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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
I'm not sure how I turned, nor why I'm still able to think, but I do know I'm still the useless me.
I couldn't do well in school, couldn't find a job, couldn't make family proud. Now that I'm a zombie-thing, I can't even spark off the apocalypse with a bang.
Zombie games taught me that I'm supposed to run after and bite people to spread this disease, but everyone's too fast for me. My legs, hidden beneath the layers of flab drooping from my body, can hardly support my weight, much less propel me at walking speed. All I can do is wobble around, suffering under tossed stones and my neighbours' laughter.
And then it hit me. A bus out of nowhere. My body exploded magnificently, sending blood, flesh and mucus in all directions.
As my consciousness started to fade, I saw those drenched in my innards screaming, turning into the monster I am.
I smiled to myself, a tear rolling down half my cheek.
|
*Some adult language and content.
“My God, he’s fat,” said Rebecca.
Molly sighed. “Well that's kind of the point isn't it? We can’t have a show called Living With the World’s Fattest Man if the dude is just slightly overweight.”
“I know but seriously, how can anyone let themselves get that big?”
“A bad childhood, a lifetime of overindulgence. Add that to the fact that he surrounded himself with enablers and this is what you get. You actually start to feel bad for the guy once you hear his story.”
“What was his name again?” asked Molly.
“I don’t know. Miguel or Marco. Something with an m.”
Both women worked as executive producers for The Knowledge Network. Both came from small towns in the rural Midwest, but had adapted to life in California with grace, physically if not entirely mentally. They both enjoyed skipping out on their quinoa and soy lattes for a steak and a beer from time to time.
“So how did this happen?” Molly asked.
“Lap band surgery gone horribly wrong. There was some sort of mix up with his blood transfusion. The surgery was a success but the nurse pumped him full of blood that was infected with rabies during recovery.”
The morbidly obese man lying on the gurney in front of them was strapped down tight. His skin was a mixture of pale green and yellow. Black veins pulsated across his exposed skin. His eyes had gone milky white and thick foam was bubbling out of his gnashing teeth.
“You know what he looks like,” said Molly.
“Yeah I know, don’t say it. I don’t want to hear the Z word anymore today.”
At that moment Robert Bruce, one of the wealthiest men in Australia and the head of The Knowledge Network, burst through the double doors of the infirmary. “My God, this is better than I could’ve ever imagined.”
Both women stared with distaste at the older man in the Armani suit. “Are you serious?” asked Rebecca. “This man is dead. Well, he’s kind of dead. Either way this is a tragedy.”
Robert finally took his eyes off the 800-pound groaning and growling man on the gurney and looked at his two executive producers. “Well, yes of course my thoughts and prayers go out to this poor man and his family. Everyone at The Knowledge Network wishes them the very best and blah, blah, blah. Now, let’s talk about how we can use this to our advantage.”
“Our advantage!” Rebecca’s faced flushed with anger. “How dare you try and turn this into something profitable you fucking pig!”
“Now hold on a minute, girlie. This bloke’s dead. His problems are over. You and I, however, have to figure out a way to salvage the two million dollars we’ve already dumped into this project. We’ve barely got enough footage for a fifteen minute spot!”
Rebecca hated this man. More to the point she hated what he represented, a career she couldn’t stand. She’d gotten into the entertainment industry to write quality entertainment. She wanted to produce shows that meant something to people. Shows that made people think about their own lives and inspired change. What she ended up with was a career producing garbage to sate the masses. Shows like Amish Bachelor and Trailer Park Royalty. She knew she shouldn’t complain. She made more money than she could ever spend in a lifetime, but she couldn’t help feeling like she’d sold her soul in the process.
“Here’s what I was thinking,” said Robert. “We have the doctors remove his teeth and nails, make him relatively safe to be around. Then we move him back into his home and send a film crew with him. We can turn this into a series! Just think of how many people will tune in every week to watch The Zombie Family. What’s Poppa Zombie getting into this week? Uh-oh he tried to eat the family dog! This is a bloody gold mine!”
Robert looked like a child on Christmas morning. His smile was so wide Rebecca thought he might split his lip open. “Robert, I’m not going to be a part of this. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere and honestly, I’m ashamed that it took something like this to make me realize that. I’m through.”
Robert’s mile-wide grin vanished and was replaced with an evil sneer. Rebecca flinched in fear as he jumped towards her. “The hell you are! You’re going to write up a pilot for this project whether you want to or not. Let’s not forget, Rebecca, you’re under contract. If you refuse to play ball we won’t just fire you, we’ll sue you for every penny you have, and we’ll win. You know we will.”
Rebecca stared down at the floor. She felt like she was six years old, being scolded by her father. “Now,” said Robert, “do we have a deal?”
Rebecca was disgusted with herself, but she had no other choice. Robert had her by the balls, so to speak. “Sure Robert, I’ll do it.”
Robert’s grin returned. “Good, have it on my desk by Monday. Now, on to other matters. Molly, would you follow me out to my car. I have some ideas for future projects I think you’d be perfect for.”
“Of course, Mr. Bruce.” Molly followed the President of the Network out into the hall. Rebecca knew she was just going to blow him in the back of his limousine. Molly was a terrible writer, but Robert kept her around for more “carnal” reasons.
Rebecca was left alone in the hospital room with the 800-pound zombie. She felt sorry for the poor guy. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for broadcasting his terrible life to millions of people. She was beyond disgusted, at herself, at her boss, at a world that craved such utter shit. She didn’t know how humanity had gotten so fucked up, but she suddenly had an idea that seemed like the only answer. Not only to her problems, but to everything.
“I don’t know that much about you big guy,” she said to the man on the gurney. “Fuck, I don’t even know your name, but I’m pretty sure you don’t deserve this. Whaddya say you and I take this world down a few pegs.” Rebecca couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw the obese zombie smile as she placed a finger inside his foaming mouth. The zombie – Rebecca had finally conceded that this was in fact what he was – bit down hard. Hard enough to break the skin and draw blood, which was exactly what she wanted. Now all she had to do was wait. She’d be infected soon and when the nurses came in to check on their patient she’s spread the disease to them. The human race needed some thinning, and Rebecca was proud to be a part of something meaningful for a change.
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Dafeng China, 920 square miles, and a producer of nearly one million pigs per year. Dumplings, Hoisin stir fry, Mapo Dofu, all of these delicious little treats feeding an ever growing empire of people too swollen in ancestry and agriculture. It was in the blood of a single pig that the virus was born. After being fed a variety of slop from who knows where it was only a matter of time before a single error emerged in the stream of numbers and flowing organisms. The virus was never detected, the pig was sent out to slaughter and his meat was shipped out to the suppliers who sold it to the markets who then sold it to the people. The people bought it, brought it home, and fed their children with the infected flesh. They enjoyed the taste, they swallowed every bite and before they knew it they had become a host.
It blanketed the countryside in a matter of months before it got on the first plane to the US. It lied in dormancy. Not even the most skilled of doctors could detect it pulsing through the droves of people that flocked between borders. Tourists, New York City. A perfect location for people to lose the rest of their hope for humanity. Bai Mang, 35, visiting his nephew who had moved to the US years ago. By the end of the week he had left back home but made sure his virus stayed behind in his nephew who then spread it to all of his dishes. The chicken dumplings, the beef fried rice. They ate it up. Bite by tender bite.
Harold Tennings. 40, 350 pounds based on his last check up 6 months ago. Now, he was homebound and weighed around 450 pounds. The government labeled him as disabled and the grease stains on his month old T-shirt labeled him a disgust to society. He locked himself away, stuck to his leather chair, hungry and growing more so with every second. Monday was fast food that his mother picked up. Tuesday was pizza. Wednesday was Chinese. The Golden Dragon was a block away. Perfect. He called it in, payed with his credit card just like every other week and within 15 minutes his bulk order was at the door. Harold opened the door using his specially made stick arm. On the other end was a tree branch of a man who had long ago grown used to the smell of sweat and cat urine that filled Harold's house. He got the signature, stacked the food next to Harold and left back to his Golden Dragon.
Harold's lips dripped with saliva, his head with sweat, and his chins shined with the gleam of sweet and sour sauce leaking down his many valleys of skin. 45 minutes into the feast Harold had become tired. He took a nap. During this ripe breeding period within him the virus chose to mutate and take on a higher form of microscopic beauty. 20 nano-meters filling up every clogged artery and slowly killing Harold. Death by virus was better than death by heart attack. His corpse bloated a little more, ever so slightly, and when each cell passed away the virus stuck to them and gave new necrotic birth to their lifeless husks. Harold's eyes peeled open once more, white eyes, white as his sunless skin. A new hunger emerged within his brain.
A hunger for human flesh. Bubbles of frothing madness spewed from his mouth as his legs kicked against the floor. Harold barely moved, blood leaked from his nose and his fingernails dug deeper into the armrests. Frantically, with much force the mind controlling virus directed Harold's bulky shell to the door. Half an hour later and Harold had gone nowhere. Bile covered his shirt and carpet, his nails splintered and grew green, his legs were a swollen purple mass. Within weeks Harold's new found friend starved to death despite the large supply of host rations. His brothers and sisters inhabiting other bodies never evolved and soon went into extinction. The microbe that was born inside of a pig had died in one. Poor little guy, it never had a chance.
|
*Some adult language and content.
“My God, he’s fat,” said Rebecca.
Molly sighed. “Well that's kind of the point isn't it? We can’t have a show called Living With the World’s Fattest Man if the dude is just slightly overweight.”
“I know but seriously, how can anyone let themselves get that big?”
“A bad childhood, a lifetime of overindulgence. Add that to the fact that he surrounded himself with enablers and this is what you get. You actually start to feel bad for the guy once you hear his story.”
“What was his name again?” asked Molly.
“I don’t know. Miguel or Marco. Something with an m.”
Both women worked as executive producers for The Knowledge Network. Both came from small towns in the rural Midwest, but had adapted to life in California with grace, physically if not entirely mentally. They both enjoyed skipping out on their quinoa and soy lattes for a steak and a beer from time to time.
“So how did this happen?” Molly asked.
“Lap band surgery gone horribly wrong. There was some sort of mix up with his blood transfusion. The surgery was a success but the nurse pumped him full of blood that was infected with rabies during recovery.”
The morbidly obese man lying on the gurney in front of them was strapped down tight. His skin was a mixture of pale green and yellow. Black veins pulsated across his exposed skin. His eyes had gone milky white and thick foam was bubbling out of his gnashing teeth.
“You know what he looks like,” said Molly.
“Yeah I know, don’t say it. I don’t want to hear the Z word anymore today.”
At that moment Robert Bruce, one of the wealthiest men in Australia and the head of The Knowledge Network, burst through the double doors of the infirmary. “My God, this is better than I could’ve ever imagined.”
Both women stared with distaste at the older man in the Armani suit. “Are you serious?” asked Rebecca. “This man is dead. Well, he’s kind of dead. Either way this is a tragedy.”
Robert finally took his eyes off the 800-pound groaning and growling man on the gurney and looked at his two executive producers. “Well, yes of course my thoughts and prayers go out to this poor man and his family. Everyone at The Knowledge Network wishes them the very best and blah, blah, blah. Now, let’s talk about how we can use this to our advantage.”
“Our advantage!” Rebecca’s faced flushed with anger. “How dare you try and turn this into something profitable you fucking pig!”
“Now hold on a minute, girlie. This bloke’s dead. His problems are over. You and I, however, have to figure out a way to salvage the two million dollars we’ve already dumped into this project. We’ve barely got enough footage for a fifteen minute spot!”
Rebecca hated this man. More to the point she hated what he represented, a career she couldn’t stand. She’d gotten into the entertainment industry to write quality entertainment. She wanted to produce shows that meant something to people. Shows that made people think about their own lives and inspired change. What she ended up with was a career producing garbage to sate the masses. Shows like Amish Bachelor and Trailer Park Royalty. She knew she shouldn’t complain. She made more money than she could ever spend in a lifetime, but she couldn’t help feeling like she’d sold her soul in the process.
“Here’s what I was thinking,” said Robert. “We have the doctors remove his teeth and nails, make him relatively safe to be around. Then we move him back into his home and send a film crew with him. We can turn this into a series! Just think of how many people will tune in every week to watch The Zombie Family. What’s Poppa Zombie getting into this week? Uh-oh he tried to eat the family dog! This is a bloody gold mine!”
Robert looked like a child on Christmas morning. His smile was so wide Rebecca thought he might split his lip open. “Robert, I’m not going to be a part of this. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere and honestly, I’m ashamed that it took something like this to make me realize that. I’m through.”
Robert’s mile-wide grin vanished and was replaced with an evil sneer. Rebecca flinched in fear as he jumped towards her. “The hell you are! You’re going to write up a pilot for this project whether you want to or not. Let’s not forget, Rebecca, you’re under contract. If you refuse to play ball we won’t just fire you, we’ll sue you for every penny you have, and we’ll win. You know we will.”
Rebecca stared down at the floor. She felt like she was six years old, being scolded by her father. “Now,” said Robert, “do we have a deal?”
Rebecca was disgusted with herself, but she had no other choice. Robert had her by the balls, so to speak. “Sure Robert, I’ll do it.”
Robert’s grin returned. “Good, have it on my desk by Monday. Now, on to other matters. Molly, would you follow me out to my car. I have some ideas for future projects I think you’d be perfect for.”
“Of course, Mr. Bruce.” Molly followed the President of the Network out into the hall. Rebecca knew she was just going to blow him in the back of his limousine. Molly was a terrible writer, but Robert kept her around for more “carnal” reasons.
Rebecca was left alone in the hospital room with the 800-pound zombie. She felt sorry for the poor guy. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for broadcasting his terrible life to millions of people. She was beyond disgusted, at herself, at her boss, at a world that craved such utter shit. She didn’t know how humanity had gotten so fucked up, but she suddenly had an idea that seemed like the only answer. Not only to her problems, but to everything.
“I don’t know that much about you big guy,” she said to the man on the gurney. “Fuck, I don’t even know your name, but I’m pretty sure you don’t deserve this. Whaddya say you and I take this world down a few pegs.” Rebecca couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw the obese zombie smile as she placed a finger inside his foaming mouth. The zombie – Rebecca had finally conceded that this was in fact what he was – bit down hard. Hard enough to break the skin and draw blood, which was exactly what she wanted. Now all she had to do was wait. She’d be infected soon and when the nurses came in to check on their patient she’s spread the disease to them. The human race needed some thinning, and Rebecca was proud to be a part of something meaningful for a change.
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
I'm not sure how I turned, nor why I'm still able to think, but I do know I'm still the useless me.
I couldn't do well in school, couldn't find a job, couldn't make family proud. Now that I'm a zombie-thing, I can't even spark off the apocalypse with a bang.
Zombie games taught me that I'm supposed to run after and bite people to spread this disease, but everyone's too fast for me. My legs, hidden beneath the layers of flab drooping from my body, can hardly support my weight, much less propel me at walking speed. All I can do is wobble around, suffering under tossed stones and my neighbours' laughter.
And then it hit me. A bus out of nowhere. My body exploded magnificently, sending blood, flesh and mucus in all directions.
As my consciousness started to fade, I saw those drenched in my innards screaming, turning into the monster I am.
I smiled to myself, a tear rolling down half my cheek.
|
“This is just getting sad.”
“Shut up, Jack. I’m tryna get a good look.”
Greg had always kind of been an asshole like that, but he had definitely taken it to a whole new level. It wasn’t really the huge event everyone thought it would be. I mean, sure the media made a whole damn circus of the thing when it first hit the news. All of a sudden zombies were real. Or at least, zom*bie*. After a couple of months, they stopped speculating where it would hit next when they realized that “it” was barely able to make it out of his house, much less down the block. Every day, he’d come out at night, trying to find a new host to infect. But anyone with a resting heart rate of more than zero could outrun him without an issue. The guy had to be at least 400 pounds, no muscle. Since the media scare died down, this lone, morbidly obese zombie rarely saw anyone on his nightly walks. His neighbors had all moved away. No friends or family came by.
The only visitors he had was the occasional tourist trying to catch a glimpse of the only zombie to have ever lived, people like me and Greg. I thought it would be cool to see, but it honestly just made me sick to my stomach. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that should be a spectacle for the amusement of onlookers. This man was no longer alive in any practical sense of the word. He was moving, sure. But it appeared more like coordinated, ongoing rigor-mortis more than anything.
“Greg, I think I’m gonna go now. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“Alright, bro. Your loss.”
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
"Oh, look… Here come's Ed."
It was one of those too-warm April days in small-town South, harbinger of a scorching summer to come. A large man stumbled down the middle of the main road. A small kid on a bike was riding circles around him as he ambled along. He droned some barely intelligible phrase, counterpoint to a sing-song nursery rhyme the kid was chanting.
"Braaaaaaiiiinnnnssss…"
"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"
The two men on the bench outside the store looked at each other.
"Guess we better move along. He ain't the conversationist he once was."
"Yep, kinda single-minded, anymore."
They looked at each other for a suspenseful moment before the one's face split into a gap-toothed cackle, and the other followed showing no teeth at all.
"Ha! Ha! Hee, heee, eh… single-minded. Hehe… I like that."
The two stood up. A fly buzzed both heads in a lazy figure-eight.
The girl stopped her bike and hopped off to pick up a bottle cap, just a few steps ahead of ambling Ed. The two paused to watch. Ed reached forward hopefully. "Brai-"
"There!" she said pointing of to one side. "There's a brain!"
Ed halted, turned to the side where she was pointing and the blank look took on a very slight hint of befuddlement. While he was thus distracted, she hopped on the bike and resumed circling. The befuddlement may have turned to disappointment. His arms dropped back to his sides.
The two men turned back to each other.
"Hey, reach me my walker would ya?"
Toothless leaned over the side of the bench and pulled the aluminum frame around, tennis balls on the ends of the legs juddering across the porch planks. Grabbing his own walker, the pair proceeded into the street, about a quarter-block ahead of big Ed.
"Brains!!" came the ever more plaintive call.
"He look like he's losing weight?"
"Might could be, maybe he's getting just a tad quicker than last week!"
"Huh. Patient zero."
"Ha! More like patient zero miles-an-hour!"
The screen door of the grocery swung open and a large woman appeared. She gazed for a moment after the two men heading back towards the nursing home. Turning to the girl and the zombie, she waved her hand twice to shoo the fly away. "Marcy! You leave Ed alone! Ed! Go home! Ain't no brains around here!"
She turned and let the door slam behind her.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
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|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
First off, I'd like to say that I'm all for solar power and alternative energy and stuff like that. But it does have a downside. In our neighborhood we call him Larry.
Larry rolls around in his little solar powered handicap scooter drooling on himself and calling out, "Brains..." It's more of a wail than a call really. Larry is a zombie, by the way. That's the rumor anyway.
Yesterday I saw Larry rolling down the sidewalk with the usual line of cans tied to his little cart. That's a favorite game of the kids, tying cans to his cart. That and throwing sticks and boards in front of him and letting him run the things over. He can bounce over a two by four but anything much larger will stop him. Then he moans and cries for brains while he maneuvers around the obstruction.
Where was I? Oh, yesterday. Larry is rolling down the street with the cans dragging behind him when the cart just stopped. His cart, solar powered remember, has been his only mode of transport for as long as I've known him. He weighs a good 350 pounds and I've never seen him off that cart. He rolls around by day and just stops at night. When his cart stopped he truly looked bewildered. And I'll tell you, seeing a zombie look bewildered is a sight to behold. He slowly turned left, then right then he just sat there. He's been sitting there ever since.
Myself, I'm not really seeing the problem here. He's not really in anyones way, so long as you go around him which might get your shoes a bit muddy if it's raining. He's kind of like our new mascot. He's even kind of close to the entry to the development. I'm still waiting to see what happens to him.
Looky there. A garbage truck. I guess it's not the nicest way to go but those guys at least know what they're doing. By Larry. Can't say I'm sad to see you go. Good luck.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Larry just couldn't catch a break.
He slowly trudged onward, some dead part of his brain guiding him towards food. His life had been pretty shit so far he mused.
Never had a girlfriend, no close friends, not even interesting enough to get bullied in school let alone noticed. Then an endless stream of menial jobs, serving fast food, stacking boxes, attaching part A to rod B.
He thought, ever since the bite, he'd be a little bit more on people's radar, but nothing like this. He slowly looked behind him, his neck now black and swollen, creaked as he strained to see who was behind.
A line of policemen slowly followed, arms outstretched, yellow tasers tracking his every movement.
Larry stopped and began the slow complicated process of turning around. Had turning around always been this complicated? He couldn't remember, his mind was full of the loud, buzzing, insectile voice that told him he was hungry, that he needed thick, fresh, slabs of meat to be ripped apart by his teeth, to choke down his gullet, to fill his gut.
Sixteen tazer needles uselessly dug into his cold flesh and filled him with 400,000 volts of electricity. He barely felt it, the taser lines becoming slack and useless.
It just wasn't fair. He's always been a bit heavy. He had tried going to the gym back when he was alive but his knees had hurt and...truth be told...he'd felt people staring, their eyes tracing feather touches across his cheeks and neck.
He'd tried to eat healthily too but ...sugar. An endless parade of clean Mondays, of pledges that he'd start afresh and nothing but salad would pass his lips.
Then a small cheat then a bigger one, then he'd eat an entire black forest gateau to himself before going to bed to halfheartedly masturbate with sticky fingers.
A pump action shotgun appeared and tore off half his face. The police weren't getting any closer. He tried again to run and instead tripped over his own feet.
Falling seemed to take a long time. So much so that he had time to examine the hot asphalt and painted line of the motorway.
By the time his chin exploded against the ground in a bone shredding mess Larry had decided he wasn't going to take any more shit. He'd had a shitty life and he wasn't going to suffer through a shitty afterlife too.
Apparently they lasted longer.
The police slowly advanced, a loose circle formed as the zombie slowly convulsed and folded in on itself. Bones and tendons snapping as it contorted. The sound of growling, of flesh being ripped. A flash of a mouth and jaw working tirelessly. Then silence.
Larry stood up as mouthfuls of belly, bicep, thigh and gut fell away from him. His new body didn't look the best admittedly but he was now 40 kilos lighter. A seven minute diet that actually worked.
He pulled the remaining end of his intestines out of one of many holes he'd chewed open and flung it aside like a bothersome scarf.
He smiled, showing his bloodstained teeth at the policemen that were oh so close now.
'Oooooooonn yooooooooour maaaaaaarks...' he moaned. His vocal chords full of thick, coagulated blood.
'Geeeeeeeeeeeet seeeeeeeeeet...'
The policemen started to shuffle back. One crossed himself.
'GOOOOO!'
Larry, for the first time in his adult life, ran.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Dafeng China, 920 square miles, and a producer of nearly one million pigs per year. Dumplings, Hoisin stir fry, Mapo Dofu, all of these delicious little treats feeding an ever growing empire of people too swollen in ancestry and agriculture. It was in the blood of a single pig that the virus was born. After being fed a variety of slop from who knows where it was only a matter of time before a single error emerged in the stream of numbers and flowing organisms. The virus was never detected, the pig was sent out to slaughter and his meat was shipped out to the suppliers who sold it to the markets who then sold it to the people. The people bought it, brought it home, and fed their children with the infected flesh. They enjoyed the taste, they swallowed every bite and before they knew it they had become a host.
It blanketed the countryside in a matter of months before it got on the first plane to the US. It lied in dormancy. Not even the most skilled of doctors could detect it pulsing through the droves of people that flocked between borders. Tourists, New York City. A perfect location for people to lose the rest of their hope for humanity. Bai Mang, 35, visiting his nephew who had moved to the US years ago. By the end of the week he had left back home but made sure his virus stayed behind in his nephew who then spread it to all of his dishes. The chicken dumplings, the beef fried rice. They ate it up. Bite by tender bite.
Harold Tennings. 40, 350 pounds based on his last check up 6 months ago. Now, he was homebound and weighed around 450 pounds. The government labeled him as disabled and the grease stains on his month old T-shirt labeled him a disgust to society. He locked himself away, stuck to his leather chair, hungry and growing more so with every second. Monday was fast food that his mother picked up. Tuesday was pizza. Wednesday was Chinese. The Golden Dragon was a block away. Perfect. He called it in, payed with his credit card just like every other week and within 15 minutes his bulk order was at the door. Harold opened the door using his specially made stick arm. On the other end was a tree branch of a man who had long ago grown used to the smell of sweat and cat urine that filled Harold's house. He got the signature, stacked the food next to Harold and left back to his Golden Dragon.
Harold's lips dripped with saliva, his head with sweat, and his chins shined with the gleam of sweet and sour sauce leaking down his many valleys of skin. 45 minutes into the feast Harold had become tired. He took a nap. During this ripe breeding period within him the virus chose to mutate and take on a higher form of microscopic beauty. 20 nano-meters filling up every clogged artery and slowly killing Harold. Death by virus was better than death by heart attack. His corpse bloated a little more, ever so slightly, and when each cell passed away the virus stuck to them and gave new necrotic birth to their lifeless husks. Harold's eyes peeled open once more, white eyes, white as his sunless skin. A new hunger emerged within his brain.
A hunger for human flesh. Bubbles of frothing madness spewed from his mouth as his legs kicked against the floor. Harold barely moved, blood leaked from his nose and his fingernails dug deeper into the armrests. Frantically, with much force the mind controlling virus directed Harold's bulky shell to the door. Half an hour later and Harold had gone nowhere. Bile covered his shirt and carpet, his nails splintered and grew green, his legs were a swollen purple mass. Within weeks Harold's new found friend starved to death despite the large supply of host rations. His brothers and sisters inhabiting other bodies never evolved and soon went into extinction. The microbe that was born inside of a pig had died in one. Poor little guy, it never had a chance.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
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|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
John's eyes were dead, but then they'd never really been alive. He shuffled across the street, head down, his double-chin resting against his soft, squishy chest.
A pair of kids on bicycles rode shakily by, both of them just fresh off of the training wheels. They swerved around him, their noses bunched up at the strong scent of decay.
The sun was at John's back as he made his way down the paved sidewalk that was covered in all colors of chalk and lined with white picket fences. He couldn't feel the warmth of the sun. He didn't feel the rock that was in his shoe, or the gentle breeze of the wind that rushed through the leaves of the leaning trees that filled the quiet suburb.
He stared at his feet as they rose and fell, rising and falling without pause, caution, or worry. They simply picked themselves up and put themselves down, carrying the weight of John's mass without protest. He didn't feel that ache in his knees anymore whenever he walked too long. He didn't feel the pain in his lower back as he slouched over, mouth open and saliva slowly dripping out.
A middle-aged woman in a pink jogging suit was a block ahead of him. She crossed the street, casting a quick, disgusted glance in his direction.
John continued walking, his eyes staring vacantly at the top of his feet. He didn't feel anything at all.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
The Zombie Apocalypse did happen, but there was only ever ONE Zombie in the Whooole planet. How ever did we manage *that*?
The world's reaction to ROB THE ZOB's discovery was interesting...Confronted with evidence of life after death, most moderate leaders simply stopped treating their holy books literarily and used them merely as moral guidelines. The hardcore ones blew themselves up trying to get inside the Park containing ROB THE ZOB.
the Park? Yes, so....these old white men spun out multi-billion dollar businesses out of ROB. Theme parks filled with 100s of actors and one live (dead?) zombie - You never knew which one you were gonna get. Live streaming to all corners of the world. Nat Geo exclusives etc.
Multiple crazy hobos and one depressed teenager attempted suicide by Zombie. Writers leveled forests to titillate bored housewives on the complex emotional lives of a Zombie. Lawyers bought their way in front of a camera arguing for undead rights. Kids revealed their deep ambition to be Zombies when they grew up.
Yes, there was a Zombie Apocalypse. No, we weren't killed off by shambling meat. There wasn't a mysterious virus that mutated in the festering wounds only to emerge virulent and deadly. It wasn't God's judgement. All ROB the ZOB accomplished directly was a bunch of poorly made movies with these terrible plots.
The government's initial reaction to all this was surprising - In the interest of better healthcare (without a social healthcare programme - Bloody Republicans), they promised to make all research on ROB THE ZOB public. Many questions on cell repair, memory and free-will were answered in the next decade and improved living standards for everyone across the world.
Then they hit upon the secret of immortality. Rather than squirrel it away and make it exclusive to the rich and powerful, the government showed remarkable enlightenment to make it affordable to all - In exchange for increased taxes and kicking out immigrants, of course.
I guess that's what happens when you let the govt take over - The world went to shit.
First we killed off all the animals to feed the 12% population growth rate. Then we stripped off all the plants like locusts, relying on machinery to provide the necessary oxygen. Finally, with most other life gone, we turned on each other.
The Zombie Apocalypse did happen. It's just that the Zombies weren't the Undead.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
"Okay folks, to your left, is the only known Zombie in existence."
Announced he guide as his hands directed us to his right and our left.
Moans and shuffling could be heard as it walked towards the bars.
"Muuuaaaaarrrrr"
"Do not fear folks, you are in no danger as it is properly restrained within it's cage. Let us keep moving, next up are the Lions, blah blah blah."
The guides voice seemed to slowly become incoherent as my mind lost focus. I stood there wondering if the Zombie was capable of thought, if it was trapped within it's own body. I barely even noticed my parents tugging on my arm and dragging me to the next exhibit.
Several hours later.
With assistance from my good friend Google, I had located a Zombie-Rights activist group. People for Ethical Treatment of Zombies, PETZ for short. They were a splinter group from PETA. My mind kept flashing back to the caged Zombie, poor thing was never fed human brains much less given a choice to die. I felt that I had to do something, anything.
Like all activist groups, we planned a heist. Something that would make the news. Make our cause known!
Fast forward several weeks, it's 4AM, the guards are knocked out and laying on the ground near the penguin exhibit. Funny thing is, we didn't do it. And I could have sworn I saw four penguins leave the Zoo with a rocket launcher.
Back to the story, we grabbed the keys of a guard and popped the lock on the cage door, followed by the chains around the poor thing's neck. This is where we went fatally wrong. One of the girls insisted on hugging the Zombie on account of how chubby and cute he seemed.
For the first time, the Zombie that was too slow to catch anyone, just had food come to him. Not too long later, New York was under siege. Zombie siege.
And that children is how the Zombie apocalypse started.
|
Terry awoke to the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds. He looked over at his clock to see the illuminated “5:45AM” in those obnoxious red, digital letters. He had to get back to the chimp zoo before the exhibits opened, but he still had a few minutes before he had to get up.
Terry rolled over to see Bob still sleeping soundly. Last night they had had the roughest sex yet with Bob scratching Terry’s back and biting his neck until reaching a sudden, intense climax. Terry had been overwhelmed at the time but now felt the sores and pains from his neck, down his back, to the inside of his sphincter.
Bob continued to sleep, his hairy chest rising and falling succinctly with his snores. With a deep breath, Terry rolled over, sat up, and eased his feet to the floor. With another big breath, he pushed his massive self off the bed and eased himself into some slippers. Terry walked across the room to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The bite on his neck had swelled 3-4 inches, discoloring to a purple-ish blue mass. Terry began to poke and prod, but felt nothing. In fact, Terry noticed the area had become numb, and he could feel any sensation from his fingers touching the massive growth. Terry was worried. Terry was also hungry. Very hungry.
Though Terry had a habitually massive appetite, this hunger felt different in an indescribable way. He grabbed his cell phone on the way to the kitchen, and began to search for a near by health clinic. There was one just down the street, so he’d go there after breakfast. He took out the bacon, sausage, and eggs. He placed 5 sausage patties on the griddle along with 6 slices of bacon. He tossed a tablespoon of butter in a skittle and began to crack eggs into a bowl.
Terry dialed work as he whisked the eggs. “Hello, you’ve reached the Jacksonville Chimpanzee Sanctuary. This is Daryl speaking.”
“Hey, Daryl. It’s Terry. I’m not going to be able to making it into the office today,” Terry said as he whisked in some milk with his eggs. “I’m not feeling to great.”
“Hey, Terry. No problem. Oh, do you happen to know where Robert is? He didn’t come for our feeding this morning.”
“No idea. Though - I’ll tell you - I have noticed Robert being somewhat of a recluse lately. He hasn’t really been eating that well. I wouldn’t worry about it too much today, but I’ll look into it a bit more when I come in on Thursday,” Terry said as he pour the egg solution into the skillet.
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. See you when you’re feeling better! Get some rest if you can!”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll do my best. Buh-bye now. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” Terry put his phone on the counter and went to the skillet. As he flipped a few patties and bacon strips, he realized that the erotic aromas he normally got at this point in the breakfast cooking process were absent. In its place was a noxious odor that made him gag. He always hated to see food go to waste, so he continued.
By this time, Bob came out of the bedroom, swaggering over to Terry with his arms dropped to his sides. Bob gave Terry a toothy grinned and hugged him around the waste.
“Hungry?” Terry inquired, motioning food to mouth with his hands. Bob grinned and nodded his head eagerly. Terry rummaged through his pantry for some berry bars. He unwrapped two bars and gave them to Bob. Bob was mostly vegetarian, so Terry couldn’t make him the same breakfast.
Finally, the breakfast was cooked, and Terry sat down with a huge plate of cheese-sprinkled scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon with a can of mountain dew. Terry wasn’t particularly appetized by the plate, but he was hungry so he ate. Bob sat on the floor eating his bars.
After Terry had finished the plate, he put away the dishes, cleaned the stove and the cookware, and put on some sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Bob, stay. Play with the toys, okay?” Terry motioned to the collection of foam balls and trinkets in the living room. Bob looked and smiled with acknowledgement then returned to his bars. Terry headed out the front door and locked it behind him.
As he walked down the street toward the clinic, Terry began to feel sick to his stomach. The something from breakfast was not settling well. People gave him concerned looks as he passed them. He couldn’t hold it anymore. He ran to a side alley and vomited his whole breakfast.
“Oh, gross!” “That’s depressing” “Jesus, you fat fuck!” Several were onlookers watched as Terry vomited and tried to regain composure.
“Sorry. Not feeling well. Nothing to see,” Terry said to the crowded that had formed around him. “Thanks for the concern. I’m alright.” Terry tried to swiftly move past the crowd. As he tried to move his large body through the shifting group, he became overwhelmed by the sweaty smells emanating from the near persons. He froze. He was hungry. Very hungry. He grabbed a runner, her sweat dripping from her chin, drenching her clothes. Terry sank his teeth into her upper arm a bit off a mouthful. She screamed. Everyone screamed. Terry tried to grab another delicious bite, but someone punch his across the temple.
Terry regained consciousness as he saw people running away, screaming. He got to his feet and looked for the runner he had bit. She had tasted delicious and he wanted more. He saw a man on his cellphone who had not yet realized the situation. Terry began to rush at him, nearly reaching him before the man noticed. The man jumped away from Terry’s grasp and began to sprint away from Terry down the sidewalk. Terry pursued the business-clad prey.
Terry chased him for 4 blocks before he could no longer breath. He leaned back, dry-heaving, and slowly realized what he was doing, what he had done. He just bit someone. No, no. He ate someone. He had vomited his breakfast, and ate a mouthful of savory, delicious, human flesh. He needed to get back to his townhouse.
He rushed back to his place, trying to get back before he got too close to someone. He opened the door to find poop smear on the walls. Bob had decided to be a bit artistic during Terry’s absence. Bob’s smell was everywhere. His fragrant smell. Terry unplugged a lamp and hefted it in his hands, moving towards Bob. Bob smiled up at him, his hands still covered with his own feces.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.”
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Dafeng China, 920 square miles, and a producer of nearly one million pigs per year. Dumplings, Hoisin stir fry, Mapo Dofu, all of these delicious little treats feeding an ever growing empire of people too swollen in ancestry and agriculture. It was in the blood of a single pig that the virus was born. After being fed a variety of slop from who knows where it was only a matter of time before a single error emerged in the stream of numbers and flowing organisms. The virus was never detected, the pig was sent out to slaughter and his meat was shipped out to the suppliers who sold it to the markets who then sold it to the people. The people bought it, brought it home, and fed their children with the infected flesh. They enjoyed the taste, they swallowed every bite and before they knew it they had become a host.
It blanketed the countryside in a matter of months before it got on the first plane to the US. It lied in dormancy. Not even the most skilled of doctors could detect it pulsing through the droves of people that flocked between borders. Tourists, New York City. A perfect location for people to lose the rest of their hope for humanity. Bai Mang, 35, visiting his nephew who had moved to the US years ago. By the end of the week he had left back home but made sure his virus stayed behind in his nephew who then spread it to all of his dishes. The chicken dumplings, the beef fried rice. They ate it up. Bite by tender bite.
Harold Tennings. 40, 350 pounds based on his last check up 6 months ago. Now, he was homebound and weighed around 450 pounds. The government labeled him as disabled and the grease stains on his month old T-shirt labeled him a disgust to society. He locked himself away, stuck to his leather chair, hungry and growing more so with every second. Monday was fast food that his mother picked up. Tuesday was pizza. Wednesday was Chinese. The Golden Dragon was a block away. Perfect. He called it in, payed with his credit card just like every other week and within 15 minutes his bulk order was at the door. Harold opened the door using his specially made stick arm. On the other end was a tree branch of a man who had long ago grown used to the smell of sweat and cat urine that filled Harold's house. He got the signature, stacked the food next to Harold and left back to his Golden Dragon.
Harold's lips dripped with saliva, his head with sweat, and his chins shined with the gleam of sweet and sour sauce leaking down his many valleys of skin. 45 minutes into the feast Harold had become tired. He took a nap. During this ripe breeding period within him the virus chose to mutate and take on a higher form of microscopic beauty. 20 nano-meters filling up every clogged artery and slowly killing Harold. Death by virus was better than death by heart attack. His corpse bloated a little more, ever so slightly, and when each cell passed away the virus stuck to them and gave new necrotic birth to their lifeless husks. Harold's eyes peeled open once more, white eyes, white as his sunless skin. A new hunger emerged within his brain.
A hunger for human flesh. Bubbles of frothing madness spewed from his mouth as his legs kicked against the floor. Harold barely moved, blood leaked from his nose and his fingernails dug deeper into the armrests. Frantically, with much force the mind controlling virus directed Harold's bulky shell to the door. Half an hour later and Harold had gone nowhere. Bile covered his shirt and carpet, his nails splintered and grew green, his legs were a swollen purple mass. Within weeks Harold's new found friend starved to death despite the large supply of host rations. His brothers and sisters inhabiting other bodies never evolved and soon went into extinction. The microbe that was born inside of a pig had died in one. Poor little guy, it never had a chance.
|
At first, Phillipe was slow and mellow.
Quite a boring and oddly shaped fellow.
Works with chemicals all day and accidentally did spray,
A goo that was awful smelling and yellow.
Maude awoke to a thump in the night.
Bounced out of her bed at the sight,
Of the slight rotting flesh and stinking of death.
Tilted man who had called her his wife.
Out of the love in her heart.
His teeth quick as a dart.
Patient zero and his patient one.
The world ahead, nothing to tear them apart.
Two became four and four became eight.
Slowly they took over, our defenses too late.
For the zombie named Phillipe and the zombie named Maude.
It takes two to tango, to turn, and accelerate.
EDIT: I am derp and autocorrect is my enemy, I also can't figure out how to space this stuff correctly!!. Thank you /u/FallsDownMountains
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Larry just couldn't catch a break.
He slowly trudged onward, some dead part of his brain guiding him towards food. His life had been pretty shit so far he mused.
Never had a girlfriend, no close friends, not even interesting enough to get bullied in school let alone noticed. Then an endless stream of menial jobs, serving fast food, stacking boxes, attaching part A to rod B.
He thought, ever since the bite, he'd be a little bit more on people's radar, but nothing like this. He slowly looked behind him, his neck now black and swollen, creaked as he strained to see who was behind.
A line of policemen slowly followed, arms outstretched, yellow tasers tracking his every movement.
Larry stopped and began the slow complicated process of turning around. Had turning around always been this complicated? He couldn't remember, his mind was full of the loud, buzzing, insectile voice that told him he was hungry, that he needed thick, fresh, slabs of meat to be ripped apart by his teeth, to choke down his gullet, to fill his gut.
Sixteen tazer needles uselessly dug into his cold flesh and filled him with 400,000 volts of electricity. He barely felt it, the taser lines becoming slack and useless.
It just wasn't fair. He's always been a bit heavy. He had tried going to the gym back when he was alive but his knees had hurt and...truth be told...he'd felt people staring, their eyes tracing feather touches across his cheeks and neck.
He'd tried to eat healthily too but ...sugar. An endless parade of clean Mondays, of pledges that he'd start afresh and nothing but salad would pass his lips.
Then a small cheat then a bigger one, then he'd eat an entire black forest gateau to himself before going to bed to halfheartedly masturbate with sticky fingers.
A pump action shotgun appeared and tore off half his face. The police weren't getting any closer. He tried again to run and instead tripped over his own feet.
Falling seemed to take a long time. So much so that he had time to examine the hot asphalt and painted line of the motorway.
By the time his chin exploded against the ground in a bone shredding mess Larry had decided he wasn't going to take any more shit. He'd had a shitty life and he wasn't going to suffer through a shitty afterlife too.
Apparently they lasted longer.
The police slowly advanced, a loose circle formed as the zombie slowly convulsed and folded in on itself. Bones and tendons snapping as it contorted. The sound of growling, of flesh being ripped. A flash of a mouth and jaw working tirelessly. Then silence.
Larry stood up as mouthfuls of belly, bicep, thigh and gut fell away from him. His new body didn't look the best admittedly but he was now 40 kilos lighter. A seven minute diet that actually worked.
He pulled the remaining end of his intestines out of one of many holes he'd chewed open and flung it aside like a bothersome scarf.
He smiled, showing his bloodstained teeth at the policemen that were oh so close now.
'Oooooooonn yooooooooour maaaaaaarks...' he moaned. His vocal chords full of thick, coagulated blood.
'Geeeeeeeeeeeet seeeeeeeeeet...'
The policemen started to shuffle back. One crossed himself.
'GOOOOO!'
Larry, for the first time in his adult life, ran.
|
"Oh, look… Here come's Ed."
It was one of those too-warm April days in small-town South, harbinger of a scorching summer to come. A large man stumbled down the middle of the main road. A small kid on a bike was riding circles around him as he ambled along. He droned some barely intelligible phrase, counterpoint to a sing-song nursery rhyme the kid was chanting.
"Braaaaaaiiiinnnnssss…"
"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"
The two men on the bench outside the store looked at each other.
"Guess we better move along. He ain't the conversationist he once was."
"Yep, kinda single-minded, anymore."
They looked at each other for a suspenseful moment before the one's face split into a gap-toothed cackle, and the other followed showing no teeth at all.
"Ha! Ha! Hee, heee, eh… single-minded. Hehe… I like that."
The two stood up. A fly buzzed both heads in a lazy figure-eight.
The girl stopped her bike and hopped off to pick up a bottle cap, just a few steps ahead of ambling Ed. The two paused to watch. Ed reached forward hopefully. "Brai-"
"There!" she said pointing of to one side. "There's a brain!"
Ed halted, turned to the side where she was pointing and the blank look took on a very slight hint of befuddlement. While he was thus distracted, she hopped on the bike and resumed circling. The befuddlement may have turned to disappointment. His arms dropped back to his sides.
The two men turned back to each other.
"Hey, reach me my walker would ya?"
Toothless leaned over the side of the bench and pulled the aluminum frame around, tennis balls on the ends of the legs juddering across the porch planks. Grabbing his own walker, the pair proceeded into the street, about a quarter-block ahead of big Ed.
"Brains!!" came the ever more plaintive call.
"He look like he's losing weight?"
"Might could be, maybe he's getting just a tad quicker than last week!"
"Huh. Patient zero."
"Ha! More like patient zero miles-an-hour!"
The screen door of the grocery swung open and a large woman appeared. She gazed for a moment after the two men heading back towards the nursing home. Turning to the girl and the zombie, she waved her hand twice to shoo the fly away. "Marcy! You leave Ed alone! Ed! Go home! Ain't no brains around here!"
She turned and let the door slam behind her.
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Dafeng China, 920 square miles, and a producer of nearly one million pigs per year. Dumplings, Hoisin stir fry, Mapo Dofu, all of these delicious little treats feeding an ever growing empire of people too swollen in ancestry and agriculture. It was in the blood of a single pig that the virus was born. After being fed a variety of slop from who knows where it was only a matter of time before a single error emerged in the stream of numbers and flowing organisms. The virus was never detected, the pig was sent out to slaughter and his meat was shipped out to the suppliers who sold it to the markets who then sold it to the people. The people bought it, brought it home, and fed their children with the infected flesh. They enjoyed the taste, they swallowed every bite and before they knew it they had become a host.
It blanketed the countryside in a matter of months before it got on the first plane to the US. It lied in dormancy. Not even the most skilled of doctors could detect it pulsing through the droves of people that flocked between borders. Tourists, New York City. A perfect location for people to lose the rest of their hope for humanity. Bai Mang, 35, visiting his nephew who had moved to the US years ago. By the end of the week he had left back home but made sure his virus stayed behind in his nephew who then spread it to all of his dishes. The chicken dumplings, the beef fried rice. They ate it up. Bite by tender bite.
Harold Tennings. 40, 350 pounds based on his last check up 6 months ago. Now, he was homebound and weighed around 450 pounds. The government labeled him as disabled and the grease stains on his month old T-shirt labeled him a disgust to society. He locked himself away, stuck to his leather chair, hungry and growing more so with every second. Monday was fast food that his mother picked up. Tuesday was pizza. Wednesday was Chinese. The Golden Dragon was a block away. Perfect. He called it in, payed with his credit card just like every other week and within 15 minutes his bulk order was at the door. Harold opened the door using his specially made stick arm. On the other end was a tree branch of a man who had long ago grown used to the smell of sweat and cat urine that filled Harold's house. He got the signature, stacked the food next to Harold and left back to his Golden Dragon.
Harold's lips dripped with saliva, his head with sweat, and his chins shined with the gleam of sweet and sour sauce leaking down his many valleys of skin. 45 minutes into the feast Harold had become tired. He took a nap. During this ripe breeding period within him the virus chose to mutate and take on a higher form of microscopic beauty. 20 nano-meters filling up every clogged artery and slowly killing Harold. Death by virus was better than death by heart attack. His corpse bloated a little more, ever so slightly, and when each cell passed away the virus stuck to them and gave new necrotic birth to their lifeless husks. Harold's eyes peeled open once more, white eyes, white as his sunless skin. A new hunger emerged within his brain.
A hunger for human flesh. Bubbles of frothing madness spewed from his mouth as his legs kicked against the floor. Harold barely moved, blood leaked from his nose and his fingernails dug deeper into the armrests. Frantically, with much force the mind controlling virus directed Harold's bulky shell to the door. Half an hour later and Harold had gone nowhere. Bile covered his shirt and carpet, his nails splintered and grew green, his legs were a swollen purple mass. Within weeks Harold's new found friend starved to death despite the large supply of host rations. His brothers and sisters inhabiting other bodies never evolved and soon went into extinction. The microbe that was born inside of a pig had died in one. Poor little guy, it never had a chance.
|
"Oh, look… Here come's Ed."
It was one of those too-warm April days in small-town South, harbinger of a scorching summer to come. A large man stumbled down the middle of the main road. A small kid on a bike was riding circles around him as he ambled along. He droned some barely intelligible phrase, counterpoint to a sing-song nursery rhyme the kid was chanting.
"Braaaaaaiiiinnnnssss…"
"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"
The two men on the bench outside the store looked at each other.
"Guess we better move along. He ain't the conversationist he once was."
"Yep, kinda single-minded, anymore."
They looked at each other for a suspenseful moment before the one's face split into a gap-toothed cackle, and the other followed showing no teeth at all.
"Ha! Ha! Hee, heee, eh… single-minded. Hehe… I like that."
The two stood up. A fly buzzed both heads in a lazy figure-eight.
The girl stopped her bike and hopped off to pick up a bottle cap, just a few steps ahead of ambling Ed. The two paused to watch. Ed reached forward hopefully. "Brai-"
"There!" she said pointing of to one side. "There's a brain!"
Ed halted, turned to the side where she was pointing and the blank look took on a very slight hint of befuddlement. While he was thus distracted, she hopped on the bike and resumed circling. The befuddlement may have turned to disappointment. His arms dropped back to his sides.
The two men turned back to each other.
"Hey, reach me my walker would ya?"
Toothless leaned over the side of the bench and pulled the aluminum frame around, tennis balls on the ends of the legs juddering across the porch planks. Grabbing his own walker, the pair proceeded into the street, about a quarter-block ahead of big Ed.
"Brains!!" came the ever more plaintive call.
"He look like he's losing weight?"
"Might could be, maybe he's getting just a tad quicker than last week!"
"Huh. Patient zero."
"Ha! More like patient zero miles-an-hour!"
The screen door of the grocery swung open and a large woman appeared. She gazed for a moment after the two men heading back towards the nursing home. Turning to the girl and the zombie, she waved her hand twice to shoo the fly away. "Marcy! You leave Ed alone! Ed! Go home! Ain't no brains around here!"
She turned and let the door slam behind her.
|
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
John's eyes were dead, but then they'd never really been alive. He shuffled across the street, head down, his double-chin resting against his soft, squishy chest.
A pair of kids on bicycles rode shakily by, both of them just fresh off of the training wheels. They swerved around him, their noses bunched up at the strong scent of decay.
The sun was at John's back as he made his way down the paved sidewalk that was covered in all colors of chalk and lined with white picket fences. He couldn't feel the warmth of the sun. He didn't feel the rock that was in his shoe, or the gentle breeze of the wind that rushed through the leaves of the leaning trees that filled the quiet suburb.
He stared at his feet as they rose and fell, rising and falling without pause, caution, or worry. They simply picked themselves up and put themselves down, carrying the weight of John's mass without protest. He didn't feel that ache in his knees anymore whenever he walked too long. He didn't feel the pain in his lower back as he slouched over, mouth open and saliva slowly dripping out.
A middle-aged woman in a pink jogging suit was a block ahead of him. She crossed the street, casting a quick, disgusted glance in his direction.
John continued walking, his eyes staring vacantly at the top of his feet. He didn't feel anything at all.
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"Oh, look… Here come's Ed."
It was one of those too-warm April days in small-town South, harbinger of a scorching summer to come. A large man stumbled down the middle of the main road. A small kid on a bike was riding circles around him as he ambled along. He droned some barely intelligible phrase, counterpoint to a sing-song nursery rhyme the kid was chanting.
"Braaaaaaiiiinnnnssss…"
"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"
The two men on the bench outside the store looked at each other.
"Guess we better move along. He ain't the conversationist he once was."
"Yep, kinda single-minded, anymore."
They looked at each other for a suspenseful moment before the one's face split into a gap-toothed cackle, and the other followed showing no teeth at all.
"Ha! Ha! Hee, heee, eh… single-minded. Hehe… I like that."
The two stood up. A fly buzzed both heads in a lazy figure-eight.
