He asked.
"Just one more." I asked, feeling the aggression leave my body, "Why do you call it a mortality test and not an immortality test?"
"That's because if we called it an immortality test, then most people would fail. They probably wouldn't want the last thing they know before they die be that they failed. So we tell them they pass and all immortals fail. Thus, the reasoning for the name!" He said with enthusiasm.
I got up to leave when he called out one last time. "Ah yes, Eric, I have one last thing for you." I turned around to see his hand moving under his desk. The sound of paper shuffling came out. He lifted his hand to reveal a rolled up piece of paper. Extending his arm out and smiling he said, "Congratulations on graduating, you have your whole life ahead of you." | Another year, another test. Only this time was different. This was the first time the test was being verified.
The Major General stood behind the wall-screen. Through the innumerable pixels, he had an unobstructed view of the testing room. 30 students sat in 30 desks. Well, actually 32 desks, since someone had ordered more than necessary. But whatever, the number of desks was unimportant.
He considered pacing. He nearly fidgeted. But he had learned to control his habits and nervous actions long ago. Instead he stood at attention in a room full of scientists and technology, recording everything. He kept a close eye on a particular student.
* * *
I'd never heard of the test being redone. I didn't believe the teacher or the administrators. No one had cheated. Everyone passed this test; everyone knew it was so ridiculously easy to pass that they'd never even consider cheating.
I stopped letting myself get distracted and continued. The questions were different, and they were harder. Not particularly difficult still - the answers came into my mind almost unbidden it seemed. And honestly, I'm not sure where I even heard these things before. But it must be common knowledge that the United Defense Force had a Special Projects division (current leader: Major General Rockwell, secret ballet enthusiast with his wife, and connoisseur of Italian food). It seemed equally obvious that they were in charge of the test.
Each question was obvious like that one. His classmate's mother was of course a widow who lost her husband in a terrible accident. His best friend's sister naturally had six toes at birth but had lost it some years later. Mr. Shan was clearly from the Philippines but lied on his immigration papers when we were at war with them over their independence. These seemed like much more esoteric questions about these people than last time.
I filled in the bubbles on the old fashioned test. A. C. F. G. A. B. D. And so it went. I wondered in passing why we weren't using electronic tabulators this time. They wanted to make sure we weren't accessing the Net.
The last few questions were a bit weird, but they must have told me the answer before coming in the door. I tended to ignore what people were saying, but that never stopped me from remembering. So I filled in B. There were 7 scientists next door. And for the last question, D. Two were named Fred Hill, though not related.
I finished nearly about the same time as everyone else. I stood up, walked to the teacher's desk, and handed him my test.
He was running everyone's papers through the scanner. He ran them all but mine. All green lights from the device. He stood up and announced, "Okay, you may all leave. Except for Robert here." The other students stood up and made their way out, a few jokes at my expense being tossed my way.
I knew he hadn't run mine yet, and I wondered why. Clearly they knew I had failed the test with the others. Wait, what? I failed? I knew I got every answer correct. And the teacher knew it too. The other students had all randomly chosen answers because they didn't have any way to know the right ones.
I suddenly realized I was not supposed to get any of those questions correct. |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | I sit nervously in the waiting room look around me rubbing my arm. It's still a little sore from the test yesterday. I know there wasn't much to it, but it's still affecting me. The school secretary is hitting away at the keys of her computer, glancing over at me every so often. Honestly, she doesn't look a day over thirty, so I'm stealing glances at her when she isn't looking. The door to the principal's office suddenly opens startling me.
"I don't want to hear about why you started a fight with your teacher, just go back to class and apologize." The principal said to the underclassman being ushered out the door. "Ah." The principal exclaimed, looking at me, "Mr. Sanders, please come in." I noticed that the secretary whispered something to the principal as I made my way to his door. Stealing one last glance at the secretary, I noticed the plaque on her desk read *Beth Roberts*. She saw me staring and smiled.
"Close the door behind you, will you Eric?" The principal said to me, sitting at his desk. I closed the door and took a seat on the other side of the desk at his request. "Now, do you know why you are here today?" He gave me a quizzical look. Much like the secretary, the principal was actually a fairly young looking man, probably in his thirties. He didn't give off an angry or intimidating demeanor so I couldn't understand why I was there. During the summer no less. "No, I didn't even realize you could get me after graduation." I said without thinking.
The principal just laughed at me, not realizing I wasn't making a joke. "Well, I'll tell you why you're here." He said, his voice becoming more playful. "Your classmates are dead."
It took me a second to realize what he said. "What are you talking about?"
"Your classmates are dead and you are the only one left alive. That is why you're here." He said smiling.
"Principal Morty." I began, "I don't-"
"Please call me Daniel." He said cutting me off.
"I don't understand... They died? All of them? How?"
"Well... Yes, they died. Yes, all of them. We killed them. By we I mean the administrators."
"Administrators? Of what?"
"The test Eric, the test that was administered. You know, the one making you rub your arm. That test!" He exclaimed jovially.
"What the fuck!" I yelled, standing up from my seat quickly. "What the hell was that test! It killed all of my classmates? All of my friends? Why would there be such a test?"
"It's a mortality test, and you failed. All of your friends however, passed. You are the first one in a very, very long time to fail. I welcome you to the club." Daniel stood up and opened his arms as if he were going to embrace me.
"Put your arms down! What is this mortality test?" I yelled, more enraged at how lightly he took my classmates' deaths than the deaths themselves.
"Alright, I will tell you everything." Daniel sat down and gestured me to do the same. I reluctantly did so. "Good, now let me explain. You see, the mortality test was implemented thousands of years ago to test for immortals. The most recent before you being Miss Elizabeth Roberts. You know her as the attractive secretary outside of my office. You are living in a world filled with immortals. Everyone younger than you will most likely be dead by the time they finish graduating high school. Of course, it'll be a week after the test is administered. However, once every couple of hundred years, an immortal will be born. The immortal will not be affected by the test and at the most," he said gesturing at my arm, "your arm will get a little sore. Any questions?"
I sat there in awe at all the information given to me before saying, "What the fuck! How can you do this to people?"
"They were weak Eric, simple evolutionary failures. We immortals however, you, me, Miss Roberts, your parents, all of the adults you know, we are the elite beings in the universe. All of them approve of this." The principal said calmly, as if he had been through this hundreds of times before. "It's shocking at first, but before long all of your friends will be nothing but a minor part in your infinite life. You will get used to it, I promise" He smiled again.
"But what about their parents? Won't they be upset their kids are dead?" I asked feeling my resistance getting weaker.
"They have had hundreds of kids who have gone through the same deal. They grow up to become seniors in high school, die, and repeat. Over and over again. Any final questions?" He asked.
"Just one more." I asked, feeling the aggression leave my body, "Why do you call it a mortality test and not an immortality test?"
"That's because if we called it an immortality test, then most people would fail. They probably wouldn't want the last thing they know before they die be that they failed. So we tell them they pass and all immortals fail. Thus, the reasoning for the name!" He said with enthusiasm.
I got up to leave when he called out one last time. "Ah yes, Eric, I have one last thing for you." I turned around to see his hand moving under his desk. The sound of paper shuffling came out. He lifted his hand to reveal a rolled up piece of paper. Extending his arm out and smiling he said, "Congratulations on graduating, you have your whole life ahead of you." | The last week of the first half of my senior year of high school is devoid of anything even remotely educational. All that we discuss, all that we do, all that anyone even has time for, are the OCATs. 'O' for 'omni', like a bad science fiction story. 'C' for 'career', 'A' for 'aptitude', and 'T' for 'the rest of your life', er, I mean 'test'. Everyone places a huge importance on it, because it determines where you fit in after high school--whether you get shipped off to medical school to become a doctor, or enlisted straight into the military, or whisked in front of a computer, or sentenced to become a trophy wife, barbie doll stripper, stewardess... Ugh.
Sure, I studied. I admit to that. Everyone studies for the OCATs. And now the principal's called me into the office to explain to me just how bad I did, that I somehow managed to bomb the OCATs, apparently to become the first person to do so in something like 100 years.
Go me.
I stroll through the lobby. The secretary is at her desk clacking away. She looks up at me then back at her monitor, breaking her typing stride for just a moment. There's a man sitting in a chair waiting, holding a suitcase in his lap, wearing a suit and a nervous expression. I go into the principal's office and close the door.
"Kendall..." the principal begins. She holds up an envelope. "I have your OCAT results here, and, well..."
"I failed," I say. I like being blunt.
"Well..."
"That's why the other students get theirs in their classroom, and I get to come down here to talk about it." I cross my arms.
She forces a smile. "You know how important the OCAT is for your future. You have your whole career ahead of you. I can hardly imagine a smart girl like you doing so poorly, on all metrics." She hands me the envelope. It's still sealed; the school has the results on the computer, of course. I open it and scan down the page. I got the minimum possible score on six sections, 2 points in three others. A statistical unlikelihood. And I'd left the essay blank. It would have made the test harder to bomb as a whole had I answered it at all, but leaving it blank made it rather obvious what I'd been trying to do.
The principal speaks as I read. "Kendall, the Oxcar admins--" [Oxcar, the company that produced the OCAT] "--came to the same conclusion we did. You intentionally failed. Not cheated, but intentionally failed." She clasps her hands together and shifts in her seat, leaning toward me. "They told me there's only one thing they can do now, and they've sent Mr. Riley here today to explain that to you." She pauses. "I'm going to bring him in now, if that's okay."
She walks around the desk, opens the door, and invites the nervous man inside. He steps inside, murmurs a greeting, gives a weak handshake, and sets his briefcase on her desk. "Thank you, Mrs. Lu. I'm afraid this needs to be a private conversation between me and Ms. Roulska." The principal nods and escapes the office.
