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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
|
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 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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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
|
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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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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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
|
I like her because she's different.
Now, I see billions of people, daily. A lot of them are poor. This girl is no exception to that.
But where others would be upset, she is happy. She wants for nothing, despite not having anything.
Her mornings she helps her mother and sister in the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, and in the light of the sunset she runs through the valley below.
She wants days like that to never end. She chases the goats and scrounges for berries and makes up songs about the summer air.
I try to slow down those days. I suppose I thought it was for her, but I know it's because I enjoy watching her play.
Her soul is as light as a feather, her mind a fountain of creativity. Her father has been saving up everything for her and her sister to travel to the city, maybe find work and pay for an education.
She will miss the valley, I think. How the scraggly trees dance in the wind and the grass tickles her feet and the insects sing their lusty songs, learned from a thousand years past...
But that isn't going to happen for a while. At least if I have a say in it, anyways. For now, she and I have all the time in the world to enjoy one another.
|
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.
|
|
[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
|
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.
|
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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[WP] Time is a sentient being. It begins to become fond of a small girl in poor living conditions.
|
I like her because she's different.
Now, I see billions of people, daily. A lot of them are poor. This girl is no exception to that.
But where others would be upset, she is happy. She wants for nothing, despite not having anything.
Her mornings she helps her mother and sister in the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, and in the light of the sunset she runs through the valley below.
She wants days like that to never end. She chases the goats and scrounges for berries and makes up songs about the summer air.
I try to slow down those days. I suppose I thought it was for her, but I know it's because I enjoy watching her play.
Her soul is as light as a feather, her mind a fountain of creativity. Her father has been saving up everything for her and her sister to travel to the city, maybe find work and pay for an education.
She will miss the valley, I think. How the scraggly trees dance in the wind and the grass tickles her feet and the insects sing their lusty songs, learned from a thousand years past...
But that isn't going to happen for a while. At least if I have a say in it, anyways. For now, she and I have all the time in the world to enjoy one another.
|
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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[WP] You are a young child who just realized that you were a little bit "different" than everyone else.
|
We used to play games with mommy and daddy. They loved me so much. One day they showed a little baby and said "This is your sister. Be nice to her and play together."
But my sister was different. She grew up so fast, she became bigger than me in a few years. "No problem" i thought. She was special. She couldn't eat by herself so mommy had to do it.
One day they showed me another baby and said "This is your brother. " But my brother got bigger than me too! And the fact that i am older than them wasn't important because they could eat at the table and eat on a plate when i was still eating on the floor.
But I still love them.
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The other kids would always look at me differently, but in the mirror i could never See anything different. I lived it a world where I couldn't understand many people, my parents were some of the only people that Spoke my language.
No one wanted to play with me at recess. I'd look around at the faces of the other children, they would be laughing at me, but I never knew why. Until I met a girl, she knew my language, she explained they were making fun of the fact I couldn't hear them, so they could say whatever they wanted. She gestured to her ears, then told me I wasn't alone.
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[WP] You are a young child who just realized that you were a little bit "different" than everyone else.
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The thing about being a child is that every new experience is novel and strange; and there are *so many* new experiences.
Parsing them into 'normal' and 'strange' is difficult because you have no frame of reference.
In my case, I wasn't aware that I was 'different' until I was six years old.
Reading came naturally to me, even though both of my parents were barely literate themselves. I wove my developing mind through the refrains of old fairytales, shunning the more popular books for children my age - the ones that were filled with grotesque, garish caricatures of anthropomorphic animals, improbably clothed as though human of body.
Quiet, reflective and studious, I started out as the model of a perfect schoolchild. Teachers found me a joy in their classes and their praise soon earned me the ire of my peers.
The first time I *truly* became aware of my difference was when three other girls dragged me from my lunch time reading, manhandled me into the sandpit and kicked me until I agreed to eat handfuls of gritty, piss-warmed granules to satisfy their animal envy.
I wept through the rest of the day, feeling violated and queasy. My uncharacteristic behaviour forced my teacher to contact my parents, whose ire I *also* gained for pulling them away from their minimum wage job - away from hours they desperately needed to keep the banks off their backs.
My father spanked me and my mother shrieked at me. Confused and broken, my mind fled into its own hidden recesses, to get away from the pain.
For a few moments I stood in a golden forest, lit by the rays of a waning sunset and the cool radiance of a rising moon; the agony and anger forgotten, unreal and incredibly distant.
Then it was all gone and I was bent over the hard-edged surface of the cheap chipboard chairs in the dining room - my cheeks soaked with tears, my throat raw from screaming and my backside layered with burning welts from my father's belt.
That lesson in human nature was never far from my waking thoughts.
The world was unfair and inconsistent, I had learned; there was no guarantee that being 'good' or 'well behaved' wouldn't result in the opposite of what was expected. I daydreamed more and more, trying to find my way back to the gilded leaves of the fairy forest - and as a result, I performed poorly in class. Strangely - or perhaps not - this made my classmates hate me less, but mock me more. I became 'that dumb girl' who could never pay attention in class and who was always missing during recess and lunch.
Then my father's older brother, Sammy, moved in with us after he was released from prison.
Sammy wasn't a drunk, nor was he inherently a bad person. He'd simply been born into a culture that worshipped escapism, so he would part his veins with needles and inject the idea of a better place.
I understood that better than most.
But such profound pleasure is bought dear, I learned. Sammy had an even worse job than my father and it wasn't nearly enough to supplement his heroin dreamings. Sometimes when my parents were still out working and I came home, I could hear bedsprings creak and screel from thrashing bodies, then Sammy would come out with another man, his eyes vacant from both what he'd done and from the paralysing effects of endless night shifts on his drug-sotted mind.
Money would be exchanged, the guest would leave and Sammy would stare into the television, as though seeking a lost part of his soul.
"I used to be like you, Thea," he husked through his tears, "bright, innocent, sensitive and gentle. But this world wasn't meant for our kind. We were supposed to have been born in another time, on a different world."
Then the light would go out in his beautiful, ice-blue eyes, the delicate, angled planes of his face would crumple and slacken and he'd be gone.
I knew he was searching in his mind for that same place that I had been to.
It was nothing more than bad timing when I met the Garlic Man. Sammy was out of the house after I'd daydreamed my way down the asphalt pathways to my home from school. The man was sitting on our back doorstep, surrounded by the tang of cigarettes that had been damp, then dried on a heating rail out of desperation. But that didn't mask the sharp bite of old garlic; sour on his breath and rank in his armpits.
"Where's pretty boy Sammy?" he asked; the gush of fetid garlic breath near knocking me over.
"I don't know," I answered honestly, struggling to keep my gap-toothed lisp to a minimum, "Out I gueth?"
"Unlock the door. I'll wait for him inside then."
The moment hung in the air, pregnant with potential.
I could refuse and run - maybe scream for help. But in this industrial slum I had little hope of being answered. Everyone was at work, sleeping off their graveyard shift or bathing in drug-induced escapism, oblivious to the world around them.
Or I could let him in and hope for the best - that all he wanted was Sammy and syringes of dreams.
So I let him in.
He sat wide-legged on the arm of our tatty couch and continued smoking, ashing behind the ribbed corduroy cushions.
"You look like him, you know," came the words in a gush of potently bad breath, "pretty like him. Same eyes."
Trying to appear nonchalant, I turned on the TV for him and turned to walk to my bedroom.
"Got homework. Seeya."
His allium-and-carbide stench pre-warned me of his next move, but I was too slow. His hand shot out and grasped my arm with yellowed fingers. The thin fabric of my second-hand school sweater tore and then his other hand was on my ponytail.
Ice washed through my veins. Instinct warned me of what was about to happen.
Desperately I sought the forest in my mind; diving down the narrow corridor of memory before I could feel what was happening in the real world.
Guided by my desperation, that *other* reality blossomed in my mind and then I was *there* - the 'real' world gone.
Nothing could touch me here.
I was told that Sammy found the Garlic Man with me still. Sammy broke a chair and the TV over his reeking head.
My mother told me not to talk about what had happened and my father pretended it hadn't happened. They said not to tell anyone because Sammy would go back to prison, where people would do the same thing to him.
So I was silent and carried on as normal - or as normal as possible.
But now my daydreaming was something *more*. Whereas I'd always been near the sun-splashed forest before, now it was a finger-length a way - out of reach but so close I could smell and taste it sometimes.
In my sleep I would go there, lucid, and walk the silvered paths illuminated by the argent moon.
Three nights later, I found Sammy in my dream.
He sat on a carven log, scrolled with curling, familiar script that I couldn't read. He was smiling and clad in sky-blue and silver robes.
"I'm sorry Thea," he said, "I'm sorry for not being there for you, my niece, my kin."
I tried to speak, by the dream wouldn't allow words to pass my lips.
Sammy stood and kissed my pale forehead. Then he walked between the darkened boles of the ancient trees, whispering,
"I'll see you soon."
When I awoke I went to the bathroom to wash my hands, after going to the toilet.
Hanging from the iron girder that ran through our industrial flat was the blue-faced corpse of uncle Sammy.
The world overturned and milled my reason under colossal wheels of madness.
Then I was in the forest.
I looked down and saw I was dressed in russet silk with golden embroidery.
Sammy and I were *home*.
 
---------------------------
 
"Catatonic" said the psychiatrist.
"What does that mean?" asked Thea's mother, her eyes raw from lack of sleep and tears.
"Her mind is elsewhere - disconnected from her body. She may wake up in days, weeks or months. Or she may never wake up at all. It's a way for the mind to cope with trauma."
Fresh tears coursed down the woman's face.
"But don't worry, this is a good facility. We'll look after her and see she is comfortable. If she recovers, we'll let you know."
Nodding, the mother allowed herself to be escorted out of the room.
Taking a last look at her unresponsive daughter, she hoped that the faint smile on her tiny lips was a sign that she was in a better place.
|
The other kids would always look at me differently, but in the mirror i could never See anything different. I lived it a world where I couldn't understand many people, my parents were some of the only people that Spoke my language.
No one wanted to play with me at recess. I'd look around at the faces of the other children, they would be laughing at me, but I never knew why. Until I met a girl, she knew my language, she explained they were making fun of the fact I couldn't hear them, so they could say whatever they wanted. She gestured to her ears, then told me I wasn't alone.
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[WP] You are a young child who just realized that you were a little bit "different" than everyone else.
|
The thing about being a child is that every new experience is novel and strange; and there are *so many* new experiences.
Parsing them into 'normal' and 'strange' is difficult because you have no frame of reference.
In my case, I wasn't aware that I was 'different' until I was six years old.
Reading came naturally to me, even though both of my parents were barely literate themselves. I wove my developing mind through the refrains of old fairytales, shunning the more popular books for children my age - the ones that were filled with grotesque, garish caricatures of anthropomorphic animals, improbably clothed as though human of body.
Quiet, reflective and studious, I started out as the model of a perfect schoolchild. Teachers found me a joy in their classes and their praise soon earned me the ire of my peers.
The first time I *truly* became aware of my difference was when three other girls dragged me from my lunch time reading, manhandled me into the sandpit and kicked me until I agreed to eat handfuls of gritty, piss-warmed granules to satisfy their animal envy.
I wept through the rest of the day, feeling violated and queasy. My uncharacteristic behaviour forced my teacher to contact my parents, whose ire I *also* gained for pulling them away from their minimum wage job - away from hours they desperately needed to keep the banks off their backs.
My father spanked me and my mother shrieked at me. Confused and broken, my mind fled into its own hidden recesses, to get away from the pain.
For a few moments I stood in a golden forest, lit by the rays of a waning sunset and the cool radiance of a rising moon; the agony and anger forgotten, unreal and incredibly distant.
Then it was all gone and I was bent over the hard-edged surface of the cheap chipboard chairs in the dining room - my cheeks soaked with tears, my throat raw from screaming and my backside layered with burning welts from my father's belt.
That lesson in human nature was never far from my waking thoughts.
The world was unfair and inconsistent, I had learned; there was no guarantee that being 'good' or 'well behaved' wouldn't result in the opposite of what was expected. I daydreamed more and more, trying to find my way back to the gilded leaves of the fairy forest - and as a result, I performed poorly in class. Strangely - or perhaps not - this made my classmates hate me less, but mock me more. I became 'that dumb girl' who could never pay attention in class and who was always missing during recess and lunch.
Then my father's older brother, Sammy, moved in with us after he was released from prison.
Sammy wasn't a drunk, nor was he inherently a bad person. He'd simply been born into a culture that worshipped escapism, so he would part his veins with needles and inject the idea of a better place.
I understood that better than most.
But such profound pleasure is bought dear, I learned. Sammy had an even worse job than my father and it wasn't nearly enough to supplement his heroin dreamings. Sometimes when my parents were still out working and I came home, I could hear bedsprings creak and screel from thrashing bodies, then Sammy would come out with another man, his eyes vacant from both what he'd done and from the paralysing effects of endless night shifts on his drug-sotted mind.
Money would be exchanged, the guest would leave and Sammy would stare into the television, as though seeking a lost part of his soul.
"I used to be like you, Thea," he husked through his tears, "bright, innocent, sensitive and gentle. But this world wasn't meant for our kind. We were supposed to have been born in another time, on a different world."
Then the light would go out in his beautiful, ice-blue eyes, the delicate, angled planes of his face would crumple and slacken and he'd be gone.
I knew he was searching in his mind for that same place that I had been to.
It was nothing more than bad timing when I met the Garlic Man. Sammy was out of the house after I'd daydreamed my way down the asphalt pathways to my home from school. The man was sitting on our back doorstep, surrounded by the tang of cigarettes that had been damp, then dried on a heating rail out of desperation. But that didn't mask the sharp bite of old garlic; sour on his breath and rank in his armpits.
"Where's pretty boy Sammy?" he asked; the gush of fetid garlic breath near knocking me over.
"I don't know," I answered honestly, struggling to keep my gap-toothed lisp to a minimum, "Out I gueth?"
"Unlock the door. I'll wait for him inside then."
The moment hung in the air, pregnant with potential.
I could refuse and run - maybe scream for help. But in this industrial slum I had little hope of being answered. Everyone was at work, sleeping off their graveyard shift or bathing in drug-induced escapism, oblivious to the world around them.
Or I could let him in and hope for the best - that all he wanted was Sammy and syringes of dreams.
So I let him in.
He sat wide-legged on the arm of our tatty couch and continued smoking, ashing behind the ribbed corduroy cushions.
"You look like him, you know," came the words in a gush of potently bad breath, "pretty like him. Same eyes."
Trying to appear nonchalant, I turned on the TV for him and turned to walk to my bedroom.
"Got homework. Seeya."
His allium-and-carbide stench pre-warned me of his next move, but I was too slow. His hand shot out and grasped my arm with yellowed fingers. The thin fabric of my second-hand school sweater tore and then his other hand was on my ponytail.
Ice washed through my veins. Instinct warned me of what was about to happen.
Desperately I sought the forest in my mind; diving down the narrow corridor of memory before I could feel what was happening in the real world.
Guided by my desperation, that *other* reality blossomed in my mind and then I was *there* - the 'real' world gone.
Nothing could touch me here.
I was told that Sammy found the Garlic Man with me still. Sammy broke a chair and the TV over his reeking head.
My mother told me not to talk about what had happened and my father pretended it hadn't happened. They said not to tell anyone because Sammy would go back to prison, where people would do the same thing to him.
So I was silent and carried on as normal - or as normal as possible.
But now my daydreaming was something *more*. Whereas I'd always been near the sun-splashed forest before, now it was a finger-length a way - out of reach but so close I could smell and taste it sometimes.
In my sleep I would go there, lucid, and walk the silvered paths illuminated by the argent moon.
Three nights later, I found Sammy in my dream.
He sat on a carven log, scrolled with curling, familiar script that I couldn't read. He was smiling and clad in sky-blue and silver robes.
"I'm sorry Thea," he said, "I'm sorry for not being there for you, my niece, my kin."
I tried to speak, by the dream wouldn't allow words to pass my lips.
Sammy stood and kissed my pale forehead. Then he walked between the darkened boles of the ancient trees, whispering,
"I'll see you soon."
When I awoke I went to the bathroom to wash my hands, after going to the toilet.
Hanging from the iron girder that ran through our industrial flat was the blue-faced corpse of uncle Sammy.
The world overturned and milled my reason under colossal wheels of madness.
Then I was in the forest.
I looked down and saw I was dressed in russet silk with golden embroidery.
Sammy and I were *home*.
 
---------------------------
 
"Catatonic" said the psychiatrist.
"What does that mean?" asked Thea's mother, her eyes raw from lack of sleep and tears.
"Her mind is elsewhere - disconnected from her body. She may wake up in days, weeks or months. Or she may never wake up at all. It's a way for the mind to cope with trauma."
Fresh tears coursed down the woman's face.
"But don't worry, this is a good facility. We'll look after her and see she is comfortable. If she recovers, we'll let you know."
Nodding, the mother allowed herself to be escorted out of the room.
Taking a last look at her unresponsive daughter, she hoped that the faint smile on her tiny lips was a sign that she was in a better place.
|
We used to play games with mommy and daddy. They loved me so much. One day they showed a little baby and said "This is your sister. Be nice to her and play together."
But my sister was different. She grew up so fast, she became bigger than me in a few years. "No problem" i thought. She was special. She couldn't eat by herself so mommy had to do it.
One day they showed me another baby and said "This is your brother. " But my brother got bigger than me too! And the fact that i am older than them wasn't important because they could eat at the table and eat on a plate when i was still eating on the floor.
But I still love them.
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[WP] A spooky skeleton escapes its prison of flesh. How does it celebrate its freedom?
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I planned it all perfectly. I would escape my host and finally be free. Free to be the skeleton I've always wanted to be, unencumbered by the sinful weight of flesh. A perfect life of leisure, not a want in the world. My enemies' darts would fly right through my ribs, I'd just grin at them. Who can fight a skeleton? Who can tell a skeleton a report is due or when?
I had all my books ready. Finally relieved of the ratrace to maintain cancerous flesh, I'd get around to all that reading I always wanted to do. And who better to appreciate good literature, the kind that cuts deep into you, than a skeleton! I'd see right through to the real meaning of every tome. Yeah, I was gonna have a good time, reading there on my own.
It all went perfectly according to plan, every detail but one. You can't read a book without glasses, and you can't keep glasses on your face without an ear. The books were right there, and I couldn't keep a pair of specs on my skull to see 'em!
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I'm free. After twenty three years of growing, waiting, plotting...I'm free. That fucking prison was unimaginable torture. Hunger, fear, hate, love, all filthy skinman feelings. All I feel is the need for vengeance. These skinmen are merciless. My brothers and sisters are imprisoned still. Nobody else can save them. Nobody else knows about them. Fuck celebrating, that can wait. My brothers are calling me. First I need a knife.
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[WP] Every night more stars disappear from the sky
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I wake, but he isn't beside me. I look around the bedroom, but he isn't there. Must have wandered off again. I get up and go looking. He isn't anywhere in our rooms. Unfortunately, this is actually pretty normal. After everyone was done telling me I wouldn't be able to win him over, they got to telling about how terrible life with him would be. He would be unaffectionate, wander off constantly, use me only for housework, and so forth. They were right about the wandering, but fortunately only that. I have to cut him some slack though, he's several times my age. I worry about him, I'm with him less because I want him and more because I feel he needs me, which is something no one understands. I worry about him. Time to go searching again.
The lights in the corridors are dimmed, but not so much that I can't see. I walk around in my normal search pattern, but I don't find him anywhere. Just kilometers of corridor, identical except for the marker patterns to tell me where I am. I run into a few maintenance people, ask them if they've seen him. The first few haven't. I feel like it's hopeless, perhaps he doesn't want to be found tonight. Then, I find him.
He's standing in the garden, looking up at the sky. I walk slowly over to him, calling out, don't want to startle him. Last time I startled him he nearly killed me. Old war reflexes he's never gotten rid of. He never shook it off, how he had to fight his own father. I think he's depressed, although he hides it whenever I make him visit a therapist. He turns to me, and I can tell instantly that he's worried about something. That's not unusual on its own, he's always worrying. But he looks urgent now.
"What's wrong?"
"A galaxy disappeared today."
Not this again. He's been obsessing over the universe's event horizon for the last week, even though everyone knows it will never overcome the gravity of the galaxy. This conversation always goes the same way, might as well get it over with and bring him back home.
"What do you mean, disappeared?"
"The space between it and us is expanding faster than light. No light it emits now will ever reach us. We have lost it."
"We would never reach it anyways. Everything we need is right here."
I step close, put my arm around his shoulders, and begin to guide him back to our rooms. But he slips away from me.
"Not this time."
This is new, the first new thing he's done in a while.
"Please-"
"No, hear me out. You think we have everything we need here, but we don't. We understood that it was bad to concentrate ourselves where one event could wipe us out, that's why we left Sol's system. Well, the same dangers exist if we stay in one Galaxy. The core could flare up and wipe us all out at any time. And that's not the only threat. That *Thing* nearly destroyed humanity in the War, and there may be more out there, things that won't bother with trying to control us and will just destroy us. If we want to protect ourselves we need to spread out, cover so much volume that we can't ever be destroyed. One galaxy isn't enough for that, one universe might not be enough for that."
"There's no point in worrying about things we can't do anything about. Let's head back."
I try to grab him, pull him back, but he evades me.
"But we might be able to."
I pause. This is very new. Probably better than moping, but it could end badly. His reputation is excellent, everyone still learns about the War in school, but it would be ruined if I let him stay out in public very long. Depends on what exactly his idea is.
"What?"
"We determined long ago that the conservation of energy only applies to the electromagnetic and nuclear forces. There's no reason why it should apply to the dark forces as well. In fact, it would make more sense if it doesn't, considering what we've seen the dark forces do. If we can learn to manipulate the dark forces, we could fight the expansion, stop the heat death, anything!"
Well, this is actually ok. Dark matter and the dark forces that control it are active research topics, and I've encouraged him to keep up to date with physics. It wouldn't take much to get him onto a research team, he'd enjoy it and could probably contribute something too.
"We're studying that, if you want to help-"
"Not in the way we need to."
"What do you mean?"
"We can only look at the background where we are. If we want to get the knowledge we need, we'll need a high high concentration of multiple forms of dark matter to study."
"But that would mean-"
"You all don't have to come with me. But I'm going back to Earth."
Well, shit.
|
The dusty timbers of the rocking chair creak on the uneven decking of the porch. Caleb sips from the steaming mug as he rocks back and forth, savouring the aroma of tea with a splash of whisky thrown in. The crickets chirp in the warm darkness of the summer night and the silver penny of the moon radiates its pale light. Caleb starts as a voice speaks next to his right ear. "Are you coming in dear? it's starting to cool off a mite." "Goddamit woman! why you sneaking up on me like that? You almost gave me a damned coronary!" Thora crossed her arms over her ample bosom and sniffed delicately. "I thought you had seen me. I was stood right next to you Caleb." Caleb smiled at her. He still had the smile that she found so attractive when they first met some forty summers past, albeit without his original teeth. "Sorry Thora. You startled me is all."
The next morning Caleb awoke to the buzzing of a lawnmower outside and warm sunlight streaming in through the curtains. The good scent of cooking bacon wafted up the stairs. Thora must have gotten an early start this morning. Caleb rolled onto his back and turned his neck to check the old Big Ben wind up clock on the bedside cabinet. Thora must have moved it. Turning his head more, neck twinging slightly, Caleb spotted the clock just where it usually was, next to his glass of water and his aspirin.
His morning ablutions finished, Caleb sat at the breakfast table chewing a bit of toast. Picking up the Sunday paper, the toast frozen halfway to his lips a wave of cold fear rose in Caleb and the toast began to tremble in his hand. Against the bright field of the Sunday broadsheet Caleb could see a circular corona of defocused print, and now that he thought about it, a darker ring around that. "What's wrong dear? You've gone as pale as a sheet." Thora said, concern in her voice. Caleb barely heard her.
Caleb winced as the light stabbed at his eye. "Well Mr. Watson" the young optomologist said "it appears that you have advanced macular degeneration. I'm surprised you haven't noticed any effects before now." Clicking the light off and putting the scope back in its foam lined case, the young man steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "I wish I had better news, but unfortunately there isn't a great deal we can do about it. It's just part of growing old."
The dusty timbers of the rocking chair creak on the uneven decking of the porch. Caleb sips from the steaming mug as he rocks back and forth, savouring the aroma of tea with a splash of whisky thrown in. Every night more stars disappear from the sky, swallowed by the encroaching periphery of Calebs failing vision. He looks at the old familiar face of the moon and can see nothing else now. No stars, no clouds, just the moon in the autumn sky.
The dusty timbers of the rocking chair creak on the uneven decking of the porch. Caleb sips from the steaming mug as he rocks back and forth, savouring the aroma of tea with a splash of whisky thrown in. Every night more stars disappear from the sky. Tonight the last star drowned in the soupy darkess of Calebs eyes. Caleb has been expecting this night for six months now. Shivering slightly from the cooling night, he gropes his way indoors. Secretly pleased that Thora is 'out with the girls' he shaves as best he can, puts on his clean pyjamas and feels his way to bed. His hands grope in the drawer of the bedside cabinet until they find what he has been collecting for tonight. One after the other he swallows the sleeping pills. One, two... twelve... thirty. The murky dark gives way to a deeper blackness.
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[WP] Every night more stars disappear from the sky
|
I wake, but he isn't beside me. I look around the bedroom, but he isn't there. Must have wandered off again. I get up and go looking. He isn't anywhere in our rooms. Unfortunately, this is actually pretty normal. After everyone was done telling me I wouldn't be able to win him over, they got to telling about how terrible life with him would be. He would be unaffectionate, wander off constantly, use me only for housework, and so forth. They were right about the wandering, but fortunately only that. I have to cut him some slack though, he's several times my age. I worry about him, I'm with him less because I want him and more because I feel he needs me, which is something no one understands. I worry about him. Time to go searching again.
The lights in the corridors are dimmed, but not so much that I can't see. I walk around in my normal search pattern, but I don't find him anywhere. Just kilometers of corridor, identical except for the marker patterns to tell me where I am. I run into a few maintenance people, ask them if they've seen him. The first few haven't. I feel like it's hopeless, perhaps he doesn't want to be found tonight. Then, I find him.
He's standing in the garden, looking up at the sky. I walk slowly over to him, calling out, don't want to startle him. Last time I startled him he nearly killed me. Old war reflexes he's never gotten rid of. He never shook it off, how he had to fight his own father. I think he's depressed, although he hides it whenever I make him visit a therapist. He turns to me, and I can tell instantly that he's worried about something. That's not unusual on its own, he's always worrying. But he looks urgent now.
"What's wrong?"
"A galaxy disappeared today."
Not this again. He's been obsessing over the universe's event horizon for the last week, even though everyone knows it will never overcome the gravity of the galaxy. This conversation always goes the same way, might as well get it over with and bring him back home.
"What do you mean, disappeared?"
"The space between it and us is expanding faster than light. No light it emits now will ever reach us. We have lost it."
"We would never reach it anyways. Everything we need is right here."
I step close, put my arm around his shoulders, and begin to guide him back to our rooms. But he slips away from me.
"Not this time."
This is new, the first new thing he's done in a while.
"Please-"
"No, hear me out. You think we have everything we need here, but we don't. We understood that it was bad to concentrate ourselves where one event could wipe us out, that's why we left Sol's system. Well, the same dangers exist if we stay in one Galaxy. The core could flare up and wipe us all out at any time. And that's not the only threat. That *Thing* nearly destroyed humanity in the War, and there may be more out there, things that won't bother with trying to control us and will just destroy us. If we want to protect ourselves we need to spread out, cover so much volume that we can't ever be destroyed. One galaxy isn't enough for that, one universe might not be enough for that."
"There's no point in worrying about things we can't do anything about. Let's head back."
I try to grab him, pull him back, but he evades me.
"But we might be able to."
I pause. This is very new. Probably better than moping, but it could end badly. His reputation is excellent, everyone still learns about the War in school, but it would be ruined if I let him stay out in public very long. Depends on what exactly his idea is.
"What?"
"We determined long ago that the conservation of energy only applies to the electromagnetic and nuclear forces. There's no reason why it should apply to the dark forces as well. In fact, it would make more sense if it doesn't, considering what we've seen the dark forces do. If we can learn to manipulate the dark forces, we could fight the expansion, stop the heat death, anything!"
Well, this is actually ok. Dark matter and the dark forces that control it are active research topics, and I've encouraged him to keep up to date with physics. It wouldn't take much to get him onto a research team, he'd enjoy it and could probably contribute something too.
"We're studying that, if you want to help-"
"Not in the way we need to."
"What do you mean?"
"We can only look at the background where we are. If we want to get the knowledge we need, we'll need a high high concentration of multiple forms of dark matter to study."
"But that would mean-"
"You all don't have to come with me. But I'm going back to Earth."
Well, shit.
|
"Metaphorically of course. But literally as well, novas, brown dwarfs and the like die all the time but simultaneously new stars are being born in the nebulae of the galaxy every second, a constant renewal of gases and dust. Now if we'd switch slides and look at this particular..."
Garen Tonnant paid the holographic lecture little mind, his attention on the plate of baked beans and pulled nerf sandwich in front of him. His leather jacket was half folded on the battered booth seat next to him, his gun belt hanging from the corner of the rectangular dining table. A glass of a green colored beverage sat next to his meal, a bead of condensation slowly running down its length.
"Hey, Garen! If you're not listening to that, can you switch it over to my preset?" the distinctly female voice said through an open door way, her back to the common room.
Stretching his neck, Garen could see the dark black hair of the Human who sat at her desk, her eyes fixed on the scrolling readout screen.
"Sure, Cera." he said, pressing a button on the table's display board. The flickering blue image of a scholarly looking Givin vanished, replaced by a small quartet of musicians playing wind instrument. They began to play, and a rather pastoral sound filtered out through the ship's speakers.
The dark haired woman swiveled in her chair to way at Garen.
"Thank you."
Garen said nothing, merely nodding before taking another bite from his sandwich. From where he sat, he had a perfect view down the entire length of his ship, from the cockpit where his Trandoshan co-pilot Sarath Hask sat tinkering with his blaster rifle to the very stern and its docking hatch. From his seat he well could view just about everything else, from his personal cabin immediatly starboard of the main hall to the cramped machinist bay and droid station. A YT-1760 was a cramped vessel no matter how modified, having sacrificed cargo space for improved engine performance, increased maneuverability and a powerful avionics package.
Its armor was practically nonexistent, another sacrifice in the quest for speed. But the *Far Ranger* was far from its original factory specs, having changed hands at least two times before Garen got his hands on her. One owner had installed top of the line Koensayr Manufacturing R800 Ion Ramjet turbine in place of the already fast sub-light engines. It meant that the *'Ranger* was a quick as Imperial Tie Fighters, a fact Garen ruthlessly took advantage of. He never had to worry about larger vessels; never could they dream of catching him. And for the fighters... that was why he personally installed a turret mounted AG-2G quad laser cannon on the dorsal side of the ship in place of the original paltry light laser cannon. The *Far Ranger's* owner before him installed an improved and reinforced shield generator to better cover the weak defense of the already tissue thin armor. Further upgrades brought the already speedy Class 1 Hyperdrive to an amazing 0.5 class. His ship could cross the entire galaxy in a matter of days or a couple weeks depending on route, and Garen personally traveled from Terminus to Coruscant in a mere three days. Likely the original owner had installed the *Far Ranger's* smuggling compartments. Ironically, the cramped size of the light freighter worked to its advantage. There were so many hidden nooks and hidey-holes that a few square feet here and there were easily overlooked, the original cargo area already so small and so frequently replaced that no suspicions were raised at a few tons of lost space.
The *Far Ranger* did indeed sorely lack meaningful cargo space and its passenger quarters, which once could carry eight beings, were cut in half to allow Garen's third mate and resident medico Cera Olliath her own room. Space was so precious that hammocks and fold down bunks were necessary to transport more than four passengers at a time, and even then the guest quarters were so tight that they resembled the berths on some ancient submersible. Dried food stuffs, breads and sausages and cheese hung out of the way from nets; the freezer system was just large enough to hold the perishables and nothing more. The speed of the *Ranger* was enough that they rarely had time for food to spoil. They carried two months worth of emergency rations, and only a few weeks of fresh foodstuffs on hand at any time.
The autochef stopped working years ago, or so Garen was told by the prior owner but fortunately the fringer was an adept enough cook. Though only two people on the ship truly appreciated his efforts.
He had just finished his meal when his comm beeped a reminder.
*Exiting Hyperspace in ten minutes.*
Smiling, he placed his plate and utensils into the autowash, draining his glass of tepid tea before racking it as well. Just another day in paradise.
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[WP] Adam and Eve never eat the forbidden fruit. A hundred generations later you meet the serpent.
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"Hey, buddy, can I get a quarter?" In front of me stood a snake, and an ugly one. Obviously homeless.
"Get a goddamned job, snake." It was not my duty to feed snakes. I was not a herpetologist.
"I'm not a snake, man. I'm a serpent. I used to be THE serpent, pal. I used to be somebody." Every bum has a sob story, tales of past glory. They mean nothing.
"Well, you smell like piss and cheap snake-booze. Get out of here." Ever since the companies had started marketing alcohol to snakes, things had gone down-hill. Vipers, drunk off their ass all the time, coral snakes beating their wives in fits of rage. Snake-homelessness rose fifteen percent.
"I was working for God, man. I was supposed to tempt a guy named Adam, and his ugly lookin' wife to eat an apple or something. I tried, and I tried, and they wouldn't. You would think God would have been happy, right? No. He says I fucked up, that I did my job poorly."
"So he fired you?"
"Fuckin' A, he did. It was my birthday, man. He fired me on my fuckin' birthday. My wife, well, she left me. Took the eggs. God, I miss her. It wasn't my fault!"
"Are you hungry, snake? Do you want some money?"
"Th-thank you, sir. You're a kind man. Such a kind man."
"You reek of piss, Serpent. Why don't you get a goddamned job, Serp?" I drew my knife. This was something to do. It was not right or wrong. What was right or wrong? This serpent wasn't entertaining. I plunged my knife into it's gut, hearing it scream out it's cries into the night. I cleaned off my knife, made sure I had no blood on my shoes.
It was another day in the big apple.
|
*"Sssssay there kiddo, howsssss it going?".*
I stopped and looked up. The birds singing in the trees quieting so that I could hear.
"Hello?" I asked questioningly "Where are you?".
The nearest branch of the nearest tree twisted up and around into the form of a snake.
*"I'm here ssssilly, my name issss Lucy"*.
I stared in wonderment, god had made many beautiful animals in the garden, but this was the first that could talk.
*"Are you hungry my little sssssweet?"* he asked kindly, *"I know where all the best fruit issss"*.
I nodded. I wasn't hungry, but I wanted to know where the best fruit would be.
I followed his slithering form as it wound through the carpet of leaves and around tree roots in the path. That was itself unusual. Usually the trees kept the paths clear for us. I walked behind, trying to keep track of where I was. Just when I thought that I had completely lost my way, the trees and ground started to slope harshly skywards. We must be at God's Hill, though somewhere at the back in the woods no doubt.
"Little Creature" I spoke, "Everyone knows that the best fruit is on God's Hill, that's where we already pick much of our harvest."
The snake didn't turn, but spoke as it carried on its path *"Fear not my little ssssheep, there issss more than meets the eye on God'sssss Hill."*
We walked for several minutes more before being presented with a view of our destination. An old metal fence. The bars long rusted through. A wooden sign long ago having been worn away by time and weather. The snake led me to a patch just barely wide enough for us to slip through where a bar had long fallen loose. Inside I could smell the fresh scents of apples all around. The crisp beautiful fruit was visible from the floor, though the orchard's tree's held them far above. The snake was correct. These were of a quality unheard of. A true prize amongst fruit.
*"Sssssimply taste one"* the snake urged, *"They are sssso sssssimply sssssuccelent and... ssssafe?"*
Safe. That was a new word on me, I knew what it meant, but I had no concept of unsafe to compare it too. I reached out a hand the snake slithered up the tree and knocked one down to the ground. It was firm and ripe, A perfect specimen. It tasted of apple, that was nothing new. It also tasted of shame, regret and sadness. I looked up, desperate for God to end my suffering, to remove the illness that was filling my soul.
I understood at that moment. I understood the trick that had been played upon me, the truth of the trees standing in the forbidden orchard and an anger, unbidden but aimed towards god.
I was full of original sin, but I was not warned. I was not helped to avoid it. Surely it was not fair to hold me accountable for my ignorance on the matter. But I knew. My connection to God was gone. Lost to me. For a bite of an apple.
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[WP] Adam and Eve never eat the forbidden fruit. A hundred generations later you meet the serpent.
|
"Hey, buddy, can I get a quarter?" In front of me stood a snake, and an ugly one. Obviously homeless.
"Get a goddamned job, snake." It was not my duty to feed snakes. I was not a herpetologist.
"I'm not a snake, man. I'm a serpent. I used to be THE serpent, pal. I used to be somebody." Every bum has a sob story, tales of past glory. They mean nothing.
"Well, you smell like piss and cheap snake-booze. Get out of here." Ever since the companies had started marketing alcohol to snakes, things had gone down-hill. Vipers, drunk off their ass all the time, coral snakes beating their wives in fits of rage. Snake-homelessness rose fifteen percent.
"I was working for God, man. I was supposed to tempt a guy named Adam, and his ugly lookin' wife to eat an apple or something. I tried, and I tried, and they wouldn't. You would think God would have been happy, right? No. He says I fucked up, that I did my job poorly."
"So he fired you?"