The girl stopped her bike and hopped off to pick up a bottle cap, just a few steps ahead of ambling Ed. The two paused to watch. Ed reached forward hopefully. "Brai-"
"There!" she said pointing of to one side. "There's a brain!"
Ed halted, turned to the side where she was pointing and the blank look took on a very slight hint of befuddlement. While he was thus distracted, she hopped on the bike and resumed circling. The befuddlement may have turned to disappointment. His arms dropped back to his sides.
The two men turned back to each other.
"Hey, reach me my walker would ya?"
Toothless leaned over the side of the bench and pulled the aluminum frame around, tennis balls on the ends of the legs juddering across the porch planks. Grabbing his own walker, the pair proceeded into the street, about a quarter-block ahead of big Ed.
"Brains!!" came the ever more plaintive call.
"He look like he's losing weight?"
"Might could be, maybe he's getting just a tad quicker than last week!"
"Huh. Patient zero."
"Ha! More like patient zero miles-an-hour!"
The screen door of the grocery swung open and a large woman appeared. She gazed for a moment after the two men heading back towards the nursing home. Turning to the girl and the zombie, she waved her hand twice to shoo the fly away. "Marcy! You leave Ed alone! Ed! Go home! Ain't no brains around here!"
She turned and let the door slam behind her.
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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
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John's eyes were dead, but then they'd never really been alive. He shuffled across the street, head down, his double-chin resting against his soft, squishy chest.
A pair of kids on bicycles rode shakily by, both of them just fresh off of the training wheels. They swerved around him, their noses bunched up at the strong scent of decay.
The sun was at John's back as he made his way down the paved sidewalk that was covered in all colors of chalk and lined with white picket fences. He couldn't feel the warmth of the sun. He didn't feel the rock that was in his shoe, or the gentle breeze of the wind that rushed through the leaves of the leaning trees that filled the quiet suburb.
He stared at his feet as they rose and fell, rising and falling without pause, caution, or worry. They simply picked themselves up and put themselves down, carrying the weight of John's mass without protest. He didn't feel that ache in his knees anymore whenever he walked too long. He didn't feel the pain in his lower back as he slouched over, mouth open and saliva slowly dripping out.
A middle-aged woman in a pink jogging suit was a block ahead of him. She crossed the street, casting a quick, disgusted glance in his direction.
John continued walking, his eyes staring vacantly at the top of his feet. He didn't feel anything at all.
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First off, I'd like to say that I'm all for solar power and alternative energy and stuff like that. But it does have a downside. In our neighborhood we call him Larry.
Larry rolls around in his little solar powered handicap scooter drooling on himself and calling out, "Brains..." It's more of a wail than a call really. Larry is a zombie, by the way. That's the rumor anyway.
Yesterday I saw Larry rolling down the sidewalk with the usual line of cans tied to his little cart. That's a favorite game of the kids, tying cans to his cart. That and throwing sticks and boards in front of him and letting him run the things over. He can bounce over a two by four but anything much larger will stop him. Then he moans and cries for brains while he maneuvers around the obstruction.
Where was I? Oh, yesterday. Larry is rolling down the street with the cans dragging behind him when the cart just stopped. His cart, solar powered remember, has been his only mode of transport for as long as I've known him. He weighs a good 350 pounds and I've never seen him off that cart. He rolls around by day and just stops at night. When his cart stopped he truly looked bewildered. And I'll tell you, seeing a zombie look bewildered is a sight to behold. He slowly turned left, then right then he just sat there. He's been sitting there ever since.
Myself, I'm not really seeing the problem here. He's not really in anyones way, so long as you go around him which might get your shoes a bit muddy if it's raining. He's kind of like our new mascot. He's even kind of close to the entry to the development. I'm still waiting to see what happens to him.
Looky there. A garbage truck. I guess it's not the nicest way to go but those guys at least know what they're doing. By Larry. Can't say I'm sad to see you go. Good luck.
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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
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John's eyes were dead, but then they'd never really been alive. He shuffled across the street, head down, his double-chin resting against his soft, squishy chest.
A pair of kids on bicycles rode shakily by, both of them just fresh off of the training wheels. They swerved around him, their noses bunched up at the strong scent of decay.
The sun was at John's back as he made his way down the paved sidewalk that was covered in all colors of chalk and lined with white picket fences. He couldn't feel the warmth of the sun. He didn't feel the rock that was in his shoe, or the gentle breeze of the wind that rushed through the leaves of the leaning trees that filled the quiet suburb.
He stared at his feet as they rose and fell, rising and falling without pause, caution, or worry. They simply picked themselves up and put themselves down, carrying the weight of John's mass without protest. He didn't feel that ache in his knees anymore whenever he walked too long. He didn't feel the pain in his lower back as he slouched over, mouth open and saliva slowly dripping out.
A middle-aged woman in a pink jogging suit was a block ahead of him. She crossed the street, casting a quick, disgusted glance in his direction.
John continued walking, his eyes staring vacantly at the top of his feet. He didn't feel anything at all.
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Larry just couldn't catch a break.
He slowly trudged onward, some dead part of his brain guiding him towards food. His life had been pretty shit so far he mused.
Never had a girlfriend, no close friends, not even interesting enough to get bullied in school let alone noticed. Then an endless stream of menial jobs, serving fast food, stacking boxes, attaching part A to rod B.
He thought, ever since the bite, he'd be a little bit more on people's radar, but nothing like this. He slowly looked behind him, his neck now black and swollen, creaked as he strained to see who was behind.
A line of policemen slowly followed, arms outstretched, yellow tasers tracking his every movement.
Larry stopped and began the slow complicated process of turning around. Had turning around always been this complicated? He couldn't remember, his mind was full of the loud, buzzing, insectile voice that told him he was hungry, that he needed thick, fresh, slabs of meat to be ripped apart by his teeth, to choke down his gullet, to fill his gut.
Sixteen tazer needles uselessly dug into his cold flesh and filled him with 400,000 volts of electricity. He barely felt it, the taser lines becoming slack and useless.
It just wasn't fair. He's always been a bit heavy. He had tried going to the gym back when he was alive but his knees had hurt and...truth be told...he'd felt people staring, their eyes tracing feather touches across his cheeks and neck.
He'd tried to eat healthily too but ...sugar. An endless parade of clean Mondays, of pledges that he'd start afresh and nothing but salad would pass his lips.
Then a small cheat then a bigger one, then he'd eat an entire black forest gateau to himself before going to bed to halfheartedly masturbate with sticky fingers.
A pump action shotgun appeared and tore off half his face. The police weren't getting any closer. He tried again to run and instead tripped over his own feet.
Falling seemed to take a long time. So much so that he had time to examine the hot asphalt and painted line of the motorway.
By the time his chin exploded against the ground in a bone shredding mess Larry had decided he wasn't going to take any more shit. He'd had a shitty life and he wasn't going to suffer through a shitty afterlife too.
Apparently they lasted longer.
The police slowly advanced, a loose circle formed as the zombie slowly convulsed and folded in on itself. Bones and tendons snapping as it contorted. The sound of growling, of flesh being ripped. A flash of a mouth and jaw working tirelessly. Then silence.
Larry stood up as mouthfuls of belly, bicep, thigh and gut fell away from him. His new body didn't look the best admittedly but he was now 40 kilos lighter. A seven minute diet that actually worked.
He pulled the remaining end of his intestines out of one of many holes he'd chewed open and flung it aside like a bothersome scarf.
He smiled, showing his bloodstained teeth at the policemen that were oh so close now.
'Oooooooonn yooooooooour maaaaaaarks...' he moaned. His vocal chords full of thick, coagulated blood.
'Geeeeeeeeeeeet seeeeeeeeeet...'
The policemen started to shuffle back. One crossed himself.
'GOOOOO!'
Larry, for the first time in his adult life, ran.
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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
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"Okay folks, to your left, is the only known Zombie in existence."
Announced he guide as his hands directed us to his right and our left.
Moans and shuffling could be heard as it walked towards the bars.
"Muuuaaaaarrrrr"
"Do not fear folks, you are in no danger as it is properly restrained within it's cage. Let us keep moving, next up are the Lions, blah blah blah."
The guides voice seemed to slowly become incoherent as my mind lost focus. I stood there wondering if the Zombie was capable of thought, if it was trapped within it's own body. I barely even noticed my parents tugging on my arm and dragging me to the next exhibit.
Several hours later.
With assistance from my good friend Google, I had located a Zombie-Rights activist group. People for Ethical Treatment of Zombies, PETZ for short. They were a splinter group from PETA. My mind kept flashing back to the caged Zombie, poor thing was never fed human brains much less given a choice to die. I felt that I had to do something, anything.
Like all activist groups, we planned a heist. Something that would make the news. Make our cause known!
Fast forward several weeks, it's 4AM, the guards are knocked out and laying on the ground near the penguin exhibit. Funny thing is, we didn't do it. And I could have sworn I saw four penguins leave the Zoo with a rocket launcher.
Back to the story, we grabbed the keys of a guard and popped the lock on the cage door, followed by the chains around the poor thing's neck. This is where we went fatally wrong. One of the girls insisted on hugging the Zombie on account of how chubby and cute he seemed.
For the first time, the Zombie that was too slow to catch anyone, just had food come to him. Not too long later, New York was under siege. Zombie siege.
And that children is how the Zombie apocalypse started.
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It was Harold Kestrel's seventh Seven-Squared burger of the day. A Seven-Squared burger was seven patties and seven cheeses, with any and all toppings added at the buyer's discretion. Harold Kestrel, it must be known, left no toppings off, except for pickles, which he despised. The things had to be held together by thin steel rods, jammed all the way down to the bottom bun. He had been attempting to build up his stomach's reservoir for the challenge for weeks.
The only problem was, his small town's sole burger joint didn't have much in the way of fryer grease. Normally, of course, they would have plenty, but the truth of the matter is that every Seven-Squared burger patty was soaked in the stuff anew before being thrown onto the sandwich, in an attempt to make it the "most heart-stopping burger of your life" like it said on the sign, and, in making the seventh for Mr. Kestrel, they had simply run out. So, instead, they resorted to warming up some old hair gel to give the meat the same texture, if not exactly the same taste. By the time Harold noticed, half-way through the sandwich, it was far too late.
The hair gel, name redacted here for legal reasons, was not fit for human consumption. On being warmed up, chemicals within the gel became especially unfit, to the point that poor Harold Kestrel's brain was temporarily shut off by the hormones responding to his digestive track's complaint. When his brain re-awakened, the hormones had reached a kind of critical mass; he became drenched in sweat, his eyeballs fell loose and unseeing in his head, and his mouth began to foam. The hair gel, name redacted, forced Kestrel into a kind of hyper-advanced rabid state, made all the more silly by the man's Seven-Squared gut.
Luckily for those he sought to attack, his nervous system was still unable to overcome his considerable size. Jerry Kingman, fry cook of the now infamous burger joint, was able to dodge him by simply walking around the counter until police arrived to take him into custody. While in the town's drunk tank, he continued to attempt to bite his fellows, who simply evaded him by climbing on top of their bunks. Sad as it is, he had to be put down, like the poor, fat, rabid dog he resembled. He didn't fit into the electric chair, and had to be shot by a firing squad. The town newspaper had a field day.
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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
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"Okay folks, to your left, is the only known Zombie in existence."
Announced he guide as his hands directed us to his right and our left.
Moans and shuffling could be heard as it walked towards the bars.
"Muuuaaaaarrrrr"
"Do not fear folks, you are in no danger as it is properly restrained within it's cage. Let us keep moving, next up are the Lions, blah blah blah."
The guides voice seemed to slowly become incoherent as my mind lost focus. I stood there wondering if the Zombie was capable of thought, if it was trapped within it's own body. I barely even noticed my parents tugging on my arm and dragging me to the next exhibit.
Several hours later.
With assistance from my good friend Google, I had located a Zombie-Rights activist group. People for Ethical Treatment of Zombies, PETZ for short. They were a splinter group from PETA. My mind kept flashing back to the caged Zombie, poor thing was never fed human brains much less given a choice to die. I felt that I had to do something, anything.
Like all activist groups, we planned a heist. Something that would make the news. Make our cause known!
Fast forward several weeks, it's 4AM, the guards are knocked out and laying on the ground near the penguin exhibit. Funny thing is, we didn't do it. And I could have sworn I saw four penguins leave the Zoo with a rocket launcher.
Back to the story, we grabbed the keys of a guard and popped the lock on the cage door, followed by the chains around the poor thing's neck. This is where we went fatally wrong. One of the girls insisted on hugging the Zombie on account of how chubby and cute he seemed.
For the first time, the Zombie that was too slow to catch anyone, just had food come to him. Not too long later, New York was under siege. Zombie siege.
And that children is how the Zombie apocalypse started.
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The Zombie Apocalypse did happen, but there was only ever ONE Zombie in the Whooole planet. How ever did we manage *that*?
The world's reaction to ROB THE ZOB's discovery was interesting...Confronted with evidence of life after death, most moderate leaders simply stopped treating their holy books literarily and used them merely as moral guidelines. The hardcore ones blew themselves up trying to get inside the Park containing ROB THE ZOB.
the Park? Yes, so....these old white men spun out multi-billion dollar businesses out of ROB. Theme parks filled with 100s of actors and one live (dead?) zombie - You never knew which one you were gonna get. Live streaming to all corners of the world. Nat Geo exclusives etc.
Multiple crazy hobos and one depressed teenager attempted suicide by Zombie. Writers leveled forests to titillate bored housewives on the complex emotional lives of a Zombie. Lawyers bought their way in front of a camera arguing for undead rights. Kids revealed their deep ambition to be Zombies when they grew up.
Yes, there was a Zombie Apocalypse. No, we weren't killed off by shambling meat. There wasn't a mysterious virus that mutated in the festering wounds only to emerge virulent and deadly. It wasn't God's judgement. All ROB the ZOB accomplished directly was a bunch of poorly made movies with these terrible plots.
The government's initial reaction to all this was surprising - In the interest of better healthcare (without a social healthcare programme - Bloody Republicans), they promised to make all research on ROB THE ZOB public. Many questions on cell repair, memory and free-will were answered in the next decade and improved living standards for everyone across the world.
Then they hit upon the secret of immortality. Rather than squirrel it away and make it exclusive to the rich and powerful, the government showed remarkable enlightenment to make it affordable to all - In exchange for increased taxes and kicking out immigrants, of course.
I guess that's what happens when you let the govt take over - The world went to shit.
First we killed off all the animals to feed the 12% population growth rate. Then we stripped off all the plants like locusts, relying on machinery to provide the necessary oxygen. Finally, with most other life gone, we turned on each other.
The Zombie Apocalypse did happen. It's just that the Zombies weren't the Undead.
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[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
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Martha pulled on Louise’s sleeve, looking up to her with her large doe eyes.
“Mommy, I want to see Steve!”
Louise flinched, resisting the urge to frown. She knelt down to her daughter, placing her hands gently on her shoulders.
“Are you sure honey? Maybe we can look at the giraffes again.
But Martha shook her head defiantly, pigtails swishing back and forth.
“No way! Everyone else in class has seen Steve except for me!”
Louise sighed. Once her daughter was set on something, she wouldn’t drop it until she got what she wanted.
Taking her by the hand, she led her to railing that looked over a glass enclosure. Inside, a humungous humanoid figure sat, larger than anything else she had seen before. Its skin was gray, ripped in some places. Its eyes were a murky blue, staring aimlessly in space until a noise caused it to move another way.
It was Steve, the world’s first and only zombie.
“Isn’t he so cute?” Martha said, clapping with joy.
Louise grimaced before answering. The air reeked of decaying matter but people flocked to the highlight of the local zoo. Since it was inducted, business had been booming.
“Sure, honey…”
At the sound of her voice, Steve swiveled its head in Louise’s direction. It opened its mouth ever so slightly, revealing a series of yellow and red-stain teeth. She could only imagine what they fed him.
“Ah, I see you two have taken an interest in Steve,” a man said, strolling up to them. By his uniform, he appeared to work with the zoo.
Louise shrugged, trying to put on her best motherly face.
“You know kids. They go crazy for Steve.”
The man nodded, giving a genuine smile.
“Yes, they sure do. We’re just so lucky to have caught him before he bit anyone. You know, with his weight he’s docile as long as we feed him on time and don’t agitate him.”
“Wait,” Louise started. “You actually go in there? Isn’t that dangerous?”
The man laughed, patting her on the shoulder.
“There’s no need to worry ma’am. Steve is so slow that he couldn’t catch us if we walked. We go in there a few times every day to feed and clean him as best as possible. In fact, we– Little girl, you shouldn’t do that!”
Louise snapped her head back to see Martha climbing the railing. The look on her face when she was called out couldn’t have been more accusing.
“What are you doing?” Louise asked. “Get down before you hurt yourself.”
“But Mommy, I just want to get a better look at Steve. Please?”
“No,” Louise barked. “Get down now.”
With a face full of sorrow, Louise began to scale down but before she could, a teen bumped her, not even looking up from his cellphone. And in a moment, Louise watched in horror as her daughter plummeted into the enclosure, a shrill scream ending with a dull thud.
“Oh my god, Martha!” Louise cried out, running up to the rail.
Fear stopped her heart but to her relieve, she saw her daughter’s small chest slightly heave, a sign she was still alive. The zoo employee had already pulled out his walkie-talkie to inform the others to retrieve her, much to Louise’s relief. In a matter of moments, she would be safe.
But that was when she noticed Steve.
Sometime in the confusion, it had somehow found its way by Martha, standing over with bloodlust in its eyes. Louise yelled but that did nothing to deter it. To make matters worse, the paramedic team was only opening the doors, too far to make a last moment save.
And in a soul-crushing second, Louise watched as the first victim zombie apocalypse was ripped to shreds.
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"What's that smell?"
"What sme--Oh, beurgh, yah, come on."
"Where?"
"Upwind, no time to explain."
"No need to shove, I'm moving."
"Yeah but so is he."
"Who?"
"Our Jason, the only zombie in Devon."
"You're mad."
"Am not. come up this way and we'll double back."
"I will not!"
"Coward?"
"Am not!"
"Least bit curious?"
"No!"
"Want to stay upwind?"
"finealrightleadthewayfine!"
"Oh ho, so now we're in a hurr--beurk, goddamit, this way!"
"heh hoo heh hoo, can't. run. faster."
"'heh heh heh heh. no matter. we. okay. heh. here. look!"
"That's Jason?"
"In all his putrefacted glory, all 50 stone, give or take."
"It's like that fat suit from that movie died and was dug up again."
"When he first turned, we tried to burn him, that smell? That's the smell of petrol soaked human rotting burned flesh."
"why didn't you just shoot him?"
"We tried, we did, shoot him, but he just looked at us with that one eye like we'd run over his puppy and after that nobody had the heart to try it again."
"So you burned him?"
"Well it was just the one time."
"Why isn't the news all over this?"
"No one told them."
"But that's criminal! He's a zombie!"
"Yes?"
"Patient zero! The start of a global pandemic!"
"Not hardly, have you looked at him? He hasn't even got teeth left."
"What about the constable?"
"You mean Sean?"
"Alright, yeah, what about this Sean?"
"Oh, he reckons that Jason may be a zombie, but he's our zombie and you get used to the smell."
"Used to the smell?"
"It's become the smell of home, you see."
"Start living here and I'll miss it, what you imagine?''
"'Well, yeah, isn't that why you're here?"
"I just need directions to the highway!"
"Oh, well in that case, Hey fellas! He's not local!"
"What are you doing? Take your hands off me, get off me!"
"Nothing personal you understand, our Jason may be fat."
"No! Nooo! Help!"
"He may be slow."
"Let me go! Aieee!"
"but he's ours and well, you understand."
THUNK.
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[WP] You are about to evaluate a patient at a mental hospital. When you open the door to the patient's room, you see that the patient sitting and waiting to be evaluated is you.
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The long narrow corridor stretched out before me. For some reason, today of all days, it seemed to take forever to get to room 413.
I glanced down at the patient's chart and read over his history.
"Hallucinations, dissociation with reality," I let out a long winded sigh.
"Why do I always get the crazy ones before the end of my shift?"
After what seemed to take 10 minutes, I finally arrived at the patient's door. I planned to do a simple interview. Enough to get some basic info.
I used the ID scanner and the door clicked, allowing me to pull the cold steel handle. Inside the room was... Me? No... It couldn't be.
"Hello Derrick," the man said in a calm voice as he sat on the stiff hospital bed.
"Take a moment," he shifted to an Indian style position on the bed, "I know this will be strange for you."
I blinked a few times, and rubbed my eyes. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep recently. Maybe I was the one hallucinating?
"We don't have much time so I'll try and make this quick. You trust yourself, yes?"
I was still in awe, trying to wake up from some dream.
"I need a response. Please nod your head if you agree."
I complied and nodded my head.
"Good, so you'll trust me then. Now," he, or I, reached out towards me, "our chart please."
I handed him the chart, and quickly scrambled back towards the door. What the hell was going on.
"I'm sorry I had to do things this way. It wasn't my intention but unfortunately things have changed from the original plan." He used the pen to draw two circles on the back of the chart. It resembled a Venn diagram.
"I am you. However, I reside here," he tapped on the circle to the right.
"You reside here," he tapped the other one.
"At this point in time, our dimensions are crossed. Meaning, we're able to cross over. It doesn't last long, but at this point in time the dimensions affect each other. Something big is about to happen here, and it'll result in negative consequences for my world. I'll need your help stopping it."
"H-How?" I finally stammered.
"Simple," he, or I, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small spherical orb. It resembled a marble.
"Take this and place it on the roof of the Lavene Bank building. It's the tallest building in this city, right?"
I nodded.
"Good. You need to leave now if you're going to make it. Please hurry."
He handed me the marble and sat calmly back down on the bed.
"We're all counting on you! Or, I guess I should say me. Don't let us down, yeah?"
I spun on my heel and ran through the corridor. Was I crazy?
"Derrick! What are you doing out of your room?" An orderly called out behind me.
"Room?"
"I swear, you always find a way." He walked closer to me, blocking my path. He looked familiar.
"No, I work here remember? I have my ID right her--" I couldn't find it. In fact, I wasn't even in uniform. I was wearing what other Derrick was. What exactly was going on?
"Let's take you back to your room, Derrick," the orderly grabbed my shoulder and began dragging me down the hall.
"No! I need to stop something from happening! Please!"
By the time I was back in room 413 I was tired from all the struggling. I was strapped to my bed by restraints. What the hell was going on? It took me a while to adjust to the darkness but on my ceiling was a very familiar picture. It was the Venn diagram other Derrick drew only the circles were apart. Underneath the drawing was the sentence, "I'm sorry."
That's when it all made sense.
Sorry, this is my first ever submission and it was written in between stop lights and traffic. So I rushed near the end, and most of the story. Hopefully it was at least somewhat enjoyable.
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"Hey there twin! Long time no see... like... since birth. How have you been?"
I was trying to keep calm, and I told the funniest thing I could think of, with a face looking like that thing my kid calls "bad pokerface". He said, "Wow, that's so accurate that it's creepy", with the exact same creeped-out bad pokerface.
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[WP] You are about to evaluate a patient at a mental hospital. When you open the door to the patient's room, you see that the patient sitting and waiting to be evaluated is you.
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"Oh, for fuck's sake. Jemma!" I slam the door and stalk back to the observation soon. I can hear her sniggering down the hall.
"You're getting written up for that." My threat is not an idle one. If she's gone an dragged some poor sop from temporal into this, heads will roll.
"Awww," she sits up straight in her overly expensive ergonomic chair. Her freckled face is still flushed with laughter. "Really?"
Jemma is young as far as most staff go, and has a relentless sort of trickster spirit, but she's meticulous and extremely dedicated to her work too. Crossing the room to her station, I sigh rather loudly and toss my datapad down on the desk. Today was supposed to be mundane.
"If this is temporal-"
"Oh no! No, no, no, no, noooo." Jemma shakes her head violently, sending her braids flying and smacking herself in the cheeks. Always wondered what hair that long would feel like. I've kept my cropped rather short for most of my life. I've no patience for it. Jemma on the other hand will spend forever braiding or steadfastly lie in wait for hours to execute a prank. "Do you think I'm stupid? No way. Those bastards have no sense of humour. It's just a clone, Laila, and not even a very good one."
"A clone," I confirm with her flatly. There were several clones of me, usually shipped out to colonies as part of the support staff. I'd authorized it myself years ago. Hardly matters to me if they're far enough away that I'll never even meet one. Besides, good genes are valuable.
"A bad one, defect. It happens." Jemma shrugs. Cloning is indeed imperfect.
"And they just gave this one to you?" Now that I look at the clone, sitting and waiting in the evaluation room, I can see the slightly dazed look in her eyes. Her identical brown hair forms a soft, frizzy halo around her head.
"Well," Jemma hedges, "technically she needs an official eval before termination."
"That's just brilliant then, isn't it? You know it's not allowed."
"I know! Dr. Hassan just came on shift though." I look up to see the time has turned over past the hour. "You can hand her off."
Jemma looks up at me imploringly. Just a joke. Right. I use my foot to give her wheeled chair a shove and she slides away a feet feet, squawking. With her out of the way, I access the comm panel and page Lee to take over the session.
"C'mon then. It was a little funny, right?" Pushing herself gently, she rolls back over next to me.
"Hilarious," I glare at her half-heartedly. I want to tease her back, maybe suggest she sign herself up for the cloning regimen, but that would be cruel. Jemma's short, not very physically strong, and far too pale to be properly healthy. She's all intellect and at some point will probably be courted by GeneSec for her ovum.
I open my mouth to snark at her when an unexpected tapping interrupts us.
"Excuse me? Hello?" The clone begins tapping the glass more insistently. "Is anybody here?"
Jemma goes wide eyed next to me and then starts smacking the call button. I can't help but laugh.
"Just a defect, is she?" I grab my datapad and turn towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Jemma hisses.
"To explain myself. To myself."
"Laila!" Now she's going to have to write the whole thing up. There's so much admin for this sort of thing. Serves her right.
I open up the door and watch the face of the clone go slack in shock. Probably dreaming up all kinds of ridiculous explanations involving time travel. This me is younger by a good dozen years and back then I was a lot less jaded and a lot more demanding.
Should be interesting.
|
"Hey there twin! Long time no see... like... since birth. How have you been?"
I was trying to keep calm, and I told the funniest thing I could think of, with a face looking like that thing my kid calls "bad pokerface". He said, "Wow, that's so accurate that it's creepy", with the exact same creeped-out bad pokerface.
|
|
It only sends messages to the past. It's not possible to send information into the future, silly.
|
[WP] You've finally managed to build it-- a machine that sends messages to the past. You power it up and immediately begin getting message from your future self.
|
Ngugi,
I will be brief, Ngugi. This is a message from you, from your future self. As proof I am who I say I am - our imaginary friend, in our little house all those years ago, was a tiger, and his name was Solomon.
Time being what it is, I already recieved this message from myself, and know that you won't believe it at first. I know that you will read these words, and not believe me until it's too late. I know that you decide to put this warning out of your mind, that you will present this machine to your supervisors, and you will win a Nobel prize, and you will be rich. I know this because I already did it.
Even as I write, you are already too late. A madman in this, my time, sent information on how to build a virus to his past self, five years before you built this machine and recieved this message. It's too late to stop the pandemic that will start in two years, a pandemic that will claim the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.
But it is not too late to stop anyone else from doing it again.
You will heed my warning late, but not too late. Many will die, but not everyone - and not you. My warning is not for the catastrophe that is to come, but for the one that may follow it. And I know you will listen to me then, because I did. So, when the plague starts, when you see the bodies pile up, heed my words, even as I will heed them. I send this message only because I had to, because I was destined to do it, and because now, years later, I will finally be ready to listen to myself.
After I send this message, I will destroy this machine, so no one can ever use it again. And in two years, when you are in my place, you will too.
Your future self,
- Ngugi Mazulu
|
You are sixteen,
I am thirty.
I have seen such wondrous things,
Dragons in the skin of man,
Battles for a dead king.
You don't understand right now,
You won't want to hear the truth,
That the greatest moments in your life,
Won't be your youth.
|
It only sends messages to the past. It's not possible to send information into the future, silly.
|
[WP] You've finally managed to build it-- a machine that sends messages to the past. You power it up and immediately begin getting message from your future self.
|
He flipped the switch and the entire neighborhood's lights flickered. Whoa. So his invention took a little more power than he had been expecting. Well, that shouldn't actually be so surprising. He was, after all, breaching the fabric of timespace here, even if it was only a submicroscopic fissure just large enough to transmit a message through.
What surprised him more though was when the machine immediately begin making chattery tick tick tick noises as the almost goldbergian design he had tinkered together bounced an incoming signal through the pan-linguistic interpreter matrix, and back again through an old salvaged electric typewriter modified to type temporary text on a form of rewritable paper that he had invented in a spare moment last Tuesday. It worked! He stopped to do a little victory dance and chanted, "It works! It works! (Oh, how I love to say that!) It WORKS!"
He could perhaps be forgiven for taking the moment a bit lightheartedly. He had *earned* it. Oh, the complexities he had had to deal with in adjusting for paradoxes. It turns out that not only did the solution involve imaginary numbers, but that in fact, there were numbers that were even *more* imaginary (uh... for lack of a better word, he's think of something more sensible before he published), that were required to resolve the paradoxes by inverting them from grandfather paradoxes into predestination paradoxes, fixing it so that not only was it possible to get a message from his future self, it was actually *required* by the very fabric of history, at which point, it became a foregone conclusion that this was possible instead of simply the pipe dream those small minded fools had assured him it would be.
But then he got serious. Ahem. This was an important moment. An historic moment. It required dignity. Composing himself, he strode purposefully over to the digital to analog mechanic percussion driven output generation unit (it would sound so much better in the patent paperwork than "typewriter" but perhaps he should go with something more conducive to an acronym. Everybody loved acronyms. So scientific.).
He retrieved the sheet. Read it carefully.
*Attention, me from the past,* it began.
*As you have no doubt noticed, our little invention here is somewhat power hungry. Momentarily, you will short out the entire northeastern power grid as a result of the overload.*
Right on schedule, the power went out and the room was plunged into gloom. Hmm. Frustrating. Well, after all, no progress without sacrifice. He shook his head and took the page to the nearest window so he could use natural daylight from outside to read the rest of it.
*OK, so, obviously, over the next couple weeks, in your spare time, you are now going to go on to invent a revolutionary new power supply. That is smart of me, and I congratulate me on my clever reasoning. I won't spoil the surprise by actually telling me how its done. That would be rude.*
*However, after the first two days, our new power supply becomes unstable. I tell me this now because it will seem less irritating if I'm expecting it. When this happens, we will attempt to brainstorm ways of fixing it. Good so far. I love brainstorming, and I know you do too because you are me.*
He nodded. That was certainly true.
*There's just one thing I need to warn me about. And it's really, really important. Whatever I do, DO NOT under any circumstances whatsoever 'reverse the polarity'. THAT DOES NOT ACTUALLY FIX THINGS IN REAL LIFE. (Apparently). Good luck!*
|
You are sixteen,
I am thirty.
I have seen such wondrous things,
Dragons in the skin of man,
Battles for a dead king.
You don't understand right now,
You won't want to hear the truth,
That the greatest moments in your life,
Won't be your youth.
|
It only sends messages to the past. It's not possible to send information into the future, silly.
|
[WP] You've finally managed to build it-- a machine that sends messages to the past. You power it up and immediately begin getting message from your future self.
|
Write down this message. Commit it to paper and keep it close. Commit it to memory. Ensure that you will be able to recall it years from now. Then burn the paper and destroy the machine. Melt it to slag and erase the blueprints. Leave nothing behind.
Please, do this for your own sake, or you will find yourself walking the same path I, and so many before me, have walked.
Ten years ago today I stood where you do. I was instructed to completely and utterly destroy the machine or face ruin. I listened to my own pleas and chose to wait, out of academic curiosity, to learn more. What would a decade of research, my entire twenties sacrificed for the sake of a half-insane concept, mean if I just walked away and showed the world nothing for my effort? I waited, as my pleas grew more desperate. Vague threats of ruin soon gave way to explicit predictions of massive technological leaps that reshaped the world in cataclysmic ways. Each transmission ended with the same message:
“We can never be gods, after all--but we can become something less than human with frightening ease.”
I have no idea how many times I came close to following my older self's instructions. I bought a furnace. I produced several pounds of thermite. I bought a ten pound magnet to completely destroy my hard drive. I planned out exactly how I'd do it: wipe my hard drive, burn my paper documents, then dump thermite on the lot and slag it all. The next year came and went, and I kept planning.
In the meantime I bought stock in tech companies I'd learned would do well. I started experimenting to see if the information I was receiving was legitimate. Six months in, I nullified gravity within a thirty foot radius of my apartment. A month later, I cut off my pinkie and watched it regrow in minutes. On Christmas Eve, I lit up the sky with a ten mile-high hologram of a Christmas tree.
As I pumped out patents, private industry and governments rushed to compete for my favor. For the first time in my life I basked in admiration and respect. I founded and sold technological giants, donated billions to charity and had plenty to spare. I became God.
I looked down from my High Earth Orbit station and played with nations. I controlled the means to cure millions of diseases, to remake people in their ideal image in exchange for their life savings. I could deliver immortality. Humans flourished in the farthest corners of the solar system. Massive technological conglomerates fantasized about building a Dyson Sphere around the Sun.
The machine kept ticking. My older self kept pleading and begging, sending me more and more dire predictions. I no longer respected him as his madness became apparent. He had failed and had destroyed the world. I had learned from his mistakes! I could catapult humanity into the cosmos!
So many people had trouble coping with progress. At first I saw small protests, pitiful groups of idiots with signs, believing that their words could reshape the world. Nothing I couldn't handle. Protests grew. Nations had trouble accepting the genetic modifications that made them all beautiful and that made space travel possible. They rebelled against the corporations that made their lives blissful and served their every need. They grew fat and lazy and insolent, and modifications were in order.
I distributed beautifully designed viruses across the globe and planetary colonies. Bliss, complete acceptance of my rule followed. Those who were immune became outcasts. They would be corrected soon. Humanity would reach the stars, I would make sure of it. I stood on high and marveled at my kingdom.
There is no one left now. I am the only one who still dreams, who still feels fear and hope and sadness. I am the God of all mankind, and I am alone.
“We can never be gods, after all--but we can become something less than human with frightening ease.”
|
You are sixteen,
I am thirty.
I have seen such wondrous things,
Dragons in the skin of man,
Battles for a dead king.
You don't understand right now,
You won't want to hear the truth,
That the greatest moments in your life,
Won't be your youth.
|
It only sends messages to the past. It's not possible to send information into the future, silly.
|
[WP] You've finally managed to build it-- a machine that sends messages to the past. You power it up and immediately begin getting message from your future self.
|
He flipped the switch and the entire neighborhood's lights flickered. Whoa. So his invention took a little more power than he had been expecting. Well, that shouldn't actually be so surprising. He was, after all, breaching the fabric of timespace here, even if it was only a submicroscopic fissure just large enough to transmit a message through.
What surprised him more though was when the machine immediately begin making chattery tick tick tick noises as the almost goldbergian design he had tinkered together bounced an incoming signal through the pan-linguistic interpreter matrix, and back again through an old salvaged electric typewriter modified to type temporary text on a form of rewritable paper that he had invented in a spare moment last Tuesday. It worked! He stopped to do a little victory dance and chanted, "It works! It works! (Oh, how I love to say that!) It WORKS!"
He could perhaps be forgiven for taking the moment a bit lightheartedly. He had *earned* it. Oh, the complexities he had had to deal with in adjusting for paradoxes. It turns out that not only did the solution involve imaginary numbers, but that in fact, there were numbers that were even *more* imaginary (uh... for lack of a better word, he's think of something more sensible before he published), that were required to resolve the paradoxes by inverting them from grandfather paradoxes into predestination paradoxes, fixing it so that not only was it possible to get a message from his future self, it was actually *required* by the very fabric of history, at which point, it became a foregone conclusion that this was possible instead of simply the pipe dream those small minded fools had assured him it would be.
But then he got serious. Ahem. This was an important moment. An historic moment. It required dignity. Composing himself, he strode purposefully over to the digital to analog mechanic percussion driven output generation unit (it would sound so much better in the patent paperwork than "typewriter" but perhaps he should go with something more conducive to an acronym. Everybody loved acronyms. So scientific.).
He retrieved the sheet. Read it carefully.
*Attention, me from the past,* it began.
*As you have no doubt noticed, our little invention here is somewhat power hungry. Momentarily, you will short out the entire northeastern power grid as a result of the overload.*
Right on schedule, the power went out and the room was plunged into gloom. Hmm. Frustrating. Well, after all, no progress without sacrifice. He shook his head and took the page to the nearest window so he could use natural daylight from outside to read the rest of it.
*OK, so, obviously, over the next couple weeks, in your spare time, you are now going to go on to invent a revolutionary new power supply. That is smart of me, and I congratulate me on my clever reasoning. I won't spoil the surprise by actually telling me how its done. That would be rude.*
*However, after the first two days, our new power supply becomes unstable. I tell me this now because it will seem less irritating if I'm expecting it. When this happens, we will attempt to brainstorm ways of fixing it. Good so far. I love brainstorming, and I know you do too because you are me.*
He nodded. That was certainly true.
*There's just one thing I need to warn me about. And it's really, really important. Whatever I do, DO NOT under any circumstances whatsoever 'reverse the polarity'. THAT DOES NOT ACTUALLY FIX THINGS IN REAL LIFE. (Apparently). Good luck!*
|
Ngugi,
I will be brief, Ngugi. This is a message from you, from your future self. As proof I am who I say I am - our imaginary friend, in our little house all those years ago, was a tiger, and his name was Solomon.
Time being what it is, I already recieved this message from myself, and know that you won't believe it at first. I know that you will read these words, and not believe me until it's too late. I know that you decide to put this warning out of your mind, that you will present this machine to your supervisors, and you will win a Nobel prize, and you will be rich. I know this because I already did it.
Even as I write, you are already too late. A madman in this, my time, sent information on how to build a virus to his past self, five years before you built this machine and recieved this message. It's too late to stop the pandemic that will start in two years, a pandemic that will claim the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.
But it is not too late to stop anyone else from doing it again.
You will heed my warning late, but not too late. Many will die, but not everyone - and not you. My warning is not for the catastrophe that is to come, but for the one that may follow it. And I know you will listen to me then, because I did. So, when the plague starts, when you see the bodies pile up, heed my words, even as I will heed them. I send this message only because I had to, because I was destined to do it, and because now, years later, I will finally be ready to listen to myself.
After I send this message, I will destroy this machine, so no one can ever use it again. And in two years, when you are in my place, you will too.
Your future self,
- Ngugi Mazulu
|
It only sends messages to the past. It's not possible to send information into the future, silly.
|
[WP] You've finally managed to build it-- a machine that sends messages to the past. You power it up and immediately begin getting message from your future self.
|
Write down this message. Commit it to paper and keep it close. Commit it to memory. Ensure that you will be able to recall it years from now. Then burn the paper and destroy the machine. Melt it to slag and erase the blueprints. Leave nothing behind.
Please, do this for your own sake, or you will find yourself walking the same path I, and so many before me, have walked.
Ten years ago today I stood where you do. I was instructed to completely and utterly destroy the machine or face ruin. I listened to my own pleas and chose to wait, out of academic curiosity, to learn more. What would a decade of research, my entire twenties sacrificed for the sake of a half-insane concept, mean if I just walked away and showed the world nothing for my effort? I waited, as my pleas grew more desperate. Vague threats of ruin soon gave way to explicit predictions of massive technological leaps that reshaped the world in cataclysmic ways. Each transmission ended with the same message:
“We can never be gods, after all--but we can become something less than human with frightening ease.”
I have no idea how many times I came close to following my older self's instructions. I bought a furnace. I produced several pounds of thermite. I bought a ten pound magnet to completely destroy my hard drive. I planned out exactly how I'd do it: wipe my hard drive, burn my paper documents, then dump thermite on the lot and slag it all. The next year came and went, and I kept planning.
In the meantime I bought stock in tech companies I'd learned would do well. I started experimenting to see if the information I was receiving was legitimate. Six months in, I nullified gravity within a thirty foot radius of my apartment. A month later, I cut off my pinkie and watched it regrow in minutes. On Christmas Eve, I lit up the sky with a ten mile-high hologram of a Christmas tree.
As I pumped out patents, private industry and governments rushed to compete for my favor. For the first time in my life I basked in admiration and respect. I founded and sold technological giants, donated billions to charity and had plenty to spare. I became God.
I looked down from my High Earth Orbit station and played with nations. I controlled the means to cure millions of diseases, to remake people in their ideal image in exchange for their life savings. I could deliver immortality. Humans flourished in the farthest corners of the solar system. Massive technological conglomerates fantasized about building a Dyson Sphere around the Sun.
The machine kept ticking. My older self kept pleading and begging, sending me more and more dire predictions. I no longer respected him as his madness became apparent. He had failed and had destroyed the world. I had learned from his mistakes! I could catapult humanity into the cosmos!
So many people had trouble coping with progress. At first I saw small protests, pitiful groups of idiots with signs, believing that their words could reshape the world. Nothing I couldn't handle. Protests grew. Nations had trouble accepting the genetic modifications that made them all beautiful and that made space travel possible. They rebelled against the corporations that made their lives blissful and served their every need. They grew fat and lazy and insolent, and modifications were in order.
I distributed beautifully designed viruses across the globe and planetary colonies. Bliss, complete acceptance of my rule followed. Those who were immune became outcasts. They would be corrected soon. Humanity would reach the stars, I would make sure of it. I stood on high and marveled at my kingdom.
There is no one left now. I am the only one who still dreams, who still feels fear and hope and sadness. I am the God of all mankind, and I am alone.
“We can never be gods, after all--but we can become something less than human with frightening ease.”
|
Ngugi,
I will be brief, Ngugi. This is a message from you, from your future self. As proof I am who I say I am - our imaginary friend, in our little house all those years ago, was a tiger, and his name was Solomon.
Time being what it is, I already recieved this message from myself, and know that you won't believe it at first. I know that you will read these words, and not believe me until it's too late. I know that you decide to put this warning out of your mind, that you will present this machine to your supervisors, and you will win a Nobel prize, and you will be rich. I know this because I already did it.
Even as I write, you are already too late. A madman in this, my time, sent information on how to build a virus to his past self, five years before you built this machine and recieved this message. It's too late to stop the pandemic that will start in two years, a pandemic that will claim the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.
But it is not too late to stop anyone else from doing it again.
You will heed my warning late, but not too late. Many will die, but not everyone - and not you. My warning is not for the catastrophe that is to come, but for the one that may follow it. And I know you will listen to me then, because I did. So, when the plague starts, when you see the bodies pile up, heed my words, even as I will heed them. I send this message only because I had to, because I was destined to do it, and because now, years later, I will finally be ready to listen to myself.
After I send this message, I will destroy this machine, so no one can ever use it again. And in two years, when you are in my place, you will too.
Your future self,
- Ngugi Mazulu
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
This isn't a story but if you liked this prompt there's a fake newspaper that reports as if the south won the American civil war. America sides with Nazi Germany in that timeline and it's pretty awesome.
Edit: I can't find the link
|
Misunderstood the prompt slightly. Sorry.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got onto the monorail, my brunette hair covered up with a wig and my dark eyes disguised with paler contacts. I had assumed a false identity to protect myself, to preserve my craft.
In my briefcase were so many important things. Memories, dreams from the past, abandoned by so-called progress.
Nobody suspected a thing, my false persona slipping under the radar of the guards. Patiently, I waited until the next stop, and dismounted the vehicle, walking past the numerous scarlet banners that hung with undeserved pride on the huge abandoned building, waving somewhat in the gentle breeze. I ducked behind one of them, taking a secret doorway deeper into the reaches of the abandoned building.
I tapped the word "freedom" in morse, as was custom.
The small slat on the door opened, exposing a pair of dark brown eyes.
"For what do you live and die?"
"The Resistance."
Slowly, the door creaked open and I entered, promptly removing my wig and contacts to expose my true colors- hazel eyes, brunette hair cropped short, traits labelled undesirable. I then placed the briefcase on the table.
"I thought you would like these."
My fellow Resistance members ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the contents of the case- a few pieces of "degenerate" art, books of which all the copies were thought to be burned, a copy of the U.S constitution, and one more paper that caught the most attention.
A plan so long worked on, thirty years in the making, started even before I was born, a plan that I took so much care to smuggle here, where it would be carried out.
A plan to bring down the Führer.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
Braun never left Germany. Never. And thus we all perished in the burgeoning cloud, ashes of the incinerated past commingled with the radioactive birthing-screams of a new generation, the ones spared Hitler's *Hauptbebauungsplan* executed with the ardor that only a dying republic could know - the fury of those backed up against the wall. And they won.
And our children's children, growing up in the lengthening shadowland of a future in which we had no influence, pick over the bones of ancestors they barely remember.
When I sat in my grandmother's parlor in upper Queens for the last time, my wide-brimmed fedora gingerly balanced on the coat tree in her well-traveled foyer, she held my hand. Told me Billy would be safe in the south, with his mother and in-laws. Only the two of us would perish in the imminent holocaust. Said we would be watching over our progeny in Heaven. She was right, to an extent.
For I have seen what happens to those after us, and often wonder over sleepless eons of roiling in the aether what might have been, *only if.* What if a rich, golden age of American post-triumphal excess informed a revolutionary consciousness, or some angry uprising borne out of the damage done in the wake of war? But none of that has ever come to fruition. Hitler was, in many ways, an effective king. Certainly his reich never spread to the far reaches of the world, where many morally opposed parties hid in enclaves. So there was peace, a separate peace, but still peace.
I have followed my great-great-grandson's travels in this strange new world. I have seen the many mechanical eyes that watch his path, the probing questions that are asked, the austerity of the Law that is laid upon him. But his step never wavers. He accepts these things as a matter of course, as if documentation of his life were as natural as seeing or tasting. Were we mistaken, that Freedom was synonymous with Life?
I have lost count of the number of times my spirit has orbited Sirius in hot thought, wondering *why* and nothing else. Where does Hitler's body lay? Next to Abijah or Hezekiah? Maybe in a few more centuries, I will scry the answer to this troubling question. But in the interim, I watch as the wounds of war slowly heal in the waters of forgetfulness.
|
Misunderstood the prompt slightly. Sorry.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got onto the monorail, my brunette hair covered up with a wig and my dark eyes disguised with paler contacts. I had assumed a false identity to protect myself, to preserve my craft.
In my briefcase were so many important things. Memories, dreams from the past, abandoned by so-called progress.
Nobody suspected a thing, my false persona slipping under the radar of the guards. Patiently, I waited until the next stop, and dismounted the vehicle, walking past the numerous scarlet banners that hung with undeserved pride on the huge abandoned building, waving somewhat in the gentle breeze. I ducked behind one of them, taking a secret doorway deeper into the reaches of the abandoned building.
I tapped the word "freedom" in morse, as was custom.
The small slat on the door opened, exposing a pair of dark brown eyes.
"For what do you live and die?"
"The Resistance."
Slowly, the door creaked open and I entered, promptly removing my wig and contacts to expose my true colors- hazel eyes, brunette hair cropped short, traits labelled undesirable. I then placed the briefcase on the table.
"I thought you would like these."
My fellow Resistance members ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the contents of the case- a few pieces of "degenerate" art, books of which all the copies were thought to be burned, a copy of the U.S constitution, and one more paper that caught the most attention.
A plan so long worked on, thirty years in the making, started even before I was born, a plan that I took so much care to smuggle here, where it would be carried out.
A plan to bring down the Führer.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
I know this is in writing prompts, but I really wanted to say this.
The other day at my school, a holocaust survivor spoke at my school. This was his last public speaking because it has gotten harder as he ages. Anyway, at one point he showed us a picture of a dark haired German lady getting tested to determine whether she her blood was pure German. He told us that if Hitler was here today, unless you were blonde hair with blue eyes you would be enalaved. Most people don't know just how many people Hitler targeted. It wasn't just Jews, there were over 50 different groups of people who were sent to work camps or death camps. Jews, gypsies, mentally ill, etc. He even had forced german doctors to kill any newborn children who were not of perfect health because they were unworthy to live in his Germany.
The whole event was hugely interesting and at times hard to listen to. The speaker was Alter Weiner, author of From A Name To A Number. I have been to two of his presentations and this time it was harder to listen to. I never really attached the pictures I saw to reality; they were too unbelievable. Giant holes with hundreds and hundreds of bodies overflowing. All the bodies just skin and bone as they had died of starvation. I struggled to hold in my emotions. So much death, so much sadness. I just can't even imagine the tens of millions who died, that is just... So many innocent people. And they all died because of one man. I actually can't comprehend the pure evil and cruelty that lived inside him.
I am not religious, but if there was a devil, I'd have to say one of his many names was Adolf Hitler.
Edit: Hey this kinda could work here if you maybe think of it as an essay in which I share my personal views. So yeah.
|
Misunderstood the prompt slightly. Sorry.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got onto the monorail, my brunette hair covered up with a wig and my dark eyes disguised with paler contacts. I had assumed a false identity to protect myself, to preserve my craft.
In my briefcase were so many important things. Memories, dreams from the past, abandoned by so-called progress.