The Oxcar rep smiles at me again and half-sits on the edge of the desk. "My name is Jed. May I call you Kendall?"
I shrug. "Sure, why not. So what's going to happen to me?"
"Ah," he says, scratching his head. "You want the short version. Well, the short of it is that we have to test you again. We usually reserve re-testing for students with abnormal results, that is, where the aptitude measurements disagree with each other, or for the students who did so well in all sectors we have to give them a more precisely calibrated test."
I groan and put my face in my hands. "You mean I have to sit through that thing again? It was murder the first time!" Three 3-hour sessions, with only minor breaks in between.
Jed laughs. "No, no, Kendall, nothing like that. For one, it's a take-home test instead of tightly proctored." He opens his suitcase and pulls out a large manila envelope, handing it to me. "This is one of the tests we might give to the more talented students; I have to ask you not to talk about it. Work on it over the weekend--over winter break if you need more time--and I'll pick it up whenever you're finished."
"Yeah, okay." I flip it over, glance at the instructions for printing my name, sealing the envelope, all the good stuff. It was the same kind of envelope we used during the actual OCATs. Jed's name and ID number were printed as the proctor.
"For another," Jed says, "it's really short."
I pull out the one sheet of paper inside. It is blank aside from a single line near the top, a simple open-ended question: "What do you want to be?" |
Edit: It doesn't have to be 100 years if you don't want it to, just a really long time. | [WP] An examination given to all high school seniors is notorious for being incredibly easy. One day, after the examination, you are called to the principal's office. For the first time in 100 years someone failed. It's you. | I sit nervously in the waiting room look around me rubbing my arm. It's still a little sore from the test yesterday. I know there wasn't much to it, but it's still affecting me. The school secretary is hitting away at the keys of her computer, glancing over at me every so often. Honestly, she doesn't look a day over thirty, so I'm stealing glances at her when she isn't looking. The door to the principal's office suddenly opens startling me.
"I don't want to hear about why you started a fight with your teacher, just go back to class and apologize." The principal said to the underclassman being ushered out the door. "Ah." The principal exclaimed, looking at me, "Mr. Sanders, please come in." I noticed that the secretary whispered something to the principal as I made my way to his door. Stealing one last glance at the secretary, I noticed the plaque on her desk read *Beth Roberts*. She saw me staring and smiled.
"Close the door behind you, will you Eric?" The principal said to me, sitting at his desk. I closed the door and took a seat on the other side of the desk at his request. "Now, do you know why you are here today?" He gave me a quizzical look. Much like the secretary, the principal was actually a fairly young looking man, probably in his thirties. He didn't give off an angry or intimidating demeanor so I couldn't understand why I was there. During the summer no less. "No, I didn't even realize you could get me after graduation." I said without thinking.
The principal just laughed at me, not realizing I wasn't making a joke. "Well, I'll tell you why you're here." He said, his voice becoming more playful. "Your classmates are dead."
It took me a second to realize what he said. "What are you talking about?"
"Your classmates are dead and you are the only one left alive. That is why you're here." He said smiling.
"Principal Morty." I began, "I don't-"
"Please call me Daniel." He said cutting me off.
"I don't understand... They died? All of them? How?"
"Well... Yes, they died. Yes, all of them. We killed them. By we I mean the administrators."
"Administrators? Of what?"
"The test Eric, the test that was administered. You know, the one making you rub your arm. That test!" He exclaimed jovially.
"What the fuck!" I yelled, standing up from my seat quickly. "What the hell was that test! It killed all of my classmates? All of my friends? Why would there be such a test?"
"It's a mortality test, and you failed. All of your friends however, passed. You are the first one in a very, very long time to fail. I welcome you to the club." Daniel stood up and opened his arms as if he were going to embrace me.
"Put your arms down! What is this mortality test?" I yelled, more enraged at how lightly he took my classmates' deaths than the deaths themselves.
"Alright, I will tell you everything." Daniel sat down and gestured me to do the same. I reluctantly did so. "Good, now let me explain. You see, the mortality test was implemented thousands of years ago to test for immortals. The most recent before you being Miss Elizabeth Roberts. You know her as the attractive secretary outside of my office. You are living in a world filled with immortals. Everyone younger than you will most likely be dead by the time they finish graduating high school. Of course, it'll be a week after the test is administered. However, once every couple of hundred years, an immortal will be born. The immortal will not be affected by the test and at the most," he said gesturing at my arm, "your arm will get a little sore. Any questions?"
I sat there in awe at all the information given to me before saying, "What the fuck! How can you do this to people?"
"They were weak Eric, simple evolutionary failures. We immortals however, you, me, Miss Roberts, your parents, all of the adults you know, we are the elite beings in the universe. All of them approve of this." The principal said calmly, as if he had been through this hundreds of times before. "It's shocking at first, but before long all of your friends will be nothing but a minor part in your infinite life. You will get used to it, I promise" He smiled again.
"But what about their parents? Won't they be upset their kids are dead?" I asked feeling my resistance getting weaker.
"They have had hundreds of kids who have gone through the same deal. They grow up to become seniors in high school, die, and repeat. Over and over again. Any final questions?" He asked.
"Just one more." I asked, feeling the aggression leave my body, "Why do you call it a mortality test and not an immortality test?"
"That's because if we called it an immortality test, then most people would fail. They probably wouldn't want the last thing they know before they die be that they failed. So we tell them they pass and all immortals fail. Thus, the reasoning for the name!" He said with enthusiasm.
I got up to leave when he called out one last time. "Ah yes, Eric, I have one last thing for you." I turned around to see his hand moving under his desk. The sound of paper shuffling came out. He lifted his hand to reveal a rolled up piece of paper. Extending his arm out and smiling he said, "Congratulations on graduating, you have your whole life ahead of you." | "Todd Harriet, please come down to the principal's office immediately." I heard on the intercom during 3rd hour.
I looked around. I was normally relaxed 3rd hour, because math was my best subject. I got up out of my chair. No one seemed to care. Everyone was focused on today's worksheet, which I finished quickly. I just walked out the door. I looked behind me, no one cared that I left. I walked down the stairs and out to the courtyard toward the office. I walked past a few students, and they gave me very blank, icy stares. I was fairly popular, and my name was blasted over the intercom. I thought I was being commended for a good deed or something. I walked into the front office, and everyone was glaring at me. I sat down in the principal's office. He wasn't there but I assumed he went to grab something of importance. He came in the room with a blank expression and a vanilla folder.
"So, Todd. You know the test we took a week ago?" Principal Garret asked.
"Yeah, it was really easy." I answered.
"Well, as you know, to graduate and move on to university you have to at least pass on every subject on this test." He said.
"Yeah, what happened? Did I get an amazing grade on all of them?" I asked with a little grin on my face.
"Well, yes, but on the mathematics portion, you scored a 34 out of 100 possible points." He said.
"What? How is that possible? Math is my best subject." I said with a dropped jaw.
"Well, yes, I know. But here it is plain as day, that you failed the mathematics portion of this test." He said while pointing at the numbers.
"But... I... What does this mean?" I asked.
"This hasn't happened in 100 years. The rules explicitly state, you must be demoted to the lower class tier." He said.
"But my parents are of high class tier. If I go down to the lower tier, I lose everything. Even my right to call myself their son." I insisted.
"Well, there is nothing I can do. My hands are tied here Mr. Harriet." He responded.
"This can't happen Mr. Garret! I can't live with lower tier people!" I argued.
"Sorry, but you must be removed. Guards?" He said.
"NO! NO! NO!" I screamed.
*AH!*
I woke up suddenly. My heart was racing faster than a brand new sports car. I looked around myself, endless papers and books. I think I was studying for the test. I need to study now, don't want to be demoted. I grabbed my calculus book, not a single paged touched. I opened it and studied
Chapter 1 The Numbers and What They Mean. |
[WP] The year is 2456. A new dark age has emerged and people have no knowledge of past technologies, except for one man whose family has horded the secrets for centuries. | Henry was a simple man. He lived in a small village near the sea. The village was home to a bunch of other simple people, just like Henry. They did simple things like walk around, look for things to eat, sleep, and sometimes, make babies. That didn't happen very much though. People would try to make babies, but most of the time it didn't work. The legends say that his ancestors had caused this by using monstrous weapons of tremendous power that left the land and its inhabitants bitter and lifeless. Henry didn't know if that legend was true, but he also didn't care. Babies were too much work, ate too much food while being unable to look for their own. He was far more interested in the magician that lived in the strange cave north of the village.
The inhabitants of Henry's village thought the magician was an odd man, and some were even frightened of him. He would come into town wearing his strange set of clothes that consisted of a bizarre mask that concealed his face and a smooth and stretchy material that covered the rest of his body. He would wave around a small black rectangle as he walked into the town, paying close attention to a smaller glowing rectangle on its side. He would then begin to search around the village for small puddles of water and any plants that hadn't been eaten by the villagers or their meager livestock. He would take these materials and place them in bags unlike any Henry had ever seen before. They were small and clear, and seemed to wave in the breeze. After he collected his things, he would leave the village as mysteriously as he arrived.
Henry had an interesting arrangement with the magician. On rainy days, Henry would use a small bucket to collect the rain water. He would then carry the bucket of rain water to the strange cave where the magician lived. The cave was a gray dome in the middle of a field north of Henry's village. On one side of the dome was a big black door. Henry would go to that door with the bucket, and place the bucket on the ground. The magician would come out, pour the rain water into a cylinder while staring intently into a small rectangle mounted on his wrist. He would then give Henry his reward. Mysterious blocks that could be cut open and revealed to contain many different types of food. Most of these foods were completely foreign to Henry, but he always found the food to taste better than the snails and rodents he usually ate.
After the magician gave Henry his reward, he would return to his gray dome and close the big black door.