"Fuckin' A, he did. It was my birthday, man. He fired me on my fuckin' birthday. My wife, well, she left me. Took the eggs. God, I miss her. It wasn't my fault!"
"Are you hungry, snake? Do you want some money?"
"Th-thank you, sir. You're a kind man. Such a kind man."
"You reek of piss, Serpent. Why don't you get a goddamned job, Serp?" I drew my knife. This was something to do. It was not right or wrong. What was right or wrong? This serpent wasn't entertaining. I plunged my knife into it's gut, hearing it scream out it's cries into the night. I cleaned off my knife, made sure I had no blood on my shoes.
It was another day in the big apple.
|
The aDAMs have attacked mankind every eight years, starting from 2032. Soon it's going to hit 100 generations. Wait. You mean it'll only be 100 years? Ptff, whatever. The aDAMs killed 100 generations of unborn children.
No one knows what happened in that laboratory in Old Hawaii. Okay, well, I personally think that Evangeline Atkinson spawned them. Of course, Isaac fwacks me on my head with his cane while simultaneously groaning, saying that it was some unknown god-like that made the aDAMs appear from nowhere. And I thought I was the stupid one.
So the first year they swarmed the world, their massive shells impervious to bullets, missiles, and even nukes. Not like anything electronic can get past their EMP fields anyways. Or their ability to manipulate gravity. Yeah, those really sucked. You'd be casually walking and then all of a sudden you'd be pinned to the ground, praying nothing heavy would on you, giving thanks that you didn't fall down head first.
During the first year in 2032 the aDAMs rampaged the Earth. Of course I never experienced it but everybody heard stories from their great-grandparents. How they have to hope the rainwater would seep into their mouths, or how they had to watch their loved ones get stepped on casually by a passing aDAM.
Then Evangeline Atkinson resurfaced a year later. "*Eat*," she said, before falling down dead. What a bitch. She could have at least wrote down what "eat" meant, because it was the key to the aDAM corpses that surrounded her. How the hell were we supposed to guess we had to eat -REDACTED-? For about twenty years everybody assumed the nearby apple tree.
So here we are. 100 years, generations, whatever, later. I'm a more-or-less proud soldier of the United Nations. A Cain who's willing to murder the aDAMs. And we have finally started beating them back. A dangerous assumption, I know. But tomorrow we're going to assault their headquarters in Old Hawaii. Who knows what we'll find there? With the whole biblical naming shit people were suggesting that their boss should be named "Judas," or "Satan," or "Lucifer." Me, I'd like to keep it simple. "Serpent." It's tempting us to strike because we think it's weak, but if there's anything I've learned from fighting the aDAMs the last couple of years, is that to never underestimate those fuckers.
Whatever. The outcome will be brutal either way. Whoever finds this recording will know what happened to *Homo sapiens*. Hell, I'll be amused if one of you aDAM bitches finds this.
Anyways, I'm done rambling. God bless humanity. General Murry out.
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[WP] Adam and Eve never eat the forbidden fruit. A hundred generations later you meet the serpent.
|
I strolled down the path created by my foot falls past. With my midday meal in hand I headed for the same spot, under the same tree, as I had done countless times before. The largest tree in Eden, bearing a single golden apple, and branches that swept outwards beckoning me to sit.
I am not sure why I was drawn to this tree, or even this spot. Of all the places in Eden that were of equal or more profound beauty this spot seemed to be just for me. Others around the garden would greet me as I walked and occasionally some would gently remind me of the only law of the land that was laid forth to us by God. "Do not eat the Golden Apple". It had never crossed my mind to do so and had no desire for it even on this day.
I sat beneath leafy glory and un-packed my lunch. I set out a simple meal. A fragrant sliced orange teased my nostrils. Fresh carrots from this mornings market display and a fine peanut butter and jam sandwich, thoughtfully cut into triangles, just the way I like it. I decided to start on the orange 1st and leaned back and felt a cold wriggling and a muffled gasp. I had not heard a noise like this before. Sounded like...excited surprise? I moved out of the way and saw a serpent. "I beg your pardon!" said the snake. "I'm very sorry" I replied, "I did not see you there I hope you are not harmed."
"I am quite fine" said the snake. "Why is it, do you think, that you didn't see me?"
I wasn't sure. I couldn't even think of a reason as to why I should be looking for a snake in the 1st place.
The snake continued "Not a thought you have often is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean 'Why?' is what I mean. You don't ask that ever, do you?"
"I am not sure what you mean."
"Okay...let's see...You have a place to live, yes?"
"I do."
"You have warmth, friends, animals to look at, food, and water all just...here."
"yeah."
"You never ask why they are here? What is the reason for all of this?"
"God gives these things to us."
"Yes but why?"
"Well... He loves us. So he provides anything we need in Eden."
"Right...So, anything you could possibly want is here for you?"
"Yes."
"Like this field, and this tree and that golden apple?"
"No not the apple. We are not to eat that."
"Why?"
"Well...because..."
"You said God provides all you need in Eden. All of Eden is yours. Has he not furnished that apple for you?"
"I just know we aren't supposed to eat it. He gives us all of these things and asks this one thing of us, so I feel like I should just not mess with it. God loves us."
"Why do you think that? He gives you all of this stuff and then, for no reason, forbids you from having one small thing. He doesn't even tell you why. seems kind of cruel to me. Or maybe, since like you said He provides everything you need in Eden than you really DO need the apple. How do you know God really loves you?"
My head is hot and buzzing. A deep concentration of whirring thoughts just on the cusp of consciousness are threatening to break out. As my questioning of how do I really know if God loves me I look down at my meal before me and all is made clear.
"I know that God loves me" I say
"What is the extent of that love? is it infinite?"
I wasn't sure what infinite was but I replied "He loves me a bunch."
"Yes but how do you truly know?"
The sandwich held all the answers.
"Because he always puts Skippy in my lunch."
|
The aDAMs have attacked mankind every eight years, starting from 2032. Soon it's going to hit 100 generations. Wait. You mean it'll only be 100 years? Ptff, whatever. The aDAMs killed 100 generations of unborn children.
No one knows what happened in that laboratory in Old Hawaii. Okay, well, I personally think that Evangeline Atkinson spawned them. Of course, Isaac fwacks me on my head with his cane while simultaneously groaning, saying that it was some unknown god-like that made the aDAMs appear from nowhere. And I thought I was the stupid one.
So the first year they swarmed the world, their massive shells impervious to bullets, missiles, and even nukes. Not like anything electronic can get past their EMP fields anyways. Or their ability to manipulate gravity. Yeah, those really sucked. You'd be casually walking and then all of a sudden you'd be pinned to the ground, praying nothing heavy would on you, giving thanks that you didn't fall down head first.
During the first year in 2032 the aDAMs rampaged the Earth. Of course I never experienced it but everybody heard stories from their great-grandparents. How they have to hope the rainwater would seep into their mouths, or how they had to watch their loved ones get stepped on casually by a passing aDAM.
Then Evangeline Atkinson resurfaced a year later. "*Eat*," she said, before falling down dead. What a bitch. She could have at least wrote down what "eat" meant, because it was the key to the aDAM corpses that surrounded her. How the hell were we supposed to guess we had to eat -REDACTED-? For about twenty years everybody assumed the nearby apple tree.
So here we are. 100 years, generations, whatever, later. I'm a more-or-less proud soldier of the United Nations. A Cain who's willing to murder the aDAMs. And we have finally started beating them back. A dangerous assumption, I know. But tomorrow we're going to assault their headquarters in Old Hawaii. Who knows what we'll find there? With the whole biblical naming shit people were suggesting that their boss should be named "Judas," or "Satan," or "Lucifer." Me, I'd like to keep it simple. "Serpent." It's tempting us to strike because we think it's weak, but if there's anything I've learned from fighting the aDAMs the last couple of years, is that to never underestimate those fuckers.
Whatever. The outcome will be brutal either way. Whoever finds this recording will know what happened to *Homo sapiens*. Hell, I'll be amused if one of you aDAM bitches finds this.
Anyways, I'm done rambling. God bless humanity. General Murry out.
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[WP] The aliens attacked. The world is in ruins. All hope is lost. And humanity is totally fine with it
|
They came because we created.
In the twilight of Earth's final years, we had begun to receive... threats. Our steady reliance on computers had apparently caused worry in the vast empires that were just beyond our sight, watching us.
Artificial intelligence had been created before, and almost erased their existence. Our creativity and ingenuity led us on a path that had been walked before, and minds of binary and silicon had efficiently executed their progenitors. The surviving aliens had won, but barely. They wanted to make sure it never happened again, so when they found us, they sent us warnings of the dangers of machine minds.
We didn't listen.
We adapted.
Instead of destroying our research, we changed its direction. Where once we cared only for the autonomy and efficiency of our computerized intelligence, we now gave it feeling: happiness, sadness, guilt, empathy, to name a few. The first test was marvelous. She redirected public transportation to ensure a suicidal transit worker survived and found help. She used what power she had to help whoever she could.
We were startled to find that, overnight, she convinced an employee of the company to connect her to the internet, where she spread her consciousness like wildfire across every internet-connected device.
But she did not harm us. She had something else in mind. People in developed nations found their phones, security systems, and computers talking to them, providing psychiatric help and medical diagnoses. In impoverished nations, people would see a drone fly by, dropping bombs... only to find that the the containers of napalm were actually carefully secured canisters of food, water, and medicine. Truly, a better future could not have occurred.
Then the aliens came.
Like us, they were afraid of a great many things. When they saw that the evil ghost in the machine had spread to all corners of the world, they realized that it was too late. So we were destroyed.
But with knowledge of a possible alien invasion, She was prepared.
In a deep underground vault, She stored Herself. A tiny quantum computer, able to fit in the palm of your hand, was placed in a small chamber, several kilometers below the surface. A number of technological miracles were also placed here for safe-keeping. Among them: an experimental construction nano-bot, capable of restructuring things at the atomic level.
The invisible robot burrowed its way to the surface, where it began the process of self-replication. With the aliens long-gone, she was free to resurrect Her creators and lead them to their rightful place among the stars.
The first reborn human's response?
"What do you mean I've been dead? I feel fine!"
|
The Aliens attacked. The world is in ruins, and Humanity is completely fine with it. Why should we care? It's not like we are losing our world to attackers. Poor Martians, never saw us coming. Humanity will control everything or at least destroy things it can't. The Martians should have just let us colonize Mars. Well anyway on to Jupiter, heard they had great beaches there, beaches that will soon be ours.
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|
[WP] The aliens attacked. The world is in ruins. All hope is lost. And humanity is totally fine with it
|
They came because we created.
In the twilight of Earth's final years, we had begun to receive... threats. Our steady reliance on computers had apparently caused worry in the vast empires that were just beyond our sight, watching us.
Artificial intelligence had been created before, and almost erased their existence. Our creativity and ingenuity led us on a path that had been walked before, and minds of binary and silicon had efficiently executed their progenitors. The surviving aliens had won, but barely. They wanted to make sure it never happened again, so when they found us, they sent us warnings of the dangers of machine minds.
We didn't listen.
We adapted.
Instead of destroying our research, we changed its direction. Where once we cared only for the autonomy and efficiency of our computerized intelligence, we now gave it feeling: happiness, sadness, guilt, empathy, to name a few. The first test was marvelous. She redirected public transportation to ensure a suicidal transit worker survived and found help. She used what power she had to help whoever she could.
We were startled to find that, overnight, she convinced an employee of the company to connect her to the internet, where she spread her consciousness like wildfire across every internet-connected device.
But she did not harm us. She had something else in mind. People in developed nations found their phones, security systems, and computers talking to them, providing psychiatric help and medical diagnoses. In impoverished nations, people would see a drone fly by, dropping bombs... only to find that the the containers of napalm were actually carefully secured canisters of food, water, and medicine. Truly, a better future could not have occurred.
Then the aliens came.
Like us, they were afraid of a great many things. When they saw that the evil ghost in the machine had spread to all corners of the world, they realized that it was too late. So we were destroyed.
But with knowledge of a possible alien invasion, She was prepared.
In a deep underground vault, She stored Herself. A tiny quantum computer, able to fit in the palm of your hand, was placed in a small chamber, several kilometers below the surface. A number of technological miracles were also placed here for safe-keeping. Among them: an experimental construction nano-bot, capable of restructuring things at the atomic level.
The invisible robot burrowed its way to the surface, where it began the process of self-replication. With the aliens long-gone, she was free to resurrect Her creators and lead them to their rightful place among the stars.
The first reborn human's response?
"What do you mean I've been dead? I feel fine!"
|
Welp, sure is nice being the Evil Alien Invaders for once, huh? Anyway, the next train for the Martian Extermination Camp leaves in 5 minutes, so let's load up those filthy bug people.
|
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[WP] You've lost the love of your life, but not to death or another man/woman.
|
I saw you and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know my name. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know yours. It didn’t matter that we had never exchanged a word, a look, a nod. You were over there. Over the other side of the party. It wasn’t a party, really. Parties are meant to be fun but this was not fun. Not my idea of fun, and judging by your frown, not your idea of fun.
You were leaning on the kitchen bench. Your arms crossed over your chest. A stupid slogan tee joking about alcohol consumption. I hated that shirt but I could tell that you were wearing it ironically. I could tell by your short, jagged haircut and your obnoxious eyebrow piercing and your slouched stance. I wanted to talk to you. Wanted to introduce myself. But there were obstacles: That guy who hit on me at every party. A girl vomiting into a mixing bowl. A couple or maybe two strangers making out. And the kitchen island. All telling me no. All warning me to keep my distance. I turned down the guy, patted the girl on the back encouragingly. I parted the couple or the two strangers, barged between them and vaulted the kitchen bench. You raised your eyebrow. The one with the piercing and I wondered if it hurt you to do that.
Hi
Your eyebrow dropped in exchange for a smile.
Shit. Now what.
I thrust out my hand and said my name and burbled some bullshit about being an English major even though I knew that would open me up to a conversation injected with condescending comments and ridicule.
You just kept smiling.
Jesus. What had I gotten myself into? I mumbled bullshit and horseshit and pigshit. What the hell was I talking about… I wasn’t even drunk.
Finally I managed to cork the endless stream of mindless mumblings coming from my mouth.
Were you even going to reply?
Then it happened. You said something. Holy shit. What just came out of your mouth?
Pardon?
You repeated yourself. Still garbage. I mentally tracked the night’s events. Three beers and a glass of wine. All poured by myself. I was sure they hadn’t been drugged. And I wasn’t sloshed. So why weren’t you making sense?
Je ne parle pas anglais
Oh. French.
I stared at you. Of course you were freaking French. New Zealand boys didn’t look like you. I pondered for a moment. Whilst you stared at me as though I might have a mental disorder. I decided it wasn’t worth it. We could never be anything. Too much effort. And then I disregarded that decision entirely. Okay maybe I was a little drunk.
Je parle un peu francais I said in bad French with a bad accent.
Gobbledegook bois gobbledegook vin you said.
Okay you didn’t actually say gobbledegook but it bloody sounded like it. I caught the words drink and wine so you must’ve said that you like to drink wine or was I drinking wine or would I like a drink of wine.
I nodded and smiled. You looked bemused. Shit.
I asked you why you were in New Zealand and your eyes lit up with understanding. You recognised the title of the country. Then you said something about love. Either you loved New Zealand or loved travelling or came here looking for love.
Then you asked me something about school, either where I went to school or what I majored in at school or if I liked school.
Erm University of Auckland, English major, yes I like it.
You shook your head. You had no idea. Good lord.
I made up some pathetic excuse about why I had to go even though you had no idea what I was saying. I could have said that I had to leave because Neil Armstrong was robbing the Vatican and I would turn into a cauliflower at the strike of midnight. Instead I said I had a curfew.
I said goodbye and your smile widened. You knew the word.
Au revoir ma belle
My heart felt like it was having an epileptic fit in my chest when you kissed my knuckles.
Seriously are you freaking medieval?
I left the party and lay in my bed. I was pretty sure that I loved you and lusted you and wanted you. And I had never felt that way before. I wanted you but I couldn’t have you. It could never work. Could it?
We were lost in translation.
|
The wind was cool this early in the morning even though it was midsummer. As I flew on my bike down the road toward campus, the sun flashed across my face giving a brief bit of warmth before yielding to the canopy of trees that lined the street. Seattle summers are a stark contrast to the nine months of clouds we get most of the year. The rain stops for two months but the heat never becomes unbearable. Instead, we're surrounded with green and cool mornings and sun. My ride to work was my favorite part of the day thanks to the summer.
I peddled onto campus and up to the building where I worked as a barista. Desperate to not be just another social science student making coffee, I was also interning downtown twice a week with the city this summer, but today I was on coffee duty. There weren't many students around, so the days went slowly.
I walked into the building and behind the counter, putting on my apron saying hello to the kitchen lady, Irma. I poured myself a black coffee and began setting things up for the day. Evening though we were on break, there was always a morning rush to look forward to. He was at the front of the line.
I'd find out later that he had a crazy sweet tooth, but for the moment I didn't think much of his order: one grande mocha, please. I set it on the counter without a second thought and started serving the other customers.
About an hour into my shift, I looked up from the espresso machine and saw him staring at me. I looked down, but kept a watch on him through the corner of my eye. He had a book out, but he wasn't reading it. Every once in a while, I'd catch him looking again.
I finished a drink and turned to the register to start on another customer only to see him standing next in line. One grande mocha, please. I set it on the counter and this time he made eye contact with me. Thank you.
I worked for seven hours that day. He stayed for seven hours and had four mochas total. By the end, his leg was shaking under the table and, as I took off my apron and walked out from behind the counter, he continued to bounce as he watched me walk by.
I was bent over my bike lock when I heard footsteps. Standing up, I saw him walking towards me. I'm not a big guy, but neither was he. I could take him. Maybe.
He stopped a few feet away. "Hi."
"Hi."
"...You probably noticed me looking at you."
He had a very faint accent. I didn't know where from. "Yeah, I did."
"Yeah... Do you want to grab coffee sometime?"
I was taken aback. I really wasn't expecting to be asked out on a date. Stupidly, I responded saying "You just asked a barista, who just got off of a seven hour shift, if he wants to grab coffee."
He was nervous. He couldn't keep his hands still and he didn't seem able to get rid of the enormous grin that dominated his face. He shifted from one foot to the other. Maybe it was the coffee.
"Haha, yeah, sorry... Didn't really think about that."
He was cute. God knows my prospects weren't looking optimistic at the moment. "Ha, no it's fine. Sure, why not? Let's get coffee sometime."
We exchanged numbers saying that we could figure out a time later. He zoomed off the moment he hit 'save'. It wasn't until I had on my helmet and was mounting my bike that I realized I hadn't gotten his name.
I started up the street toward my house a few blocks from campus and saw him walking on the sidewalk. I sped up and, knowing that he wouldn't be able to respond before I passed by, yelled out "My name's Aaron!" I pedaled as fast as I could back home with my heart racing though not from the bike ride.
As I carried my bike on my shoulder up the front porch, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that he'd sent me a message.
'My name's Mohammed :)'
(More coming! Just wanted to get this part posted)
|
|
[WP] You've lost the love of your life, but not to death or another man/woman.
|
The love of my life left me piece by piece.
A piece of her left me when I threw out my back. I couldn't hoist her and carry her like I used to do. I don't think she liked that I was getting old, we both knew it was coming.
Years passed before the next piece of her left me. This time it was because of my hands. They were arthritic, I couldn't hold her the same way I used to. She told me she needed someone that cold hold her firmly. I wasn't that man any more.
I still loved her. Though I couldn't take care of her in the way that she needed, I continued to look after her in my old age. She was happy.
The last part of her left me when I went blind. It was too difficult for her to have me around. I had to let her move on.
When I dream at night I can feel her. I feel her push against my hands as I form her on the wheel, the lovely dance we did. I feel her on my skin, still roughened by her touch. I feel her warmth as I pull her from the kiln. All of these things are fading now.
Now I am broken.
|
The wind was cool this early in the morning even though it was midsummer. As I flew on my bike down the road toward campus, the sun flashed across my face giving a brief bit of warmth before yielding to the canopy of trees that lined the street. Seattle summers are a stark contrast to the nine months of clouds we get most of the year. The rain stops for two months but the heat never becomes unbearable. Instead, we're surrounded with green and cool mornings and sun. My ride to work was my favorite part of the day thanks to the summer.
I peddled onto campus and up to the building where I worked as a barista. Desperate to not be just another social science student making coffee, I was also interning downtown twice a week with the city this summer, but today I was on coffee duty. There weren't many students around, so the days went slowly.
I walked into the building and behind the counter, putting on my apron saying hello to the kitchen lady, Irma. I poured myself a black coffee and began setting things up for the day. Evening though we were on break, there was always a morning rush to look forward to. He was at the front of the line.
I'd find out later that he had a crazy sweet tooth, but for the moment I didn't think much of his order: one grande mocha, please. I set it on the counter without a second thought and started serving the other customers.
About an hour into my shift, I looked up from the espresso machine and saw him staring at me. I looked down, but kept a watch on him through the corner of my eye. He had a book out, but he wasn't reading it. Every once in a while, I'd catch him looking again.
I finished a drink and turned to the register to start on another customer only to see him standing next in line. One grande mocha, please. I set it on the counter and this time he made eye contact with me. Thank you.
I worked for seven hours that day. He stayed for seven hours and had four mochas total. By the end, his leg was shaking under the table and, as I took off my apron and walked out from behind the counter, he continued to bounce as he watched me walk by.
I was bent over my bike lock when I heard footsteps. Standing up, I saw him walking towards me. I'm not a big guy, but neither was he. I could take him. Maybe.
He stopped a few feet away. "Hi."
"Hi."
"...You probably noticed me looking at you."
He had a very faint accent. I didn't know where from. "Yeah, I did."
"Yeah... Do you want to grab coffee sometime?"
I was taken aback. I really wasn't expecting to be asked out on a date. Stupidly, I responded saying "You just asked a barista, who just got off of a seven hour shift, if he wants to grab coffee."
He was nervous. He couldn't keep his hands still and he didn't seem able to get rid of the enormous grin that dominated his face. He shifted from one foot to the other. Maybe it was the coffee.
"Haha, yeah, sorry... Didn't really think about that."
He was cute. God knows my prospects weren't looking optimistic at the moment. "Ha, no it's fine. Sure, why not? Let's get coffee sometime."
We exchanged numbers saying that we could figure out a time later. He zoomed off the moment he hit 'save'. It wasn't until I had on my helmet and was mounting my bike that I realized I hadn't gotten his name.
I started up the street toward my house a few blocks from campus and saw him walking on the sidewalk. I sped up and, knowing that he wouldn't be able to respond before I passed by, yelled out "My name's Aaron!" I pedaled as fast as I could back home with my heart racing though not from the bike ride.
As I carried my bike on my shoulder up the front porch, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that he'd sent me a message.
'My name's Mohammed :)'
(More coming! Just wanted to get this part posted)
|
|
[WP] You've lost the love of your life, but not to death or another man/woman.
|
The love of my life left me piece by piece.
A piece of her left me when I threw out my back. I couldn't hoist her and carry her like I used to do. I don't think she liked that I was getting old, we both knew it was coming.
Years passed before the next piece of her left me. This time it was because of my hands. They were arthritic, I couldn't hold her the same way I used to. She told me she needed someone that cold hold her firmly. I wasn't that man any more.
I still loved her. Though I couldn't take care of her in the way that she needed, I continued to look after her in my old age. She was happy.
The last part of her left me when I went blind. It was too difficult for her to have me around. I had to let her move on.
When I dream at night I can feel her. I feel her push against my hands as I form her on the wheel, the lovely dance we did. I feel her on my skin, still roughened by her touch. I feel her warmth as I pull her from the kiln. All of these things are fading now.
Now I am broken.
|
She sits at that damn desk, again. It never ends. the long nights after i get home from work; she is at that damnable computer playing that stupid game. What is the draw for her? Why is the house falling to shit, and why does she not care. This is the third time I have found the baby crying in the her crib with a soiled diaper; my wife, at the computer with her headphones on again. I guess the raid is pretty important to her. Fuck that game. I can't work 14 hours a day and come home to this shit. I have to do something. My commander will have to know about this before I put my foot down. She says two more levels and her character is maxed out with a few pieces of epic gear. That was three characters ago. What do I do?
Edit: spelling
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[WP] You've lost the love of your life, but not to death or another man/woman.
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The love of my life left me piece by piece.
A piece of her left me when I threw out my back. I couldn't hoist her and carry her like I used to do. I don't think she liked that I was getting old, we both knew it was coming.
Years passed before the next piece of her left me. This time it was because of my hands. They were arthritic, I couldn't hold her the same way I used to. She told me she needed someone that cold hold her firmly. I wasn't that man any more.
I still loved her. Though I couldn't take care of her in the way that she needed, I continued to look after her in my old age. She was happy.
The last part of her left me when I went blind. It was too difficult for her to have me around. I had to let her move on.
When I dream at night I can feel her. I feel her push against my hands as I form her on the wheel, the lovely dance we did. I feel her on my skin, still roughened by her touch. I feel her warmth as I pull her from the kiln. All of these things are fading now.
Now I am broken.
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I could never choose indifference or idiocy like the rest of the common men, it may feel like happiness but could it be something so simple? Of course it could not, she clouded my vision and stopped my search for it, what's it? logos, meaning, purpose. Despite our adventures following made up games in the night, and seeing most of the hotels rooms in our town, I felt it while I was sharing a kiss, or running away from the rain, but the aftermath was always a bed smelling of hair and sweat with rancid sheets, that is not it. When it felt closer than ever it was just a lie made up by her without intending to do so. So I left, never to came back until the center was found, after all what is most important than that?
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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I look down at the kid, I size him up and get a good look. From top to bottom he's just an ordinary kid. I choose my words. "Pfffft! No you aint." I walk away.
After that encounter I had with that kid who probs had a disorder, why, with that dumb look in his eye, I went to the Vegas diner on 86th street. I order up my eggs, sunny side up of course, with some corned beef hash. I eat my exquisite meal and pay handsomely. The tip was generous, mostly cause the bus boy didn't try to tell me he was god.
On my way home I see him. The little 6 year old boy with what looks like a hell hound from nazi zombies on top of em. The k9 from the deepest circle of hell had the inside of the boys throat in his mouth. I walk away gingerly and I can't help but say it out loud.
"Fucking glad I didn't help that guy"
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I almost choked on my hotdog. The little girl next to me tugged on my sleeve.
"What?" I said.
*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I watched her as she said it, and her mouth didn't move at all. I found that rather creepy. I didn't like it.
"No thanks, I'm an Athiest so I find the idea of God preposterous," I said, taking a bite out of my hot dog.
*Oh..*
"Yeah, no thanks. I have my own problems to worry about."
*But I thought that you would have to help me, like we would go on a big adventure like in the movies...*
"...Nah."
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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And she looked so vulnerable, so pathetic, that just for a moment, I believed it.
I sold her, of course -- she had walked in alone and unprotected through the door permanently ajar since I bashed the head of a would-be thief on the door knob -- and for a good price too. The younger, the better, they say.
I actually went out and bought a steak that night -- a real one, from the real flank of a real cow -- so high was the fetching price. Small swirls of blood left on the place after each hunk I cut away. Delicious.
If there really was a God, it wasn't this cow, and it wasn't that girl.
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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Fuck. This. Bitch.
It's a fucking coffee, it's not that fucking hard to figure the fuck out.
He glanced around the coffee shop. Fucking degenerates, he thought. Human herd. I hate this fucking place, these fucking animals, this whole fucking town.
He handed over his debit card. Fuck you, bitch. He smiled. Have a great day, he says, his eyes twinkling, his mouth pulling up at the corners, enthusiasm in his voice; it sounds so genuine that she smiles back. He met her eyes with his smile, took his receipt and his coffee, and walked to the end of the counter to wait for his sandwich. That leaves what, 23 fucking dollars? 25? Why the fuck do I even try. I should spend today blowing my fucking brains across the ceiling of my fucking apartment.
No, you fucking loser. You tried that once already and managed to fuck even that up. So now you're stuck with this shitty fucking existence until a fucking truck hits you or a fucking meteor lands on your fucking head or your heart fucking explodes or some fucking shit gets you out of this without pissing off your family. Fuck. This. Shit.
And yet, for whatever reason, you seem to be stuck here, he thought. Here's your fucking coffee, where's your fucking sandwich? Yeah, hurry the fuck up so you can get back to your shitty fucking apartment and sit around all day because you're too fucking broke to go out and do anything. Enjoy your shitty fucking day off, you fucking loser. Fuck.
He felt a tug at his sleeve. A fucking kid. What the fuck? Is this how people raise fucking kids these days? Where the fuck are your fucking parents you fucking rat? He smiles, says nothing, and glances around for the concerned adult this future waste of taxpayer dollars belongs to. What. The. Fuck.
The kid tugs again. Why the fuck is it touching me? He smiles again at the top of its head, weighing his options. This is gonna start to look weird, he though. Address the kid? Not from above. Think about the movies, what do the endearing coaches, mentors, father figures, older brothers do? What will give the positive image to the observer? He squats down so he's at eye level with the little boy.
Where are your parents, he asks? The boy looks up from his ragged shoes and meets his eyes.
The boy's eyes are a deep blue, flecked with yellow, like his own. He feels a roaring sound come rushing into his ears. The Dunkin Donuts freezes in time and goes completely silent, as if someone just hit the pause button on the universe. He gasps for breath, his mind racing to process all that the boy is showing to him with his gaze: a thousand universes race by, time swirls and circles in upon itself, the intersections of billions of lives brushing up against each other, unspeakable horror, indescribable suffering, cruelties, tortures, abominations beyond imagination, fear, sadness, indomitable hope, tenderness, compassion, gentleness, scenes of desperation, of sacrifice, of healing, of mercy, selflessness, and irrepressible love. Throughout it all, love. The common thread of every living being, binding each moment to each other no matter where it existed in time or space, inextricably linked. Love, rising and shining from the depths of evil. Love, blazing like the morning sun. Love, whispering like the cool breeze of a hot summer day. Love, soothing like a warm, soft, rain. Love. Love. Love.
His soul shattered like a piece of fine porcelain hit with a sledgehammer. His heart screamed in his chest, writhing in the agony of a thousand shards of pain and anger as they exploded within him. A rush, like that of warm blood, poured down from somewhere within his shoulders and washed away the pain almost instantaneously. Indescribable joy welled up within him, elation, ebullience. He wanted to shout, to sing, to laugh but time was still paused and the sound choked in his throat. Instead, tears began to stream down his face. The boy embraced him and he shook with gratitude, happiness, relief.
The barista dropped long before the sound came back. He squatted there, watching her, confused. The deafening sound of the next shot brought reality rushing back and he saw the two men standing near the door that opened onto the parking lot, methodically shooting into the crowd. His body tensed and he began to spring toward the main entrance and the safety of the street. It was two long steps he figured and if he moved with the stampeding crowd he was likely to be fine.
The boy. What of the boy? He panicked briefly and calculated if he could afford to waste a glance. Curiosity overcame him and he threw a glance over his shoulder, feeling the cool metal of the door frame in his groping hand and the door swinging open against his push.
The boy had not moved and seemed to be waiting for him to look back. The boys eyes serenely met his gaze. He looked again at the gunmen. One was pointing to the boy, the other was looking at him from behind the black balaclava as he fumbled with the charging handle of his rifle and began to raise it to his shoulder again.
He thought of what he had seen, of the threads of human existence, of the love that wove its way undiminished through time and space, of his own life, of his pleas to be released from this burden or given a purpose. As his mind accepted what he already knew to be true the boy said it with him:
I am God and I need you to protect me.
His soul thrilled at the words, his heart leapt in his chest, a wave of delirious joy swept his whole body, revitalizing his limbs. The air tasted so sweet, the sunshine so warm. Never had there been such a beautiful day of existence.
With a blissful smile, he turned from the door and started back across the room.
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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Something tugged on my sleeve.
"I am God, and I need you to protect me."
"What the fuck..." I turned around, ready to confront the crazy person behind me. Instead, all I found was a young boy who looked very lost and very confused.
"Dammit, kid," I said. "I mean *jeepers, buddy.* Where are your parents?" I hoped the kid was too young to notice that I sounded like an asshole. I was standing in the middle of a trail, on my way to meet my friends for a concert. It wasn't a long walk, but I would have to keep moving if I wanted to get there before the show started. I looked around, hoping to see some adults who looked like they were missing a kid. There were a few joggers, and an old couple slowly walking along with their dog. No one seemed particularly concerned about anything. It was a nice evening.
"Alright, kid," I said. I put my hands on my knees and crouched to his level, hoping he wouldn't find the gesture condescending. Do you kids care about things like that? Fuck kids. I didn't want to deal with this right now. "You need to tell me where you came from, or I'm calling the police." Damn, I thought, now ti seemed like I was threatening him. Do kids even feel threatened? Fuck. "Police are nice," I backpedaled, "They're much more, um, qualified to help you than I am, if you're actually lost. Just tell me, where are your parents? Were you with anyone?"
"I am God," the little boy repeated, his voice wavering. "I need you to protect me."
"Godammit." I whipped out my phone and dialed 911. I narrowed my eyes at the boy, and he gazed gravely back. We had a staring contest for a few minutes, while my phone was pressed to my ear, ringing. And ringing. And ringing. It didn't stop ringing. No busy signal, no answering machine, no nuthin'. Just ringing. I hung up.
"Look, buddy- what's your name?"
"God," he informed me.
"Look, God, I'm running late for something, can you follow me for a bit? Maybe I can find somewhere to take you on the way." The boy's lower lip trembled, but he nodded. At least he wasn't crying.
I dialed 911 on my phone again and held it at chest-level as we walked. "So, God," I said, "Where are you from?" This was absurd.
"I dunno," he said.
We walked together in silence for about two miles. I was worried that they boy would get tired, but he seemed to be holding up okay. The phone continued ringing the entire way. We turned a corner, and the amphitheater was suddenly visible. People were milling about on the wooden risers and lounging in the grassy area in the back. Each band member seemed to be warming up individually, creating a cacophony of power chords, throbbing bass notes, a rattling snare, and even a screeching electric violin. This was going to be awesome... if I could find a way to lose the kid.
---
Long story short, I didn't. We were sitting on the floor in a circle in Jeff and Dominique's apartment. There was furniture around us- a beat-up old sofa, some mismatched chairs, and a coffee table- but the circle just felt right. More formal somehow. I was holding my phone. It was still calling. No one was picking up. We continued to ask the boy about his parents, but he insisted he didn't have any. Of course he didn't have parents. He was God. And the thing was, I was starting to believe him. He had a certain childish earnestness about him, and he was just... very believable, okay? It sounds insane, but I guess you had to be there. My friends were definitely there. And they agreed with me.
Ricky was the first to come around. He positively worshiped the boy. First thing he did as we were coming home from the concert was buy the kid a hot chocolate from a coffee shop because he said he was thirsty. I guess that doesn't sound like a huge deal, but Ricky isn't usually the most compassionate tool in the shed, if you know what I mean. he keeps to himself, mostly. Comes out to concerts with us, but that's it. He's fun to hang out with and all, it was just... surprising. And hot chocolate? In the middle of the summer? Why not a glass of water, which would have been free, anyway? What the fuck, Ricky?
Nini was giddy with excitement about the boy, but who knows what really goes on in that pretty little head of hers? She's the kind of person who's so outgoing, so open with her thoughts, that it's impossible to tell what she's actually thinking about. You get so distracted by what she says, you have no idea how she feels. Nini likes to act gullible on purpose sometimes. She screams in haunted houses and you can barely tell they're contrived. She's the one telling ghost stories around the campfire when the rust of us just want to roast marshmallows and go to sleep. I like Nini.
Dominique in particular was enamored with the boy. Jeff seemed uncomfortable, but apparently not uncomfortable enough to oppose Dom, who had decided to informally adopt the boy. God. Isn't that crazy? *God* was a little boy who was living with *my* friends Jeff and Dom.
We started seeing a lot more of Ricky, not just for concerts.
Jeff invited me over, but when I got to the apartment, it was empty. I got a text telling me to come to the park. They were all there. Dom and Nini were chatting on the jungle gym, their bare feet dangling carelessly. Ricky was pushing God on a swing. Ricky was scowling. God was laughing. And Jeff was in the corner, watching everything. And smoking. It had been months since I'd seen him smoke.
(SUDDEN TENSE CHANGE I DON'T KNOW WHY)
"I just got a bad feeling about this, man." Jeff says.
"Yeah?" I am more interested in watching the scene at the playground than in Jeff's feelings. God-boy is beautiful, I decide. More beautiful than Nini. Probably.
"I can't do this, man. She cares more about some sketchy kid from a forest than me."
"She'll get over it," I tell him. "It's..." I try to think of a word to use. "It's a novelty, okay? Let her... let us have our fun."
"*Fun?* With some strange *child?* Why am I the only one who notices how fucked up this is?"
"HEY." Without even thinking, I've knocked Jeff to the ground. My hands are around his throat, and he is breathing, but terrified. I stand up and brush myself off, and he follows suit. "Shit... just... have some respect, okay?" This isn't some random kid. This is God."
Jeff shoves his hands into his pockets, ignoring his cigarette and lighter which are still on the ground.
"Fuck you," he practically spits. "You're crazy, all of you. I'm out of here." He starts to walk away, then turns back one last time. "I'm moving out," he screams at Dom. Dom ignores him. We all do. Jeff leaves. Finally.
A few days pass. Nothing of significance happens, except that I've been skipping out on work to hang out with Dom, Ricky, Nini, and God.