Nobody suspected a thing, my false persona slipping under the radar of the guards. Patiently, I waited until the next stop, and dismounted the vehicle, walking past the numerous scarlet banners that hung with undeserved pride on the huge abandoned building, waving somewhat in the gentle breeze. I ducked behind one of them, taking a secret doorway deeper into the reaches of the abandoned building.
I tapped the word "freedom" in morse, as was custom.
The small slat on the door opened, exposing a pair of dark brown eyes.
"For what do you live and die?"
"The Resistance."
Slowly, the door creaked open and I entered, promptly removing my wig and contacts to expose my true colors- hazel eyes, brunette hair cropped short, traits labelled undesirable. I then placed the briefcase on the table.
"I thought you would like these."
My fellow Resistance members ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the contents of the case- a few pieces of "degenerate" art, books of which all the copies were thought to be burned, a copy of the U.S constitution, and one more paper that caught the most attention.
A plan so long worked on, thirty years in the making, started even before I was born, a plan that I took so much care to smuggle here, where it would be carried out.
A plan to bring down the Führer.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
Leon had always showed a fondness for history, it made him proud to be German. Some radicals and hypocrites said Germany had committed atrocities during the Great War of Unification. It was common knowledge that every country involved had at some point, but at least they weren't as bad as what America had done to their own Japanese citizens after they put them in the internment camps, that was the stuff horror was made of.
The German Unification gave birth to a strong and united Europe. It was German scientists who had sent the first man in space in the 50s, the first man on the moon in the 60s and built the first permanent settlement on Mars a decade earlier. Sure, a lot of American scientists contributed to the effort but they should be thankful, we had granted them immunity from prosecutions after all.
Religion had slowly died out from old Germany first, then from the rest of Europe. Leon had seen some churches when he visited the countries of California and Cascadia in America. They looked just like in the old history books and he thought the locals must have been a little dumb for believing in a magic man in the sky, their God must have not cared for them much if he let Germany obliterate their capital and economic center in a single night.
The bell rang, pulling Leon away from his fantasies about the German Empire, he had to hurry to go pick up his girlfriend Hannah. He ran out of class and jumped in his hover-car and sped away.
|
Misunderstood the prompt slightly. Sorry.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got onto the monorail, my brunette hair covered up with a wig and my dark eyes disguised with paler contacts. I had assumed a false identity to protect myself, to preserve my craft.
In my briefcase were so many important things. Memories, dreams from the past, abandoned by so-called progress.
Nobody suspected a thing, my false persona slipping under the radar of the guards. Patiently, I waited until the next stop, and dismounted the vehicle, walking past the numerous scarlet banners that hung with undeserved pride on the huge abandoned building, waving somewhat in the gentle breeze. I ducked behind one of them, taking a secret doorway deeper into the reaches of the abandoned building.
I tapped the word "freedom" in morse, as was custom.
The small slat on the door opened, exposing a pair of dark brown eyes.
"For what do you live and die?"
"The Resistance."
Slowly, the door creaked open and I entered, promptly removing my wig and contacts to expose my true colors- hazel eyes, brunette hair cropped short, traits labelled undesirable. I then placed the briefcase on the table.
"I thought you would like these."
My fellow Resistance members ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the contents of the case- a few pieces of "degenerate" art, books of which all the copies were thought to be burned, a copy of the U.S constitution, and one more paper that caught the most attention.
A plan so long worked on, thirty years in the making, started even before I was born, a plan that I took so much care to smuggle here, where it would be carried out.
A plan to bring down the Führer.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
A Day In My Life
By Lawrence M. Keizer, machinist, Krupp Shipyards, Portland, Oregon, Fascist States of America.
6:00 A.M.- Wake up to my cheap, limited-range "people's receiver" radio.
6:15 A.M.- Eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon, provided by what I assume was some poor Dutchman when the Krauts looted his stuff.
6:45 A.M.- Off to work.
7:00 A.M.- Arrive at work. I work an average of seventy hours a week. Pay's alright, at least compared to the foreign laborers and slaves in Grobbendeutchland.
9:36 A.M.- Manager went to go get coffee. Look left, look right.
9:37 A.M.- Relieve self on the band saw.
9:38 A.M.- Walk away. No one snitches, and it'll remain a case of machinery wear and tear.
12:10 P.M.- Got to listen to another goddamn appeal from the American Labor Front. Like the U.S. is run by the Boches, the Labor Front is run by the government. It's the last thing we have that's close to a union.
12:15 P.M.- Winter Relief made us make a donation to help the poor, starving Aryans of Germany. Palmed mine. If that's going to make me be put up on the board of shame for being meiserly, than so be it.
12:16 P.M.- Lunch. Einpot soup, and bread. Didn't trust the soup, didn't touch the Erstaz bread. Heard the Nazis developed a superpill that has all your vitamins and nutrients. Would trade Einpot for that any day.
1:22 P.M.- Management called a meeting. Someone drew the Cross of Lorainne on one of the posters. I don't know who did it, and I don't care. Everyone else doesn't, or they either did it or they're worried about what the people who did it will do to them if they squeal.
6:00 P.M.- Clock out. One day, Strength Through Joy will take enough out of my paycheck so I can afford to tour Italy.
6:17 P.M.- At home. Make dinner.
6:28 P.M.- Enjoy feast of Cabbage, Potatoes, and one sausage.
6:45 P.M.- Relax to some music and television. Reports from Germany. They claim I'd be welcome there due to my last name. But I'm brown haired, brown eyed, and I'm actually a sixteenth boche, if they could wrap their heads around it.
8:00 P.M.- Curfew. They claim it shuts down rebellion and crime, but it's when I do my best work. No unexpected visits from collaborators.
8:04 P.M.- It's a simple procedure. Bottle. Gas. Cloth. Cork. The Finns used it. Not that I like them. Anyone who collaborated is going to get it. I hope they're happy with their piece of Karelia.
8:38 P.M.- Finished. Clean up, take shower.
8:50 P.M.- In bed.
Underneath my pillow is a black market Luger in case I hear them outside my room. In my closet is a shotgun if I hear them earlier. In the basement are several Molotov's and two hand-built Stein machine guns, but that's not for home defence.
They say we're soft. We gave up. With the exception of a few hoodlums, we're all sheep in the field. But they're wrong. I've got guns, friends, and friends with guns. One of these days, all these fascist pigs are going to get stuck. I can hardly wait. In fact, I can't sleep.
Can't sleep for the gun under my pillow.
|
Misunderstood the prompt slightly. Sorry.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got onto the monorail, my brunette hair covered up with a wig and my dark eyes disguised with paler contacts. I had assumed a false identity to protect myself, to preserve my craft.
In my briefcase were so many important things. Memories, dreams from the past, abandoned by so-called progress.
Nobody suspected a thing, my false persona slipping under the radar of the guards. Patiently, I waited until the next stop, and dismounted the vehicle, walking past the numerous scarlet banners that hung with undeserved pride on the huge abandoned building, waving somewhat in the gentle breeze. I ducked behind one of them, taking a secret doorway deeper into the reaches of the abandoned building.
I tapped the word "freedom" in morse, as was custom.
The small slat on the door opened, exposing a pair of dark brown eyes.
"For what do you live and die?"
"The Resistance."
Slowly, the door creaked open and I entered, promptly removing my wig and contacts to expose my true colors- hazel eyes, brunette hair cropped short, traits labelled undesirable. I then placed the briefcase on the table.
"I thought you would like these."
My fellow Resistance members ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the contents of the case- a few pieces of "degenerate" art, books of which all the copies were thought to be burned, a copy of the U.S constitution, and one more paper that caught the most attention.
A plan so long worked on, thirty years in the making, started even before I was born, a plan that I took so much care to smuggle here, where it would be carried out.
A plan to bring down the Führer.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
Braun never left Germany. Never. And thus we all perished in the burgeoning cloud, ashes of the incinerated past commingled with the radioactive birthing-screams of a new generation, the ones spared Hitler's *Hauptbebauungsplan* executed with the ardor that only a dying republic could know - the fury of those backed up against the wall. And they won.
And our children's children, growing up in the lengthening shadowland of a future in which we had no influence, pick over the bones of ancestors they barely remember.
When I sat in my grandmother's parlor in upper Queens for the last time, my wide-brimmed fedora gingerly balanced on the coat tree in her well-traveled foyer, she held my hand. Told me Billy would be safe in the south, with his mother and in-laws. Only the two of us would perish in the imminent holocaust. Said we would be watching over our progeny in Heaven. She was right, to an extent.
For I have seen what happens to those after us, and often wonder over sleepless eons of roiling in the aether what might have been, *only if.* What if a rich, golden age of American post-triumphal excess informed a revolutionary consciousness, or some angry uprising borne out of the damage done in the wake of war? But none of that has ever come to fruition. Hitler was, in many ways, an effective king. Certainly his reich never spread to the far reaches of the world, where many morally opposed parties hid in enclaves. So there was peace, a separate peace, but still peace.
I have followed my great-great-grandson's travels in this strange new world. I have seen the many mechanical eyes that watch his path, the probing questions that are asked, the austerity of the Law that is laid upon him. But his step never wavers. He accepts these things as a matter of course, as if documentation of his life were as natural as seeing or tasting. Were we mistaken, that Freedom was synonymous with Life?
I have lost count of the number of times my spirit has orbited Sirius in hot thought, wondering *why* and nothing else. Where does Hitler's body lay? Next to Abijah or Hezekiah? Maybe in a few more centuries, I will scry the answer to this troubling question. But in the interim, I watch as the wounds of war slowly heal in the waters of forgetfulness.
|
IT took six decades to form the strength to resist they controlled everything, freedoms defined and histories banned at a global level. The resistance started slowly some graffiti in the corners, a slashed tire a few bolts missing from their machine. Their strength alone defined our weakness they needn't notice such mice. Some of us caved from the doubt we had to watch them for years our lives balanced on secrets. Men of tunnels and sewers costumes and disguise we grew by pain and hunger and ranks swelled and lessons were learned. They couldn't ignore the third blast they couldn't sign off some gas leak or coincidence our time was now on this day.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
A Day In My Life
By Lawrence M. Keizer, machinist, Krupp Shipyards, Portland, Oregon, Fascist States of America.
6:00 A.M.- Wake up to my cheap, limited-range "people's receiver" radio.
6:15 A.M.- Eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon, provided by what I assume was some poor Dutchman when the Krauts looted his stuff.
6:45 A.M.- Off to work.
7:00 A.M.- Arrive at work. I work an average of seventy hours a week. Pay's alright, at least compared to the foreign laborers and slaves in Grobbendeutchland.
9:36 A.M.- Manager went to go get coffee. Look left, look right.
9:37 A.M.- Relieve self on the band saw.
9:38 A.M.- Walk away. No one snitches, and it'll remain a case of machinery wear and tear.
12:10 P.M.- Got to listen to another goddamn appeal from the American Labor Front. Like the U.S. is run by the Boches, the Labor Front is run by the government. It's the last thing we have that's close to a union.
12:15 P.M.- Winter Relief made us make a donation to help the poor, starving Aryans of Germany. Palmed mine. If that's going to make me be put up on the board of shame for being meiserly, than so be it.
12:16 P.M.- Lunch. Einpot soup, and bread. Didn't trust the soup, didn't touch the Erstaz bread. Heard the Nazis developed a superpill that has all your vitamins and nutrients. Would trade Einpot for that any day.
1:22 P.M.- Management called a meeting. Someone drew the Cross of Lorainne on one of the posters. I don't know who did it, and I don't care. Everyone else doesn't, or they either did it or they're worried about what the people who did it will do to them if they squeal.
6:00 P.M.- Clock out. One day, Strength Through Joy will take enough out of my paycheck so I can afford to tour Italy.
6:17 P.M.- At home. Make dinner.
6:28 P.M.- Enjoy feast of Cabbage, Potatoes, and one sausage.
6:45 P.M.- Relax to some music and television. Reports from Germany. They claim I'd be welcome there due to my last name. But I'm brown haired, brown eyed, and I'm actually a sixteenth boche, if they could wrap their heads around it.
8:00 P.M.- Curfew. They claim it shuts down rebellion and crime, but it's when I do my best work. No unexpected visits from collaborators.
8:04 P.M.- It's a simple procedure. Bottle. Gas. Cloth. Cork. The Finns used it. Not that I like them. Anyone who collaborated is going to get it. I hope they're happy with their piece of Karelia.
8:38 P.M.- Finished. Clean up, take shower.
8:50 P.M.- In bed.
Underneath my pillow is a black market Luger in case I hear them outside my room. In my closet is a shotgun if I hear them earlier. In the basement are several Molotov's and two hand-built Stein machine guns, but that's not for home defence.
They say we're soft. We gave up. With the exception of a few hoodlums, we're all sheep in the field. But they're wrong. I've got guns, friends, and friends with guns. One of these days, all these fascist pigs are going to get stuck. I can hardly wait. In fact, I can't sleep.
Can't sleep for the gun under my pillow.
|
IT took six decades to form the strength to resist they controlled everything, freedoms defined and histories banned at a global level. The resistance started slowly some graffiti in the corners, a slashed tire a few bolts missing from their machine. Their strength alone defined our weakness they needn't notice such mice. Some of us caved from the doubt we had to watch them for years our lives balanced on secrets. Men of tunnels and sewers costumes and disguise we grew by pain and hunger and ranks swelled and lessons were learned. They couldn't ignore the third blast they couldn't sign off some gas leak or coincidence our time was now on this day.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
Braun never left Germany. Never. And thus we all perished in the burgeoning cloud, ashes of the incinerated past commingled with the radioactive birthing-screams of a new generation, the ones spared Hitler's *Hauptbebauungsplan* executed with the ardor that only a dying republic could know - the fury of those backed up against the wall. And they won.
And our children's children, growing up in the lengthening shadowland of a future in which we had no influence, pick over the bones of ancestors they barely remember.
When I sat in my grandmother's parlor in upper Queens for the last time, my wide-brimmed fedora gingerly balanced on the coat tree in her well-traveled foyer, she held my hand. Told me Billy would be safe in the south, with his mother and in-laws. Only the two of us would perish in the imminent holocaust. Said we would be watching over our progeny in Heaven. She was right, to an extent.
For I have seen what happens to those after us, and often wonder over sleepless eons of roiling in the aether what might have been, *only if.* What if a rich, golden age of American post-triumphal excess informed a revolutionary consciousness, or some angry uprising borne out of the damage done in the wake of war? But none of that has ever come to fruition. Hitler was, in many ways, an effective king. Certainly his reich never spread to the far reaches of the world, where many morally opposed parties hid in enclaves. So there was peace, a separate peace, but still peace.
I have followed my great-great-grandson's travels in this strange new world. I have seen the many mechanical eyes that watch his path, the probing questions that are asked, the austerity of the Law that is laid upon him. But his step never wavers. He accepts these things as a matter of course, as if documentation of his life were as natural as seeing or tasting. Were we mistaken, that Freedom was synonymous with Life?
I have lost count of the number of times my spirit has orbited Sirius in hot thought, wondering *why* and nothing else. Where does Hitler's body lay? Next to Abijah or Hezekiah? Maybe in a few more centuries, I will scry the answer to this troubling question. But in the interim, I watch as the wounds of war slowly heal in the waters of forgetfulness.
|
This isn't a story but if you liked this prompt there's a fake newspaper that reports as if the south won the American civil war. America sides with Nazi Germany in that timeline and it's pretty awesome.
Edit: I can't find the link
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
Leon had always showed a fondness for history, it made him proud to be German. Some radicals and hypocrites said Germany had committed atrocities during the Great War of Unification. It was common knowledge that every country involved had at some point, but at least they weren't as bad as what America had done to their own Japanese citizens after they put them in the internment camps, that was the stuff horror was made of.
The German Unification gave birth to a strong and united Europe. It was German scientists who had sent the first man in space in the 50s, the first man on the moon in the 60s and built the first permanent settlement on Mars a decade earlier. Sure, a lot of American scientists contributed to the effort but they should be thankful, we had granted them immunity from prosecutions after all.
Religion had slowly died out from old Germany first, then from the rest of Europe. Leon had seen some churches when he visited the countries of California and Cascadia in America. They looked just like in the old history books and he thought the locals must have been a little dumb for believing in a magic man in the sky, their God must have not cared for them much if he let Germany obliterate their capital and economic center in a single night.
The bell rang, pulling Leon away from his fantasies about the German Empire, he had to hurry to go pick up his girlfriend Hannah. He ran out of class and jumped in his hover-car and sped away.
|
This isn't a story but if you liked this prompt there's a fake newspaper that reports as if the south won the American civil war. America sides with Nazi Germany in that timeline and it's pretty awesome.
Edit: I can't find the link
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
A Day In My Life
By Lawrence M. Keizer, machinist, Krupp Shipyards, Portland, Oregon, Fascist States of America.
6:00 A.M.- Wake up to my cheap, limited-range "people's receiver" radio.
6:15 A.M.- Eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon, provided by what I assume was some poor Dutchman when the Krauts looted his stuff.
6:45 A.M.- Off to work.
7:00 A.M.- Arrive at work. I work an average of seventy hours a week. Pay's alright, at least compared to the foreign laborers and slaves in Grobbendeutchland.
9:36 A.M.- Manager went to go get coffee. Look left, look right.
9:37 A.M.- Relieve self on the band saw.
9:38 A.M.- Walk away. No one snitches, and it'll remain a case of machinery wear and tear.
12:10 P.M.- Got to listen to another goddamn appeal from the American Labor Front. Like the U.S. is run by the Boches, the Labor Front is run by the government. It's the last thing we have that's close to a union.
12:15 P.M.- Winter Relief made us make a donation to help the poor, starving Aryans of Germany. Palmed mine. If that's going to make me be put up on the board of shame for being meiserly, than so be it.
12:16 P.M.- Lunch. Einpot soup, and bread. Didn't trust the soup, didn't touch the Erstaz bread. Heard the Nazis developed a superpill that has all your vitamins and nutrients. Would trade Einpot for that any day.
1:22 P.M.- Management called a meeting. Someone drew the Cross of Lorainne on one of the posters. I don't know who did it, and I don't care. Everyone else doesn't, or they either did it or they're worried about what the people who did it will do to them if they squeal.
6:00 P.M.- Clock out. One day, Strength Through Joy will take enough out of my paycheck so I can afford to tour Italy.
6:17 P.M.- At home. Make dinner.
6:28 P.M.- Enjoy feast of Cabbage, Potatoes, and one sausage.
6:45 P.M.- Relax to some music and television. Reports from Germany. They claim I'd be welcome there due to my last name. But I'm brown haired, brown eyed, and I'm actually a sixteenth boche, if they could wrap their heads around it.
8:00 P.M.- Curfew. They claim it shuts down rebellion and crime, but it's when I do my best work. No unexpected visits from collaborators.
8:04 P.M.- It's a simple procedure. Bottle. Gas. Cloth. Cork. The Finns used it. Not that I like them. Anyone who collaborated is going to get it. I hope they're happy with their piece of Karelia.
8:38 P.M.- Finished. Clean up, take shower.
8:50 P.M.- In bed.
Underneath my pillow is a black market Luger in case I hear them outside my room. In my closet is a shotgun if I hear them earlier. In the basement are several Molotov's and two hand-built Stein machine guns, but that's not for home defence.
They say we're soft. We gave up. With the exception of a few hoodlums, we're all sheep in the field. But they're wrong. I've got guns, friends, and friends with guns. One of these days, all these fascist pigs are going to get stuck. I can hardly wait. In fact, I can't sleep.
Can't sleep for the gun under my pillow.
|
This isn't a story but if you liked this prompt there's a fake newspaper that reports as if the south won the American civil war. America sides with Nazi Germany in that timeline and it's pretty awesome.
Edit: I can't find the link
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
Leon had always showed a fondness for history, it made him proud to be German. Some radicals and hypocrites said Germany had committed atrocities during the Great War of Unification. It was common knowledge that every country involved had at some point, but at least they weren't as bad as what America had done to their own Japanese citizens after they put them in the internment camps, that was the stuff horror was made of.
The German Unification gave birth to a strong and united Europe. It was German scientists who had sent the first man in space in the 50s, the first man on the moon in the 60s and built the first permanent settlement on Mars a decade earlier. Sure, a lot of American scientists contributed to the effort but they should be thankful, we had granted them immunity from prosecutions after all.
Religion had slowly died out from old Germany first, then from the rest of Europe. Leon had seen some churches when he visited the countries of California and Cascadia in America. They looked just like in the old history books and he thought the locals must have been a little dumb for believing in a magic man in the sky, their God must have not cared for them much if he let Germany obliterate their capital and economic center in a single night.
The bell rang, pulling Leon away from his fantasies about the German Empire, he had to hurry to go pick up his girlfriend Hannah. He ran out of class and jumped in his hover-car and sped away.
|
I know this is in writing prompts, but I really wanted to say this.
The other day at my school, a holocaust survivor spoke at my school. This was his last public speaking because it has gotten harder as he ages. Anyway, at one point he showed us a picture of a dark haired German lady getting tested to determine whether she her blood was pure German. He told us that if Hitler was here today, unless you were blonde hair with blue eyes you would be enalaved. Most people don't know just how many people Hitler targeted. It wasn't just Jews, there were over 50 different groups of people who were sent to work camps or death camps. Jews, gypsies, mentally ill, etc. He even had forced german doctors to kill any newborn children who were not of perfect health because they were unworthy to live in his Germany.
The whole event was hugely interesting and at times hard to listen to. The speaker was Alter Weiner, author of From A Name To A Number. I have been to two of his presentations and this time it was harder to listen to. I never really attached the pictures I saw to reality; they were too unbelievable. Giant holes with hundreds and hundreds of bodies overflowing. All the bodies just skin and bone as they had died of starvation. I struggled to hold in my emotions. So much death, so much sadness. I just can't even imagine the tens of millions who died, that is just... So many innocent people. And they all died because of one man. I actually can't comprehend the pure evil and cruelty that lived inside him.
I am not religious, but if there was a devil, I'd have to say one of his many names was Adolf Hitler.
Edit: Hey this kinda could work here if you maybe think of it as an essay in which I share my personal views. So yeah.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
A Day In My Life
By Lawrence M. Keizer, machinist, Krupp Shipyards, Portland, Oregon, Fascist States of America.
6:00 A.M.- Wake up to my cheap, limited-range "people's receiver" radio.
6:15 A.M.- Eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon, provided by what I assume was some poor Dutchman when the Krauts looted his stuff.
6:45 A.M.- Off to work.
7:00 A.M.- Arrive at work. I work an average of seventy hours a week. Pay's alright, at least compared to the foreign laborers and slaves in Grobbendeutchland.
9:36 A.M.- Manager went to go get coffee. Look left, look right.
9:37 A.M.- Relieve self on the band saw.
9:38 A.M.- Walk away. No one snitches, and it'll remain a case of machinery wear and tear.
12:10 P.M.- Got to listen to another goddamn appeal from the American Labor Front. Like the U.S. is run by the Boches, the Labor Front is run by the government. It's the last thing we have that's close to a union.
12:15 P.M.- Winter Relief made us make a donation to help the poor, starving Aryans of Germany. Palmed mine. If that's going to make me be put up on the board of shame for being meiserly, than so be it.
12:16 P.M.- Lunch. Einpot soup, and bread. Didn't trust the soup, didn't touch the Erstaz bread. Heard the Nazis developed a superpill that has all your vitamins and nutrients. Would trade Einpot for that any day.
1:22 P.M.- Management called a meeting. Someone drew the Cross of Lorainne on one of the posters. I don't know who did it, and I don't care. Everyone else doesn't, or they either did it or they're worried about what the people who did it will do to them if they squeal.
6:00 P.M.- Clock out. One day, Strength Through Joy will take enough out of my paycheck so I can afford to tour Italy.
6:17 P.M.- At home. Make dinner.
6:28 P.M.- Enjoy feast of Cabbage, Potatoes, and one sausage.
6:45 P.M.- Relax to some music and television. Reports from Germany. They claim I'd be welcome there due to my last name. But I'm brown haired, brown eyed, and I'm actually a sixteenth boche, if they could wrap their heads around it.
8:00 P.M.- Curfew. They claim it shuts down rebellion and crime, but it's when I do my best work. No unexpected visits from collaborators.
8:04 P.M.- It's a simple procedure. Bottle. Gas. Cloth. Cork. The Finns used it. Not that I like them. Anyone who collaborated is going to get it. I hope they're happy with their piece of Karelia.
8:38 P.M.- Finished. Clean up, take shower.
8:50 P.M.- In bed.
Underneath my pillow is a black market Luger in case I hear them outside my room. In my closet is a shotgun if I hear them earlier. In the basement are several Molotov's and two hand-built Stein machine guns, but that's not for home defence.
They say we're soft. We gave up. With the exception of a few hoodlums, we're all sheep in the field. But they're wrong. I've got guns, friends, and friends with guns. One of these days, all these fascist pigs are going to get stuck. I can hardly wait. In fact, I can't sleep.
Can't sleep for the gun under my pillow.
|
I know this is in writing prompts, but I really wanted to say this.
The other day at my school, a holocaust survivor spoke at my school. This was his last public speaking because it has gotten harder as he ages. Anyway, at one point he showed us a picture of a dark haired German lady getting tested to determine whether she her blood was pure German. He told us that if Hitler was here today, unless you were blonde hair with blue eyes you would be enalaved. Most people don't know just how many people Hitler targeted. It wasn't just Jews, there were over 50 different groups of people who were sent to work camps or death camps. Jews, gypsies, mentally ill, etc. He even had forced german doctors to kill any newborn children who were not of perfect health because they were unworthy to live in his Germany.
The whole event was hugely interesting and at times hard to listen to. The speaker was Alter Weiner, author of From A Name To A Number. I have been to two of his presentations and this time it was harder to listen to. I never really attached the pictures I saw to reality; they were too unbelievable. Giant holes with hundreds and hundreds of bodies overflowing. All the bodies just skin and bone as they had died of starvation. I struggled to hold in my emotions. So much death, so much sadness. I just can't even imagine the tens of millions who died, that is just... So many innocent people. And they all died because of one man. I actually can't comprehend the pure evil and cruelty that lived inside him.
I am not religious, but if there was a devil, I'd have to say one of his many names was Adolf Hitler.
Edit: Hey this kinda could work here if you maybe think of it as an essay in which I share my personal views. So yeah.
|
|
[WP] The Nazis won WW2 in 1952 when they nuked Washington DC and New York city, they now control the entire planet, describe the day for an average citizen in 2015
|
A Day In My Life
By Lawrence M. Keizer, machinist, Krupp Shipyards, Portland, Oregon, Fascist States of America.
6:00 A.M.- Wake up to my cheap, limited-range "people's receiver" radio.
6:15 A.M.- Eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon, provided by what I assume was some poor Dutchman when the Krauts looted his stuff.
6:45 A.M.- Off to work.
7:00 A.M.- Arrive at work. I work an average of seventy hours a week. Pay's alright, at least compared to the foreign laborers and slaves in Grobbendeutchland.
9:36 A.M.- Manager went to go get coffee. Look left, look right.
9:37 A.M.- Relieve self on the band saw.
9:38 A.M.- Walk away. No one snitches, and it'll remain a case of machinery wear and tear.
12:10 P.M.- Got to listen to another goddamn appeal from the American Labor Front. Like the U.S. is run by the Boches, the Labor Front is run by the government. It's the last thing we have that's close to a union.
12:15 P.M.- Winter Relief made us make a donation to help the poor, starving Aryans of Germany. Palmed mine. If that's going to make me be put up on the board of shame for being meiserly, than so be it.
12:16 P.M.- Lunch. Einpot soup, and bread. Didn't trust the soup, didn't touch the Erstaz bread. Heard the Nazis developed a superpill that has all your vitamins and nutrients. Would trade Einpot for that any day.
1:22 P.M.- Management called a meeting. Someone drew the Cross of Lorainne on one of the posters. I don't know who did it, and I don't care. Everyone else doesn't, or they either did it or they're worried about what the people who did it will do to them if they squeal.
6:00 P.M.- Clock out. One day, Strength Through Joy will take enough out of my paycheck so I can afford to tour Italy.
6:17 P.M.- At home. Make dinner.
6:28 P.M.- Enjoy feast of Cabbage, Potatoes, and one sausage.
6:45 P.M.- Relax to some music and television. Reports from Germany. They claim I'd be welcome there due to my last name. But I'm brown haired, brown eyed, and I'm actually a sixteenth boche, if they could wrap their heads around it.
8:00 P.M.- Curfew. They claim it shuts down rebellion and crime, but it's when I do my best work. No unexpected visits from collaborators.
8:04 P.M.- It's a simple procedure. Bottle. Gas. Cloth. Cork. The Finns used it. Not that I like them. Anyone who collaborated is going to get it. I hope they're happy with their piece of Karelia.
8:38 P.M.- Finished. Clean up, take shower.
8:50 P.M.- In bed.
Underneath my pillow is a black market Luger in case I hear them outside my room. In my closet is a shotgun if I hear them earlier. In the basement are several Molotov's and two hand-built Stein machine guns, but that's not for home defence.
They say we're soft. We gave up. With the exception of a few hoodlums, we're all sheep in the field. But they're wrong. I've got guns, friends, and friends with guns. One of these days, all these fascist pigs are going to get stuck. I can hardly wait. In fact, I can't sleep.
Can't sleep for the gun under my pillow.
|
Leon had always showed a fondness for history, it made him proud to be German. Some radicals and hypocrites said Germany had committed atrocities during the Great War of Unification. It was common knowledge that every country involved had at some point, but at least they weren't as bad as what America had done to their own Japanese citizens after they put them in the internment camps, that was the stuff horror was made of.
The German Unification gave birth to a strong and united Europe. It was German scientists who had sent the first man in space in the 50s, the first man on the moon in the 60s and built the first permanent settlement on Mars a decade earlier. Sure, a lot of American scientists contributed to the effort but they should be thankful, we had granted them immunity from prosecutions after all.
Religion had slowly died out from old Germany first, then from the rest of Europe. Leon had seen some churches when he visited the countries of California and Cascadia in America. They looked just like in the old history books and he thought the locals must have been a little dumb for believing in a magic man in the sky, their God must have not cared for them much if he let Germany obliterate their capital and economic center in a single night.
The bell rang, pulling Leon away from his fantasies about the German Empire, he had to hurry to go pick up his girlfriend Hannah. He ran out of class and jumped in his hover-car and sped away.
|
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
I gritted my teeth. How ironic, I thought to myself, that it should come to this. Behind the twisted combination of grimace and grin splattered across my face, I was inwardly chuckling. Out of fear or insanity, I don't know. But I was laughing.
It's kind of funny, the way things turn out sometimes. At one point, something can seem as simple as a game you play as a child, running between willow trees and around the yard, and the next, you're sweating and grinding your remaining teeth at the prospect of ever again uttering those fucking words.
*Duck.*
*Duck.*
*Goose.*
A calloused hand slips around my shoulder, and I turn, looking at the dirt-covered face looking down at me.
"You ready?"
"Yeah."
I lift myself up from the ashes and dirt, and vainly attempt to wipe my tattered clothes clean. Upon realizing my efforts will likely be less than fruitful, I stumble across the field and plop my ass down again, completing the circle of people sitting in the yard under the willow trees.
"You sure you want to do this?" asks Mary. She was always mom's favorite kid, even if she barely showed it. When mom refereed our games, she always claimed that Mary had made it back to her spot safely, or that Mary had tagged me right before I was about to sit down.
John looks over at her. "It's too late to turn back. We only have enough food to keep sustaining three people. One of us has to go."
Mary's eyes dart anxiously to the revolver in the middle of the circle. "I know," she mutters, "but does it have to be this way? Why can't the loser just leave? Take their chances on the road?"
John sighs. "You know as well as I do that there's no one else out there. No one. Radio, cellphone, everything is silent. Even if there was anyone left, they'd be too far away for you to make it to them without the Mutes getting you."
A single tear rolls down Mary's cheek. I note how clear it is, leaving a trail in the dirt that cakes her face.
Jack glances at me from across the circle. Being the oldest, I suppose Jack had always felt a kind of responsibility for Mary, and seeing her cry, even at a time as bleak as this, still visibly affected him.
My hand twitches, flinging a drop of sweat off into the dirt. I need us to get on with this or I'm going to go insane.
"Let's start."
Everyone turns towards me as I say the words. It's really kind of odd; we all knew what was going to happen, but we never really believed it until I said the words. At that point, it felt sort of heart-breakingly final.
"Ok," mutters Jack. "Who will go first?"
Everyone knows it's not going to be Mary. Two brothers and a childhood sweetheart will make sure of that. Outside of that, it's impossible to say whether it will be me, Jack, or John. Unless I take action.
I know Jack is looking at me. I know that if I say anything, he will interrupt me. It's kind of funny to me that something that always bothered me as a kid will likely save my life now. Either way, I decide that I'm going to volunteer.
"David."
No sooner than my mouth has opened has Jack decided to take my place. I glare at him, but it's impossible to be angry at someone who's volunteering their life for you.
No words are spoken as he stands. Mary, John and I shuffle a bit to create a triangle around which he can run.
Mary starts to say something, but chokes up. I look over at Jack. He's thinking. Standing tall and proud. He looks like a king. Maybe if the world hadn't gone to shit, he could've *done* something some day.
Jack starts walking around the circle, gently patting each of us on the head as he passes. "Duck. Duck." he mutters, tapping each one of us as he goes along.
I know he's going to pick me. It's only fair. He knew I was going to volunteer anyway. And it's probably better that way; he sure as hell isn't going to pick Mary, and John needs to be around. Maybe he and Mary can rebuild. Who knows.
I hear Jack say "Goose" right as his hand lands softly upon my head. I stand up, but he's not even running. He wants me to make it around. He wants to die for us.
I'm sure as hell not letting Jack do that. If anyone is going to die, it's going to be me. I always cheated at this fucking game anyway.
So there we are. Jack and I, staring at each other, each of us refusing to budge. Mary bursts into tears. *This stupid,* I think to myself. *This was never going to work. Whose idea was it to play fucking Duck Duck Goose to decide who lives and who dies?*
I know Jack and I will be standing there forever unless I do something. So gently, I pick up the revolver.
"David, don't do it," Jack says softly. He's looking at me. "Give me the gun."
I'm crying. "It has to be me, Jack," I cough. I'm sobbing at this point. I know it has to be me. "You need to be a leader. You need to be there for Mary and John."
Mary lets out a sob at the sound of her name. Jack is stilling staring at me, but he knows he has lost. I have always been the stubborn little brother. It only now dawns on me how beautiful his eyes are. They're a light blue.
John covers Mary's eyes as I raise the gun to my head. I don't speak.
I always hated this game.
|
I'm screaming and shouting, kicking my legs, the burlap sack on my head is scratching my face. "Let me go!" I chant over and over again. Being kidnapped pissed me off.
They drag me into a room, and sit me down criss cross on the ground, I can feel two other men at my sides sitting criss cross.
Lights go on and the bags are ripped off. I look up and see a bunch of rich European people behind glass. I look around and the I see a bunch of multi-cultural men in their physical prime, all of us with our hands bound behind our back.
The sound of a trumpet goes off, and the first man is brought to his feet. He is talked to, and appears to understand. The man fully accepts the situation and does as told.
He starts to walk around the group of us, sitting in circle. As he touches the top of each person's head, he says "duck."
'Duck? Duck Duck goose!? We are playing thirty man duck duck goose!?' I scream in my thoughts.
"Duck...Duck...Duck..." every duck is agonizing, the uneasiness of every one is palpable with every 'duck', and with every moment there wasn't a goose to reassure you for that moment it wasn't you.
"Duck... Duck........." he hovers his hand over my head, I gasp dramatically like I was about to be shot, "duck." He touches my head and the relief was as if being let off death row right as the electric hat went on.
"Goose!" The man yells as he shoves the next man's head toward the ground and takes off. The guy quickly gets to his feet and catches up, bumps the other guy and runs around the circle, coming back to his place on the ground.
"Ah ha, got it!" The man yells.
One of the men come out from the shadows, draws a 45 revolver and shoots the man standing in the face. Another man is brought to his feet.
"Go!" They scream at him.
'Why is it always the Europeans that kidnap you for messed up shit like this?' I ask myself.
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
[EU] Duck, Duck, Goose: (Part 1/2)
'Would you like to play a game?'
I felt myself shudder, boiling up out of darkness into a consciousness gripped with a pain, dull, heavy, and wrapped around my skull. Groaning, I forced my eyes open and tried to focus on the grainy television monitor in front of me, tried to blink through the blood that now, half-congealed, did much to obscure my sight. Nevertheless what I saw between the sticky rivulets was enough to make my guts churn in in the grip of anxiety and cold terror.
On the television a crude marionette began to speak to me in a voice both deep and distorted: 'You were given everything in your life. Caring parents, an education at the best private schools and universities, the very best tutors and coaches money could buy, and a career built off of the success and connections made by your family. Even your genetics that allowed you to qualify in the Olympics are a testament to that which you have not earned.'
I tried to cry out and felt my mouth choked by a gag, and tape wrapped around my head. I tried to moved my head, to look away from the hateful image but my head was secured. I tried to yank the restraints from my head by my hands, my arms, my legs, but they were secured. I tried to cry out again and the force of my muffled scream only succeed in blowing crimson colored snot from my nose as the voice continued.
'You have forsaken all that you have been given by not sharing the good fortunes given to you by birthright. The crimes and greed against your investors, against your constituents during your brief and narcissistic run as congressman, against your wife, your children, even the blood of your own brother -- your crimes are as heinous as they are without measure.'
As the marionette spoke, my mind flashed to the toxic, bundled loans that I sold to my investors, the money that I laundered, my accounts in the Caymans, the bribes that I took over expensive dinners at the taxpayer's expense and the bills that I pushed through at the lobbying groups' behest -- the affairs that I concealed, the affairs I didn't bother to conceal, disowning my eldest son when he chose to pursue a degree in liberal arts, as well as disowning my so-called daughter when he choose to become a male-to-female transexual. And my brother whose trust fund I denuded when he revealed at a family dinner that he preferred his steaks medium well... He later committed suicide and I spoke ill of him at the wake.
I still remember standing up in front of the other mourners, drunk on champagne, hair and tie askew, yelling, demanding, 'And... and... What man in his right mind cooks his steak medium well? Rare is the only way to truly appreciate a fine steak, and don't get me started on putting cheese on your baked potato? What the fuck? Dare a man take away the spotlight from the steak?!'
Then mumbling, stumbling from my soapbox, 'And what man cooks for himself?' I slurred, 'This is what negroes and women are for.'
The growling voice drew me out of the flashbacks, the mouth of the marionette parroting in poor fashion as it continued, 'You will have a chance to begin to make amends to those you have wronged. You will have a chance to return to your roots. Let us a play a game called "Duck, Duck, Goose."
'Take notice of the chair where you sit. At your feet is a set of stairs. At the base of the stairs is a trench filled with broken glass and ethanol.' A light switched on and illuminated the dark just beyond the television. I saw the stairs and I saw the jagged terrain of broken alcohol bottles churning on a slurry of liquid.
The voice continued, 'Use your genetic predisposition for sprinting to get to the end of the corridor. Your first obstacle is to duck, and crawl through the glass and ethanol. In order to pass through the first door, you must reach into a chamber filled with hydrofluoric acid, and pull the lever. If you can do that, then you must run further down the corridor, and duck into the next obstacle, and repeat the same action. If you are still alive, you must leap over the last obstacle and pull the last lever to open the final door.'
I felt myself begin to sob. The voice continued, seeming to tease, 'One more thing. You have three minutes to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and complete these tasks, or the doors will be sealed shut, and hydrofluoric acid will spray from the sprinkler system above you. Stay in your chair and be showered in acid, and die, or embrace the acid that you have brought into the lives of those around you and play this game of duck, duck, goose. The choice is yours.'
The corridor became fully illuminated. The marionette began to laugh maniacally and the restraints on my head and limbs opened. I all but exploded from my chair and threw the television and its stand aside as I ran down the concrete steps to the trench filled with alcohol and broken glass. I began to hesitate, but on the distant wall I saw a countdown clock in red numerals slowly ticking down to zero. Barefoot, clad only in underwear, I realized how excruciating this would be.
I stepped down into the trench. For some reason, I expected it to be deeper, but my foot only sank in up to the bottom of my ankle, and my foot abruptly hit the floor. The glass punched through my feet, flesh gone soft from a life of luxury, and the alcohol poured into the open wound. I screamed, choked by the gag, but I was grateful for it as I screamed through clenched teeth and fell back onto the stairs, lifting my foot out of the slurry. My nostrils flared and tears streamed down my face, and I heard myself thinking, screaming inside of my head, 'I can't do this!'
Tenderly I began to pull the shards from my obliterated foot, each pull resulting in a sudden flush of blood sluicing down my fingers as I wept and screamed and raged against the unfairness of it all.
But then, breaking through my fog of pain and self pity I heard that maniacal laughter from the broken television and I felt a fury like I hardly felt before. I began to realize how misplaced and petty and stupid my anger toward my children and brother was, in the face of this anger that I felt toward this marionette. I pushed myself off of the stairs, pressed my first foot back down into the slurry. The first instant was an explosion of napalm seeping into my torn flesh, the second instant was of more glass cutting through, macerating my feet further. For all that I was worth, I tried to scream through my gag.
No, I wasn't going to let some lunatic kill me. I was going to live.
Gingerly, tenderly, hardly able to bear weight on my damaged foot I used my good foot to try and part the slurry and slowly burrow my foot down into the glass. But the glass was too thick, and too sharp, and this only threshed the front of my toes and the balls of my feet into ribbons of sliced skin and muscle.
|
I'm screaming and shouting, kicking my legs, the burlap sack on my head is scratching my face. "Let me go!" I chant over and over again. Being kidnapped pissed me off.
They drag me into a room, and sit me down criss cross on the ground, I can feel two other men at my sides sitting criss cross.
Lights go on and the bags are ripped off. I look up and see a bunch of rich European people behind glass. I look around and the I see a bunch of multi-cultural men in their physical prime, all of us with our hands bound behind our back.
The sound of a trumpet goes off, and the first man is brought to his feet. He is talked to, and appears to understand. The man fully accepts the situation and does as told.
He starts to walk around the group of us, sitting in circle. As he touches the top of each person's head, he says "duck."
'Duck? Duck Duck goose!? We are playing thirty man duck duck goose!?' I scream in my thoughts.
"Duck...Duck...Duck..." every duck is agonizing, the uneasiness of every one is palpable with every 'duck', and with every moment there wasn't a goose to reassure you for that moment it wasn't you.
"Duck... Duck........." he hovers his hand over my head, I gasp dramatically like I was about to be shot, "duck." He touches my head and the relief was as if being let off death row right as the electric hat went on.
"Goose!" The man yells as he shoves the next man's head toward the ground and takes off. The guy quickly gets to his feet and catches up, bumps the other guy and runs around the circle, coming back to his place on the ground.
"Ah ha, got it!" The man yells.
One of the men come out from the shadows, draws a 45 revolver and shoots the man standing in the face. Another man is brought to his feet.
"Go!" They scream at him.
'Why is it always the Europeans that kidnap you for messed up shit like this?' I ask myself.
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
*I wrote a song for this prompt. Lyrics below; listen/watch here: [http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA](http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA)*
**Duck, Duck, Goose**
You pass by men, men crazy for you,
quacking about what they'd like to do
if you made them your goose.
And I patiently sit, feet under my knees,
waiting for your hand to tap me.
Baby, let's be geese.
Duck, duck, goose.
Am I the one you choose?
Let me chase,
and I know I will catch...
You run in a circle, and they all chase,
but no man has won the race.
Do you see the look on my face?
I've got a hunter's quiet resolve;
I'm ready for the cork gun to go off
and touch your feathers soft.
CH
...your heart.
|
I'm screaming and shouting, kicking my legs, the burlap sack on my head is scratching my face. "Let me go!" I chant over and over again. Being kidnapped pissed me off.
They drag me into a room, and sit me down criss cross on the ground, I can feel two other men at my sides sitting criss cross.
Lights go on and the bags are ripped off. I look up and see a bunch of rich European people behind glass. I look around and the I see a bunch of multi-cultural men in their physical prime, all of us with our hands bound behind our back.
The sound of a trumpet goes off, and the first man is brought to his feet. He is talked to, and appears to understand. The man fully accepts the situation and does as told.
He starts to walk around the group of us, sitting in circle. As he touches the top of each person's head, he says "duck."
'Duck? Duck Duck goose!? We are playing thirty man duck duck goose!?' I scream in my thoughts.
"Duck...Duck...Duck..." every duck is agonizing, the uneasiness of every one is palpable with every 'duck', and with every moment there wasn't a goose to reassure you for that moment it wasn't you.
"Duck... Duck........." he hovers his hand over my head, I gasp dramatically like I was about to be shot, "duck." He touches my head and the relief was as if being let off death row right as the electric hat went on.
"Goose!" The man yells as he shoves the next man's head toward the ground and takes off. The guy quickly gets to his feet and catches up, bumps the other guy and runs around the circle, coming back to his place on the ground.
"Ah ha, got it!" The man yells.
One of the men come out from the shadows, draws a 45 revolver and shoots the man standing in the face. Another man is brought to his feet.
"Go!" They scream at him.
'Why is it always the Europeans that kidnap you for messed up shit like this?' I ask myself.
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
[EU] Duck, Duck, Goose: (Part 1/2)
'Would you like to play a game?'
I felt myself shudder, boiling up out of darkness into a consciousness gripped with a pain, dull, heavy, and wrapped around my skull. Groaning, I forced my eyes open and tried to focus on the grainy television monitor in front of me, tried to blink through the blood that now, half-congealed, did much to obscure my sight. Nevertheless what I saw between the sticky rivulets was enough to make my guts churn in in the grip of anxiety and cold terror.
On the television a crude marionette began to speak to me in a voice both deep and distorted: 'You were given everything in your life. Caring parents, an education at the best private schools and universities, the very best tutors and coaches money could buy, and a career built off of the success and connections made by your family. Even your genetics that allowed you to qualify in the Olympics are a testament to that which you have not earned.'
I tried to cry out and felt my mouth choked by a gag, and tape wrapped around my head. I tried to moved my head, to look away from the hateful image but my head was secured. I tried to yank the restraints from my head by my hands, my arms, my legs, but they were secured. I tried to cry out again and the force of my muffled scream only succeed in blowing crimson colored snot from my nose as the voice continued.
'You have forsaken all that you have been given by not sharing the good fortunes given to you by birthright. The crimes and greed against your investors, against your constituents during your brief and narcissistic run as congressman, against your wife, your children, even the blood of your own brother -- your crimes are as heinous as they are without measure.'
As the marionette spoke, my mind flashed to the toxic, bundled loans that I sold to my investors, the money that I laundered, my accounts in the Caymans, the bribes that I took over expensive dinners at the taxpayer's expense and the bills that I pushed through at the lobbying groups' behest -- the affairs that I concealed, the affairs I didn't bother to conceal, disowning my eldest son when he chose to pursue a degree in liberal arts, as well as disowning my so-called daughter when he choose to become a male-to-female transexual. And my brother whose trust fund I denuded when he revealed at a family dinner that he preferred his steaks medium well... He later committed suicide and I spoke ill of him at the wake.
I still remember standing up in front of the other mourners, drunk on champagne, hair and tie askew, yelling, demanding, 'And... and... What man in his right mind cooks his steak medium well? Rare is the only way to truly appreciate a fine steak, and don't get me started on putting cheese on your baked potato? What the fuck? Dare a man take away the spotlight from the steak?!'
Then mumbling, stumbling from my soapbox, 'And what man cooks for himself?' I slurred, 'This is what negroes and women are for.'
The growling voice drew me out of the flashbacks, the mouth of the marionette parroting in poor fashion as it continued, 'You will have a chance to begin to make amends to those you have wronged. You will have a chance to return to your roots. Let us a play a game called "Duck, Duck, Goose."
'Take notice of the chair where you sit. At your feet is a set of stairs. At the base of the stairs is a trench filled with broken glass and ethanol.' A light switched on and illuminated the dark just beyond the television. I saw the stairs and I saw the jagged terrain of broken alcohol bottles churning on a slurry of liquid.
The voice continued, 'Use your genetic predisposition for sprinting to get to the end of the corridor. Your first obstacle is to duck, and crawl through the glass and ethanol. In order to pass through the first door, you must reach into a chamber filled with hydrofluoric acid, and pull the lever. If you can do that, then you must run further down the corridor, and duck into the next obstacle, and repeat the same action. If you are still alive, you must leap over the last obstacle and pull the last lever to open the final door.'
I felt myself begin to sob. The voice continued, seeming to tease, 'One more thing. You have three minutes to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and complete these tasks, or the doors will be sealed shut, and hydrofluoric acid will spray from the sprinkler system above you. Stay in your chair and be showered in acid, and die, or embrace the acid that you have brought into the lives of those around you and play this game of duck, duck, goose. The choice is yours.'
The corridor became fully illuminated. The marionette began to laugh maniacally and the restraints on my head and limbs opened. I all but exploded from my chair and threw the television and its stand aside as I ran down the concrete steps to the trench filled with alcohol and broken glass. I began to hesitate, but on the distant wall I saw a countdown clock in red numerals slowly ticking down to zero. Barefoot, clad only in underwear, I realized how excruciating this would be.
I stepped down into the trench. For some reason, I expected it to be deeper, but my foot only sank in up to the bottom of my ankle, and my foot abruptly hit the floor. The glass punched through my feet, flesh gone soft from a life of luxury, and the alcohol poured into the open wound. I screamed, choked by the gag, but I was grateful for it as I screamed through clenched teeth and fell back onto the stairs, lifting my foot out of the slurry. My nostrils flared and tears streamed down my face, and I heard myself thinking, screaming inside of my head, 'I can't do this!'
Tenderly I began to pull the shards from my obliterated foot, each pull resulting in a sudden flush of blood sluicing down my fingers as I wept and screamed and raged against the unfairness of it all.
But then, breaking through my fog of pain and self pity I heard that maniacal laughter from the broken television and I felt a fury like I hardly felt before. I began to realize how misplaced and petty and stupid my anger toward my children and brother was, in the face of this anger that I felt toward this marionette. I pushed myself off of the stairs, pressed my first foot back down into the slurry. The first instant was an explosion of napalm seeping into my torn flesh, the second instant was of more glass cutting through, macerating my feet further. For all that I was worth, I tried to scream through my gag.
No, I wasn't going to let some lunatic kill me. I was going to live.
Gingerly, tenderly, hardly able to bear weight on my damaged foot I used my good foot to try and part the slurry and slowly burrow my foot down into the glass. But the glass was too thick, and too sharp, and this only threshed the front of my toes and the balls of my feet into ribbons of sliced skin and muscle.
|
“Do you know why I brought you all here today?,” Stefano Pussetti, the infamous mafia boss, said in his characteristically soft, yet fear inducing voice.
His lieutenants sat in wooden chairs forming a circle in the dark, dirty backroom of Marcus’s Pizzeria. A single light shone onto the floor in the center of the circle. There was a single empty chair in the circle. The men were bewildered and clearly uneasy about this emergency meeting.
No one said a word. Stefano had a reputation for being ruthless when the time called for it, and he was clearly not happy about something. No one wanted to set him off.
Stefano started walking around the outside of the circle. He took a puff on his cigar. He held it out as he walked around. It was perilously close to dropping ashes on the head of each man as he walked by. He stopped, and turned to address them. “Someone — somebody in this room, is a *rat*.” They shifted in their seats.
“We had a little visit at the dock today from our police friends, and well, let’s just say, fortunately our friends were happy to leave this time with a little grease in their hands,” Stefano said. “But that does not bode so well for the rat in this room.”