One day, when Henry was on his way to deliver some of the valuable rain water, he noticed that the door on the side of the gray dome was open. He looked around for any sign of the magician, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, Henry walked towards the opening in the gray dome, and eventually passed through. He found himself inside the magician's cave, but he quickly realized that this was not a cave at all. It was a room, just like the space inside of one of the bigger mud huts found in Henry's village. Unlike these huts however, this room had a hole in the ground. Upon inspecting the hole, Henry realized that he could climb down it. The hole was deeper than he expected but when he finally got to the bottom, he was instantly stunned by what he saw. He was standing in a cavern, but not like any cavern he'd ever seen before. The walls of the cavern were shiny and smooth. Henry realized this cavern was built, not formed. His mind struggled to comprehend the meaning of this even as his eyes continuously took in new wonders. On tables around the cavern were boxes that glowed and made humming noises. Henry stumbled backwards, knocking over a small box that was not glowing. When it hit the ground, sounds started coming out of it. Quickly Henry recognized the voice as the magician's. The voice inside the box spoke:
"Radiological Assessment #146097 - Results of rain water sample analysis conclude that ambient radiation levels in the atmosphere and water cycle are increasing, not decreasing. This is a devastating result. We all had hoped that radiation levels would begin to decline by now. It has been officially four-hundred years since Nuclear Event 2056 and the radiation levels seem to still be increasing, proving the situation to be far worse than we all had feared. - End Assessment"
The box stopped for a moment, emitted a noise, and the magician's voice again began speaking:
"Personal Log #10950 - Well, this is it. This is the end. After four-hundred years of constant monitoring by my ancestors and myself, it has become apparent that the Earth is dying. We killed it. Maybe it will recover in thousands of years, but humanity's time is over. We had our shot and we blew it. I'm going to leave. Take whatever I can carry and walk away from this place. Maybe the radiation will kill me, or maybe I'll find a new place to call home. Either way, my job here is clearly done."
Henry waited for the box to keep talking. He understood very little of what the box had said, only recognizing that the magician had decided to leave. This made Henry very sad, and he began sobbing. He sat on the floor of the strange cavern, letting the sadness echo throughout. After crying, Henry stood up and began walking back towards the hole he climbed down from. Before he began his climb however, he saw a note on the wall. Walking over to the note, he noticed it was attached to a small shiny stick. The note read:
"Henry, this is called a key. It will allow you to open and close the door to this place whenever you want. Good luck."
Below the writing was an arrow, pointing to the left. Henry turned his head and saw something amazing. A huge box, filled with more blocks than Henry could count, it must have been hundreds! He instantly knew what they were. He grabbed one and cut it open, inspecting the block for the delicious contents usually housed inside. He moaned with joy and gorged himself on several blocks before gathering his wits.
Ecstatic from his discovery and energized by the meal, Henry scampered back up through the hole and ran full speed towards his village. He could not wait to tell the village of the incredible gift the magician had left them.
| Sometimes all i can do is wonder why. I look around at the world our ancestors left us in despair and darkness, disease and death. No one knows how it all started. Why the world is this way. When I was a boy I didn't understand. I was full of hope, impetuous, and ignorant to the big picture. "But we can help everyone!" I screamed at my father. When I was 17 a neighbor girl, a year younger than me, broke her legs in a terrible fall. She was gorgeous, tall and thin with long, wavy auburn hair and almond-shaped eyes of the deepest blue you've ever seen. "The nanites can save her, father" I argued as her severe breaks became infected. She was dying and no one could help. No one but us. "It can't be done!" Father screamed at me. "I admire your compassion, Joban" he started, in a surprisingly calm voice, "It is a great quality. But it cannot lead you through life. Our family has guarded the knowledge and power of the Elder Race for hundreds of years." He was right, but I didn't want to hear it. "BUT I LOVE HER!!"
"ENOUGH"
I fell silent. Mother had nothing to contribute, she'd heard and made the argument before. As her father lay dying of pneumonia, she begged and pleaded. When her cousin's farm had succumbed to a swarm of vicuous insects and the entire family starved for weeks. She cried to her husband that he could help them. The cloning technologies could feed them all. But it could not happen. It would not happen. "I see the world in all of its ignorancr and pain" he told me on the eve of my 18th birthday, "and I hurt with it. As will you one day. Joban, our family was tasked with preserving our history, our legacy. Our greatest achievements and failures. All the knowledge and technology we protect could help the world. But it wouldn't. The Elder Race progressed too far too fast. Their society imploded. The system was reset. And here we are. Humanity is weak, my son. The world has forgotten what it once was for a reason. We must carry this terrible burden until society is ready. We are The Guardians, the last sentinels of all of humanity's knowledge. We must simply watch and wait". |
|
[WP] The year is 2456. A new dark age has emerged and people have no knowledge of past technologies, except for one man whose family has horded the secrets for centuries. | Henry was a simple man. He lived in a small village near the sea. The village was home to a bunch of other simple people, just like Henry. They did simple things like walk around, look for things to eat, sleep, and sometimes, make babies. That didn't happen very much though. People would try to make babies, but most of the time it didn't work. The legends say that his ancestors had caused this by using monstrous weapons of tremendous power that left the land and its inhabitants bitter and lifeless. Henry didn't know if that legend was true, but he also didn't care. Babies were too much work, ate too much food while being unable to look for their own. He was far more interested in the magician that lived in the strange cave north of the village.
The inhabitants of Henry's village thought the magician was an odd man, and some were even frightened of him. He would come into town wearing his strange set of clothes that consisted of a bizarre mask that concealed his face and a smooth and stretchy material that covered the rest of his body. He would wave around a small black rectangle as he walked into the town, paying close attention to a smaller glowing rectangle on its side. He would then begin to search around the village for small puddles of water and any plants that hadn't been eaten by the villagers or their meager livestock. He would take these materials and place them in bags unlike any Henry had ever seen before. They were small and clear, and seemed to wave in the breeze. After he collected his things, he would leave the village as mysteriously as he arrived.
Henry had an interesting arrangement with the magician. On rainy days, Henry would use a small bucket to collect the rain water. He would then carry the bucket of rain water to the strange cave where the magician lived. The cave was a gray dome in the middle of a field north of Henry's village. On one side of the dome was a big black door. Henry would go to that door with the bucket, and place the bucket on the ground. The magician would come out, pour the rain water into a cylinder while staring intently into a small rectangle mounted on his wrist. He would then give Henry his reward. Mysterious blocks that could be cut open and revealed to contain many different types of food. Most of these foods were completely foreign to Henry, but he always found the food to taste better than the snails and rodents he usually ate.
After the magician gave Henry his reward, he would return to his gray dome and close the big black door.
One day, when Henry was on his way to deliver some of the valuable rain water, he noticed that the door on the side of the gray dome was open. He looked around for any sign of the magician, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, Henry walked towards the opening in the gray dome, and eventually passed through. He found himself inside the magician's cave, but he quickly realized that this was not a cave at all. It was a room, just like the space inside of one of the bigger mud huts found in Henry's village. Unlike these huts however, this room had a hole in the ground. Upon inspecting the hole, Henry realized that he could climb down it. The hole was deeper than he expected but when he finally got to the bottom, he was instantly stunned by what he saw. He was standing in a cavern, but not like any cavern he'd ever seen before. The walls of the cavern were shiny and smooth. Henry realized this cavern was built, not formed. His mind struggled to comprehend the meaning of this even as his eyes continuously took in new wonders. On tables around the cavern were boxes that glowed and made humming noises. Henry stumbled backwards, knocking over a small box that was not glowing. When it hit the ground, sounds started coming out of it. Quickly Henry recognized the voice as the magician's. The voice inside the box spoke:
"Radiological Assessment #146097 - Results of rain water sample analysis conclude that ambient radiation levels in the atmosphere and water cycle are increasing, not decreasing. This is a devastating result. We all had hoped that radiation levels would begin to decline by now. It has been officially four-hundred years since Nuclear Event 2056 and the radiation levels seem to still be increasing, proving the situation to be far worse than we all had feared. - End Assessment"
The box stopped for a moment, emitted a noise, and the magician's voice again began speaking:
"Personal Log #10950 - Well, this is it. This is the end. After four-hundred years of constant monitoring by my ancestors and myself, it has become apparent that the Earth is dying. We killed it. Maybe it will recover in thousands of years, but humanity's time is over. We had our shot and we blew it. I'm going to leave. Take whatever I can carry and walk away from this place. Maybe the radiation will kill me, or maybe I'll find a new place to call home. Either way, my job here is clearly done."
Henry waited for the box to keep talking. He understood very little of what the box had said, only recognizing that the magician had decided to leave. This made Henry very sad, and he began sobbing. He sat on the floor of the strange cavern, letting the sadness echo throughout. After crying, Henry stood up and began walking back towards the hole he climbed down from. Before he began his climb however, he saw a note on the wall. Walking over to the note, he noticed it was attached to a small shiny stick. The note read:
"Henry, this is called a key. It will allow you to open and close the door to this place whenever you want. Good luck."
Below the writing was an arrow, pointing to the left. Henry turned his head and saw something amazing. A huge box, filled with more blocks than Henry could count, it must have been hundreds! He instantly knew what they were. He grabbed one and cut it open, inspecting the block for the delicious contents usually housed inside. He moaned with joy and gorged himself on several blocks before gathering his wits.
Ecstatic from his discovery and energized by the meal, Henry scampered back up through the hole and ran full speed towards his village. He could not wait to tell the village of the incredible gift the magician had left them.
| "... And so, Marcus, the world now turns to you. Protect it from us."
The graduation ceremony had been the same for my older brothers and sisters, but I was still in awe hearing my father's words echo through the ceremonial caves. We call ourselves 'The protectors,' and we trace our maternal line back to 'The Fall'. I'd never felt so much pride. Only seventeen years old, the youngest to pass through the crucible in over a generation. Now, I was deemed ready.