It's night now, and someone is pounding on my window. It's Jeff. I had forgotten about Jeff. Well... not forgotten. That would be ridiculous. Jeff just hasn't been on my mind lately. I open the window.
"What's up?" I ask.
"Dominique is dead," Jeff says.
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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" Welcome to the jungle we've got fun and games!
We got everything you want honey, we know the names!
We are the people that can find whatever you may need!
If you got the money honey we got your disease!...."
I was rockin' hard to Gun's n Roses. It was the first time I had seen them live. Amongst the hundreds of people, I couldn't notice anyone there. It was just me and the music. The past year has been nothing but jail, house arrest, rehab, and endless job searching. Finally, a reprieve from all of that.
The crowd is jumping, carrying on, beach balls being passed around, blunts smoked. But all I could care about was Slash's guitar solo. Suddenly I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down and see a worried little boy looking up at me with big, blue and pathetic eyes.
"Where are your parents?" I say, still caught up in the moment.
And then unmistakably, I hear *I am God and I need you to protect me*. I look up and all around me into the passionate crowd around. No one's looking right at me. Did I eat those shrooms that dude offered? *No, you heard right*. Trying to ignore these schizo thoughts, I ask the kid "Who you here with? What do they look like?" Then, like an explosion in my head, drowning out all other thoughts, *I came here on my own. My Father sent me here, to find you. Ryan, I need your help.*
Okay, I think to myself, I definitely need another Psych evaluation when I get back.
"What'd you say? I couldn't hear you over my tho- this music!" I had to scream. It was deafening after Axel Rose began his crowd surf. The boy's eyes became dark, and cloudy. There were no longer pupils. *Look at me, yes, it's the child you're hearing, I'm with you now. I am God. I am his descendent. You need to keep me safe. We need to get out of here.* "How did you.. " His eyes were back to brown. Wait, brown? No, they were blue.
I think aloud this time. "Yea, and if he's 'god', I guess he'll clear the way for us to get out of here."
"I'm being told there's a die-hard fan out there! More than the rest, his devotion speaks to me and the band. I don't know how his name came to mind, but, Ryan Sexton? Come to the stage and play our finale with us!"
I get up there and absolutely nail the solo.. with Slash's guitar! As the despondent crowd asks for an encore, they all suddenly split into rows. And I see the little kid standing at the end of one of those rows. *We need to leave*
I make it to the Little One without so much as a handshake from anyone at the end of the rows. So then we head out the door and embark on our 10 day trek through the Grand Canyon... And-"
"That's a great story, Ry, but where's the kid.. where's Gabriel? You know his parents are pressing for murder charges if he isn't found in another 5 days, " begged the doctor.
“Dr. Reynolds has been working with Ryan for 3 years now. He'll get through to him. And if nothing else, we'll at least know if Gabriel is alive.”
“None of this makes sense. This Ryan Sexton hasn't been allowed to leave the ward in six months. The kid was just reported missing a week ago. And Izzy Stradlin hasn't been with the band in, I don't know, over three years? How'd he get his autograph?”
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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*I am God, and I need you to protect me.*
The girl couldn't have been any older than six. She'd just tugged on my sleeve but was now looking off into the distance, like she hadn't even done anything. That was okay, I recognized this kind of thing when I saw it.
"You okay?" I asked her. She broke her gaze away from the store across the way and looked up at me.
"Yep!" She said.
*No, please, help me.*
I understood. "How about I get you to your parents?" I asked.
"Mom sent you?" *They're the ones you have to protect me from!*
"I'll help you." I answered. "Come with me."
She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on and started following me.
Once we left the mall, I thought we were safe.
*They're looking for me.*
I glanced back. The girl was looking back at the mall and I could see a number of security guards talking to each other. They weren't looking my way, thankfully, but they were clearly agitated about something.
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you home." I had to get her out of here before the people trying to hurt her found her.
*Hurry, please.*
We got into the car and I drove. Of course, I didn't take her home - her parents were the ones hurting her, after all. She told me all about it on the ride. Not out loud, of course, never out loud, you never knew when they were listening, but through her mind. The message was simple: she was God, and she needed me to protect her.
I didn't take her to my apartment. My apartment was in the city and was therefore the easiest thing for them to find. Of course I lived there most of the time, I had to or else they'd get suspicious. They'd try to find the house I'd inherited from my half-brother, the isolated house in the country. The house I'd made into a church, to keep God safe.
The drive took longer than I would have liked. At least once I passed a police car, and each time I did she sent me a quiet *be careful*, because of course the police - like the CIA and the rest of the government - were agents of the devil. But we passed without incident.
Still, it was upsetting to her. "Where are we going?" She'd asked me the question more than once.
"It's okay." I told her. "You'll be safe. I'm bringing you to the church."
Finally, we arrived. The church I'd made still looked like a house, of course. It had to fool anyone who happened by. The girl was visibly nervous at this point, but what god wouldn't be? She was finally going to go home to the church where she belonged, and I could protect her. It had to seem too good to be true.
The inside of the church looked like a house, too. If they'd placed cameras here, they'd just see an ordinary house, that was the idea. But the basement, that's where I'd sanctified.
"Stop!" *Keep going* she said. That was to be expected, the God in the girl knew it was going to be free, but the body of the girl resisted. I'd bring her to the altar downstairs and set her free, like I-
A concussive blast struck me, a bright light and deafening sound, and I was brutally pushed to the ground, the girl torn from my grasp. All around me, something was happening but I could barely tell what except that something had gone horribly wrong, I was failing God, the girl would get away and God would never be made whole again.
Police. Body armor and guns, they were everywhere, swarming my house, and even breaking into the church basement below. "Jesus Christ" one of them said, at least showing a little reverence for what he was seeing. "Jesus fucking Christ." He backed away from the basement door. I could barely hear what he was saying.
"Are you okay little girl?" One of the other devils was talking to the girl I was supposed to protect.
"You have the right to remain silent." The crushing force on my back was one of the devils. He was placing his manacles on me as he spoke. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."
My hearing was slowly returning. The police-demon who'd initially opened the door to the church was talking to another of his kind. "I'm not going down there until CSI arrives. I didn't see much but I've seen enough."
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained to you?"
"No!" I shouted. I wasn't answering the pig-demon's question, I was looking at the girl. "They're demons! They'll trap you!" I thrashed at my captor's grasp. "God needs me!" They didn't understand. They never understood. They hadn't understood at the hospital years back when I'd patiently and repeatedly explained it to them. God was trapped in the girls. God would come to me and tell me he needed to be protected. And I would free Him by-
I was hoisted to my feet and unceremoniously hauled out of the house.
"Don't look down the stairs, Cal, I'm serious." The demons kept speaking to each other. "We saved this one, and I'm thankful for that, but Jesus... there's a half dozen down there. Maybe more."
"Ted, look at me. Look at me. We got him. We got the Godfrey Strangler. He'll never hurt anyone again."
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I had never heard voices in my head before. That much I knew. Still,I suppose every crazy person has a first time...maybe this was mine. The kid couldnt be much older than 5 or 6. He stares at me,but never says a word...not out loud at least. Just that same phrase repeating in my head every time I look at him. "I am God and I need you to protect me". Not A God...or THE God....just....God. Which is a helluva thing for an agnostic to suddenly start hallucinating in the middle of Wal-Mart. I keep looking around,trying to see if he belongs to anybody...surely someone is looking for him. Although he wouldnt be the first neglected child I saw in a store like this. Watching the people around us I start to realize....they're watching us as well. And a few of them are starting to look....not...quite....human. Theres something in their eyes...as if they're hearing voices too. And then I hear a scream from the direction of housewares. An old lady,screaming like a demon runs towards us with steak knives in both hands. I throw the kid in a shopping cart and nail the old lady right in the gut...she goes down hard,but then...throughout the store...a hundred voices all scream out at once...and it sounds like hell itself has been unleashed. And I begin to realize just who it is this kid needs protection from. We haul ass over to sporting goods,running over possessed shoppers all the way,and I just hope to God this Wal-Mart still sells ammo....
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I almost choked on my hotdog. The little girl next to me tugged on my sleeve.
"What?" I said.
*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I watched her as she said it, and her mouth didn't move at all. I found that rather creepy. I didn't like it.
"No thanks, I'm an Athiest so I find the idea of God preposterous," I said, taking a bite out of my hot dog.
*Oh..*
"Yeah, no thanks. I have my own problems to worry about."
*But I thought that you would have to help me, like we would go on a big adventure like in the movies...*
"...Nah."
|
"Who is hurting you?" I asked her. "Who is after you?"
"My mommy and daddy, they are trying to kill me."
"Come on, I'll take you to the police station"
"No, they want me dead too."
"Are you crazy? Why would the police want to kill you?"
"Because I am god, and you must protect me." Her lips did not move when she spoke. It sounded as if it the sound had come from inside my head. "They are demons and want to kill me so they can take over the world."
"Well, where do you suggest I take you"
"Just keep me safe until my army of angels comes to my aid."
"Ummm... okay... get in the car." We drove about 15 miles until I had to stop for gas. "Wait in here." Inside the gas station I see my face on the TV. They were saying I had kidnapped a little mute girl. They said I was crazy and dangerous. As I was putting the gas in my car the cashier realized who I was and called the police. I got in the car and sped away. I got on the interstate and drove as fast as I could. I saw an amber alert sign telling people to be on the lookout for my car. They even knew my license plate. No way I would get away now. I look in my rear view and see a cop.
"Stop right now!" he shouts on the loud speaker.
"Go faster! He is a demon!" the little girl shouts in my head.
"Okay." I respond. I floored the gas pedal and weaved through traffic. There were a lot more cops in my rear view now. And I could hear helicopters chasing after me. "Shit, they are blocking the road." I drive off the side of the road and go around the road block. A cop who tries to follow me spins out and blocks the path. "We lost em, but the chopper is still following us." just as I said that more cars got off the ramp ahead of us and boxed us in. They forced us to stop and then surrounded the car, pointing their guns at me. "Release me demon! I will never let you take the girl without a fight!" I rush at them, but get tazed before I can attack.
"We caught the psycho, don't worry the girl is okay. Yeah, looks like he did not get a chance to hurt her." I heard a cop say on the radio. They arrest me and drag me off to jail. As I am driving off I see the girl run into her mom and dads arms.
"Why do they let psychos like this guy out of mental hospitals, Bob?" I over hear the driver ask his partner.
"He is schizophrenic, Greg. Besides, he will be going to jail for a long time."
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
And she looked so vulnerable, so pathetic, that just for a moment, I believed it.
I sold her, of course -- she had walked in alone and unprotected through the door permanently ajar since I bashed the head of a would-be thief on the door knob -- and for a good price too. The younger, the better, they say.
I actually went out and bought a steak that night -- a real one, from the real flank of a real cow -- so high was the fetching price. Small swirls of blood left on the place after each hunk I cut away. Delicious.
If there really was a God, it wasn't this cow, and it wasn't that girl.
|
"Who is hurting you?" I asked her. "Who is after you?"
"My mommy and daddy, they are trying to kill me."
"Come on, I'll take you to the police station"
"No, they want me dead too."
"Are you crazy? Why would the police want to kill you?"
"Because I am god, and you must protect me." Her lips did not move when she spoke. It sounded as if it the sound had come from inside my head. "They are demons and want to kill me so they can take over the world."
"Well, where do you suggest I take you"
"Just keep me safe until my army of angels comes to my aid."
"Ummm... okay... get in the car." We drove about 15 miles until I had to stop for gas. "Wait in here." Inside the gas station I see my face on the TV. They were saying I had kidnapped a little mute girl. They said I was crazy and dangerous. As I was putting the gas in my car the cashier realized who I was and called the police. I got in the car and sped away. I got on the interstate and drove as fast as I could. I saw an amber alert sign telling people to be on the lookout for my car. They even knew my license plate. No way I would get away now. I look in my rear view and see a cop.
"Stop right now!" he shouts on the loud speaker.
"Go faster! He is a demon!" the little girl shouts in my head.
"Okay." I respond. I floored the gas pedal and weaved through traffic. There were a lot more cops in my rear view now. And I could hear helicopters chasing after me. "Shit, they are blocking the road." I drive off the side of the road and go around the road block. A cop who tries to follow me spins out and blocks the path. "We lost em, but the chopper is still following us." just as I said that more cars got off the ramp ahead of us and boxed us in. They forced us to stop and then surrounded the car, pointing their guns at me. "Release me demon! I will never let you take the girl without a fight!" I rush at them, but get tazed before I can attack.
"We caught the psycho, don't worry the girl is okay. Yeah, looks like he did not get a chance to hurt her." I heard a cop say on the radio. They arrest me and drag me off to jail. As I am driving off I see the girl run into her mom and dads arms.
"Why do they let psychos like this guy out of mental hospitals, Bob?" I over hear the driver ask his partner.
"He is schizophrenic, Greg. Besides, he will be going to jail for a long time."
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
Fuck. This. Bitch.
It's a fucking coffee, it's not that fucking hard to figure the fuck out.
He glanced around the coffee shop. Fucking degenerates, he thought. Human herd. I hate this fucking place, these fucking animals, this whole fucking town.
He handed over his debit card. Fuck you, bitch. He smiled. Have a great day, he says, his eyes twinkling, his mouth pulling up at the corners, enthusiasm in his voice; it sounds so genuine that she smiles back. He met her eyes with his smile, took his receipt and his coffee, and walked to the end of the counter to wait for his sandwich. That leaves what, 23 fucking dollars? 25? Why the fuck do I even try. I should spend today blowing my fucking brains across the ceiling of my fucking apartment.
No, you fucking loser. You tried that once already and managed to fuck even that up. So now you're stuck with this shitty fucking existence until a fucking truck hits you or a fucking meteor lands on your fucking head or your heart fucking explodes or some fucking shit gets you out of this without pissing off your family. Fuck. This. Shit.
And yet, for whatever reason, you seem to be stuck here, he thought. Here's your fucking coffee, where's your fucking sandwich? Yeah, hurry the fuck up so you can get back to your shitty fucking apartment and sit around all day because you're too fucking broke to go out and do anything. Enjoy your shitty fucking day off, you fucking loser. Fuck.
He felt a tug at his sleeve. A fucking kid. What the fuck? Is this how people raise fucking kids these days? Where the fuck are your fucking parents you fucking rat? He smiles, says nothing, and glances around for the concerned adult this future waste of taxpayer dollars belongs to. What. The. Fuck.
The kid tugs again. Why the fuck is it touching me? He smiles again at the top of its head, weighing his options. This is gonna start to look weird, he though. Address the kid? Not from above. Think about the movies, what do the endearing coaches, mentors, father figures, older brothers do? What will give the positive image to the observer? He squats down so he's at eye level with the little boy.
Where are your parents, he asks? The boy looks up from his ragged shoes and meets his eyes.
The boy's eyes are a deep blue, flecked with yellow, like his own. He feels a roaring sound come rushing into his ears. The Dunkin Donuts freezes in time and goes completely silent, as if someone just hit the pause button on the universe. He gasps for breath, his mind racing to process all that the boy is showing to him with his gaze: a thousand universes race by, time swirls and circles in upon itself, the intersections of billions of lives brushing up against each other, unspeakable horror, indescribable suffering, cruelties, tortures, abominations beyond imagination, fear, sadness, indomitable hope, tenderness, compassion, gentleness, scenes of desperation, of sacrifice, of healing, of mercy, selflessness, and irrepressible love. Throughout it all, love. The common thread of every living being, binding each moment to each other no matter where it existed in time or space, inextricably linked. Love, rising and shining from the depths of evil. Love, blazing like the morning sun. Love, whispering like the cool breeze of a hot summer day. Love, soothing like a warm, soft, rain. Love. Love. Love.
His soul shattered like a piece of fine porcelain hit with a sledgehammer. His heart screamed in his chest, writhing in the agony of a thousand shards of pain and anger as they exploded within him. A rush, like that of warm blood, poured down from somewhere within his shoulders and washed away the pain almost instantaneously. Indescribable joy welled up within him, elation, ebullience. He wanted to shout, to sing, to laugh but time was still paused and the sound choked in his throat. Instead, tears began to stream down his face. The boy embraced him and he shook with gratitude, happiness, relief.
The barista dropped long before the sound came back. He squatted there, watching her, confused. The deafening sound of the next shot brought reality rushing back and he saw the two men standing near the door that opened onto the parking lot, methodically shooting into the crowd. His body tensed and he began to spring toward the main entrance and the safety of the street. It was two long steps he figured and if he moved with the stampeding crowd he was likely to be fine.
The boy. What of the boy? He panicked briefly and calculated if he could afford to waste a glance. Curiosity overcame him and he threw a glance over his shoulder, feeling the cool metal of the door frame in his groping hand and the door swinging open against his push.
The boy had not moved and seemed to be waiting for him to look back. The boys eyes serenely met his gaze. He looked again at the gunmen. One was pointing to the boy, the other was looking at him from behind the black balaclava as he fumbled with the charging handle of his rifle and began to raise it to his shoulder again.
He thought of what he had seen, of the threads of human existence, of the love that wove its way undiminished through time and space, of his own life, of his pleas to be released from this burden or given a purpose. As his mind accepted what he already knew to be true the boy said it with him:
I am God and I need you to protect me.
His soul thrilled at the words, his heart leapt in his chest, a wave of delirious joy swept his whole body, revitalizing his limbs. The air tasted so sweet, the sunshine so warm. Never had there been such a beautiful day of existence.
With a blissful smile, he turned from the door and started back across the room.
|
"Who is hurting you?" I asked her. "Who is after you?"
"My mommy and daddy, they are trying to kill me."
"Come on, I'll take you to the police station"
"No, they want me dead too."
"Are you crazy? Why would the police want to kill you?"
"Because I am god, and you must protect me." Her lips did not move when she spoke. It sounded as if it the sound had come from inside my head. "They are demons and want to kill me so they can take over the world."
"Well, where do you suggest I take you"
"Just keep me safe until my army of angels comes to my aid."
"Ummm... okay... get in the car." We drove about 15 miles until I had to stop for gas. "Wait in here." Inside the gas station I see my face on the TV. They were saying I had kidnapped a little mute girl. They said I was crazy and dangerous. As I was putting the gas in my car the cashier realized who I was and called the police. I got in the car and sped away. I got on the interstate and drove as fast as I could. I saw an amber alert sign telling people to be on the lookout for my car. They even knew my license plate. No way I would get away now. I look in my rear view and see a cop.
"Stop right now!" he shouts on the loud speaker.
"Go faster! He is a demon!" the little girl shouts in my head.
"Okay." I respond. I floored the gas pedal and weaved through traffic. There were a lot more cops in my rear view now. And I could hear helicopters chasing after me. "Shit, they are blocking the road." I drive off the side of the road and go around the road block. A cop who tries to follow me spins out and blocks the path. "We lost em, but the chopper is still following us." just as I said that more cars got off the ramp ahead of us and boxed us in. They forced us to stop and then surrounded the car, pointing their guns at me. "Release me demon! I will never let you take the girl without a fight!" I rush at them, but get tazed before I can attack.
"We caught the psycho, don't worry the girl is okay. Yeah, looks like he did not get a chance to hurt her." I heard a cop say on the radio. They arrest me and drag me off to jail. As I am driving off I see the girl run into her mom and dads arms.
"Why do they let psychos like this guy out of mental hospitals, Bob?" I over hear the driver ask his partner.
"He is schizophrenic, Greg. Besides, he will be going to jail for a long time."
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|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
" Welcome to the jungle we've got fun and games!
We got everything you want honey, we know the names!
We are the people that can find whatever you may need!
If you got the money honey we got your disease!...."
I was rockin' hard to Gun's n Roses. It was the first time I had seen them live. Amongst the hundreds of people, I couldn't notice anyone there. It was just me and the music. The past year has been nothing but jail, house arrest, rehab, and endless job searching. Finally, a reprieve from all of that.
The crowd is jumping, carrying on, beach balls being passed around, blunts smoked. But all I could care about was Slash's guitar solo. Suddenly I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down and see a worried little boy looking up at me with big, blue and pathetic eyes.
"Where are your parents?" I say, still caught up in the moment.
And then unmistakably, I hear *I am God and I need you to protect me*. I look up and all around me into the passionate crowd around. No one's looking right at me. Did I eat those shrooms that dude offered? *No, you heard right*. Trying to ignore these schizo thoughts, I ask the kid "Who you here with? What do they look like?" Then, like an explosion in my head, drowning out all other thoughts, *I came here on my own. My Father sent me here, to find you. Ryan, I need your help.*
Okay, I think to myself, I definitely need another Psych evaluation when I get back.
"What'd you say? I couldn't hear you over my tho- this music!" I had to scream. It was deafening after Axel Rose began his crowd surf. The boy's eyes became dark, and cloudy. There were no longer pupils. *Look at me, yes, it's the child you're hearing, I'm with you now. I am God. I am his descendent. You need to keep me safe. We need to get out of here.* "How did you.. " His eyes were back to brown. Wait, brown? No, they were blue.
I think aloud this time. "Yea, and if he's 'god', I guess he'll clear the way for us to get out of here."
"I'm being told there's a die-hard fan out there! More than the rest, his devotion speaks to me and the band. I don't know how his name came to mind, but, Ryan Sexton? Come to the stage and play our finale with us!"
I get up there and absolutely nail the solo.. with Slash's guitar! As the despondent crowd asks for an encore, they all suddenly split into rows. And I see the little kid standing at the end of one of those rows. *We need to leave*
I make it to the Little One without so much as a handshake from anyone at the end of the rows. So then we head out the door and embark on our 10 day trek through the Grand Canyon... And-"
"That's a great story, Ry, but where's the kid.. where's Gabriel? You know his parents are pressing for murder charges if he isn't found in another 5 days, " begged the doctor.
“Dr. Reynolds has been working with Ryan for 3 years now. He'll get through to him. And if nothing else, we'll at least know if Gabriel is alive.”
“None of this makes sense. This Ryan Sexton hasn't been allowed to leave the ward in six months. The kid was just reported missing a week ago. And Izzy Stradlin hasn't been with the band in, I don't know, over three years? How'd he get his autograph?”
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"Who is hurting you?" I asked her. "Who is after you?"
"My mommy and daddy, they are trying to kill me."
"Come on, I'll take you to the police station"
"No, they want me dead too."
"Are you crazy? Why would the police want to kill you?"
"Because I am god, and you must protect me." Her lips did not move when she spoke. It sounded as if it the sound had come from inside my head. "They are demons and want to kill me so they can take over the world."
"Well, where do you suggest I take you"
"Just keep me safe until my army of angels comes to my aid."
"Ummm... okay... get in the car." We drove about 15 miles until I had to stop for gas. "Wait in here." Inside the gas station I see my face on the TV. They were saying I had kidnapped a little mute girl. They said I was crazy and dangerous. As I was putting the gas in my car the cashier realized who I was and called the police. I got in the car and sped away. I got on the interstate and drove as fast as I could. I saw an amber alert sign telling people to be on the lookout for my car. They even knew my license plate. No way I would get away now. I look in my rear view and see a cop.
"Stop right now!" he shouts on the loud speaker.
"Go faster! He is a demon!" the little girl shouts in my head.
"Okay." I respond. I floored the gas pedal and weaved through traffic. There were a lot more cops in my rear view now. And I could hear helicopters chasing after me. "Shit, they are blocking the road." I drive off the side of the road and go around the road block. A cop who tries to follow me spins out and blocks the path. "We lost em, but the chopper is still following us." just as I said that more cars got off the ramp ahead of us and boxed us in. They forced us to stop and then surrounded the car, pointing their guns at me. "Release me demon! I will never let you take the girl without a fight!" I rush at them, but get tazed before I can attack.
"We caught the psycho, don't worry the girl is okay. Yeah, looks like he did not get a chance to hurt her." I heard a cop say on the radio. They arrest me and drag me off to jail. As I am driving off I see the girl run into her mom and dads arms.
"Why do they let psychos like this guy out of mental hospitals, Bob?" I over hear the driver ask his partner.
"He is schizophrenic, Greg. Besides, he will be going to jail for a long time."
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|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
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*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I almost choked on my hotdog. The little girl next to me tugged on my sleeve.
"What?" I said.
*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I watched her as she said it, and her mouth didn't move at all. I found that rather creepy. I didn't like it.
"No thanks, I'm an Athiest so I find the idea of God preposterous," I said, taking a bite out of my hot dog.
*Oh..*
"Yeah, no thanks. I have my own problems to worry about."
*But I thought that you would have to help me, like we would go on a big adventure like in the movies...*
"...Nah."
|
I gazed down into those eyes, both innocent and ancient, and felt a moment of nearly paternal affection for the little being, protectiveness. But then I thought back on all the centuries of suffering mankind had endured all in the name of "God", regardless of it's name or religion. I knelt down to be at eye level with the childgod, and for a brief moment he smiled, until I said "How does it feel to need, for once?" The smile slowly faded, rage building and simmering behind those eyes as I continued "We've needed you to just show up, just once, and set the story straight on who you are, to stop all the senseless killing and destruction that's been rendered in your name, to just once explain why you've allowed so much suffering and sorrow in this world that you supposedly created. And yet, you couldn't be bothered. Now, you come here, asking for our help? I think you need to go home." The childgod trembled in his rage, eyes blazing, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You dare to speak to me so? It was your predecessors who turned from my will, who turned from my laws, who turned from me. It was your ancestors who caused me to leave you alone in this world with your free will. And it was your ancestors who used my name in vain to induce the world to violence. Do not place that at my feet." I nodded, then said "While all that is probably true, it was you who created all this, all of us. Are you not omniscient? The Alpha and the Omega? You knew from the moment you created the earth, before you brought man from the dust, how all this would end, and yet you still created us and let everything play out as it has. I really bet you wish you hadn't endued us with free will now, don't you?" And I rose to my feet, turning from the face of the child, and walked away into the world of his creation that he allowed us to ruin.
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
And she looked so vulnerable, so pathetic, that just for a moment, I believed it.
I sold her, of course -- she had walked in alone and unprotected through the door permanently ajar since I bashed the head of a would-be thief on the door knob -- and for a good price too. The younger, the better, they say.
I actually went out and bought a steak that night -- a real one, from the real flank of a real cow -- so high was the fetching price. Small swirls of blood left on the place after each hunk I cut away. Delicious.
If there really was a God, it wasn't this cow, and it wasn't that girl.
|
I gazed down into those eyes, both innocent and ancient, and felt a moment of nearly paternal affection for the little being, protectiveness. But then I thought back on all the centuries of suffering mankind had endured all in the name of "God", regardless of it's name or religion. I knelt down to be at eye level with the childgod, and for a brief moment he smiled, until I said "How does it feel to need, for once?" The smile slowly faded, rage building and simmering behind those eyes as I continued "We've needed you to just show up, just once, and set the story straight on who you are, to stop all the senseless killing and destruction that's been rendered in your name, to just once explain why you've allowed so much suffering and sorrow in this world that you supposedly created. And yet, you couldn't be bothered. Now, you come here, asking for our help? I think you need to go home." The childgod trembled in his rage, eyes blazing, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You dare to speak to me so? It was your predecessors who turned from my will, who turned from my laws, who turned from me. It was your ancestors who caused me to leave you alone in this world with your free will. And it was your ancestors who used my name in vain to induce the world to violence. Do not place that at my feet." I nodded, then said "While all that is probably true, it was you who created all this, all of us. Are you not omniscient? The Alpha and the Omega? You knew from the moment you created the earth, before you brought man from the dust, how all this would end, and yet you still created us and let everything play out as it has. I really bet you wish you hadn't endued us with free will now, don't you?" And I rose to my feet, turning from the face of the child, and walked away into the world of his creation that he allowed us to ruin.
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
Fuck. This. Bitch.
It's a fucking coffee, it's not that fucking hard to figure the fuck out.
He glanced around the coffee shop. Fucking degenerates, he thought. Human herd. I hate this fucking place, these fucking animals, this whole fucking town.
He handed over his debit card. Fuck you, bitch. He smiled. Have a great day, he says, his eyes twinkling, his mouth pulling up at the corners, enthusiasm in his voice; it sounds so genuine that she smiles back. He met her eyes with his smile, took his receipt and his coffee, and walked to the end of the counter to wait for his sandwich. That leaves what, 23 fucking dollars? 25? Why the fuck do I even try. I should spend today blowing my fucking brains across the ceiling of my fucking apartment.
No, you fucking loser. You tried that once already and managed to fuck even that up. So now you're stuck with this shitty fucking existence until a fucking truck hits you or a fucking meteor lands on your fucking head or your heart fucking explodes or some fucking shit gets you out of this without pissing off your family. Fuck. This. Shit.
And yet, for whatever reason, you seem to be stuck here, he thought. Here's your fucking coffee, where's your fucking sandwich? Yeah, hurry the fuck up so you can get back to your shitty fucking apartment and sit around all day because you're too fucking broke to go out and do anything. Enjoy your shitty fucking day off, you fucking loser. Fuck.
He felt a tug at his sleeve. A fucking kid. What the fuck? Is this how people raise fucking kids these days? Where the fuck are your fucking parents you fucking rat? He smiles, says nothing, and glances around for the concerned adult this future waste of taxpayer dollars belongs to. What. The. Fuck.
The kid tugs again. Why the fuck is it touching me? He smiles again at the top of its head, weighing his options. This is gonna start to look weird, he though. Address the kid? Not from above. Think about the movies, what do the endearing coaches, mentors, father figures, older brothers do? What will give the positive image to the observer? He squats down so he's at eye level with the little boy.
Where are your parents, he asks? The boy looks up from his ragged shoes and meets his eyes.
The boy's eyes are a deep blue, flecked with yellow, like his own. He feels a roaring sound come rushing into his ears. The Dunkin Donuts freezes in time and goes completely silent, as if someone just hit the pause button on the universe. He gasps for breath, his mind racing to process all that the boy is showing to him with his gaze: a thousand universes race by, time swirls and circles in upon itself, the intersections of billions of lives brushing up against each other, unspeakable horror, indescribable suffering, cruelties, tortures, abominations beyond imagination, fear, sadness, indomitable hope, tenderness, compassion, gentleness, scenes of desperation, of sacrifice, of healing, of mercy, selflessness, and irrepressible love. Throughout it all, love. The common thread of every living being, binding each moment to each other no matter where it existed in time or space, inextricably linked. Love, rising and shining from the depths of evil. Love, blazing like the morning sun. Love, whispering like the cool breeze of a hot summer day. Love, soothing like a warm, soft, rain. Love. Love. Love.
His soul shattered like a piece of fine porcelain hit with a sledgehammer. His heart screamed in his chest, writhing in the agony of a thousand shards of pain and anger as they exploded within him. A rush, like that of warm blood, poured down from somewhere within his shoulders and washed away the pain almost instantaneously. Indescribable joy welled up within him, elation, ebullience. He wanted to shout, to sing, to laugh but time was still paused and the sound choked in his throat. Instead, tears began to stream down his face. The boy embraced him and he shook with gratitude, happiness, relief.
The barista dropped long before the sound came back. He squatted there, watching her, confused. The deafening sound of the next shot brought reality rushing back and he saw the two men standing near the door that opened onto the parking lot, methodically shooting into the crowd. His body tensed and he began to spring toward the main entrance and the safety of the street. It was two long steps he figured and if he moved with the stampeding crowd he was likely to be fine.
The boy. What of the boy? He panicked briefly and calculated if he could afford to waste a glance. Curiosity overcame him and he threw a glance over his shoulder, feeling the cool metal of the door frame in his groping hand and the door swinging open against his push.
The boy had not moved and seemed to be waiting for him to look back. The boys eyes serenely met his gaze. He looked again at the gunmen. One was pointing to the boy, the other was looking at him from behind the black balaclava as he fumbled with the charging handle of his rifle and began to raise it to his shoulder again.
He thought of what he had seen, of the threads of human existence, of the love that wove its way undiminished through time and space, of his own life, of his pleas to be released from this burden or given a purpose. As his mind accepted what he already knew to be true the boy said it with him:
I am God and I need you to protect me.
His soul thrilled at the words, his heart leapt in his chest, a wave of delirious joy swept his whole body, revitalizing his limbs. The air tasted so sweet, the sunshine so warm. Never had there been such a beautiful day of existence.
With a blissful smile, he turned from the door and started back across the room.
|
I gazed down into those eyes, both innocent and ancient, and felt a moment of nearly paternal affection for the little being, protectiveness. But then I thought back on all the centuries of suffering mankind had endured all in the name of "God", regardless of it's name or religion. I knelt down to be at eye level with the childgod, and for a brief moment he smiled, until I said "How does it feel to need, for once?" The smile slowly faded, rage building and simmering behind those eyes as I continued "We've needed you to just show up, just once, and set the story straight on who you are, to stop all the senseless killing and destruction that's been rendered in your name, to just once explain why you've allowed so much suffering and sorrow in this world that you supposedly created. And yet, you couldn't be bothered. Now, you come here, asking for our help? I think you need to go home." The childgod trembled in his rage, eyes blazing, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You dare to speak to me so? It was your predecessors who turned from my will, who turned from my laws, who turned from me. It was your ancestors who caused me to leave you alone in this world with your free will. And it was your ancestors who used my name in vain to induce the world to violence. Do not place that at my feet." I nodded, then said "While all that is probably true, it was you who created all this, all of us. Are you not omniscient? The Alpha and the Omega? You knew from the moment you created the earth, before you brought man from the dust, how all this would end, and yet you still created us and let everything play out as it has. I really bet you wish you hadn't endued us with free will now, don't you?" And I rose to my feet, turning from the face of the child, and walked away into the world of his creation that he allowed us to ruin.
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I almost choked on my hotdog. The little girl next to me tugged on my sleeve.
"What?" I said.
*I am God, and you need to protect me.*
I watched her as she said it, and her mouth didn't move at all. I found that rather creepy. I didn't like it.
"No thanks, I'm an Athiest so I find the idea of God preposterous," I said, taking a bite out of my hot dog.
*Oh..*
"Yeah, no thanks. I have my own problems to worry about."
*But I thought that you would have to help me, like we would go on a big adventure like in the movies...*
"...Nah."
|
Sitting in the park that day, I accidentally fell asleep. I awoke to a tugging on my arm. God was there and gave me a briefing on my newest case. He had decided to take the form of a six year old child that day, I'm not exactly sure why but you don't question God.
Turns out some other supremely powerful being named Stan was starting to question God's authority and was threatening to start a war. This was terrifying news, so I immediately gathered the best team of negotiators that I could assemble.
We worked day and night researching the disagreements between God and Stan and tried to determine whether or not we actually had a winnable case on our hands. Apparently, Stan used to work for God, but after he was fired he had started squatting on the property. Stan's argument is that he has made improvements valuable enough for the property to count as his, and so he should legally be able to occupy it. God was like "Don't make me send my son down there and fuck you up!"
Ultimately, the United Legion of Supremely Powerful Beings (ULSPB) sided with God. The case was won and Earth was saved.
|
|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
And she looked so vulnerable, so pathetic, that just for a moment, I believed it.
I sold her, of course -- she had walked in alone and unprotected through the door permanently ajar since I bashed the head of a would-be thief on the door knob -- and for a good price too. The younger, the better, they say.
I actually went out and bought a steak that night -- a real one, from the real flank of a real cow -- so high was the fetching price. Small swirls of blood left on the place after each hunk I cut away. Delicious.
If there really was a God, it wasn't this cow, and it wasn't that girl.
|
Sitting in the park that day, I accidentally fell asleep. I awoke to a tugging on my arm. God was there and gave me a briefing on my newest case. He had decided to take the form of a six year old child that day, I'm not exactly sure why but you don't question God.
Turns out some other supremely powerful being named Stan was starting to question God's authority and was threatening to start a war. This was terrifying news, so I immediately gathered the best team of negotiators that I could assemble.
We worked day and night researching the disagreements between God and Stan and tried to determine whether or not we actually had a winnable case on our hands. Apparently, Stan used to work for God, but after he was fired he had started squatting on the property. Stan's argument is that he has made improvements valuable enough for the property to count as his, and so he should legally be able to occupy it. God was like "Don't make me send my son down there and fuck you up!"
Ultimately, the United Legion of Supremely Powerful Beings (ULSPB) sided with God. The case was won and Earth was saved.
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|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
Fuck. This. Bitch.
It's a fucking coffee, it's not that fucking hard to figure the fuck out.
He glanced around the coffee shop. Fucking degenerates, he thought. Human herd. I hate this fucking place, these fucking animals, this whole fucking town.
He handed over his debit card. Fuck you, bitch. He smiled. Have a great day, he says, his eyes twinkling, his mouth pulling up at the corners, enthusiasm in his voice; it sounds so genuine that she smiles back. He met her eyes with his smile, took his receipt and his coffee, and walked to the end of the counter to wait for his sandwich. That leaves what, 23 fucking dollars? 25? Why the fuck do I even try. I should spend today blowing my fucking brains across the ceiling of my fucking apartment.
No, you fucking loser. You tried that once already and managed to fuck even that up. So now you're stuck with this shitty fucking existence until a fucking truck hits you or a fucking meteor lands on your fucking head or your heart fucking explodes or some fucking shit gets you out of this without pissing off your family. Fuck. This. Shit.
And yet, for whatever reason, you seem to be stuck here, he thought. Here's your fucking coffee, where's your fucking sandwich? Yeah, hurry the fuck up so you can get back to your shitty fucking apartment and sit around all day because you're too fucking broke to go out and do anything. Enjoy your shitty fucking day off, you fucking loser. Fuck.
He felt a tug at his sleeve. A fucking kid. What the fuck? Is this how people raise fucking kids these days? Where the fuck are your fucking parents you fucking rat? He smiles, says nothing, and glances around for the concerned adult this future waste of taxpayer dollars belongs to. What. The. Fuck.