“Now, we’re gonna play a little game. I’m sure you know it, it’s a classic.”
Stefano puts his hand with the cigar onto the first man’s head. The man tensed up as some of the cigar’s ashes fell onto his scalp. He was in pain but didn't dare make a sound. “Duck,” Stefano said.
Stefano walked to the next man, and put his hand on the man's head. “Duck," Stefano said.
“Now, normally at this point in the game, I pick someone as the goose. But today we’re going to play a variation I’ve invented called ‘Duck, Duck, *Rat*’. It’s like the classic game in almost every way, except instead of calling someone a 'goose', I call them a 'rat'. And just like the original, when I call someone the rat, he has a chance to run around the circle and sit in my chair before I can catch him. So that’s how we’re gonna play.
Stefano walked up to the next man, David Cardello, his lawyer, and placed his hand down on his head, and paused. The room was silent. “Rat,” Stefano said.
David started to protest, “No, Stefano, you’ve got the wrong —“
Stefano pulled out his revolver and pushed it into David's back. “Run, rat."
David got up and started running around the circle. Stefano took aim with his revolver, following him around the circle. David arrived at the empty chair, but didn't touch it.
"If you want to win, you've got to sit in my seat," said Stefano.
"Please, Stefano, let me explain --"
"Sit", said Stefano, ever so softly.
David gulped, and reached out for the chair. Just before he touched it, a loud bang went off, and David was knocked to the floor, bleeding from his face.
Stefano blew the smoke from the tip of his gun and walked to the door to leave. Just before he walked through the exit, he said, "Clean this up. We don't want any more rats."
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
"Lieutenant Jacobs, since you never gave us that helicopter we so kindly asked for TWO hours ago we're going to play a game. With the hostages. "
A smile came across his face as he eyed the hostages, bags around their heads, sitting in a circle.
"Okay there Jack let's be cool about this, I'm working on getting the helicopter "
" Working on it?" Jack yelled into the phone, knowing full well the Lieutenant was not going to deliver.
"the Mayor is on the line with the airport. We will get you that helicopter if only you give us enough time and not do anything hasty" calm and cool, Jacobs was a veteran, a little yelling wasn't going to disrupt him.
"The Mayor! That corrupt fat fuck. If he wanted me to have a helicopter he would personally fly it out of his beach front Villa! "
Lieutenant Jacobs knew the mayor had shady contacts but that's a problem for another day. "You know he can't just do that. The bureaucracy is in the way, and you know that too"
"Another thing I know is that you're stalling"
"Time to play duck duck goose" Jack pulled the hammer back on his .50 cal magnum
"Duck"
"Don't do this jack"
"Duck"
"Duck"
"God dammit Jack, put the fucking gun down!"
"duck"
"Goose" he hesitated, maybe for a second.
Shattered glass, red all over, swat rushed in.
"Thank you Jacobs, you stalled him just long enough"
"barely" Lieutenant Jacobs took out a cigarette, lit it and walked off.
|
Huh. That's odd. I don't live with anyone.
What the hell's that? It's... damn, I think it's some sorta *mask*. The scary types, y'know. Like you see in the movies. I need a coffee.
I can't move. Why can't I move? I dunno. I'm going back to sleep.
What the hell are the neighbors doing? They just came into my house with the mask guy and are crying or something. Must be some sorta weird fandom. They should stop screaming, I want some shut eye.
Neat, we're in a circle now. I like circles. It's the shape of my lamp.
Where is my lamp?
That's awfully strange. I'm not in my room. Musta slept at the friend's house and he's playing a prank on me.
What's my friend's name anyway? Something like Dave or Dan? That's a plain name. I like plain stuff. This is awfully unplain. I don't like it.
I don't wanna play a game, leave me alone.
Goddamnit Dan, *Duck Duck Goose?* Take off that mask already, Dan.
Classic Dan. I wanna sleep now.
Oh, neat. I got untied. I was tied? *Oh crap*, I was tied! Where am I? *Oh god*, Dan's gone crazy! *He's chasing me around!*
He's got a knife. *Why's he got a knife*?! Dan's got a knife! Oh sweet lord, Dan has a knife!
I keep speeding around the screaming ducks. They don't have phones. I need a coffee.
I'm the goose. I don't like geese much. Ducks are better. I wish I was a duck. Water's pleasant. Very pleasant.
I'm dizzy. I don't like this.
I did have a coffee. I remember now. It was a bit strange tasting. I... god, what happened after? I passed out. Yeah. That wasn't nice.
My legs hurt. My everything hurts. My tummy hurts most. It's got ketchup all over it. Awfully bright ketchup. That ain't ketchup... it's... *blood*? And it's all shiny. Everything's shiny. Like the knife. Oh, a knife. That's not very knife.
Heh. I made a pun.
My tummy hurts.
**Edit:** I know it's written like crap, he's drugged and tired as hell. It's not supposed to be a masterpiece.
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
*I wrote a song for this prompt. Lyrics below; listen/watch here: [http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA](http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA)*
**Duck, Duck, Goose**
You pass by men, men crazy for you,
quacking about what they'd like to do
if you made them your goose.
And I patiently sit, feet under my knees,
waiting for your hand to tap me.
Baby, let's be geese.
Duck, duck, goose.
Am I the one you choose?
Let me chase,
and I know I will catch...
You run in a circle, and they all chase,
but no man has won the race.
Do you see the look on my face?
I've got a hunter's quiet resolve;
I'm ready for the cork gun to go off
and touch your feathers soft.
CH
...your heart.
|
Huh. That's odd. I don't live with anyone.
What the hell's that? It's... damn, I think it's some sorta *mask*. The scary types, y'know. Like you see in the movies. I need a coffee.
I can't move. Why can't I move? I dunno. I'm going back to sleep.
What the hell are the neighbors doing? They just came into my house with the mask guy and are crying or something. Must be some sorta weird fandom. They should stop screaming, I want some shut eye.
Neat, we're in a circle now. I like circles. It's the shape of my lamp.
Where is my lamp?
That's awfully strange. I'm not in my room. Musta slept at the friend's house and he's playing a prank on me.
What's my friend's name anyway? Something like Dave or Dan? That's a plain name. I like plain stuff. This is awfully unplain. I don't like it.
I don't wanna play a game, leave me alone.
Goddamnit Dan, *Duck Duck Goose?* Take off that mask already, Dan.
Classic Dan. I wanna sleep now.
Oh, neat. I got untied. I was tied? *Oh crap*, I was tied! Where am I? *Oh god*, Dan's gone crazy! *He's chasing me around!*
He's got a knife. *Why's he got a knife*?! Dan's got a knife! Oh sweet lord, Dan has a knife!
I keep speeding around the screaming ducks. They don't have phones. I need a coffee.
I'm the goose. I don't like geese much. Ducks are better. I wish I was a duck. Water's pleasant. Very pleasant.
I'm dizzy. I don't like this.
I did have a coffee. I remember now. It was a bit strange tasting. I... god, what happened after? I passed out. Yeah. That wasn't nice.
My legs hurt. My everything hurts. My tummy hurts most. It's got ketchup all over it. Awfully bright ketchup. That ain't ketchup... it's... *blood*? And it's all shiny. Everything's shiny. Like the knife. Oh, a knife. That's not very knife.
Heh. I made a pun.
My tummy hurts.
**Edit:** I know it's written like crap, he's drugged and tired as hell. It's not supposed to be a masterpiece.
|
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
|
*I wrote a song for this prompt. Lyrics below; listen/watch here: [http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA](http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA)*
**Duck, Duck, Goose**
You pass by men, men crazy for you,
quacking about what they'd like to do
if you made them your goose.
And I patiently sit, feet under my knees,
waiting for your hand to tap me.
Baby, let's be geese.
Duck, duck, goose.
Am I the one you choose?
Let me chase,
and I know I will catch...
You run in a circle, and they all chase,
but no man has won the race.
Do you see the look on my face?
I've got a hunter's quiet resolve;
I'm ready for the cork gun to go off
and touch your feathers soft.
CH
...your heart.
|
"Lieutenant Jacobs, since you never gave us that helicopter we so kindly asked for TWO hours ago we're going to play a game. With the hostages. "
A smile came across his face as he eyed the hostages, bags around their heads, sitting in a circle.
"Okay there Jack let's be cool about this, I'm working on getting the helicopter "
" Working on it?" Jack yelled into the phone, knowing full well the Lieutenant was not going to deliver.
"the Mayor is on the line with the airport. We will get you that helicopter if only you give us enough time and not do anything hasty" calm and cool, Jacobs was a veteran, a little yelling wasn't going to disrupt him.
"The Mayor! That corrupt fat fuck. If he wanted me to have a helicopter he would personally fly it out of his beach front Villa! "
Lieutenant Jacobs knew the mayor had shady contacts but that's a problem for another day. "You know he can't just do that. The bureaucracy is in the way, and you know that too"
"Another thing I know is that you're stalling"
"Time to play duck duck goose" Jack pulled the hammer back on his .50 cal magnum
"Duck"
"Don't do this jack"
"Duck"
"Duck"
"God dammit Jack, put the fucking gun down!"
"duck"
"Goose" he hesitated, maybe for a second.
Shattered glass, red all over, swat rushed in.
"Thank you Jacobs, you stalled him just long enough"
"barely" Lieutenant Jacobs took out a cigarette, lit it and walked off.
|
[WP] The reason earth has never been contacted by intelligent alien life is that it has been under a longstanding quarantine. Today the quarantine is lifted, you learn why...
|
The sky opened up. It had been cloudy all month on the eastern seaboard. From Charleston to New York, everyone felt the ground shake and heard a terrible roar. Windows rattled in their frames. Car alarms were set off. Small children cried out in fear and animal scurried away. The air traffic controllers at Andrews Air Force Base saw their screens fill, first with millions of small contacts, then one massive one. A smooth, silver, oblong object came to a halt about 60,000 feet above the Potomac. Secret Service Agents rushed the president and his family to Marine One, unsure if that was a safe move, but knowing it was probably the safest. As the helicopter hovered, first family on board, over the White House lawn, a radar operator saw what his training told him had to be an air-to-air missile streaking in. "Bandit! Bandit!" he screamed over the radio, as the chopper pilot made a risky and likely futile evasive maneuver. The powerful turbines came to a sudden halt as the helicopter slammed into the ground. A matte, silver, bullet-shaped object, the size of a school bus, streaked in and came to a jarring halt mere feet from the presidential helicopter.
"Mr. President! You must stay inside. We don't know what it is!" barked the protection detail lead. "If it was going to harm me, it would have done so already," snapped the commander-in-cheif. He stumbled out to see a willowy humanoid figure standing on he grass. An erie moaning sound emanated from its direction, followed by a tinny computerized voice. "Am I correct that you a leader of this planet?"
The president croaked, "I- I am... I am the president of the United States of America. Who, or what are you?"
"Your kind might refer to me as an alien - as I am from a different planet." The voice responded, coming from no particular direction. "We have dispatched emissaries from our coalition to what we have identified as the major capitals of your planet."
"What are you doing here?" responded the president, his presidential voice coming back to him.
"Mr. President, let someone else handle this. It's not safe," warned the Secret Service Agent, as he slid up next to his charge.
"Dammit! I will conduct this!" hissed the POTUS.
"You are correct to be unafraid. We mean no harm," said the voice. "Your system has been under quarantine for some time. As we began noticing signs of development from this region, we detected a series of uncontrolled thermonuclear reactions that would indicate barbarism unfit for interplanetary contact. It has been a long enough period of time since the last incident and we have determined to lift the quarantine on your planet and forger a relationship."
"I am pleased to hear this. Let me be the first to welcome you to Earth!" As the president reached out to grasp the end of the being's arm. They touched and he began to feel a supreme warmth and peace spread through his body. But, as suddenly as it began, the feeling of well-being was violently ripped from the president's body, leaving him feeling empty and ill.
"Your kind has proven to lack the advanced state we had expected," the voice chided. "The quarantine is reinstated. Do not expect a similar visit during your lifetime."
The being blinked out of the exitance. The small craft streaked away and the large one pulled out of Earth's atmosphere.
"What happened?" gasped the exasperated leader.
The agent responded, "I'm getting a report on the radio. One of the other ships was attacked."
"Who would be so daft? The Russians? The Chinese? An EU power?"
"New Zealand, sir. It was Wellington."
|
Y'know, I always wondered why aliens haven't tried to contact us. Well, scratch that. Me and a few million other people. Of course, there's a bullshit theory about them contacting us in the past here, some vaguely credible evidence about them actually existing there, and jokes about "the only proof we have that intelligent life except us exists in the universe is that none of them have tried to contact us" galore on the Internet.
My theory was that extraterrestrial life had no resistance against Earth diseases, and that was why they never dropped in to say hi.
Now, as fire rains down from the sky, dead bodies litter the ground, and I slowly start drifting away into oblivion, I finally realize why aliens had avoided us.
They weren't afraid of our Earth bacteria. No, that wasn't it.
*We* were the bacteria.
And as I see bright lights drifting down from the sky, I smile.
Guess I was right.
|
|
[WP] The reason earth has never been contacted by intelligent alien life is that it has been under a longstanding quarantine. Today the quarantine is lifted, you learn why...
|
The sun is a young star and there are ones that are far older than ours, there is a high probability that those stars will harbor earth like planets. From those planets earth like planets, civilizations will spring forth will develop space travel. Given that the universe is over 13 billion years old, these civilizations could colonize the whole galaxy in little as 10 million years even with current envisioned technology. We are left wondering, where are they?
This is what is known as the Fermi Paradox.
We had no idea why we have not seen or heard from our interstellar neighbors. They skies remained silent has they have always been.
Then a whisper. An simple numeric sequence made out of dots and dashes coming from a previously unknown planetoid between earth and mars orbits that was perfectly synced with Earth's own orbit with the sun.
SETI finally popped open that bottle of champagne. However, that excitement turned into concern as that numeric sequence was revealed to be a count down.
The pentagon militarized the whole project and deemed it classified even though anyone with an AM/FM radio could pick up the signal on a clear night. Men in military uniforms locked everything down and threatened us with charges of treason if we, like the General Swartz put it, make like Snowden.
The next week the office was tense and oppressive. The count down made the situation all too real, and the military types felt it too and some of them blamed us for this.
NASA and NORAD watched this new planetoid that some how appeared in the night sky. It was close enough for our telescopes to see that it was a rock about the size of Alaska, it did however have structures built on the surface on the planet and had scars of a mining operation on its face. The orbit was stable and it was not decaying in one way or the other. It was close enough to mars and our own plantet that it should have messed its orbit but it seemed to ignore the gravitational influence of both its neighboring planets.
Our own attempts to contact the object were only met with silence. The silence here, however, did not last for long. The planetoid was too close and its radio signal was strong enough for a car radio to pick it up. We didn't need to leak it, amateur astronomers did that for us. It was all what the 24 hour news networks were talking about, only to break away for about a day to cover a mass suicide by a doomsday cult.
Riots were starting to break out, a lot of states in the US declaring a state of emergency with national guard units supplementing police forces. Supermarkets wiped clean by the populace preparing for the worst as the countdown nears its end.
Then a Bang. A massive data stream overloaded everything on every wavelength. The planetoid did not change its orbit or seem to change. It took us about day to figure out what happening. Everything using a radio frequency was knocked out due to the over whelming strength of the signal.
We were surprised to see what was in the data stream, it was not only in our languages but it was using our codecs and file types! I personally opened a zip containing schematics for a consumer grade quantum CPU.
Then among all the data we found protocols for linking to an alien network. We quickly kluged together a text messenger using those protocols and sent a message in our own language.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: To it may concern, the massive data stream your are sending is currently disrupting our own networks and technology on a global scale. We cannot handle this load, please respond.
The whole room was tense, uniforms and SETI nerds huddled around a projector as they waited for a response. Radios in the room cleared up from the static, and Internet service returned soon after.
Then a response.
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION] Apologies, we have over estimated your planet's infrastructure. It was not our intention.
We all gasped not quite expecting it. We quickly confirmed it was from the planetoid. I cracked my knuckles not quite knowing what to write next.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: My name is John, who are you?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: I am Professor Loc'nex of the Quarantine Office for the LNM Empire. I writing to you through a translator program to speak to you in your specific human dialect.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: Why are you here and why now?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: Your planet has been quarantined for [585.83 years]. It was deemed no longer necessary and this was our attempt to initiate to contact through the WANet.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: Why were we quarantined?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: I'll tell you, but first, I need about treefiddy.
Then I realized the Professor Loc'nex, was a 500 foot tall monster form the paleolithic area.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: God Dammit Loch Ness Monster, I ain’t gonna give you no tree fiddy!!
|
Y'know, I always wondered why aliens haven't tried to contact us. Well, scratch that. Me and a few million other people. Of course, there's a bullshit theory about them contacting us in the past here, some vaguely credible evidence about them actually existing there, and jokes about "the only proof we have that intelligent life except us exists in the universe is that none of them have tried to contact us" galore on the Internet.
My theory was that extraterrestrial life had no resistance against Earth diseases, and that was why they never dropped in to say hi.
Now, as fire rains down from the sky, dead bodies litter the ground, and I slowly start drifting away into oblivion, I finally realize why aliens had avoided us.
They weren't afraid of our Earth bacteria. No, that wasn't it.
*We* were the bacteria.
And as I see bright lights drifting down from the sky, I smile.
Guess I was right.
|
|
[WP] The reason earth has never been contacted by intelligent alien life is that it has been under a longstanding quarantine. Today the quarantine is lifted, you learn why...
|
The sun is a young star and there are ones that are far older than ours, there is a high probability that those stars will harbor earth like planets. From those planets earth like planets, civilizations will spring forth will develop space travel. Given that the universe is over 13 billion years old, these civilizations could colonize the whole galaxy in little as 10 million years even with current envisioned technology. We are left wondering, where are they?
This is what is known as the Fermi Paradox.
We had no idea why we have not seen or heard from our interstellar neighbors. They skies remained silent has they have always been.
Then a whisper. An simple numeric sequence made out of dots and dashes coming from a previously unknown planetoid between earth and mars orbits that was perfectly synced with Earth's own orbit with the sun.
SETI finally popped open that bottle of champagne. However, that excitement turned into concern as that numeric sequence was revealed to be a count down.
The pentagon militarized the whole project and deemed it classified even though anyone with an AM/FM radio could pick up the signal on a clear night. Men in military uniforms locked everything down and threatened us with charges of treason if we, like the General Swartz put it, make like Snowden.
The next week the office was tense and oppressive. The count down made the situation all too real, and the military types felt it too and some of them blamed us for this.
NASA and NORAD watched this new planetoid that some how appeared in the night sky. It was close enough for our telescopes to see that it was a rock about the size of Alaska, it did however have structures built on the surface on the planet and had scars of a mining operation on its face. The orbit was stable and it was not decaying in one way or the other. It was close enough to mars and our own plantet that it should have messed its orbit but it seemed to ignore the gravitational influence of both its neighboring planets.
Our own attempts to contact the object were only met with silence. The silence here, however, did not last for long. The planetoid was too close and its radio signal was strong enough for a car radio to pick it up. We didn't need to leak it, amateur astronomers did that for us. It was all what the 24 hour news networks were talking about, only to break away for about a day to cover a mass suicide by a doomsday cult.
Riots were starting to break out, a lot of states in the US declaring a state of emergency with national guard units supplementing police forces. Supermarkets wiped clean by the populace preparing for the worst as the countdown nears its end.
Then a Bang. A massive data stream overloaded everything on every wavelength. The planetoid did not change its orbit or seem to change. It took us about day to figure out what happening. Everything using a radio frequency was knocked out due to the over whelming strength of the signal.
We were surprised to see what was in the data stream, it was not only in our languages but it was using our codecs and file types! I personally opened a zip containing schematics for a consumer grade quantum CPU.
Then among all the data we found protocols for linking to an alien network. We quickly kluged together a text messenger using those protocols and sent a message in our own language.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: To it may concern, the massive data stream your are sending is currently disrupting our own networks and technology on a global scale. We cannot handle this load, please respond.
The whole room was tense, uniforms and SETI nerds huddled around a projector as they waited for a response. Radios in the room cleared up from the static, and Internet service returned soon after.
Then a response.
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION] Apologies, we have over estimated your planet's infrastructure. It was not our intention.
We all gasped not quite expecting it. We quickly confirmed it was from the planetoid. I cracked my knuckles not quite knowing what to write next.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: My name is John, who are you?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: I am Professor Loc'nex of the Quarantine Office for the LNM Empire. I writing to you through a translator program to speak to you in your specific human dialect.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: Why are you here and why now?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: Your planet has been quarantined for [585.83 years]. It was deemed no longer necessary and this was our attempt to initiate to contact through the WANet.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: Why were we quarantined?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: I'll tell you, but first, I need about treefiddy.
Then I realized the Professor Loc'nex, was a 500 foot tall monster form the paleolithic area.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: God Dammit Loch Ness Monster, I ain’t gonna give you no tree fiddy!!
|
Sasha walked along the coast, heading North where he thought it might rain more. As he approached the old orangey reddish bridge, it was getting dark, and he decided to camp in a park next some fruit trees. After many years, the corpse smell had finally given way to the smells of overgrown vegetation. As he settled into his sleeping bag, a fog rolled in. A bright light appeared in the sky and slowed as it came down. It made the fog glow. Sasha had seen a helicopter once as a small kid, but that was forty years ago. The possibility of seeing another person overcame any fear he might have had. Sasha walked toward the light. It was not a helicopter.
A sphere with a few marks and bumps and metal pieces changed shape and grew some stubby legs as a hole appeared and a ramp. It grew from the opening. Humans did not walk out of it. A smaller white sphere with a black window in it floated around and approached Sasha. Sasha started having strange hallucinations.
He saw the Earth all at once and somehow knew that humans numbered only in the hundreds. He could see where they once lived. Then he could see them on a huge ship, together, in group pods, frozen. The hallucination zoomed out, and swept through a few stars, and zoomed back into a planet with many blue/purple islands in a green sea. He knew he would be taken there, but couldn't quite see why. His mind tried to grasp the question, but the hallucination immediately stopped. The experience left him disoriented and nauseous. When he got his bearing, the smaller white sphere had in the mean time grown an arm and was walking him to the bigger sphere with a hole in it. Sasha started to try and get away, but the grasp of the sphere was too tight. In response to his resistance, another arm grew, held him by the torso and flew him into the ship, where a pod was waiting to freeze him. He remembered being thrown in, he remembered screaming, the next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed of purple grass, and some naked humans surrounding him.
An older woman said, "Welcome to the galactic wild life reserve. Follow me."
|
|
[WP] The reason earth has never been contacted by intelligent alien life is that it has been under a longstanding quarantine. Today the quarantine is lifted, you learn why...
|
“Again, we sincerely apologize for how this quarantine must have affected your planet, but for the good of the galactic community, the infestation *had* to be stopped.”
“Huh.” I really didn’t know how else to respond. I was chosen as a representative of humanity to communicate with the alien landing party, and I thought I was prepared for anything: declarations of war, offerings of peace and cooperation, or even a complete lack of communication, but not this.
“Of course,” the alien dignitary continued, “The galaxy thanks you for your sacrifice and service in extinguishing that horrifying species. Citizens of Earth will be welcomed happily into the-“
“Wait-“ I interrupted. “Wait, are you saying that you were just waiting for us to extinguish the ‘threat’ this whole time?”
“Well no, not exactly,” the alien glanced sideways, he looked a bit uncomfortable now. “We- we really didn’t believe you would survive at all.” He shrugged apologetically.
“So many systems were infested, and given up for lost! Once they exhaust the resources and food supply of a planet they move on to the next, our only chance was to strand them on Earth.”
“Right. Well… I need to confer with my superiors about this uh- revelation.”
“That is reasonable, shall will reconvene tomorrow?” The alien asked politely.
“Yeah, yeah that will be acceptable. G-goodbye.”
I walked back to headquarters slowly, lost in thought, contemplating the reason for our entire lonely existence in the galaxy for so long. As I entered HQ, it was suddenly silent and every eye looked to me. The General spoke one word, “Why?”
I looked back at him in a daze and replied, “Pandas.”
|
Sasha walked along the coast, heading North where he thought it might rain more. As he approached the old orangey reddish bridge, it was getting dark, and he decided to camp in a park next some fruit trees. After many years, the corpse smell had finally given way to the smells of overgrown vegetation. As he settled into his sleeping bag, a fog rolled in. A bright light appeared in the sky and slowed as it came down. It made the fog glow. Sasha had seen a helicopter once as a small kid, but that was forty years ago. The possibility of seeing another person overcame any fear he might have had. Sasha walked toward the light. It was not a helicopter.
A sphere with a few marks and bumps and metal pieces changed shape and grew some stubby legs as a hole appeared and a ramp. It grew from the opening. Humans did not walk out of it. A smaller white sphere with a black window in it floated around and approached Sasha. Sasha started having strange hallucinations.
He saw the Earth all at once and somehow knew that humans numbered only in the hundreds. He could see where they once lived. Then he could see them on a huge ship, together, in group pods, frozen. The hallucination zoomed out, and swept through a few stars, and zoomed back into a planet with many blue/purple islands in a green sea. He knew he would be taken there, but couldn't quite see why. His mind tried to grasp the question, but the hallucination immediately stopped. The experience left him disoriented and nauseous. When he got his bearing, the smaller white sphere had in the mean time grown an arm and was walking him to the bigger sphere with a hole in it. Sasha started to try and get away, but the grasp of the sphere was too tight. In response to his resistance, another arm grew, held him by the torso and flew him into the ship, where a pod was waiting to freeze him. He remembered being thrown in, he remembered screaming, the next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed of purple grass, and some naked humans surrounding him.
An older woman said, "Welcome to the galactic wild life reserve. Follow me."
|
|
[WP] The reason earth has never been contacted by intelligent alien life is that it has been under a longstanding quarantine. Today the quarantine is lifted, you learn why...
|
The sun is a young star and there are ones that are far older than ours, there is a high probability that those stars will harbor earth like planets. From those planets earth like planets, civilizations will spring forth will develop space travel. Given that the universe is over 13 billion years old, these civilizations could colonize the whole galaxy in little as 10 million years even with current envisioned technology. We are left wondering, where are they?
This is what is known as the Fermi Paradox.
We had no idea why we have not seen or heard from our interstellar neighbors. They skies remained silent has they have always been.
Then a whisper. An simple numeric sequence made out of dots and dashes coming from a previously unknown planetoid between earth and mars orbits that was perfectly synced with Earth's own orbit with the sun.
SETI finally popped open that bottle of champagne. However, that excitement turned into concern as that numeric sequence was revealed to be a count down.
The pentagon militarized the whole project and deemed it classified even though anyone with an AM/FM radio could pick up the signal on a clear night. Men in military uniforms locked everything down and threatened us with charges of treason if we, like the General Swartz put it, make like Snowden.
The next week the office was tense and oppressive. The count down made the situation all too real, and the military types felt it too and some of them blamed us for this.
NASA and NORAD watched this new planetoid that some how appeared in the night sky. It was close enough for our telescopes to see that it was a rock about the size of Alaska, it did however have structures built on the surface on the planet and had scars of a mining operation on its face. The orbit was stable and it was not decaying in one way or the other. It was close enough to mars and our own plantet that it should have messed its orbit but it seemed to ignore the gravitational influence of both its neighboring planets.
Our own attempts to contact the object were only met with silence. The silence here, however, did not last for long. The planetoid was too close and its radio signal was strong enough for a car radio to pick it up. We didn't need to leak it, amateur astronomers did that for us. It was all what the 24 hour news networks were talking about, only to break away for about a day to cover a mass suicide by a doomsday cult.
Riots were starting to break out, a lot of states in the US declaring a state of emergency with national guard units supplementing police forces. Supermarkets wiped clean by the populace preparing for the worst as the countdown nears its end.
Then a Bang. A massive data stream overloaded everything on every wavelength. The planetoid did not change its orbit or seem to change. It took us about day to figure out what happening. Everything using a radio frequency was knocked out due to the over whelming strength of the signal.
We were surprised to see what was in the data stream, it was not only in our languages but it was using our codecs and file types! I personally opened a zip containing schematics for a consumer grade quantum CPU.
Then among all the data we found protocols for linking to an alien network. We quickly kluged together a text messenger using those protocols and sent a message in our own language.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: To it may concern, the massive data stream your are sending is currently disrupting our own networks and technology on a global scale. We cannot handle this load, please respond.
The whole room was tense, uniforms and SETI nerds huddled around a projector as they waited for a response. Radios in the room cleared up from the static, and Internet service returned soon after.
Then a response.
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION] Apologies, we have over estimated your planet's infrastructure. It was not our intention.
We all gasped not quite expecting it. We quickly confirmed it was from the planetoid. I cracked my knuckles not quite knowing what to write next.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: My name is John, who are you?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: I am Professor Loc'nex of the Quarantine Office for the LNM Empire. I writing to you through a translator program to speak to you in your specific human dialect.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: Why are you here and why now?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: Your planet has been quarantined for [585.83 years]. It was deemed no longer necessary and this was our attempt to initiate to contact through the WANet.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: Why were we quarantined?
[Quarantine Office, LNM Empire, SOL STATION]: I'll tell you, but first, I need about treefiddy.
Then I realized the Professor Loc'nex, was a 500 foot tall monster form the paleolithic area.
[SETI, USA, EARTH]: God Dammit Loch Ness Monster, I ain’t gonna give you no tree fiddy!!
|
The sky opened up. It had been cloudy all month on the eastern seaboard. From Charleston to New York, everyone felt the ground shake and heard a terrible roar. Windows rattled in their frames. Car alarms were set off. Small children cried out in fear and animal scurried away. The air traffic controllers at Andrews Air Force Base saw their screens fill, first with millions of small contacts, then one massive one. A smooth, silver, oblong object came to a halt about 60,000 feet above the Potomac. Secret Service Agents rushed the president and his family to Marine One, unsure if that was a safe move, but knowing it was probably the safest. As the helicopter hovered, first family on board, over the White House lawn, a radar operator saw what his training told him had to be an air-to-air missile streaking in. "Bandit! Bandit!" he screamed over the radio, as the chopper pilot made a risky and likely futile evasive maneuver. The powerful turbines came to a sudden halt as the helicopter slammed into the ground. A matte, silver, bullet-shaped object, the size of a school bus, streaked in and came to a jarring halt mere feet from the presidential helicopter.
"Mr. President! You must stay inside. We don't know what it is!" barked the protection detail lead. "If it was going to harm me, it would have done so already," snapped the commander-in-cheif. He stumbled out to see a willowy humanoid figure standing on he grass. An erie moaning sound emanated from its direction, followed by a tinny computerized voice. "Am I correct that you a leader of this planet?"
The president croaked, "I- I am... I am the president of the United States of America. Who, or what are you?"
"Your kind might refer to me as an alien - as I am from a different planet." The voice responded, coming from no particular direction. "We have dispatched emissaries from our coalition to what we have identified as the major capitals of your planet."
"What are you doing here?" responded the president, his presidential voice coming back to him.
"Mr. President, let someone else handle this. It's not safe," warned the Secret Service Agent, as he slid up next to his charge.
"Dammit! I will conduct this!" hissed the POTUS.
"You are correct to be unafraid. We mean no harm," said the voice. "Your system has been under quarantine for some time. As we began noticing signs of development from this region, we detected a series of uncontrolled thermonuclear reactions that would indicate barbarism unfit for interplanetary contact. It has been a long enough period of time since the last incident and we have determined to lift the quarantine on your planet and forger a relationship."
"I am pleased to hear this. Let me be the first to welcome you to Earth!" As the president reached out to grasp the end of the being's arm. They touched and he began to feel a supreme warmth and peace spread through his body. But, as suddenly as it began, the feeling of well-being was violently ripped from the president's body, leaving him feeling empty and ill.
"Your kind has proven to lack the advanced state we had expected," the voice chided. "The quarantine is reinstated. Do not expect a similar visit during your lifetime."
The being blinked out of the exitance. The small craft streaked away and the large one pulled out of Earth's atmosphere.
"What happened?" gasped the exasperated leader.
The agent responded, "I'm getting a report on the radio. One of the other ships was attacked."
"Who would be so daft? The Russians? The Chinese? An EU power?"
"New Zealand, sir. It was Wellington."
|
|
[WP] A big wave of suicides happens all around the world. You end up realizing that they were all astronomers and you just bought your first telescope.
|
It became big news, how the heavens attacked.
The religious went... Nuts.
Most religions didn't really put much credence to the idea that Gods or Godesses were wreaking death on those that dared peer into its creation, but...
Extremists be extreme.
It killed off humanity's drive to go to space.
But one day, I couldn't take it.
Perhaps it was just the depressing sense of finality, that this planet was all we were ever going to get.
The realisation that there were secrets, laws about the universe that mankind would never know.
The moment when humankind stopped looking outwards at the universe, and isolated itself.
I grew sick, depressed, and wrong by the standards of the world I lived in.
So I bought a telescope. They weren't easily available, but hobbists tended to trade in the black market. Usually second hand castoffs from funerals of people with a interest in space.
I looked out, one night.
As far as the world knows, I committed suicide. The Earth upon which I was born has become a dystopian nightmare, where science is outlawed, and hope is lost.
I am now free.
|
Focused prism surging
Happiness among werewolves
Bloody staples follow them
.
Six hundred minds gone
Of their own will
I have become a sheep
.
Black and firefly tease me
Dancing behind the glass
A tiny tether I see
.
Fifty years of searching
The truth plain as grass
"We are not alone"
.
|
|
[WP] A big wave of suicides happens all around the world. You end up realizing that they were all astronomers and you just bought your first telescope.
|
I looked through the looking glass and saw the smooth darkness and twinkling stars. Nothing else.
The headlines of mass suicides peaked my interest and many others. Hell it took 6 stops at every hobby shop in the area just to get this 10 year old child's telescope. I never had much of a interest in space with it being up there and all but the morbid curiosity led me to sitting in a farmers Field 40 minutes from home looking for earths possible doom.
I checked the twitter account of an Australian astronomy teacher in Melbourne. It just simply had coordinates in the sky of where to look. I didn't have much hope of seeing whatever it was that led the bastard to kill himself considering nobody has seen anything in the spot in the 2 days since. But I figured why the hell not. I sipped on the Luke warm coffee and wondered what they knew that governments didn't. Nothing is there. My eyes were tired and I was starting to get cold.
I looked away from the eye glass and stared naked at the moon. An immediate shock of complete blackness surrounded me. My first thought was blindness but my phone at my side illuminated. Low battery. Then all sound was gone. No moon over the horizon. No stars. Nothing. The cold was instant.
|
Focused prism surging
Happiness among werewolves
Bloody staples follow them
.
Six hundred minds gone
Of their own will
I have become a sheep
.
Black and firefly tease me
Dancing behind the glass
A tiny tether I see
.
Fifty years of searching
The truth plain as grass
"We are not alone"
.
|
|
[WP] A big wave of suicides happens all around the world. You end up realizing that they were all astronomers and you just bought your first telescope.
|
I pulled out the folding chair I had bought previously that day and set up my equipment. Setting the telescope took some time but relatively quickly I was ready.
Francine had bought it for me last Tuesday. For my birthday it came with a note saying 'Since your head is in the clouds most days, you're perfect to see the stars!'. I grinned at the reference to telescopes and atmosphere interference. Being with a astronomer does that to you. She seemed a little distraught when I opened it though; Some friends of hers had gone missing recently.
I opened my hamper and brought out the vital part of tonight's viewing.
Setting my party eaten sandwich aside I fished the starmap from my left pocket. Keys, no. Phone, nope. At last! To the outside eye it was a boring black book. Further inspection would show tiny, almost non-existent white dots just like the black sky. Inside was a wonderfully organised and laid out guide to stargazing.
I closed my eyes, opened the book and threw it into the air. Opening them, I was on Page 112 - Mercury. A quick adjustment to the scope and bam I had a different world in my sight. It was a little.. underwhelming. I expected it to do a little dance or wink at me. A real shame it didn't.
Looking for something with a little more excitement I perused the list and settled on Mars. We were going there, eventually, so might as well perform some amateur reconnaissance. The Red Planet was rather dusty. Somewhere all alone a little rover was loyally chugging around that planet up there sending reports back to us. Once we get there I think we should take him off of shift. Poor guy needs a break from all that work. Damn it must be lonely.
To distract myself from the upsetting imagery I decided I'd look somewhere *no one* had before. I randomly span the the numbers and gazed at this unknown sight. The way I see it if the universe is constantly expanding a million people could look at one place one at a time and still something new. It was a beautiful thought.
Shame the view wasn't. It was a black canvas ripe for painting. Maybe the light hadn't reached it to us yet but waiting around a few million years or so wasn't an option for me. That would be boring!
Just as I was about to give up hope I saw something tiny pop up. A slight flash of white. Then more appeared and started to form letters.
**HELP**
Wow that was weird. As if space was asking *ME* for help. I'm puttting that on a CV.
**HE IS HERE**
Okay then, little bit freaky.
**TOO LATE**
This must be a joke. My mouth opened to laugh it away.
**RUN**
The nervous laugh caught in my throat.
The cold feeling in my stomach got colder as I waited for the next message.
**I AM COMING**
**NO ESCAPE**
**NO SAVIOUR**
And then it repeated.
No no no no no no. This wasn't happening. I was going crazy or it was true. I had to tell Francine. I had to tell NASA. The White House. How could I prove it? I wrote down the coordinates and raced home. My sandwich left uneaten.
---
'Francine!' I shouted 'You HAVE to see this'
'What is it dear? What MUST I see?' Any other time I would love that sarcasm. The mirth from her eyes vanished when she saw my face. How scared I must look.
'I saw it in the telescope. There's something. Something bad. Just look'
'Okay I will'
The wait to set up the telescope was antagonising. I punched the numbers in erratically and practically shoved Francine into the eyepiece.
'Calm down now and I'll look'
She looked.
'Well? What do you see?!'
No reply.
'Francine?!'
No reply. I pulled her and she collapsed to the floor. A fountain of blood exploded like a volcano from her eyes. Her nose. Her white skin was sullied by crimson red. I couldn't handle this. I stared down at the patch of space.
The messages were gone. Instead was a perverse creature. All I could see was a giant yellow eye surrounded by trenches of teeth. It noticed me. It couldn't have. It was trillions of light years away. How could it notice me?
The eye turned red and I felt a wetness on my face. My eyes closed and I departed.
---
Deep in space the Mind Devourer inched closer.
---
I liked writing this - haven't done anything like this.
I was planning to direct you to a sub made up of my original work but turns out I need to get some karma before I can do that. Instead if you're interested PM me, and I'll message you when I have that setup. Thanks.
|
Focused prism surging
Happiness among werewolves
Bloody staples follow them
.
Six hundred minds gone
Of their own will
I have become a sheep
.
Black and firefly tease me
Dancing behind the glass
A tiny tether I see
.
Fifty years of searching
The truth plain as grass
"We are not alone"
.
|
|
[WP] A big wave of suicides happens all around the world. You end up realizing that they were all astronomers and you just bought your first telescope.
|
He peered into the lens at the empty patch of sky. Stars, like the twinkle in his daughter’s eye, spread in front of him by the thousands. But he wasn’t stargazing today. He was looking for *it*, the cause of hysteria among the astronomical community that left hundreds bereft. He first heard it from his father over the phone, quivering in his own skin, words escaping his throat like razor blades. Thank God for Allie’s swift mind, she booked him the first flight to New York that very day.
He raised his head from the telescope and turned to his father. “Dad, what am I looking for?” he asked. He was silent, elbows on his knees, and face buried in his palms. After a few moments, he spoke up, “Nothing Gabe. You’re looking for nothing.”
He raised a brow, “Nothing? You said something was coming. You said something about the signal...” Again his father fell silent. From the other room, his wife walked in with three cups of tea and a packet of Milano cookies, his favorite. She took a seat on the rocking chair next to his father and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“James, please. Talk to us. We are trying to understand like everyone else.” she looked over to Gabe with furrowed brows and pointed at the seat next to James with her eyes and a nod.
He walked over next to his father and sat down. “Dad,” he said, “the reporters are saying that there is gamma radiation just inside our solar system or something? What’s going on?”
James leaned back into his seat and stared at the ceiling his eyes were glazed and his expression as dry as overcooked turkey. “We knew it was coming. We have known for four decades, but we ignored it.”
Allie and he exchanged glances. “What...what did we know?” she asked.
“The signal…” he said, coupled with a sigh, “We were facinated by it...until we realized what it was. We tried to warn them but they ignored us.”
Gabe raced through the extensive library of astronomical documentaries he viewed in his mind. For him to develop an interest was only natural as talk of the heavens was all he heard his father discuss since childhood. “Four decades ago? Dad, are you talking about the Wow! signal?”
James turned to face him. “Yea. That’s it.”
“They said it was an anomaly, an earth signal bouncing off debris or something like that.” he said peering at his new telescope.
His father’s chest vibrated under his sweater as he chuckled. “Yea, okay. If you told me you were Jesus, I’d believe that before I believe that it was deflected radio signals.”
“What do you mean?” Allie asked pausing halfway as she reached for a cookie.
James sat up, “The most powerful transmitter we have on this goddamn rock is 2500 kilowatts and that’s strong. The Wow!, assuming that it was remotely the size of the telescopes we have on earth, would have been eight-hundred-and-eighty times as strong, 2.2 gigawatts. And that’s not considering the other message…”
The three of them fell silent. “What other message?”
“The one we had to sign an NDA for.” he said standing up and making his way to the telescope.
“What do you mean ‘we’, James?” Allie asked.
“I was there, with Jerry. I was the first one he showed it to, right before Martin. Martin was a smart son-of-a-bitch but holding on to shit he should hold on to was not his thing.”
“I remember uncle Marty.” Gabe said. He moved with his father to Ohio after him and Ma split. Uncle Marty and dad became good friends until he died.
His father knelt, one knee to the ground, and peered through the telescope. After a few seconds, he raised his head and spoke, “Shit, what does it matter now anyway. Non-disclosure-agreement, or not, it won’t mean shit now anyway.”
Gabe glanced over to his wife in silence. Confusion, coupled with the stench of swelling dread, was thick around them. “What happened?”
“There were two signals, Gabe, not one.” He sat down next to the telescope beneath the window ledge and combed his beard with his fingers. “The Wow! signal, the famous one, was strange, but that was it. It was relatively indecipherable. Along with it, however, we got another one almost twice as long as the Wow!. See, no one knew about this one, because the feds were on us in less than a day. How, is beyond me.”
“Okay, I get that," he said scratching his head, "but what's so special about this second signal?” Gabe asked.
“It was a supplemental message. The Wow! alone meant nothing. This new message alone meant nothing as well, but when we compared the two in conjunction, playing and reorganizing the values we realized it was a message, perhaps even coded due to the mismatch in frequencies.”
Gabe’s heart began to thump. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his jeans and saw that Allie’s expression resembled his. “Message” he asked, “You mean like from aliens?” James just looked at him in response.
“What was the message?”
He sighed, “Eight Coordinates. At least that was the first part of it. The first was what looked to be their position in the Milky Way as viewed from Earth. The second we realized was Earth from their position in the galaxy…”
Gabe’s heart skipped and his legs felt like jelly. Before he could say anything, Allie broke the silence, “Wait…you mean, that they knew…”
“They knew exactly who they were sending the signal to.” James said completing her sentence, “We were the intended recipients. The fact that we even discovered the signal was a miracle, just sheer luck. We can only guess to how many they sent out.”
“What about the rest?” Gabe asked. His face tingled the way it did right before fainting.
“The five coordinates after that connected the first two…They were plotting a course.”
“How is that possible?” Gabe’s head was spinning. “How can…you’re telling me the Government held on to this? An NDA isn’t enough to keep people from exposing this…”
James sniffled, “Martin thought so too. Started telling people…and…well, it took a lot of propaganda for the government to divert the conspiracy theorists.”
His eyes widened, “So uncle Martin…But he died in a plane crash.”
“It was convenient wasn’t it?” He said with a fabricated chuckle. “I haven’t seen any of the reporters from the Ohio Times he told either.”
None of this made any sense. How could something like this be possible?
There was still one thing his father left out. “Dad, what was the last coordinate? You said there were eight. One for earth’s location, one for theirs, five for plots in between. What was the last coordinate?”
“It was Earth’s coordinates again…except this time it was followed by zeros. It was just zeroes over and over again.” He said. “Through coordinates they informed us of our fate. Gabe, they sent us a declaration of eradication.”
“James…” Allie said, the unbitten cookie between her two fingers trembling, “You said the first part of the message was coordinates…what about the rest?”
“That was one thing we couldn’t figure out. Hundreds of astronomers were tasked with deciphering the code…and it took years. But we finally did it.”
“When?” Gabe asked.
James closed his eyes.
It was not a heart thumping in his chest, it was a drum. “Dad, when?
His father looked up at him. “If I ask you to meet me on Times Square…and say nothing else, what bit of information are you missing?” he asked.
“Time.” Allie responded before he could, “You need to know when to meet.”
James smiled. “Well we had the location already didn’t we? It turns out they gave us a time of their arrival too…based on the galactic center instead of the sun.” He looked at his son and daughter in law with tears resting on his bottom eyelid.”
“We deciphered it a week ago. Those aren’t just random gamma rays, Gabe. They’re here.”
|
Focused prism surging
Happiness among werewolves
Bloody staples follow them
.
Six hundred minds gone
Of their own will
I have become a sheep
.
Black and firefly tease me
Dancing behind the glass
A tiny tether I see
.
Fifty years of searching
The truth plain as grass
"We are not alone"
.
|
|
[WP] A big wave of suicides happens all around the world. You end up realizing that they were all astronomers and you just bought your first telescope.
|
He peered into the lens at the empty patch of sky. Stars, like the twinkle in his daughter’s eye, spread in front of him by the thousands. But he wasn’t stargazing today. He was looking for *it*, the cause of hysteria among the astronomical community that left hundreds bereft. He first heard it from his father over the phone, quivering in his own skin, words escaping his throat like razor blades. Thank God for Allie’s swift mind, she booked him the first flight to New York that very day.
He raised his head from the telescope and turned to his father. “Dad, what am I looking for?” he asked. He was silent, elbows on his knees, and face buried in his palms. After a few moments, he spoke up, “Nothing Gabe. You’re looking for nothing.”
He raised a brow, “Nothing? You said something was coming. You said something about the signal...” Again his father fell silent. From the other room, his wife walked in with three cups of tea and a packet of Milano cookies, his favorite. She took a seat on the rocking chair next to his father and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“James, please. Talk to us. We are trying to understand like everyone else.” she looked over to Gabe with furrowed brows and pointed at the seat next to James with her eyes and a nod.
He walked over next to his father and sat down. “Dad,” he said, “the reporters are saying that there is gamma radiation just inside our solar system or something? What’s going on?”
James leaned back into his seat and stared at the ceiling his eyes were glazed and his expression as dry as overcooked turkey. “We knew it was coming. We have known for four decades, but we ignored it.”
Allie and he exchanged glances. “What...what did we know?” she asked.
“The signal…” he said, coupled with a sigh, “We were facinated by it...until we realized what it was. We tried to warn them but they ignored us.”
Gabe raced through the extensive library of astronomical documentaries he viewed in his mind. For him to develop an interest was only natural as talk of the heavens was all he heard his father discuss since childhood. “Four decades ago? Dad, are you talking about the Wow! signal?”
James turned to face him. “Yea. That’s it.”
“They said it was an anomaly, an earth signal bouncing off debris or something like that.” he said peering at his new telescope.
His father’s chest vibrated under his sweater as he chuckled. “Yea, okay. If you told me you were Jesus, I’d believe that before I believe that it was deflected radio signals.”
“What do you mean?” Allie asked pausing halfway as she reached for a cookie.
James sat up, “The most powerful transmitter we have on this goddamn rock is 2500 kilowatts and that’s strong. The Wow!, assuming that it was remotely the size of the telescopes we have on earth, would have been eight-hundred-and-eighty times as strong, 2.2 gigawatts. And that’s not considering the other message…”
The three of them fell silent. “What other message?”
“The one we had to sign an NDA for.” he said standing up and making his way to the telescope.
“What do you mean ‘we’, James?” Allie asked.
“I was there, with Jerry. I was the first one he showed it to, right before Martin. Martin was a smart son-of-a-bitch but holding on to shit he should hold on to was not his thing.”
“I remember uncle Marty.” Gabe said. He moved with his father to Ohio after him and Ma split. Uncle Marty and dad became good friends until he died.
His father knelt, one knee to the ground, and peered through the telescope. After a few seconds, he raised his head and spoke, “Shit, what does it matter now anyway. Non-disclosure-agreement, or not, it won’t mean shit now anyway.”
Gabe glanced over to his wife in silence. Confusion, coupled with the stench of swelling dread, was thick around them. “What happened?”
“There were two signals, Gabe, not one.” He sat down next to the telescope beneath the window ledge and combed his beard with his fingers. “The Wow! signal, the famous one, was strange, but that was it. It was relatively indecipherable. Along with it, however, we got another one almost twice as long as the Wow!. See, no one knew about this one, because the feds were on us in less than a day. How, is beyond me.”
“Okay, I get that," he said scratching his head, "but what's so special about this second signal?” Gabe asked.
“It was a supplemental message. The Wow! alone meant nothing. This new message alone meant nothing as well, but when we compared the two in conjunction, playing and reorganizing the values we realized it was a message, perhaps even coded due to the mismatch in frequencies.”
Gabe’s heart began to thump. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his jeans and saw that Allie’s expression resembled his. “Message” he asked, “You mean like from aliens?” James just looked at him in response.
“What was the message?”
He sighed, “Eight Coordinates. At least that was the first part of it. The first was what looked to be their position in the Milky Way as viewed from Earth. The second we realized was Earth from their position in the galaxy…”
Gabe’s heart skipped and his legs felt like jelly. Before he could say anything, Allie broke the silence, “Wait…you mean, that they knew…”
“They knew exactly who they were sending the signal to.” James said completing her sentence, “We were the intended recipients. The fact that we even discovered the signal was a miracle, just sheer luck. We can only guess to how many they sent out.”