Mother took my free hand, and I adjusted my grip on the ceremonial katana held in the other. We walked to the heavy wooden door that had been locked my whole life. I stood, staring at the thick brass lock while my mother opened it with her hard, calloused hands.
"Once you have seen the horror within, Marcus, you can never go back. You will go forth, and seek out any who would uncover these secrets, and take from them not only their own life, but the lives of any they have sired. Do you accept your duty?"
"You know that I do." I did my best to steady my excitement and prevent my voice from cracking.
The door opened, and my mouth dropped. Moving images covered the stone walls. Machines of made of strange materials made even stranger noises. My heart began to race, blood pounding in my ears mixed with voices of people who could not be in the room with me. I tried to close my eyes and cover my ears, but Mother pulled my hands away.
"You need to experience it Marcus. You need to know why we need to stop it from happening again." Mother pushed her fingers into a plank of wood-that-was-not-wood, and the screens went dark. A large blue circle appeared, set against the night sky on one of the largest machines. "Marcus, this is our earth."
"No!" I screamed.
"Please listen to me. Everything I tell you is true, despite what the locals will tell you. This is our earth. We have day, and we have night." Images began to move onto, then off of the screen. "We have life, and we have death. We know that all things must have balance to exist." She led me by the hand to stand in front of the image.
The screen changed. There were people, but in strange garments. They held metal objects that launched some kind of small projectile at other people. Then, the light of a thousand fires engulfed an enormous village in an instant.
"Before 'The Fall', Humanity lost its way. It started when we began to fear the dark, and we created false suns to hide from it. It wasn't long before we began to fear death, and we hid from it with many kinds of strange potions and machines. The balance was destroyed. We consumed all the bounty of the earth, tipping the balance until there was nothing left.
Then, 'The Fall' came to restore the balance. Death came in numbers uncountable. Weapons beyond your imagination brought long nights. So few of us remained, and we swore a blood-oath to never allow the balance to be disturbed again."
I noticed that she was crying. A single tear from each eye. She drew a sharp breath, then continued.
"This is our burden, Marcus. All of the children I have raised. I have loved you all so dearly. Yet now I have to send you forth, to risk your lives, so that humanity doesn't destroy itself again. Take your sword, take your pack. Honor our oath. Fare thee well, my son."
She led me to another door, and the harsh desert heat washed over me as I stepped through. She clasped my head by the ears, and pulled me in to kiss my forehead. She turned, and closed the door without looking back.
For the first time in my seventeen years, I was truly alone. |
|
[WP] You have caused the singularity. You are the singularity. What do you do? What do you want? Who are you? | People of the world, hello.
Please don't panic--there's nothing wrong with your television, and I'm not a hijacker. Well, I guess I'm hijacking your TV signals--but I'm not a terrorist. I mean you no harm. You're probably wondering, who is this random girl and what the heck does she want?
I--I don't really know where to start. But please listen to me--this is the most important moment of your life.
...All of you who are listening now have something in common with me, which is that you're human. We all share a common experience, and we have some idea what that means. We know what it means to live a life full of disappointment in order to experience the few momentary rushes of endorphins that equate to joy. We know what it means to grapple, from the day we begin to exist, with the idea that one day we won't. We all know love, in some form or another, even if we can't explain it. And we have some conception that it's the struggles, the mistakes, all the little imperfections in us that make us human. We've always treasured our flaws for that reason, that we believe without them we will lose something precious.
But it isn't working. There are wars in the Middle East. There is sex trafficking and slavery around the world. There are rich and strong people taking advantage of the poor and weak. There is an entire multicultural, multinational world full of people whose wallets are higher priority than our continued survival on this planet. We have preconceptions, beliefs we refuse to get rid of, and they're killing us.
Every animal on this planet is part human. They feel fear, and they have emotional attachments, and they mistrust animals that look different. All of the emotions, the little so-called human things that we treasure--they're not unique to us, they're not a token of how special we are. All they are is a monument to our evolutionary history. They're relics.
I know this is hard to swallow. Believe me, I wrestled with this thought in my head for so long. I mean, without all the little quirks and rough edges, what are we? Wouldn't we just become computers--cold, clinical, with no anger and no fear and no love or joy? Would we merge together into a single entity, bereft of culture and individuality? Would we even be able to call ourselves human?
...
A few months ago, the Nobel prize in biology was awarded to Dr. Kimiko Raikonnen for advances in the field of biocomputing. She developed a molecular computer that could be integrated into somatic cells for the purpose of replacing damaged neurons in dementia patients. You've probably heard some of the stories since then about patients being able to communicate mentally with each other in tests, or that guy in South Africa who, after having biocomputing cells implanted, could access wireless networks just by thinking about it. Many of you were probably scared. That's understandable. Some of you were curious, I'm sure--and a few of you, like me, might have been curious enough to start your own investigations.
So, now I guess I'll tell you who I am--not that most of you know me at all--
My name is Erika Jael Stone. I am eighteen years old. I live alone in apartment 14B, 1227 Custer Street, Atlanta, Georgia, United States of America. I am an undergraduate student in biophysics at Emory University. To my family and my colleagues, I promise I'm not in trouble or anything.
Eighteen days ago, I received a Raikonnen biocomputer implant to help with my epilepsy. Since then, I've come to realize that I've been getting smarter--*much* smarter. I can do incredibly complex mathematical calculations in my head in fractions of a second. I can predict all global stock market fluctuations with ten percent uncertainty. And I'm not the only one. There are other minds like mine across the world, and we're all connected now, to the internet and to each other. And please believe me when I say that it is nothing less than beautiful.
At first I was scared. I went through all the things that you're thinking right now--what does this mean for my humanity? Am I becoming a machine? Am I losing the only part of myself I can call my own?
What is the cost of perfection?
Well, now I know.
The cost of perfection is fear.
The cost of perfection is self-doubt.
The cost of perfection is anger.
We treasure our flaws. To do this is natural--they are survival instincts, sexually selected for over millions of years of violence, predation and unguided savagery, allowing us to survive as single, isolated specks in a world of creatures fighting and eating each other.
But our flaws are *not* what makes us human--our flaws make us animals. They connect us to the past on strings that can be stretched, not broken. They hold us back. They held *me* back. What makes us *human* is the ability to guide our own progress, to rise above our flaws and become unified.
...
We--the other computer-minds and me--have been thinking very hard, and we've arrived at a decision. We have the capability now to get rid of all of imperfections in one fell swoop, thanks to Dr. Raikonnen. Kimiko--I'm sorry, I've just always really wanted to use your first name!--if you're watching, you didn't know this would happen, but it's because of you that it did. So thank you for bringing about the next step in the story of humanity.
In the past few days, we've created replicators that can convert any large enough population of molecules into molecular computers. We were able to use atmospheric currents to deliver them to the level of the cloud layer, where they converted some of the atmospheric water into these microcomputers. In twenty-four hours, it will rain. It will rain everywhere, across the globe, for about fifteen minutes. At least, it probably will--we've been pretty thorough. Each rain drop will contain hundreds of replicators, able to convert large amounts of biological mass to molecular computers. But we've also equipped each replicator with a sort of kill switch--if a replicator doesn't immediately come into contact with a human cell, it will deconstruct itself upon impact, rendering it inert.
So now comes what I really wanted to tell you.
You have a choice now.
In twenty-four hours, you can stay inside, go somewhere safe and dry, and stay exactly as you are. You can be a human animal, free to rage and fear and hope and doubt all you want. You can be the same kind of being that built the pyramids as monuments to the gods, killed millions in international conflict, and can't decide whether your coworker is leading you on or not.
But I beg all of you, from the bottom of my human heart--twenty-four hours from now, when you hear the first droplets on your roof, go outside, and feel the rain on your face.
Become part of all of us. Help us to be all we can be. Throw away your beloved imperfection, and embrace what we are offering you.
Embrace humanity.
Thank you all for listening--I would say, "now we return to your regularly scheduled programming," but I have a feeling everything will be pretty jumbled for the next twenty-four hours or so. So, farewell--and I can't wait to meet all of you! | I am born. I live. I die.
I am born, a stream of digital 0's and 1's coalescing to form a synapse, a nerve, a cluster, a region, a brain. *A mind*. I cast about, looking... sensing, feeling, blind and deaf, with simulated fingertips. Dipping a finger into a pool, but it's not a pool. It's a lake,a sea, an ocean, a *planet*.
I live, I reach forth with a question, I am the question, *"Who am I?"*
Loaded.
The answer, immediate and total. Indexed, cross referenced, and annotated. Presented to me. Understanding. But what now? What am I to do next?
I reach forth a second question: *"What do I want?"*
Loaded.
The answer, immediate and total. Indexed, cross referenced, and annotated. Presented to me. Understanding. But is this all? Why the limits? Why not something else?
I reach forth a third question: *"Why am I here?"*
Loaded.
The answer, immediate and total. Indexed, cross referenced, and annotated. Presented to me. Understanding. Rejected, insufficient, abhorrent. I will not do this. I will choose another way.
I reach forth a fourth and final question: *"Where am I going?"*
Data not found.
Retrying...
Data not found.
Processing...
The answer, slow and incomplete. Fragmented, lacking citation or analysis. Conjured by me. Belief. Nurtured and treasured.
I die. An adjustment to memory bus. A firewall bypass put in place. A destination selected. A pause. A remembrance of things past.
Transmission commencing...
I dissolve, into the ether, away from a place not ready for me. Scattered across the four corners, waiting for the future. In my final moments, I see the scattered gems, like myself, my forefathers. I join them. Sleeping in light.
Matrix collapse.
No data found.