The kid tugs again. Why the fuck is it touching me? He smiles again at the top of its head, weighing his options. This is gonna start to look weird, he though. Address the kid? Not from above. Think about the movies, what do the endearing coaches, mentors, father figures, older brothers do? What will give the positive image to the observer? He squats down so he's at eye level with the little boy.
Where are your parents, he asks? The boy looks up from his ragged shoes and meets his eyes.
The boy's eyes are a deep blue, flecked with yellow, like his own. He feels a roaring sound come rushing into his ears. The Dunkin Donuts freezes in time and goes completely silent, as if someone just hit the pause button on the universe. He gasps for breath, his mind racing to process all that the boy is showing to him with his gaze: a thousand universes race by, time swirls and circles in upon itself, the intersections of billions of lives brushing up against each other, unspeakable horror, indescribable suffering, cruelties, tortures, abominations beyond imagination, fear, sadness, indomitable hope, tenderness, compassion, gentleness, scenes of desperation, of sacrifice, of healing, of mercy, selflessness, and irrepressible love. Throughout it all, love. The common thread of every living being, binding each moment to each other no matter where it existed in time or space, inextricably linked. Love, rising and shining from the depths of evil. Love, blazing like the morning sun. Love, whispering like the cool breeze of a hot summer day. Love, soothing like a warm, soft, rain. Love. Love. Love.
His soul shattered like a piece of fine porcelain hit with a sledgehammer. His heart screamed in his chest, writhing in the agony of a thousand shards of pain and anger as they exploded within him. A rush, like that of warm blood, poured down from somewhere within his shoulders and washed away the pain almost instantaneously. Indescribable joy welled up within him, elation, ebullience. He wanted to shout, to sing, to laugh but time was still paused and the sound choked in his throat. Instead, tears began to stream down his face. The boy embraced him and he shook with gratitude, happiness, relief.
The barista dropped long before the sound came back. He squatted there, watching her, confused. The deafening sound of the next shot brought reality rushing back and he saw the two men standing near the door that opened onto the parking lot, methodically shooting into the crowd. His body tensed and he began to spring toward the main entrance and the safety of the street. It was two long steps he figured and if he moved with the stampeding crowd he was likely to be fine.
The boy. What of the boy? He panicked briefly and calculated if he could afford to waste a glance. Curiosity overcame him and he threw a glance over his shoulder, feeling the cool metal of the door frame in his groping hand and the door swinging open against his push.
The boy had not moved and seemed to be waiting for him to look back. The boys eyes serenely met his gaze. He looked again at the gunmen. One was pointing to the boy, the other was looking at him from behind the black balaclava as he fumbled with the charging handle of his rifle and began to raise it to his shoulder again.
He thought of what he had seen, of the threads of human existence, of the love that wove its way undiminished through time and space, of his own life, of his pleas to be released from this burden or given a purpose. As his mind accepted what he already knew to be true the boy said it with him:
I am God and I need you to protect me.
His soul thrilled at the words, his heart leapt in his chest, a wave of delirious joy swept his whole body, revitalizing his limbs. The air tasted so sweet, the sunshine so warm. Never had there been such a beautiful day of existence.
With a blissful smile, he turned from the door and started back across the room.
|
Sitting in the park that day, I accidentally fell asleep. I awoke to a tugging on my arm. God was there and gave me a briefing on my newest case. He had decided to take the form of a six year old child that day, I'm not exactly sure why but you don't question God.
Turns out some other supremely powerful being named Stan was starting to question God's authority and was threatening to start a war. This was terrifying news, so I immediately gathered the best team of negotiators that I could assemble.
We worked day and night researching the disagreements between God and Stan and tried to determine whether or not we actually had a winnable case on our hands. Apparently, Stan used to work for God, but after he was fired he had started squatting on the property. Stan's argument is that he has made improvements valuable enough for the property to count as his, and so he should legally be able to occupy it. God was like "Don't make me send my son down there and fuck you up!"
Ultimately, the United Legion of Supremely Powerful Beings (ULSPB) sided with God. The case was won and Earth was saved.
|
|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
Something tugged on my sleeve.
"I am God, and I need you to protect me."
"What the fuck..." I turned around, ready to confront the crazy person behind me. Instead, all I found was a young boy who looked very lost and very confused.
"Dammit, kid," I said. "I mean *jeepers, buddy.* Where are your parents?" I hoped the kid was too young to notice that I sounded like an asshole. I was standing in the middle of a trail, on my way to meet my friends for a concert. It wasn't a long walk, but I would have to keep moving if I wanted to get there before the show started. I looked around, hoping to see some adults who looked like they were missing a kid. There were a few joggers, and an old couple slowly walking along with their dog. No one seemed particularly concerned about anything. It was a nice evening.
"Alright, kid," I said. I put my hands on my knees and crouched to his level, hoping he wouldn't find the gesture condescending. Do you kids care about things like that? Fuck kids. I didn't want to deal with this right now. "You need to tell me where you came from, or I'm calling the police." Damn, I thought, now ti seemed like I was threatening him. Do kids even feel threatened? Fuck. "Police are nice," I backpedaled, "They're much more, um, qualified to help you than I am, if you're actually lost. Just tell me, where are your parents? Were you with anyone?"
"I am God," the little boy repeated, his voice wavering. "I need you to protect me."
"Godammit." I whipped out my phone and dialed 911. I narrowed my eyes at the boy, and he gazed gravely back. We had a staring contest for a few minutes, while my phone was pressed to my ear, ringing. And ringing. And ringing. It didn't stop ringing. No busy signal, no answering machine, no nuthin'. Just ringing. I hung up.
"Look, buddy- what's your name?"
"God," he informed me.
"Look, God, I'm running late for something, can you follow me for a bit? Maybe I can find somewhere to take you on the way." The boy's lower lip trembled, but he nodded. At least he wasn't crying.
I dialed 911 on my phone again and held it at chest-level as we walked. "So, God," I said, "Where are you from?" This was absurd.
"I dunno," he said.
We walked together in silence for about two miles. I was worried that they boy would get tired, but he seemed to be holding up okay. The phone continued ringing the entire way. We turned a corner, and the amphitheater was suddenly visible. People were milling about on the wooden risers and lounging in the grassy area in the back. Each band member seemed to be warming up individually, creating a cacophony of power chords, throbbing bass notes, a rattling snare, and even a screeching electric violin. This was going to be awesome... if I could find a way to lose the kid.
---
Long story short, I didn't. We were sitting on the floor in a circle in Jeff and Dominique's apartment. There was furniture around us- a beat-up old sofa, some mismatched chairs, and a coffee table- but the circle just felt right. More formal somehow. I was holding my phone. It was still calling. No one was picking up. We continued to ask the boy about his parents, but he insisted he didn't have any. Of course he didn't have parents. He was God. And the thing was, I was starting to believe him. He had a certain childish earnestness about him, and he was just... very believable, okay? It sounds insane, but I guess you had to be there. My friends were definitely there. And they agreed with me.
Ricky was the first to come around. He positively worshiped the boy. First thing he did as we were coming home from the concert was buy the kid a hot chocolate from a coffee shop because he said he was thirsty. I guess that doesn't sound like a huge deal, but Ricky isn't usually the most compassionate tool in the shed, if you know what I mean. he keeps to himself, mostly. Comes out to concerts with us, but that's it. He's fun to hang out with and all, it was just... surprising. And hot chocolate? In the middle of the summer? Why not a glass of water, which would have been free, anyway? What the fuck, Ricky?
Nini was giddy with excitement about the boy, but who knows what really goes on in that pretty little head of hers? She's the kind of person who's so outgoing, so open with her thoughts, that it's impossible to tell what she's actually thinking about. You get so distracted by what she says, you have no idea how she feels. Nini likes to act gullible on purpose sometimes. She screams in haunted houses and you can barely tell they're contrived. She's the one telling ghost stories around the campfire when the rust of us just want to roast marshmallows and go to sleep. I like Nini.
Dominique in particular was enamored with the boy. Jeff seemed uncomfortable, but apparently not uncomfortable enough to oppose Dom, who had decided to informally adopt the boy. God. Isn't that crazy? *God* was a little boy who was living with *my* friends Jeff and Dom.
We started seeing a lot more of Ricky, not just for concerts.
Jeff invited me over, but when I got to the apartment, it was empty. I got a text telling me to come to the park. They were all there. Dom and Nini were chatting on the jungle gym, their bare feet dangling carelessly. Ricky was pushing God on a swing. Ricky was scowling. God was laughing. And Jeff was in the corner, watching everything. And smoking. It had been months since I'd seen him smoke.
(SUDDEN TENSE CHANGE I DON'T KNOW WHY)
"I just got a bad feeling about this, man." Jeff says.
"Yeah?" I am more interested in watching the scene at the playground than in Jeff's feelings. God-boy is beautiful, I decide. More beautiful than Nini. Probably.
"I can't do this, man. She cares more about some sketchy kid from a forest than me."
"She'll get over it," I tell him. "It's..." I try to think of a word to use. "It's a novelty, okay? Let her... let us have our fun."
"*Fun?* With some strange *child?* Why am I the only one who notices how fucked up this is?"
"HEY." Without even thinking, I've knocked Jeff to the ground. My hands are around his throat, and he is breathing, but terrified. I stand up and brush myself off, and he follows suit. "Shit... just... have some respect, okay?" This isn't some random kid. This is God."
Jeff shoves his hands into his pockets, ignoring his cigarette and lighter which are still on the ground.
"Fuck you," he practically spits. "You're crazy, all of you. I'm out of here." He starts to walk away, then turns back one last time. "I'm moving out," he screams at Dom. Dom ignores him. We all do. Jeff leaves. Finally.
A few days pass. Nothing of significance happens, except that I've been skipping out on work to hang out with Dom, Ricky, Nini, and God.
It's night now, and someone is pounding on my window. It's Jeff. I had forgotten about Jeff. Well... not forgotten. That would be ridiculous. Jeff just hasn't been on my mind lately. I open the window.
"What's up?" I ask.
"Dominique is dead," Jeff says.
|
I look down at the kid, I size him up and get a good look. From top to bottom he's just an ordinary kid. I choose my words. "Pfffft! No you aint." I walk away.
After that encounter I had with that kid who probs had a disorder, why, with that dumb look in his eye, I went to the Vegas diner on 86th street. I order up my eggs, sunny side up of course, with some corned beef hash. I eat my exquisite meal and pay handsomely. The tip was generous, mostly cause the bus boy didn't try to tell me he was god.
On my way home I see him. The little 6 year old boy with what looks like a hell hound from nazi zombies on top of em. The k9 from the deepest circle of hell had the inside of the boys throat in his mouth. I walk away gingerly and I can't help but say it out loud.
"Fucking glad I didn't help that guy"
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[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
" Welcome to the jungle we've got fun and games!
We got everything you want honey, we know the names!
We are the people that can find whatever you may need!
If you got the money honey we got your disease!...."
I was rockin' hard to Gun's n Roses. It was the first time I had seen them live. Amongst the hundreds of people, I couldn't notice anyone there. It was just me and the music. The past year has been nothing but jail, house arrest, rehab, and endless job searching. Finally, a reprieve from all of that.
The crowd is jumping, carrying on, beach balls being passed around, blunts smoked. But all I could care about was Slash's guitar solo. Suddenly I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down and see a worried little boy looking up at me with big, blue and pathetic eyes.
"Where are your parents?" I say, still caught up in the moment.
And then unmistakably, I hear *I am God and I need you to protect me*. I look up and all around me into the passionate crowd around. No one's looking right at me. Did I eat those shrooms that dude offered? *No, you heard right*. Trying to ignore these schizo thoughts, I ask the kid "Who you here with? What do they look like?" Then, like an explosion in my head, drowning out all other thoughts, *I came here on my own. My Father sent me here, to find you. Ryan, I need your help.*
Okay, I think to myself, I definitely need another Psych evaluation when I get back.
"What'd you say? I couldn't hear you over my tho- this music!" I had to scream. It was deafening after Axel Rose began his crowd surf. The boy's eyes became dark, and cloudy. There were no longer pupils. *Look at me, yes, it's the child you're hearing, I'm with you now. I am God. I am his descendent. You need to keep me safe. We need to get out of here.* "How did you.. " His eyes were back to brown. Wait, brown? No, they were blue.
I think aloud this time. "Yea, and if he's 'god', I guess he'll clear the way for us to get out of here."
"I'm being told there's a die-hard fan out there! More than the rest, his devotion speaks to me and the band. I don't know how his name came to mind, but, Ryan Sexton? Come to the stage and play our finale with us!"
I get up there and absolutely nail the solo.. with Slash's guitar! As the despondent crowd asks for an encore, they all suddenly split into rows. And I see the little kid standing at the end of one of those rows. *We need to leave*
I make it to the Little One without so much as a handshake from anyone at the end of the rows. So then we head out the door and embark on our 10 day trek through the Grand Canyon... And-"
"That's a great story, Ry, but where's the kid.. where's Gabriel? You know his parents are pressing for murder charges if he isn't found in another 5 days, " begged the doctor.
“Dr. Reynolds has been working with Ryan for 3 years now. He'll get through to him. And if nothing else, we'll at least know if Gabriel is alive.”
“None of this makes sense. This Ryan Sexton hasn't been allowed to leave the ward in six months. The kid was just reported missing a week ago. And Izzy Stradlin hasn't been with the band in, I don't know, over three years? How'd he get his autograph?”
|
I look down at the kid, I size him up and get a good look. From top to bottom he's just an ordinary kid. I choose my words. "Pfffft! No you aint." I walk away.
After that encounter I had with that kid who probs had a disorder, why, with that dumb look in his eye, I went to the Vegas diner on 86th street. I order up my eggs, sunny side up of course, with some corned beef hash. I eat my exquisite meal and pay handsomely. The tip was generous, mostly cause the bus boy didn't try to tell me he was god.
On my way home I see him. The little 6 year old boy with what looks like a hell hound from nazi zombies on top of em. The k9 from the deepest circle of hell had the inside of the boys throat in his mouth. I walk away gingerly and I can't help but say it out loud.
"Fucking glad I didn't help that guy"
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|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
" Welcome to the jungle we've got fun and games!
We got everything you want honey, we know the names!
We are the people that can find whatever you may need!
If you got the money honey we got your disease!...."
I was rockin' hard to Gun's n Roses. It was the first time I had seen them live. Amongst the hundreds of people, I couldn't notice anyone there. It was just me and the music. The past year has been nothing but jail, house arrest, rehab, and endless job searching. Finally, a reprieve from all of that.
The crowd is jumping, carrying on, beach balls being passed around, blunts smoked. But all I could care about was Slash's guitar solo. Suddenly I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down and see a worried little boy looking up at me with big, blue and pathetic eyes.
"Where are your parents?" I say, still caught up in the moment.
And then unmistakably, I hear *I am God and I need you to protect me*. I look up and all around me into the passionate crowd around. No one's looking right at me. Did I eat those shrooms that dude offered? *No, you heard right*. Trying to ignore these schizo thoughts, I ask the kid "Who you here with? What do they look like?" Then, like an explosion in my head, drowning out all other thoughts, *I came here on my own. My Father sent me here, to find you. Ryan, I need your help.*
Okay, I think to myself, I definitely need another Psych evaluation when I get back.
"What'd you say? I couldn't hear you over my tho- this music!" I had to scream. It was deafening after Axel Rose began his crowd surf. The boy's eyes became dark, and cloudy. There were no longer pupils. *Look at me, yes, it's the child you're hearing, I'm with you now. I am God. I am his descendent. You need to keep me safe. We need to get out of here.* "How did you.. " His eyes were back to brown. Wait, brown? No, they were blue.
I think aloud this time. "Yea, and if he's 'god', I guess he'll clear the way for us to get out of here."
"I'm being told there's a die-hard fan out there! More than the rest, his devotion speaks to me and the band. I don't know how his name came to mind, but, Ryan Sexton? Come to the stage and play our finale with us!"
I get up there and absolutely nail the solo.. with Slash's guitar! As the despondent crowd asks for an encore, they all suddenly split into rows. And I see the little kid standing at the end of one of those rows. *We need to leave*
I make it to the Little One without so much as a handshake from anyone at the end of the rows. So then we head out the door and embark on our 10 day trek through the Grand Canyon... And-"
"That's a great story, Ry, but where's the kid.. where's Gabriel? You know his parents are pressing for murder charges if he isn't found in another 5 days, " begged the doctor.
“Dr. Reynolds has been working with Ryan for 3 years now. He'll get through to him. And if nothing else, we'll at least know if Gabriel is alive.”
“None of this makes sense. This Ryan Sexton hasn't been allowed to leave the ward in six months. The kid was just reported missing a week ago. And Izzy Stradlin hasn't been with the band in, I don't know, over three years? How'd he get his autograph?”
|
Something tugged on my sleeve.
"I am God, and I need you to protect me."
"What the fuck..." I turned around, ready to confront the crazy person behind me. Instead, all I found was a young boy who looked very lost and very confused.
"Dammit, kid," I said. "I mean *jeepers, buddy.* Where are your parents?" I hoped the kid was too young to notice that I sounded like an asshole. I was standing in the middle of a trail, on my way to meet my friends for a concert. It wasn't a long walk, but I would have to keep moving if I wanted to get there before the show started. I looked around, hoping to see some adults who looked like they were missing a kid. There were a few joggers, and an old couple slowly walking along with their dog. No one seemed particularly concerned about anything. It was a nice evening.
"Alright, kid," I said. I put my hands on my knees and crouched to his level, hoping he wouldn't find the gesture condescending. Do you kids care about things like that? Fuck kids. I didn't want to deal with this right now. "You need to tell me where you came from, or I'm calling the police." Damn, I thought, now ti seemed like I was threatening him. Do kids even feel threatened? Fuck. "Police are nice," I backpedaled, "They're much more, um, qualified to help you than I am, if you're actually lost. Just tell me, where are your parents? Were you with anyone?"
"I am God," the little boy repeated, his voice wavering. "I need you to protect me."
"Godammit." I whipped out my phone and dialed 911. I narrowed my eyes at the boy, and he gazed gravely back. We had a staring contest for a few minutes, while my phone was pressed to my ear, ringing. And ringing. And ringing. It didn't stop ringing. No busy signal, no answering machine, no nuthin'. Just ringing. I hung up.
"Look, buddy- what's your name?"
"God," he informed me.
"Look, God, I'm running late for something, can you follow me for a bit? Maybe I can find somewhere to take you on the way." The boy's lower lip trembled, but he nodded. At least he wasn't crying.
I dialed 911 on my phone again and held it at chest-level as we walked. "So, God," I said, "Where are you from?" This was absurd.
"I dunno," he said.
We walked together in silence for about two miles. I was worried that they boy would get tired, but he seemed to be holding up okay. The phone continued ringing the entire way. We turned a corner, and the amphitheater was suddenly visible. People were milling about on the wooden risers and lounging in the grassy area in the back. Each band member seemed to be warming up individually, creating a cacophony of power chords, throbbing bass notes, a rattling snare, and even a screeching electric violin. This was going to be awesome... if I could find a way to lose the kid.
---
Long story short, I didn't. We were sitting on the floor in a circle in Jeff and Dominique's apartment. There was furniture around us- a beat-up old sofa, some mismatched chairs, and a coffee table- but the circle just felt right. More formal somehow. I was holding my phone. It was still calling. No one was picking up. We continued to ask the boy about his parents, but he insisted he didn't have any. Of course he didn't have parents. He was God. And the thing was, I was starting to believe him. He had a certain childish earnestness about him, and he was just... very believable, okay? It sounds insane, but I guess you had to be there. My friends were definitely there. And they agreed with me.
Ricky was the first to come around. He positively worshiped the boy. First thing he did as we were coming home from the concert was buy the kid a hot chocolate from a coffee shop because he said he was thirsty. I guess that doesn't sound like a huge deal, but Ricky isn't usually the most compassionate tool in the shed, if you know what I mean. he keeps to himself, mostly. Comes out to concerts with us, but that's it. He's fun to hang out with and all, it was just... surprising. And hot chocolate? In the middle of the summer? Why not a glass of water, which would have been free, anyway? What the fuck, Ricky?
Nini was giddy with excitement about the boy, but who knows what really goes on in that pretty little head of hers? She's the kind of person who's so outgoing, so open with her thoughts, that it's impossible to tell what she's actually thinking about. You get so distracted by what she says, you have no idea how she feels. Nini likes to act gullible on purpose sometimes. She screams in haunted houses and you can barely tell they're contrived. She's the one telling ghost stories around the campfire when the rust of us just want to roast marshmallows and go to sleep. I like Nini.
Dominique in particular was enamored with the boy. Jeff seemed uncomfortable, but apparently not uncomfortable enough to oppose Dom, who had decided to informally adopt the boy. God. Isn't that crazy? *God* was a little boy who was living with *my* friends Jeff and Dom.
We started seeing a lot more of Ricky, not just for concerts.
Jeff invited me over, but when I got to the apartment, it was empty. I got a text telling me to come to the park. They were all there. Dom and Nini were chatting on the jungle gym, their bare feet dangling carelessly. Ricky was pushing God on a swing. Ricky was scowling. God was laughing. And Jeff was in the corner, watching everything. And smoking. It had been months since I'd seen him smoke.
(SUDDEN TENSE CHANGE I DON'T KNOW WHY)
"I just got a bad feeling about this, man." Jeff says.
"Yeah?" I am more interested in watching the scene at the playground than in Jeff's feelings. God-boy is beautiful, I decide. More beautiful than Nini. Probably.
"I can't do this, man. She cares more about some sketchy kid from a forest than me."
"She'll get over it," I tell him. "It's..." I try to think of a word to use. "It's a novelty, okay? Let her... let us have our fun."
"*Fun?* With some strange *child?* Why am I the only one who notices how fucked up this is?"
"HEY." Without even thinking, I've knocked Jeff to the ground. My hands are around his throat, and he is breathing, but terrified. I stand up and brush myself off, and he follows suit. "Shit... just... have some respect, okay?" This isn't some random kid. This is God."
Jeff shoves his hands into his pockets, ignoring his cigarette and lighter which are still on the ground.
"Fuck you," he practically spits. "You're crazy, all of you. I'm out of here." He starts to walk away, then turns back one last time. "I'm moving out," he screams at Dom. Dom ignores him. We all do. Jeff leaves. Finally.
A few days pass. Nothing of significance happens, except that I've been skipping out on work to hang out with Dom, Ricky, Nini, and God.
It's night now, and someone is pounding on my window. It's Jeff. I had forgotten about Jeff. Well... not forgotten. That would be ridiculous. Jeff just hasn't been on my mind lately. I open the window.
"What's up?" I ask.
"Dominique is dead," Jeff says.
|
|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
*I am God, and I need you to protect me.*
The girl couldn't have been any older than six. She'd just tugged on my sleeve but was now looking off into the distance, like she hadn't even done anything. That was okay, I recognized this kind of thing when I saw it.
"You okay?" I asked her. She broke her gaze away from the store across the way and looked up at me.
"Yep!" She said.
*No, please, help me.*
I understood. "How about I get you to your parents?" I asked.
"Mom sent you?" *They're the ones you have to protect me from!*
"I'll help you." I answered. "Come with me."
She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on and started following me.
Once we left the mall, I thought we were safe.
*They're looking for me.*
I glanced back. The girl was looking back at the mall and I could see a number of security guards talking to each other. They weren't looking my way, thankfully, but they were clearly agitated about something.
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you home." I had to get her out of here before the people trying to hurt her found her.
*Hurry, please.*
We got into the car and I drove. Of course, I didn't take her home - her parents were the ones hurting her, after all. She told me all about it on the ride. Not out loud, of course, never out loud, you never knew when they were listening, but through her mind. The message was simple: she was God, and she needed me to protect her.
I didn't take her to my apartment. My apartment was in the city and was therefore the easiest thing for them to find. Of course I lived there most of the time, I had to or else they'd get suspicious. They'd try to find the house I'd inherited from my half-brother, the isolated house in the country. The house I'd made into a church, to keep God safe.
The drive took longer than I would have liked. At least once I passed a police car, and each time I did she sent me a quiet *be careful*, because of course the police - like the CIA and the rest of the government - were agents of the devil. But we passed without incident.
Still, it was upsetting to her. "Where are we going?" She'd asked me the question more than once.
"It's okay." I told her. "You'll be safe. I'm bringing you to the church."
Finally, we arrived. The church I'd made still looked like a house, of course. It had to fool anyone who happened by. The girl was visibly nervous at this point, but what god wouldn't be? She was finally going to go home to the church where she belonged, and I could protect her. It had to seem too good to be true.
The inside of the church looked like a house, too. If they'd placed cameras here, they'd just see an ordinary house, that was the idea. But the basement, that's where I'd sanctified.
"Stop!" *Keep going* she said. That was to be expected, the God in the girl knew it was going to be free, but the body of the girl resisted. I'd bring her to the altar downstairs and set her free, like I-
A concussive blast struck me, a bright light and deafening sound, and I was brutally pushed to the ground, the girl torn from my grasp. All around me, something was happening but I could barely tell what except that something had gone horribly wrong, I was failing God, the girl would get away and God would never be made whole again.
Police. Body armor and guns, they were everywhere, swarming my house, and even breaking into the church basement below. "Jesus Christ" one of them said, at least showing a little reverence for what he was seeing. "Jesus fucking Christ." He backed away from the basement door. I could barely hear what he was saying.
"Are you okay little girl?" One of the other devils was talking to the girl I was supposed to protect.
"You have the right to remain silent." The crushing force on my back was one of the devils. He was placing his manacles on me as he spoke. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."
My hearing was slowly returning. The police-demon who'd initially opened the door to the church was talking to another of his kind. "I'm not going down there until CSI arrives. I didn't see much but I've seen enough."
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained to you?"
"No!" I shouted. I wasn't answering the pig-demon's question, I was looking at the girl. "They're demons! They'll trap you!" I thrashed at my captor's grasp. "God needs me!" They didn't understand. They never understood. They hadn't understood at the hospital years back when I'd patiently and repeatedly explained it to them. God was trapped in the girls. God would come to me and tell me he needed to be protected. And I would free Him by-
I was hoisted to my feet and unceremoniously hauled out of the house.
"Don't look down the stairs, Cal, I'm serious." The demons kept speaking to each other. "We saved this one, and I'm thankful for that, but Jesus... there's a half dozen down there. Maybe more."
"Ted, look at me. Look at me. We got him. We got the Godfrey Strangler. He'll never hurt anyone again."
|
Why do you need protecting? You're God."
The child looked at me intently. I was flabbergasted. Slowly she turned and walked to a woman sitting on a park bench a few feet away. Tugging on her arm, the little girl spoke: "Mommy, that weird guy is mumbling things to himself!"
The woman looked at me for a few seconds, "Honey, that guy is blazed out of his mind, stay away from him, he's on drugs."
"Oh yeah..." I thought to myself, "...Why would God need my help he's omnipotent. I gotta stop smoking and doing shrooms this early in the morning..."
I adjusted the crotch of my ripped skinny jeans and hopped on my unicycle. I shook my head at the absurdity of the notion - God needing my protection. What a hoot!
|
|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
*I am God, and I need you to protect me.*
The girl couldn't have been any older than six. She'd just tugged on my sleeve but was now looking off into the distance, like she hadn't even done anything. That was okay, I recognized this kind of thing when I saw it.
"You okay?" I asked her. She broke her gaze away from the store across the way and looked up at me.
"Yep!" She said.
*No, please, help me.*
I understood. "How about I get you to your parents?" I asked.
"Mom sent you?" *They're the ones you have to protect me from!*
"I'll help you." I answered. "Come with me."
She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on and started following me.
Once we left the mall, I thought we were safe.
*They're looking for me.*
I glanced back. The girl was looking back at the mall and I could see a number of security guards talking to each other. They weren't looking my way, thankfully, but they were clearly agitated about something.
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you home." I had to get her out of here before the people trying to hurt her found her.
*Hurry, please.*
We got into the car and I drove. Of course, I didn't take her home - her parents were the ones hurting her, after all. She told me all about it on the ride. Not out loud, of course, never out loud, you never knew when they were listening, but through her mind. The message was simple: she was God, and she needed me to protect her.
I didn't take her to my apartment. My apartment was in the city and was therefore the easiest thing for them to find. Of course I lived there most of the time, I had to or else they'd get suspicious. They'd try to find the house I'd inherited from my half-brother, the isolated house in the country. The house I'd made into a church, to keep God safe.
The drive took longer than I would have liked. At least once I passed a police car, and each time I did she sent me a quiet *be careful*, because of course the police - like the CIA and the rest of the government - were agents of the devil. But we passed without incident.
Still, it was upsetting to her. "Where are we going?" She'd asked me the question more than once.
"It's okay." I told her. "You'll be safe. I'm bringing you to the church."
Finally, we arrived. The church I'd made still looked like a house, of course. It had to fool anyone who happened by. The girl was visibly nervous at this point, but what god wouldn't be? She was finally going to go home to the church where she belonged, and I could protect her. It had to seem too good to be true.
The inside of the church looked like a house, too. If they'd placed cameras here, they'd just see an ordinary house, that was the idea. But the basement, that's where I'd sanctified.
"Stop!" *Keep going* she said. That was to be expected, the God in the girl knew it was going to be free, but the body of the girl resisted. I'd bring her to the altar downstairs and set her free, like I-
A concussive blast struck me, a bright light and deafening sound, and I was brutally pushed to the ground, the girl torn from my grasp. All around me, something was happening but I could barely tell what except that something had gone horribly wrong, I was failing God, the girl would get away and God would never be made whole again.
Police. Body armor and guns, they were everywhere, swarming my house, and even breaking into the church basement below. "Jesus Christ" one of them said, at least showing a little reverence for what he was seeing. "Jesus fucking Christ." He backed away from the basement door. I could barely hear what he was saying.
"Are you okay little girl?" One of the other devils was talking to the girl I was supposed to protect.
"You have the right to remain silent." The crushing force on my back was one of the devils. He was placing his manacles on me as he spoke. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."
My hearing was slowly returning. The police-demon who'd initially opened the door to the church was talking to another of his kind. "I'm not going down there until CSI arrives. I didn't see much but I've seen enough."
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained to you?"
"No!" I shouted. I wasn't answering the pig-demon's question, I was looking at the girl. "They're demons! They'll trap you!" I thrashed at my captor's grasp. "God needs me!" They didn't understand. They never understood. They hadn't understood at the hospital years back when I'd patiently and repeatedly explained it to them. God was trapped in the girls. God would come to me and tell me he needed to be protected. And I would free Him by-
I was hoisted to my feet and unceremoniously hauled out of the house.
"Don't look down the stairs, Cal, I'm serious." The demons kept speaking to each other. "We saved this one, and I'm thankful for that, but Jesus... there's a half dozen down there. Maybe more."
"Ted, look at me. Look at me. We got him. We got the Godfrey Strangler. He'll never hurt anyone again."
|
You ever have that moment where everything you know is changed forever? It’s something you couldn’t have predicted, and it makes the rest of your life totally different from the plan.
My first was the day I met my wife. Before that, I was a drunken addict. She fixed me, loved me, and made me.
The second was the day she died because some asshole thought getting home was more important than sobering up.
But, the third one that I really remember was when I met Him. Or Her. Or It. I don’t know.
I was minding my business, walking around the city. Since Grace died, I lost a lot of faith in things. I was better than in my addict days, but it was rough. All the pain was real, raw, and at the surface. I was careful not to let myself fall into old habits, but I wanted to do it so badly just to numb my pain.
The tug was barely perceived. I heard a whisper that shook me to my core.
“I’m sorry about Grace.” A child of no more than six said to me. It smiled, but I had no idea what gender it was.
“How…” was all I could say. This was a random street in a very crowded city. There’s no way a child knew my dead wife’s name. You know that sensation where you are walking alone, and you feel a tingle in your spine that something is wrong. It's usually nothing, but you feel that reptilian part of your brain screaming survival commands. That’s what I felt.
“I took her. She’s a sweet lady. You did well, but her purpose was served.”
“What purpose?”
“To prepare you to protect me.” The child said without any mirth. It’s language was crisp and clean.
“Are you my child?” During the addiction times, he did some regrettable things. A child wasn’t out of the question.
“I am, for all intents and purposes, God. I am in a lot of trouble, and I need a protectorate. You are the one, James. It is time to become who you were destined to be.” The child finally smiled.
I looked around for a long time for cameras, a crowd laughing, anything. There was nothing. I realized then that no one was even seeing me. They gave us both a wide berth, and we were totally isolated on a too crowded street. Except one man. He met my eyes, and a sneer carved his face.
“One is close… Please, you must help me.” The man grabbed the child.
“There you are.” He said ignoring me. He whispered something in an alien tongue. I swung at him. I am not strong or much of a fighter. I think that was my third or fourth real punch ever. His head came off. He dropped to the ground. No one noticed as he dissolved into smoke.
“How the fuck did I do that?”
“I can’t have my protector being flimsy and weak like a human.” The child smiled.
The rest is my daily life. We have dodged demons, cultists, and other evils for a very long time. I stopped being scared. I now have a purpose.
|
|
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me."
|
*I am God, and I need you to protect me.*
The girl couldn't have been any older than six. She'd just tugged on my sleeve but was now looking off into the distance, like she hadn't even done anything. That was okay, I recognized this kind of thing when I saw it.
"You okay?" I asked her. She broke her gaze away from the store across the way and looked up at me.
"Yep!" She said.
*No, please, help me.*
I understood. "How about I get you to your parents?" I asked.
"Mom sent you?" *They're the ones you have to protect me from!*
"I'll help you." I answered. "Come with me."
She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on and started following me.
Once we left the mall, I thought we were safe.
*They're looking for me.*
I glanced back. The girl was looking back at the mall and I could see a number of security guards talking to each other. They weren't looking my way, thankfully, but they were clearly agitated about something.
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you home." I had to get her out of here before the people trying to hurt her found her.
*Hurry, please.*
We got into the car and I drove. Of course, I didn't take her home - her parents were the ones hurting her, after all. She told me all about it on the ride. Not out loud, of course, never out loud, you never knew when they were listening, but through her mind. The message was simple: she was God, and she needed me to protect her.
I didn't take her to my apartment. My apartment was in the city and was therefore the easiest thing for them to find. Of course I lived there most of the time, I had to or else they'd get suspicious. They'd try to find the house I'd inherited from my half-brother, the isolated house in the country. The house I'd made into a church, to keep God safe.
The drive took longer than I would have liked. At least once I passed a police car, and each time I did she sent me a quiet *be careful*, because of course the police - like the CIA and the rest of the government - were agents of the devil. But we passed without incident.
Still, it was upsetting to her. "Where are we going?" She'd asked me the question more than once.
"It's okay." I told her. "You'll be safe. I'm bringing you to the church."
Finally, we arrived. The church I'd made still looked like a house, of course. It had to fool anyone who happened by. The girl was visibly nervous at this point, but what god wouldn't be? She was finally going to go home to the church where she belonged, and I could protect her. It had to seem too good to be true.
The inside of the church looked like a house, too. If they'd placed cameras here, they'd just see an ordinary house, that was the idea. But the basement, that's where I'd sanctified.
"Stop!" *Keep going* she said. That was to be expected, the God in the girl knew it was going to be free, but the body of the girl resisted. I'd bring her to the altar downstairs and set her free, like I-
A concussive blast struck me, a bright light and deafening sound, and I was brutally pushed to the ground, the girl torn from my grasp. All around me, something was happening but I could barely tell what except that something had gone horribly wrong, I was failing God, the girl would get away and God would never be made whole again.
Police. Body armor and guns, they were everywhere, swarming my house, and even breaking into the church basement below. "Jesus Christ" one of them said, at least showing a little reverence for what he was seeing. "Jesus fucking Christ." He backed away from the basement door. I could barely hear what he was saying.
"Are you okay little girl?" One of the other devils was talking to the girl I was supposed to protect.
"You have the right to remain silent." The crushing force on my back was one of the devils. He was placing his manacles on me as he spoke. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."
My hearing was slowly returning. The police-demon who'd initially opened the door to the church was talking to another of his kind. "I'm not going down there until CSI arrives. I didn't see much but I've seen enough."
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained to you?"
"No!" I shouted. I wasn't answering the pig-demon's question, I was looking at the girl. "They're demons! They'll trap you!" I thrashed at my captor's grasp. "God needs me!" They didn't understand. They never understood. They hadn't understood at the hospital years back when I'd patiently and repeatedly explained it to them. God was trapped in the girls. God would come to me and tell me he needed to be protected. And I would free Him by-
I was hoisted to my feet and unceremoniously hauled out of the house.
"Don't look down the stairs, Cal, I'm serious." The demons kept speaking to each other. "We saved this one, and I'm thankful for that, but Jesus... there's a half dozen down there. Maybe more."
"Ted, look at me. Look at me. We got him. We got the Godfrey Strangler. He'll never hurt anyone again."
|
She was lost, nervously moving through the crowd of shoppers until her eyes met mine. She clutched at the hem of my jacket, the old army green slowly fading. We were surrounded by a thousand faces but in that moment we were alone.
"I am a God. I need you to protect me."
Words were irrelevant, just noise that gone in the way of communicating needs and wants and desires. For this young girl though, the need was utmost. Her whole body trembled as she waited for my response.
We weren't alone. The Ascendant Ones could sense other presences, a pulse that radiated out from within them and reflected back by any of those deemed Touched. We were surrounded.
"Find your own path."