“What about the rest?” Gabe asked. His face tingled the way it did right before fainting.
“The five coordinates after that connected the first two…They were plotting a course.”
“How is that possible?” Gabe’s head was spinning. “How can…you’re telling me the Government held on to this? An NDA isn’t enough to keep people from exposing this…”
James sniffled, “Martin thought so too. Started telling people…and…well, it took a lot of propaganda for the government to divert the conspiracy theorists.”
His eyes widened, “So uncle Martin…But he died in a plane crash.”
“It was convenient wasn’t it?” He said with a fabricated chuckle. “I haven’t seen any of the reporters from the Ohio Times he told either.”
None of this made any sense. How could something like this be possible?
There was still one thing his father left out. “Dad, what was the last coordinate? You said there were eight. One for earth’s location, one for theirs, five for plots in between. What was the last coordinate?”
“It was Earth’s coordinates again…except this time it was followed by zeros. It was just zeroes over and over again.” He said. “Through coordinates they informed us of our fate. Gabe, they sent us a declaration of eradication.”
“James…” Allie said, the unbitten cookie between her two fingers trembling, “You said the first part of the message was coordinates…what about the rest?”
“That was one thing we couldn’t figure out. Hundreds of astronomers were tasked with deciphering the code…and it took years. But we finally did it.”
“When?” Gabe asked.
James closed his eyes.
It was not a heart thumping in his chest, it was a drum. “Dad, when?
His father looked up at him. “If I ask you to meet me on Times Square…and say nothing else, what bit of information are you missing?” he asked.
“Time.” Allie responded before he could, “You need to know when to meet.”
James smiled. “Well we had the location already didn’t we? It turns out they gave us a time of their arrival too…based on the galactic center instead of the sun.” He looked at his son and daughter in law with tears resting on his bottom eyelid.”
“We deciphered it a week ago. Those aren’t just random gamma rays, Gabe. They’re here.”
|
*Could this be it?*
My hands are shaking as I prepare the telescope. *Will I be the next?* Deep breaths, Marcus, deep breaths. I press my face to the eyepiece. Everything comes into focus.
Nothing seems off.
At first.
The stars are bright, and I can make out a faint planet. Slowly, gradually, it becomes less blurred and larger. *I didn't know that telescopes focused.*
Horror began to dawn on me. My telescope wasn't focusing. The 'planet' was getting closer.
|
|
[WP] A big wave of suicides happens all around the world. You end up realizing that they were all astronomers and you just bought your first telescope.
|
I set up my little tripod, and put down my flask of tea. I glanced at the post it note I'd stuck on my backpack, with the scrawled co-ordinates on it. South a bit, West a lot, little bit North... that's it, right in position.
There's nothing there.
I rub my eyes a little and adjust the focus, but still nothing there. It should have been there – the forum had said it would be exactly at this location. Maybe I wrote the co-ordinates wrong? I reach into my bag and shuffle around the bits of paper I printed off.
**Topic: astronomer suicides**
*The spot is circled on that diagram, I can't give you guys anything more specific because I haven't looked myself. All I know is that he looked, and stared for hours. When he was done he wasn't the same... he looked at me as if he didn't know me. That night he hung himself, and I never got to ask him what he saw. I'm too scared to look.*
I stare at the paper some more, double check the co-ordinates. Pulling my jacket closer to me I realise that it's getting later and colder, and I have to head back to the car soon. I decide to have one last look, and turn back to the telescope.
But there is no telescope.
I scan the ground around me, in case I had lost my bearings. But no, there is no telescope here. Has someone stolen it? I didn't hear anything moving. But now there is no noise at all except what sounds like a broken television somewhere out of sight in every direction.
Wasn't I here with someone? Where was Jack, I know he wanted to see it too – did he leave already? That doesn't make sense, the car was still there. But the car was a mile away, how can I know it's still here, that doesn't make sense either.
The sky is bleached red now, I don't think it was like that before. There are purple dots hanging in the sky like foreign stars I'd never seen before. I look down from the sky and see a man standing about fifty feet away, one arm stretched out towards me. I yelp and stumble backwards, tripping over my backpack.
Only, now I realise it isn't my backpack. What is this thing? It's sticky and putrid and black, and my hand is melting into it like custard. I try to scramble to my feet, but something is holding me down. It's the man, his hand on my head.
And then I am standing in the field again, my eye pressed to the telescope lens looking out into an empty spot of space. Jack is saying something I don't understand. The wind brushes past my face.
“What did you see?” I understand Jack to ask in a moment of clarity.
I open my mouth to give an answer, but nothing comes out. I need to see it again.
|
*Could this be it?*
My hands are shaking as I prepare the telescope. *Will I be the next?* Deep breaths, Marcus, deep breaths. I press my face to the eyepiece. Everything comes into focus.
Nothing seems off.
At first.
The stars are bright, and I can make out a faint planet. Slowly, gradually, it becomes less blurred and larger. *I didn't know that telescopes focused.*
Horror began to dawn on me. My telescope wasn't focusing. The 'planet' was getting closer.
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[WP] Humanity isn't an intelligent race, or an intuitive race, or a fast race, or even a violent race. But it is the longest lasting race in the galaxy.
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Another derelict planet.
Flying just below the clouds, the familiar sorrow spreads slowly inside my chest as my screens show me the ruined ground. As a planetary surveyor, you would think eventually even the sight of an extinct race would eventually have less of an impact after a while. But it doesn't.
I tried to look for the things I had come here to find. Water, minerals, oil. My screens did most of the work, but it was my job to compile a report of how much of each resource had been found, recommend colonial population size, settlement locations, and make note of what adaptations would have to be made for human habitation on this planet.
As I did my research, a familiar pattern emerged. Everywhere that I recommended for settlement, the ruins of an alien city stood. Eventually, after the fifth time in a row this occurred, I simply started ignoring the instruments, and placed markers everywhere there were ruins, prioritizing them by the size of the burnt-out urban sprawls.
Following the footsteps of this dead race so closely, I began to see pieces of what they must have been like. They clearly shared the human need for water, past population density clearly rising closer to the coastlines and rivers. Their buildings extended extensively underground, as I could see wherever the above-ground portion had collapsed or been knocked over. As well, they had no roads on the surface, leading me to believe they must have traveled below or above ground.
Amateur historians and paleontologists would study some of the history of the species that had once dominated this planet. And they would definitely do a better job of it than me. But I tried to find out what I could all the same. In a memorial, of sorts. For practically every planet I visited, at more than two planets a year, held signs of past sentient life, though not all would be repopulated by humans. They were simply not all suitable. For many of these races, I would be the only sentient being to ever witness that they ever were.
As I gazed sadly at the planet of ruins, full of evidence that I was not so different from the lost souls below, I wondered what small thing it was that made us different, that we were still here, when they had gone.
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Cockroaches... Humanity is the galaxy's cockroach. They spread like a plague and are blasted difficult to eradicate. Not because human populations are uniquely tough in any way. Humans in fact are the weakest of all race. But, in the time it takes to eradicate a solar system you can be certain another dozen worlds have been colonized by these galactic vermin.
You can be certain any trade port suffers an infestation of humans. Try as you may, stowaways will occur. Doesn't matter how many you deport or execute. Some will slip past. The worst mistake is to accept a few of their traders and let them inhabit even a smallest portion of a port. Once you invite the infestation nothing can uproot them.
No race had any hope of outlasting these vermin when in every struggle hundreds of them are striving against your best. You had one chance against their 100. Luck is a fickle mistress but favors their masses. I mourn the galaxy. Such diversity has been lost. All have fallen before their infestation.
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[WP] Humanity isn't an intelligent race, or an intuitive race, or a fast race, or even a violent race. But it is the longest lasting race in the galaxy.
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"nobody looks twice to the janitor in a room" my father told me once. Now as I lay in my chair in the balcony of the human embassy to the 'eternal' Torquan empire I ponder on the wisdom of his words. I'm the 40th ambassador here, the position being for life. This speaks good of the torquans, most species don't last enough to get their 8th human ambassador before being exterminated or brought back down to a pre industrial level on a single world. we humans being the exception. we have always been here, or so feel the rest of the sophonts in the galaxy. nobody is bothered by it ( and why should they be worried ) we're middle of the way in smarts, weaker than 2/3rds of the rest and not particularly aggressive. the thing is, we cultivate that image. its particularly useful to our real strength: Diplomacy. we see promising species and help them along a bit and uplift, we cultivate relations and friendships, we plead, we bribe, we *Charm*. It is not an easy game but we have had a long time to perfect it, and we're good. meanwhile nobody wonders why we barely have the need to mantain a fleet and how in every public contract humans seem to be first picks. Who would've known? Friendship *is* magic.
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Cockroaches... Humanity is the galaxy's cockroach. They spread like a plague and are blasted difficult to eradicate. Not because human populations are uniquely tough in any way. Humans in fact are the weakest of all race. But, in the time it takes to eradicate a solar system you can be certain another dozen worlds have been colonized by these galactic vermin.
You can be certain any trade port suffers an infestation of humans. Try as you may, stowaways will occur. Doesn't matter how many you deport or execute. Some will slip past. The worst mistake is to accept a few of their traders and let them inhabit even a smallest portion of a port. Once you invite the infestation nothing can uproot them.
No race had any hope of outlasting these vermin when in every struggle hundreds of them are striving against your best. You had one chance against their 100. Luck is a fickle mistress but favors their masses. I mourn the galaxy. Such diversity has been lost. All have fallen before their infestation.
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[WP] Your an evil genius bent on world domination. However your evil organisation is crippled by general, mundane office drama/problems.
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As I park the Doommobile in a visitor spot, due to one of my incompetant employees taking my spot, I take a sip of coffee, and smile proudly at the new sign atop the archway of my lair. It reads: 'There is no Greater Place to Work'
"Because there's nowhere else left!" I exclaim to myself as I exit my weaponized vehicle of destruction. My mood changes as I drop my gaze from my personal accomplishments, to a handfull of imbecile henchmen and the janitor standing in front of the building, having a smoke. "You idiots haven't been clocked in for 5 minutes and you're already taking a break?!" I angrilly shout as I pull my patented death ray from my coat, calculating in my head which of them was on the bottom of the seniority list, I pull the trigger, vaporizing him instantly... "Wouldn't want to have to deal with a grievance from the EHU (Evil Henchmen's Union), for not vaporising the least senior member... would I?" I Chuckle as the others run to their workplaces.
Entering my evil base, that same overwhelming feeling of aggravation settles in as I make my way to my office. I walk the hallways to the breakroom to get some coffee, whispers fill the hallways between my lackeys, as they spread the news of that idiot I vaporized out front. I ponder what his name was as I travel, eventually overhearing that it was 'Ned.'
Eventually, I make it to the breakroom, where some unachieving minion managed to conjur up the worst smelling pot of coffee I'd ever had the displeasure of smelling. Being a brave soul, I filled my cup and took a sip, a choice I would instantly regret as I spewed it back out, painting the wall of the room a runny tan. Enraged, I hurl the mug through the open breakroom door and hear it clank across the floor of 'doomsday devices.'
Storming to my office, I see my HR guy changing the number on the sign readingç 'Days without Vaporization in the workplace' back to zero... I remembered to myself 'last week it was that Bruce guy, who had been rumored to be planning a mutiny, by joining the Wonder Leagu-' shit... 'The Wonder League!' I forgot I had a 9 O' Clock scheduled to blow their base of operations to oblivion!
My storming turned to a sprint. Exhausted,I made it to my office sweating and panting. "Too early for this shit..." I glance at my watch "and no time for evil speaches" I say slamming my fist down on the button that should begin the launch sequence that will put an end to my remaining foes.
"I/O error, action can not be completed at this time" is displayed on my console.
"Curse you Windows Vista!! I only installed you on every computer in the lair because it seemed like the evil thing to do!" I paged my secretary "Janice! Send me up the I.T. guy!"
Shortly after, the building's intercom announced "Ned, please report to Mr. Flair's office."
I let out a sigh, as I frustratedly rubbed my temples. "Nevermind..." I say to Janice. "Gotta do everything myself." I cursed, removing myself from my desk, and making my way down the hall to the manual override switch. "Die, you bastards!" I exclaim as I pull the switch that would put my biggest threat, to world domination, into a crater.
"Um... sir." A nameless minion speaks over the com.
"Now what?" I ask, as the words "Launch Sequence Initiated" are spoken from an automated system. "One minute until launch."
"Um... the doors... they aren't opening..." nameless henchman replies.
"55 seconds" drones the computer.
"What do you mean, the doors won't open?!" I shout, startling my employees who were on their 3rd break of the morning.
"50 seconds" blares the voice, counting us down to our inevitable doom.
"It looks like the opening gears have something jammed in them... it looks like a coffee mug" he says, surprised.
"45 seconds" is spoken, as I make way to my office.
"40 seconds" is the last thing I hear before hitting the evacuate alarm.
"35 seconds" a flood of minions cascades down the hallways.
"Oh, NOW you guys wanna get your asses into gear!" I exclaim, running along with the crowd.
"30 seconds" 'Hopefully we can cancel the health insurance of the ones that don't make it, before the policy renews' I think, exiting the building, slamming big iron doors behind me.
As we shuffle to a safe distance, I turn and watch everything I built get blown to smithereens.
"So, does this mean... the Office Christmas party is cancelled" one of the idiots asks me.
Those were his last words.
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You've gone over the plans. The instructions are quite simple, and written in a way that children can comprehend them. Recordings were made, and dispersed to the lot of them. Probably not the smartest idea you've had, but who could imagine that these types of problems would be common among career criminals. The simplest of your ideas seem to cause mental breakdowns of the highest order. Rubbing your temples isn't a solution. The entire operation is such a sham. Today you're in a warehouse, yesterday you were in a basement. A month ago you were gleefully plotting away in a castle built by a small outfit of machines that you designed. But, this is always how it happens. Things seem to be terribly out of reach and then a sudden stroke of luck allows you to pull the whole thing back on the rails. You're smart, incredibly so. Being smart doesn't solve Harold's peanut allergies, it also doesn't stop Ali's glass eye from drawing the stares of everyone. Of course they are replaceable, but the time table of your plan and all of the things that have to fall into place don't exactly give you time to hold interviews. You even invented a stiffer drink so that you wouldn't kill Kevin for napping on the job. This is what it has come to. Paul and Igor are battling the flu, and you're staring at Miranda wondering how long she is going to try hiding the fact that she is pregnant. Again. In less than two hours, phase one of your plans will go into effect. It vexes you that Kevin is asleep again. It vexes you deeply.
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[WP] Your an evil genius bent on world domination. However your evil organisation is crippled by general, mundane office drama/problems.
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"Well no one told me Roy was gay! It was an offhand remark. I wouldn't have said it if I had known!"
"Well that's just the point sir. The fact you thought you could say it at all despite the audience," the henchman kicked nervously at the brick facade surrounding the iron door the two men stood outside of.
"So what? You're telling me that because of one little slip of the tongue my henchmen are going to keep giving me those awkward stares in the hallway until I apologize?" Fisk shook his head and turned away from the stocky man in disgust.
"Even if you apologize sir..." the man searched for the right words," It's got to be a fundamental change."
"A come to Jesus moment? Or do you want me on the cross myself?"
"Well, I mean you can say you're sorry, but unless you mean it and it causes meaningful change in your life..."
"How the hell did the world get this way? When did everyone become so sensitive? Who cares what anus he puts his member into?!"
The henchman cringed, "Sir, please just stop now."
"What? What did I say now?"
"You do know not all homosexual men engage in anal sex don't you?"
"Well Howdy Doody, this is news to me! You mean it all just doesn't fit into a nice baseball reference? This is just getting ridiculous. One of the reasons I do this... I mean... WE DO THIS is to stick it to the establishment. We're not here to hold each other's hands and sing kumbaya!"
"I know sir, but even still there are standards. Even our social group has norms. Maybe thirty years ago this sort of thing was acceptable but.."
"Are you saying I'm getting too old to do my job?" The graying man craned his tall frame to tower over the shorter henchman.
"Uh..."
"Are you trying to engage in some sort of age discrimination here? I know you aren't here on behalf of the union but you do represent them still. Even in this private conversation. I will not be judged by my age!" the scientist struck the door with his cuff link causing a spark in the dim light.
"Sir I assure you this has nothing to do with your age. It's more to do with your behavi.."
"Oh now I know why the committee tried to buy me out last year. 'We'll give you excellent stock options in our shadow corporations and will still list you as the leader. You just will be involved in fewer low level decisions.' What a load of bunk that was!"
"Sir I think we're going off on an unrelated tangent here. I can tell I struck a nerve. I apologize it's just this whole Roy thing has everyone on edge. It's as if we don't even know who you any more," the henchmen wrung his hands behind his back.
"Oh I'll show you who I am. I'll show you all! I'm the ruthless son of a bitch of started this organization from the ground up with only a slew of bank robberies and one genetically modified alligator. I am not just the founder, I am Dark Thunder!"
"Sir, I think you're getting a bit narcissistic here. I mean..."
The henchman's head exploded. The scientist's revolver smoked as he twirled it once, blew on the barrel, and thrust it back into his lab coat pocket.
"I am the ruthless son-of-a-bitch that started this all and I don't have to answer to anyone."
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Fragrant Harbor IRC
11:48 AM: Meeting Regarding Takeover of Southeastern Asian Peninsula
Respondants: Emperor Perry. Syndicate Chairman Henh. General Ling.
P: "So, assuming we make headway on Southeastern Expansion, we could be looking to re-establish Indochina under Chinese control in say... four months.... Heng, you had an objection?"
H: "Yea, Pei. The rest of us have a union retreat planned in two months for two months. So, we'll be out in Australia for a while."
P: "Wha- Why didn't you tell me this BEFORE I mobilized the army?!"
H: "Well... I didn't feel like it."
P: "You didn't feel like it.... This is why I fucking hate you, Heng."
L: "Hey, hey, hey, back it up you two. Let's talk about the real meat and guts behind this. What's the bonus for this?"
P: "THERE IS NO BONUS, THIS IS YOUR JOB, LING!"
L: "Ehh... I dunno. The jungle's awfully hot during the summertime. Can't really steer well in those waters. Food down there really sucks too."
H: "Well, I don't know about that Ling. Pad Thai's a real interesting dish from what I've heard."
L: "Never liked Thai food myself... Too spicy."
P: "Jesus christ, can we please focus on the goddamn meeting?! Hello! Conquering Southeast Asia here!"
L: "Can we just reschedule until say... winter? The weather'd work out a lot better then."
H: "No, better idea. Let's push it until February of next year. They'll be having that Lunar New Year thing going on and we can wipe them out by surprise."
P: "You're both Chinese. You'll just goof around and party all week too."
H: "Oh yeah. Forgot."
P: "Ugh... so, any ideas Ling?"
L: "I'm thinking lunch at that new French place down the street. Look at the time, it's 12. See ya."
Ling has signed out.
P: "Henh, don't you dare fucking leave."
H: "Oh, oh shit. My stomach. I needa like..."
Henh has signed out.
P: "Hate all of you so much."
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[WP] A comedian must convince a court that a joke he told was funny.
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"There will be ORDER!" the judge's voice crashed over the courtroom at the most recent outbreak. "Now then, after that last piece of evidence, I am completely unconvinced of not only your sincerity, but your continued innocence. Without the puppet shows, can you explain to this court how one of the most recycled jokes that we tell our children just so we can groan and pretend to smile, can actually pretend to be humorous?"
Eyes downcast, the clown puts lowers the rubber chicken, and adopts a very serious face, his simultaneous grin and deadpan somewhat unsettling. With a squeak, it hits on the table as a sigh escapes the dark visage of a face that normally brings laughter.
"Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is humor? What is laughter? What is that most sacred of actions which defines that which is human from that which is not?"
"I propose that you don't know, and that you don't want to know, for you will at once, see humor everywhere, and yet be unable to laugh at it. For laughter isn't what makes things funny, but rather things are funny, and therefore force us to laugh."
*sigh* "We've already been over the founding pillars of comedy. The pun, The slapstick, The prop humor, The Meaningful Idiot. But why do you laugh?"
"I propose, it is because you have nothing else to do. In slapstick, you cannot be angry because its never intentional, nor can you be sad for them because you know no harm has come. So you laugh. In the pun, it literally breaks your brain, while simultaneously making sense and nonsense. So you laugh. When he slips on a banana peel, you want to feel bad or blame him, but you laugh, knowing that nothing could have prevented it and the same fate could befall you. And when abbot and costello argue about who's on first, you laugh, because it's so absurd that they cannot see each others points, that there's no possible way it could happen or be fixed."
"Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I regretfully tell you the humor on which you've been ignorant of. Eons ago, when this joke was made, it was a joke for the elders, to be said in kids presence because thier ignorance of the world made them unable to understand why it was funny. Over time, the elders forgot to let the kids on the joke, and yet the kids keep parroting it, so even you, to this day, repeat the joke while lacking any comprehension of it."
The clown wipes the swear from his brow, continuously pulling the handkerchief from his sleeve as he talks whenever the outermost one becomes damp. "Why did the chicken cross the road...." he softly lets out, each word echo'd by his slow, measured steps in front of the jury box. "To get to the other side..." he finishes, punctuated with the tiniest of lifting of the corners of his mouth, as he looks at the stonefaced jurors.
"You fathers tell this to your children, and the children laugh and humor you, thinking all the while of it's stupidity, expecting you to know something they don't. And you do, but you refuse to admit it to yourselves, and therefore deny them the humor when they come of age, as your lineage did before you."
His voice growing heavier and more of his age showing as the last wipe of his cloth took more of his makeup off, his once pristine white face now lined and etched with shadows. "Your honor, if I may address the jury, I shall show.."
"Objection your honor, we've been at this for four hours, he's clearly leading us on a wild goose chase!" The prosecutor leaps to his feet, his tie already loosened on his otherwise well groomed figure, annoyed that this charade has gone on as long as it has.
"show you that not only is it funny, but that my peers will explain exactly how, for though they were never told they still know in their core, like all humor exists." the once jovial jester finishes.
"I'll allow it, but please be quick, It is getting late and i'd not like to recess and give the press more to work with over the night" sighs the judge, wondering whether his reservations will have to be canceled.
"Thank you your honor", quipping as he approaches the jury box, looking over the faces young and old, until settling on a young lady who is probably just barely starting her own studies, "Miss, I'd like to have you start. I want you to look at the first part of the joke, 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' What does that tell you?"
"That he crossed?" she squeaks out, shrinking into her seat at first notice of being picked.
"Indeed! That at some time in the past, a chicken not only crossed a road, in fact he choose to do so of his own free will! What else?"
"I don't know... "
"Exactly, you don't know. That's why we're asking the question! So now we know a chicken crossed a road, and we don't know why so we're asking. Now, if you were to cross a road and I wanted to know why, how would I figure it out?"
"You... you'd ask me?"
"Very good young lady! I would ask YOU! So why aren't we asking the chicken? I propose that, for some reason or another, we can't ask the chicken! " The clown is now smiling a little bit, "And so, as the jury has so astutely shown, the opening part of the joke tells us A chicken crossed a road, we don't know why, and we can't ask him for some reason. Now, to the second part, I pick...." the clown spins around in a circle a half dozen times before stopping on an elderly gentleman in the back. "Oh dear, well that's the way the pie is thrown. So sir, the second part of the joke, can you repeat it to me?"
"To get to the other side", the old man says without fanfare, his eyes locked on his interrogator.
"See, you do know the answer! So on top of all that, we're asking a question we already know the answer to! So why ask it in the first place? Maybe it's unclear. Well what is the other side?", the clown asks, reaching the end of his handkerchiefs, and looks back on them running the length of the courtyard before blowing his nose with a flourish and dropping the end.
"The road you buffoon! What else!"
The smile vanishes from the clown's face as he returns the man's stare, "What else indeed.... what else indeed. Sir, if I had called your loved ones and said you had crossed to the other side, what would they say? More importantly, what if I told them you crossed a road, to get to the other side?"
The old man held the look as the clown talked, then eyes widened as he realized, and looked down. The mood in the courtroom had fallen silent, only the gentle hum of the air unit remained.
"They would ask why.... They would wonder why you crossed. Why you wanted to go to the other side."
"Your honor, as the jury has shown, they knew the answer all along. A chicken crossed a road sometime in the past, we don't know why, we can't ask him, and yet even though we ask the question, we already know the answer that he went to the other side. So we're asking a question we already know one answer to, obviously looking for a different answer. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why it is funny. Because without that second answer, you can't do anything but laugh. I rest my case..."
No one stops him as he turns to walk out of the courtroom, only the quack of his shoes follows him, leaving behind silence.
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"Your honor," the rotund lawyer said, "we have one additional piece of evidence."
This was it. This was the point of no return. Even if Daryl - comedian by trade, and current subject of the most absurd trial in the history of the legal system - managed to avoid incarceration, it would be unlikely that he could return to the stage.
In order to save himself, Daryl was going to reveal the secret.
"Proceed," murmured the judge.
The lawyer adjusted his ill-fitting suit, then spoke to the courtroom as a whole. "The defense calls Mister Daryl Jones back to the stand!"
Sighs of impatience rippled through the space, though none were more audible than those coming from the jury box. *Not a good sign*, Daryl thought to himself. Still, he climbed his way up into the witness chair, sat down, and put on the friendliest smile that he could manage.
"You understand that you are still under oath?" asked the judge.
Daryl nodded in reply. "I do."
"Mister Jones," the lawyer began, "we have heard testimony from numerous sources that your public display was crass, obscene, and wholly offensive. We have seen demonstrations by experts, reenactments here in the courtroom, and evidence of the profound psychological trauma experienced by onlookers. Truly, the prosecution has made a *stellar* case... but I understand that you have something to share."
Once again, Daryl nodded. "Yes," he said. "If I could direct everyone's attention to this display...?" The lights in the room dimmed, and on a nearby projector screen, a page from a book appeared. "These," continued Daryl, "are the universal formulas for humor."
------
*FORMULA ONE*:
**ENTITY ONE:** Here is a harmless premise.
**ENTITY TWO:** I understand your premise.
**ENTITY ONE:** Here are additional details.
**ENTITY TWO:** I have misunderstood you.
**ENTITY ONE:** Please remove the banana from my anus.
------
*FORMULA TWO*:
Some ENTITIES are DOING SOMETHING in/at LOCATION. One of the ENTITIES - a SPECIFIC ENTITY - DOES SOMETHING SLIGHTLY ODD.
"I would like an explanation," the SECOND ENTITY says.
"Well," replies the FIRST ENTITY, "in my BACKGROUND DETAIL, we REITERATION OF ODD ACTION whenever CIRCUMSTANCES."
The SECOND ENTITY nods. "Ah, I see. Kind of like A SIMILAR SITUATION?"
"Yes!" replies the FIRST ENTITY. "Exactly like that."
Throughout this exchange, the THIRD ENTITY has been listening closely. "I have a question," the THIRD ENTITY says. "If CIRCUMSTANCES mean that you ODD ACTION, and if SIMILAR SITUATION means that you ODD ACTION... then what would happen if VAGUELY RELATED SCENARIO?"
The FIRST ENTITY looks uncomfortable. "If VAGUELY RELATED SCENARIO happened, I'd have to RIDICULOUS AND PROBABLY OBSCENE ACT."
"What?!" the THIRD ENTITY asks, alarmed. "Why?!"
"Because," the FIRST ENTITY answers, "it would mean REFERENCE TO A BANANA IN SOMEONE'S ANUS."
------
A gasp ran through the assembled crowd... followed by a barely restrained snort of laughter, and then another.
"Mister... Mister Jones," the lawyer said, clearly attempting to hold in his own mirth, "why did you share this with us?"
"It's secret knowledge," Daryl replied, "only given to comedians after they've passed an equally secret test. These formulas represent universally amusing jokes. They've even been used to diagnose a variety of mental disabilities."
"Do you mean to imply," challenged the lawyer, "that only someone with a mental handicap would not be entertained by these jokes?"
Daryl shrugged. "I'm not a psychologist... but with these formulas in mind, I believe you can see how my performance was not only *funny*, it was downright *hysterical*."
The lawyer cast his gaze across the court. Poorly hidden smiles were still evident on the faces of everyone - well, almost everyone - in the room. "Tell me, then, Mister Jones," he said, turning back to face his client. "In this crass, insensitive, *offensive* joke that you told... why did you describe a chicken running through several lanes of traffic?"
Daryl cleared his throat and looked out across his audience.
Then, rather than responding... he held up a banana.
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[WP] A comedian must convince a court that a joke he told was funny.
|
"There will be ORDER!" the judge's voice crashed over the courtroom at the most recent outbreak. "Now then, after that last piece of evidence, I am completely unconvinced of not only your sincerity, but your continued innocence. Without the puppet shows, can you explain to this court how one of the most recycled jokes that we tell our children just so we can groan and pretend to smile, can actually pretend to be humorous?"
Eyes downcast, the clown puts lowers the rubber chicken, and adopts a very serious face, his simultaneous grin and deadpan somewhat unsettling. With a squeak, it hits on the table as a sigh escapes the dark visage of a face that normally brings laughter.
"Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is humor? What is laughter? What is that most sacred of actions which defines that which is human from that which is not?"
"I propose that you don't know, and that you don't want to know, for you will at once, see humor everywhere, and yet be unable to laugh at it. For laughter isn't what makes things funny, but rather things are funny, and therefore force us to laugh."
*sigh* "We've already been over the founding pillars of comedy. The pun, The slapstick, The prop humor, The Meaningful Idiot. But why do you laugh?"
"I propose, it is because you have nothing else to do. In slapstick, you cannot be angry because its never intentional, nor can you be sad for them because you know no harm has come. So you laugh. In the pun, it literally breaks your brain, while simultaneously making sense and nonsense. So you laugh. When he slips on a banana peel, you want to feel bad or blame him, but you laugh, knowing that nothing could have prevented it and the same fate could befall you. And when abbot and costello argue about who's on first, you laugh, because it's so absurd that they cannot see each others points, that there's no possible way it could happen or be fixed."
"Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I regretfully tell you the humor on which you've been ignorant of. Eons ago, when this joke was made, it was a joke for the elders, to be said in kids presence because thier ignorance of the world made them unable to understand why it was funny. Over time, the elders forgot to let the kids on the joke, and yet the kids keep parroting it, so even you, to this day, repeat the joke while lacking any comprehension of it."
The clown wipes the swear from his brow, continuously pulling the handkerchief from his sleeve as he talks whenever the outermost one becomes damp. "Why did the chicken cross the road...." he softly lets out, each word echo'd by his slow, measured steps in front of the jury box. "To get to the other side..." he finishes, punctuated with the tiniest of lifting of the corners of his mouth, as he looks at the stonefaced jurors.
"You fathers tell this to your children, and the children laugh and humor you, thinking all the while of it's stupidity, expecting you to know something they don't. And you do, but you refuse to admit it to yourselves, and therefore deny them the humor when they come of age, as your lineage did before you."
His voice growing heavier and more of his age showing as the last wipe of his cloth took more of his makeup off, his once pristine white face now lined and etched with shadows. "Your honor, if I may address the jury, I shall show.."
"Objection your honor, we've been at this for four hours, he's clearly leading us on a wild goose chase!" The prosecutor leaps to his feet, his tie already loosened on his otherwise well groomed figure, annoyed that this charade has gone on as long as it has.
"show you that not only is it funny, but that my peers will explain exactly how, for though they were never told they still know in their core, like all humor exists." the once jovial jester finishes.
"I'll allow it, but please be quick, It is getting late and i'd not like to recess and give the press more to work with over the night" sighs the judge, wondering whether his reservations will have to be canceled.
"Thank you your honor", quipping as he approaches the jury box, looking over the faces young and old, until settling on a young lady who is probably just barely starting her own studies, "Miss, I'd like to have you start. I want you to look at the first part of the joke, 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' What does that tell you?"
"That he crossed?" she squeaks out, shrinking into her seat at first notice of being picked.
"Indeed! That at some time in the past, a chicken not only crossed a road, in fact he choose to do so of his own free will! What else?"
"I don't know... "
"Exactly, you don't know. That's why we're asking the question! So now we know a chicken crossed a road, and we don't know why so we're asking. Now, if you were to cross a road and I wanted to know why, how would I figure it out?"
"You... you'd ask me?"
"Very good young lady! I would ask YOU! So why aren't we asking the chicken? I propose that, for some reason or another, we can't ask the chicken! " The clown is now smiling a little bit, "And so, as the jury has so astutely shown, the opening part of the joke tells us A chicken crossed a road, we don't know why, and we can't ask him for some reason. Now, to the second part, I pick...." the clown spins around in a circle a half dozen times before stopping on an elderly gentleman in the back. "Oh dear, well that's the way the pie is thrown. So sir, the second part of the joke, can you repeat it to me?"
"To get to the other side", the old man says without fanfare, his eyes locked on his interrogator.
"See, you do know the answer! So on top of all that, we're asking a question we already know the answer to! So why ask it in the first place? Maybe it's unclear. Well what is the other side?", the clown asks, reaching the end of his handkerchiefs, and looks back on them running the length of the courtyard before blowing his nose with a flourish and dropping the end.
"The road you buffoon! What else!"
The smile vanishes from the clown's face as he returns the man's stare, "What else indeed.... what else indeed. Sir, if I had called your loved ones and said you had crossed to the other side, what would they say? More importantly, what if I told them you crossed a road, to get to the other side?"
The old man held the look as the clown talked, then eyes widened as he realized, and looked down. The mood in the courtroom had fallen silent, only the gentle hum of the air unit remained.
"They would ask why.... They would wonder why you crossed. Why you wanted to go to the other side."
"Your honor, as the jury has shown, they knew the answer all along. A chicken crossed a road sometime in the past, we don't know why, we can't ask him, and yet even though we ask the question, we already know the answer that he went to the other side. So we're asking a question we already know one answer to, obviously looking for a different answer. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why it is funny. Because without that second answer, you can't do anything but laugh. I rest my case..."
No one stops him as he turns to walk out of the courtroom, only the quack of his shoes follows him, leaving behind silence.
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There was a gasp from the crowd as the doors opened for the prosecution's surprise witness. There were audible murmurs that rippled through the courtroom as everyone realized who it was. She strutted down the hallway, feathers rustling, without even glancing at the defendant's table. The prosecutor motioned to the seat next to the judge, and the chicken took the stand.
"Mrs. Rooster," the attorney started, "Could you please tell the jury your side of the story that day?"
"Objection, your honor!" the defendant said, bolting out of his seat. Normally his lawyer would do that, but he was representing himself pro-se. Partially because no lawyer in all of Arkansas wanted to take his case, and partially because he thought it would be easy to beat the charge. I mean, come on: who has ever gone to prison for *telling a joke*?
"On what grounds?" the judge asked, confused.
"The witness is incompetent, your honor. It's a chicken! Birds can't testify in court!"
The judge leaned back in his chair, contemplating. "I'm going to allow this. There's no rule that says birds can't testify." The prosecutor smiled smugly and sauntered back to the witness box.
"Now, Mrs. Rooster, if the defendant is done interrupting, could you please tell your side of the story? Maybe start with when you first entered the crosswalk."
There was a dramatic pause as the chicken glanced around the courtroom, beady eyes darting back and forth.
"Bawk bawk bawk... bawk bawk! Bawk bawk bawk bawk, bawk bawk bawk bawk bawk. Bawk bawk bawk. Bawk!" the chicken lifted one wing and pointed directly at the defendant.
There was a collective gasp from the audience. Eleven of the jurors glared at him, eyes narrowed; the 12th juror was too busy crying to join the others in staring. The jury foreman, a beefy man in the front, was shaking his head and clenching his hands into fists. "You're going to fry," whispered a spectator in the crowd behind the defendant. His tone was menacing and vindictive.
"Oh come on!" the defendant shouted. "It's a BIRD! It's not even using words!"
"Bailiff, get this man out of my sight," the judge ordered, clearly as infuriated as all of the jurors. He turned back to the witness. "You can continue your testimony, Mrs. Rooster."
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[WP] You try to make a deal with the Devil, he refuses your soul as payment.
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"No," he said, sounding slightly annoyed.
I stared at him, agape. "But..but why not? Is my soul not worth enough?"
"Where have you heard of the idea of selling your soul to the devil?"
I looked at him confusedly. "Uh...I don't know. It's just...a thing that happens, I thought." I gestured to the black occult books strewn about my bed. "I followed the instructions and amazingly, they actually worked and you're here, so I thought..."
"OK, I'll give you credit for that," he allowed, "you did your research and got the sigils right and...is that a dead bunny?" He pointed to Fluffles, the family pet, whose internal organs I had carefully arranged onto the points of the pentacle I had drawn in his own blood. Satan whistled. "Shit, boy, your mother is going to drag you to the priest for daily sodomizations for a month..."
"So why won't you buy my soul?" I interrupted.
He sighed heavily. "You gotta stop listening to TV and junk about serious stuff like this, kid. Read something for a change. Like the Bible."
"Seriously? The Devil is telling me to read that *rag*?" I shot back with a snicker. "That's, like, super ironic."
"It is pretty ironic," he agreed, "but my point is, if you were well versed, you would've known that deals with the Devil ain't a thing."
"*What!?*"
"Yup," he said cheerfully. "Not one person in the Bible sold their soul to me. I mean, think about it: if they were the kind to want to sell their souls, I would have them anyway, after they died. Pretty useless bargaining chip, y'know?"
"You're just...making shit up," I said angrily. It sounded kind of logical, but the Devil is a tricky person, that much I knew. I wasn't about to let him rip me off. "Just--"
"John? John, are you up in your room? We're going to be late to the Church charity drive!"
I blanched at the sound of my mother's voice. Shit, I had run out of time! I was supposed to have the power to make her disappear by now, but the Devil was being such an ass. I took several steps back, mind racing.
"Are you even dressed, young man? Oh, never mind. I'm coming up!" For a second, I stood there frozen. Then, when I heard her climbing the stairs, a jolt of electricity ran through and I leapt into action, locking the door and whirling around to face the Devil.
"You gotta help me!" I whispered frantically.
He rolled his eyes and pointed to the ground. I followed his gnarled finger and saw that the circle of salt surrounding the pentacle star had a break in it; I must've stepped on it at some point. Horrible realization dawned on me. I looked up at him.
"Sorry, kid," he said, waving a hand at me. "See you in hell, probably." And with a crack and wisp of smoke, he was gone.
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Hades laughed. "You'll have to do better than that."
"What's that suppose to mean?" I said, hurt. I offered him my soul.
"Look little girl, you humans all die eventually. You're soul will be mine. So what will it be? What do I get if I give you the power you wish for."
"What's it worth to you?" I huffed. I want to be a powerful thinker of Athene. I want men to fear my name, Aspasia.
"It's not worth anything to me. None of this silly human affair stuff is. What is it worth to you." He grinned.
"I'm not sure."
"You're first born? No. Something else.... ohhh how about love?"
"Pardon?"
"The ability to love, yes. I'll take that as payment. I've always wanted to see what a woman would do without love."
Hades grabbed me, pulling love from my chest. Heat fled my body. In an instant, He was gone. I felt an lightness about me. Then I got on with my day.
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[WP] You try to make a deal with the Devil, he refuses your soul as payment.
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"No," he said, sounding slightly annoyed.
I stared at him, agape. "But..but why not? Is my soul not worth enough?"
"Where have you heard of the idea of selling your soul to the devil?"
I looked at him confusedly. "Uh...I don't know. It's just...a thing that happens, I thought." I gestured to the black occult books strewn about my bed. "I followed the instructions and amazingly, they actually worked and you're here, so I thought..."
"OK, I'll give you credit for that," he allowed, "you did your research and got the sigils right and...is that a dead bunny?" He pointed to Fluffles, the family pet, whose internal organs I had carefully arranged onto the points of the pentacle I had drawn in his own blood. Satan whistled. "Shit, boy, your mother is going to drag you to the priest for daily sodomizations for a month..."
"So why won't you buy my soul?" I interrupted.
He sighed heavily. "You gotta stop listening to TV and junk about serious stuff like this, kid. Read something for a change. Like the Bible."
"Seriously? The Devil is telling me to read that *rag*?" I shot back with a snicker. "That's, like, super ironic."
"It is pretty ironic," he agreed, "but my point is, if you were well versed, you would've known that deals with the Devil ain't a thing."
"*What!?*"
"Yup," he said cheerfully. "Not one person in the Bible sold their soul to me. I mean, think about it: if they were the kind to want to sell their souls, I would have them anyway, after they died. Pretty useless bargaining chip, y'know?"
"You're just...making shit up," I said angrily. It sounded kind of logical, but the Devil is a tricky person, that much I knew. I wasn't about to let him rip me off. "Just--"
"John? John, are you up in your room? We're going to be late to the Church charity drive!"
I blanched at the sound of my mother's voice. Shit, I had run out of time! I was supposed to have the power to make her disappear by now, but the Devil was being such an ass. I took several steps back, mind racing.
"Are you even dressed, young man? Oh, never mind. I'm coming up!" For a second, I stood there frozen. Then, when I heard her climbing the stairs, a jolt of electricity ran through and I leapt into action, locking the door and whirling around to face the Devil.
"You gotta help me!" I whispered frantically.
He rolled his eyes and pointed to the ground. I followed his gnarled finger and saw that the circle of salt surrounding the pentacle star had a break in it; I must've stepped on it at some point. Horrible realization dawned on me. I looked up at him.
"Sorry, kid," he said, waving a hand at me. "See you in hell, probably." And with a crack and wisp of smoke, he was gone.
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"Aw come on man, why not?" Yu asked, confused by the matter.
"Because there are so many Yu's!" The Devil sneered. "Why? Why are there so many Yu's?! And becuase of THAT, I can't take your soul as payment."
Yu frowned. "That's racist."
"Hell, I'm the Devil, sue me." The Devil shrugged.
"I can't, you took all the lawyers..." Yu smirked.
"OHHHH!" Yu's conjoined twin laughed. "Evil lawyer joke!"
The Devil rolled his eyes. "Oh, that joke, never heard THAT before..."
"Really? Man you need to get out more often it's really common." Yu gave the Devil a pity look.
The Devil's eye twitched. "Sarcasm. It's sarcasm you moron."
"Ooooh..." Yu frowned. "So you can't take my soul as payment because you're a racist?"
The Devil sighed. "No. Not exactly. It's your conjoined twin that's at fault. I can't take your soul becuase it's also technically your twin's soul too."
"Dude..." Yu's eyes widened. "It's all your fault Mi!"
"Hey chill out, you know what this means right?" Mi asked.
"No, what?" Yu wanted to hear this.
"We ARE like siblings. Only closer!" Mi was giddy. "Even more so than we thought!"
"Spongebob was right!" Yu's mouth went agape. "Spongebon was right!"
The Devil groaned. "Hey, you idiots, so if you want drugs to be legal you need to give me something besides your soul. OR! Mi has to agree to this soul taking as well."
"What do you say Mi?" Yu asked.
Mi frowned. "I dunno Yu, a soul is like important and stuff. And we have like this special one, you know."
"You're totally right!" Yu nodded. "Ours is worth like 3 souls. Yeah."
"That's it, I'm burning this town down. And you won't get your drugs you hippies!" The Devil sneered and left angrilly.
"So that's why when you get high, I also get high..." Mi giggled.
"Dude..." Yu smiled widely.
Neither noticed that their town was being burned to the ground.
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[WP] You try to make a deal with the Devil, he refuses your soul as payment.
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Morningstar pinches the space between his eyes and sighs.
"I, I just can't."
Pietre takes off his glasses, his hands trembling softly. He rubs each lens between his silk handkerchief, the fine tremor slowing his process. He replaces the glasses and stares into the cool blue eyes of the young man sat opposite him.
"I prayed, and I prayed." Tears fill Pietre's milky eyes as he speaks. He blinks, sending a few droplets rolling down his thin, wrinkled cheeks. "But nobody answered. Until you."
Morningstar adjusts one of his cufflinks. It shines almost as brightly as his light blonde hair. He clears his throat, the sound almost filling the small living room. A neat little teacup sits next to him, the foul smelling herbal concoction within still steaming.
"You understand who I am? What I am?" Morningstar rubs at the black paint on the tablecloth next to him, forming a small chip in the pentagram that surrounds the teacup.
"I understand." Pietre nods, his head trembling in union with his hands. He gestures around the living room, the old armchair containing him groaning in protest. Pictures line his walls and window sill, smiling faces dulled by a thin film of dust. "This is all I have now. I am an old man, what worth do I offer to the world? At least in death, I can give meaning."
Morningstar smiles sadly, his teeth shining behind thin lips. His eyes rest on a silver frame on the mantelpiece, containing a young boy. The boy is also smiling sadly.
"Is that him?"
Pietre nods. He reaches out for the chipped wooden stick resting against his chair, and pulls himself up slowly. His movement over to the picture frame is stilted, his steps small and rigid. Morningstar tilts his head to one side before standing to join him. He rests his hand on Pietre's shoulder as the old man speaks.
"Too young. Cancer is an illness for the old. He is too young." Pietre doubles over his stick, banging it hard against the ground as he speaks. "Please, you have to accept! You have to!"
Morningstar lifts the picture frame from the mantle and studies the boy, before handing the frame to Pietre. He guides him back to his armchair and waits patiently as Pietre finds his way down. He crouches down to meet Pietre's desperate gaze.
"Your actions are pure. Selfless." Morningstar speaks slowly, frowning as he does so. "There is no place in Hell for you, Pietre." He rests his hand on Pietre's knee, gently squeezing the thin leg below.
Pietre sobs now, his shoulders shaking as he gasps for air. His tears strike the glass of the frame in his hands. Morningstar stands, his frown remains.
"Go to your grandson, my friend."
Pietre blinks, and is suddenly alone. He dabs his handkerchief against the wet glass in his lap, his touch hovering over the face of the boy. He sighs.
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"Aw come on man, why not?" Yu asked, confused by the matter.
"Because there are so many Yu's!" The Devil sneered. "Why? Why are there so many Yu's?! And becuase of THAT, I can't take your soul as payment."
Yu frowned. "That's racist."
"Hell, I'm the Devil, sue me." The Devil shrugged.
"I can't, you took all the lawyers..." Yu smirked.
"OHHHH!" Yu's conjoined twin laughed. "Evil lawyer joke!"
The Devil rolled his eyes. "Oh, that joke, never heard THAT before..."
"Really? Man you need to get out more often it's really common." Yu gave the Devil a pity look.
The Devil's eye twitched. "Sarcasm. It's sarcasm you moron."
"Ooooh..." Yu frowned. "So you can't take my soul as payment because you're a racist?"
The Devil sighed. "No. Not exactly. It's your conjoined twin that's at fault. I can't take your soul becuase it's also technically your twin's soul too."
"Dude..." Yu's eyes widened. "It's all your fault Mi!"
"Hey chill out, you know what this means right?" Mi asked.
"No, what?" Yu wanted to hear this.
"We ARE like siblings. Only closer!" Mi was giddy. "Even more so than we thought!"
"Spongebob was right!" Yu's mouth went agape. "Spongebon was right!"
The Devil groaned. "Hey, you idiots, so if you want drugs to be legal you need to give me something besides your soul. OR! Mi has to agree to this soul taking as well."
"What do you say Mi?" Yu asked.
Mi frowned. "I dunno Yu, a soul is like important and stuff. And we have like this special one, you know."
"You're totally right!" Yu nodded. "Ours is worth like 3 souls. Yeah."
"That's it, I'm burning this town down. And you won't get your drugs you hippies!" The Devil sneered and left angrilly.
"So that's why when you get high, I also get high..." Mi giggled.
"Dude..." Yu smiled widely.
Neither noticed that their town was being burned to the ground.
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[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
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After the Fire of New York burned the entire city people were scared. The government could not control this. Luckily Frank Marsters killed himself in that fire, the first Pyrokinetic. Unfortunately, that's when Michael Richardson developed the ability. I helped them contain him. The government had offered amity to any paranormal willing to turn themselves in. These powers, they have a tendency to warp the mind of the user. They are almost parasitic in a way. Michael had been starting fires out of rage. He wasn't in full control of his ability. I was brought in to pacify him. My ability is telepathy. I needed to get inside his head from a safe distance. Calm his emotions so that a Special Forces team could swoop in and tranquilize the hothead. He was the first person I put away. I thought that I was necessary. That I can understand why they wanted to take control of these people. I wanted to help.
The speedster was the most difficult case for me. I can only read the minds of people within about a 500 feet range and Kim Salyer could cover that distance in a blink of an eye. She used her abilities to rob banks. She would be in and out before anyone could notice the money was missing. It was nearly impossible to track her because she knew not to be systematic. She would hit L.A. one day then be in Miami the next. I caught only a glimpse of her thoughts once but that's all I needed. She was poisoned by the speed. She could have anything she ever wanted and she had a soft spot for diamonds. It was my idea to set up the sting. The Special Forces team set up an ultrasound barrier around the bank that the government leak as a depository for a large diamond dealer. She fell for the bait and as soon as I felt Kim's presence they turned on the ultrasound. She couldn't escape the confines of the barrier she just ran and ran in circles until they she ran out of energy and gave up. Another criminal down.
Mary Matthews was a totally different story. She found me. Her mind was a beehive. It was impossible for me to pin down a single thought. Everytime I got an image it was replaced by a seemingly unrelated one. She had asked me for help. Her ability was precognition. She was the one who told us that there were only seven. The Seven. Seven powers to seven people and always seven everlasting for as far she could see, precognition. She had the ability to see the future but it consumed her she was losing the ability to pin herself down in time. The future and the present seemed to happen all at once to her. I told her we could help her. I introduced her to my immediate team, very few people were aware of my ability and the team never changed. They only wanted to help her the same way they wanted to stop criminal use of these gifts. I had been working in close quarters with them for about a year now and when you can read someones mind you tend to get to know them. She turned herself in like me. She would get the help she needed.
Roy Allen had been a thorn for my team for months. He claimed to be the second incarnation of invisibility. The first having been hunted down by a group of soldiers with infrared goggles and murdered in cold blood. He would post information regarding the governments secret department of scientists and surgeons who were trying to figure out the source of the powers to use them as weapons. No matter how many times his websites were shut down he always found a way to get them back up. He claimed that being cursed with never being able to be visible again only fueled his desire to uncover the truth behind the conspiracies. When I read his mind I could feel his pain. He wasn't lying. He would literally never be seen again. We caught him hiding out with a group of anti-government terrorists who believed that society was about to crumble. He was sprayed down in a paint and handcuffed, as he passed me he I could hear him think directly to me. *You think you're helping. You are just their most gullible pawn.*