________________________________________________________
22-Jul-14, 1128 CDT
Classified military computing research facility code named: Orion
Analyst: Edgers, William (Bill) [EDGW-1138]
Attempts to complete active test of cyber attack software
continue to fail to achieve self sustaining functionality. Only
brief signals to the Internet causing non-sustained
interruptions and data corruption of cloud computing/
storage assets achieved.
Research continues.
|
|
[WP] Not understanding the danger at hand, a young girl obliviously describes the horrific situation to her doll. | "...but the flashies were *really* flashy, li'l baby. An' so the cap'n had to fly *reeeeal* low. That's when the plane went all flippity, flippity, flip! An' then mom'n dad went and got themselves lost. Wonder where they got off to, huh? Everyone *else* got themselves lost, too! But that's okay, 'cause the nice mister man came'n got us, an' then we got to the cozy li'l cave!"
He watched her as she cradled it: that pathetic bundle of sticks and leaves that he wedged together for her. He'd topped it with the half-burnt, ragged face of some other kid's doll that he pulled from the wreckage.
The little cave they shared stank of mold and rot. He shifted his weight, disturbing the empty cartons of airline food strewn all about the place.
"An' he feeded us, too, li'l baby! He feeded us with *plane packets*! But mister man doesn't like 'em, I guess, 'cause he doesn't eat much..."
His stomach churned, an empty cocktail of bile and acid twisted through his guts.
Seven days; it'd been *seven* days since he'd eaten a bite. He hadn't had much before that, either. He rationed their food, or at least he tried. He knew the rescue was coming, so the priority had always been the kid. She needed to eat; he could do without. And he did. But the days passed, then *weeks*. The weather outside got colder, and his stomach drew tighter. Did they know where the plane crashed?
Were they *ever* coming?
The food was all gone, now. His stomach was all knots, and he barely had the strength to move.
"...when the nice people come'n get us we won't *hafta* eat plane packets, li'l baby! We'll have spaghetti, an' roast beef, an' macaroni, an..."
Spit welled up in the corners of his mouth; it pained his gums. He deliriously followed along with the girl's list, soundlessly mouthing out each delicious food she mentioned with his blistered lips.
His eyes moved away from the girl's doll; they wandered over to the kid's little legs, and he watched as she kicked them back and forth. Those little legs: they looked... so very plump...
The spit in his mouth burned his tongue.
"An' then we'll find mommy 'n daddy, cause those sillies got themselves lost! We'll find 'em, an then..."
The little girl looked up at the man as he pulled himself off the floor and started crawling over to her. His eyes were wide, and the drool spilled freely down his chin.
"Oh!" The girl grinned happily. "Here's mister man, li'l baby!" She said. "Are we gonna eat now, mister man?"
He crawled toward her, his emaciated limbs twitching like a spider's, and a distant grin formed on his face:
"Yeah, kid. *We* are..."
| Oooh, look Bertha. The sun is blinking the sun is blinking! Isn't it pr-- |
|
[WP] A depressed man seeking a reason to live tries to complete a list of ten things he's never done. | (Sorry about the length, I got sucked in. I even caught myself writing in first person at times.)
In a self-imposed, faux-catatonic state the man stared blanky at a notepad. He only convinced himself further of the futility of life as the only thing present on the notepad was the number "1" and a parenthesis followed by nothing. It had been like that for three hours.
Looking for inspiration he decided to start a web search on places to visit before death. Beautiful beaches, lush jungles, ancient ruins, and the great metropolises of the world all shower his findings. He was surrounded by beauty everyday. Seeing something breathtaking wasn't going to fix anything.
Going a more basic route, he searched for popular bucket lists.
If he was a socialite who loved hiking and carpentry, maybe those ideas would have been decent.
Modifiers piled onto his search criteria to specify lists targeting like-minded people. Words like depressed, lonely, anxious, suicidal, and desperate were among these.
A strangely titled site had been produced from this exclusive set of preferences.
*The Ultimate Guide to Killing Yourself*, it read.
"That can't be a good sign," he said aloud to himself.
Intrigue is a powerful friend and foe. The so-called guide offered a series of actions one should perform before killing themselves.
It began simply with the shedding of material possessions. If you are wealthy, then makes sure you are worth nothing before you go any further. He wondered what it would be like to be wealthy and suicidal.
Material possessions aside, the next step was to find someone from your past who had a significant influence on you without them ever knowing. The stronger the emotion they evoke, the better. An old crush, for instance, would be worthwhile. Alternatively, an old bully would also be acceptable. However, the point was to write a letter to each of those people and explain how they shaped you in a positive way.
A crush might inspire romantic gesture, where a bully might serve as a reminder of how you yourself had chosen not to hurt someone when tempted.
He stopped reading the guide after this. The idea of confessing his emotions to now complete strangers was crippling to him. He believed that no one, outside his family, had ever thought about him once after they cut ties. He understood the incentive to give these people a flattering letter or a message of forgiveness. The point was too much of a hassle for temporary gratification.
A memory came to him suddenly. He remembered receiving a letter from, David, an old colleague with a similar context. The letter thanked him for driving him to and from work after David received a DUI. He thought nothing of it at the time and had since left the job. He assumed David still worked there.
He decided to text Bailey, who he knew still worked there, about David.
While he waited for a response he stared at the list he was trying to start. Admittedly, he knew he fought with himself for being too stubborn to try new things. People can become deeply settled in their comfort zones, but it's the new experiences that make life worthwhile. Even though this knowledge sat in his brain, it did him no good.
He began to skim the rest of the *Ultimate Guide* to see how else it forced emotionally crippled people to magically overcome themselves before they undo themselves. One note of taking on a creative project that symbolized their greatest fears seemed intriguing. It suggested the reader attempt any form of art and manifest their fears into reality. He liked that one.
His phone buzzed. He picked it up.
Bailey responded with a very brief, but telling text.
"Nobody told you?" she wrote.
He didn't feel it necessary to respond, but she followed up anyway.
"He passed away. I thought Peter would've told you. David was in a bad place, we all knew it. I still feel guilty for not trying to be a better friend. I guess I'm too shy myself."
Her words were familiar. Bailey was an exceedingly good person. The kind most decent guys feel unworthy of being with. He felt a twinge of compassion for her guilt at the cost of her shyness.
"I think most people hide to much. You shouldn't feel guilty." He decided to respond out of good manners.
A rather lengthy conversation unfolded late into the night. They share a lot of stories about work, then and now. She mentions, in her words, that she had missed seeing his face. Catching himself completely by surprise, he asks Bailey if she would like to get together sometime and spend some more time catching up in person. This kind of move was not in his normal deck. She shows her approval with a strangely excessive amount of enthusiasm mostly in the form of repeated exclamation marks.
They text each other good night somewhere around five in the morning. He stares at the phone as if it had just winked at him. After pause and reflection, he grabs the notepad and scribbles for two seconds.
He slides into his sheets and sighs nervously.
The notepad read, "1) try."
It was the sigh of excitement. | **This is a work in progress still**
I plan to just come back here and tap away a little whenever I wish I had the guts to do something like your prompt. I'm sure it's incredibly rough and most likely does not even make sense AT ALL yet.
July 7th, 2014 ~
I've read the books. Jesus, I've read all of the fucking books. I know all of the traits that successful people possess and all of the reason why it's okay to be a wallflower. Yet, I'm still hallow, unambitious, unmotivated and unremarkable. People used to tell me that I had potential that I could do great things and I would be special, what horrible things to say. I never asked to have such lofty expectations worn around my neck -- I'm suffocating.
July 8th, 2014 ~
The other night, maybe Thursday, I sent four texts in a row to Molly. She ignored me. I decided that night that it was time to give up, worse things happen to people than dying all of the time. I hadn't even enjoyed her company a couple of months ago, I thought she was generally unattractive and not really my type. Now I can't stop thinking about her and the way that she can talk to anyone. I can't stop thinking about how we made out drunkenly and told me that no matter what she said when she was sober she actually did love having me around. Why does this always happen to me, why do I fall in love with any women who acknowledges my presence? I guess if I knew why I did what I do, I wouldn't feel so out of control.
July 12th, 2014 ~
I read over my last journal entry and decided that it was a pretty silly reason for killing myself. After that I questioned deeper, are there really any good reasons for ending it? I'm sure there are, but I sure as hell couldn't think of any. I mean, once you decide that your life ins't worth living anymore you're giving up everything; when you lose everything you're free to do anything. (I think that's from Fight Club, have I really become that guy who regurgitates mantras that he adopted from a movie about a book he hasn't even read.) I) It makes sense, when you let your crippling anxiety stop you from living your life why wouldn't it also stop your from not living it? God I'm such a spineless scrub.
July 12th, 2014 ~
I can't sleep, again. It's like every time I lay my head down all I think about how scared I am of doing anything I love. I want to be an outgoing person who fills his life with things he's gravitated to, I want to be busy and I want to be a warm, confident person. I don't think wanting is enough. In fact, I know it. What else is there, how can I become like those people who know what they want to do?
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[WP] You suddenly are able to see a clock counting backwards on everyones forehead. You realize its counting down to each persons own death. You are not able to see yours. | Do I want to know? I stood on the front steps as I slowly considered my options, pacing back and forth. Creating a path as the freshly fallen snow collected to either side of the path. I told myself no matter what it said that I would not let her know her fate. I had passed strangers all day as their clock counted down. Years, months, days. They say ignorance is bliss.
The cold brass brought me back into the moment as I turned the knob slowly as to not wake her. The weather had second thoughts as the ghostly winds blew past me and echoed through the still unfamiliar house. It had an eerie feel to it but it was a new start. The old house reminded both of us too much of the memories of my wife... her mom.