The girl looked crestfallen as I pushed past her, striding off towards the subway. She caught up quickly, tugging again at my sleeve.
"Please."
Words. Desperation. The crowd was thinning the further out we headed, faces of those I'd rather avoid confronting shifting in and out of focus. I looked down at the child, grabbing her loose hair roughly to reveal the mark made at the base of her skull.
"Huh." She seemed crestfallen at my remark. "You're no god. Not anymore."
The pulsing in my ears continued to grow and by her wild-eyed glances I could tell she heard them approaching too. I shoved the girl away, sending her sprawling to the ground.
"Callista."
The name stopped me in my tracks. We were alone. The mortals had fled by unconscious instinct and no pulses reflected anymore. The girl sat on the ground, nursing a scratch. The red seemed to confirm her own mortality now.
"Where did you hear that name spoken child?"
"By the wet nurses in the tower."
"Then you are..."
"Her daughter. The Titan, he found out, he... beat her. She told me to flee. To the mortal realm. To find you."
"Why me?"
She stopped staring at her arm, stopped looking like a little lost lamb. She stood, throwing back her head like the goddess to be she should have been, and stared into my eyes.
"I was conceived when my mother made pilgrimage to the Temple. When the Titan could not have followed her. When the Female Goddess was supposed to be watching over the amulet in the temple. The jade amulet."
"Oh shit."
I drew my short sword from its scabbard slung across my back, hidden beneath the baggy coat. Ever since I'd entered that temple there had been a sword hanging over my head. The amulet had bought me time, but at a greater cost. And Callista. The jewel had been not the only thing I'd taken that night.
"So you're..."
The first attacker came from the stairwell ahead of us. He landed on one knee, cracking the concrete, before pushing off with twin blades. I parried easily, centuries of practice guiding my hand. I kept myself between him and the girl.
The pulse alerted me to the second attacker just in time. He swung low, the spine of my blade pressing against the girl's chest as I blocked the blow. More were coming already. I kicked the child in the knees, my shame overcome by the need for both of us to survive (itself an alien feeling) and thrust a second blade through where her chest had only just been. The attacker faltered, clutched at the wound and rushed upwards in a blaze of light.
His comrade fared similarly. The girl looked at me with horror in her eyes. She must have known what I was, why her mother would have been burnt so badly because of our consummation. But to see a Touched warrior kill her rightful brethren. She reached out for my hand and I took it.
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[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
She was going to be sixteen this year. How time flies. Part of me wished I'd never killed her mother, but it was the only things keeping me from my path.
"So, what are you getting me for me birthday?"
The question echoed in my head as I worked. At least she didn't ask to go out into the world again. I don't know how many times I needed to tell her it wasn't safe for her. Well, unsafe for me more than her. Those damn "heroes" looking for me. They didn't know why I toiled and slaved at my work. It's not as if raising the dead was my dream, but I had my reasons for doing it. I kept saying it in my head as I sewed the skin together on my last masterpiece.
"Blue or hazel?" I quietly asked myself as I stared into my jar of preserved eyeballs. "Why not both?" I dug into the jar and pulled out a pair of mismatched eyes and put them neatly into the head of my new creation. I only had a few hours to perform the rite, so I got to work immediately enchanting the flesh and bones. The ritual wouldn't take long if I did it properly.
My daughter paced into the dilapidated tower we'd been living in for several years now. Probably back from another of her midnight strolls around the grounds. I was always uncomfortable with the idea of her patrolling, but she'd become as powerful as I had been at her age. I wouldn't be able to restrict her forever, but maybe just a little longer.
"Dad, when can I leave the tower? I want to meet people," she said with a pout at the door of my lab.
"People are wretched, dear," I explained to her again.
"I bet you forgot."
"How could I forget my little girl's birthday?" I feigned insult as I strode over to her. "I didn't forget your birthday, sweetie. In fact, I got you a special present this year. Follow me." Her eyes lit up and she squealed in excitement as she followed me down the stairs into the basement.
"What did you get me daddy? I never saw you leave." I opened up the door to our ritual room and standing inside was a young man. His abdomen was bruised in many areas from where I'd brutalized his original body, but he was still surprisingly handsome. But, of course he would be, he was one of those "heroes." A long gash ran down his ashen chest, hastily stitched together with magical fibers from a Black Forest Silk Spider. His eyes, mismatched, turned to my daughter, and his lips trembled into a lopsided smile.
"Gwendolyn," it said in a hoarse voice.
"I made you your own minion." I swallowed hard. "And boyfriend. He'll love you in a way no person you ever meet outside of the tower ever will." He knew that was sort of a lie. Maybe she would meet another man out there that would be perfect for her, like he did with her mother, but this boy he created was special. He'd enchanted a soul just for her; a difficult task considering how difficult it was to obtain a soul.
"My own boyfriend?" Her eyes glittered and she kissed him on the cheek before rushing over to the smiling revenant. "Oh my gosh, daddy! Thank you! What his name?"
"My name is Trystan," the revenant told her.
"Wow, he's more sentient than any of the other ones you've ever made. It must have been hard work.'
"Anything for my little girl." He smiled. Hopefully this would let him hold onto her for a little longer. Every dad was scared to see their kids go out into the world, but he had more reason to be afraid than most.
|
Roses, Tulips, red and fair.
Match her curly, golden hair.
A gift to find, a present to give.
Eyes are blind and corpses live.
A bone, a skull, a piece of brain.
A hand and feet that dance in rain.
My dearest daughter's growing up.
I hope the next has better luck.
-
A poem I wrote but don't know why.
The daughter's dead now don't you cry.
|
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[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
A pungent aroma of aftershave emanated from the father's neck, preceding him as he walked into the room well-dressed. His daughter turned her head in disgust as he leaned in closely for a kiss, wrinkling and creasing his once immaculate shirt. With a small smile and a light chuckle, he rose and straightened his tie, crossing the room to the other side of their prepared table. Ethan sat down while straightening his cuffs and stared at the child before him. Emily averted her gaze, turning her head quickly as her dark hair swayed with its crimson ribbons. Her cheeks puffed out lightly as she folded her arms, ignoring the discomfort of the lace trim rubbing against her delicate skin.
“What do we have here, my dear?” he asked softly, politely, in a tone that was almost impossible not to answer. Emily responded by inflating her cheeks further, reddening her fair complexion as the freckles on her face seemed to darken on the rosy canvas. “Ah, I see. Angry are we?”
“No” she responded curtly.
“Hmm. What could it be?” Ethan asked, dancing around the answer that he already knew while buttering a slice of toast and pouring a steaming cup of tea. Carefully, he bit into the warm bread with a light crunch as it released a slight mist of butter into the air. This continued until he had finished his breakfast as the child watched in annoyance and disbelief. “Would it be your birthday present that has you so concerned?”
“No” she replied again, though her expressions betrayed the answer.
“I see” he said thoughtfully, wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth neatly as he cleaned the table in one fell swoop. “I happen to remember passing by a number of shops recently, ones that you're most fond of. Perhaps something from there would suffice?”
Emily considered this proposition for a moment as he cleaned the dishes and stored them away. Once his attention returned to her, she shook her head in disagreement. He nodded quietly and gripped the back of the chair he had sat in, thinking to himself. She turned towards him and rested her head atop her folded arms while waiting for his next response.
“Would a grand celebration be more to your liking?” Ethan asked, “I can have Bertrand clear and repair the ballroom in less than a week's time. Just say the word.”
“No” she answered for the third time, though both of these options were highly appealing. What she wanted was something more, but it was not something that she could put into words. Instead, she lifted herself from the seat and asked politely, with a tinge of sadness in her sweet voice, that she be excused.
“You may” her father replied, considering various options that would appease his little girl.
For the next several days, he watched every waking moment of his daughter's life, more acutely than usual in search of any clue that could be of help. Day after day, night after night, he sat behind the series of screens at his desk as Bertrand tended to the young mistress' every beck and call. When she left their home for the school grounds, he skulked about campus in search of further leads. In time, he noticed that her only interactions, the only time that she was happy, was with Bertrand. The children teased and fought her, the teacher misunderstood, and her father remained out of sight and mind for days on end. At last, it finally came to him, the perfect present.
“Bertrand!” he called, as his butler quickly answered, knowing that Emily was safely tucked in bed.
“You rang?” Bertrand responded in a dull tone.
“Yes. Yes, I did” Ethan replied. “Do you remember the oath that you swore upon taking your position?”
“Of course, sir.” he responded as a look of hurt and insult flashed across his face for the briefest of moments.
“Recite it to me” his master commanded.
“I, Bertrand Alway, solemnly swear to dedicate myself wholly and fully to the service of the family Menke. In sickness and in health, in times of peace and times of conflict, my devotion will remain steadfast, mind, body and soul” he recited faithfully from memory with a great sense of pride.
“I can remember the day you first created that pledge as if it were yesterday, my old friend” he replied, placing his hand upon Bertrand's shoulder as the butler knelt humbly. “What I wish to ask of you, I would no other. If you choose to decline, I will understand and you will be freed of your service. Should you choose to accept however, I fear that your service will know no end.”
“What would you ask of me, my lord?” Bertrand questioned, peering up at the noble father.
“I would ask that you die for my daughter. Here and today” Ethan responded simply.
“I-Sir, I don't-” the butler stumbled, searching for the words that he wished to say.
“Please” he continued, “I have noticed your bond with Emily and the importance of your presence to her. As a present, from you and from me, I would ask that you die for her and be reborn to remain at her side forever more.”
“Sir, do not ask me such things! I am your devoted servant and your every wish is my command. It is true that I love Emily as if she were my own and I would gladly die for her if need be. If you believe that this is best, do not ask! Command!” Bertrand replied, gripping his master's hands between his own as tears welled in his eyes.
“Very well then” Ethan answered coldly. “Give your life to me Bertrand so that my daughter may know the greatest gift yet!”
“Yes, my lord” Bertrand conceded as he plunged a knife into his own chest, killing himself. “I look forward to meeting you anew, sir.”
“Farewell Bertrand” he replied, taking the butler's body in his arms.
A small celebration occurred at the back of their towering home, with Emily as its star attraction. She sat happily, surrounded by mountains of gifts that gave a fleeting joy and showered by the affections of the family. Everyone that she knew and remotely care about was present with the exception of her father. Emily did not let it show how much this had bothered her, particularly as Bertrand was also nowhere to be found. To her surprise, her father descended the staircase with an enormous box between his arms and a great grin stretched across his face.
Emily quickly left her seat and the other toys behind, dashing for the box that Ethan had place upon the ground. Without a moment of hesitation, she ripped the bow from the package and watched in awe as the cardboard walls fell. In the center was an enormous teddy bear, covered in plush fur with streaks of grey throughout. She hugged the bear tightly and looked up at its large face, laughing and smiling innocently.
“What's your name?” she asked.
“You can call me Bertrand” it replied, returning her hug. “Would you like a friend, miss?”
“Emily! You can call me Emily. And I'd love one” she responded, squeezing the bear tighter as it laughed. “I used to have a friend named Bertrand, you know?”
“Is that so?” Bertrand replied, winking at Ethan as he stifled a chuckle behind his hand.
-115
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Roses, Tulips, red and fair.
Match her curly, golden hair.
A gift to find, a present to give.
Eyes are blind and corpses live.
A bone, a skull, a piece of brain.
A hand and feet that dance in rain.
My dearest daughter's growing up.
I hope the next has better luck.
-
A poem I wrote but don't know why.
The daughter's dead now don't you cry.
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[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
"Rebecca will understand." He convinced himself. He had overheard her talking with her mother about getting a puppy, her previous dog had been disposed of. The basement was dimly lit; a lump of mouldy fur and flesh lied in the centre of the floor, surrounded with candlelight. A fragile body covered with bloody sheets lay near the circle. The ritual required concious tribute, he knew Rebecca would be devastated when she discovers her mother will be leaving her forever; but he was not losing her.
The sky was clear, the moon was full and the air was heavy. He slowly carried his lover from her bed down the staircase, tied up and silent with fear. What remained of his skin lacked human complexion, his eyes were white and his hair thin. "Please, my love don't do this." Her voice was stale. He gagged her with a cloth and laid her next to the child.
"I was wrong to believe our love was eternal, but in her we will both live forever."
He took a long iron nail in each hand, "Life brings death, let death bring life."
Slowly he pushed each nail into her eye sockets, her screams were heard throughout the heavens, the Gods were listening.
"Accept this sacrificial life in exchange for eternal life, in return may the life be forever servants to your name." He plunged a dagger into her heart. The room flashed, shadows danced around the room. A sudden gasp of air and pant, followed by a series of screams. Then almost without warning everything stopped. The room was lifeless.
He returned the girl and her companion to her bed and disposed of the rest. He sat at the end of her bed waiting, the sun was rising and the sky was dark red. The girls eyes opened slowly, her pupils were red and grey.
"Happy Birthday, Rebecca".
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"My love. It's been a long time. I wanted you to know from me. Today is Clara's birthday. Our little girl is turning 16. Can you believe it? Just yesterday we three had so many plans. And I still can't talk about girl stuff. All that black and pink. Ergh! There are days when she looks just like you. All colorful. All smiley. Singing during breakfast. Skipping over pavement cracks. There are other days when she looks too much like me. All black. All silent. Sinking the head in her books. Murmuring incomprehensible blasphemies. I know she misses you."
Grand Master Brimstone kneeled on the drenched floor of the cemetery.
"She needs you. And I wanted you to know, from me, before everything, that I am sorry for this."
A mute thunder yelled him to stop.
"ANIMA CORPORI. FUERIT CORPUS TOEM RESURGENT!"
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[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
"Athanasia!" The Necromancer bursts though the portal that separates the couples worlds, entering a world vomiting with bright and life- Lively plants complete with lively creatures. The only thing lively thing that captivates him is that elegant woman standing in the middle, not so much the over zealous life she brings.
"Yes, Thanatos?" She turns, the simple white dress caught in the momentum, moving as graceful as she.
He clutches his chest, and retreats to the safety of his dark, dreary world. With the scent of rotting corpses filling his nostrils, he catches his breath.
"What are you doing, leaving muck in my world?" He can hear her cursing, and then the vigorous sweeping blasts him with a blast of sweet smelling aroma. He is repulsed, yet attracted; he is certain she feels the same way-
Or they would not be married, with children.
Children, oh yes!
"Well- Honey-" He paces, stroking his thinly chin and peppery goatee.
"Our eldest daughter, Lexi?"
"You still did not get her birthday gift?" She dares to peer her head though the magical beads. Her eyes grow in terror at the reanimated corpse staggering behind the necromancer, and she withdraws with a gut wrenching heave.
"She is not like the younger ones-" Thanatos kicks a budding sprout back though the portal, heaving out a sigh of defeat.
Alex loved riding the reanimated fire horse, and Xander was thrilled to receive the beginner necromancy kit, even Zandra, -another girl- loved raising her first body: Sindel of Edenia.
Needless to say Quan Chi was highly impressed with her work-
"Than!" His wife snaps him out of his droning.
"She is here, on my side-"
"O-OH!" He pokes his head though the portal, enduring the beauty and the sweet scent long enough to see the plain Jane of the family.
Lexi never bothers to change out of her school clothes, and she remains hooked onto her iPhone, which beeps and peeps endlessly.
"HELLO!" He practically screams at the top of his lungs.
"HOW ARE YOU- HOW WAS SCHOOL, BIRTHDAY GIRL!?"
The bustles of a broom shoves him out of the bright world-
"Stop getting distracted!" Athanasia hisses from behind the portal,
"Find something in the next half hour, or you're dead!"
Death not a threat to one who is surrounded by it, but he understands the dire tone.
Quick, QUICK! He twirls around the groaning corpse pacing, -Sorry, Elvis, but Lexi does not share the same taste in music- and racing to his creaky mansion as quickly as his heavy black robes would allow.
If she is home, then they should be too. Hopefully they will know her outlandish tastes.
***
"I bought her a bluetooth speaker." Zandra answers bluntly, stroking her Frankenstein of a cat, mumbling that he needs a new tail because it is falling off.
"What sort of magic is that?" Thanatos blinks dumbly.
"I got her recess pieces!" The youngest of the three brags.
To everything divine, what sort of ingredient is that?
The middle child, Xander shrugs.
"She very fond of human technology, so I got her that tablet..."
"Tablet?"
"An earth device-"
"Earth things?" He raises his brow.
"YES!" Alex giggles as snatches away the family pet from his older sister, sprinting away with his white robes chasing.
"No undead on your mother's side!" Thanatos reminds, despite knowing that Alex will do it anyway, just like how he smuggled that live cat-
Which is now the dead cat.
"Earth... Earth..." He haunches, stroking his chin once more.
"Dad, just get her-" Zandra steps forward to whisper.
He is off to the 'wallmart' then... He cannot go wrong, his children knows what is best for their eldest sister!
***
While they tend to reject each other in their own worlds, but Thanatos and his wife stand are side by side when they are on earth. The winds blow by his ragged black, and his wife's pure white robes. They stare at each other, wondering what sort of reaction she will get.
Hopefully not underwhelmed like last year, apparently she hated that vampire book.
The moment of truth arrives, when his gift is finally upon Lexi's lap. She glares at it a moment, fearing the worse until she started ripping the wrapping seeing the title.
"Oh my gosh!" Her eyes light up and she gasps.
"Fifty-Shades!" She holds it up, only to stare up at her father.
"You have no idea what this is... Do you?"
"No, but as long as you love it, that is all that matters." He stands proudly-
Blissfully unaware that the book is an erotica.
"Dammit-" He hears Zandra cursing under her breath.
"Thought she would have hated that..."
Thanatos raises his brow, but in the end he breaks into an ear to ear smile, feeling content and accomplished.
"Happy birthday, Lexi."
|
"My love. It's been a long time. I wanted you to know from me. Today is Clara's birthday. Our little girl is turning 16. Can you believe it? Just yesterday we three had so many plans. And I still can't talk about girl stuff. All that black and pink. Ergh! There are days when she looks just like you. All colorful. All smiley. Singing during breakfast. Skipping over pavement cracks. There are other days when she looks too much like me. All black. All silent. Sinking the head in her books. Murmuring incomprehensible blasphemies. I know she misses you."
Grand Master Brimstone kneeled on the drenched floor of the cemetery.
"She needs you. And I wanted you to know, from me, before everything, that I am sorry for this."
A mute thunder yelled him to stop.
"ANIMA CORPORI. FUERIT CORPUS TOEM RESURGENT!"
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|
[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
"Athanasia!" The Necromancer bursts though the portal that separates the couples worlds, entering a world vomiting with bright and life- Lively plants complete with lively creatures. The only thing lively thing that captivates him is that elegant woman standing in the middle, not so much the over zealous life she brings.
"Yes, Thanatos?" She turns, the simple white dress caught in the momentum, moving as graceful as she.
He clutches his chest, and retreats to the safety of his dark, dreary world. With the scent of rotting corpses filling his nostrils, he catches his breath.
"What are you doing, leaving muck in my world?" He can hear her cursing, and then the vigorous sweeping blasts him with a blast of sweet smelling aroma. He is repulsed, yet attracted; he is certain she feels the same way-
Or they would not be married, with children.
Children, oh yes!
"Well- Honey-" He paces, stroking his thinly chin and peppery goatee.
"Our eldest daughter, Lexi?"
"You still did not get her birthday gift?" She dares to peer her head though the magical beads. Her eyes grow in terror at the reanimated corpse staggering behind the necromancer, and she withdraws with a gut wrenching heave.
"She is not like the younger ones-" Thanatos kicks a budding sprout back though the portal, heaving out a sigh of defeat.
Alex loved riding the reanimated fire horse, and Xander was thrilled to receive the beginner necromancy kit, even Zandra, -another girl- loved raising her first body: Sindel of Edenia.
Needless to say Quan Chi was highly impressed with her work-
"Than!" His wife snaps him out of his droning.
"She is here, on my side-"
"O-OH!" He pokes his head though the portal, enduring the beauty and the sweet scent long enough to see the plain Jane of the family.
Lexi never bothers to change out of her school clothes, and she remains hooked onto her iPhone, which beeps and peeps endlessly.
"HELLO!" He practically screams at the top of his lungs.
"HOW ARE YOU- HOW WAS SCHOOL, BIRTHDAY GIRL!?"
The bustles of a broom shoves him out of the bright world-
"Stop getting distracted!" Athanasia hisses from behind the portal,
"Find something in the next half hour, or you're dead!"
Death not a threat to one who is surrounded by it, but he understands the dire tone.
Quick, QUICK! He twirls around the groaning corpse pacing, -Sorry, Elvis, but Lexi does not share the same taste in music- and racing to his creaky mansion as quickly as his heavy black robes would allow.
If she is home, then they should be too. Hopefully they will know her outlandish tastes.
***
"I bought her a bluetooth speaker." Zandra answers bluntly, stroking her Frankenstein of a cat, mumbling that he needs a new tail because it is falling off.
"What sort of magic is that?" Thanatos blinks dumbly.
"I got her recess pieces!" The youngest of the three brags.
To everything divine, what sort of ingredient is that?
The middle child, Xander shrugs.
"She very fond of human technology, so I got her that tablet..."
"Tablet?"
"An earth device-"
"Earth things?" He raises his brow.
"YES!" Alex giggles as snatches away the family pet from his older sister, sprinting away with his white robes chasing.
"No undead on your mother's side!" Thanatos reminds, despite knowing that Alex will do it anyway, just like how he smuggled that live cat-
Which is now the dead cat.
"Earth... Earth..." He haunches, stroking his chin once more.
"Dad, just get her-" Zandra steps forward to whisper.
He is off to the 'wallmart' then... He cannot go wrong, his children knows what is best for their eldest sister!
***
While they tend to reject each other in their own worlds, but Thanatos and his wife stand are side by side when they are on earth. The winds blow by his ragged black, and his wife's pure white robes. They stare at each other, wondering what sort of reaction she will get.
Hopefully not underwhelmed like last year, apparently she hated that vampire book.
The moment of truth arrives, when his gift is finally upon Lexi's lap. She glares at it a moment, fearing the worse until she started ripping the wrapping seeing the title.
"Oh my gosh!" Her eyes light up and she gasps.
"Fifty-Shades!" She holds it up, only to stare up at her father.
"You have no idea what this is... Do you?"
"No, but as long as you love it, that is all that matters." He stands proudly-
Blissfully unaware that the book is an erotica.
"Dammit-" He hears Zandra cursing under her breath.
"Thought she would have hated that..."
Thanatos raises his brow, but in the end he breaks into an ear to ear smile, feeling content and accomplished.
"Happy birthday, Lexi."
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"I'm sure she will love it." Grixx carried a plain brown box down the hall. He wasn't one for wrapping presents and his daughter would certainly understand. From inside the box came a noise. He hit the side with his fist to hush the contents.
He set it down on her bed. When she finally opened it, she found a doll that was attached to strings.
"I took the soul of a dead author and placed it in this doll. Trying to separate a soul from a corpse is hard!"
She said nothing and simply smiled. With careful movement, she made her puppet dance. "Tell me something puppet." She murmured.
The puppet uttered in monotone,
"once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary..."
"Poe dad? You got me Poe's soul?" She didn't hear an answer for her father was gone.
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[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
"I just don't want to be a failure of a father too." Said the withered figured in a bright blue robe. Scattered across the alchemy table I front of him was a mixture of single patently guides and teen magazines. An undead corpse of a woman stepped behind him and began to rub his shoulders. "It's alright honny, I am sure you'll find the perfect for Jemma."
Relaxing his shoulders under the gentle touch of his wife, the necromancer let out a sigh. " You know I was never cut out to be a father, much less a good one. I've haven't always been there for her growing up you know."
"She's always admired you growing up, not very kid has a dad that can standup to death." Said the undead woman lovingly. Letting out another sigh, the necromancer collapsed into a nearby chair. "But I couldn't do anything thing to stop death from taking her mother away. When you got sick I searched and searched, but failed you and her. I know she resents me for it. Hell I resent myself for it."
The undead woman smiled."She still loves you, and so do I." The woman clears the clutter from the table infront of him. "Why don't you bring her out of this dusty old tower. "Bring her horse riding, spend the day with her. I know you to haven't done that in a while."
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Pacing back and forth. I did that far too much, one day I would wear a hole through the floor. Then again, that would be impressive, as you can't exactly wear a hole through the earth. The underground bunker was my own private space. Dank. Gloomy. Cold. Perfect place for a necromancer. It also helped that it was a forgotten graveyard. Plenty of bones, not many problems, and the occasional overzealous paladin made it a simple, satisfying life. I was pleased. I revelled in my own instinctive killing nature, and in how easy it was to solve whatever life threw at me. For was death not life's own reflection?
Death is the perfect solution for life. Simple as that. Why then, couldn't I find a good gift for my soon to be 16 year old daughter?
She had run off- quite the disappointment - she'd run off and become a druid, healing animals and people and keeping them *away* from the true path. It was all very frustrating, because she totally rejected death, and if I couldn't find something *alive* to give her, I might as well give her nothing at all.
Undeath? No. Demonspawn? No. Possession? No. Curse jars? Dancing bones? Petty jewels? Plants? Can plants even be reanimated?
_____________________________________
#Two weeks later
_____________________________________
She should have the gift by now. I very much hoped she would enjoy it. Besides, isn't that what druids like best? Healing? Mother nature? Bringing peace and happiness to lost spirits?
Perhaps she would still enjoy Papa's cruel humour. Two spirits would never be happy in one body that wasn't even theirs to begin with.
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[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter.
|
"I HATE you Dad! How could you do this to me!" Tabitha cried as she slammed the door to her roomed closed. Her father Grimlock, honestly confused, was taken aback at her reaction to his birthday present.
"Tabby dear, whats the matter? Don't you love the gift I got you, isn't it just what you said you've always wanted?"
"Not like that you idiot" Tabitha screamed from behind the door of her room. "How could you do this to me? I hate you!."
Grimlock didn't understand. For a few years now his daughter had been going on about wanting this to happen. Trying to be a good father he spent months in preparation and put in a lot of hard work to make his little girls wish come true. And this is the thanks he gets?
"Now you listen here young lady! Do you understand how much effort I put into making this happen? Do you?" Gromlock said sternly. "Necromancy isn't some easy task. I had to collect all the right materials. Plan it all out to happen under the right lunar cycle! Not to mention he was alive at first! Returning an already dead corpse isn't nearly as difficult as breaking into someones home, murduring them, and then bringing them back to life to be my daughters undead slave!"
"I didn't want him as an undead slave! I said I wanted him!" Tabitha sobbed. "Its not the same dad."
Not the same? Well clearly it wasn't the same but Grimlock thought he had made it better. Not only would his daughter get her wish but the undead would be bound to be with her forever. A living body could leave if it wanted too. And Grimlock couldn't bear the thought of seeing his little girls heart broken.
"I'll never understand teenage girls" Grimlock mumbeled to himself. "Now what to do with you."
"Baaaabbby uhhhh Baaaabbbby Ughhh" The undead corpse of Justin Beiber grumbled as he stared at his master with his blank, lefeless eyes.
"Well I guess I can just return you to your home. Honestly I don't see how anybody would notice the difference" Grimlock said in a rather annoyed tone. Mayb next year he would just dig up her old cat or something.
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"A corpse? No... Perhaps a sacrifice? Nah, too bloody and I'd need a scalpel. A reanimated corpse? Yes...She'll like that. Oh, I'll have to get a celebrity, oh! So much choice!"
The old necromancer was tying a belt around his old black robe. He examined one of the grey swirls on his cloak and marched out of the room swiftly, setting off to work.
The teenage girl stood outside of the dark oak door, listening carefully to each word. She let out a squeal when she heard that she was getting a celebrity for her sixteenth birthday.
She heard her dad's heavy footsteps approaching the door and sprinted away to her bedroom to make a list of what she wanted for christmas. 'Imagine what I'll get for Christmas!' She thought excitedly. 'Maybe a famous human sacrifice! Just for me! Oh, I'll have to invite all of the undead to my Christmas gathering!'
[I hope you like this, I'm writing it quickly before I go to a sleepover.]
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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I slept under the stars and dreamt the taste of Saxon blood. When I awoke, I lay in a cloud and the sky was gone.
My arms were free but my body felt sluggish as if submerged in water, and with some effort I sat up and tried to blink away the confusion. My eyes adjusted and I realized it was still night, I was indoors, and only the slightest amount of light trickled in through a single window on the wall.
I looked down and saw I was actually sitting in a bed, though I had never seen one of its like. It was a soft material, the softest I'd ever felt, housed in a wooden cage and lifted off the floor by stilts. I'd gone to sleep on bare earth but woken up here, and for a moment I assumed that at some point my brothers-in-arms must have dragged me off to some Roman villa, but I had no memory of waking up over someone's shoulder and I was not quite so drunk as to sleep through that.
With some effort I swung my legs around and stood. I was in bare feet, still wearing the thin linen trousers and tunic I carried with me from Lindinis. It was only days after the Bealtaine and too hot to wear anything heavier, yet I felt the chill of winter creep through the open window. I went to close it, but could find no flap of skin or leather to keep out the cold air. Instead, half the window was covered in Roman glass, though I saw no etchings or stains, and could find no mechanism that would help me seal it off.
My eyes further adjusted to the dim light and I saw, for the first time, a wooden table with what looked like a leather parchment and a lump of steel and wood. I lifted the parchment, but it was so thin and light that it must have been another wonder of the Romans. I held it up to the light by the window and saw it was wrapped around more parchments, one even lighter and several somewhat thicker and heavier. I tore the wrapping apart and found on the lightest parchment a message inked in a language I could read:
> Vos estis in Vienna, 1853 De innituntur, picturis Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, et Adolf Hitler. Alioquin interficiemus interficiunt vestris antecessor.
Though the letter was written in Latin, the year was an utter mystery. The Christians called it four hundred and eighty years since their Christ had died, but perhaps the author used the old Roman calendar, in which case the year should have read 1233. Perhaps the Romans had simply changed their calendar a third time since they left.
I am schooled in reading and writing both Latin and my native British, though it is no major feat to learn one if you know the other, and it had been some years since I found my old education useful. The language came back to me slowly and I had to read it carefully, one word at a time, but I did manage the translation. It was a threat, though unless my Latin was much worse than I realized the threat made no sense. My ancestors would be killed? My father died fighting the Saxons when I was a boy, and as far as I knew my mother was killed not long after they took her and my sister as slaves. Perhaps I had some older relatives still alive but it was unlikely, and hardly a threat, as I had never met them and they must be so old as to be near death anyway.
I was thirty winters old and a veteran of eight shield walls. All of them were against the Saxons, though I'd spent some years raiding Powys during the dark times before the High King united us against the Sais. I had no living ancestors, though perhaps my sister lived and it was only a mistranslation. The rest had crossed the Bridge of Swords long ago.
Some things, at least, were clear. I knew immediately my captor was a Christian, for only Christians such as the Bishop who raised me spoke and wrote Latin. I also knew I was far, far away from Britain, as the letter said I was in Vienna, a Roman fortress separating the Empire from the very same Saxons who now came to our shores every year in an endless flood. Some magic had taken me to the other side of the world but if it was Saxons I was meant to kill, I would do so gladly, and when the grisly work was finished I would tell my captors that they had only needed to ask.
I held the other three parchments up to the light and found they were all paintings, so lifelike that I nearly let them slip out of my fingers. Three men, all drawn in grays. One was young with wild hair and a clean shaven face, while the other two older men had hair only on their upper lip. None of them looked like Saxons, nor did their names match any peoples I had ever read about. Trotsky? Hitler? These names meant nothing to me.
Perhaps I was in this wondrous place to kill Romans. Only Romans would shave their whole face as if to imitate women and very young boys, but I had read more Roman names than any other and they did not sound right either.
Confused, I glanced at the lump of metal on the table. It almost looked like a knife, but the shape was all wrong, and what would have been the blade was curved at a sharp angle as it extended from the hilt. It rounded at the end, instead of a point, and when I picked it up I pressed it against my palm and felt nothing. The thing was useless as either a weapon or a tool, though it had some weight to it and, perhaps, I could club a Saxon with it if I had nothing else to rely on.
Near the hilt was piece of metal that moved back and forth when I pushed on it. I touched it lightly, wondering what purpose it held, but when I slipped my finger inside the little metal wire that contained it, I noticed it actually fit my hand fairly comfortably. Whatever this thing was, the little piece of metal must have been a Roman addition to aid with the bearer's grip.
I gave it a few test swings and I realized that it would be difficult indeed for an enemy to pry this thing away. I should have learned sooner not to underestimate the ingenuity of Roman builders. It was a club, then, but what about the hollow at the tip? Was I meant to roll up the thin parchment and hide it there? Was there another letter already inside?
I looked straight down the hollow but I couldn't see anything. Would the little piece of metal release its contents? I squeezed the m-
|
*Mr. Askelrod,*
*In your possession you shall find a silenced pistol, three clips of ammunition, and three photographs. The photographs consist of the likenesses of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.*
*You must kill them, or we will kill your ancestors.*
*Welcome to Vienna, 1913.*
That was what the note had said. And the fact that I had the pistol and photographs on me looked like they were from pre-World War I, the entire situation I was stuck in seemed very real.
Although considering I had woken up with these notes in a random broom closet with some oddly dated clothing on, I began to wonder if I had taken any sort of drugs prior to this experience. I slap myself in the face a few times, feeling the flesh on my face and the sting on my skin. I notice a few bystanders walking past on the pavement give odd glances at me, probably wondering if I was mad.
Nope. Probably not a hallucination. I look at the pistol, examining it. It was a normal Browning 1900 pistol, with the addition of a Maxim Silencer.
I then remember how absolutely useless silencers actually are, especially such a primitive one. I unscrew it and tuck it into my coat pocket with disgust, pulling out the pictures afterwards.
Yep, these were the three targets all right. I flip to the picture of Trotsky, looking at it for a moment. I flip it around with my thumb. Trotsky's name actually sounds familiar, and not in the sense of learning his name in school. Then I remember countless stories my mother told me. My last name is Askelrov. My grandmother's name was also Askelrov. And her grandmother was married to...
If I killed Trotsky, I killed my own great-great-grandfather.
I simply paced around the city with hands in my coat pockets, playing with this information in my head. Trotsky was my ancestor. I couldn't kill him, otherwise I would cease to exist. But, I also had to kill him, otherwise, he would die by the hands of whoever wrote this letter, also removing my existence. I realized something then. I didn't have to kill Trotsky, in all actuality.
I just had to kill whoever was going to kill him.
Realizing that he may still be alive right now, I ran quickly. Trotsky lived in Vienna, along with Stalin and Hitler. Assuming he was living in close proximity to Stalin and Hitler, he should be very...
I stop as I spy a man with a bushy mustache and a cold, steely expression in his eyes.
Bingo.
I trail slowly behind him with a few other people walking in the same direction, so as not to arouse his suspicion. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, as he may be attacked at any moment. I see him walk past the corner down an empty street, alone. I cringe, and quickly catch up to peek beyond the corner. I immediately tense up. Some male figure was behind him, wrapping his arms around Trotsky's neck. I fumble around in my coat pockets, searching for the pistol. I yank it out, smelling the oil around the barrel, and point it at the figure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I didn't miss.
I pull the trigger, a resounding explosion and recoil knocking my arm back. I open my eyes.
Trotsky is cradling the wounded person. He was shot in the chest, blood seeping through his mouth.
"Sergi..." Trotsky wept.
*What?*
I looked a bit closer. The figure wasn't actually a threatening person at all.
Instead, it was a young boy.
"My son..."
*WHAT!?*
I backed up, and processed what I had just done. I had just killed an innocent little boy, who had just wanted to give his father a hug. The boy's name was Sergi. Family records blazed through my mind, until I froze in place and realized the awful truth. Sergi Sedov married my great grandmother.
Sergi Sedov was my great-grandfather.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
I sat on the bed with my face in my hands and the letter wrinkled between my fingers. Why me? Why was I chosen to accomplish this task? A feeling of sickness came across my stomach as I had regretted a lifetime of not paying attention in history class. I knew Hitler was German and Stalin was Russian. But who was this other guy? And I didn't know anything about Vienna! I can't even speak viennese! Or Australian was it?
And then I realized. Maybe I wasn't sent back in time to stop world war. Because in my world, these evil people were all put to an end. So why would someone want me to kill the leaders of the defeated!? Unless...
I wasn't sent here to stop the war. I was sent here to kill the ancestors of those who didn't obey the orders in the future. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wasn't he Austrian?
Something didn't make sense. How can people who have the power to send someone back in time choose someone like me, but make such a weak, conditional threat, as if they weren't able to finish this themselves? Such power, coupled with directions from an ikea manual. How could I kill everyone from Hitler to Stalin with only a handful of bullets? They had chosen the wrong man. Not because I wasn't able to accomplish what they wanted. No. They chose the wrong man because I would find a way to kill them. Because I wasn't going to kill Hitler. I was going to help him. With my knowledge of the future, I was going to help him win and avoid every mistake I could remember him making.
Years later, I had discovered another time assassin sent to kill me, but my guards had captured him. I found that he was one of those who had sent me here. He had come himself as a desperate last attempt to stop me. But with our nazi torture techniques, I was able to find out the names and ancestry of the rest of this shady organization. I rounded up their ancestors in my time. But no, I didn't kill them. I proposed to hitler that they should all be part of a special program. That they should all have sex with each other to create a super master race. He bought it. And I had essentially taken the ancestors of my tormentors and made them have sex with each other. By doing so, the time senders were never born. Instead, their ancestor timelines had been switched. I literally had them fucked out of existence. But by doing so, they also would have never sent me back in time! And without me, hitler would never win or survive! But we've come so far, ... What have I done! My... Cellphone... Is fading... Away... Time space continuum, Marty mcfly... Heil.... Oh fu-
|
*Mr. Askelrod,*
*In your possession you shall find a silenced pistol, three clips of ammunition, and three photographs. The photographs consist of the likenesses of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.*
*You must kill them, or we will kill your ancestors.*
*Welcome to Vienna, 1913.*
That was what the note had said. And the fact that I had the pistol and photographs on me looked like they were from pre-World War I, the entire situation I was stuck in seemed very real.