As it turns out he was right. It wasn't long after my final bust that I found myself locked away. Men came for me at my government supplied safe house. Not my team. These were men hellbent on locking away every paranormal. I couldn't help but shiver from the thoughts of he man in the cell next to me. John Barry is his name. I thought they were helping people like me, but John, he had taken the worst of it. They couldn't kill us or they'd just have to track down the next incarnations. John is different, immortal. That gave them full reign to cut him open, dissect him while he is still alive. The experiences he had been through. I began to feel them as if they were my own. I couldn't stop weeping. I could hear the thoughts of the ones I helped put here. They had us all locked in the same prison. Roy is most calm. He knew this is what the government had been up to. He accepts his fate. Michael is kept in a cell that steadily streams water from the walls and drips from the ceiling. Nothing to burn or he would have burned himself alive months ago. Kim is kept in a cell no bigger than mine. The problem with the speedster is that she has a need to keep moving. She paces pack and forth between the walls a million times a day. The distress it causes her is worse than a dog kept constantly crated. I can hear Mary, I can never make out what she is thinking. I only get images out of context, out of time, out of place. Fire, destruction, death, these are the themes that I can see with no explanation. Today, however, she projects her thoughts to me.
*I need your help.* She thinks.
**I'm so sorry, Mary, I never knew this is what they were doing. My team didn't know, I would have read it in their thoughts.** I plead with her, no one else has directed a thought at me and I wasn't going to let them know I was here, the one who caused their pain.
*That is all in the past...or present...doesn't matter all that matters is the future. We need to stop him.* She even thinks frantically as if she is trying to speak a mile a minute.
**Stop who?** I ask.
*The president, or will be the president, was the president? George Jones...he is the one. He is, will be, or was the end of the world as we know it. I need your help.*
**What do you mean? The president is Hilary Clinton. Who is George Jones?** It must be confusing to see the world out of sequence.
*Six. Six of us, six cells. This was planned. Jones is the man who is the woman, who is the leader of the free world. Shapeshifter. He is the seventh.* She projects an image of a tall man with jet black hair staring at himself in a mirror as he warps into Madam President herself. *We need to stop him. All of us. We are the six who will save or fail the world. The future is constantly changing evolving by the choices we make.*
**How can I help? I put us all here?** I tucked my knees to my chin I am responsible for this. Our only hope was the powers we had to stop what no one else will possibly believe.
*I planned. I did this. All in one place. You must tell the others. Explain to them. I will show you the future. You have more power than you ever thought before. You can control thoughts, actions. Tell the others. Explain to them the plan, you and me plan. You must practice your ability take control, release control. When you can control enough. You can free Michael. His rage set us free. Kim's speed get us out or we burn. John get close enough to tranquilize Michael. Then we are new team. Then we work together. Jones is bad man start wars. Commit genocide. Must be stopped. I need your help.* Her thoughts were all over the place. I could see the plan play out in her head. It was my job to convince these other prisoners to work together...to listen to me, the person that put them there.
**Where do I even start?** I was scared but she wouldn't stop projecting images to me. I knew there was no other way.
*Roy most willing. Use him. Control him. Practice him, on him, with him. He helped, will help. Is helping?* Mary's thoughts faded away, back into the jumbled mess of images that I could only wince at. I had to be the voice. I had to communicate for her in a way that would make sense to the rest of them. I had to form the team.
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There was one that could teleport.
Not a far distance, but not really short.
A world group chose to divide,
But at the pole their trail was denied.
Upon death, it went to an island resort.
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[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
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"He's here? You're sure?" Agent Harry Kraner looked around sharply at the sales floor of the department store. Without waiting for a response, he signaled for his team to cordon off the store. No one in or out. They were not about to lose him, whoever it was. They could not afford to let this new Incarnation wander freely. Not this one.
"Or she," Light reminded him pointedly, with a raised eyebrow. "And yes," she said, "I am sure. I can track the Seventh Power with this." She held aloft a silver lantern filled with a glimmering ball of light she had created with her Power. It shimmered more brightly on one side, and as they had entered the unassuming little mall chain store, it had started shattering apart into a myriad of tiny pieces which flew about within the confines of the lantern in a heightened state of agitation as they drew near.
"Well *whoever* it is," Kraner said, "We are not letting them out of here except in custody."
"Thing I don't get," said Agent Harkness, "Is why we don't just shoot on sight. There is *no* good use for this Power. It's trouble."
Kraner glared at the greenhorn. "Yeah that would *real* smart, Probie. The second that the Incarnation dies, the Power jumps. And it already took us eight months to track it this far. You really want to start over from square one?"
"Enough," said Fluid, "We gotta job to do, right? Mind if we focus? Being scattered is kind of to Seven's thing, no?" Without waiting for a response, he extended his arms to either side and the ribbons that bedecked his uniform began to flutter and switch like dozens of serpents as his Power extended into the room around them, causing the air to swirl and flow in patterns of his choosing.
The patrons of the store were startled by the sudden gusts of wind whipping in and around them, and began to cry out in fear and concern. Kraner silently cursed Fluid's impulsiveness and hastily raised his voice, "Your attention please! There is nothing to be concerned about. We are Agents of the National Security Agency. There is potentially an individual of interest in this store, but I assure you the situation is completely under control. Please remain where you are and cooperate fully, and everything will be OK."
But before he could say anything more, a tiny whirlwind formed which Fluid's Power did not direct to happen, and the flows scattered papers from a counter and sent them flying around a young man in a black jacket with patches on the elbows. The man looked more panicky than could strictly be accounted for by the sudden flurry of papers through the air around him, and Kraner was already reaching for the gun inside his jacket when Harkness --- the idiot --- tried to rush the man.
The young man's expression cycled to pure fear and he held out a hand. Kraner actually witnessed the Seventh Power in action as a length of extension cord that had been coiled neatly in one corner leaped so quickly it almost teleported and was suddenly a tangled sprawl across the floor. Harkness tripped on it, falling flat on his face, and losing his gun. Attempting to climb to his feet, he bumped a shelving unit. This served to knock loose a shelf which then tilted, emptying its contents onto Harkness in a barrage of impacts that knocked the rookie agent sprawling with enough force that he did not immediately get back up.
The suspect --- well, the rogue Incarnation really - there could no longer be any doubt who they were here for --- tried to run. The twins, Time and Space used their Powers to intercept. Space made the distance to the door continue to expand so from the Incarnation's perspective it must have seemed infinitely far away, while Time wove a temporal loop around the Incarnation, trapping him within a span of three seconds that kept repeating. He was effectively trapped. Kraner signaled the others to close in and prepare to incapacitate.
But they had underestimated the strength of the Seventh Power as it turned out. Even as they fanned out and moved into position, Kraner could see the temporal loop degenerating. Two seconds. One second. Half. And the loop ended as the man reached out a hand and grabbed Time's left arm. Time screamed as her legs buckled and snapped under her own weight, and screamed again as she hit the floor and more bones broke. Her power had been turned against her and every bone in her body had aged and weakened.
Space watched his twin sister collapse and shouted in fury. The sight of her being crippled before him enraged him to the point where he forgot all about *arresting* the Incarnation. Instead, he reached out intending to bring two opposing walls together in a crushing motion, but his own anger intermixed with the Incarnation's power and he missed badly, sending a sales counter flying into himself instead. He was thrown against a wall by the impact and knocked unconscious.
Kraner was running out of options. Harkness, Space and Time were down. Life was preoccupied doing what she could for the injured, which was probably for the best. She was at her most benevolent when she was playing the healer, but when she turned her Power the other way, it was usually fatal. He signaled to the remaining members of his team: Force, Fluid and Light. "Take him down! Any means necessary!"
Fluid knocked the Incarnation over with a gale force gust of wind. When he was down, Force pinned him for a moment using amplified gravity --- an old trick of his. Light focused her Power into a hyper intense laser that sliced apart some metal shelving units, and Force used magnetism to bend them into restraints which flew through the air toward the rogue and began binding him while Light channelled intense infrared into heat enough to weld the restraints in place while the rogue Incarnation screamed both from pain and indignation.
"Enough!" Kraner shouted at the Incarnation, "You are under arrest! We are taking you into custody, En…"
"That is NOT my name!" the young man shouted, cutting him off. "My name is Jefferey Wildburrough. I'm a human being, not a freak. And more importantly, I'm a free citizen, with rights. And you cannot do this to me!" He struggled wildly and his Power, in response to his growing desperation reached out in many and freakish ways. Within the store, items flew from store shelves, ceiling tiles fell randomly. Outside, a wild storm gathered in seconds. Rain, wind, hail, and lightning lashed at various parts of the neighborhood. Two streets over, a freak tornado smashed an apartment complex. Fires erupted from beneath the hoods of parked cars.
But when a small earthquake began to ramp up, Kraner knew he had to act quickly. To hell with formalities. The second this guy got a Power he lost his rights under the law anyway. He abandoned the formal declaration of arrest long enough to jab a hypo filled with fast acting sedative in the guy's neck. As the perp lost consciousness, the elements he had conjured up with his Power began to fade back to normal.
"No," Kraner said calmly to the now unconscious man, "Under the Powers Protection Act, I *can* do this, son. As I said before: you are under arrest, Jefferey Wildburrough, aka 'Entropy'."
|
There was one that could teleport.
Not a far distance, but not really short.
A world group chose to divide,
But at the pole their trail was denied.
Upon death, it went to an island resort.
|
|
[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
|
My wife had the news on when I got home from work. I prefer sitcoms, but I appreciate any time we are able to spend together, so I plopped down on the couch next to her.
"The United States Department of Homeland Security released a statement today that they had captured another one of the Super-Terrorists after a joint military operation with Russia and China this weekend," said the vanilla news woman. "Worldwide intelligence suggests that there is only one more of these people on the loose. Authorities do not have any information on the culprit..."
"Thank God!" said Tracy. "I feel a little safer every time one of them is caught."
My wife is fine, but we disagree on this topic. None of these terrorists had done anything wrong in public, but the government (or governments, I should say), apprehended them on charges, nonetheless. It seemed like something out of the movies -- people with special abilities captured and experimented on by the government. Tracy probably just wanted to remain ignorant to this, but with the recent string of fights, I could live with this minor transgression.
The next day was my day off. Tracy left for work early, and we didn't speak much. The uneventful day was sailing by, so I decided to cook dinner for a picnic in the backyard. It would be a special night for Tracy and me. Hopefully we could get back to the roots of our 21-year marriage. The meal wasn't special, and neither was the backyard: an open lawn with two satsuma trees we planted the day we moved in.
Tracy got home and I brought her outside. The picnic I set up made the corners of her mouth flicker to an almost-smile. I knew it would be a good night.
During the meal, one of the satsuma trees started to shake. There was no wind. A small figure was pulling at it.
"Do you see that?" I asked Tracy.
"I'm not sure... wait... who is tha..."
Her response was cut off when we saw her approach with a satsuma. A girl, no older than 7, walked to our table wearing a worn-out t-shirt and jeans; she was barefoot. She offered the fruit to me.
"I think she wants you to peel it," Tracy said. I could tell it had teeth marks; her attempts had failed.
I peeled the satsuma as the little girl curiously observed us. I had never seen her before. None of the neighbors had young kids, and there were only woods behind our house. When I finished peeling, I gave it back to her and she took a big bite. No words were spoken.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Tracy went to open it as I tried to talk to the kid. I heard Tracy open the door; the little girl's eyes opened wide, she gasped, and dropped the fruit. I turned around to see who had startled her from the doorway. It was some man in an official-looking suit, flashing a badge. I turned back around to the girl, only to have her disappear into nothing.
"Honey, where did that girl go?" called Tracy. "This man is looking for a child that matches her description."
"Well," I said, not moving my eyes from the spot she had just been. "I think she just teleported."
|
There was one that could teleport.
Not a far distance, but not really short.
A world group chose to divide,
But at the pole their trail was denied.
Upon death, it went to an island resort.
|
|
[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
|
After the Fire of New York burned the entire city people were scared. The government could not control this. Luckily Frank Marsters killed himself in that fire, the first Pyrokinetic. Unfortunately, that's when Michael Richardson developed the ability. I helped them contain him. The government had offered amity to any paranormal willing to turn themselves in. These powers, they have a tendency to warp the mind of the user. They are almost parasitic in a way. Michael had been starting fires out of rage. He wasn't in full control of his ability. I was brought in to pacify him. My ability is telepathy. I needed to get inside his head from a safe distance. Calm his emotions so that a Special Forces team could swoop in and tranquilize the hothead. He was the first person I put away. I thought that I was necessary. That I can understand why they wanted to take control of these people. I wanted to help.
The speedster was the most difficult case for me. I can only read the minds of people within about a 500 feet range and Kim Salyer could cover that distance in a blink of an eye. She used her abilities to rob banks. She would be in and out before anyone could notice the money was missing. It was nearly impossible to track her because she knew not to be systematic. She would hit L.A. one day then be in Miami the next. I caught only a glimpse of her thoughts once but that's all I needed. She was poisoned by the speed. She could have anything she ever wanted and she had a soft spot for diamonds. It was my idea to set up the sting. The Special Forces team set up an ultrasound barrier around the bank that the government leak as a depository for a large diamond dealer. She fell for the bait and as soon as I felt Kim's presence they turned on the ultrasound. She couldn't escape the confines of the barrier she just ran and ran in circles until they she ran out of energy and gave up. Another criminal down.
Mary Matthews was a totally different story. She found me. Her mind was a beehive. It was impossible for me to pin down a single thought. Everytime I got an image it was replaced by a seemingly unrelated one. She had asked me for help. Her ability was precognition. She was the one who told us that there were only seven. The Seven. Seven powers to seven people and always seven everlasting for as far she could see, precognition. She had the ability to see the future but it consumed her she was losing the ability to pin herself down in time. The future and the present seemed to happen all at once to her. I told her we could help her. I introduced her to my immediate team, very few people were aware of my ability and the team never changed. They only wanted to help her the same way they wanted to stop criminal use of these gifts. I had been working in close quarters with them for about a year now and when you can read someones mind you tend to get to know them. She turned herself in like me. She would get the help she needed.
Roy Allen had been a thorn for my team for months. He claimed to be the second incarnation of invisibility. The first having been hunted down by a group of soldiers with infrared goggles and murdered in cold blood. He would post information regarding the governments secret department of scientists and surgeons who were trying to figure out the source of the powers to use them as weapons. No matter how many times his websites were shut down he always found a way to get them back up. He claimed that being cursed with never being able to be visible again only fueled his desire to uncover the truth behind the conspiracies. When I read his mind I could feel his pain. He wasn't lying. He would literally never be seen again. We caught him hiding out with a group of anti-government terrorists who believed that society was about to crumble. He was sprayed down in a paint and handcuffed, as he passed me he I could hear him think directly to me. *You think you're helping. You are just their most gullible pawn.*
As it turns out he was right. It wasn't long after my final bust that I found myself locked away. Men came for me at my government supplied safe house. Not my team. These were men hellbent on locking away every paranormal. I couldn't help but shiver from the thoughts of he man in the cell next to me. John Barry is his name. I thought they were helping people like me, but John, he had taken the worst of it. They couldn't kill us or they'd just have to track down the next incarnations. John is different, immortal. That gave them full reign to cut him open, dissect him while he is still alive. The experiences he had been through. I began to feel them as if they were my own. I couldn't stop weeping. I could hear the thoughts of the ones I helped put here. They had us all locked in the same prison. Roy is most calm. He knew this is what the government had been up to. He accepts his fate. Michael is kept in a cell that steadily streams water from the walls and drips from the ceiling. Nothing to burn or he would have burned himself alive months ago. Kim is kept in a cell no bigger than mine. The problem with the speedster is that she has a need to keep moving. She paces pack and forth between the walls a million times a day. The distress it causes her is worse than a dog kept constantly crated. I can hear Mary, I can never make out what she is thinking. I only get images out of context, out of time, out of place. Fire, destruction, death, these are the themes that I can see with no explanation. Today, however, she projects her thoughts to me.
*I need your help.* She thinks.
**I'm so sorry, Mary, I never knew this is what they were doing. My team didn't know, I would have read it in their thoughts.** I plead with her, no one else has directed a thought at me and I wasn't going to let them know I was here, the one who caused their pain.
*That is all in the past...or present...doesn't matter all that matters is the future. We need to stop him.* She even thinks frantically as if she is trying to speak a mile a minute.
**Stop who?** I ask.
*The president, or will be the president, was the president? George Jones...he is the one. He is, will be, or was the end of the world as we know it. I need your help.*
**What do you mean? The president is Hilary Clinton. Who is George Jones?** It must be confusing to see the world out of sequence.
*Six. Six of us, six cells. This was planned. Jones is the man who is the woman, who is the leader of the free world. Shapeshifter. He is the seventh.* She projects an image of a tall man with jet black hair staring at himself in a mirror as he warps into Madam President herself. *We need to stop him. All of us. We are the six who will save or fail the world. The future is constantly changing evolving by the choices we make.*
**How can I help? I put us all here?** I tucked my knees to my chin I am responsible for this. Our only hope was the powers we had to stop what no one else will possibly believe.
*I planned. I did this. All in one place. You must tell the others. Explain to them. I will show you the future. You have more power than you ever thought before. You can control thoughts, actions. Tell the others. Explain to them the plan, you and me plan. You must practice your ability take control, release control. When you can control enough. You can free Michael. His rage set us free. Kim's speed get us out or we burn. John get close enough to tranquilize Michael. Then we are new team. Then we work together. Jones is bad man start wars. Commit genocide. Must be stopped. I need your help.* Her thoughts were all over the place. I could see the plan play out in her head. It was my job to convince these other prisoners to work together...to listen to me, the person that put them there.
**Where do I even start?** I was scared but she wouldn't stop projecting images to me. I knew there was no other way.
*Roy most willing. Use him. Control him. Practice him, on him, with him. He helped, will help. Is helping?* Mary's thoughts faded away, back into the jumbled mess of images that I could only wince at. I had to be the voice. I had to communicate for her in a way that would make sense to the rest of them. I had to form the team.
|
That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. Walking out that bank with all the money that building held was something that I thought of, not actually doing. I imagined a lot of things as a kid, I still do now. So when I started my daily dreams while waiting on the long line of people to deposit my biweekly checks, I noticed something...
I would often think about what I would do with superpowers; such as being stuck in traffic and having magneto's power. If someone was to watch me, I had my hand in a wave formation waving at imaginary cars to move out of the way. So I started small, with the old lady in front of me. I would imagine this old lady as a villain, looking around so menacingly. Then she slowly turns her head around towards me with the biggest squint and smug looking face an old lady could have. I thought to myself, ha I mentally jinxed myself. Trying to break eye contact I started glancing around and noticed the clock. I was running out of time waiting in line. Double take on the clock and I must of misread as it is now reading 20 minutes early. I must of. I had to of. Did I just? I smirked. What a relief.
I need to move now to make good time so I started imagining all these people have somewhere to go. I thought of the old lady that she will miss her favorite antique roadshow tv show. She pulled up her tablet and started watching antique roadshow! Drifting off to the sofa in the lobby she just sank down and stared at her tablet. Not weird at all, pure coincidence.
Next after her was an african-american male. We made eye contact and nodded. He looked familiar and I thought I recognized him. Out of nowhere he started a conversation. Talked to me like I was his brother! I simply told him you must be mistaking me for someone else. Just like that he was quiet... At this point I was skeptical if this was a dream or not. So I went the route of thinking sporadically. Pick your nose with your fattest finger. The moment I saw him trying to fit his thumb into his nostril was the tipping point. I thought about everyone else in front of us at the line to also pick this fellow up and go out for ice cream. Unbeknownst, They all started gathering and what a good idea it was to get ice cream. Off they went. That is when I made eye contact with the banker.
Walked up to the counter I made small talk about how weird today has been. She could say the same and she nodded, which she did. She asked me how she could help and I sarcastically say,
"All the money you have, please."
She walked away all of the sudden and came with the question
"How would you like that?"
Dumbfounded look on my face, I said
"excuse me?" Knowingly what she asked and what I have been through I smiled.
"Write me a check please and let us deposit that right now too."
Manager noticed the large sum she was about to print out and asked if everything was all right. I simply recalled what I said about all the money and he implied to start helping.
I walked out that bank scared and excited. Did this just happen? Where is my getaway car. I noticed a Lambo and simply said
"that is nice."
What happened next felt like a gust of clouds just came and swooped me up, like a big gust of wind that catches you when you lean forward. In a blink of an eye I was inside this lamborghini. Suffice to say the rest of the day went as it did exactly in my head.
The next question is of course the biggest. Can I avert death? If I was to jump off a building and thought about me bouncing back up, would it happen? This is my thought now exactly on top of the skyline tower looking over the city. Why not? I can make everything else happen with the thought of my head. Without a second thought I leaped. Flying down the building I thought about it really hard. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me...
That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. The only thing I notice now is the 6 people I see everyday while leaving my building. I seem to have this feeling of familiarity when seeing their faces. They all smile at me and ask how I am doing. Almost feel a connection with them...
meanwhile in the world government building- they can only detect the power once all 7 superpowers are in the same area.
"Sir, this is now day 42. They have regrouped with alpha."
"shit..." says the sir.
|
|
[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
|
"He's here? You're sure?" Agent Harry Kraner looked around sharply at the sales floor of the department store. Without waiting for a response, he signaled for his team to cordon off the store. No one in or out. They were not about to lose him, whoever it was. They could not afford to let this new Incarnation wander freely. Not this one.
"Or she," Light reminded him pointedly, with a raised eyebrow. "And yes," she said, "I am sure. I can track the Seventh Power with this." She held aloft a silver lantern filled with a glimmering ball of light she had created with her Power. It shimmered more brightly on one side, and as they had entered the unassuming little mall chain store, it had started shattering apart into a myriad of tiny pieces which flew about within the confines of the lantern in a heightened state of agitation as they drew near.
"Well *whoever* it is," Kraner said, "We are not letting them out of here except in custody."
"Thing I don't get," said Agent Harkness, "Is why we don't just shoot on sight. There is *no* good use for this Power. It's trouble."
Kraner glared at the greenhorn. "Yeah that would *real* smart, Probie. The second that the Incarnation dies, the Power jumps. And it already took us eight months to track it this far. You really want to start over from square one?"
"Enough," said Fluid, "We gotta job to do, right? Mind if we focus? Being scattered is kind of to Seven's thing, no?" Without waiting for a response, he extended his arms to either side and the ribbons that bedecked his uniform began to flutter and switch like dozens of serpents as his Power extended into the room around them, causing the air to swirl and flow in patterns of his choosing.
The patrons of the store were startled by the sudden gusts of wind whipping in and around them, and began to cry out in fear and concern. Kraner silently cursed Fluid's impulsiveness and hastily raised his voice, "Your attention please! There is nothing to be concerned about. We are Agents of the National Security Agency. There is potentially an individual of interest in this store, but I assure you the situation is completely under control. Please remain where you are and cooperate fully, and everything will be OK."
But before he could say anything more, a tiny whirlwind formed which Fluid's Power did not direct to happen, and the flows scattered papers from a counter and sent them flying around a young man in a black jacket with patches on the elbows. The man looked more panicky than could strictly be accounted for by the sudden flurry of papers through the air around him, and Kraner was already reaching for the gun inside his jacket when Harkness --- the idiot --- tried to rush the man.
The young man's expression cycled to pure fear and he held out a hand. Kraner actually witnessed the Seventh Power in action as a length of extension cord that had been coiled neatly in one corner leaped so quickly it almost teleported and was suddenly a tangled sprawl across the floor. Harkness tripped on it, falling flat on his face, and losing his gun. Attempting to climb to his feet, he bumped a shelving unit. This served to knock loose a shelf which then tilted, emptying its contents onto Harkness in a barrage of impacts that knocked the rookie agent sprawling with enough force that he did not immediately get back up.
The suspect --- well, the rogue Incarnation really - there could no longer be any doubt who they were here for --- tried to run. The twins, Time and Space used their Powers to intercept. Space made the distance to the door continue to expand so from the Incarnation's perspective it must have seemed infinitely far away, while Time wove a temporal loop around the Incarnation, trapping him within a span of three seconds that kept repeating. He was effectively trapped. Kraner signaled the others to close in and prepare to incapacitate.
But they had underestimated the strength of the Seventh Power as it turned out. Even as they fanned out and moved into position, Kraner could see the temporal loop degenerating. Two seconds. One second. Half. And the loop ended as the man reached out a hand and grabbed Time's left arm. Time screamed as her legs buckled and snapped under her own weight, and screamed again as she hit the floor and more bones broke. Her power had been turned against her and every bone in her body had aged and weakened.
Space watched his twin sister collapse and shouted in fury. The sight of her being crippled before him enraged him to the point where he forgot all about *arresting* the Incarnation. Instead, he reached out intending to bring two opposing walls together in a crushing motion, but his own anger intermixed with the Incarnation's power and he missed badly, sending a sales counter flying into himself instead. He was thrown against a wall by the impact and knocked unconscious.
Kraner was running out of options. Harkness, Space and Time were down. Life was preoccupied doing what she could for the injured, which was probably for the best. She was at her most benevolent when she was playing the healer, but when she turned her Power the other way, it was usually fatal. He signaled to the remaining members of his team: Force, Fluid and Light. "Take him down! Any means necessary!"
Fluid knocked the Incarnation over with a gale force gust of wind. When he was down, Force pinned him for a moment using amplified gravity --- an old trick of his. Light focused her Power into a hyper intense laser that sliced apart some metal shelving units, and Force used magnetism to bend them into restraints which flew through the air toward the rogue and began binding him while Light channelled intense infrared into heat enough to weld the restraints in place while the rogue Incarnation screamed both from pain and indignation.
"Enough!" Kraner shouted at the Incarnation, "You are under arrest! We are taking you into custody, En…"
"That is NOT my name!" the young man shouted, cutting him off. "My name is Jefferey Wildburrough. I'm a human being, not a freak. And more importantly, I'm a free citizen, with rights. And you cannot do this to me!" He struggled wildly and his Power, in response to his growing desperation reached out in many and freakish ways. Within the store, items flew from store shelves, ceiling tiles fell randomly. Outside, a wild storm gathered in seconds. Rain, wind, hail, and lightning lashed at various parts of the neighborhood. Two streets over, a freak tornado smashed an apartment complex. Fires erupted from beneath the hoods of parked cars.
But when a small earthquake began to ramp up, Kraner knew he had to act quickly. To hell with formalities. The second this guy got a Power he lost his rights under the law anyway. He abandoned the formal declaration of arrest long enough to jab a hypo filled with fast acting sedative in the guy's neck. As the perp lost consciousness, the elements he had conjured up with his Power began to fade back to normal.
"No," Kraner said calmly to the now unconscious man, "Under the Powers Protection Act, I *can* do this, son. As I said before: you are under arrest, Jefferey Wildburrough, aka 'Entropy'."
|
That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. Walking out that bank with all the money that building held was something that I thought of, not actually doing. I imagined a lot of things as a kid, I still do now. So when I started my daily dreams while waiting on the long line of people to deposit my biweekly checks, I noticed something...
I would often think about what I would do with superpowers; such as being stuck in traffic and having magneto's power. If someone was to watch me, I had my hand in a wave formation waving at imaginary cars to move out of the way. So I started small, with the old lady in front of me. I would imagine this old lady as a villain, looking around so menacingly. Then she slowly turns her head around towards me with the biggest squint and smug looking face an old lady could have. I thought to myself, ha I mentally jinxed myself. Trying to break eye contact I started glancing around and noticed the clock. I was running out of time waiting in line. Double take on the clock and I must of misread as it is now reading 20 minutes early. I must of. I had to of. Did I just? I smirked. What a relief.
I need to move now to make good time so I started imagining all these people have somewhere to go. I thought of the old lady that she will miss her favorite antique roadshow tv show. She pulled up her tablet and started watching antique roadshow! Drifting off to the sofa in the lobby she just sank down and stared at her tablet. Not weird at all, pure coincidence.
Next after her was an african-american male. We made eye contact and nodded. He looked familiar and I thought I recognized him. Out of nowhere he started a conversation. Talked to me like I was his brother! I simply told him you must be mistaking me for someone else. Just like that he was quiet... At this point I was skeptical if this was a dream or not. So I went the route of thinking sporadically. Pick your nose with your fattest finger. The moment I saw him trying to fit his thumb into his nostril was the tipping point. I thought about everyone else in front of us at the line to also pick this fellow up and go out for ice cream. Unbeknownst, They all started gathering and what a good idea it was to get ice cream. Off they went. That is when I made eye contact with the banker.
Walked up to the counter I made small talk about how weird today has been. She could say the same and she nodded, which she did. She asked me how she could help and I sarcastically say,
"All the money you have, please."
She walked away all of the sudden and came with the question
"How would you like that?"
Dumbfounded look on my face, I said
"excuse me?" Knowingly what she asked and what I have been through I smiled.
"Write me a check please and let us deposit that right now too."
Manager noticed the large sum she was about to print out and asked if everything was all right. I simply recalled what I said about all the money and he implied to start helping.
I walked out that bank scared and excited. Did this just happen? Where is my getaway car. I noticed a Lambo and simply said
"that is nice."
What happened next felt like a gust of clouds just came and swooped me up, like a big gust of wind that catches you when you lean forward. In a blink of an eye I was inside this lamborghini. Suffice to say the rest of the day went as it did exactly in my head.
The next question is of course the biggest. Can I avert death? If I was to jump off a building and thought about me bouncing back up, would it happen? This is my thought now exactly on top of the skyline tower looking over the city. Why not? I can make everything else happen with the thought of my head. Without a second thought I leaped. Flying down the building I thought about it really hard. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me...
That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. The only thing I notice now is the 6 people I see everyday while leaving my building. I seem to have this feeling of familiarity when seeing their faces. They all smile at me and ask how I am doing. Almost feel a connection with them...
meanwhile in the world government building- they can only detect the power once all 7 superpowers are in the same area.
"Sir, this is now day 42. They have regrouped with alpha."
"shit..." says the sir.
|
|
[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
|
January 26th was the day I died. I remember, it was a Friday.
You see, some years ago there was a worldwide event that gave random people unhuman abilities. We're still not sure on the specifics of where they came from, but I think it must be extraterrestrial. Anyway, aside from that the mechanics of the whole thing are pretty well known. There are 7 powers, 7 people with powers and when one dies their power gets transfered to the next person in line.
When the powers first arose it caused a lot of havoc, most people who gained these powers used them to benefit themselves without causing the world much trouble. However, there have been a select few who went entirely rogue and tried to wipe everyone and everything out. They were on a total power trip or something.
Anyway, the originals mostly didn't last very long. It didn't take long for a renegade group to form to assassinate the power holders, trying to get the power to their group. It sucks because these people are so highly saught after you can hardly live a life after you're chosen.
Recently there haven't been many deaths of the 7, the current holders have become much harder to track and kill over the past few years. In fact, there hasn't been a switch in nearly a year now.
Well, this leads to the other situation. Those renegade groups I mentioned earlier, well it's a lot less likely for them to go after the power holders. You know, they have powers and aren't all that easy to kill. What's easy to do though is go for the dude who is next in line and pop them off. It's actually incredibly easy because when someone either gains a power or becomes next in line to gain a power, there is a 3d model of the person as well as their name that appears in the corner of everyone's eyes for at least a minute. It's like some shit straight out of a steam punk film, it's unreal.
Well, the last broad who was chosen as next in line, miss "Sandy Welch" has done a damn good job of surviving the assassination attempts because she lasted a long ass time.
However no one lives forever. She lasted 8 months, a lot of people thought maybe the renegades finally got the person they wanted.
Well, a lot of people thought that until January 26th when she apparently died.
I remember, I was sitting in the cafeteria next to co-workers and students at the school I work at and that all to familiar Soundwave took over indicating there was about to be a new sorry bastard unfortunate enough to be next in line for a power.
Well, that sorry bastard was me.
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That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. Walking out that bank with all the money that building held was something that I thought of, not actually doing. I imagined a lot of things as a kid, I still do now. So when I started my daily dreams while waiting on the long line of people to deposit my biweekly checks, I noticed something...
I would often think about what I would do with superpowers; such as being stuck in traffic and having magneto's power. If someone was to watch me, I had my hand in a wave formation waving at imaginary cars to move out of the way. So I started small, with the old lady in front of me. I would imagine this old lady as a villain, looking around so menacingly. Then she slowly turns her head around towards me with the biggest squint and smug looking face an old lady could have. I thought to myself, ha I mentally jinxed myself. Trying to break eye contact I started glancing around and noticed the clock. I was running out of time waiting in line. Double take on the clock and I must of misread as it is now reading 20 minutes early. I must of. I had to of. Did I just? I smirked. What a relief.
I need to move now to make good time so I started imagining all these people have somewhere to go. I thought of the old lady that she will miss her favorite antique roadshow tv show. She pulled up her tablet and started watching antique roadshow! Drifting off to the sofa in the lobby she just sank down and stared at her tablet. Not weird at all, pure coincidence.
Next after her was an african-american male. We made eye contact and nodded. He looked familiar and I thought I recognized him. Out of nowhere he started a conversation. Talked to me like I was his brother! I simply told him you must be mistaking me for someone else. Just like that he was quiet... At this point I was skeptical if this was a dream or not. So I went the route of thinking sporadically. Pick your nose with your fattest finger. The moment I saw him trying to fit his thumb into his nostril was the tipping point. I thought about everyone else in front of us at the line to also pick this fellow up and go out for ice cream. Unbeknownst, They all started gathering and what a good idea it was to get ice cream. Off they went. That is when I made eye contact with the banker.
Walked up to the counter I made small talk about how weird today has been. She could say the same and she nodded, which she did. She asked me how she could help and I sarcastically say,
"All the money you have, please."
She walked away all of the sudden and came with the question
"How would you like that?"
Dumbfounded look on my face, I said
"excuse me?" Knowingly what she asked and what I have been through I smiled.
"Write me a check please and let us deposit that right now too."
Manager noticed the large sum she was about to print out and asked if everything was all right. I simply recalled what I said about all the money and he implied to start helping.
I walked out that bank scared and excited. Did this just happen? Where is my getaway car. I noticed a Lambo and simply said
"that is nice."
What happened next felt like a gust of clouds just came and swooped me up, like a big gust of wind that catches you when you lean forward. In a blink of an eye I was inside this lamborghini. Suffice to say the rest of the day went as it did exactly in my head.
The next question is of course the biggest. Can I avert death? If I was to jump off a building and thought about me bouncing back up, would it happen? This is my thought now exactly on top of the skyline tower looking over the city. Why not? I can make everything else happen with the thought of my head. Without a second thought I leaped. Flying down the building I thought about it really hard. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me...
That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. The only thing I notice now is the 6 people I see everyday while leaving my building. I seem to have this feeling of familiarity when seeing their faces. They all smile at me and ask how I am doing. Almost feel a connection with them...
meanwhile in the world government building- they can only detect the power once all 7 superpowers are in the same area.
"Sir, this is now day 42. They have regrouped with alpha."
"shit..." says the sir.
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[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
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My wife had the news on when I got home from work. I prefer sitcoms, but I appreciate any time we are able to spend together, so I plopped down on the couch next to her.
"The United States Department of Homeland Security released a statement today that they had captured another one of the Super-Terrorists after a joint military operation with Russia and China this weekend," said the vanilla news woman. "Worldwide intelligence suggests that there is only one more of these people on the loose. Authorities do not have any information on the culprit..."
"Thank God!" said Tracy. "I feel a little safer every time one of them is caught."
My wife is fine, but we disagree on this topic. None of these terrorists had done anything wrong in public, but the government (or governments, I should say), apprehended them on charges, nonetheless. It seemed like something out of the movies -- people with special abilities captured and experimented on by the government. Tracy probably just wanted to remain ignorant to this, but with the recent string of fights, I could live with this minor transgression.
The next day was my day off. Tracy left for work early, and we didn't speak much. The uneventful day was sailing by, so I decided to cook dinner for a picnic in the backyard. It would be a special night for Tracy and me. Hopefully we could get back to the roots of our 21-year marriage. The meal wasn't special, and neither was the backyard: an open lawn with two satsuma trees we planted the day we moved in.
Tracy got home and I brought her outside. The picnic I set up made the corners of her mouth flicker to an almost-smile. I knew it would be a good night.
During the meal, one of the satsuma trees started to shake. There was no wind. A small figure was pulling at it.
"Do you see that?" I asked Tracy.
"I'm not sure... wait... who is tha..."
Her response was cut off when we saw her approach with a satsuma. A girl, no older than 7, walked to our table wearing a worn-out t-shirt and jeans; she was barefoot. She offered the fruit to me.
"I think she wants you to peel it," Tracy said. I could tell it had teeth marks; her attempts had failed.
I peeled the satsuma as the little girl curiously observed us. I had never seen her before. None of the neighbors had young kids, and there were only woods behind our house. When I finished peeling, I gave it back to her and she took a big bite. No words were spoken.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Tracy went to open it as I tried to talk to the kid. I heard Tracy open the door; the little girl's eyes opened wide, she gasped, and dropped the fruit. I turned around to see who had startled her from the doorway. It was some man in an official-looking suit, flashing a badge. I turned back around to the girl, only to have her disappear into nothing.
"Honey, where did that girl go?" called Tracy. "This man is looking for a child that matches her description."
"Well," I said, not moving my eyes from the spot she had just been. "I think she just teleported."
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That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. Walking out that bank with all the money that building held was something that I thought of, not actually doing. I imagined a lot of things as a kid, I still do now. So when I started my daily dreams while waiting on the long line of people to deposit my biweekly checks, I noticed something...
I would often think about what I would do with superpowers; such as being stuck in traffic and having magneto's power. If someone was to watch me, I had my hand in a wave formation waving at imaginary cars to move out of the way. So I started small, with the old lady in front of me. I would imagine this old lady as a villain, looking around so menacingly. Then she slowly turns her head around towards me with the biggest squint and smug looking face an old lady could have. I thought to myself, ha I mentally jinxed myself. Trying to break eye contact I started glancing around and noticed the clock. I was running out of time waiting in line. Double take on the clock and I must of misread as it is now reading 20 minutes early. I must of. I had to of. Did I just? I smirked. What a relief.
I need to move now to make good time so I started imagining all these people have somewhere to go. I thought of the old lady that she will miss her favorite antique roadshow tv show. She pulled up her tablet and started watching antique roadshow! Drifting off to the sofa in the lobby she just sank down and stared at her tablet. Not weird at all, pure coincidence.
Next after her was an african-american male. We made eye contact and nodded. He looked familiar and I thought I recognized him. Out of nowhere he started a conversation. Talked to me like I was his brother! I simply told him you must be mistaking me for someone else. Just like that he was quiet... At this point I was skeptical if this was a dream or not. So I went the route of thinking sporadically. Pick your nose with your fattest finger. The moment I saw him trying to fit his thumb into his nostril was the tipping point. I thought about everyone else in front of us at the line to also pick this fellow up and go out for ice cream. Unbeknownst, They all started gathering and what a good idea it was to get ice cream. Off they went. That is when I made eye contact with the banker.
Walked up to the counter I made small talk about how weird today has been. She could say the same and she nodded, which she did. She asked me how she could help and I sarcastically say,
"All the money you have, please."
She walked away all of the sudden and came with the question
"How would you like that?"
Dumbfounded look on my face, I said
"excuse me?" Knowingly what she asked and what I have been through I smiled.
"Write me a check please and let us deposit that right now too."
Manager noticed the large sum she was about to print out and asked if everything was all right. I simply recalled what I said about all the money and he implied to start helping.
I walked out that bank scared and excited. Did this just happen? Where is my getaway car. I noticed a Lambo and simply said
"that is nice."
What happened next felt like a gust of clouds just came and swooped me up, like a big gust of wind that catches you when you lean forward. In a blink of an eye I was inside this lamborghini. Suffice to say the rest of the day went as it did exactly in my head.
The next question is of course the biggest. Can I avert death? If I was to jump off a building and thought about me bouncing back up, would it happen? This is my thought now exactly on top of the skyline tower looking over the city. Why not? I can make everything else happen with the thought of my head. Without a second thought I leaped. Flying down the building I thought about it really hard. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me bounce. Make me...
That day I woke up refreshed and vigorous, it has been like that ever since. The thought of; and actual action, is something I am still grasping. The only thing I notice now is the 6 people I see everyday while leaving my building. I seem to have this feeling of familiarity when seeing their faces. They all smile at me and ask how I am doing. Almost feel a connection with them...
meanwhile in the world government building- they can only detect the power once all 7 superpowers are in the same area.
"Sir, this is now day 42. They have regrouped with alpha."
"shit..." says the sir.
|
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[WP] The Seven Superpowers are the seven people who have unique super human abilities, and when they die, their abilities are transferred to a random person around the world. The World Government is hot on the trail of one of these Superpowers.
|
My wife had the news on when I got home from work. I prefer sitcoms, but I appreciate any time we are able to spend together, so I plopped down on the couch next to her.
"The United States Department of Homeland Security released a statement today that they had captured another one of the Super-Terrorists after a joint military operation with Russia and China this weekend," said the vanilla news woman. "Worldwide intelligence suggests that there is only one more of these people on the loose. Authorities do not have any information on the culprit..."
"Thank God!" said Tracy. "I feel a little safer every time one of them is caught."
My wife is fine, but we disagree on this topic. None of these terrorists had done anything wrong in public, but the government (or governments, I should say), apprehended them on charges, nonetheless. It seemed like something out of the movies -- people with special abilities captured and experimented on by the government. Tracy probably just wanted to remain ignorant to this, but with the recent string of fights, I could live with this minor transgression.
The next day was my day off. Tracy left for work early, and we didn't speak much. The uneventful day was sailing by, so I decided to cook dinner for a picnic in the backyard. It would be a special night for Tracy and me. Hopefully we could get back to the roots of our 21-year marriage. The meal wasn't special, and neither was the backyard: an open lawn with two satsuma trees we planted the day we moved in.
Tracy got home and I brought her outside. The picnic I set up made the corners of her mouth flicker to an almost-smile. I knew it would be a good night.
During the meal, one of the satsuma trees started to shake. There was no wind. A small figure was pulling at it.
"Do you see that?" I asked Tracy.
"I'm not sure... wait... who is tha..."
Her response was cut off when we saw her approach with a satsuma. A girl, no older than 7, walked to our table wearing a worn-out t-shirt and jeans; she was barefoot. She offered the fruit to me.
"I think she wants you to peel it," Tracy said. I could tell it had teeth marks; her attempts had failed.
I peeled the satsuma as the little girl curiously observed us. I had never seen her before. None of the neighbors had young kids, and there were only woods behind our house. When I finished peeling, I gave it back to her and she took a big bite. No words were spoken.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Tracy went to open it as I tried to talk to the kid. I heard Tracy open the door; the little girl's eyes opened wide, she gasped, and dropped the fruit. I turned around to see who had startled her from the doorway. It was some man in an official-looking suit, flashing a badge. I turned back around to the girl, only to have her disappear into nothing.
"Honey, where did that girl go?" called Tracy. "This man is looking for a child that matches her description."
"Well," I said, not moving my eyes from the spot she had just been. "I think she just teleported."
|
January 26th was the day I died. I remember, it was a Friday.
You see, some years ago there was a worldwide event that gave random people unhuman abilities. We're still not sure on the specifics of where they came from, but I think it must be extraterrestrial. Anyway, aside from that the mechanics of the whole thing are pretty well known. There are 7 powers, 7 people with powers and when one dies their power gets transfered to the next person in line.
When the powers first arose it caused a lot of havoc, most people who gained these powers used them to benefit themselves without causing the world much trouble. However, there have been a select few who went entirely rogue and tried to wipe everyone and everything out. They were on a total power trip or something.
Anyway, the originals mostly didn't last very long. It didn't take long for a renegade group to form to assassinate the power holders, trying to get the power to their group. It sucks because these people are so highly saught after you can hardly live a life after you're chosen.
Recently there haven't been many deaths of the 7, the current holders have become much harder to track and kill over the past few years. In fact, there hasn't been a switch in nearly a year now.
Well, this leads to the other situation. Those renegade groups I mentioned earlier, well it's a lot less likely for them to go after the power holders. You know, they have powers and aren't all that easy to kill. What's easy to do though is go for the dude who is next in line and pop them off. It's actually incredibly easy because when someone either gains a power or becomes next in line to gain a power, there is a 3d model of the person as well as their name that appears in the corner of everyone's eyes for at least a minute. It's like some shit straight out of a steam punk film, it's unreal.
Well, the last broad who was chosen as next in line, miss "Sandy Welch" has done a damn good job of surviving the assassination attempts because she lasted a long ass time.
However no one lives forever. She lasted 8 months, a lot of people thought maybe the renegades finally got the person they wanted.
Well, a lot of people thought that until January 26th when she apparently died.
I remember, I was sitting in the cafeteria next to co-workers and students at the school I work at and that all to familiar Soundwave took over indicating there was about to be a new sorry bastard unfortunate enough to be next in line for a power.
Well, that sorry bastard was me.
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[WP] The Rapture is upon us. However, this is 2173, and humanity is ready to greet the apocalypse with superior firepower.
|
"Nuke Heaven? Are you crazy?" shouted the General as he leaned over the desk placed perfectly in the Oval Office.
"Look General, angels have been trying to murder us all and send us to hell for weeks and its been the US army's job to prevent it. Its our job to protect US citizens, those who weren't raptured are going to be killed!" replied the president calmly. "We have to protect the American people and the best way to do that is to kill their HQ".
"Those damn Scientologists" spat the General, "who would have thought they got it right and got raptured, the rest of us are stuck here fighting angles."
The president grunted, and thought about the gold cross hanging around his neck under his shirt. So many years wasted, so many prayers, at least his religion got him elected in the first place.
"So we are agreed" said the president, we nuke heaven and the scientologists to save the rest of us, the greater good.
"For the greater good" the General said with a salute, as he strode out of the room.
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Jesus turns water into Winchester Model 70s. Angles arm themselves. They swoop from the heavens. A finger points to every heathen, God's infinite digits mark those that shall not die, for only the dead may grow wings and ascend.
Brows raise, eyes scrunch, heads are thoroughly scratched.
"My father, my lord, there are none to take with us. The true believers. They are not here. In your infinite wisdom, why would you send us on this journey?" one angel asks.
"It's the formality of the situation. I promised a second coming of my son, here it is. Now pack up your Jesus guns and head home. I've got Andrew W.K. and some Four Loko. We're gonna party like it's 1999!" God says.
A few angels grumble at the antiquated attitude toward celebration as they fly home into white clouds.
The humans of Earth gather in their large halls to pray, to read the gospel. In unison they speak. "Praise be to Reagan!"
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[WP] An evil villain finally accomplishes his lifelong search for the ultimate suit of armor - Plot Armor.
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"BEHOLD! My masterpiece!" Drew announced as the lights flickered on. The red lights ominously illuminated his angular helmet and drooping cloak. This Drew was no ordinary Drew. This was the meanest, craziest, most villainous Drew of all.
The lights revealed a machine in the center of the room. The contraption was gargantuan, a cornucopia of valves, gauges, and buttons squashed together. At the base were 3 lasers aligned towards a single point, a template.
"This machine," Drew said, pacing around the room, "will make me a god. I'll be invincible, indestructible!"
In a lone chair sat Cool Mcdude. His arms, legs, and mouth were all bound tightly by duct-tape, but one could still see the passion in his eyes. They were filled with a pure and heroic rage.
"No hero, protagonist, or other character will be able to stop me!" Drew stopped walking, and leaned in towards Mcdude's face, "Not even you."
"Mmmph HMmph mhph mmmHmph MMPH MMPH!" Mcdude heroically retorted.
"Oh, but I will get away with this, Mcdude." Drew replied.