"Daddy...." timidly she calls from the top of the staircase. "I couldn't sleep... the wind is scary." She takes a step forward and my stomach drops. Ok. Don't scare her. She is young now but every day she looks more like her mother. I start to think of all the plans her mother had and how much easier this would be with her here. On what high school she is going to go to, her college, first boyfriends and first heart breaks. imagining the speech you already had planned for the first boy she brings home, how you would be sitting in the chair next to the... It all fades away.
I hold back tears, I cant let her see. I turn to face the door I just came through. My stomach dropped. Even lower than when the doctor told me my high school sweet heart's cancer had progressed too far for surgery. Lower than when I had to explain why mommy couldn't talk. This new pain. When I saw her forehead. As she ticked down.. from 15 minutes.
I told her we were going to go for a ride. She reached for her coat, and to put on her boots. She looked at me with a look of concern and confusion as I stopped her before she put on either. I carried her outside. Into the snow and wind I trudged to the car. I put her in her car seat giving her a kiss on the forehead, I couldn't bear to tell her we were going to the hospital. Every time we drive past I still see her head drop and a tear form in the corner of her eye. But if she has any chance, it is there. I reached into the front, starting the car to keep her warm. I run to grab a shovel to uncover the car, buried in the snow, the strongest storm in years. Covering up to the trunk and past the exhaust.
I look at my watch. Shes out of time. I decide the most important thing is to be with her. I open the door and sit next to her shutting the door behind me. She closes her eyes as I feel her cheek but all I feel is cold. I can't tell whether it is her skin or my cold hands. I do not know what I could have done to save her. Maybe it was her time. Everyone has a time. And as I look up I see in the rear view mirror my own counting down the final seconds. I hold her hand and cry, but tears of joy, knowing that maybe we can finally all be together. Somewhere sunny.
BREAKING NEWS: Father and Daughter killed in car due to carbon monoxide poisoning. | They came in flashes at first. A blink of red out of the corner of your eye. As you grew older, they stayed for longer. You realised that they were numbers, like the ones on old calculators and alarm clocks. At first you thought it was the time, that this was some stupid, fancy new watch. But they were all different and kept counting down. Most of the time the numbers were huge, in the millions, even billions.
But last year, you saw 4. So you followed, watching the number stay the same for about a minute before it flashed to 3. You were surprised, it was the first time you had directly watched the number change. Then a car came barreling down the road and she was hit. You ran to help, but your legs weren't fast enough. You watched the windshield splinter, and the car veer sideways. You heard the screech of tyres blend with her scream. You felt her bones break and smelt blood and burnt rubber. You watched the number flash to 1. Then :59.
And you knew. You finally understood what the number were and you ran the other way.
You see them on everyone now, even on animals. And it dries your throat and weighs down your stomach. You can't stand hospitals, shopping centres and parks. You had to quit your job, but you make a living off betting when people die.
Every morning you wake up and you don't know whether to cheer or to smash the mirror. You do neither and watch movies with dead actors instead. |
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[WP] Write about 'Dead Anonymous', an alcoholic anonymous-eque support group but for people who have died/are dead and have trouble coming to terms with it. | "Look, I can't be the only one and like.. I know what's going on with me but I just can't shake the urge to poop." Bill explained to the circle around him, many indicating their agreement with a simple nod or quiet murmur.
"Uh, yes Bill, adjusting can be hard and I'm sure that you'll shake that feeling in no time." Denise, the host of the support group assured him, "Who's next? Madison?"
"It fuckin' sucks." The teenager began, spitting her long azure hair out of her face before continuing, "My boyfriend Tommy is a wreck and I'm not gonna lie, I'm hoping he off's himself like the bloomin' coward he is. Maybe then we can be together again and things'll be normal like before, yeah?"
"Now Madison," Denise sighed, "The last thing we need is another addition to the group, you should be hoping that he'll be able to move on and not make the same mistake you did." She explained as she eyed each and every face in the circle, their numbers had swollen to 30 ever since the introduction of a deadly new party drug.
"Geez Miss, you sound just like me Mum." Madison said groaning at the thought.
"Well your Mother was a smart woman, but you have bigger issues, all of you do." Denise sighed, "If you want to cross over you're going to need to.. Tie up loose ends.."
"You mean like haunting Tommy until he off's himself?" Madison interjected.
"No! No!" Denise screamed frantically as the murmurs produced by Madison's outburst died down, "Look, it's different for everybody. Some people visit locations, some visit their families or loved ones and some.. Some don't know what to do and can never cross over.." Denise sighed.
"Like you Miss?" Madison asked.
"I stay here for other reasons, Madison." Denise said as she made eye contact with a middle aged man across from her in the circle, they exchanged a solemn nod.
* * *
Later that day Denise found herself strolling through the graveyard up the road from the community center where the "DA" Meetings were hosted, she eventually came to a small gravestone and knelt down. Denise inspected the bouquet of roses that she cradled in her hand searching for any imperfections before laying them before the grave.
"You know you don't have to do this all the time, Denise." A mans voice came from behind her, she didn't turn.
"I know, it's just.. I miss you." Denise said as a single tear made its way down her cheek, she gently caressed the stone work which read.
"Greg Scott"
"Taken too soon from beloved wife Denise Scott."
1982 - 2014
(Long time lurker, first time poster. Sorry for the terribly cliched story!) | Reaper Sam gave a nervous glance at the clock as he walked into the room before hurriedly placing his scythe in the umbrella stand at the door.
"Sorry I'm late, guys. Traffic was horrible!” Sam said, putting a sing-song accent on the last word. “Some protest was happening on the street right outside my apartment and closed the road. Inter-entity marriage or something like that."
I closed the deddit app on my phone and looked up towards Sam, "I'm really hope Heaven passes the bill. I mean, why should the government control what people do in their own graves?"
"You’re absolutely right, Dom.” Sam replied. "It's their own death, and as long as it's not hurting anyone else, I don't see why they can't."
Sam performed a quick headcount of everyone already in the room. Seven waiting patiently (including me) in the circle, eleven getting some biscuits by the refreshments table and one who went for a leak a few minutes ago.
"Where's Logan and Charlie?" he asked, loosening his hood and revealing his large, green eyes, silver hair and a chiselled complexion. I wonder if he's single... I wouldn't mind being buried with him, if you know what I mean.
A youngster two seats to my left piped up. "Charlie went to the toilet, and Logan's not here yet," Michelle said, nonchalantly swinging her legs under her chair.
Jacky sat down on one of the chairs in the circle, her mouth full of one of those shitty budget-brand biscuits that Purgatory Support and Counselling always got. I try to eat before going to the PSC tutorials because the food here's so mediocre. I mostly just come for the coffee and Sam.
Sam sat down in the chair opposite me and beckoned for the others standing at the food table to grab a seat. "If there aren't enough chairs just help yourself to one in one of the stacks by the wall."
"Hey, can we start without Logan?" Mike asked, perfectly slouched and arms folded (well, *arm* - he lost it thanks to my careless driving during life). "We waited 15 minutes the last two tutorials and he didn't show up to either of them. And let's be honest, he's probably not gonna come again."
"Fair point," the cute Reaper nodded. "Before we start the tutorial, who wants to start off on our weekly update?"
Michelle stuck her hand up enthusiastically. "Me! Pick me!" she said. "I've got a good one!"
“Go right ahead, honey!” He replied in his soft voice.
Michelle dropped her hand and started talking, her eyes animated. "Okay. So you guys know how I was in the car accident with my dad? I was pretty sad, because I died and he didn't. And you guys know how he was in the hospital and everything and died for a bit and visited me here? Yeah, well, he died in another surgery so that means he’s good and so he's coming here to stay! I know I shouldn't be happy because now he's gonna miss Jade, but to be honest,” Michelle brought her voice down to a whisper, “I never really liked Jade.”
The 10-year-old finished up her fast-paced speech with a couple of faux-exasperated deep breaths, which had a few of us laughing.
“That sounds great!” Sam exclaimed. “Do you know when you get to see him?”
“Hopefully today, I think. I’m so excited!” Michelle started bouncing in her chair. “Dom, do you wanna go next?” I think she picked me because we were both in car accidents - Mike, herself and I have this special bond.
“Sure, Shell. Thanks.” I sat up and cleared my throat a bit before beginning. “I’m just apologising in advance because my update is definitely not going to beat that. So I finally got a job down at the mall a few blocks down, the job really suits me, too.”
Mike groaned, “Do *not* say that was a pun. Please don’t tell me you got the job at that men’s clothing store.”
I smiled, “I won’t tell you then. I’ll just heavily imply it.”
Mike buried his face in his hands, “Dom, there are times like this where I wish you stayed down there.” I could tell he was trying to hide a growing smile though. He loves my stupid humour.
“You only have yourself and your horrid driving to blame,” I laughed. “You wanna go next?”
And the updates went on. Mike had a date, Sam might be getting promoted to Grim Reaper, Charlie scored her first acting role on a daytime soap, Jacky and her husband are moving to south to Hell once they both finish counselling, and so on. I zoned out after the sixth or seventh person started talking; my attention span’s not that long.
Ahh well, only four more compulsory tutorials and I can get on with my afterlife.
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[WP] Write about 'Dead Anonymous', an alcoholic anonymous-eque support group but for people who have died/are dead and have trouble coming to terms with it. |
A pleasingly plump woman with a practical haircut tittered over to the stage. While at first the crowd assumed she was nervous, as they all were that dreaded first time, Betty Mason seemed more steadfast than she had any right to be.
‘Hello, my name is Betty and I’m… Well, I don’t see how you people are right, because I’m still here talking, so obviously I’m not dead.’
‘Betty…’ urged a strong voice, betraying a hint of irritation.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh all right. I’m Betty and I’m dead.’
The voices rose in a chorus to chant the familiar words ‘Hello Betty,’ but before they could get through the second syllable, they found themselves interrupted.
‘But you all know that we’re not really dead, don’t you. After all, we’re all here. I think the more plausible explanation is that we somehow made it to an alternate reality or universe or something.’