Although considering I had woken up with these notes in a random broom closet with some oddly dated clothing on, I began to wonder if I had taken any sort of drugs prior to this experience. I slap myself in the face a few times, feeling the flesh on my face and the sting on my skin. I notice a few bystanders walking past on the pavement give odd glances at me, probably wondering if I was mad.
Nope. Probably not a hallucination. I look at the pistol, examining it. It was a normal Browning 1900 pistol, with the addition of a Maxim Silencer.
I then remember how absolutely useless silencers actually are, especially such a primitive one. I unscrew it and tuck it into my coat pocket with disgust, pulling out the pictures afterwards.
Yep, these were the three targets all right. I flip to the picture of Trotsky, looking at it for a moment. I flip it around with my thumb. Trotsky's name actually sounds familiar, and not in the sense of learning his name in school. Then I remember countless stories my mother told me. My last name is Askelrov. My grandmother's name was also Askelrov. And her grandmother was married to...
If I killed Trotsky, I killed my own great-great-grandfather.
I simply paced around the city with hands in my coat pockets, playing with this information in my head. Trotsky was my ancestor. I couldn't kill him, otherwise I would cease to exist. But, I also had to kill him, otherwise, he would die by the hands of whoever wrote this letter, also removing my existence. I realized something then. I didn't have to kill Trotsky, in all actuality.
I just had to kill whoever was going to kill him.
Realizing that he may still be alive right now, I ran quickly. Trotsky lived in Vienna, along with Stalin and Hitler. Assuming he was living in close proximity to Stalin and Hitler, he should be very...
I stop as I spy a man with a bushy mustache and a cold, steely expression in his eyes.
Bingo.
I trail slowly behind him with a few other people walking in the same direction, so as not to arouse his suspicion. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, as he may be attacked at any moment. I see him walk past the corner down an empty street, alone. I cringe, and quickly catch up to peek beyond the corner. I immediately tense up. Some male figure was behind him, wrapping his arms around Trotsky's neck. I fumble around in my coat pockets, searching for the pistol. I yank it out, smelling the oil around the barrel, and point it at the figure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I didn't miss.
I pull the trigger, a resounding explosion and recoil knocking my arm back. I open my eyes.
Trotsky is cradling the wounded person. He was shot in the chest, blood seeping through his mouth.
"Sergi..." Trotsky wept.
*What?*
I looked a bit closer. The figure wasn't actually a threatening person at all.
Instead, it was a young boy.
"My son..."
*WHAT!?*
I backed up, and processed what I had just done. I had just killed an innocent little boy, who had just wanted to give his father a hug. The boy's name was Sergi. Family records blazed through my mind, until I froze in place and realized the awful truth. Sergi Sedov married my great grandmother.
Sergi Sedov was my great-grandfather.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
What do you have against Trotsky?
|
*Mr. Askelrod,*
*In your possession you shall find a silenced pistol, three clips of ammunition, and three photographs. The photographs consist of the likenesses of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.*
*You must kill them, or we will kill your ancestors.*
*Welcome to Vienna, 1913.*
That was what the note had said. And the fact that I had the pistol and photographs on me looked like they were from pre-World War I, the entire situation I was stuck in seemed very real.
Although considering I had woken up with these notes in a random broom closet with some oddly dated clothing on, I began to wonder if I had taken any sort of drugs prior to this experience. I slap myself in the face a few times, feeling the flesh on my face and the sting on my skin. I notice a few bystanders walking past on the pavement give odd glances at me, probably wondering if I was mad.
Nope. Probably not a hallucination. I look at the pistol, examining it. It was a normal Browning 1900 pistol, with the addition of a Maxim Silencer.
I then remember how absolutely useless silencers actually are, especially such a primitive one. I unscrew it and tuck it into my coat pocket with disgust, pulling out the pictures afterwards.
Yep, these were the three targets all right. I flip to the picture of Trotsky, looking at it for a moment. I flip it around with my thumb. Trotsky's name actually sounds familiar, and not in the sense of learning his name in school. Then I remember countless stories my mother told me. My last name is Askelrov. My grandmother's name was also Askelrov. And her grandmother was married to...
If I killed Trotsky, I killed my own great-great-grandfather.
I simply paced around the city with hands in my coat pockets, playing with this information in my head. Trotsky was my ancestor. I couldn't kill him, otherwise I would cease to exist. But, I also had to kill him, otherwise, he would die by the hands of whoever wrote this letter, also removing my existence. I realized something then. I didn't have to kill Trotsky, in all actuality.
I just had to kill whoever was going to kill him.
Realizing that he may still be alive right now, I ran quickly. Trotsky lived in Vienna, along with Stalin and Hitler. Assuming he was living in close proximity to Stalin and Hitler, he should be very...
I stop as I spy a man with a bushy mustache and a cold, steely expression in his eyes.
Bingo.
I trail slowly behind him with a few other people walking in the same direction, so as not to arouse his suspicion. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, as he may be attacked at any moment. I see him walk past the corner down an empty street, alone. I cringe, and quickly catch up to peek beyond the corner. I immediately tense up. Some male figure was behind him, wrapping his arms around Trotsky's neck. I fumble around in my coat pockets, searching for the pistol. I yank it out, smelling the oil around the barrel, and point it at the figure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I didn't miss.
I pull the trigger, a resounding explosion and recoil knocking my arm back. I open my eyes.
Trotsky is cradling the wounded person. He was shot in the chest, blood seeping through his mouth.
"Sergi..." Trotsky wept.
*What?*
I looked a bit closer. The figure wasn't actually a threatening person at all.
Instead, it was a young boy.
"My son..."
*WHAT!?*
I backed up, and processed what I had just done. I had just killed an innocent little boy, who had just wanted to give his father a hug. The boy's name was Sergi. Family records blazed through my mind, until I froze in place and realized the awful truth. Sergi Sedov married my great grandmother.
Sergi Sedov was my great-grandfather.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
*It had to be Trotsky. Stalin and Hitler had their armies now and I couldn't reach them. Not easily. Not quick enough. I couldn't afford to lose mama too. If only that time bomb in '39 had worked. I could have stopped this. I could have stopped everything.*
Misha was at the door and he saw me coming.
"Good evening, Comrade," he said.
"And to you, Comrade," I said. "He invited me for tea."
"Yes. I know," Misha said. "It is a great honour."
I nodded. Misha reached back and hit the door three times. Another man, Pyotr, swung it inward and let me pass. Yuri and Gherman were having supper in the kitchen.
I climbed the stairs slowly. Old wounds never seemed to heal for me.
I found Trotsky in his office staring out the window and sipping chilled vodka. I had never seen him drink before.
The sun was going down and he had left just one light on. It shone through a large fan slowly and silently stirring the damp heat of the Mexican night.
When he turned to me, the rhythm of the shadows across his face emphasized its disorder. His goatee had grown out grey. His hair resembled Professor Einstein's.
“Good evening, Comrade Trotsky.”
He set his drink down and stood up. “Comrade, Johnson!” he said. He strode across the room and embraced me. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”
“It is an honour, Comrade,” I said.
“It is my honour, Comrade Johnson,” Trotsky said as he beckoned me to sit.
He sat next to me and took squeezed my hand. “Tonight I am meeting with the man who will save the cause of liberation for the Workers of the world. Tonight I am meeting with a hero of the Soviet Union!”
“How can I serve the cause, Comrade Trotsky?” I said. The sweat above my eyebrows began to run.
“We have obtained a critical piece of information. It affords us a unique opportunity,” Trotsky said. “Stalin will be visiting a summer house in September. You have proven yourself more loyal and capable than anyone. We have a way in. We can get you into the house.”
“How?” I said.
Trotsky stood up and took a leather-bound folder off his desk and handed it to me. I opened it on the coffee table. The dossier was thick with pictures, maps, and personnel files.
Trotsky took it upon himself to explain: “We have a Comrade working as a mason in the house. They are expanding it for Stalin’s visit. He is constructing a space where you can be walled in ahead of his visit. You spend a week hidden and then you come out and cut that monsters throat in the night.”
“And this is all set up?” I asked. “Everything is in place?”
“Yes. Completely.”
I read from a file. “The fourth of September? That is only two weeks away.”
“We can get you there but you will have to leave immediately,” Trotsky said. “There is a car waiting for you. Everything is taken care of.”
“Tonight?” I said. It came out in a whisper.
“Yes. It is essential we move quickly," he said as he stood up. "Let’s discuss the mission further over tea.” Trotsky walked to the tea tray sitting by the window and busied himself with preparation.
I looked at the files a moment longer but I couldn’t read. I could feel my pulse everywhere.
*Tonight. It has to be tonight.*
My eyes darted to Trotsky’s back and then began a frenetic scan of the room. There was a large ice pick sitting on the bar. I stood up as slowly as I could and started creeping towards it.
With his back turned, Trotsky began to speak again. “Have you heard the news from Estonia? What Stalin has been doing there is disgusting. All those Jewish businesses seized. If they resisted they were sent to the prison camps. Whole families sent to Siberia.”
My mouth dried up. Trotsky kept talking.
“...It’s disgusting. It has nothing to do with Communism. We are all men. All workers. We need to be brothers…”
I reached the bar and picked up the axe. The ice pick was substantial. It was the kind you swung with a pick on one end and a clawed hammer on the other. It could have stood in for a climber’s axe. I started toward Trotsky.
“...but Stalin doesn’t care about the struggle. Only his power. Now is the time to overthrow him. If Hitler and Stalin control the world, your people will not fair-”
Trotsky’s voice transformed into a horrible gurgle. I let the pick go and it stuck in place. Trotsky turned around slowly. His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto my face. His mouthed opened and closed wordlessly.
I backed away. The sweat and tears mingled on my face.
He took a step toward me and then another and lifted his arms. The blood bubbled out of the wound and trickled down over his collar.
I couldn’t take his gaze in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t explain it. You wouldn’t understand. I have to kill you. I’ve always had to kill you. I was going to do it the first day but I couldn’t. I had the pistol in my hand and I couldn’t.”
Trotsky fell to his knees but his eyes never wavered.
“I believed you. God help me, I believed you. But I had to do this. They were impatient. Frustrated. If they had just killed papa, I could have handled that. But they took the memories. They only left enough so that I can feel what I lost.”
I knelt down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were losing their intensity now but I leaned in close and stared into them.
“But I want you to believe me when I say this: I will kill Stalin. I promise you that.”
I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
There was no sound from the staircase. I took the towel from the bar and wiped at my face and then checked myself for blood. Taking the folder from the table, I left the office and descended the staircase.
Pyotr looked at me as I came down. I said I had to get some things from my home and he nodded and opened the door.
Misha still waited outside. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re leaving so soon, Comrade?”
“Yes. I need to get some things from home.”
Misha nodded in understanding. “I have heard about your mission, Comrade. You will strike a great victory for the cause.”
I nodded acknowledgement and turned away but Misha reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me. He pointed at the folder in my hand. “I am surprised that Comrade Trotsky would let such valuable documents out of the residence. Are you sure it would not be wiser for me to hold onto it?”
“No. I will need to consult it.”
Misha stared at me for a long moment but then nodded, “Of course, Comrade.”
I walked away into the dark street. Behind me, I heard the door open. When I heard the shouting, I ran.
|
*Mr. Askelrod,*
*In your possession you shall find a silenced pistol, three clips of ammunition, and three photographs. The photographs consist of the likenesses of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.*
*You must kill them, or we will kill your ancestors.*
*Welcome to Vienna, 1913.*
That was what the note had said. And the fact that I had the pistol and photographs on me looked like they were from pre-World War I, the entire situation I was stuck in seemed very real.
Although considering I had woken up with these notes in a random broom closet with some oddly dated clothing on, I began to wonder if I had taken any sort of drugs prior to this experience. I slap myself in the face a few times, feeling the flesh on my face and the sting on my skin. I notice a few bystanders walking past on the pavement give odd glances at me, probably wondering if I was mad.
Nope. Probably not a hallucination. I look at the pistol, examining it. It was a normal Browning 1900 pistol, with the addition of a Maxim Silencer.
I then remember how absolutely useless silencers actually are, especially such a primitive one. I unscrew it and tuck it into my coat pocket with disgust, pulling out the pictures afterwards.
Yep, these were the three targets all right. I flip to the picture of Trotsky, looking at it for a moment. I flip it around with my thumb. Trotsky's name actually sounds familiar, and not in the sense of learning his name in school. Then I remember countless stories my mother told me. My last name is Askelrov. My grandmother's name was also Askelrov. And her grandmother was married to...
If I killed Trotsky, I killed my own great-great-grandfather.
I simply paced around the city with hands in my coat pockets, playing with this information in my head. Trotsky was my ancestor. I couldn't kill him, otherwise I would cease to exist. But, I also had to kill him, otherwise, he would die by the hands of whoever wrote this letter, also removing my existence. I realized something then. I didn't have to kill Trotsky, in all actuality.
I just had to kill whoever was going to kill him.
Realizing that he may still be alive right now, I ran quickly. Trotsky lived in Vienna, along with Stalin and Hitler. Assuming he was living in close proximity to Stalin and Hitler, he should be very...
I stop as I spy a man with a bushy mustache and a cold, steely expression in his eyes.
Bingo.
I trail slowly behind him with a few other people walking in the same direction, so as not to arouse his suspicion. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, as he may be attacked at any moment. I see him walk past the corner down an empty street, alone. I cringe, and quickly catch up to peek beyond the corner. I immediately tense up. Some male figure was behind him, wrapping his arms around Trotsky's neck. I fumble around in my coat pockets, searching for the pistol. I yank it out, smelling the oil around the barrel, and point it at the figure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I didn't miss.
I pull the trigger, a resounding explosion and recoil knocking my arm back. I open my eyes.
Trotsky is cradling the wounded person. He was shot in the chest, blood seeping through his mouth.
"Sergi..." Trotsky wept.
*What?*
I looked a bit closer. The figure wasn't actually a threatening person at all.
Instead, it was a young boy.
"My son..."
*WHAT!?*
I backed up, and processed what I had just done. I had just killed an innocent little boy, who had just wanted to give his father a hug. The boy's name was Sergi. Family records blazed through my mind, until I froze in place and realized the awful truth. Sergi Sedov married my great grandmother.
Sergi Sedov was my great-grandfather.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
More often than not, the average person actually does not have a very good understanding of firearms. Point the end with hole in it at whatever you want to kill and pull the trigger, right? Maybe thumb down the firing hammer if you *really mean it*.
Well, not exactly. Guns don't just fire when you pull the trigger...although, they should be treated as such, as any seasoned firearm veteran will agree. And if you haven't chambered a round, then cocking the hammer isn't going to get you putting people in their graves action-movie style any time soon.
Shotguns or big handguns don't blow people five feet backwards, automatic weapons eat their magazine very quickly; flashlights, laser pointers, and other gadgets mounted to RIS rails only make your weapon heavier, and, above all else, most people are terrible shots, especially if they've never handled a firearm before.
But what are perhaps least understood by hollywood and the video-game industry are silencers, also known, perhaps more aptly, as sound-suppressors.
Silencers do not make your weapon silent. A "silenced" 45 automatic is still as loud as a reasonably sized firecracker, and with high-powered rifles one still has to deal with the supersonic shockwave generated by the breaking of the sound barrier by the bullet, which may only be mitigated with the use of subsonic ammunition (which reduce the range and energy of the fired rounds).
No, what silencers do is make your firearm *quieter*, not *silent*. Specifically, they generally reduce the acoustic signature of the firearm to levels that simply won't damage an unprotected ear.
However, there does in fact exist a caliber that is muffled practically into imperceptibility by a silencer. A caliber in which the pistol resting on R. Thompson's nightstand is chambered.
It is a parkerized .22LR Smith-and-Wesson model 41, hardly modern by the standards of 2034. A six-inch long, half-inch diameter, tube - colored to match - protrudes malevolently from the peculiar flat faces and sleek lines of the pistol. The almost perfectly monotone black-grey color of the pistol is broken only by the knurled and polished, form-fitted, oak wood handgrip.
Tompson picks up the handgun. It is heavy, and solid.
His captors chose their instrument well. The Model 41 is a competition pistol. Accurate, well-crafted, reliable (with the right ammunition), and practically silent with the suppressor, particularly if one thumbs the slide to prevent it cycling when fired (this, of course, has the drawback of requiring the next round to be chambered manually), the Model 41 is the ideal side-arm for the assassin who values discretion above all else.
The question on Thompson's mind, though, is *why?* Moreover, *how?* He has, evidently, been somehow transported to Vienna around the turn of the 20th century. How is this possible? He ponders. Perhaps he has been translated roughly 120 (light)years distant from the Earth at superluminal speed, then translated back to his starting point at the same speed. Having left Earth in the 2030's, he would arrive back in the 1910's. But this is absurd, he knows that technology simply does not exist, and even if it did, he recalls the vague message - "Or else your ancestors will be killed."
What ancestors? and how in the world could his captors possibly expect to find such ancestors with the radical change in history the murdering of these prominent figures would wrought? How could his captors even necessarily expect to *exist*, were past events to be changed so dramatically? The threat is itself as absurd as the idea that he has been translated wildly about the galaxy at impractically high velocities.
He had woken from a sleep, seeing the handgun and the note. The fog was slowly beginning to clear. He sat and thought for a moment again, considering his situation and its various possibilities.
After a few moments, he came to the only reasonable conclusion, from his perspective. Thompson sat upright, picked up the pistol and slid it lithely into his breast holster, and left the room, outward towards the beckoning streets of Vienna to begin his mission.
He ignored the note and its contents.
|
*Mr. Askelrod,*
*In your possession you shall find a silenced pistol, three clips of ammunition, and three photographs. The photographs consist of the likenesses of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.*
*You must kill them, or we will kill your ancestors.*
*Welcome to Vienna, 1913.*
That was what the note had said. And the fact that I had the pistol and photographs on me looked like they were from pre-World War I, the entire situation I was stuck in seemed very real.
Although considering I had woken up with these notes in a random broom closet with some oddly dated clothing on, I began to wonder if I had taken any sort of drugs prior to this experience. I slap myself in the face a few times, feeling the flesh on my face and the sting on my skin. I notice a few bystanders walking past on the pavement give odd glances at me, probably wondering if I was mad.
Nope. Probably not a hallucination. I look at the pistol, examining it. It was a normal Browning 1900 pistol, with the addition of a Maxim Silencer.
I then remember how absolutely useless silencers actually are, especially such a primitive one. I unscrew it and tuck it into my coat pocket with disgust, pulling out the pictures afterwards.
Yep, these were the three targets all right. I flip to the picture of Trotsky, looking at it for a moment. I flip it around with my thumb. Trotsky's name actually sounds familiar, and not in the sense of learning his name in school. Then I remember countless stories my mother told me. My last name is Askelrov. My grandmother's name was also Askelrov. And her grandmother was married to...
If I killed Trotsky, I killed my own great-great-grandfather.
I simply paced around the city with hands in my coat pockets, playing with this information in my head. Trotsky was my ancestor. I couldn't kill him, otherwise I would cease to exist. But, I also had to kill him, otherwise, he would die by the hands of whoever wrote this letter, also removing my existence. I realized something then. I didn't have to kill Trotsky, in all actuality.
I just had to kill whoever was going to kill him.
Realizing that he may still be alive right now, I ran quickly. Trotsky lived in Vienna, along with Stalin and Hitler. Assuming he was living in close proximity to Stalin and Hitler, he should be very...
I stop as I spy a man with a bushy mustache and a cold, steely expression in his eyes.
Bingo.
I trail slowly behind him with a few other people walking in the same direction, so as not to arouse his suspicion. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, as he may be attacked at any moment. I see him walk past the corner down an empty street, alone. I cringe, and quickly catch up to peek beyond the corner. I immediately tense up. Some male figure was behind him, wrapping his arms around Trotsky's neck. I fumble around in my coat pockets, searching for the pistol. I yank it out, smelling the oil around the barrel, and point it at the figure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I didn't miss.
I pull the trigger, a resounding explosion and recoil knocking my arm back. I open my eyes.
Trotsky is cradling the wounded person. He was shot in the chest, blood seeping through his mouth.
"Sergi..." Trotsky wept.
*What?*
I looked a bit closer. The figure wasn't actually a threatening person at all.
Instead, it was a young boy.
"My son..."
*WHAT!?*
I backed up, and processed what I had just done. I had just killed an innocent little boy, who had just wanted to give his father a hug. The boy's name was Sergi. Family records blazed through my mind, until I froze in place and realized the awful truth. Sergi Sedov married my great grandmother.
Sergi Sedov was my great-grandfather.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
That's not my phone?
I looked at my nightstand where I *was* reaching for my phone, apparently I had slept past my alarm and needed to check the time.
**HOLY SHIT THAT'S A BIG ASS PISTOL**
Am I still tripping? I dropped the pistol I had grabbed reaching for my phone. Why is there a pistol on my night stand? Where the fuck am I? Is that a letter?
I had to think back to my german class in college, it had been awhile but I still had it.
*You are in Vienna, Austria. You have been armed with an FNX-45 Tactical pistol with a full magazine and suppressor. You are to kill the men in the pictures attached or we will kill your ancestors. Trust me when I say being stuck in the non-existential side of a time paradox is much worse than death.*
The pictures were Stalin, Hitler, and some other dude. They were all labeled though and mystery guy who pissed off the time controlling people is a "Leon Trotsky."
Well, I've never had this happen before. The acid and shrooms had definatly wore off, it was my first time doing both at once though. The big predicament either way was that apparently I left the party. My friends must be playing a prank. I never blackout but once I go to sleep, I'm not waking up till I'm good and ready. They must have moved me as a joke. I looked out the window to see what part of town I was in. *shit.* This isn't the town I went to sleep in, hell it isn't even the same state. There was a sign on the train station across the street though. *"Vienna North Terminal Station"*
Well, apparently I did go back in time. Maybe I shouldn't do shrooms and acid at the same time again. Maybe I should! I could go back and see dinosaurs! That would be dope as fuck! Wait, I need to focus. I have to get back to the future to get more acid. I found a set of clothes; a newspaper, a cardboard box for five cigars with only four cigars in it, a wallet with alias and 37 Schillings, a funny looking hat, a less than half full flask of bourbon, a watch, and a pack and a half of cigarettes in a chair by the bed. They all looked pretty typical for the time. Maybe I would look more normal carrying a newspaper? I could see the use in all the tobacco and alcohol but why the paper? There was also a note saying,
*We made the first two easy for you, they are eating outside the terminal at 12:26.*
Well then, I looked in the mirror. *I sure wish I had some acid* I thought as I put the now quarter full flask back in my pocket. I can't let these time people kill my ancestors, then I'll be stuck in a time loop and never get any more acid! A life without acid is not the life for me. I have some dictators to kill. Now how do I hide this pistol? It's not really that big without the suppressor but I kinda want the suppressor, it makes me feel more like James Bond.
**12:24**
Two minutes before showtime. I was sitting by the wall with my hand in the newspaper. I didn't think it would be useful but folding it over that pistol sure does hide it well. I can't look down the sights like this but nobody seems to notice I have a future pistol in my hand. I saw Stalin walk a few tables down and ask a man if he could eat with him. *Wait, that's the other dude!* Maybe I should have paid more attention in history, I think his name is Leanard? Anyways, seeing my opportunity I put out my cigarette and pick up my paper without my hand in it making sure to have a good grip on the suppressor. I don't want that gun to fall out, if I get arrested here I'll never find more acid. As I get near enough to walk by I put my shooting hand in the paper and put the end of the paper right behind Stalin's head.
*Pft* Clack
The gunshot itself made almost no noise. The slide made a slight clack, nothing to worry about by a noisy train station. Leanard made quite the yell of something in Russian as Stalin's brains hit the table though. No big deal though, I put three in his chest real quick and he shut up. I never stopped walking the whole time. I turned onto the sidewalk as the first person began yelling and tucked the newspaper under my arm with my shooting hand still in it, I could feel the casings in the newspaper under my arm. I quickly blended into the crowd as the only attention I had drawn was that Leanard dude's yelling. There was no way anyone could tell me apart in this crowd, everyone has on a funny hat similar to the one I'm wearing. I was walking down the hallway to the hotel room I woke up in before I heard sirens. I think I'll just kinda stay in till the cops cool off. I'll have a cigar and wait for dinnertime before going back out. Maybe get a sandwich and some beer, see if I can chat up any of these past women. Then I'll come back here to sleep and figure out my plan for tomorrow. I have to find pre-nazi Hitler now.
I woke up the next morning and found two small cardboard boxes, a newspaper, some cash, and another note on the nightstand. The headline was referring to the two men I had killed yesterday. *I definatly have not had enough acid for this* I thought as I unfolded the note.
*Good job on the first two, you have been rewarded with two (one for each target) gift boxes, 38 Schillings for first target, 39 more Schillings for second target, and your pistol's magazine has been refilled. Our interns look at your recent life before recruitment to determine what would make a good gift. Enclosed in each box is a tab of lysergic acid diethylamide wrapped in foil and sealed in a vintage small ziplock baggie"*
*Time controlling interns know what's up* I thought as I unpackaged a tab of acid. Time to go find Hitler, I'm almost out of acid you know.
|
*Mr. Askelrod,*
*In your possession you shall find a silenced pistol, three clips of ammunition, and three photographs. The photographs consist of the likenesses of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.*
*You must kill them, or we will kill your ancestors.*
*Welcome to Vienna, 1913.*
That was what the note had said. And the fact that I had the pistol and photographs on me looked like they were from pre-World War I, the entire situation I was stuck in seemed very real.
Although considering I had woken up with these notes in a random broom closet with some oddly dated clothing on, I began to wonder if I had taken any sort of drugs prior to this experience. I slap myself in the face a few times, feeling the flesh on my face and the sting on my skin. I notice a few bystanders walking past on the pavement give odd glances at me, probably wondering if I was mad.
Nope. Probably not a hallucination. I look at the pistol, examining it. It was a normal Browning 1900 pistol, with the addition of a Maxim Silencer.
I then remember how absolutely useless silencers actually are, especially such a primitive one. I unscrew it and tuck it into my coat pocket with disgust, pulling out the pictures afterwards.
Yep, these were the three targets all right. I flip to the picture of Trotsky, looking at it for a moment. I flip it around with my thumb. Trotsky's name actually sounds familiar, and not in the sense of learning his name in school. Then I remember countless stories my mother told me. My last name is Askelrov. My grandmother's name was also Askelrov. And her grandmother was married to...
If I killed Trotsky, I killed my own great-great-grandfather.
I simply paced around the city with hands in my coat pockets, playing with this information in my head. Trotsky was my ancestor. I couldn't kill him, otherwise I would cease to exist. But, I also had to kill him, otherwise, he would die by the hands of whoever wrote this letter, also removing my existence. I realized something then. I didn't have to kill Trotsky, in all actuality.
I just had to kill whoever was going to kill him.
Realizing that he may still be alive right now, I ran quickly. Trotsky lived in Vienna, along with Stalin and Hitler. Assuming he was living in close proximity to Stalin and Hitler, he should be very...
I stop as I spy a man with a bushy mustache and a cold, steely expression in his eyes.
Bingo.
I trail slowly behind him with a few other people walking in the same direction, so as not to arouse his suspicion. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity, as he may be attacked at any moment. I see him walk past the corner down an empty street, alone. I cringe, and quickly catch up to peek beyond the corner. I immediately tense up. Some male figure was behind him, wrapping his arms around Trotsky's neck. I fumble around in my coat pockets, searching for the pistol. I yank it out, smelling the oil around the barrel, and point it at the figure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I didn't miss.
I pull the trigger, a resounding explosion and recoil knocking my arm back. I open my eyes.
Trotsky is cradling the wounded person. He was shot in the chest, blood seeping through his mouth.
"Sergi..." Trotsky wept.
*What?*
I looked a bit closer. The figure wasn't actually a threatening person at all.
Instead, it was a young boy.
"My son..."
*WHAT!?*
I backed up, and processed what I had just done. I had just killed an innocent little boy, who had just wanted to give his father a hug. The boy's name was Sergi. Family records blazed through my mind, until I froze in place and realized the awful truth. Sergi Sedov married my great grandmother.
Sergi Sedov was my great-grandfather.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
I slept under the stars and dreamt the taste of Saxon blood. When I awoke, I lay in a cloud and the sky was gone.
My arms were free but my body felt sluggish as if submerged in water, and with some effort I sat up and tried to blink away the confusion. My eyes adjusted and I realized it was still night, I was indoors, and only the slightest amount of light trickled in through a single window on the wall.
I looked down and saw I was actually sitting in a bed, though I had never seen one of its like. It was a soft material, the softest I'd ever felt, housed in a wooden cage and lifted off the floor by stilts. I'd gone to sleep on bare earth but woken up here, and for a moment I assumed that at some point my brothers-in-arms must have dragged me off to some Roman villa, but I had no memory of waking up over someone's shoulder and I was not quite so drunk as to sleep through that.
With some effort I swung my legs around and stood. I was in bare feet, still wearing the thin linen trousers and tunic I carried with me from Lindinis. It was only days after the Bealtaine and too hot to wear anything heavier, yet I felt the chill of winter creep through the open window. I went to close it, but could find no flap of skin or leather to keep out the cold air. Instead, half the window was covered in Roman glass, though I saw no etchings or stains, and could find no mechanism that would help me seal it off.
My eyes further adjusted to the dim light and I saw, for the first time, a wooden table with what looked like a leather parchment and a lump of steel and wood. I lifted the parchment, but it was so thin and light that it must have been another wonder of the Romans. I held it up to the light by the window and saw it was wrapped around more parchments, one even lighter and several somewhat thicker and heavier. I tore the wrapping apart and found on the lightest parchment a message inked in a language I could read:
> Vos estis in Vienna, 1853 De innituntur, picturis Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, et Adolf Hitler. Alioquin interficiemus interficiunt vestris antecessor.
Though the letter was written in Latin, the year was an utter mystery. The Christians called it four hundred and eighty years since their Christ had died, but perhaps the author used the old Roman calendar, in which case the year should have read 1233. Perhaps the Romans had simply changed their calendar a third time since they left.
I am schooled in reading and writing both Latin and my native British, though it is no major feat to learn one if you know the other, and it had been some years since I found my old education useful. The language came back to me slowly and I had to read it carefully, one word at a time, but I did manage the translation. It was a threat, though unless my Latin was much worse than I realized the threat made no sense. My ancestors would be killed? My father died fighting the Saxons when I was a boy, and as far as I knew my mother was killed not long after they took her and my sister as slaves. Perhaps I had some older relatives still alive but it was unlikely, and hardly a threat, as I had never met them and they must be so old as to be near death anyway.
I was thirty winters old and a veteran of eight shield walls. All of them were against the Saxons, though I'd spent some years raiding Powys during the dark times before the High King united us against the Sais. I had no living ancestors, though perhaps my sister lived and it was only a mistranslation. The rest had crossed the Bridge of Swords long ago.
Some things, at least, were clear. I knew immediately my captor was a Christian, for only Christians such as the Bishop who raised me spoke and wrote Latin. I also knew I was far, far away from Britain, as the letter said I was in Vienna, a Roman fortress separating the Empire from the very same Saxons who now came to our shores every year in an endless flood. Some magic had taken me to the other side of the world but if it was Saxons I was meant to kill, I would do so gladly, and when the grisly work was finished I would tell my captors that they had only needed to ask.
I held the other three parchments up to the light and found they were all paintings, so lifelike that I nearly let them slip out of my fingers. Three men, all drawn in grays. One was young with wild hair and a clean shaven face, while the other two older men had hair only on their upper lip. None of them looked like Saxons, nor did their names match any peoples I had ever read about. Trotsky? Hitler? These names meant nothing to me.
Perhaps I was in this wondrous place to kill Romans. Only Romans would shave their whole face as if to imitate women and very young boys, but I had read more Roman names than any other and they did not sound right either.
Confused, I glanced at the lump of metal on the table. It almost looked like a knife, but the shape was all wrong, and what would have been the blade was curved at a sharp angle as it extended from the hilt. It rounded at the end, instead of a point, and when I picked it up I pressed it against my palm and felt nothing. The thing was useless as either a weapon or a tool, though it had some weight to it and, perhaps, I could club a Saxon with it if I had nothing else to rely on.
Near the hilt was piece of metal that moved back and forth when I pushed on it. I touched it lightly, wondering what purpose it held, but when I slipped my finger inside the little metal wire that contained it, I noticed it actually fit my hand fairly comfortably. Whatever this thing was, the little piece of metal must have been a Roman addition to aid with the bearer's grip.
I gave it a few test swings and I realized that it would be difficult indeed for an enemy to pry this thing away. I should have learned sooner not to underestimate the ingenuity of Roman builders. It was a club, then, but what about the hollow at the tip? Was I meant to roll up the thin parchment and hide it there? Was there another letter already inside?
I looked straight down the hollow but I couldn't see anything. Would the little piece of metal release its contents? I squeezed the m-
|
After a back-and-forth battle between Ambien and insomnia, I give in to the latter. As I adjust, my senses become overloaded with confusion. My Tempurpedic feels harder than biscuits from KFC, the stench of horseshit is so strong I can taste it, and the decor looks like my grandmother picked it out. I sit up and notice a bright, red strongbox at the foot of the bed but the armoire across the room is more alluring. Impetuously, I open the strongbox and find, a tailored suit, a bandolier, a.45 pistol modified with a silencer, a map with directions, and a note:"You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors".
As I reread the note, I chuckle to myself remembering a Louis CK joke: "If I went back in time, I wouldn't have killed Hitler, I would've raped him". I take my time getting dressed to ensure my firearm and ammunition are concealed. Assuming the directions on the map lead to my targets, I exit the strange room finding myself in the streets of Vienna. It's nighttime and the streets are dimly lit. I follow the path indicated on the map to the first target. In several minutes, I reach my destination, a small house. Using my master infiltration skills, I simply push the door open. I walk in to see a young Adolf Hitler fast sleep. Louis CK's voice echoes in my head. It couldn't hurt, I think to myself.
To be continued...
... Maybe
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
I sat on the bed with my face in my hands and the letter wrinkled between my fingers. Why me? Why was I chosen to accomplish this task? A feeling of sickness came across my stomach as I had regretted a lifetime of not paying attention in history class. I knew Hitler was German and Stalin was Russian. But who was this other guy? And I didn't know anything about Vienna! I can't even speak viennese! Or Australian was it?
And then I realized. Maybe I wasn't sent back in time to stop world war. Because in my world, these evil people were all put to an end. So why would someone want me to kill the leaders of the defeated!? Unless...
I wasn't sent here to stop the war. I was sent here to kill the ancestors of those who didn't obey the orders in the future. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wasn't he Austrian?
Something didn't make sense. How can people who have the power to send someone back in time choose someone like me, but make such a weak, conditional threat, as if they weren't able to finish this themselves? Such power, coupled with directions from an ikea manual. How could I kill everyone from Hitler to Stalin with only a handful of bullets? They had chosen the wrong man. Not because I wasn't able to accomplish what they wanted. No. They chose the wrong man because I would find a way to kill them. Because I wasn't going to kill Hitler. I was going to help him. With my knowledge of the future, I was going to help him win and avoid every mistake I could remember him making.
Years later, I had discovered another time assassin sent to kill me, but my guards had captured him. I found that he was one of those who had sent me here. He had come himself as a desperate last attempt to stop me. But with our nazi torture techniques, I was able to find out the names and ancestry of the rest of this shady organization. I rounded up their ancestors in my time. But no, I didn't kill them. I proposed to hitler that they should all be part of a special program. That they should all have sex with each other to create a super master race. He bought it. And I had essentially taken the ancestors of my tormentors and made them have sex with each other. By doing so, the time senders were never born. Instead, their ancestor timelines had been switched. I literally had them fucked out of existence. But by doing so, they also would have never sent me back in time! And without me, hitler would never win or survive! But we've come so far, ... What have I done! My... Cellphone... Is fading... Away... Time space continuum, Marty mcfly... Heil.... Oh fu-
|
After a back-and-forth battle between Ambien and insomnia, I give in to the latter. As I adjust, my senses become overloaded with confusion. My Tempurpedic feels harder than biscuits from KFC, the stench of horseshit is so strong I can taste it, and the decor looks like my grandmother picked it out. I sit up and notice a bright, red strongbox at the foot of the bed but the armoire across the room is more alluring. Impetuously, I open the strongbox and find, a tailored suit, a bandolier, a.45 pistol modified with a silencer, a map with directions, and a note:"You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors".
As I reread the note, I chuckle to myself remembering a Louis CK joke: "If I went back in time, I wouldn't have killed Hitler, I would've raped him". I take my time getting dressed to ensure my firearm and ammunition are concealed. Assuming the directions on the map lead to my targets, I exit the strange room finding myself in the streets of Vienna. It's nighttime and the streets are dimly lit. I follow the path indicated on the map to the first target. In several minutes, I reach my destination, a small house. Using my master infiltration skills, I simply push the door open. I walk in to see a young Adolf Hitler fast sleep. Louis CK's voice echoes in my head. It couldn't hurt, I think to myself.
To be continued...