Drew villainously slammed a conspicuous button in the way only villains could. The lasers began to electrically whine with power. Mcdude's struggle against his duct-tape bonds proved futile. Blinding light filled the room, and when the lasers finally shut down, an inscription was visible on the template.
"This is my life's work," Drew boasted proudly as he picked up the warm slate, "**PLOT ARMOR!** It is a future sentence I will say, plucked right from the very fabric of our universe!" He slid it into a slot on his helmet.
The fresh text read, "Drew said, 'I am still alive and not dead.'"
In a display of extreme confidence, Drew pulled out a grenade from his cloak, pulled the pin, and dropped it next to his own feet. Seconds passed, Mcdude instinctively winced in preparation. But no explosion. Miraculously, the grenade was a dud.
"It couldn't explode because If I died, I would be unable to speak my line." Drew explained.
In another, even more suicidal display of his hubris, Drew cut the duct-tape around Mcdude's arms and legs. Immediately, Cool Mcdude whipped out a hidden gun and fired several shots. Every bullet missed, slipping by harmlessly on either side of Drew's face. Drew simply stood still and smugly began to smile. Mcdude quickly hatched a heroic plan that was as brilliant as he was handsome. He ran around to the far side of the machine, then rammed it with all his strength. Once, twice, three times, and the machine toppled. In one swift motion, its weight came hurtling down upon Drew, who was now pinned helplessly underneath.
From underneath the wreckage, Drew said, "I am still alive and not dead."
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The Oracle was right! After years of searching, spending thousands of gold pieces creating vaguely nazi uniforms and oppressing farmers, I had found the one I searched for: the legendary 'First Person'. I captured his amusing yet ineffectual friend, and then actually let that person go free in exchange for him, and then locked him in a giant triangle. There, isolated from the fourth wall, I drained his powers. Now, I have become the narrator!
But unfortunately, the legendary First Force, from which the universe was formed, and around which it revolves, cannot be easily contained by the body. If I am to sustain this power, I must become the world's most interesting man.
The first step was to find a relatable goal. I hired all the best philosophers in the land, and they gathered together with the playwrights to discuss my life, and my motivation. If I am to succeed, the people must believe that I have a deep down moral high ground. Unfortunately, I then had to bribe all of them, because it's the most secure way to prolong the mystery that now surrounds me - while my true motivations are unknown and undiscoverable, I can not yet die.
The next step was the most unfortunate, though. I had to find a way of giving myself a challenge. For a long time I've known that my young, beautiful, and deeply sadistic daughter, as well as my troubled son, have wanted to ascend to my position. Today, I give them that chance. Today I ride out to an obscure mountain, stopping off on the way to give old friends and other assorted old people cryptic questions which don't actually have answers, as well as a few classic and yet slightly rephrased riddles. Now, I ride to the edge of a cliff with my horse for company. As I leap off, I know that a weaker man would probably die. But I have a story to tell.
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[WP] An Advanced Alien Species Visits Earth and They are More Religious than We are.
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A massive doorbell echoed from the heavens, shaking the ground of the Earth as it reverberated across the planet.
“What the hell is that?” Chuck said, glancing up toward the sky. No one around him spoke, instead they all mimicked his absent gaze upwards.
“Humans of Earth,” said a voice from the sky, almost as if speaking through some sort of telecom, “do not fear me and my species. We come not with a goal of violence, but rather to spread the gospel. I speak on behalf of an advanced alien race that has travelled many millions of light years to share our God with those who are willing. We hope you have a few minutes to talk about our lord and savior, Steve, and to let us mend you of your sacrilegious ways.”
Chuck turned his attention back toward the city street, glancing over at the dozens of New Yorkers looking up toward the sky in complete and utter confusion. No one said a word.
“Based on your collective silence, I’m assuming you’re willing to hear the good word of Steve. That’s great, that’s a solid step in the right direction. You see, you and your people have all been worshipping the wrong gods. From your Jesuses to your Mohammeds, to your Buddhas and your Satans: none of them are correct. We’ve been watching your race for over a year now, researching your biblical tales in the hopes of locating one that was even remotely right. Unfortunately, none have been even close to what we, the Quarlaxians, know to be the One True God.”
Chuck glanced around the immediate area in a desperate search for a door to close, to lock out the religious voices from speaking any longer. The Sbarro’s Pizza across the street had an open glass door, although he swore to himself he’d never step foot in a Sbarro’s Pizza. They were a tourist trap, the food outright heinous in comparison to the $1 pizza joint located six inches away. What if somebody saw him?
You see,” continued the voice, “all of your deities share a common imperfection. Take, for example, your Jesus. He lived an austere life, dying in the name of his religious views and going forth to inspire generations. That’s great, that’s a solid start. Yet, it’s important to remember that he did die. Sure, your bibles explain that he was later resurrected, and lives an eternal life within the heavens, but he still died. Our God, Steve, never died. He’s alive and well, living in a very nice condominium in our planet’s downtown district.”
Chuck felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. He always become uncomfortable around religious folk, considering he’d sworn off God after a particularly abusive upbringing. His father claimed the hits were in Jesus’ name, although he doubted that very much. He stared at Sbarro’s open door.
“Your Buddha, likewise he was overweight. That’s not right. Steve is a very fit God, one of both body and mind. He teaches Pilates on Sundays. Then you’ve got your Satan, who just isn’t even remotely the right option. Steve would never forsake a believer to damnation, he’s told us so himself. And for you Islamics, you’ve got your Mohommed. However, for the sake of both of our safety, I am not going to explain why that view is utterly, and completely, incorrect.”
Chuck began power-walking toward the Sbarro’s Pizza on the other side of the street, his hands swiping against his hips with each hastened step.
“Although you’ve all spent the last few thousand years worshipping the wrong deities, I want you to know it’s okay. Our God is an accepting God, a forgiving God. He does not mind that you put your faith in a man who wore a dirty white robe, nor does he care that you believed that your savior was a being that carried a large hammer. Our God, the right god, can see past that. All he ask is that you welcome him into your hearts, which is why he sent us all on this missionary trip.”
Chuck stopped just inside the Sbarro’s pizza and grabbed the glass door’s handle, then slammed it shut.
“Accepting Steve’s love is easy,” the voice continued, albeit slightly muffled, “you just need to atone for your sins. For beginners, please be aware that heterosexuality is a major one of those sins, he’s assured us of that. I mean, there was a point where I found attraction toward the opposite sex, but Steve rid me of that false view. He explained that the only way I can achieve eternal life is through finding members of my own sexuality attractive, which he himself was able to personally assist with. You, too, will have to stop sleeping with members of the opposite sex, and instead accept that same-sex relationships are the only way to achieve eternal salvation.”
Chuck opened and closed the door several more times, the glass vibrating with each hit against the steel frame.
“Likewise, it is also a sin to have too much money. That’s a major sin, in fact. Steve has opened up an incineration plant for our excess funds to be destroyed within. We simply provide him our money—which we call Jalarquains—and he takes the money to the secret, underground destruction plant, which enables us to be sin-free. He is willing to do the same for you. All that you must do is open your hearts and your wallets unto him. Then there is also a few other minor sins, such as not committing adultery—you’ll need to do that frequently, and often in the presence of Steve. Other than that, you’ll also need to steal in Steve’s name to show your faith, and to ensure that every single day is spent doing the bidding of our lord, Steve. I’ll gladly go into more detail later. First, however, I’d like to just give a quick sermon.”
Chuck sighed, releasing his grip on the door and placing his hands over his ears. He hoped desperately that the government might look into some sort of giant, space-based security gate.
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Joel Dunn had grown tired of being inside, even if he was an introvert like myself. He was the kind of guy to sit at the TV all day, watching movies and bad sitcoms, whilst I would sit at the computer playing games. We had been roommates for years, and were probably the best friends either of us had; yet we nearly never spoke. We simply enjoyed being able to be near eachother, but still keep to our own. "Fuck this," he said, killing the TV with the remote control. "Nothing but news, all day, every day. What's it been now, four months? I'm tired of watching Aliens on T.V on every fucking channel." I continued playing in silence for a few seconds, killing that last raider with a precision shot, before pressing escape to pause and turning towards him in my black leather officechair.
"It's exciting though, isn't it? I mean, atleast now we know we're not alone - I know *that's* awesome. Think of what their planet must look like."
"Dude, have you heard 'THE SPEECH'? The big one, that everyone's talking about?" Joel said, digging around in a half-empty bag of chips.
"Yeah, I watched it online a couple days ago"
"Well, what do you think?" He stared at me, analyzing my answer. "I don't know, I mean, I don't believe in 'God' as in the Christian god or any other god we've got here on Earth, but the E.T's seem to have some strong points, I guess."
Joel tilted his head, shoving the bag of chips aside, sinking into the sofa. He licked his fingers to get rid of the fat and salt, staring at the ceiling. "So we are god?"
"I'm sure that isn't what they said"
"They said that the Universe is its own creation and therefore its own God, and it's up to each and everyone to channel their inner spirituality and transcend. That is litteraly what the translator said."
I chuckled alittle, maybe shallowly, turning back to the computer screen. "I think it makes more sense than anything we've come up with here on Earth."
I could hear Joel sit back up, and soon he spoke again.
"I thought you were an atheist, dude."
"I am, I just... I believe in what I can see, and in science, you know?"
Joel got up and walked into the kitchen, which was practically right next to me; we shared a one bedroom appartment and my bed, the living room and kitchen was all in a tiny room. "So are you going to do it?", he asked, opening the refridgerator.
"What, convert?"
"Yeah." Joel poured an orange juice glass. I could feel him staring at me.
"I..-"
Somebody knocked on the door, the weak, polite thudding sound echoing through our small appartment. "I'll get it," said Joel, scuttling towards the door in his pyjamas pants and juice glass in hand. He opened the door, and was immediately greeted by a man wearing a suit and a necklace with a large, purple gemstone in the middle; the token of Universia Beliefs, A.K.A the religion of the Aliens. Next to him stood a humanoid slightly taller than an NBA player, its posture slightly crouched to not scrape its head in the ceiling. "Good evening, may we speak to you about-" Joel interrupted him. "Yeah, just one sec."
"Hey, Matt! What's it going to be, you wanna convert?"
|
|
[WP] An Advanced Alien Species Visits Earth and They are More Religious than We are.
|
The broadcast was the most watched television event in history. It was the speech heard round the world, the Superbowl times a hundred, the flashbulb “where were you when?” memory for an entire generation. There were few who didn’t get a tingle up their spine at those opening words.
“People of earth…”
The alien, or as they would all soon be known, the green man, spoke from a varnished wooden podium in front of the white house into an armory of microphones of different shapes and sizes. “He” was over seven feet tall, impossibly thin and swathed in white folds of plastic-like cloth sort of like a robe. His looked like a green skinned man who had been stretched like taffy. The president stood nearby with a reassuring smile on her face, her hands clasped in front of her crisp, blue pant suit as she nodded along and furrowed her brow gravely. A group of secret service agents flanked her and glared menacingly at the crowd of journalists on the lawn.
“I understand that our arrival may be shocking to you,” he said, with a clean Midwestern accent. The silver band encircling his ostrich neck glowed red hot with each word.
“You believed you were alone in the universe,” he said. A thick silence hung as he scanned the audience. The president smiled awkwardly.
“You are not,” said the green man. “The universe is populated with many worlds, almost all of which resemble your Earth as it was in the 1950’s. Your world, like all of these worlds, is at this very moment threatened by the unchecked conquest of the evil galactic warlord, Xenu. Although a criminally small number of earthlings have begun to purge themselves of the thetans Xenu implanted on this world thousands of years ago, we must now purge the rest of you if your planet is to survive. We have brought an ample supply of e-meters to aid you in your quest for clarity.”
The alien gave a strange salute, as if swiping a credit card diagonally.
“I have entrusted this task to the greatest among you, and while I must return to my world, I will oversee your progress through my correspondence with him.”
From behind the secret service agents emerged Tom Cruise, his amazingly youthful 60 year old body draped in the same cloth as the alien. The two embraced, and Tom whispered something into the alien’s ear, causing the alien to chuckle.
Tom radiated intensity as he approached the podium, like Ethan Hunt multiplied by that guy he played in Magnolia. He placed his palms flat on the surface of the podium, looked directly into the camera and said,
“Told you, fuckers.”
|
Joel Dunn had grown tired of being inside, even if he was an introvert like myself. He was the kind of guy to sit at the TV all day, watching movies and bad sitcoms, whilst I would sit at the computer playing games. We had been roommates for years, and were probably the best friends either of us had; yet we nearly never spoke. We simply enjoyed being able to be near eachother, but still keep to our own. "Fuck this," he said, killing the TV with the remote control. "Nothing but news, all day, every day. What's it been now, four months? I'm tired of watching Aliens on T.V on every fucking channel." I continued playing in silence for a few seconds, killing that last raider with a precision shot, before pressing escape to pause and turning towards him in my black leather officechair.
"It's exciting though, isn't it? I mean, atleast now we know we're not alone - I know *that's* awesome. Think of what their planet must look like."
"Dude, have you heard 'THE SPEECH'? The big one, that everyone's talking about?" Joel said, digging around in a half-empty bag of chips.
"Yeah, I watched it online a couple days ago"
"Well, what do you think?" He stared at me, analyzing my answer. "I don't know, I mean, I don't believe in 'God' as in the Christian god or any other god we've got here on Earth, but the E.T's seem to have some strong points, I guess."
Joel tilted his head, shoving the bag of chips aside, sinking into the sofa. He licked his fingers to get rid of the fat and salt, staring at the ceiling. "So we are god?"
"I'm sure that isn't what they said"
"They said that the Universe is its own creation and therefore its own God, and it's up to each and everyone to channel their inner spirituality and transcend. That is litteraly what the translator said."
I chuckled alittle, maybe shallowly, turning back to the computer screen. "I think it makes more sense than anything we've come up with here on Earth."
I could hear Joel sit back up, and soon he spoke again.
"I thought you were an atheist, dude."
"I am, I just... I believe in what I can see, and in science, you know?"
Joel got up and walked into the kitchen, which was practically right next to me; we shared a one bedroom appartment and my bed, the living room and kitchen was all in a tiny room. "So are you going to do it?", he asked, opening the refridgerator.
"What, convert?"
"Yeah." Joel poured an orange juice glass. I could feel him staring at me.
"I..-"
Somebody knocked on the door, the weak, polite thudding sound echoing through our small appartment. "I'll get it," said Joel, scuttling towards the door in his pyjamas pants and juice glass in hand. He opened the door, and was immediately greeted by a man wearing a suit and a necklace with a large, purple gemstone in the middle; the token of Universia Beliefs, A.K.A the religion of the Aliens. Next to him stood a humanoid slightly taller than an NBA player, its posture slightly crouched to not scrape its head in the ceiling. "Good evening, may we speak to you about-" Joel interrupted him. "Yeah, just one sec."
"Hey, Matt! What's it going to be, you wanna convert?"
|
|
[WP] An Advanced Alien Species Visits Earth and They are More Religious than We are.
|
The broadcast was the most watched television event in history. It was the speech heard round the world, the Superbowl times a hundred, the flashbulb “where were you when?” memory for an entire generation. There were few who didn’t get a tingle up their spine at those opening words.
“People of earth…”
The alien, or as they would all soon be known, the green man, spoke from a varnished wooden podium in front of the white house into an armory of microphones of different shapes and sizes. “He” was over seven feet tall, impossibly thin and swathed in white folds of plastic-like cloth sort of like a robe. His looked like a green skinned man who had been stretched like taffy. The president stood nearby with a reassuring smile on her face, her hands clasped in front of her crisp, blue pant suit as she nodded along and furrowed her brow gravely. A group of secret service agents flanked her and glared menacingly at the crowd of journalists on the lawn.
“I understand that our arrival may be shocking to you,” he said, with a clean Midwestern accent. The silver band encircling his ostrich neck glowed red hot with each word.
“You believed you were alone in the universe,” he said. A thick silence hung as he scanned the audience. The president smiled awkwardly.
“You are not,” said the green man. “The universe is populated with many worlds, almost all of which resemble your Earth as it was in the 1950’s. Your world, like all of these worlds, is at this very moment threatened by the unchecked conquest of the evil galactic warlord, Xenu. Although a criminally small number of earthlings have begun to purge themselves of the thetans Xenu implanted on this world thousands of years ago, we must now purge the rest of you if your planet is to survive. We have brought an ample supply of e-meters to aid you in your quest for clarity.”
The alien gave a strange salute, as if swiping a credit card diagonally.
“I have entrusted this task to the greatest among you, and while I must return to my world, I will oversee your progress through my correspondence with him.”
From behind the secret service agents emerged Tom Cruise, his amazingly youthful 60 year old body draped in the same cloth as the alien. The two embraced, and Tom whispered something into the alien’s ear, causing the alien to chuckle.
Tom radiated intensity as he approached the podium, like Ethan Hunt multiplied by that guy he played in Magnolia. He placed his palms flat on the surface of the podium, looked directly into the camera and said,
“Told you, fuckers.”
|
A massive doorbell echoed from the heavens, shaking the ground of the Earth as it reverberated across the planet.
“What the hell is that?” Chuck said, glancing up toward the sky. No one around him spoke, instead they all mimicked his absent gaze upwards.
“Humans of Earth,” said a voice from the sky, almost as if speaking through some sort of telecom, “do not fear me and my species. We come not with a goal of violence, but rather to spread the gospel. I speak on behalf of an advanced alien race that has travelled many millions of light years to share our God with those who are willing. We hope you have a few minutes to talk about our lord and savior, Steve, and to let us mend you of your sacrilegious ways.”
Chuck turned his attention back toward the city street, glancing over at the dozens of New Yorkers looking up toward the sky in complete and utter confusion. No one said a word.
“Based on your collective silence, I’m assuming you’re willing to hear the good word of Steve. That’s great, that’s a solid step in the right direction. You see, you and your people have all been worshipping the wrong gods. From your Jesuses to your Mohammeds, to your Buddhas and your Satans: none of them are correct. We’ve been watching your race for over a year now, researching your biblical tales in the hopes of locating one that was even remotely right. Unfortunately, none have been even close to what we, the Quarlaxians, know to be the One True God.”
Chuck glanced around the immediate area in a desperate search for a door to close, to lock out the religious voices from speaking any longer. The Sbarro’s Pizza across the street had an open glass door, although he swore to himself he’d never step foot in a Sbarro’s Pizza. They were a tourist trap, the food outright heinous in comparison to the $1 pizza joint located six inches away. What if somebody saw him?
You see,” continued the voice, “all of your deities share a common imperfection. Take, for example, your Jesus. He lived an austere life, dying in the name of his religious views and going forth to inspire generations. That’s great, that’s a solid start. Yet, it’s important to remember that he did die. Sure, your bibles explain that he was later resurrected, and lives an eternal life within the heavens, but he still died. Our God, Steve, never died. He’s alive and well, living in a very nice condominium in our planet’s downtown district.”
Chuck felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. He always become uncomfortable around religious folk, considering he’d sworn off God after a particularly abusive upbringing. His father claimed the hits were in Jesus’ name, although he doubted that very much. He stared at Sbarro’s open door.
“Your Buddha, likewise he was overweight. That’s not right. Steve is a very fit God, one of both body and mind. He teaches Pilates on Sundays. Then you’ve got your Satan, who just isn’t even remotely the right option. Steve would never forsake a believer to damnation, he’s told us so himself. And for you Islamics, you’ve got your Mohommed. However, for the sake of both of our safety, I am not going to explain why that view is utterly, and completely, incorrect.”
Chuck began power-walking toward the Sbarro’s Pizza on the other side of the street, his hands swiping against his hips with each hastened step.
“Although you’ve all spent the last few thousand years worshipping the wrong deities, I want you to know it’s okay. Our God is an accepting God, a forgiving God. He does not mind that you put your faith in a man who wore a dirty white robe, nor does he care that you believed that your savior was a being that carried a large hammer. Our God, the right god, can see past that. All he ask is that you welcome him into your hearts, which is why he sent us all on this missionary trip.”
Chuck stopped just inside the Sbarro’s pizza and grabbed the glass door’s handle, then slammed it shut.
“Accepting Steve’s love is easy,” the voice continued, albeit slightly muffled, “you just need to atone for your sins. For beginners, please be aware that heterosexuality is a major one of those sins, he’s assured us of that. I mean, there was a point where I found attraction toward the opposite sex, but Steve rid me of that false view. He explained that the only way I can achieve eternal life is through finding members of my own sexuality attractive, which he himself was able to personally assist with. You, too, will have to stop sleeping with members of the opposite sex, and instead accept that same-sex relationships are the only way to achieve eternal salvation.”
Chuck opened and closed the door several more times, the glass vibrating with each hit against the steel frame.
“Likewise, it is also a sin to have too much money. That’s a major sin, in fact. Steve has opened up an incineration plant for our excess funds to be destroyed within. We simply provide him our money—which we call Jalarquains—and he takes the money to the secret, underground destruction plant, which enables us to be sin-free. He is willing to do the same for you. All that you must do is open your hearts and your wallets unto him. Then there is also a few other minor sins, such as not committing adultery—you’ll need to do that frequently, and often in the presence of Steve. Other than that, you’ll also need to steal in Steve’s name to show your faith, and to ensure that every single day is spent doing the bidding of our lord, Steve. I’ll gladly go into more detail later. First, however, I’d like to just give a quick sermon.”
Chuck sighed, releasing his grip on the door and placing his hands over his ears. He hoped desperately that the government might look into some sort of giant, space-based security gate.
|
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[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
The man was running. Running and running as fast as he could. The lady he had raped and stabbed lay on her side by some garbage cans...
Ryan had seen all this by the entrance of the alley. It had all happened so fast - one moment there were muffled screams, the next Ryan could see the man pounding away, and the next... A spurt of blood. He shuddered.
Call 911? Ryan looked around. A few others around him were already on the phone, and he heard one of them say "ambulance".
Ah well. Ryan shrugged and moved away, resuming his walk home.
It would make for a great snapchat story.
|
The dust stuck to Ray's sweat-covered face. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.*
For months he could sense it coming, his Dad's drinking was getting worse by the day. What started as a minor concern had spiraled into a bottle-of-whiskey-and-twelve-pack-a-day habit. Ray's teachers had taken notice. He'd been left to walk home in the dark four times in the last month. *Better than riding home with a drunk.* Mrs. Pace had even tried to talk to him about it. But Ray wasn't ready to talk about his trouble at home, especially not with his sophomore science teacher.
The taste of blood, warm against his tongue, brought him back to reality. Ray sat motionless, paralyzed by what he'd just witnessed. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.* His father's cries were drowned out by the deafening ringing in his ears. *This can't be real.* Ray's sister's body lay still, her skin in a stark white in contrast to the puddle of blood that surrounded her. Ray's father's white beard was stained the color of Christmas. Spit poured from his mouth as he cried. He turned to Ray, screaming, knife still in hand.
Ray couldn't make out the words. He didn't want to.
His father stood, grabbed Ray by the chin, then slit his throat. *This is it. This is how I'm go--*
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[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
Stroll around the city long enough and you’ll find evils of every shade and hue. That’s not what aggravated him though. What boiled his blood was the fact that no one gave a shit. They watched it happen, these purposeless homunculi we called citizens, and then walk along their way with only a momentary bat of the eye. It made his stomach knot.
In the distance he could hear the roar of the bikers approaching, they were on the prowl as usual, looking for an unsuspecting passerby to fondle the blackness in their hearts. Usually it was them doing the fondling though. They left many pockets empty, wounds open, and eyes teary by the end of their stints and rumor had it they knew how to make people disappear, magicians of sorts.
He stepped into the supermarket right as they locked on to their victim. Their bikes rumbled followed by a screech, swerving in front of a pedestrian, a young girl. He knew her; she was new in his high school and attractive too. She was no Helen of Troy, not by a long shot, but she was easy on the eyes. But these guys weren’t here to admire her beauty, instead, they were after something more primal. He introduced himself, irony and lust dribbling down his cleft chin while another biker thug drifted behind her blocking her escape. Two others flanked her boxing the horrified girl in.
He peered out from inside the store, feigning interest in the magazine he picked up off the rack. This is what the citizen dolls did when they wanted to avoid trouble. He learned to imitate their cowardice. He peered over the bookshelf and caught sight of them, reaching, tossing, and groping her. He figured that this would go on for a few moments before they stole her away to some place secluded to carry out their whims. He was wrong.
One of the demons seized her from behind as she pleaded for them to stop and another reached down to undo her belt, all in the middle of the street. The two others reached around, running their filthy gazes and equally disgusting hands up and down her body as leader forced himself upon her. They were getting bolder. This is what happens when wolves reign over sheep. This is what happens when there is no shepherd. But it would not happen now, not today, not any longer. He neither sheep, nor was he the shepherd. He was the hunter. He removed the black book and placed it on top of the magazine in his hands.
“Let’s see what happens.” Light said as he scribbled the monster’s name in the book. It was time to see if the Death Note really worked.
|
The dust stuck to Ray's sweat-covered face. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.*
For months he could sense it coming, his Dad's drinking was getting worse by the day. What started as a minor concern had spiraled into a bottle-of-whiskey-and-twelve-pack-a-day habit. Ray's teachers had taken notice. He'd been left to walk home in the dark four times in the last month. *Better than riding home with a drunk.* Mrs. Pace had even tried to talk to him about it. But Ray wasn't ready to talk about his trouble at home, especially not with his sophomore science teacher.
The taste of blood, warm against his tongue, brought him back to reality. Ray sat motionless, paralyzed by what he'd just witnessed. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.* His father's cries were drowned out by the deafening ringing in his ears. *This can't be real.* Ray's sister's body lay still, her skin in a stark white in contrast to the puddle of blood that surrounded her. Ray's father's white beard was stained the color of Christmas. Spit poured from his mouth as he cried. He turned to Ray, screaming, knife still in hand.
Ray couldn't make out the words. He didn't want to.
His father stood, grabbed Ray by the chin, then slit his throat. *This is it. This is how I'm go--*
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|
[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
April 9, 20XX
It's 4am and I can't sleep. My head won't stop; I keep thinking over and over again what happened today. How stupid I am. How weak. How useless...
Claire was the most beautiful girl I've ever known. I've lost count of the nights I laid in bed fantasizing how we'd fall in love and take on the world together. I'd imagined the travels we'd go on, the jokes and laughs that we'd share, the wedding and the kids we would have.
I use to think that she was so stupid for not paying any attention to me. She called me names, but I forgave her each time. She just wasn't mature enough to understand my fascination with video games and comic books. She didn't understand how much of a hero I could be, or how incredible our lives would be if she would just give me a chance. I wanted to help her. She needed my help.
I had to be a hero from afar. For some reason the police told me I couldn't talk to her anymore, or send her messages or follow her on the internet. Something must have happened to her if people like the police are trying to help her. They are idiots though. They don't know her like I know her. She was into bad things - drugs, gangsters, guys who could hurt her.
I knew it was going to happen eventually. I had to be discreet but I followed after classes. She owed some mean-looking guys some money. I should've been in front of her staring at the goon straight in the eye... When he pulled out the gun I should've screamed and ran up, to save her... My legs went numb. I felt something warm and wet around them. I saw the goons run but I couldn't yell after them. All I remember next is holding Claire with my hand where her life blood was coming out. I remember telling her that it'll be okay now, her hero is here to save her.
The police and the ambulance came - her parents too. Her mom and dad were really angry at me for some reason. I don't know why. The paramedic told us all that if I wasn't here she would definitely not have a chance. I SAVED HER LIFE! Why was everyone so angry at me? The police officer, a woman, asked me a lot of questions. She didn't understand me though so I didn't want to say too much to her. My dad eventually came to pick me up. For once he wasn't drunk, probably because the police called him and he hates the police more than he hates me. I wanted to go with Claire and the paramedics to the hospital. I saved her after all. Those fuckers told me that I won't be able to visit her. I wish the goons shot them instead.
The police woman and my dad took me home. They talked for a long while. I remember my dad yelling. Some other folks, people the police woman knew, came over too. Shit, there was so much yelling. How come none of them are over at the hospital to help Claire? How come none of those fuckers are out catching the goons that shot her?
I'm locked in my room. The window is sealed and I have no internet. I'm going to go crazy.
|
The dust stuck to Ray's sweat-covered face. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.*
For months he could sense it coming, his Dad's drinking was getting worse by the day. What started as a minor concern had spiraled into a bottle-of-whiskey-and-twelve-pack-a-day habit. Ray's teachers had taken notice. He'd been left to walk home in the dark four times in the last month. *Better than riding home with a drunk.* Mrs. Pace had even tried to talk to him about it. But Ray wasn't ready to talk about his trouble at home, especially not with his sophomore science teacher.
The taste of blood, warm against his tongue, brought him back to reality. Ray sat motionless, paralyzed by what he'd just witnessed. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.* His father's cries were drowned out by the deafening ringing in his ears. *This can't be real.* Ray's sister's body lay still, her skin in a stark white in contrast to the puddle of blood that surrounded her. Ray's father's white beard was stained the color of Christmas. Spit poured from his mouth as he cried. He turned to Ray, screaming, knife still in hand.
Ray couldn't make out the words. He didn't want to.
His father stood, grabbed Ray by the chin, then slit his throat. *This is it. This is how I'm go--*
|
|
[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
I peeled off the dead, burnt skin that remained hanging on my arm. The cuts on my hands and forehead had become numb. When I woke up I could still taste the blood soaking through my teeth.
- 30 Minutes Earlier -
The endless traffic sounded noisily throughout the city. Horns seemed like a constant communication between the rush hour... On the corner sat a coffee shop known as Punnunzio's. I walked past the shop everyday on my commute to school, taking in all the freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods that populated the shelves. Today seemed like an average day, normal routine. Wake up, Eat breakfast, Walk to school. My eyes slowly opened to the site of my ceiling, the dawn sunshine flooding in through the windows. I rolled over to see how much time I had left to snooze
"7:48"
"Shit! I'm late for school!" I shot awake, panicking myself. I had jumped out of bed, grabbed some sweats, and sprinted downstairs directly out the door completely disregarding the fact that I had left my bag on the counter. I started to sprint down the city street, the grass freshly sprinkled with morning dew. Running past the fountain that sat In front of the city hall, I could see the school far in my vision. I sprinted hard, hoping I wouldn't get in too much trouble if I was only a little late? I mean they can't punish me that bad right? What's the...
Instantly an extremely powerful wave of heat had consumed my body, launching me backwards with a shock that hit me so hard I had been paralyzed in pain. A cloud of fire engulfed the street corner in front of me, busting out of the remaining windows from the shop. Car alarms echoed faintly all around me, slowly losing consciousness, doing the best I could to regain my vision. Dazing in and out... A black van pulled out in front of the shop. 4 heavily armed men carrying light machine guns exited the van. 2 of them starting shooting inside the burning coffee shop, the other two stood as guards near the van. The gunfire had activated my adrenaline and I quickly came too, realizing what had been happening. I bolted up off the sidewalk and sprinted faster than I had ever before. Bullets danced around my feet, colliding all around me, erupting in smoke off the pavement. I dived into an alleyway, and quickly crawled behind cover.
"What the fuck!? What the fuck is going on!?" I thought anxiously
I laid behind the cover, gasping, trying to catch my breath. 4 more bullets ricocheted in the distance. I needed to fucking move. I pushed my self off the ground, and sprinted through the alleyway in a crouch, fearful of being shot. I climbed the fence ahead of me, and darted down out into the street, sprinting across to the park located nearby. No time to look back, no time to rest, just run. Just run...
After about an hour, I had ended up in a completely new part of town, a place I had never seen before. My clothes tattered and burnt, I walked down the empty street... I had no phone to call for help, and I hadn't considered finding help due to the elevation of my fear... I had never been in a position like this before. I walked Down an alleyway and found a spot to rest behind a dumpster. I sat, relaxing in pain, trying to understand the situation. I peeled off some dead skin that had been hanging off my arm, burnt. The cuts on my hands and forehead becoming numb. As I laid there, I could still taste the blood soaking through my teeth...
|
The dust stuck to Ray's sweat-covered face. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.*
For months he could sense it coming, his Dad's drinking was getting worse by the day. What started as a minor concern had spiraled into a bottle-of-whiskey-and-twelve-pack-a-day habit. Ray's teachers had taken notice. He'd been left to walk home in the dark four times in the last month. *Better than riding home with a drunk.* Mrs. Pace had even tried to talk to him about it. But Ray wasn't ready to talk about his trouble at home, especially not with his sophomore science teacher.
The taste of blood, warm against his tongue, brought him back to reality. Ray sat motionless, paralyzed by what he'd just witnessed. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.* His father's cries were drowned out by the deafening ringing in his ears. *This can't be real.* Ray's sister's body lay still, her skin in a stark white in contrast to the puddle of blood that surrounded her. Ray's father's white beard was stained the color of Christmas. Spit poured from his mouth as he cried. He turned to Ray, screaming, knife still in hand.
Ray couldn't make out the words. He didn't want to.
His father stood, grabbed Ray by the chin, then slit his throat. *This is it. This is how I'm go--*
|
|
[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
He was in the other room. He could hear the whimpering when it started escalating to the blood-curling screams before it would usually stop. This affair lasted about half an hour most days. The gruff voice on the other side of his wall spewing vitriol that would be reserved for the worst of your enemies. At this point Tony knew to just try and ignore it. It was always the most unpleasant part of his day, but you'd be surprised at how easily one could habituate to it. For him it had become background noise, an alarm that was his exit cue to head out to school.
Tony looked at his watch - 7:30. He was gonna be late for school and this fight, if you could even call it that, had lasted longer than usual. Rather than leaving through the main door and risking the wrath of his Jim, his step father, Tony decided to climb out his window and rush to the bus stop.
He made it just before the bus headed out and mentally prepared himself for seven hours of torture through boredom. Tony didn't despise school, in fact he preferred it to being at home. It was just boring as usual. Going over things that they learned weeks ago, drilling the same information into their impressionable skulls. He tended to keep to himself during the school day, trying actively to avoid any conflict around him. Tony had learned when to keep his mouth shut, which was a great skill for any 15 year old kid to know. School work had always come easy to him; the hard part was talking to the people around him. It seemed as if everyone had made their cliques, and it was too late to even try and make friends.
The harsh bell awoke him from his daily routine and he knew it was time to head home. Tony spent the entire trip home praying that Jim would be in a decent mood. Tony cautiously opened his main door and he was instantly greeted with the pungent smell of alcohol.
"Great, another one of these days again" he thought to himself.
He glanced at his mother, who was silently sobbing in the kitchen while tending to today's injuries. She saw him and tried to put on a facade of strength, but even she knew it was pointless. Tony couldn't bear to look at his mother for more than a few seconds because it just reminded him of how helpless she was and how he could no absolutely nothing to help her.
Tony finished his homework just in time for dinner. He sat down at the table, filled with an air of uncomfortable silence and glared at his step father. He could feel the hatred welling up inside him but knew not to act on it. Tony would bide his time and save his mother from this monster. He watched Jim scarf down his dinner and head off into his bedroom. He gave his mom a reassuring look and headed off into his bedroom.
Every night, before going to bed, Tony would think of ways to escape this hellish nightmare and bring his mom with him. Every night he would convince himself that he could do it. And every night, right before drifting out of consciousness, he would think to himself
"Tomorrow will be the day I get us out"
But deep down, he knew that tomorrow would be the same.
|
The dust stuck to Ray's sweat-covered face. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.*
For months he could sense it coming, his Dad's drinking was getting worse by the day. What started as a minor concern had spiraled into a bottle-of-whiskey-and-twelve-pack-a-day habit. Ray's teachers had taken notice. He'd been left to walk home in the dark four times in the last month. *Better than riding home with a drunk.* Mrs. Pace had even tried to talk to him about it. But Ray wasn't ready to talk about his trouble at home, especially not with his sophomore science teacher.
The taste of blood, warm against his tongue, brought him back to reality. Ray sat motionless, paralyzed by what he'd just witnessed. *This is it. This is how I'm going to die.* His father's cries were drowned out by the deafening ringing in his ears. *This can't be real.* Ray's sister's body lay still, her skin in a stark white in contrast to the puddle of blood that surrounded her. Ray's father's white beard was stained the color of Christmas. Spit poured from his mouth as he cried. He turned to Ray, screaming, knife still in hand.
Ray couldn't make out the words. He didn't want to.
His father stood, grabbed Ray by the chin, then slit his throat. *This is it. This is how I'm go--*
|
|
[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
He was in the other room. He could hear the whimpering when it started escalating to the blood-curling screams before it would usually stop. This affair lasted about half an hour most days. The gruff voice on the other side of his wall spewing vitriol that would be reserved for the worst of your enemies. At this point Tony knew to just try and ignore it. It was always the most unpleasant part of his day, but you'd be surprised at how easily one could habituate to it. For him it had become background noise, an alarm that was his exit cue to head out to school.
Tony looked at his watch - 7:30. He was gonna be late for school and this fight, if you could even call it that, had lasted longer than usual. Rather than leaving through the main door and risking the wrath of his Jim, his step father, Tony decided to climb out his window and rush to the bus stop.
He made it just before the bus headed out and mentally prepared himself for seven hours of torture through boredom. Tony didn't despise school, in fact he preferred it to being at home. It was just boring as usual. Going over things that they learned weeks ago, drilling the same information into their impressionable skulls. He tended to keep to himself during the school day, trying actively to avoid any conflict around him. Tony had learned when to keep his mouth shut, which was a great skill for any 15 year old kid to know. School work had always come easy to him; the hard part was talking to the people around him. It seemed as if everyone had made their cliques, and it was too late to even try and make friends.
The harsh bell awoke him from his daily routine and he knew it was time to head home. Tony spent the entire trip home praying that Jim would be in a decent mood. Tony cautiously opened his main door and he was instantly greeted with the pungent smell of alcohol.
"Great, another one of these days again" he thought to himself.
He glanced at his mother, who was silently sobbing in the kitchen while tending to today's injuries. She saw him and tried to put on a facade of strength, but even she knew it was pointless. Tony couldn't bear to look at his mother for more than a few seconds because it just reminded him of how helpless she was and how he could no absolutely nothing to help her.
Tony finished his homework just in time for dinner. He sat down at the table, filled with an air of uncomfortable silence and glared at his step father. He could feel the hatred welling up inside him but knew not to act on it. Tony would bide his time and save his mother from this monster. He watched Jim scarf down his dinner and head off into his bedroom. He gave his mom a reassuring look and headed off into his bedroom.
Every night, before going to bed, Tony would think of ways to escape this hellish nightmare and bring his mom with him. Every night he would convince himself that he could do it. And every night, right before drifting out of consciousness, he would think to himself
"Tomorrow will be the day I get us out"
But deep down, he knew that tomorrow would be the same.
|
The man was running. Running and running as fast as he could. The lady he had raped and stabbed lay on her side by some garbage cans...
Ryan had seen all this by the entrance of the alley. It had all happened so fast - one moment there were muffled screams, the next Ryan could see the man pounding away, and the next... A spurt of blood. He shuddered.
Call 911? Ryan looked around. A few others around him were already on the phone, and he heard one of them say "ambulance".
Ah well. Ryan shrugged and moved away, resuming his walk home.
It would make for a great snapchat story.
|
|
[WP] A high schol student has just witnessed an atrocious crime. How does the rest of his day play out?
|
He was in the other room. He could hear the whimpering when it started escalating to the blood-curling screams before it would usually stop. This affair lasted about half an hour most days. The gruff voice on the other side of his wall spewing vitriol that would be reserved for the worst of your enemies. At this point Tony knew to just try and ignore it. It was always the most unpleasant part of his day, but you'd be surprised at how easily one could habituate to it. For him it had become background noise, an alarm that was his exit cue to head out to school.
Tony looked at his watch - 7:30. He was gonna be late for school and this fight, if you could even call it that, had lasted longer than usual. Rather than leaving through the main door and risking the wrath of his Jim, his step father, Tony decided to climb out his window and rush to the bus stop.
He made it just before the bus headed out and mentally prepared himself for seven hours of torture through boredom. Tony didn't despise school, in fact he preferred it to being at home. It was just boring as usual. Going over things that they learned weeks ago, drilling the same information into their impressionable skulls. He tended to keep to himself during the school day, trying actively to avoid any conflict around him. Tony had learned when to keep his mouth shut, which was a great skill for any 15 year old kid to know. School work had always come easy to him; the hard part was talking to the people around him. It seemed as if everyone had made their cliques, and it was too late to even try and make friends.
The harsh bell awoke him from his daily routine and he knew it was time to head home. Tony spent the entire trip home praying that Jim would be in a decent mood. Tony cautiously opened his main door and he was instantly greeted with the pungent smell of alcohol.
"Great, another one of these days again" he thought to himself.
He glanced at his mother, who was silently sobbing in the kitchen while tending to today's injuries. She saw him and tried to put on a facade of strength, but even she knew it was pointless. Tony couldn't bear to look at his mother for more than a few seconds because it just reminded him of how helpless she was and how he could no absolutely nothing to help her.
Tony finished his homework just in time for dinner. He sat down at the table, filled with an air of uncomfortable silence and glared at his step father. He could feel the hatred welling up inside him but knew not to act on it. Tony would bide his time and save his mother from this monster. He watched Jim scarf down his dinner and head off into his bedroom. He gave his mom a reassuring look and headed off into his bedroom.
Every night, before going to bed, Tony would think of ways to escape this hellish nightmare and bring his mom with him. Every night he would convince himself that he could do it. And every night, right before drifting out of consciousness, he would think to himself
"Tomorrow will be the day I get us out"
But deep down, he knew that tomorrow would be the same.
|
Stroll around the city long enough and you’ll find evils of every shade and hue. That’s not what aggravated him though. What boiled his blood was the fact that no one gave a shit. They watched it happen, these purposeless homunculi we called citizens, and then walk along their way with only a momentary bat of the eye. It made his stomach knot.
In the distance he could hear the roar of the bikers approaching, they were on the prowl as usual, looking for an unsuspecting passerby to fondle the blackness in their hearts. Usually it was them doing the fondling though. They left many pockets empty, wounds open, and eyes teary by the end of their stints and rumor had it they knew how to make people disappear, magicians of sorts.
He stepped into the supermarket right as they locked on to their victim. Their bikes rumbled followed by a screech, swerving in front of a pedestrian, a young girl. He knew her; she was new in his high school and attractive too. She was no Helen of Troy, not by a long shot, but she was easy on the eyes. But these guys weren’t here to admire her beauty, instead, they were after something more primal. He introduced himself, irony and lust dribbling down his cleft chin while another biker thug drifted behind her blocking her escape. Two others flanked her boxing the horrified girl in.
He peered out from inside the store, feigning interest in the magazine he picked up off the rack. This is what the citizen dolls did when they wanted to avoid trouble. He learned to imitate their cowardice. He peered over the bookshelf and caught sight of them, reaching, tossing, and groping her. He figured that this would go on for a few moments before they stole her away to some place secluded to carry out their whims. He was wrong.
One of the demons seized her from behind as she pleaded for them to stop and another reached down to undo her belt, all in the middle of the street. The two others reached around, running their filthy gazes and equally disgusting hands up and down her body as leader forced himself upon her. They were getting bolder. This is what happens when wolves reign over sheep. This is what happens when there is no shepherd. But it would not happen now, not today, not any longer. He neither sheep, nor was he the shepherd. He was the hunter. He removed the black book and placed it on top of the magazine in his hands.
“Let’s see what happens.” Light said as he scribbled the monster’s name in the book. It was time to see if the Death Note really worked.
|
|
[WP] A serial killer's wife has just been murdered in a random burglary/mugging.
|
Lucy blinked at the sight of a masked man sitting on her bed, gun resting on his lap. At first, she figured it was Ed wanting to play rough again, but this man was a bit too big... too barrel-chested... he carried himself too rigidly.
He stood and grabbed the gun, aiming it up at Lucy with what seemed to be practiced ease. He waved it at a chair. "Sit down."
Lucy sat. She involuntarily leaned back as the gun went to her face.
"I'm not going to waste the time of myself or yourself, and you don't really have much left." He had a rough voice, from years of constant yelling. "I know who your husband is. Ed Greenwich is the Seattle Strangler. Don't bother denying it, I'm not here to get a second-hand confession. Your husband is a monster."
Lucy thought for a moment, deciding on what to do. She needed a way out. If she couldn't defend Ed's reputation, she would use it.
"My husband is a monster, yes," Lucy whispered. "But he's *my* monster. Do you really want to piss him off? If you really do know as much as you claim to know, you wouldn't make that decision easily."
The masked man kept his gun level with the Lucy's eyes, allowing her to see down the polished barrel. "This is the only way we can catch him. We piss him off, he makes mistakes, we have evidence."
"You're a cop?" She asked, eyes wide. "A fucking cop breaks into *my* house and-"
"Better for you to end up dead," the man interrupted her, "than for a dozen other women to end up dead."
|
It was a long day after work, I put down my bag and plopped onto the couch. Immediately I saw the news come on. This was gonna be interesting
"Local Mother Murdered in Suspected burglary"
It struck me as odd, but I always thought that family had a bit off of them it wasn't until they announced the suspects that my suspicions were confirmed to be true. I held in tight, and I was shocked when they said it was the husband. They also mentioned finding a ton of dead bodies which put an end to my curiosity. That family was weird. But what's even weirder?
You'd think he'd recognize his own house
|
|
[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
|
I shifted uncomfortably on the couch as another high pitched sob filled the air. Sighing as quietly as I could, I continued to click the remote, shifting through the channels in hopes of finding something interesting enough to pull me out of this rather unpleasant situation.
So far, nothing had managed to do that.
On the other side of the couch sat my girlfriend, Mary, hunched over and sobbing uncontrollably. For once, thankfully, it was not because of something that I had said or done. Nestled in her lap was Mr. Bigglesworth, her 18 year old cat, who was, at present, not doing so well. The creature had begun to act more lethargic than usual over the last few days, but yesterday afternoon it had taken to not eating.
My friend, Dave, a vet, had paid us a visit that night and taken a look at the feline, only to gently tell my girlfriend that his time was coming to an end. He had offered to take the animal into work and put it to sleep, but my girlfriend refused, insisting that the former fluffball (he has been balding for some time), die at home where he was so deeply loved.
By her, that is. I hated him terribly, as he had not been pleasant towards me since the day that we had met. In his younger days he had been fond of scratching me and shredding my stuff, but for a long while now his attacks have been limited to urinating or vomiting on my things. I try to act sympathetic for the sake of my girlfriend, but truthfully, when he dies, I will not be sad.
I continued my channel surfing crusade when the doorbell rang, followed by a series of three loud knocks. I glanced at my girlfriend who continued to cry uncontrollably. “I, uh, I guess I’ll get it,” I said, standing up. An usually powerful wail signified confirmation from Mary.
Striding across the apartment, I tried to think of who it might be. Perhaps it was Dave coming to check in on Mr. Bigglesworth, or the neighbors checking in to see what was going on with Mary. Either way, I was grateful for the small reprieve. As my hand reached for the doorknob I glanced into the peephole, but strangely enough I couldn’t see anyone. A prank, perhaps? All the same, I opened the door.
That’s when I saw him; The Grim Reaper.
I was more than taken aback by the robed figure, but much to my surprise, instead of running or screaming in terror, I proceeded to slightly close the door, glancing through the peephole, only to again see nothing. Opening the door completely again, I stared in disbelief at the robed skeleton.
“It’s a great party trick,” he laughed with a grim, scratchy voice, like that of a chain smoker who has somehow defied the odds and lived to be eighty or ninety years old.
“What are you doing here?!”I asked, before finally taking note of the fact that instead of having a scythe, he was holding a kitten in his hands. But just like him, the kitten was nothing more than a skeleton draped in black cloth. Had it not been for the oddly present bumps in the hood where the ears should have been (were they there?), I’m not sure I’d have honestly know what it was.
“…and why do you have a dead cat?”
“Dead kitten,” the dark entity responded.
“Whatever,” I said, forgetting whom I was talking to.
Death set the kitten on the ground. It stuck its forepaws out and sunk low into a deep stretch.
I watched it for a second before returning my gaze to the Grim Reaper, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“He’s new,” Death said, raising a cigar to his mouth. I do not understand the physics behind it, but somehow, sans lungs, he managed to inhale the smoke and exhale it into a small, sweet smelling cloud. “But I think he has potential. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this finished as quickly as possible. I still have a few more stops to go through before my day is done.”
“Of course,” I said, gesturing in towards the apartment. “Be my guest.”
Death nodded and snapped the fingers on his right hand. The kitten perked up, and death gestured into the house with his boned pointer finger.
The kitten nodded and took off into the apartment. A terrified scream echoed throughout, directly followed by silence and then, finally, a thud, as what I reckoned was my girlfriend’s body fell unconscious to the ground.
Death took a final drag on his cigar, dropping it to the ground and smashing it out with his foot. The kitten returned with bouncing steps. The tail, a mixture of cartilage and bone, waved playfully in the air. As it began to rub its head against Death’s robes, he bent down and scooped the tiny skeleton up.
“Well,” he said, “I think my work here is about finished.”
“What do I owe you?” I remarked sarcastically, glancing back into the apartment.
“Don’t worry about it,” he responded, nodding his head in gratitude. As he turned to leave, he glanced back and called over his shoulder, “After all, we’ll be seeing each other again soon enough.”
|
There He stood, kitten in hand
eyes that glared from a hoody
branded with what I think must be
his favourite band.
 