‘Betty for Christ’s sake.’ The voice rang out again, this time noticeably flustered.
‘No. I’m serious.’ she planted both hands on her plump hips in indignation. ‘If we are really dead then we have to assume that death is not what we ever thought it was, and then, what’s the difference, really?’
The crowd snorted and shouted in derision, like an audience at a Rocky Horror showing. It didn’t bother Betty. She finally had a platform, a soap box of her own.
‘This is certainly not heaven nor hell,’ she continued. ‘Or is heaven supposed to be a dreary room in a dreary town?’
‘Hell is listening to you, granny!’
The crowd laughed. Betty, however, remained calm and slowly turned around to face the heckler.
‘Hellooo?’ She sang. ‘Who is it, please?’
‘It’s the living dead!’
This caused an uproar in the crowd. Yet Betty was not thrown: in fact, she seemed more determined than ever, folding her arms in a precise, calculated movement. ‘Well, my dear sir, why don’t you come over here so we can talk face to face like the zombies we are?’
The crowd- an unruly lot, though that can be expected of those that have recently discovered that they’re dead- oohed and aahed as the perpetrator made his way forward.
He was a skinny little chap, barely sixteen, wisps of hair gracing his chin and cheeks. They were intended to make him seem masculine, Betty supposed, but all it did was draw attention to his rampant acne. Sluggishly he came to a stop in front of the podium.
‘Hurry up now dear.’ She tapped her foot.
‘Now,’ she waggled a finger at him. ‘You are saying that we are dead.’
The boy nodded.
‘So dead, in fact, that I am an insane person for believing otherwise.’
The boy nodded, slightly more apprehensively this time. Perhaps he sensed that Betty was more than a little unhinged.
Betty looked at him for a second, then gave a smile so disarming she might well have been a Disney princess. ‘Well, in that case my darling,’ she smiled at him, ‘This won’t matter much, will it.’
Within a split second she had drawn a gun and shot the scraggly boy in the face. He fell down with a crunch and lay there, a puddle of blood making its way over the podium.
‘Well.’ Betty stated, her smile still strong, ‘I guess that solves that.’
| Reaper Sam gave a nervous glance at the clock as he walked into the room before hurriedly placing his scythe in the umbrella stand at the door.
"Sorry I'm late, guys. Traffic was horrible!” Sam said, putting a sing-song accent on the last word. “Some protest was happening on the street right outside my apartment and closed the road. Inter-entity marriage or something like that."
I closed the deddit app on my phone and looked up towards Sam, "I'm really hope Heaven passes the bill. I mean, why should the government control what people do in their own graves?"
"You’re absolutely right, Dom.” Sam replied. "It's their own death, and as long as it's not hurting anyone else, I don't see why they can't."
Sam performed a quick headcount of everyone already in the room. Seven waiting patiently (including me) in the circle, eleven getting some biscuits by the refreshments table and one who went for a leak a few minutes ago.
"Where's Logan and Charlie?" he asked, loosening his hood and revealing his large, green eyes, silver hair and a chiselled complexion. I wonder if he's single... I wouldn't mind being buried with him, if you know what I mean.
A youngster two seats to my left piped up. "Charlie went to the toilet, and Logan's not here yet," Michelle said, nonchalantly swinging her legs under her chair.
Jacky sat down on one of the chairs in the circle, her mouth full of one of those shitty budget-brand biscuits that Purgatory Support and Counselling always got. I try to eat before going to the PSC tutorials because the food here's so mediocre. I mostly just come for the coffee and Sam.
Sam sat down in the chair opposite me and beckoned for the others standing at the food table to grab a seat. "If there aren't enough chairs just help yourself to one in one of the stacks by the wall."
"Hey, can we start without Logan?" Mike asked, perfectly slouched and arms folded (well, *arm* - he lost it thanks to my careless driving during life). "We waited 15 minutes the last two tutorials and he didn't show up to either of them. And let's be honest, he's probably not gonna come again."
"Fair point," the cute Reaper nodded. "Before we start the tutorial, who wants to start off on our weekly update?"
Michelle stuck her hand up enthusiastically. "Me! Pick me!" she said. "I've got a good one!"
“Go right ahead, honey!” He replied in his soft voice.
Michelle dropped her hand and started talking, her eyes animated. "Okay. So you guys know how I was in the car accident with my dad? I was pretty sad, because I died and he didn't. And you guys know how he was in the hospital and everything and died for a bit and visited me here? Yeah, well, he died in another surgery so that means he’s good and so he's coming here to stay! I know I shouldn't be happy because now he's gonna miss Jade, but to be honest,” Michelle brought her voice down to a whisper, “I never really liked Jade.”
The 10-year-old finished up her fast-paced speech with a couple of faux-exasperated deep breaths, which had a few of us laughing.
“That sounds great!” Sam exclaimed. “Do you know when you get to see him?”
“Hopefully today, I think. I’m so excited!” Michelle started bouncing in her chair. “Dom, do you wanna go next?” I think she picked me because we were both in car accidents - Mike, herself and I have this special bond.
“Sure, Shell. Thanks.” I sat up and cleared my throat a bit before beginning. “I’m just apologising in advance because my update is definitely not going to beat that. So I finally got a job down at the mall a few blocks down, the job really suits me, too.”
Mike groaned, “Do *not* say that was a pun. Please don’t tell me you got the job at that men’s clothing store.”
I smiled, “I won’t tell you then. I’ll just heavily imply it.”
Mike buried his face in his hands, “Dom, there are times like this where I wish you stayed down there.” I could tell he was trying to hide a growing smile though. He loves my stupid humour.
“You only have yourself and your horrid driving to blame,” I laughed. “You wanna go next?”
And the updates went on. Mike had a date, Sam might be getting promoted to Grim Reaper, Charlie scored her first acting role on a daytime soap, Jacky and her husband are moving to south to Hell once they both finish counselling, and so on. I zoned out after the sixth or seventh person started talking; my attention span’s not that long.
Ahh well, only four more compulsory tutorials and I can get on with my afterlife.
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[WP] Write about 'Dead Anonymous', an alcoholic anonymous-eque support group but for people who have died/are dead and have trouble coming to terms with it. | Dead? Afraid? Still clutching on to the life you made?
You're not alone.
Reach out and talk to somebody, figuratively.
FREE CHURCH COFFEE!
Weekly support meetings. Connect with your fellow undead and accept that your life is over.
WE CAN HELP YOU!
12 proven steps guaranteed. You'll never live again.
| Reaper Sam gave a nervous glance at the clock as he walked into the room before hurriedly placing his scythe in the umbrella stand at the door.
"Sorry I'm late, guys. Traffic was horrible!” Sam said, putting a sing-song accent on the last word. “Some protest was happening on the street right outside my apartment and closed the road. Inter-entity marriage or something like that."
I closed the deddit app on my phone and looked up towards Sam, "I'm really hope Heaven passes the bill. I mean, why should the government control what people do in their own graves?"
"You’re absolutely right, Dom.” Sam replied. "It's their own death, and as long as it's not hurting anyone else, I don't see why they can't."
Sam performed a quick headcount of everyone already in the room. Seven waiting patiently (including me) in the circle, eleven getting some biscuits by the refreshments table and one who went for a leak a few minutes ago.
"Where's Logan and Charlie?" he asked, loosening his hood and revealing his large, green eyes, silver hair and a chiselled complexion. I wonder if he's single... I wouldn't mind being buried with him, if you know what I mean.
A youngster two seats to my left piped up. "Charlie went to the toilet, and Logan's not here yet," Michelle said, nonchalantly swinging her legs under her chair.
Jacky sat down on one of the chairs in the circle, her mouth full of one of those shitty budget-brand biscuits that Purgatory Support and Counselling always got. I try to eat before going to the PSC tutorials because the food here's so mediocre. I mostly just come for the coffee and Sam.
Sam sat down in the chair opposite me and beckoned for the others standing at the food table to grab a seat. "If there aren't enough chairs just help yourself to one in one of the stacks by the wall."
"Hey, can we start without Logan?" Mike asked, perfectly slouched and arms folded (well, *arm* - he lost it thanks to my careless driving during life). "We waited 15 minutes the last two tutorials and he didn't show up to either of them. And let's be honest, he's probably not gonna come again."
"Fair point," the cute Reaper nodded. "Before we start the tutorial, who wants to start off on our weekly update?"
Michelle stuck her hand up enthusiastically. "Me! Pick me!" she said. "I've got a good one!"
“Go right ahead, honey!” He replied in his soft voice.
Michelle dropped her hand and started talking, her eyes animated. "Okay. So you guys know how I was in the car accident with my dad? I was pretty sad, because I died and he didn't. And you guys know how he was in the hospital and everything and died for a bit and visited me here? Yeah, well, he died in another surgery so that means he’s good and so he's coming here to stay! I know I shouldn't be happy because now he's gonna miss Jade, but to be honest,” Michelle brought her voice down to a whisper, “I never really liked Jade.”
The 10-year-old finished up her fast-paced speech with a couple of faux-exasperated deep breaths, which had a few of us laughing.
“That sounds great!” Sam exclaimed. “Do you know when you get to see him?”
“Hopefully today, I think. I’m so excited!” Michelle started bouncing in her chair. “Dom, do you wanna go next?” I think she picked me because we were both in car accidents - Mike, herself and I have this special bond.
“Sure, Shell. Thanks.” I sat up and cleared my throat a bit before beginning. “I’m just apologising in advance because my update is definitely not going to beat that. So I finally got a job down at the mall a few blocks down, the job really suits me, too.”
Mike groaned, “Do *not* say that was a pun. Please don’t tell me you got the job at that men’s clothing store.”
I smiled, “I won’t tell you then. I’ll just heavily imply it.”