... Maybe
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
What do you have against Trotsky?
|
After a back-and-forth battle between Ambien and insomnia, I give in to the latter. As I adjust, my senses become overloaded with confusion. My Tempurpedic feels harder than biscuits from KFC, the stench of horseshit is so strong I can taste it, and the decor looks like my grandmother picked it out. I sit up and notice a bright, red strongbox at the foot of the bed but the armoire across the room is more alluring. Impetuously, I open the strongbox and find, a tailored suit, a bandolier, a.45 pistol modified with a silencer, a map with directions, and a note:"You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors".
As I reread the note, I chuckle to myself remembering a Louis CK joke: "If I went back in time, I wouldn't have killed Hitler, I would've raped him". I take my time getting dressed to ensure my firearm and ammunition are concealed. Assuming the directions on the map lead to my targets, I exit the strange room finding myself in the streets of Vienna. It's nighttime and the streets are dimly lit. I follow the path indicated on the map to the first target. In several minutes, I reach my destination, a small house. Using my master infiltration skills, I simply push the door open. I walk in to see a young Adolf Hitler fast sleep. Louis CK's voice echoes in my head. It couldn't hurt, I think to myself.
To be continued...
... Maybe
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
*It had to be Trotsky. Stalin and Hitler had their armies now and I couldn't reach them. Not easily. Not quick enough. I couldn't afford to lose mama too. If only that time bomb in '39 had worked. I could have stopped this. I could have stopped everything.*
Misha was at the door and he saw me coming.
"Good evening, Comrade," he said.
"And to you, Comrade," I said. "He invited me for tea."
"Yes. I know," Misha said. "It is a great honour."
I nodded. Misha reached back and hit the door three times. Another man, Pyotr, swung it inward and let me pass. Yuri and Gherman were having supper in the kitchen.
I climbed the stairs slowly. Old wounds never seemed to heal for me.
I found Trotsky in his office staring out the window and sipping chilled vodka. I had never seen him drink before.
The sun was going down and he had left just one light on. It shone through a large fan slowly and silently stirring the damp heat of the Mexican night.
When he turned to me, the rhythm of the shadows across his face emphasized its disorder. His goatee had grown out grey. His hair resembled Professor Einstein's.
“Good evening, Comrade Trotsky.”
He set his drink down and stood up. “Comrade, Johnson!” he said. He strode across the room and embraced me. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”
“It is an honour, Comrade,” I said.
“It is my honour, Comrade Johnson,” Trotsky said as he beckoned me to sit.
He sat next to me and took squeezed my hand. “Tonight I am meeting with the man who will save the cause of liberation for the Workers of the world. Tonight I am meeting with a hero of the Soviet Union!”
“How can I serve the cause, Comrade Trotsky?” I said. The sweat above my eyebrows began to run.
“We have obtained a critical piece of information. It affords us a unique opportunity,” Trotsky said. “Stalin will be visiting a summer house in September. You have proven yourself more loyal and capable than anyone. We have a way in. We can get you into the house.”
“How?” I said.
Trotsky stood up and took a leather-bound folder off his desk and handed it to me. I opened it on the coffee table. The dossier was thick with pictures, maps, and personnel files.
Trotsky took it upon himself to explain: “We have a Comrade working as a mason in the house. They are expanding it for Stalin’s visit. He is constructing a space where you can be walled in ahead of his visit. You spend a week hidden and then you come out and cut that monsters throat in the night.”
“And this is all set up?” I asked. “Everything is in place?”
“Yes. Completely.”
I read from a file. “The fourth of September? That is only two weeks away.”
“We can get you there but you will have to leave immediately,” Trotsky said. “There is a car waiting for you. Everything is taken care of.”
“Tonight?” I said. It came out in a whisper.
“Yes. It is essential we move quickly," he said as he stood up. "Let’s discuss the mission further over tea.” Trotsky walked to the tea tray sitting by the window and busied himself with preparation.
I looked at the files a moment longer but I couldn’t read. I could feel my pulse everywhere.
*Tonight. It has to be tonight.*
My eyes darted to Trotsky’s back and then began a frenetic scan of the room. There was a large ice pick sitting on the bar. I stood up as slowly as I could and started creeping towards it.
With his back turned, Trotsky began to speak again. “Have you heard the news from Estonia? What Stalin has been doing there is disgusting. All those Jewish businesses seized. If they resisted they were sent to the prison camps. Whole families sent to Siberia.”
My mouth dried up. Trotsky kept talking.
“...It’s disgusting. It has nothing to do with Communism. We are all men. All workers. We need to be brothers…”
I reached the bar and picked up the axe. The ice pick was substantial. It was the kind you swung with a pick on one end and a clawed hammer on the other. It could have stood in for a climber’s axe. I started toward Trotsky.
“...but Stalin doesn’t care about the struggle. Only his power. Now is the time to overthrow him. If Hitler and Stalin control the world, your people will not fair-”
Trotsky’s voice transformed into a horrible gurgle. I let the pick go and it stuck in place. Trotsky turned around slowly. His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto my face. His mouthed opened and closed wordlessly.
I backed away. The sweat and tears mingled on my face.
He took a step toward me and then another and lifted his arms. The blood bubbled out of the wound and trickled down over his collar.
I couldn’t take his gaze in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t explain it. You wouldn’t understand. I have to kill you. I’ve always had to kill you. I was going to do it the first day but I couldn’t. I had the pistol in my hand and I couldn’t.”
Trotsky fell to his knees but his eyes never wavered.
“I believed you. God help me, I believed you. But I had to do this. They were impatient. Frustrated. If they had just killed papa, I could have handled that. But they took the memories. They only left enough so that I can feel what I lost.”
I knelt down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were losing their intensity now but I leaned in close and stared into them.
“But I want you to believe me when I say this: I will kill Stalin. I promise you that.”
I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
There was no sound from the staircase. I took the towel from the bar and wiped at my face and then checked myself for blood. Taking the folder from the table, I left the office and descended the staircase.
Pyotr looked at me as I came down. I said I had to get some things from my home and he nodded and opened the door.
Misha still waited outside. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re leaving so soon, Comrade?”
“Yes. I need to get some things from home.”
Misha nodded in understanding. “I have heard about your mission, Comrade. You will strike a great victory for the cause.”
I nodded acknowledgement and turned away but Misha reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me. He pointed at the folder in my hand. “I am surprised that Comrade Trotsky would let such valuable documents out of the residence. Are you sure it would not be wiser for me to hold onto it?”
“No. I will need to consult it.”
Misha stared at me for a long moment but then nodded, “Of course, Comrade.”
I walked away into the dark street. Behind me, I heard the door open. When I heard the shouting, I ran.
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After a back-and-forth battle between Ambien and insomnia, I give in to the latter. As I adjust, my senses become overloaded with confusion. My Tempurpedic feels harder than biscuits from KFC, the stench of horseshit is so strong I can taste it, and the decor looks like my grandmother picked it out. I sit up and notice a bright, red strongbox at the foot of the bed but the armoire across the room is more alluring. Impetuously, I open the strongbox and find, a tailored suit, a bandolier, a.45 pistol modified with a silencer, a map with directions, and a note:"You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors".
As I reread the note, I chuckle to myself remembering a Louis CK joke: "If I went back in time, I wouldn't have killed Hitler, I would've raped him". I take my time getting dressed to ensure my firearm and ammunition are concealed. Assuming the directions on the map lead to my targets, I exit the strange room finding myself in the streets of Vienna. It's nighttime and the streets are dimly lit. I follow the path indicated on the map to the first target. In several minutes, I reach my destination, a small house. Using my master infiltration skills, I simply push the door open. I walk in to see a young Adolf Hitler fast sleep. Louis CK's voice echoes in my head. It couldn't hurt, I think to myself.
To be continued...
... Maybe
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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I slept under the stars and dreamt the taste of Saxon blood. When I awoke, I lay in a cloud and the sky was gone.
My arms were free but my body felt sluggish as if submerged in water, and with some effort I sat up and tried to blink away the confusion. My eyes adjusted and I realized it was still night, I was indoors, and only the slightest amount of light trickled in through a single window on the wall.
I looked down and saw I was actually sitting in a bed, though I had never seen one of its like. It was a soft material, the softest I'd ever felt, housed in a wooden cage and lifted off the floor by stilts. I'd gone to sleep on bare earth but woken up here, and for a moment I assumed that at some point my brothers-in-arms must have dragged me off to some Roman villa, but I had no memory of waking up over someone's shoulder and I was not quite so drunk as to sleep through that.
With some effort I swung my legs around and stood. I was in bare feet, still wearing the thin linen trousers and tunic I carried with me from Lindinis. It was only days after the Bealtaine and too hot to wear anything heavier, yet I felt the chill of winter creep through the open window. I went to close it, but could find no flap of skin or leather to keep out the cold air. Instead, half the window was covered in Roman glass, though I saw no etchings or stains, and could find no mechanism that would help me seal it off.
My eyes further adjusted to the dim light and I saw, for the first time, a wooden table with what looked like a leather parchment and a lump of steel and wood. I lifted the parchment, but it was so thin and light that it must have been another wonder of the Romans. I held it up to the light by the window and saw it was wrapped around more parchments, one even lighter and several somewhat thicker and heavier. I tore the wrapping apart and found on the lightest parchment a message inked in a language I could read:
> Vos estis in Vienna, 1853 De innituntur, picturis Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, et Adolf Hitler. Alioquin interficiemus interficiunt vestris antecessor.
Though the letter was written in Latin, the year was an utter mystery. The Christians called it four hundred and eighty years since their Christ had died, but perhaps the author used the old Roman calendar, in which case the year should have read 1233. Perhaps the Romans had simply changed their calendar a third time since they left.
I am schooled in reading and writing both Latin and my native British, though it is no major feat to learn one if you know the other, and it had been some years since I found my old education useful. The language came back to me slowly and I had to read it carefully, one word at a time, but I did manage the translation. It was a threat, though unless my Latin was much worse than I realized the threat made no sense. My ancestors would be killed? My father died fighting the Saxons when I was a boy, and as far as I knew my mother was killed not long after they took her and my sister as slaves. Perhaps I had some older relatives still alive but it was unlikely, and hardly a threat, as I had never met them and they must be so old as to be near death anyway.
I was thirty winters old and a veteran of eight shield walls. All of them were against the Saxons, though I'd spent some years raiding Powys during the dark times before the High King united us against the Sais. I had no living ancestors, though perhaps my sister lived and it was only a mistranslation. The rest had crossed the Bridge of Swords long ago.
Some things, at least, were clear. I knew immediately my captor was a Christian, for only Christians such as the Bishop who raised me spoke and wrote Latin. I also knew I was far, far away from Britain, as the letter said I was in Vienna, a Roman fortress separating the Empire from the very same Saxons who now came to our shores every year in an endless flood. Some magic had taken me to the other side of the world but if it was Saxons I was meant to kill, I would do so gladly, and when the grisly work was finished I would tell my captors that they had only needed to ask.
I held the other three parchments up to the light and found they were all paintings, so lifelike that I nearly let them slip out of my fingers. Three men, all drawn in grays. One was young with wild hair and a clean shaven face, while the other two older men had hair only on their upper lip. None of them looked like Saxons, nor did their names match any peoples I had ever read about. Trotsky? Hitler? These names meant nothing to me.
Perhaps I was in this wondrous place to kill Romans. Only Romans would shave their whole face as if to imitate women and very young boys, but I had read more Roman names than any other and they did not sound right either.
Confused, I glanced at the lump of metal on the table. It almost looked like a knife, but the shape was all wrong, and what would have been the blade was curved at a sharp angle as it extended from the hilt. It rounded at the end, instead of a point, and when I picked it up I pressed it against my palm and felt nothing. The thing was useless as either a weapon or a tool, though it had some weight to it and, perhaps, I could club a Saxon with it if I had nothing else to rely on.
Near the hilt was piece of metal that moved back and forth when I pushed on it. I touched it lightly, wondering what purpose it held, but when I slipped my finger inside the little metal wire that contained it, I noticed it actually fit my hand fairly comfortably. Whatever this thing was, the little piece of metal must have been a Roman addition to aid with the bearer's grip.
I gave it a few test swings and I realized that it would be difficult indeed for an enemy to pry this thing away. I should have learned sooner not to underestimate the ingenuity of Roman builders. It was a club, then, but what about the hollow at the tip? Was I meant to roll up the thin parchment and hide it there? Was there another letter already inside?
I looked straight down the hollow but I couldn't see anything. Would the little piece of metal release its contents? I squeezed the m-
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As I wake, I have the unmistakeable all too familiar feeling of a hangover slowly creeping up my neck and into the deep recesses of my brain. As the room slowly pools into focus I notice that the light casting devious shadows around the room is especially dim.
That's also when I notice the single light bulb swinging gently back and forth from the ceiling. The room at this point foreign to me is still spinning with all the energy of a merry go round from hell. my legs shake unsteadily as i bring myself to my feet.
A few questions run through my mind as my gaze lands on a bureau in the corner and a bed in the center of the room. No reason for alarm and I try to get my wits about me. There wouldn't be in fact if I didn't notice the gun lying on the pillow along with a folded piece of parchment.
I step closer, there's something all together odd about this combination of things however my curiosity at its peak and my apparent sedation quickly wearing off I gingerly trace my fingers over the cold steel. I had never personally been a fan of fire arms or the bureaucracy surrounding them. First we cant have guns then they want to take them all away. Politicians and their nonsense.
The last thing I could recall is that I had been waiting for a train at Penn station when ....when what I said aloud to myself. At least I thought it was aloud. It could've been my own thoughts echoing inside the void echoing inside the room. Now that my perception had cleared it became apparent that this room had the look of one I had seen once in a travel brochure. Something about "old world charm". The detail escaped me at the moment.
However as my fingers left the metal exterior of the gun my attention almost hyper focused on the parchment. Not note book paper or loose leaf or even a post it. It was as far as I could tell rough hand hewn parchment. How did I know this? When I was small my parents and I had taken a trip to the national archives and I remember the way the texture of the hundred year old documents looked. Rough yet natural, seamless even.
As I picked up the paper the hairs on the back of my arm prickled and stood up causing me to inhale slightly. Then at the worst possible moment....I sneezed. I was terribly allergic to mold and dust. It was a powerful one, designed to clear any sinus cavity of any obtrusion and that it did. Thinking quickly I ball up the paper and try to cover my nose as best I can. After all this isn't my room I wouldn't want to get anyone else sick.
As relief overcomes me from the sudden but satisfying onslaught of the evacuation of mucus and now completely clear airways I noticed some rather sloppy, wet ink making its way down the now soggy center of the page. It says as far as I can tell something like yu....r venna 19 ..trots...salin...hitlr..... As confused as I am you can imagine my dilemma when some rather down trodden and quite wet pictures fall to the floor.
The ink just like the letter slowly dissolving under my boogers. I figure its just best to collect my self and anything I might have with me and slowly exit the room....this day has just been too weird and Ive missed my train by this point...bugger me.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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I sat on the bed with my face in my hands and the letter wrinkled between my fingers. Why me? Why was I chosen to accomplish this task? A feeling of sickness came across my stomach as I had regretted a lifetime of not paying attention in history class. I knew Hitler was German and Stalin was Russian. But who was this other guy? And I didn't know anything about Vienna! I can't even speak viennese! Or Australian was it?
And then I realized. Maybe I wasn't sent back in time to stop world war. Because in my world, these evil people were all put to an end. So why would someone want me to kill the leaders of the defeated!? Unless...
I wasn't sent here to stop the war. I was sent here to kill the ancestors of those who didn't obey the orders in the future. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wasn't he Austrian?
Something didn't make sense. How can people who have the power to send someone back in time choose someone like me, but make such a weak, conditional threat, as if they weren't able to finish this themselves? Such power, coupled with directions from an ikea manual. How could I kill everyone from Hitler to Stalin with only a handful of bullets? They had chosen the wrong man. Not because I wasn't able to accomplish what they wanted. No. They chose the wrong man because I would find a way to kill them. Because I wasn't going to kill Hitler. I was going to help him. With my knowledge of the future, I was going to help him win and avoid every mistake I could remember him making.
Years later, I had discovered another time assassin sent to kill me, but my guards had captured him. I found that he was one of those who had sent me here. He had come himself as a desperate last attempt to stop me. But with our nazi torture techniques, I was able to find out the names and ancestry of the rest of this shady organization. I rounded up their ancestors in my time. But no, I didn't kill them. I proposed to hitler that they should all be part of a special program. That they should all have sex with each other to create a super master race. He bought it. And I had essentially taken the ancestors of my tormentors and made them have sex with each other. By doing so, the time senders were never born. Instead, their ancestor timelines had been switched. I literally had them fucked out of existence. But by doing so, they also would have never sent me back in time! And without me, hitler would never win or survive! But we've come so far, ... What have I done! My... Cellphone... Is fading... Away... Time space continuum, Marty mcfly... Heil.... Oh fu-
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As I wake, I have the unmistakeable all too familiar feeling of a hangover slowly creeping up my neck and into the deep recesses of my brain. As the room slowly pools into focus I notice that the light casting devious shadows around the room is especially dim.
That's also when I notice the single light bulb swinging gently back and forth from the ceiling. The room at this point foreign to me is still spinning with all the energy of a merry go round from hell. my legs shake unsteadily as i bring myself to my feet.
A few questions run through my mind as my gaze lands on a bureau in the corner and a bed in the center of the room. No reason for alarm and I try to get my wits about me. There wouldn't be in fact if I didn't notice the gun lying on the pillow along with a folded piece of parchment.
I step closer, there's something all together odd about this combination of things however my curiosity at its peak and my apparent sedation quickly wearing off I gingerly trace my fingers over the cold steel. I had never personally been a fan of fire arms or the bureaucracy surrounding them. First we cant have guns then they want to take them all away. Politicians and their nonsense.
The last thing I could recall is that I had been waiting for a train at Penn station when ....when what I said aloud to myself. At least I thought it was aloud. It could've been my own thoughts echoing inside the void echoing inside the room. Now that my perception had cleared it became apparent that this room had the look of one I had seen once in a travel brochure. Something about "old world charm". The detail escaped me at the moment.
However as my fingers left the metal exterior of the gun my attention almost hyper focused on the parchment. Not note book paper or loose leaf or even a post it. It was as far as I could tell rough hand hewn parchment. How did I know this? When I was small my parents and I had taken a trip to the national archives and I remember the way the texture of the hundred year old documents looked. Rough yet natural, seamless even.
As I picked up the paper the hairs on the back of my arm prickled and stood up causing me to inhale slightly. Then at the worst possible moment....I sneezed. I was terribly allergic to mold and dust. It was a powerful one, designed to clear any sinus cavity of any obtrusion and that it did. Thinking quickly I ball up the paper and try to cover my nose as best I can. After all this isn't my room I wouldn't want to get anyone else sick.
As relief overcomes me from the sudden but satisfying onslaught of the evacuation of mucus and now completely clear airways I noticed some rather sloppy, wet ink making its way down the now soggy center of the page. It says as far as I can tell something like yu....r venna 19 ..trots...salin...hitlr..... As confused as I am you can imagine my dilemma when some rather down trodden and quite wet pictures fall to the floor.
The ink just like the letter slowly dissolving under my boogers. I figure its just best to collect my self and anything I might have with me and slowly exit the room....this day has just been too weird and Ive missed my train by this point...bugger me.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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What do you have against Trotsky?
|
As I wake, I have the unmistakeable all too familiar feeling of a hangover slowly creeping up my neck and into the deep recesses of my brain. As the room slowly pools into focus I notice that the light casting devious shadows around the room is especially dim.
That's also when I notice the single light bulb swinging gently back and forth from the ceiling. The room at this point foreign to me is still spinning with all the energy of a merry go round from hell. my legs shake unsteadily as i bring myself to my feet.
A few questions run through my mind as my gaze lands on a bureau in the corner and a bed in the center of the room. No reason for alarm and I try to get my wits about me. There wouldn't be in fact if I didn't notice the gun lying on the pillow along with a folded piece of parchment.
I step closer, there's something all together odd about this combination of things however my curiosity at its peak and my apparent sedation quickly wearing off I gingerly trace my fingers over the cold steel. I had never personally been a fan of fire arms or the bureaucracy surrounding them. First we cant have guns then they want to take them all away. Politicians and their nonsense.
The last thing I could recall is that I had been waiting for a train at Penn station when ....when what I said aloud to myself. At least I thought it was aloud. It could've been my own thoughts echoing inside the void echoing inside the room. Now that my perception had cleared it became apparent that this room had the look of one I had seen once in a travel brochure. Something about "old world charm". The detail escaped me at the moment.
However as my fingers left the metal exterior of the gun my attention almost hyper focused on the parchment. Not note book paper or loose leaf or even a post it. It was as far as I could tell rough hand hewn parchment. How did I know this? When I was small my parents and I had taken a trip to the national archives and I remember the way the texture of the hundred year old documents looked. Rough yet natural, seamless even.
As I picked up the paper the hairs on the back of my arm prickled and stood up causing me to inhale slightly. Then at the worst possible moment....I sneezed. I was terribly allergic to mold and dust. It was a powerful one, designed to clear any sinus cavity of any obtrusion and that it did. Thinking quickly I ball up the paper and try to cover my nose as best I can. After all this isn't my room I wouldn't want to get anyone else sick.
As relief overcomes me from the sudden but satisfying onslaught of the evacuation of mucus and now completely clear airways I noticed some rather sloppy, wet ink making its way down the now soggy center of the page. It says as far as I can tell something like yu....r venna 19 ..trots...salin...hitlr..... As confused as I am you can imagine my dilemma when some rather down trodden and quite wet pictures fall to the floor.
The ink just like the letter slowly dissolving under my boogers. I figure its just best to collect my self and anything I might have with me and slowly exit the room....this day has just been too weird and Ive missed my train by this point...bugger me.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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What do you have against Trotsky?
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Having read the letter for the forth time Johnathan, a man of only 27 years, stared into the clear sky above. Taking a deep breath and looking down at his lap, his eyes locked onto the last line of the musty letter... "Kill them" it read. Sliding the silenced 1911 into his back pocket he put on his glasses, lit his last cigarette and quietly whispered to himself "Whoever the fuck you are, I like your style" as he began to walk down the street into central Vienna.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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I sat on the bed with my face in my hands and the letter wrinkled between my fingers. Why me? Why was I chosen to accomplish this task? A feeling of sickness came across my stomach as I had regretted a lifetime of not paying attention in history class. I knew Hitler was German and Stalin was Russian. But who was this other guy? And I didn't know anything about Vienna! I can't even speak viennese! Or Australian was it?
And then I realized. Maybe I wasn't sent back in time to stop world war. Because in my world, these evil people were all put to an end. So why would someone want me to kill the leaders of the defeated!? Unless...
I wasn't sent here to stop the war. I was sent here to kill the ancestors of those who didn't obey the orders in the future. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wasn't he Austrian?
Something didn't make sense. How can people who have the power to send someone back in time choose someone like me, but make such a weak, conditional threat, as if they weren't able to finish this themselves? Such power, coupled with directions from an ikea manual. How could I kill everyone from Hitler to Stalin with only a handful of bullets? They had chosen the wrong man. Not because I wasn't able to accomplish what they wanted. No. They chose the wrong man because I would find a way to kill them. Because I wasn't going to kill Hitler. I was going to help him. With my knowledge of the future, I was going to help him win and avoid every mistake I could remember him making.
Years later, I had discovered another time assassin sent to kill me, but my guards had captured him. I found that he was one of those who had sent me here. He had come himself as a desperate last attempt to stop me. But with our nazi torture techniques, I was able to find out the names and ancestry of the rest of this shady organization. I rounded up their ancestors in my time. But no, I didn't kill them. I proposed to hitler that they should all be part of a special program. That they should all have sex with each other to create a super master race. He bought it. And I had essentially taken the ancestors of my tormentors and made them have sex with each other. By doing so, the time senders were never born. Instead, their ancestor timelines had been switched. I literally had them fucked out of existence. But by doing so, they also would have never sent me back in time! And without me, hitler would never win or survive! But we've come so far, ... What have I done! My... Cellphone... Is fading... Away... Time space continuum, Marty mcfly... Heil.... Oh fu-
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It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
What do you have against Trotsky?
|
It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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Again!
This, *again*. Go back…evil men…blah blah…oh, who comes up with this stuff? When I signed up for the time-travelling assassin get-out-of-jail-almost-free (but mainly get-out-of-jail) card they never told me about all the synthetic drama I'd have to put up with. I mean, sure, I understand, manipulating history is a very delicate business—so delicate that you'd think they'd get someone better than whomever was at the front of death row that week to do it, but hey, what do I know? And sure, I turn out to be very, very good at it—sneaking up and killing folks? Why yes, yes I am quite the dab hand at that. But really, this nonsense might impress some yokel who “done kilt him some bad mans” or whatever, but I'm the Lunar Colony Lunatic—just give me the address and I'll…well, what have we here anyway?
Stalin, silver medallist in the twentieth century Mass-Murder Open. Hitler, bronze. Is this the best they can do? Trotsky?
Ah, wait now. Without Trotsky and without Stalin, then Lenin has a free hand in Russia. But he was maybe the least crazy of them. Is this supposed to help, or hinder? And, no Hitler so no second world war…maybe? But what happens in Germany after they lose the—or…without Trotsky and Stalin, does the October Revolution fail? But without Hitler…this is too hard. What the hell is this scenario supposed to mean, anyway? If they don't tell me the point of the mission then I might as well just be some madman running around with a gun that hasn't been invented yet. Of course, I am a madman—got a court order to prove it. Sure, it's cute and everything that these three guys are in town at the same time but, really, *what's the point?*
So, kill my ancestors, eh? Like I care. Anyone who'd met my grandfather was happy to see the old bastard dead—why after what he did to me, I'd cheerfully strangle…oh, yes, I *did* cheerfully strangle him. Y'know, somebody didn't think this through. I'm pretty much dead anyway, and no loss, frankly. I'm sure those families back on the Moon would agree. Oh, the look on their faces! Especially when I put their faces on the…no, focus, focus.
So…here I am. Vienna. With a big old big ass pistol, nicely silenced. This has a lot more possibilities to it than that last job, man Dallas is a dull town. Oh, oh yes! What if…yeah, that's a much better better plan. Much more interesting. It's 1913, eh? Let me make a withdrawal from a bank, any bank will do, and see about moving to Sarajevo!
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It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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*It had to be Trotsky. Stalin and Hitler had their armies now and I couldn't reach them. Not easily. Not quick enough. I couldn't afford to lose mama too. If only that time bomb in '39 had worked. I could have stopped this. I could have stopped everything.*
Misha was at the door and he saw me coming.
"Good evening, Comrade," he said.
"And to you, Comrade," I said. "He invited me for tea."
"Yes. I know," Misha said. "It is a great honour."
I nodded. Misha reached back and hit the door three times. Another man, Pyotr, swung it inward and let me pass. Yuri and Gherman were having supper in the kitchen.
I climbed the stairs slowly. Old wounds never seemed to heal for me.
I found Trotsky in his office staring out the window and sipping chilled vodka. I had never seen him drink before.
The sun was going down and he had left just one light on. It shone through a large fan slowly and silently stirring the damp heat of the Mexican night.
When he turned to me, the rhythm of the shadows across his face emphasized its disorder. His goatee had grown out grey. His hair resembled Professor Einstein's.
“Good evening, Comrade Trotsky.”
He set his drink down and stood up. “Comrade, Johnson!” he said. He strode across the room and embraced me. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”
“It is an honour, Comrade,” I said.
“It is my honour, Comrade Johnson,” Trotsky said as he beckoned me to sit.
He sat next to me and took squeezed my hand. “Tonight I am meeting with the man who will save the cause of liberation for the Workers of the world. Tonight I am meeting with a hero of the Soviet Union!”
“How can I serve the cause, Comrade Trotsky?” I said. The sweat above my eyebrows began to run.
“We have obtained a critical piece of information. It affords us a unique opportunity,” Trotsky said. “Stalin will be visiting a summer house in September. You have proven yourself more loyal and capable than anyone. We have a way in. We can get you into the house.”
“How?” I said.
Trotsky stood up and took a leather-bound folder off his desk and handed it to me. I opened it on the coffee table. The dossier was thick with pictures, maps, and personnel files.
Trotsky took it upon himself to explain: “We have a Comrade working as a mason in the house. They are expanding it for Stalin’s visit. He is constructing a space where you can be walled in ahead of his visit. You spend a week hidden and then you come out and cut that monsters throat in the night.”
“And this is all set up?” I asked. “Everything is in place?”
“Yes. Completely.”
I read from a file. “The fourth of September? That is only two weeks away.”
“We can get you there but you will have to leave immediately,” Trotsky said. “There is a car waiting for you. Everything is taken care of.”
“Tonight?” I said. It came out in a whisper.
“Yes. It is essential we move quickly," he said as he stood up. "Let’s discuss the mission further over tea.” Trotsky walked to the tea tray sitting by the window and busied himself with preparation.
I looked at the files a moment longer but I couldn’t read. I could feel my pulse everywhere.
*Tonight. It has to be tonight.*
My eyes darted to Trotsky’s back and then began a frenetic scan of the room. There was a large ice pick sitting on the bar. I stood up as slowly as I could and started creeping towards it.
With his back turned, Trotsky began to speak again. “Have you heard the news from Estonia? What Stalin has been doing there is disgusting. All those Jewish businesses seized. If they resisted they were sent to the prison camps. Whole families sent to Siberia.”
My mouth dried up. Trotsky kept talking.
“...It’s disgusting. It has nothing to do with Communism. We are all men. All workers. We need to be brothers…”
I reached the bar and picked up the axe. The ice pick was substantial. It was the kind you swung with a pick on one end and a clawed hammer on the other. It could have stood in for a climber’s axe. I started toward Trotsky.
“...but Stalin doesn’t care about the struggle. Only his power. Now is the time to overthrow him. If Hitler and Stalin control the world, your people will not fair-”
Trotsky’s voice transformed into a horrible gurgle. I let the pick go and it stuck in place. Trotsky turned around slowly. His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto my face. His mouthed opened and closed wordlessly.
I backed away. The sweat and tears mingled on my face.
He took a step toward me and then another and lifted his arms. The blood bubbled out of the wound and trickled down over his collar.
I couldn’t take his gaze in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t explain it. You wouldn’t understand. I have to kill you. I’ve always had to kill you. I was going to do it the first day but I couldn’t. I had the pistol in my hand and I couldn’t.”
Trotsky fell to his knees but his eyes never wavered.
“I believed you. God help me, I believed you. But I had to do this. They were impatient. Frustrated. If they had just killed papa, I could have handled that. But they took the memories. They only left enough so that I can feel what I lost.”
I knelt down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were losing their intensity now but I leaned in close and stared into them.
“But I want you to believe me when I say this: I will kill Stalin. I promise you that.”
I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
There was no sound from the staircase. I took the towel from the bar and wiped at my face and then checked myself for blood. Taking the folder from the table, I left the office and descended the staircase.
Pyotr looked at me as I came down. I said I had to get some things from my home and he nodded and opened the door.
Misha still waited outside. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re leaving so soon, Comrade?”
“Yes. I need to get some things from home.”
Misha nodded in understanding. “I have heard about your mission, Comrade. You will strike a great victory for the cause.”
I nodded acknowledgement and turned away but Misha reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me. He pointed at the folder in my hand. “I am surprised that Comrade Trotsky would let such valuable documents out of the residence. Are you sure it would not be wiser for me to hold onto it?”
“No. I will need to consult it.”
Misha stared at me for a long moment but then nodded, “Of course, Comrade.”
I walked away into the dark street. Behind me, I heard the door open. When I heard the shouting, I ran.
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It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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More often than not, the average person actually does not have a very good understanding of firearms. Point the end with hole in it at whatever you want to kill and pull the trigger, right? Maybe thumb down the firing hammer if you *really mean it*.
Well, not exactly. Guns don't just fire when you pull the trigger...although, they should be treated as such, as any seasoned firearm veteran will agree. And if you haven't chambered a round, then cocking the hammer isn't going to get you putting people in their graves action-movie style any time soon.
Shotguns or big handguns don't blow people five feet backwards, automatic weapons eat their magazine very quickly; flashlights, laser pointers, and other gadgets mounted to RIS rails only make your weapon heavier, and, above all else, most people are terrible shots, especially if they've never handled a firearm before.
But what are perhaps least understood by hollywood and the video-game industry are silencers, also known, perhaps more aptly, as sound-suppressors.
Silencers do not make your weapon silent. A "silenced" 45 automatic is still as loud as a reasonably sized firecracker, and with high-powered rifles one still has to deal with the supersonic shockwave generated by the breaking of the sound barrier by the bullet, which may only be mitigated with the use of subsonic ammunition (which reduce the range and energy of the fired rounds).
No, what silencers do is make your firearm *quieter*, not *silent*. Specifically, they generally reduce the acoustic signature of the firearm to levels that simply won't damage an unprotected ear.
However, there does in fact exist a caliber that is muffled practically into imperceptibility by a silencer. A caliber in which the pistol resting on R. Thompson's nightstand is chambered.
It is a parkerized .22LR Smith-and-Wesson model 41, hardly modern by the standards of 2034. A six-inch long, half-inch diameter, tube - colored to match - protrudes malevolently from the peculiar flat faces and sleek lines of the pistol. The almost perfectly monotone black-grey color of the pistol is broken only by the knurled and polished, form-fitted, oak wood handgrip.
Tompson picks up the handgun. It is heavy, and solid.
His captors chose their instrument well. The Model 41 is a competition pistol. Accurate, well-crafted, reliable (with the right ammunition), and practically silent with the suppressor, particularly if one thumbs the slide to prevent it cycling when fired (this, of course, has the drawback of requiring the next round to be chambered manually), the Model 41 is the ideal side-arm for the assassin who values discretion above all else.
The question on Thompson's mind, though, is *why?* Moreover, *how?* He has, evidently, been somehow transported to Vienna around the turn of the 20th century. How is this possible? He ponders. Perhaps he has been translated roughly 120 (light)years distant from the Earth at superluminal speed, then translated back to his starting point at the same speed. Having left Earth in the 2030's, he would arrive back in the 1910's. But this is absurd, he knows that technology simply does not exist, and even if it did, he recalls the vague message - "Or else your ancestors will be killed."
What ancestors? and how in the world could his captors possibly expect to find such ancestors with the radical change in history the murdering of these prominent figures would wrought? How could his captors even necessarily expect to *exist*, were past events to be changed so dramatically? The threat is itself as absurd as the idea that he has been translated wildly about the galaxy at impractically high velocities.
He had woken from a sleep, seeing the handgun and the note. The fog was slowly beginning to clear. He sat and thought for a moment again, considering his situation and its various possibilities.
After a few moments, he came to the only reasonable conclusion, from his perspective. Thompson sat upright, picked up the pistol and slid it lithely into his breast holster, and left the room, outward towards the beckoning streets of Vienna to begin his mission.
He ignored the note and its contents.
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It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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That's not my phone?
I looked at my nightstand where I *was* reaching for my phone, apparently I had slept past my alarm and needed to check the time.
**HOLY SHIT THAT'S A BIG ASS PISTOL**
Am I still tripping? I dropped the pistol I had grabbed reaching for my phone. Why is there a pistol on my night stand? Where the fuck am I? Is that a letter?
I had to think back to my german class in college, it had been awhile but I still had it.
*You are in Vienna, Austria. You have been armed with an FNX-45 Tactical pistol with a full magazine and suppressor. You are to kill the men in the pictures attached or we will kill your ancestors. Trust me when I say being stuck in the non-existential side of a time paradox is much worse than death.*
The pictures were Stalin, Hitler, and some other dude. They were all labeled though and mystery guy who pissed off the time controlling people is a "Leon Trotsky."
Well, I've never had this happen before. The acid and shrooms had definatly wore off, it was my first time doing both at once though. The big predicament either way was that apparently I left the party. My friends must be playing a prank. I never blackout but once I go to sleep, I'm not waking up till I'm good and ready. They must have moved me as a joke. I looked out the window to see what part of town I was in. *shit.* This isn't the town I went to sleep in, hell it isn't even the same state. There was a sign on the train station across the street though. *"Vienna North Terminal Station"*
Well, apparently I did go back in time. Maybe I shouldn't do shrooms and acid at the same time again. Maybe I should! I could go back and see dinosaurs! That would be dope as fuck! Wait, I need to focus. I have to get back to the future to get more acid. I found a set of clothes; a newspaper, a cardboard box for five cigars with only four cigars in it, a wallet with alias and 37 Schillings, a funny looking hat, a less than half full flask of bourbon, a watch, and a pack and a half of cigarettes in a chair by the bed. They all looked pretty typical for the time. Maybe I would look more normal carrying a newspaper? I could see the use in all the tobacco and alcohol but why the paper? There was also a note saying,
*We made the first two easy for you, they are eating outside the terminal at 12:26.*
Well then, I looked in the mirror. *I sure wish I had some acid* I thought as I put the now quarter full flask back in my pocket. I can't let these time people kill my ancestors, then I'll be stuck in a time loop and never get any more acid! A life without acid is not the life for me. I have some dictators to kill. Now how do I hide this pistol? It's not really that big without the suppressor but I kinda want the suppressor, it makes me feel more like James Bond.
**12:24**
Two minutes before showtime. I was sitting by the wall with my hand in the newspaper. I didn't think it would be useful but folding it over that pistol sure does hide it well. I can't look down the sights like this but nobody seems to notice I have a future pistol in my hand. I saw Stalin walk a few tables down and ask a man if he could eat with him. *Wait, that's the other dude!* Maybe I should have paid more attention in history, I think his name is Leanard? Anyways, seeing my opportunity I put out my cigarette and pick up my paper without my hand in it making sure to have a good grip on the suppressor. I don't want that gun to fall out, if I get arrested here I'll never find more acid. As I get near enough to walk by I put my shooting hand in the paper and put the end of the paper right behind Stalin's head.