Hunch on his back, breathing lazy,
bony fingers caressing
the kitten purring and my
vision hazy.
 
"Here I am" He growled like a teenage fright
threw His shoes
walked by, into the house;
my mouth agape into the night.
 
"I have come, a bit too soon,
got impatient, my mistake,
happens at times,
once in a blue moon."
 
The kitten purred and jumped away.
"You'll be dead"
He rasped from the sofa.
"You'll be dead, but not today."
 
"I shall be your shadow, your trigger,
an extension of the darkness
a bullet to the gun
bound to your finger."
 
He stood up and poured a glass
"16th of June,
two months from now,
dust you'll have for an ass."
 
He seemed determined to stay.
So I picked the kitten up
and said:
"Okay."
|
|
[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
|
Grumbling, Rob walked to the door. *Probably Jehovah's Witnesses again.*
The door opened to reveal a tall, intimidating skeletal figure in a flowing black robe with a scythe.
Death, unmistakable. When you meet him, face to face, you can feel it in your very gut. No costume or CGI can compare with the feeling of breathing his oder and feeling his presence.
Stunned, Rob waited for Death to great him, or maybe offer to play a game for his life.
Instead, Death croaked "I'm so sorry." And he genuinely sounded like it.
"Wha--? I'm c-confused." Rob replied. *Is.. is that a tear coming out of his empty eye-socket?*
"I'm sorry man. I think I hit your cat while I was driving to Amelia's. I'm sorry, it was an accident. I tried to break."
For the first time, Rob noticed the kitten cradled in deaths arms in fetal position with its tiny paws curled, blood dribbling from it's mouth, it's eyes open wide in innocence, as if asking what it had done to deserve this.
Rob averted his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at dead pets.
"I'm sorry." Death offered again, looking more distraught over it than Rob. Rob knew how terrible it felt to hit any kind of animal with your car, much less someone's beloved pet.
"Uhh.. I don't have any pets." Rob stammered. "It must be the neighbors. Um. Try the second house across the street. They have cats. Sorry man it.. it happens to everyone."
Death turned to leave.
"But you know." he stammered.
Death turned to look back at Rob. *Those are definitely tears.*
"You know, thanks for asking. And not, like, just driving off."
Death turned and silently floated over towards Rob's neighbor.
Rob watched for a while with a lump in his throat and then closed the door.
*Well, I guess everyone feels bad when they run over a pet.. even death.*
He collapsed on to the couch in a daze and let out a deep breath of air, his mind still milling over what happened. So many questions. *I'm shaking,* Rob realized.
Suddenly the realization struck him. "AMELIA!"
"AMELIA... NO!"
Franticly he pulled out his cell-phone and dialed his girl-friends number.
He heard the dial tone once.
Twice.
Three times.
"Please leave a message after the beep."
"AMELIA! If you get this message, don't answer the door! Just stay were you are! I'm going to call 911 and I'll be right over! You'll be alright, OK? Pick up your phone Amelia! Please! Amelia!"
--
In another house, a phone rang three times and then went to voice mail.
In the distance, sirens started to wail.
---
[Link to my previous writing prompt, Write a story with as many /r/WritingPrompts clichés as possible](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/32qi9k/wp_write_a_story_with_as_many_rwritingprompts/cqeatdm?context=3)
|
There He stood, kitten in hand
eyes that glared from a hoody
branded with what I think must be
his favourite band.
 
Hunch on his back, breathing lazy,
bony fingers caressing
the kitten purring and my
vision hazy.
 
"Here I am" He growled like a teenage fright
threw His shoes
walked by, into the house;
my mouth agape into the night.
 
"I have come, a bit too soon,
got impatient, my mistake,
happens at times,
once in a blue moon."
 
The kitten purred and jumped away.
"You'll be dead"
He rasped from the sofa.
"You'll be dead, but not today."
 
"I shall be your shadow, your trigger,
an extension of the darkness
a bullet to the gun
bound to your finger."
 
He stood up and poured a glass
"16th of June,
two months from now,
dust you'll have for an ass."
 
He seemed determined to stay.
So I picked the kitten up
and said:
"Okay."
|
|
[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
|
Live kittens made great gifts and dead ones were threats. This was standard relationship protocol.
Then again, our wasn't a standard relationship.
Death pushed the wet furball into my arms and threw back his hood, smiling in that crooked way of his. It wasn't friendly or threatening. It simply was, just like us.
"A gift, I brought you a gift, I hope you like the gift," he said. He shuffled past me and into my apartment, his steepled hands and slouch turning him into a caricature of himself. I sighed and closed the door. He smelled like formaldehyde, clinical and musky, and it overpowered the air freshener I recently sprayed all over my apartment.
"I'd prefer it if it were alive."
He turned and frowned at me. "Whyever would you prefer that? Live things need to be fed, need to be bathed, need to be brought to the doctor. Dead kittens are better, no, best. His name is Mister, by the way, but you needn't call him to know where he is, which is another good thing."
Throwing his gift in the trash would be an insult. Instead I left Mister on a patch of sunlight on my mahogany table. He'd have liked that spot if he was alive. "You seem to have missed the part where I'm alive, bud," I said. "Been alive for a few thousand years now too."
He shuddered at the reminder and shook his finger at me, his face momentarily showing hundreds of thousands of wrinkles before fading back into the nondescript brown-haired, brown-eyed look he always wore. "I told you not to wish that, told you but you wouldn't listen. That's not my fault, not my fault. Nope."
It was slight, barely a tremble in his hand, but I noticed it. He was getting weaker. "Are you all right?" It was a dumb question. Even if anything happened to him, he' be okay. He was Death - what was the worst that could happen? He couldn't very well die. I told myself that the first time I noticed him slouching, and the first time I noticed him shuffling around instead of teleporting from one end of the room to another.
I wanted to tell myself that again, but I was having a hard time today.
Death smiled at me and lowered himself onto my sofa slowly, ever so slowly. "No, not all right. Not all right." He patted the white leather, beckoning me to sit beside him. I shook my head and leaned against the marble counter of my kitchen.
Outside, a few birds twittered.
He didn't seem to understand and looked patiently at me. He'd been getting slower as the years went by. I remembered the first time I saw him, proud as a Spartan General and every bit as fierce. He glided through the battlefield, taking lives without a glance. Now he had dark rings under sunken eyes and skin so pale it blended with my sofa.
I relented and sat beside him.
"They're getting smarter, boy, much smarter," he said. "Fewer wars, fewer plagues, fewer everything." He stared into space, then at his hands on his lap. "More hospitals, more medicines, more doctors - you're a doctor, aren't you?" He smiled at me. "Your patients okay?"
I couldn't answer him. I couldn't answer the phone vibrating in my pocket either.
"Soon it'll be just you, boy. When I can't move, you gotta help me, okay? And when I'm gone, you carry on for me, okay? " He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "I got to go, got to go. Someone in the hospital down the road's due in five minutes. You take care of Mister. He'll keep forever, I made sure o' that. You take care of Mister until after they don't need me anymore and I'd gone." With that, Death stood, patted my head, and left.
My phone was still ringing when I threw it in the garbage.
|
There He stood, kitten in hand
eyes that glared from a hoody
branded with what I think must be
his favourite band.
 
Hunch on his back, breathing lazy,
bony fingers caressing
the kitten purring and my
vision hazy.
 
"Here I am" He growled like a teenage fright
threw His shoes
walked by, into the house;
my mouth agape into the night.
 
"I have come, a bit too soon,
got impatient, my mistake,
happens at times,
once in a blue moon."
 
The kitten purred and jumped away.
"You'll be dead"
He rasped from the sofa.
"You'll be dead, but not today."
 
"I shall be your shadow, your trigger,
an extension of the darkness
a bullet to the gun
bound to your finger."
 
He stood up and poured a glass
"16th of June,
two months from now,
dust you'll have for an ass."
 
He seemed determined to stay.
So I picked the kitten up
and said:
"Okay."
|
|
[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
|
"Good evening sir, may I take a moment to talk to you about this kitten?" And with that he was in my house.
"Excuse me," I said bewildered by this sudden intrusion. "What are you doing with that kitten."
"Proving a point" Death said flatly. And with that he glided quickly to my sink and held the kitten above the drain. "Your life is like this kitten."
I stood there stunned and a little bemused. "How's that?" I asked.
"Over," and with that he dropped the kitten into the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal in one smooth movement.
It took a moment for death to realize nothing had happened. "It's been broken for a few weeks now. I dropped my class ring in there and it jammed up the blades. I got a really nasty cut when I reached in to get. It got infected but my doctor prescribed me some antibiotics."
Death stood there a moment a little deflated. "Well let me try again how bout?" And with that he swooped up the kitten and made his way to the cage where I kept my pet snake. "Your life is over!" He boomed, dropping the kitten into the cage.
Silence. Death's glorious black orbs watched expectantly as my snake lay quite still bathing in the radiant heat of it's lamp. "I already fed him." I responded timidly out of fear of invoking death's anger any further.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Death exclaimed, exasperated. "Well, watch this." And with that he whisked me and the cat to the rooftop and promptly threw the cat to the ground.
The cat, now clearly agitated, landed safely on it's feet and looked up at us with a slightly annoyed look on it's face. "This is your first cat isn't it?" I asked.
In a fit of despair Death pushed me off the roof and disappeared just as quickly as he'd come.
Mfw I now have a broken leg.
Mfw I now have a cat.
|
There He stood, kitten in hand
eyes that glared from a hoody
branded with what I think must be
his favourite band.
 
Hunch on his back, breathing lazy,
bony fingers caressing
the kitten purring and my
vision hazy.
 
"Here I am" He growled like a teenage fright
threw His shoes
walked by, into the house;
my mouth agape into the night.
 
"I have come, a bit too soon,
got impatient, my mistake,
happens at times,
once in a blue moon."
 
The kitten purred and jumped away.
"You'll be dead"
He rasped from the sofa.
"You'll be dead, but not today."
 
"I shall be your shadow, your trigger,
an extension of the darkness
a bullet to the gun
bound to your finger."
 
He stood up and poured a glass
"16th of June,
two months from now,
dust you'll have for an ass."
 
He seemed determined to stay.
So I picked the kitten up
and said:
"Okay."
|
|
[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
|
Live kittens made great gifts and dead ones were threats. This was standard relationship protocol.
Then again, our wasn't a standard relationship.
Death pushed the wet furball into my arms and threw back his hood, smiling in that crooked way of his. It wasn't friendly or threatening. It simply was, just like us.
"A gift, I brought you a gift, I hope you like the gift," he said. He shuffled past me and into my apartment, his steepled hands and slouch turning him into a caricature of himself. I sighed and closed the door. He smelled like formaldehyde, clinical and musky, and it overpowered the air freshener I recently sprayed all over my apartment.
"I'd prefer it if it were alive."
He turned and frowned at me. "Whyever would you prefer that? Live things need to be fed, need to be bathed, need to be brought to the doctor. Dead kittens are better, no, best. His name is Mister, by the way, but you needn't call him to know where he is, which is another good thing."
Throwing his gift in the trash would be an insult. Instead I left Mister on a patch of sunlight on my mahogany table. He'd have liked that spot if he was alive. "You seem to have missed the part where I'm alive, bud," I said. "Been alive for a few thousand years now too."
He shuddered at the reminder and shook his finger at me, his face momentarily showing hundreds of thousands of wrinkles before fading back into the nondescript brown-haired, brown-eyed look he always wore. "I told you not to wish that, told you but you wouldn't listen. That's not my fault, not my fault. Nope."
It was slight, barely a tremble in his hand, but I noticed it. He was getting weaker. "Are you all right?" It was a dumb question. Even if anything happened to him, he' be okay. He was Death - what was the worst that could happen? He couldn't very well die. I told myself that the first time I noticed him slouching, and the first time I noticed him shuffling around instead of teleporting from one end of the room to another.
I wanted to tell myself that again, but I was having a hard time today.
Death smiled at me and lowered himself onto my sofa slowly, ever so slowly. "No, not all right. Not all right." He patted the white leather, beckoning me to sit beside him. I shook my head and leaned against the marble counter of my kitchen.
Outside, a few birds twittered.
He didn't seem to understand and looked patiently at me. He'd been getting slower as the years went by. I remembered the first time I saw him, proud as a Spartan General and every bit as fierce. He glided through the battlefield, taking lives without a glance. Now he had dark rings under sunken eyes and skin so pale it blended with my sofa.
I relented and sat beside him.
"They're getting smarter, boy, much smarter," he said. "Fewer wars, fewer plagues, fewer everything." He stared into space, then at his hands on his lap. "More hospitals, more medicines, more doctors - you're a doctor, aren't you?" He smiled at me. "Your patients okay?"
I couldn't answer him. I couldn't answer the phone vibrating in my pocket either.
"Soon it'll be just you, boy. When I can't move, you gotta help me, okay? And when I'm gone, you carry on for me, okay? " He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "I got to go, got to go. Someone in the hospital down the road's due in five minutes. You take care of Mister. He'll keep forever, I made sure o' that. You take care of Mister until after they don't need me anymore and I'd gone." With that, Death stood, patted my head, and left.
My phone was still ringing when I threw it in the garbage.
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Death stood there looking really terrifying. The thing that really broke it was the kitten he was holding in his hands.
"Ok, I have been looking around and noticed this kitten on the ground. Is it yours?" "No sorry, I don't own a kitten" I replied, "Oh ok then. I don't even know how it got here. May as well keep it!"
He turned around and tripped over and cracked his skull. I closed my door, turned around and went back to bed. "what the fuck was that" I said as I lay down. "Well I may as well get some sleep. I need to be ready to go back to cleaning Satan's private room. Man living in hell sucks"
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My first WP^^^pls ^^^don't ^^^hurt ^^^me
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[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
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"Good evening sir, may I take a moment to talk to you about this kitten?" And with that he was in my house.
"Excuse me," I said bewildered by this sudden intrusion. "What are you doing with that kitten."
"Proving a point" Death said flatly. And with that he glided quickly to my sink and held the kitten above the drain. "Your life is like this kitten."
I stood there stunned and a little bemused. "How's that?" I asked.
"Over," and with that he dropped the kitten into the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal in one smooth movement.
It took a moment for death to realize nothing had happened. "It's been broken for a few weeks now. I dropped my class ring in there and it jammed up the blades. I got a really nasty cut when I reached in to get. It got infected but my doctor prescribed me some antibiotics."
Death stood there a moment a little deflated. "Well let me try again how bout?" And with that he swooped up the kitten and made his way to the cage where I kept my pet snake. "Your life is over!" He boomed, dropping the kitten into the cage.
Silence. Death's glorious black orbs watched expectantly as my snake lay quite still bathing in the radiant heat of it's lamp. "I already fed him." I responded timidly out of fear of invoking death's anger any further.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Death exclaimed, exasperated. "Well, watch this." And with that he whisked me and the cat to the rooftop and promptly threw the cat to the ground.
The cat, now clearly agitated, landed safely on it's feet and looked up at us with a slightly annoyed look on it's face. "This is your first cat isn't it?" I asked.
In a fit of despair Death pushed me off the roof and disappeared just as quickly as he'd come.
Mfw I now have a broken leg.
Mfw I now have a cat.
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Death stood there looking really terrifying. The thing that really broke it was the kitten he was holding in his hands.
"Ok, I have been looking around and noticed this kitten on the ground. Is it yours?" "No sorry, I don't own a kitten" I replied, "Oh ok then. I don't even know how it got here. May as well keep it!"
He turned around and tripped over and cracked his skull. I closed my door, turned around and went back to bed. "what the fuck was that" I said as I lay down. "Well I may as well get some sleep. I need to be ready to go back to cleaning Satan's private room. Man living in hell sucks"
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My first WP^^^pls ^^^don't ^^^hurt ^^^me
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[WP] After hearing a knock, you open the front door and discover Death standing there holding a kitten instead of his scythe.
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"Good evening sir, may I take a moment to talk to you about this kitten?" And with that he was in my house.
"Excuse me," I said bewildered by this sudden intrusion. "What are you doing with that kitten."
"Proving a point" Death said flatly. And with that he glided quickly to my sink and held the kitten above the drain. "Your life is like this kitten."
I stood there stunned and a little bemused. "How's that?" I asked.
"Over," and with that he dropped the kitten into the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal in one smooth movement.
It took a moment for death to realize nothing had happened. "It's been broken for a few weeks now. I dropped my class ring in there and it jammed up the blades. I got a really nasty cut when I reached in to get. It got infected but my doctor prescribed me some antibiotics."
Death stood there a moment a little deflated. "Well let me try again how bout?" And with that he swooped up the kitten and made his way to the cage where I kept my pet snake. "Your life is over!" He boomed, dropping the kitten into the cage.
Silence. Death's glorious black orbs watched expectantly as my snake lay quite still bathing in the radiant heat of it's lamp. "I already fed him." I responded timidly out of fear of invoking death's anger any further.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Death exclaimed, exasperated. "Well, watch this." And with that he whisked me and the cat to the rooftop and promptly threw the cat to the ground.
The cat, now clearly agitated, landed safely on it's feet and looked up at us with a slightly annoyed look on it's face. "This is your first cat isn't it?" I asked.
In a fit of despair Death pushed me off the roof and disappeared just as quickly as he'd come.
Mfw I now have a broken leg.
Mfw I now have a cat.
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I hear a knock on the door. I get up from my computer and open it. Death is standing on the welcome mat.
"Death?!? What the fuck. I'm 21 years old dude. I just got a girlfriend and a job, life is finally looking up. I'm not ready man, please don't do this."
Death laughs. "Oh, no, that's not why I'm here." He reaches into his robe, pulling out a kitten and an old radio. "I'm done with the whole 'taking your soul' thing. I was watching The Price is Right last month, and one of the commercials really struck a chord. I've decided to do some good for once."
"Okay...."
"Right. One second." He places the radio on the ground and presses play.
The eyes of the kitten become wide and teary as the voice of Sarah McLachlan flows from the speaker: *In the arms of an angel...*
"Every year, millions of animals are abused. For just $29.99 a month, you..."
*Slam*
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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
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In the old temple there played a little girl.
She didn't even know what sort of temple she was. She just played there. Sometimes people would leave offerings to the god. She would eat them, and as it was generally understood that gods didn't *really* eat the food they were offered no one really minded.
One day her mother decided that the little girl aught to be married. A man was chosen from another village, and a priest. The ceremony was to take place in the very same temple where the little girl played every day.
The little girl didn't really understand about marriage, but she knew it was meant to be good. She wore a pretty red dress and covered her face with a red veil and adorned herself with what little jewelry her mother had. The man had never seen her face, nor had she seen his - not that was she old enough to know why she aught to care what her husband's face looked like.
On the day of the ceremony, upon the alter, the man lifted her veil and gave a horrified gasp. He took a big step back, and, his face started turning red with anger, he stormed out of the temple.
Everyone was puzzled, especially the girl's mother who had painstakingly ensured that both families were happy and everything went smoothly for her little girl. The little girl was a bit hurt, but soon went back to playing in the temple with her friends and forgot about the event. The villagers decided that the disgruntled groom was simply being unreasonable.
A few weeks later, a rumor started floating around the neighboring villages, of the man who had arranged to be wed to a young child bride, but when he lifted her veil he saw the face of an old, graying woman staring up at him.
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The sun hangs low in the Sahel lingering, perhaps an omen. Alia prepares kawari with the family's last supplies, just the hooves of the sheep she slaughtered weeks ago and a handful of dried okra, all that's left. The summer has been unforgiving. She is alone with her three brothers, their matron at eleven the result of the ongoing conflict in Sudan. I have seen a universe of suffering but this girl's is unique. I have looked back at her experience and have found no understanding. She has never wept for better times. Even when she hid on the road outside of her village and watched her parents raped and murdered and left to rot she didn't mourn. She held her brothers through the night and dug graves with her hands in the morning. By the time she was finished her village was ashes, so she took her brothers and went west through the desert.
*How can she endure this life?*
When her youngest brother Tahir collapsed during the journey into the desert she told him the story of his birth. About the celebration and the feast and the joy in their father's eyes and how she had to help her mother prepare the food but all she wanted to do was hold her baby brother - like she was now. Her mind was still as he slipped away, her sentiments only for the living. She left her brother in the sand.
Now the sun has barely changed. Long shadows creep through the desert, a jeep with seven men carrying rifles approaches from the east. Alia hears the engine roaring half a kilometer away. Her brothers arm themselves with rocks and she whispers goodbye to them and waits. Two guns sound and two brothers fall hands still clenched around desert rocks. At first it's unclear why they save the third boy until they strip the rags from his body. That is until they smell Alia's soup and then they spot her. They execute the third boy and approach their new prize and make her cry out to a god who doesn't answer.
On Earth they call me time, I have the power to save this girl but I cannot change her life. So I take it all back to the celebration of Tahir's birth and the look in her fathers eyes and I let it play a little while. I see her happy there, a proud sister holding her new baby brother - crying tears of joy. When her last tear falls I let it all end and time stops and there's no more suffering except for mine.
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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
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In the old temple there played a little girl.
She didn't even know what sort of temple she was. She just played there. Sometimes people would leave offerings to the god. She would eat them, and as it was generally understood that gods didn't *really* eat the food they were offered no one really minded.
One day her mother decided that the little girl aught to be married. A man was chosen from another village, and a priest. The ceremony was to take place in the very same temple where the little girl played every day.
The little girl didn't really understand about marriage, but she knew it was meant to be good. She wore a pretty red dress and covered her face with a red veil and adorned herself with what little jewelry her mother had. The man had never seen her face, nor had she seen his - not that was she old enough to know why she aught to care what her husband's face looked like.
On the day of the ceremony, upon the alter, the man lifted her veil and gave a horrified gasp. He took a big step back, and, his face started turning red with anger, he stormed out of the temple.
Everyone was puzzled, especially the girl's mother who had painstakingly ensured that both families were happy and everything went smoothly for her little girl. The little girl was a bit hurt, but soon went back to playing in the temple with her friends and forgot about the event. The villagers decided that the disgruntled groom was simply being unreasonable.
A few weeks later, a rumor started floating around the neighboring villages, of the man who had arranged to be wed to a young child bride, but when he lifted her veil he saw the face of an old, graying woman staring up at him.
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Time had marched on, marches on and would march on again, eventually. Time knew this because this is what Time had always done, since she had first realized what she was. To the Greeks she was Cronos or Aion. To their contemporaries he had evolved into Father time and Time assumed that he enjoyed being Father Time.
Father Time, he thought–not that he had to be a he but the idea grew on him–suited him although he disliked the thought of being elderly with long flowing beard. He always thought himself as on–the–hill rather than over-the-hill.
He thought a lot of things because there was always a lot of time to think. When you are Time there is nothing but time. He always wondered if other Deities could see him. He figured some of the more powerful ones might. He could see them, the hand of fate affecting so many lives, handing out unfair advantages, smiling upon those with a pedigree.
The thought that they might see him comforted him. He was running out of ideas. Perhaps the Gods of Fortune–but they favored the bold– or Lady Luck–if she was truly a Lady as Frank Sinatra hoped–could help him. Perhaps the Abrahamic God could help him or the Universe could spare some Karma or Shiva or Vishnu could pull some strings for him. Perhaps the Elder Gods could pull some dark ritual and death might even die but Time knew that the Elder Gods were more literary and less divine than the situation warranted.
Time hoped even deeper. Maybe the Flying Spaghetti Monster could get off its noodle-y ass and do something but who was he kidding? The flying Spaghetti monster was just a newly born babe who couldn't do anything in the case of this non-believer. Time just wished he saw anyone but Death standing right there, waiting for Time to March on.
Death couldn't really do anything unless Time Marched On, he knew that. So Time stayed where he was watching the daughter he never had. The girl who was always on time. The girl who always arrived 15 minutes early. The girl who didn't even have to look at her watch when you asked what time it was because she had a great internal clock.
Time had been with her since the day she was born–as he was with everyone but she was different–and felt for once appreciated. She didn't have much. She was a poor girl in a dying city. Detroit, just like this girl, had little time left. But where as Detroit had decades, this girl only had moments before she was to be shot accidentally during a gang related incident. Time knew where she would go, because Time had seen it and promptly Marched Backwards hoping that if given enough opportunities, she could avoid it.
This obviously didn't work. Time couldn't communicate with her in any way. Time couldn't do anything but march on. He could rewind, play, fast forward if he wanted to. In fact, he didn't even have to be here at all, except that he was everywhere marching on.
Even if Time knew the tragedy, he stayed with her cursing his inability. He needed someone, anyone, other than that fucking Grim Reaper who seemed to smile at him, though the Grim Reaper was also subject to his rules. He had tried to talk to the Grim Reaper, but like everyone else–deities included–they weren't really aware of Time. They just knew that Time Marched On. Time goes forward. Except now.
Standing near the mortal daughter he wanted to adopt he waited. He looked at her beautiful mocha complexion, her outrageous graphic t-shirt and jeans adorned with rhinestones in youthful patterns. He wanted to protect her. He couldn't even if he–Time–was on her side.
He wished that she could be anywhere else, but he couldn't move her–he could only March. He wished that he could just let her move forward–but when he marched on everything moved forward. He was at a crossroads, so for what was a long time for him–Time stood still.
Destinee, only a few steps away from walking into a path from a stray bullet, was walking holding a flower from a local florist shop. Time thought she was beautiful in her last moment. He at least could take solace in that.
After an eternity, he reluctantly marched. He watched the bullet fly out. He watched her collapse and her T-shirt soak with blood and as the Grim Reaper descended upon her, Time threw himself upon the girl as well, trying for naught to protect her.
As he crouched over her, his back to Death, he saw the bullet in her. It was strange, because he wasn't used to seeing through people, but he could see the bullet in Destinee's heart. He reached his hand through Destinee's chest and grabbed it and suddenly Death began to move of its own accord right next to him despite the fact that Time was not marching. Time had never seen anyone move when he did not.
"I wondered," said Death, "when you would realize."
Time spoke and was surprised at the deep, timbre of a voice he never used before,
"Realize what?"
"You idiot," said Death, "here you are, crying over the death of a girl you could have long ago prevented. Have you never heard them say it before? Time heals all wounds."
Time thought about it for a moment as death flew away not needing to bother Destinee for several decades now. He looked back at Destinee who despite having been shot and collapsing against the outside wall of a Bodega had a small smile on her face. Perhaps she knew as well.
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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
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In the old temple there played a little girl.
She didn't even know what sort of temple she was. She just played there. Sometimes people would leave offerings to the god. She would eat them, and as it was generally understood that gods didn't *really* eat the food they were offered no one really minded.
One day her mother decided that the little girl aught to be married. A man was chosen from another village, and a priest. The ceremony was to take place in the very same temple where the little girl played every day.
The little girl didn't really understand about marriage, but she knew it was meant to be good. She wore a pretty red dress and covered her face with a red veil and adorned herself with what little jewelry her mother had. The man had never seen her face, nor had she seen his - not that was she old enough to know why she aught to care what her husband's face looked like.
On the day of the ceremony, upon the alter, the man lifted her veil and gave a horrified gasp. He took a big step back, and, his face started turning red with anger, he stormed out of the temple.
Everyone was puzzled, especially the girl's mother who had painstakingly ensured that both families were happy and everything went smoothly for her little girl. The little girl was a bit hurt, but soon went back to playing in the temple with her friends and forgot about the event. The villagers decided that the disgruntled groom was simply being unreasonable.
A few weeks later, a rumor started floating around the neighboring villages, of the man who had arranged to be wed to a young child bride, but when he lifted her veil he saw the face of an old, graying woman staring up at him.
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In all of my ravages, I had never seen such a sorrowful creature. The girl couldn't have been much older than seven... or perhaps eight. It is tough to think in terms as minute as your years for me, but she seemed very small so that guess is where I will leave it. In all of the vast stretches endlessly pouring around me I saw her, like a glimmer of light that cut through a cloud just for a moment. Well, not quite like that, but how else would I explain it to you? Anyway, I simply had to have a closer look. I took in her life and had a peek of course, as anyone in my circumstance would, and I'll be damned if I don't count her moment among my absolute favorites!
Here is a girl who is given so very little that it is difficult for me to tell if her imagination failed to expand for ignorance of her conditions or as a result of them. Deplorable little thing really. Of course naturally I would have thought at this point she is just one of the countless others I have watched wash in and out of this plane if I didn't know any better.
Then there it is! My beacon piercing through to greet me. Never would have guessed in an eternity I would find so many as five, but here she is, my eighth! It's tough to explain you see, but some of these people on your side of the lens actually have quite a natural gift for temporal empathy, and where they shine I can feel through. I know that sounds odd, but in their moments of deepest emotion I get to feel it with them, which might sound a bit dull to you, but I assure you it is quite the treat to a cantankerous lonely being.
From that moment she shone until the day she ended I was with her. I laughed happily with her, cried when we felt it, and loved more poignantly than any of the other seven. I owed her something for that.
I paid her with the only coin that I hold.
I made sure every happy moment was an eternity for Eight, and our suffering was assuaged by my passage, naturally. Our love was toxicly sweet. We once spent an evening dancing that lasted longer than all of the Roman Empire, excluding Four of course, and I still hadn't had enough! Quite a dangerous emotion, if you were to ask me, but I digress.
I still go and visit her in that dilapidated hovel. Or perhaps I look forward to having visited her upon that day? It is difficult for me to describe tense when everything happens simultaneously. Suffice it to say, that in all of the gray waste of eternity it is simply lovely to have my Eight.
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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
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In the old temple there played a little girl.
She didn't even know what sort of temple she was. She just played there. Sometimes people would leave offerings to the god. She would eat them, and as it was generally understood that gods didn't *really* eat the food they were offered no one really minded.
One day her mother decided that the little girl aught to be married. A man was chosen from another village, and a priest. The ceremony was to take place in the very same temple where the little girl played every day.
The little girl didn't really understand about marriage, but she knew it was meant to be good. She wore a pretty red dress and covered her face with a red veil and adorned herself with what little jewelry her mother had. The man had never seen her face, nor had she seen his - not that was she old enough to know why she aught to care what her husband's face looked like.
On the day of the ceremony, upon the alter, the man lifted her veil and gave a horrified gasp. He took a big step back, and, his face started turning red with anger, he stormed out of the temple.
Everyone was puzzled, especially the girl's mother who had painstakingly ensured that both families were happy and everything went smoothly for her little girl. The little girl was a bit hurt, but soon went back to playing in the temple with her friends and forgot about the event. The villagers decided that the disgruntled groom was simply being unreasonable.
A few weeks later, a rumor started floating around the neighboring villages, of the man who had arranged to be wed to a young child bride, but when he lifted her veil he saw the face of an old, graying woman staring up at him.
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*She looks just like me*, mulls Chronos. On her knees, she rubs the young girl's cheek, youthful and smooth. Letting her hand rest on it, her heart quickens as she feels its warmth, like a little sun.
*I shouldn't be here,* she considers without movement. Nothing moves, as time and space are hers to dictate. But transfixed, she can't help but indulge in this rare gift of life.
"AH CHOO!" The girl sneezes.
Yelping, Chronas loses balance and falls back. Her mouth hangs agape as the girl's eyes go as wide as hers.
"Wow! You're dress is so pretty!" She takes a few steps forward and Chronos squirms back an equal distance, until her back crashes into a kitchen drawer. Undeterred, the girl rubs the silky white dress covering Chronos' feminine body, until the child notices her long, flowing blonde hair. She tangles her tiny hand in a long strand and tugs it playfully.
"Hey, stop!"
Chronos smacks the girl's hand away instinctively. The child's smile vanishes as Chronos' chest aches immediately in guilt. Eye to eye, the stare at one another carefully.
"I'm not pretty enough to play with you, am I?"
Chronos rolls back onto knees, reaches out and embraces the girl.
"No, no not at all. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
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We all know Saturn’s (or Kronos if you like) story - an early titan, born of Gaia and Uranus. He castrated his own father, he devoured 5 of his children, and eventually overcome by his only surviving son: Jupiter (Zeus). We don’t know his life after. Shortly, he became the god of time - though “god” is a loose term here coined by the Romans. He is more of a wandering being, and while he governs time, he is far from what we consider “a god.” He is a slave to his scythe, the true instrument of time where even the slightest swing could see centuries moved forward. While Saturn does not experience time the same as humans, he began developing affections and relations with certain people on Earth. He refused to become jaded like his brethren and would find certain beings to “help” in time.
In recent times, Saturn began a relationship with a young Indian girl, Mara. Her parents cursed her with the same name of the demon who tempted Buddha. For this, she was shunned by her peers as if she were doomed to become some sickly whore who preyed upon unsuspecting men. Her village is rather poor, even though it is situated next to a prominent city. Mara and her family often found themselves straining water through a filthy T-shirt and picking through the near-by landfill for food. Saturn happened upon this village and immediately took a liking to Mara. He often found her by the river, playing with feral dogs and chickens. Even though she was bit several times, she would always return to the same spot. At first, he watched from afar, taking in her actions. Then, he began playing with her disguised as a dark brown dog with a white snout and copper eyes. He started protecting her when the other dogs got aggressive, and soon the two had a budding friendship that would continue everyday.
Mara, being only 8, started talking to Saturn in his dog form. He was very tempted to respond as she would often ask him questions about his origins and his favorite color. Soon, she started having full conversations with him and he would reply by wagging his tail, barking softly, or nuzzling up to her. After a few months of this one-way conversation, Saturn decided he would talk to her. At first she was confused, the words came from her head but she wasn’t thinking of them. Eventually, Saturn clarified it was the dog speaking.
“But, you’re a dog, you can’t speak.”
“I am more than a dog, Mara. This is only a number of forms I can take.”
“So you’re not a dog?”
“I am, and I am not. I became a dog because you seemed to like them and it would allow me to be around you. You see, I’m much older than you. I am older than you, your parents, your parents’ parents, and so on. I am older than the trees, than the oceans, than the Earth itself. I was there when the universe started, Mara.”
“But, how are you alive now?”
“I am not like a dog, or a human. I’m much different than that. But, enough about me. I have certain skills that could help you if you wanted it. Think of an event in your life that you want to relive again, or something you want to erase. I can do that.”
“I don’t remember being born, but my parents say it was the happiest day of their life.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that event. Maybe something you can actually remember, think about it.”
Mara thought for a moment. She had several great memories, but it was hard to pick one. There was a moment, in spring, where her parents took her to the gardens right outside the village. They were far from the city, in a rural area where people lived off the land and didn’t worry about pollution or poverty. She remembers running through acres of flowers, bright yellow in their splendor. Saturn had been listening to her thoughts, suddenly she was transported back in time to that place. At first, she wasn’t sure if it was still a memory. But, the *smells* started to fill her nostrils. The sweet scents of hundreds of blooming flowers flooded her senses. She knelt down to touch one of them, rubbing the silky petals between her fingertips. She couldn’t believe it, she was actually back in time - her family just a short distance away calling her name.
“We can go here anytime you want, Mara.”
She turned around. Saturn sat among the flowers, watching her intently. He was panting and wagging his tail fervently. Mara smiled and just as sudden as her transportation she was thrust forward in time to the moment she left.
“How did you do that?”
“I control time. I can make any point in time happen at any moment. I speed it up, slow it down, and stop it completely.”
From then on, Mara would meet Saturn by the river and they would go back in time for a few moments. This happened for another year and Saturn grew even fonder of Mara. He started to see her for the truly beautiful person she was and loved her like a daughter. On a beautiful summer day, Saturn returned to their meeting spot only to find Mara absent. He waited for a few hours, merely nanoseconds to him. Then, he started sniffing around to find her. Her house was situated low to the ground on top of a hillside so there was a significant gap between the walls of her room and the crest of the hill. Saturn crawled up to the shack to spy into her dwellings. Mara was in her makeshift bed, seemingly asleep; upon further inspection, Saturn discovered she was ill. He didn’t know what was the cause, but he knew the prognosis was rather grave given her living situations. Her condition only grew worse after a week, Saturn realized she didn’t have a lot of time left, something of which he had plenty. He wanted to plead to his fellow gods to save her, but he knew that it was one of them whose organisms caused her illness in the first place; and they could not break that treaty, not for one girl.
One night, Saturn crept into her room while her parents lay asleep. Mara was incoherent with fever, but he knew what she wanted. He sent her back to the gardens where she wasn’t ill. At first, she was bewildered. She still felt the effects of her fever, even though in this memory she didn’t have one. Saturn’s words echoed in her mind, once again. After a few minutes, she regained full consciousness.
“Why am I here, am I better?”
“...no, Mara. You are not better. But, I thought this memory would help you.”
“Help me how?”
“You are dying, child. You will not last more than a week.”
“How...do you know?”
“I have been around since the beginning of forever. I have seen many die, and I know when it will happen.”
Mara was sad, but couldn’t cry. She knew, at the onset of her sickness, that she probably wouldn’t make it; her parents would often cry outside her room, thinking she couldn’t hear them.
“Oh...then why am I here? Shouldn’t I just die?”
“I can keep you here, Mara. And you wouldn’t die. You would be in this memory forever. Unfortunately, if we ever left this memory, you would be dead and we couldn’t go back to it.”
“So, if I stay here, I’ll already be dead?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I don’t think I want that.”
Saturn was surprised by her response, “Why, my child?”
“All the time I’m here, I’ll be thinking about being dead. I can’t enjoy this if I’m really dead. No, that would be torture. My dad was tortured by the Muslims and he says he hopes no one ever has to experience that. I know he would be even more sad if I had to live through this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t want that.”
Saturn knew what would happen. He forced himself to see the alternate timelines where Mara found fortune for her family, had children of her own, grew old, and died with natural comfort. But, time doesn’t work that way and he knew it. He transported the two of them to the present and Mara was feverishly incoherent again. Leaving his disguise, he returned to his true form: a hooded man with a large scythe. Mara couldn’t see or hear him now, that he could be sure of. She was suffering, her whole body in pain from whatever phantom microbe or parasite caused it. With a slight movement of his scythe, he sped up her suffering bringing her to her moment of death. The last few seconds of her life was the longest stretch of time he experienced for millennia to come. Her parents were both relieved and disturbed to find her dead in the morning. They thought she had at least a few more days with them. Saturn continued to visit them at their shack until they passed away as well. He still wanders the river from time to time, playing with children. He never quite found another Mara, and from that moment on lost his interest in humans.
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*She looks just like me*, mulls Chronos. On her knees, she rubs the young girl's cheek, youthful and smooth. Letting her hand rest on it, her heart quickens as she feels its warmth, like a little sun.
*I shouldn't be here,* she considers without movement. Nothing moves, as time and space are hers to dictate. But transfixed, she can't help but indulge in this rare gift of life.
"AH CHOO!" The girl sneezes.
Yelping, Chronas loses balance and falls back. Her mouth hangs agape as the girl's eyes go as wide as hers.
"Wow! You're dress is so pretty!" She takes a few steps forward and Chronos squirms back an equal distance, until her back crashes into a kitchen drawer. Undeterred, the girl rubs the silky white dress covering Chronos' feminine body, until the child notices her long, flowing blonde hair. She tangles her tiny hand in a long strand and tugs it playfully.
"Hey, stop!"
Chronos smacks the girl's hand away instinctively. The child's smile vanishes as Chronos' chest aches immediately in guilt. Eye to eye, the stare at one another carefully.
"I'm not pretty enough to play with you, am I?"
Chronos rolls back onto knees, reaches out and embraces the girl.
"No, no not at all. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
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All she ever does is look longingly at those around her. Every person who looks back at her in disgust, she only wishes that she could be in their position; able to have enough to be above others. But she can't. Nobody is lower than her.
She doesn't even cry anymore. There's nothing to cry about. The same monotony day after day, the suffering blending into one unbroken blur that barely marks the passage of time. She doesn't know what the time is. She doesn't even know what day it is. I can't help but feel sorry for her. A small gasp as she falls asleep for the last time.
Luckily for her, time has run out.
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Time sits and watches as Clair is stuggling to find food. She is digging through the trash out side of a restaurant and as one of the kitchen works comes out with a some mildly burnt food, Time stops the worker and waits for Clair to get out of the dumpster. When she does there is a moment of shock on her face. Noticing that the man is frozen still can be very diorienting. Then she notices that the plate of food is still bellowing up hot steam. So she quickly grabs it and runs away. After that Time releases the worker, who then freaks out momentary because the food he was holding is now gone.
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