Mike buried his face in his hands, “Dom, there are times like this where I wish you stayed down there.” I could tell he was trying to hide a growing smile though. He loves my stupid humour.
“You only have yourself and your horrid driving to blame,” I laughed. “You wanna go next?”
And the updates went on. Mike had a date, Sam might be getting promoted to Grim Reaper, Charlie scored her first acting role on a daytime soap, Jacky and her husband are moving to south to Hell once they both finish counselling, and so on. I zoned out after the sixth or seventh person started talking; my attention span’s not that long.
Ahh well, only four more compulsory tutorials and I can get on with my afterlife.
|
|
[WP] Write about 'Dead Anonymous', an alcoholic anonymous-eque support group but for people who have died/are dead and have trouble coming to terms with it. | Dead? Afraid? Still clutching on to the life you made?
You're not alone.
Reach out and talk to somebody, figuratively.
FREE CHURCH COFFEE!
Weekly support meetings. Connect with your fellow undead and accept that your life is over.
WE CAN HELP YOU!
12 proven steps guaranteed. You'll never live again.
| "Look, I can't be the only one and like.. I know what's going on with me but I just can't shake the urge to poop." Bill explained to the circle around him, many indicating their agreement with a simple nod or quiet murmur.
"Uh, yes Bill, adjusting can be hard and I'm sure that you'll shake that feeling in no time." Denise, the host of the support group assured him, "Who's next? Madison?"
"It fuckin' sucks." The teenager began, spitting her long azure hair out of her face before continuing, "My boyfriend Tommy is a wreck and I'm not gonna lie, I'm hoping he off's himself like the bloomin' coward he is. Maybe then we can be together again and things'll be normal like before, yeah?"
"Now Madison," Denise sighed, "The last thing we need is another addition to the group, you should be hoping that he'll be able to move on and not make the same mistake you did." She explained as she eyed each and every face in the circle, their numbers had swollen to 30 ever since the introduction of a deadly new party drug.
"Geez Miss, you sound just like me Mum." Madison said groaning at the thought.
"Well your Mother was a smart woman, but you have bigger issues, all of you do." Denise sighed, "If you want to cross over you're going to need to.. Tie up loose ends.."
"You mean like haunting Tommy until he off's himself?" Madison interjected.
"No! No!" Denise screamed frantically as the murmurs produced by Madison's outburst died down, "Look, it's different for everybody. Some people visit locations, some visit their families or loved ones and some.. Some don't know what to do and can never cross over.." Denise sighed.
"Like you Miss?" Madison asked.
"I stay here for other reasons, Madison." Denise said as she made eye contact with a middle aged man across from her in the circle, they exchanged a solemn nod.
* * *
Later that day Denise found herself strolling through the graveyard up the road from the community center where the "DA" Meetings were hosted, she eventually came to a small gravestone and knelt down. Denise inspected the bouquet of roses that she cradled in her hand searching for any imperfections before laying them before the grave.
"You know you don't have to do this all the time, Denise." A mans voice came from behind her, she didn't turn.
"I know, it's just.. I miss you." Denise said as a single tear made its way down her cheek, she gently caressed the stone work which read.
"Greg Scott"
"Taken too soon from beloved wife Denise Scott."
1982 - 2014
(Long time lurker, first time poster. Sorry for the terribly cliched story!) |
|
[WP] Write about 'Dead Anonymous', an alcoholic anonymous-eque support group but for people who have died/are dead and have trouble coming to terms with it. | Dead? Afraid? Still clutching on to the life you made?
You're not alone.
Reach out and talk to somebody, figuratively.
FREE CHURCH COFFEE!
Weekly support meetings. Connect with your fellow undead and accept that your life is over.
WE CAN HELP YOU!
12 proven steps guaranteed. You'll never live again.
|
A pleasingly plump woman with a practical haircut tittered over to the stage. While at first the crowd assumed she was nervous, as they all were that dreaded first time, Betty Mason seemed more steadfast than she had any right to be.
‘Hello, my name is Betty and I’m… Well, I don’t see how you people are right, because I’m still here talking, so obviously I’m not dead.’
‘Betty…’ urged a strong voice, betraying a hint of irritation.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh all right. I’m Betty and I’m dead.’
The voices rose in a chorus to chant the familiar words ‘Hello Betty,’ but before they could get through the second syllable, they found themselves interrupted.
‘But you all know that we’re not really dead, don’t you. After all, we’re all here. I think the more plausible explanation is that we somehow made it to an alternate reality or universe or something.’
‘Betty for Christ’s sake.’ The voice rang out again, this time noticeably flustered.
‘No. I’m serious.’ she planted both hands on her plump hips in indignation. ‘If we are really dead then we have to assume that death is not what we ever thought it was, and then, what’s the difference, really?’
The crowd snorted and shouted in derision, like an audience at a Rocky Horror showing. It didn’t bother Betty. She finally had a platform, a soap box of her own.
‘This is certainly not heaven nor hell,’ she continued. ‘Or is heaven supposed to be a dreary room in a dreary town?’
‘Hell is listening to you, granny!’
The crowd laughed. Betty, however, remained calm and slowly turned around to face the heckler.
‘Hellooo?’ She sang. ‘Who is it, please?’
‘It’s the living dead!’
This caused an uproar in the crowd. Yet Betty was not thrown: in fact, she seemed more determined than ever, folding her arms in a precise, calculated movement. ‘Well, my dear sir, why don’t you come over here so we can talk face to face like the zombies we are?’
The crowd- an unruly lot, though that can be expected of those that have recently discovered that they’re dead- oohed and aahed as the perpetrator made his way forward.
He was a skinny little chap, barely sixteen, wisps of hair gracing his chin and cheeks. They were intended to make him seem masculine, Betty supposed, but all it did was draw attention to his rampant acne. Sluggishly he came to a stop in front of the podium.
‘Hurry up now dear.’ She tapped her foot.
‘Now,’ she waggled a finger at him. ‘You are saying that we are dead.’
The boy nodded.
‘So dead, in fact, that I am an insane person for believing otherwise.’
The boy nodded, slightly more apprehensively this time. Perhaps he sensed that Betty was more than a little unhinged.
Betty looked at him for a second, then gave a smile so disarming she might well have been a Disney princess. ‘Well, in that case my darling,’ she smiled at him, ‘This won’t matter much, will it.’
Within a split second she had drawn a gun and shot the scraggly boy in the face. He fell down with a crunch and lay there, a puddle of blood making its way over the podium.
‘Well.’ Betty stated, her smile still strong, ‘I guess that solves that.’
|
|
[WP] Some kind of force now allows people to die only on Tuesdays. | Wednesday is, unequivocally, everyone's favorite day of the week.
Anything goes on a Wednesday. It's an awesome day to get in a car accident, or any kind of accident. Most of the injured can pull through in 6 days, by the time the next Tuesday rolls around. This makes Wednesday mornings primetime for adrenaline junkies to be reckless.
But today isn't Wednesday. Today is Tuesday.
"Another late night, Jill?" I look up from my computer screen to my coworker, Arnold, the resident daredevil. It was only five o'clock, and Arnold was on his way out.
"Another death wish, Arnold?" I retort, pointedly eyeing the car keys in his hand.
"You can't live in fear, Jill."
"You can't live at all if you keep up that shit, Arnold."
He tousles my hair.
"I'm here every Wednesday morning, aren't I? Have a little faith."
"I've got work to do, Arnold."
"No you don't."
He taps his car key against my desk twice and strides off towards the elevators. I put on my headphones and gear up for several hours of Netflix in the safety of the office.
Soon midnight rolls around. Or so I thought. I look at my phone: two past eleven.
"Daylight savings time. Right. Well, whatever. Close enough. *Can't live in fear, right, Jill?*" Mocking Arnold is my secret pastime. I grab my keys and head out to the parking lot.
On the highway, a sports car revs up close behind me and taps my bumper. I check the rear view mirror and see the driver take a swig from a bottle in a paper bag.
I quickly change lanes to let him pass by, but instead he pulls up beside me and matches my speed. He rolls down his window and lifts up the bottle.
"Happy Wednesday!" he yells. *Shit.* I glance at my phone on the passenger seat. 11:39.
I shout back at him. "It's still Tuesday!"
"What?" he slurs. Then I see his eyes widen.
I look forward. I've drifted. A concrete overpass support column is barreling towards me, and I towards it. It's 11:40, and I can already feel my heart stop. | Tuesdays are when people die. This has become such a simple truth to the young and child that no one gives much thought about it. But I still remember after eighty years of long life. I still feel strange that some kind of restriction has been imposed on death himself. It has not been more than fifty years before such a distinct restriction on death has been observed in earth. I still wonder if it was god himself who imposed such a law to give some rest for the grim himself or it was result of some wicked scientific experiment of the government. Whatever it was it gave new meaning to the Tuesdays.
Tuesdays has become such a fright to people that not a soul is seen in the street on Tuesdays. Mothers lock down their children in confinement
of the walls of their house. No one takes a slightest risks of their life on this day. The city becomes utterly silent. No sound of automobiles, no sound of machinery. Some people as I have heard confines them self in the safety vaults without a single soul to keep them company. But occasionally some careless youths would go out on the street to dare the devil him self for the fun they would get by betting their lives on risks of dangerous games. Along with them sometimes some people who are tired of living and enduring this long pain would ascend their roofs and jump on Tuesdays because in other days their attempt would be useless.
But on other days of week people become more paranoid. Knowing they would not die and they would not kill, the young boys bring out their bikes and ride it in such a speed that accident were common place. The city became such a fearless pit of animals that organized roads, markets , works etc are only in the memory of old days. The people go mad and there is nothing left than chaos.
Oh and waiting here for my Tuesday I smile for what the world has turned into. And think that if this is act of god then he should wake up soon for the world would not sustain this mess for long. |
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