*Pft* Clack
The gunshot itself made almost no noise. The slide made a slight clack, nothing to worry about by a noisy train station. Leanard made quite the yell of something in Russian as Stalin's brains hit the table though. No big deal though, I put three in his chest real quick and he shut up. I never stopped walking the whole time. I turned onto the sidewalk as the first person began yelling and tucked the newspaper under my arm with my shooting hand still in it, I could feel the casings in the newspaper under my arm. I quickly blended into the crowd as the only attention I had drawn was that Leanard dude's yelling. There was no way anyone could tell me apart in this crowd, everyone has on a funny hat similar to the one I'm wearing. I was walking down the hallway to the hotel room I woke up in before I heard sirens. I think I'll just kinda stay in till the cops cool off. I'll have a cigar and wait for dinnertime before going back out. Maybe get a sandwich and some beer, see if I can chat up any of these past women. Then I'll come back here to sleep and figure out my plan for tomorrow. I have to find pre-nazi Hitler now.
I woke up the next morning and found two small cardboard boxes, a newspaper, some cash, and another note on the nightstand. The headline was referring to the two men I had killed yesterday. *I definatly have not had enough acid for this* I thought as I unfolded the note.
*Good job on the first two, you have been rewarded with two (one for each target) gift boxes, 38 Schillings for first target, 39 more Schillings for second target, and your pistol's magazine has been refilled. Our interns look at your recent life before recruitment to determine what would make a good gift. Enclosed in each box is a tab of lysergic acid diethylamide wrapped in foil and sealed in a vintage small ziplock baggie"*
*Time controlling interns know what's up* I thought as I unpackaged a tab of acid. Time to go find Hitler, I'm almost out of acid you know.
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It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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Utopia is the idea that we can’t only make the world better, but perfect. Utopia is the thing that drives good men to do terrible things because they can’t imagine that they might be wrong. Utopia is the most horrifying idea in the world.
I wake up with a feeling of wrong-ness. Something deep inside me has become unhinged and I feel like I don’t belong here, maybe not even in this reality. There is dull pain in my skull and my ears are buzzing, but – I am alive. The room is small, clean, old-fashioned, with flowers on the windowsill, and I can move. That’s a step: I can move, so I have control. As long as there is some control, nothing is impossible.
The envelope on the nightstand is not sealed, just tucked shut. Curiously, I notice that before I see the gun next to it, maybe because I’m so used to being around weapons – it comes with the occupation. It’s a plain black Heckler & Koch, a forty-five with a detachable suppressor. I recognise the type: It used to be my to-go sidearm for most operations, back in the day.
I open the envelope and find the photographs. The letter explains they are Stalin, Trotsky and Hitler, but I recognise all three of them. I have paid attention in history and I also feel familiar with them. My emotions are hard to control at the moment, which makes the other part of the letter almost believable: It says I’m in Vienna, 1913 and that I have to kill the three men in order not to be erased from history. I feel so out of place here, I might as well have travelled in time – if not for the impossibility of that. The gun was made in the twenty-first century. But this room …
Utilitarianism is the notion that it is acceptable to destroy one world that suffers to create one that suffers less, or might. Whoever wants to blackmail me into being their assassin, they seem to believe their new world would be a better one if I erase the old one.
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Adolf Hitler is sitting ten feet from me, reading a conversations lexicon and taking occasional notes. His handwriting is scribbly. I’m surprised how little attention he’s paying to the street café’s gorgeous blonde waitress, but that doesn’t really matter … The really important point is, he’s about to leave. I’ve adapted the speed of my coffee-drinking to his so I’ll pay right before him… And now, I’m able to follow him. He’s carrying the lexicon and his little notebook in one hand and even though I don’t see his face, he seems to be enjoying the sun.
He takes a right into an alley and I follow him – it’s fairly deserted. I could shoot him now, but I wait in a doorframe instead until the bespectacled man from the café shows up. He’s been watching me for the last hour and he’s admittedly not bad at appearing inconspicuous. Still … I step out of my hiding place, raise my pistol and pull the trigger.
A cornered animal acts on survival instinct, an older, more powerful force than any rationality or reason. That same certainty is what I feel.
-
“I have a few questions for you. You will answer all of them, of course. You may decide to try and not answer them, but that only means you’ll lose more fingers before you eventually talk. I can tell when you lie.” I tighten the strap around his left leg, even though the bullet has already smashed the kneecap, so he couldn’t escape even without it. The chair he’s tied to, the dimly lit basement room, it’s all mostly for show, just to demonstrate the situation he is in.
I pick up a bread knife. “This hurts way more than a sharp one, but it will do the job. Now it’s time to prove you like your fingers.”
He is rather well-trained. He loses a lot of fingers. He talks eventually. I leave his body in the basement – I have to move quickly, before they can prevent me from being born. He gave me names, a whole list. This is what my occupation always boils down to – a list of names.
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I’m in Paris and a woman is begging for her life on an expensive carpet. I don’t tell her that the bullet in her guts is fatal, her body has just not gotten the message yet. Even while sobbing herself to death, she tries to reason with me, make me understand. “We can build a better world. We just take out the biggest monsters, then leave it to grow, like a gardener! Please …”
She keeps crying and her tears mix with blood on the carpet. Blood contains more salt than tears.
“You are not the people for that.” I reload my gun, far more slowly than usually. I had to shoot a large number of guards outside. “You think you’ll stop at changing that, but you won’t. You don’t want your hands dirty, so you attempt to blackmail me ... you are too incompetent even for that … And you would take responsibility for all human history.” I let the pistol slide snap back into place. “I won’t let you.”
Pragmatism is the idea that whether or not it actually works is the true test of any philosophy.
-
I’m sixty-nine years old and yet I won’t be born for another thirty-three years. The allied forces of the United States, Great Britain and France have just started airlifting supplies to West Berlin, as it should be, and my people have made sure nobody from the wrong time interferes. I’ve also replaced the expensive carpets and extensive decorations in the operations centre in Paris with more efficient, streamlined furniture.
I’ve put this off for too long, so I get the files I requested and carefully remove the three photographs. I type in the words on the typewriter, otherwise I might recognise my own handwriting. The agency that should have written these words no longer exists … But I have to make sure things happen as they should. The letter will be delivered and all other steps taken by my people when the right year comes; I’ll be dead by then. I write: “You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors.”
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It's a heavy toll, time travel that is. The first thing that gives as the energy that holds together all the millions of atoms that make up your physical body is your vision. It's a senses overload, the bright lights and heat from the intense burst of energy required to perform such a seemingly impossible task. It takes a total of 3 hours to recover. At the first minute your nerve endings begin to send signals to your oxygen depraved brain, every fucking second is pain, you feel the pressure irregularities, the weight of gravity above you, bed sheets feel like tons over your chest. At around the first hour your vision comes back, yet your still not capable of full thoughts, as your brain recovers oxygen, coherent thoughts begin to emerge. "What the hell am I doing here?", "how the shit did I get here?". You can think them, but not understand them, it's at the halfway point that you begin to process thoughts. At this point the pain in every single inch of your body is so unbearable you pass out.
I don't know if it was the oxygen depravation, or the whole ordeal in general, but it took over an hour to fully process what I held in my hands. I looked around the room, and retraced my thoughts. "A revolver, 3 bullets in the chamber, 3 photographs, each named, 'Stalin, hitler, trotsky', and a note 'kill them, or we kill your ancestors' with 3 coordinates and what appears to be a date and time to each one."
You see we discovered in 2034 that time is a self correcting mechanism. The so called "butterfly effect" only existed as a literary mechanism for fictional stories. Time itself is very difficult to change, it requires a big shift, at the right times, under the perfect circumstances. Of course at the time I didn't remember any of this, at least not in time before they showed up.
It's a heavy toll, time travel. It takes a total of three hours to fully recover. The last thing to come back are you memories, so before it could make a difference, I couldn't remember the outcomes of World War II, the eventual creation of the Unified Earth Government, the ensuing nuclear war in 2067, that gave the UEG complete tyrannical control over the enslaved citizens.
I didn't remember I was forced to travel back in time by the resistance, I was forced to travel back to murder, in public display, three of the most influential humans in all of our history in order to prevent the Second World War, and prevent the UEG from ever forming.
By the time the UEG Time soldiers found me, it was too late. As I stared down the barrel of their guns, it all came back to me, maybe it was the force of their bullets crushing my skull, puncturing my brain, maybe it was the cruel irony of faith, maybe it was the all knowing self correcting mechanism of time ensuring its path stays true, whatever it was, I won't ever know.
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
I sat on the bed with my face in my hands and the letter wrinkled between my fingers. Why me? Why was I chosen to accomplish this task? A feeling of sickness came across my stomach as I had regretted a lifetime of not paying attention in history class. I knew Hitler was German and Stalin was Russian. But who was this other guy? And I didn't know anything about Vienna! I can't even speak viennese! Or Australian was it?
And then I realized. Maybe I wasn't sent back in time to stop world war. Because in my world, these evil people were all put to an end. So why would someone want me to kill the leaders of the defeated!? Unless...
I wasn't sent here to stop the war. I was sent here to kill the ancestors of those who didn't obey the orders in the future. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wasn't he Austrian?
Something didn't make sense. How can people who have the power to send someone back in time choose someone like me, but make such a weak, conditional threat, as if they weren't able to finish this themselves? Such power, coupled with directions from an ikea manual. How could I kill everyone from Hitler to Stalin with only a handful of bullets? They had chosen the wrong man. Not because I wasn't able to accomplish what they wanted. No. They chose the wrong man because I would find a way to kill them. Because I wasn't going to kill Hitler. I was going to help him. With my knowledge of the future, I was going to help him win and avoid every mistake I could remember him making.
Years later, I had discovered another time assassin sent to kill me, but my guards had captured him. I found that he was one of those who had sent me here. He had come himself as a desperate last attempt to stop me. But with our nazi torture techniques, I was able to find out the names and ancestry of the rest of this shady organization. I rounded up their ancestors in my time. But no, I didn't kill them. I proposed to hitler that they should all be part of a special program. That they should all have sex with each other to create a super master race. He bought it. And I had essentially taken the ancestors of my tormentors and made them have sex with each other. By doing so, the time senders were never born. Instead, their ancestor timelines had been switched. I literally had them fucked out of existence. But by doing so, they also would have never sent me back in time! And without me, hitler would never win or survive! But we've come so far, ... What have I done! My... Cellphone... Is fading... Away... Time space continuum, Marty mcfly... Heil.... Oh fu-
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I slept under the stars and dreamt the taste of Saxon blood. When I awoke, I lay in a cloud and the sky was gone.
My arms were free but my body felt sluggish as if submerged in water, and with some effort I sat up and tried to blink away the confusion. My eyes adjusted and I realized it was still night, I was indoors, and only the slightest amount of light trickled in through a single window on the wall.
I looked down and saw I was actually sitting in a bed, though I had never seen one of its like. It was a soft material, the softest I'd ever felt, housed in a wooden cage and lifted off the floor by stilts. I'd gone to sleep on bare earth but woken up here, and for a moment I assumed that at some point my brothers-in-arms must have dragged me off to some Roman villa, but I had no memory of waking up over someone's shoulder and I was not quite so drunk as to sleep through that.
With some effort I swung my legs around and stood. I was in bare feet, still wearing the thin linen trousers and tunic I carried with me from Lindinis. It was only days after the Bealtaine and too hot to wear anything heavier, yet I felt the chill of winter creep through the open window. I went to close it, but could find no flap of skin or leather to keep out the cold air. Instead, half the window was covered in Roman glass, though I saw no etchings or stains, and could find no mechanism that would help me seal it off.
My eyes further adjusted to the dim light and I saw, for the first time, a wooden table with what looked like a leather parchment and a lump of steel and wood. I lifted the parchment, but it was so thin and light that it must have been another wonder of the Romans. I held it up to the light by the window and saw it was wrapped around more parchments, one even lighter and several somewhat thicker and heavier. I tore the wrapping apart and found on the lightest parchment a message inked in a language I could read:
> Vos estis in Vienna, 1853 De innituntur, picturis Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, et Adolf Hitler. Alioquin interficiemus interficiunt vestris antecessor.
Though the letter was written in Latin, the year was an utter mystery. The Christians called it four hundred and eighty years since their Christ had died, but perhaps the author used the old Roman calendar, in which case the year should have read 1233. Perhaps the Romans had simply changed their calendar a third time since they left.
I am schooled in reading and writing both Latin and my native British, though it is no major feat to learn one if you know the other, and it had been some years since I found my old education useful. The language came back to me slowly and I had to read it carefully, one word at a time, but I did manage the translation. It was a threat, though unless my Latin was much worse than I realized the threat made no sense. My ancestors would be killed? My father died fighting the Saxons when I was a boy, and as far as I knew my mother was killed not long after they took her and my sister as slaves. Perhaps I had some older relatives still alive but it was unlikely, and hardly a threat, as I had never met them and they must be so old as to be near death anyway.
I was thirty winters old and a veteran of eight shield walls. All of them were against the Saxons, though I'd spent some years raiding Powys during the dark times before the High King united us against the Sais. I had no living ancestors, though perhaps my sister lived and it was only a mistranslation. The rest had crossed the Bridge of Swords long ago.
Some things, at least, were clear. I knew immediately my captor was a Christian, for only Christians such as the Bishop who raised me spoke and wrote Latin. I also knew I was far, far away from Britain, as the letter said I was in Vienna, a Roman fortress separating the Empire from the very same Saxons who now came to our shores every year in an endless flood. Some magic had taken me to the other side of the world but if it was Saxons I was meant to kill, I would do so gladly, and when the grisly work was finished I would tell my captors that they had only needed to ask.
I held the other three parchments up to the light and found they were all paintings, so lifelike that I nearly let them slip out of my fingers. Three men, all drawn in grays. One was young with wild hair and a clean shaven face, while the other two older men had hair only on their upper lip. None of them looked like Saxons, nor did their names match any peoples I had ever read about. Trotsky? Hitler? These names meant nothing to me.
Perhaps I was in this wondrous place to kill Romans. Only Romans would shave their whole face as if to imitate women and very young boys, but I had read more Roman names than any other and they did not sound right either.
Confused, I glanced at the lump of metal on the table. It almost looked like a knife, but the shape was all wrong, and what would have been the blade was curved at a sharp angle as it extended from the hilt. It rounded at the end, instead of a point, and when I picked it up I pressed it against my palm and felt nothing. The thing was useless as either a weapon or a tool, though it had some weight to it and, perhaps, I could club a Saxon with it if I had nothing else to rely on.
Near the hilt was piece of metal that moved back and forth when I pushed on it. I touched it lightly, wondering what purpose it held, but when I slipped my finger inside the little metal wire that contained it, I noticed it actually fit my hand fairly comfortably. Whatever this thing was, the little piece of metal must have been a Roman addition to aid with the bearer's grip.
I gave it a few test swings and I realized that it would be difficult indeed for an enemy to pry this thing away. I should have learned sooner not to underestimate the ingenuity of Roman builders. It was a club, then, but what about the hollow at the tip? Was I meant to roll up the thin parchment and hide it there? Was there another letter already inside?
I looked straight down the hollow but I couldn't see anything. Would the little piece of metal release its contents? I squeezed the m-
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
What do you have against Trotsky?
|
I slept under the stars and dreamt the taste of Saxon blood. When I awoke, I lay in a cloud and the sky was gone.
My arms were free but my body felt sluggish as if submerged in water, and with some effort I sat up and tried to blink away the confusion. My eyes adjusted and I realized it was still night, I was indoors, and only the slightest amount of light trickled in through a single window on the wall.
I looked down and saw I was actually sitting in a bed, though I had never seen one of its like. It was a soft material, the softest I'd ever felt, housed in a wooden cage and lifted off the floor by stilts. I'd gone to sleep on bare earth but woken up here, and for a moment I assumed that at some point my brothers-in-arms must have dragged me off to some Roman villa, but I had no memory of waking up over someone's shoulder and I was not quite so drunk as to sleep through that.
With some effort I swung my legs around and stood. I was in bare feet, still wearing the thin linen trousers and tunic I carried with me from Lindinis. It was only days after the Bealtaine and too hot to wear anything heavier, yet I felt the chill of winter creep through the open window. I went to close it, but could find no flap of skin or leather to keep out the cold air. Instead, half the window was covered in Roman glass, though I saw no etchings or stains, and could find no mechanism that would help me seal it off.
My eyes further adjusted to the dim light and I saw, for the first time, a wooden table with what looked like a leather parchment and a lump of steel and wood. I lifted the parchment, but it was so thin and light that it must have been another wonder of the Romans. I held it up to the light by the window and saw it was wrapped around more parchments, one even lighter and several somewhat thicker and heavier. I tore the wrapping apart and found on the lightest parchment a message inked in a language I could read:
> Vos estis in Vienna, 1853 De innituntur, picturis Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, et Adolf Hitler. Alioquin interficiemus interficiunt vestris antecessor.
Though the letter was written in Latin, the year was an utter mystery. The Christians called it four hundred and eighty years since their Christ had died, but perhaps the author used the old Roman calendar, in which case the year should have read 1233. Perhaps the Romans had simply changed their calendar a third time since they left.
I am schooled in reading and writing both Latin and my native British, though it is no major feat to learn one if you know the other, and it had been some years since I found my old education useful. The language came back to me slowly and I had to read it carefully, one word at a time, but I did manage the translation. It was a threat, though unless my Latin was much worse than I realized the threat made no sense. My ancestors would be killed? My father died fighting the Saxons when I was a boy, and as far as I knew my mother was killed not long after they took her and my sister as slaves. Perhaps I had some older relatives still alive but it was unlikely, and hardly a threat, as I had never met them and they must be so old as to be near death anyway.
I was thirty winters old and a veteran of eight shield walls. All of them were against the Saxons, though I'd spent some years raiding Powys during the dark times before the High King united us against the Sais. I had no living ancestors, though perhaps my sister lived and it was only a mistranslation. The rest had crossed the Bridge of Swords long ago.
Some things, at least, were clear. I knew immediately my captor was a Christian, for only Christians such as the Bishop who raised me spoke and wrote Latin. I also knew I was far, far away from Britain, as the letter said I was in Vienna, a Roman fortress separating the Empire from the very same Saxons who now came to our shores every year in an endless flood. Some magic had taken me to the other side of the world but if it was Saxons I was meant to kill, I would do so gladly, and when the grisly work was finished I would tell my captors that they had only needed to ask.
I held the other three parchments up to the light and found they were all paintings, so lifelike that I nearly let them slip out of my fingers. Three men, all drawn in grays. One was young with wild hair and a clean shaven face, while the other two older men had hair only on their upper lip. None of them looked like Saxons, nor did their names match any peoples I had ever read about. Trotsky? Hitler? These names meant nothing to me.
Perhaps I was in this wondrous place to kill Romans. Only Romans would shave their whole face as if to imitate women and very young boys, but I had read more Roman names than any other and they did not sound right either.
Confused, I glanced at the lump of metal on the table. It almost looked like a knife, but the shape was all wrong, and what would have been the blade was curved at a sharp angle as it extended from the hilt. It rounded at the end, instead of a point, and when I picked it up I pressed it against my palm and felt nothing. The thing was useless as either a weapon or a tool, though it had some weight to it and, perhaps, I could club a Saxon with it if I had nothing else to rely on.
Near the hilt was piece of metal that moved back and forth when I pushed on it. I touched it lightly, wondering what purpose it held, but when I slipped my finger inside the little metal wire that contained it, I noticed it actually fit my hand fairly comfortably. Whatever this thing was, the little piece of metal must have been a Roman addition to aid with the bearer's grip.
I gave it a few test swings and I realized that it would be difficult indeed for an enemy to pry this thing away. I should have learned sooner not to underestimate the ingenuity of Roman builders. It was a club, then, but what about the hollow at the tip? Was I meant to roll up the thin parchment and hide it there? Was there another letter already inside?
I looked straight down the hollow but I couldn't see anything. Would the little piece of metal release its contents? I squeezed the m-
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
What do you have against Trotsky?
|
I sat on the bed with my face in my hands and the letter wrinkled between my fingers. Why me? Why was I chosen to accomplish this task? A feeling of sickness came across my stomach as I had regretted a lifetime of not paying attention in history class. I knew Hitler was German and Stalin was Russian. But who was this other guy? And I didn't know anything about Vienna! I can't even speak viennese! Or Australian was it?
And then I realized. Maybe I wasn't sent back in time to stop world war. Because in my world, these evil people were all put to an end. So why would someone want me to kill the leaders of the defeated!? Unless...
I wasn't sent here to stop the war. I was sent here to kill the ancestors of those who didn't obey the orders in the future. Or maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wasn't he Austrian?
Something didn't make sense. How can people who have the power to send someone back in time choose someone like me, but make such a weak, conditional threat, as if they weren't able to finish this themselves? Such power, coupled with directions from an ikea manual. How could I kill everyone from Hitler to Stalin with only a handful of bullets? They had chosen the wrong man. Not because I wasn't able to accomplish what they wanted. No. They chose the wrong man because I would find a way to kill them. Because I wasn't going to kill Hitler. I was going to help him. With my knowledge of the future, I was going to help him win and avoid every mistake I could remember him making.
Years later, I had discovered another time assassin sent to kill me, but my guards had captured him. I found that he was one of those who had sent me here. He had come himself as a desperate last attempt to stop me. But with our nazi torture techniques, I was able to find out the names and ancestry of the rest of this shady organization. I rounded up their ancestors in my time. But no, I didn't kill them. I proposed to hitler that they should all be part of a special program. That they should all have sex with each other to create a super master race. He bought it. And I had essentially taken the ancestors of my tormentors and made them have sex with each other. By doing so, the time senders were never born. Instead, their ancestor timelines had been switched. I literally had them fucked out of existence. But by doing so, they also would have never sent me back in time! And without me, hitler would never win or survive! But we've come so far, ... What have I done! My... Cellphone... Is fading... Away... Time space continuum, Marty mcfly... Heil.... Oh fu-
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[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
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*It had to be Trotsky. Stalin and Hitler had their armies now and I couldn't reach them. Not easily. Not quick enough. I couldn't afford to lose mama too. If only that time bomb in '39 had worked. I could have stopped this. I could have stopped everything.*
Misha was at the door and he saw me coming.
"Good evening, Comrade," he said.
"And to you, Comrade," I said. "He invited me for tea."
"Yes. I know," Misha said. "It is a great honour."
I nodded. Misha reached back and hit the door three times. Another man, Pyotr, swung it inward and let me pass. Yuri and Gherman were having supper in the kitchen.
I climbed the stairs slowly. Old wounds never seemed to heal for me.
I found Trotsky in his office staring out the window and sipping chilled vodka. I had never seen him drink before.
The sun was going down and he had left just one light on. It shone through a large fan slowly and silently stirring the damp heat of the Mexican night.
When he turned to me, the rhythm of the shadows across his face emphasized its disorder. His goatee had grown out grey. His hair resembled Professor Einstein's.
“Good evening, Comrade Trotsky.”
He set his drink down and stood up. “Comrade, Johnson!” he said. He strode across the room and embraced me. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”
“It is an honour, Comrade,” I said.
“It is my honour, Comrade Johnson,” Trotsky said as he beckoned me to sit.
He sat next to me and took squeezed my hand. “Tonight I am meeting with the man who will save the cause of liberation for the Workers of the world. Tonight I am meeting with a hero of the Soviet Union!”
“How can I serve the cause, Comrade Trotsky?” I said. The sweat above my eyebrows began to run.
“We have obtained a critical piece of information. It affords us a unique opportunity,” Trotsky said. “Stalin will be visiting a summer house in September. You have proven yourself more loyal and capable than anyone. We have a way in. We can get you into the house.”
“How?” I said.
Trotsky stood up and took a leather-bound folder off his desk and handed it to me. I opened it on the coffee table. The dossier was thick with pictures, maps, and personnel files.
Trotsky took it upon himself to explain: “We have a Comrade working as a mason in the house. They are expanding it for Stalin’s visit. He is constructing a space where you can be walled in ahead of his visit. You spend a week hidden and then you come out and cut that monsters throat in the night.”
“And this is all set up?” I asked. “Everything is in place?”
“Yes. Completely.”
I read from a file. “The fourth of September? That is only two weeks away.”
“We can get you there but you will have to leave immediately,” Trotsky said. “There is a car waiting for you. Everything is taken care of.”
“Tonight?” I said. It came out in a whisper.
“Yes. It is essential we move quickly," he said as he stood up. "Let’s discuss the mission further over tea.” Trotsky walked to the tea tray sitting by the window and busied himself with preparation.
I looked at the files a moment longer but I couldn’t read. I could feel my pulse everywhere.
*Tonight. It has to be tonight.*
My eyes darted to Trotsky’s back and then began a frenetic scan of the room. There was a large ice pick sitting on the bar. I stood up as slowly as I could and started creeping towards it.
With his back turned, Trotsky began to speak again. “Have you heard the news from Estonia? What Stalin has been doing there is disgusting. All those Jewish businesses seized. If they resisted they were sent to the prison camps. Whole families sent to Siberia.”
My mouth dried up. Trotsky kept talking.
“...It’s disgusting. It has nothing to do with Communism. We are all men. All workers. We need to be brothers…”
I reached the bar and picked up the axe. The ice pick was substantial. It was the kind you swung with a pick on one end and a clawed hammer on the other. It could have stood in for a climber’s axe. I started toward Trotsky.
“...but Stalin doesn’t care about the struggle. Only his power. Now is the time to overthrow him. If Hitler and Stalin control the world, your people will not fair-”
Trotsky’s voice transformed into a horrible gurgle. I let the pick go and it stuck in place. Trotsky turned around slowly. His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto my face. His mouthed opened and closed wordlessly.
I backed away. The sweat and tears mingled on my face.
He took a step toward me and then another and lifted his arms. The blood bubbled out of the wound and trickled down over his collar.
I couldn’t take his gaze in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t explain it. You wouldn’t understand. I have to kill you. I’ve always had to kill you. I was going to do it the first day but I couldn’t. I had the pistol in my hand and I couldn’t.”
Trotsky fell to his knees but his eyes never wavered.
“I believed you. God help me, I believed you. But I had to do this. They were impatient. Frustrated. If they had just killed papa, I could have handled that. But they took the memories. They only left enough so that I can feel what I lost.”
I knelt down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were losing their intensity now but I leaned in close and stared into them.
“But I want you to believe me when I say this: I will kill Stalin. I promise you that.”
I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Maybe it was wishful thinking.
There was no sound from the staircase. I took the towel from the bar and wiped at my face and then checked myself for blood. Taking the folder from the table, I left the office and descended the staircase.
Pyotr looked at me as I came down. I said I had to get some things from my home and he nodded and opened the door.
Misha still waited outside. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re leaving so soon, Comrade?”
“Yes. I need to get some things from home.”
Misha nodded in understanding. “I have heard about your mission, Comrade. You will strike a great victory for the cause.”
I nodded acknowledgement and turned away but Misha reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me. He pointed at the folder in my hand. “I am surprised that Comrade Trotsky would let such valuable documents out of the residence. Are you sure it would not be wiser for me to hold onto it?”
“No. I will need to consult it.”
Misha stared at me for a long moment but then nodded, “Of course, Comrade.”
I walked away into the dark street. Behind me, I heard the door open. When I heard the shouting, I ran.
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Again!
This, *again*. Go back…evil men…blah blah…oh, who comes up with this stuff? When I signed up for the time-travelling assassin get-out-of-jail-almost-free (but mainly get-out-of-jail) card they never told me about all the synthetic drama I'd have to put up with. I mean, sure, I understand, manipulating history is a very delicate business—so delicate that you'd think they'd get someone better than whomever was at the front of death row that week to do it, but hey, what do I know? And sure, I turn out to be very, very good at it—sneaking up and killing folks? Why yes, yes I am quite the dab hand at that. But really, this nonsense might impress some yokel who “done kilt him some bad mans” or whatever, but I'm the Lunar Colony Lunatic—just give me the address and I'll…well, what have we here anyway?
Stalin, silver medallist in the twentieth century Mass-Murder Open. Hitler, bronze. Is this the best they can do? Trotsky?
Ah, wait now. Without Trotsky and without Stalin, then Lenin has a free hand in Russia. But he was maybe the least crazy of them. Is this supposed to help, or hinder? And, no Hitler so no second world war…maybe? But what happens in Germany after they lose the—or…without Trotsky and Stalin, does the October Revolution fail? But without Hitler…this is too hard. What the hell is this scenario supposed to mean, anyway? If they don't tell me the point of the mission then I might as well just be some madman running around with a gun that hasn't been invented yet. Of course, I am a madman—got a court order to prove it. Sure, it's cute and everything that these three guys are in town at the same time but, really, *what's the point?*
So, kill my ancestors, eh? Like I care. Anyone who'd met my grandfather was happy to see the old bastard dead—why after what he did to me, I'd cheerfully strangle…oh, yes, I *did* cheerfully strangle him. Y'know, somebody didn't think this through. I'm pretty much dead anyway, and no loss, frankly. I'm sure those families back on the Moon would agree. Oh, the look on their faces! Especially when I put their faces on the…no, focus, focus.
So…here I am. Vienna. With a big old big ass pistol, nicely silenced. This has a lot more possibilities to it than that last job, man Dallas is a dull town. Oh, oh yes! What if…yeah, that's a much better better plan. Much more interesting. It's 1913, eh? Let me make a withdrawal from a bank, any bank will do, and see about moving to Sarajevo!
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
More often than not, the average person actually does not have a very good understanding of firearms. Point the end with hole in it at whatever you want to kill and pull the trigger, right? Maybe thumb down the firing hammer if you *really mean it*.
Well, not exactly. Guns don't just fire when you pull the trigger...although, they should be treated as such, as any seasoned firearm veteran will agree. And if you haven't chambered a round, then cocking the hammer isn't going to get you putting people in their graves action-movie style any time soon.
Shotguns or big handguns don't blow people five feet backwards, automatic weapons eat their magazine very quickly; flashlights, laser pointers, and other gadgets mounted to RIS rails only make your weapon heavier, and, above all else, most people are terrible shots, especially if they've never handled a firearm before.
But what are perhaps least understood by hollywood and the video-game industry are silencers, also known, perhaps more aptly, as sound-suppressors.
Silencers do not make your weapon silent. A "silenced" 45 automatic is still as loud as a reasonably sized firecracker, and with high-powered rifles one still has to deal with the supersonic shockwave generated by the breaking of the sound barrier by the bullet, which may only be mitigated with the use of subsonic ammunition (which reduce the range and energy of the fired rounds).
No, what silencers do is make your firearm *quieter*, not *silent*. Specifically, they generally reduce the acoustic signature of the firearm to levels that simply won't damage an unprotected ear.
However, there does in fact exist a caliber that is muffled practically into imperceptibility by a silencer. A caliber in which the pistol resting on R. Thompson's nightstand is chambered.
It is a parkerized .22LR Smith-and-Wesson model 41, hardly modern by the standards of 2034. A six-inch long, half-inch diameter, tube - colored to match - protrudes malevolently from the peculiar flat faces and sleek lines of the pistol. The almost perfectly monotone black-grey color of the pistol is broken only by the knurled and polished, form-fitted, oak wood handgrip.
Tompson picks up the handgun. It is heavy, and solid.
His captors chose their instrument well. The Model 41 is a competition pistol. Accurate, well-crafted, reliable (with the right ammunition), and practically silent with the suppressor, particularly if one thumbs the slide to prevent it cycling when fired (this, of course, has the drawback of requiring the next round to be chambered manually), the Model 41 is the ideal side-arm for the assassin who values discretion above all else.
The question on Thompson's mind, though, is *why?* Moreover, *how?* He has, evidently, been somehow transported to Vienna around the turn of the 20th century. How is this possible? He ponders. Perhaps he has been translated roughly 120 (light)years distant from the Earth at superluminal speed, then translated back to his starting point at the same speed. Having left Earth in the 2030's, he would arrive back in the 1910's. But this is absurd, he knows that technology simply does not exist, and even if it did, he recalls the vague message - "Or else your ancestors will be killed."
What ancestors? and how in the world could his captors possibly expect to find such ancestors with the radical change in history the murdering of these prominent figures would wrought? How could his captors even necessarily expect to *exist*, were past events to be changed so dramatically? The threat is itself as absurd as the idea that he has been translated wildly about the galaxy at impractically high velocities.
He had woken from a sleep, seeing the handgun and the note. The fog was slowly beginning to clear. He sat and thought for a moment again, considering his situation and its various possibilities.
After a few moments, he came to the only reasonable conclusion, from his perspective. Thompson sat upright, picked up the pistol and slid it lithely into his breast holster, and left the room, outward towards the beckoning streets of Vienna to begin his mission.
He ignored the note and its contents.
|
Again!
This, *again*. Go back…evil men…blah blah…oh, who comes up with this stuff? When I signed up for the time-travelling assassin get-out-of-jail-almost-free (but mainly get-out-of-jail) card they never told me about all the synthetic drama I'd have to put up with. I mean, sure, I understand, manipulating history is a very delicate business—so delicate that you'd think they'd get someone better than whomever was at the front of death row that week to do it, but hey, what do I know? And sure, I turn out to be very, very good at it—sneaking up and killing folks? Why yes, yes I am quite the dab hand at that. But really, this nonsense might impress some yokel who “done kilt him some bad mans” or whatever, but I'm the Lunar Colony Lunatic—just give me the address and I'll…well, what have we here anyway?
Stalin, silver medallist in the twentieth century Mass-Murder Open. Hitler, bronze. Is this the best they can do? Trotsky?
Ah, wait now. Without Trotsky and without Stalin, then Lenin has a free hand in Russia. But he was maybe the least crazy of them. Is this supposed to help, or hinder? And, no Hitler so no second world war…maybe? But what happens in Germany after they lose the—or…without Trotsky and Stalin, does the October Revolution fail? But without Hitler…this is too hard. What the hell is this scenario supposed to mean, anyway? If they don't tell me the point of the mission then I might as well just be some madman running around with a gun that hasn't been invented yet. Of course, I am a madman—got a court order to prove it. Sure, it's cute and everything that these three guys are in town at the same time but, really, *what's the point?*
So, kill my ancestors, eh? Like I care. Anyone who'd met my grandfather was happy to see the old bastard dead—why after what he did to me, I'd cheerfully strangle…oh, yes, I *did* cheerfully strangle him. Y'know, somebody didn't think this through. I'm pretty much dead anyway, and no loss, frankly. I'm sure those families back on the Moon would agree. Oh, the look on their faces! Especially when I put their faces on the…no, focus, focus.
So…here I am. Vienna. With a big old big ass pistol, nicely silenced. This has a lot more possibilities to it than that last job, man Dallas is a dull town. Oh, oh yes! What if…yeah, that's a much better better plan. Much more interesting. It's 1913, eh? Let me make a withdrawal from a bank, any bank will do, and see about moving to Sarajevo!
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
That's not my phone?
I looked at my nightstand where I *was* reaching for my phone, apparently I had slept past my alarm and needed to check the time.
**HOLY SHIT THAT'S A BIG ASS PISTOL**
Am I still tripping? I dropped the pistol I had grabbed reaching for my phone. Why is there a pistol on my night stand? Where the fuck am I? Is that a letter?
I had to think back to my german class in college, it had been awhile but I still had it.
*You are in Vienna, Austria. You have been armed with an FNX-45 Tactical pistol with a full magazine and suppressor. You are to kill the men in the pictures attached or we will kill your ancestors. Trust me when I say being stuck in the non-existential side of a time paradox is much worse than death.*
The pictures were Stalin, Hitler, and some other dude. They were all labeled though and mystery guy who pissed off the time controlling people is a "Leon Trotsky."
Well, I've never had this happen before. The acid and shrooms had definatly wore off, it was my first time doing both at once though. The big predicament either way was that apparently I left the party. My friends must be playing a prank. I never blackout but once I go to sleep, I'm not waking up till I'm good and ready. They must have moved me as a joke. I looked out the window to see what part of town I was in. *shit.* This isn't the town I went to sleep in, hell it isn't even the same state. There was a sign on the train station across the street though. *"Vienna North Terminal Station"*
Well, apparently I did go back in time. Maybe I shouldn't do shrooms and acid at the same time again. Maybe I should! I could go back and see dinosaurs! That would be dope as fuck! Wait, I need to focus. I have to get back to the future to get more acid. I found a set of clothes; a newspaper, a cardboard box for five cigars with only four cigars in it, a wallet with alias and 37 Schillings, a funny looking hat, a less than half full flask of bourbon, a watch, and a pack and a half of cigarettes in a chair by the bed. They all looked pretty typical for the time. Maybe I would look more normal carrying a newspaper? I could see the use in all the tobacco and alcohol but why the paper? There was also a note saying,
*We made the first two easy for you, they are eating outside the terminal at 12:26.*
Well then, I looked in the mirror. *I sure wish I had some acid* I thought as I put the now quarter full flask back in my pocket. I can't let these time people kill my ancestors, then I'll be stuck in a time loop and never get any more acid! A life without acid is not the life for me. I have some dictators to kill. Now how do I hide this pistol? It's not really that big without the suppressor but I kinda want the suppressor, it makes me feel more like James Bond.
**12:24**
Two minutes before showtime. I was sitting by the wall with my hand in the newspaper. I didn't think it would be useful but folding it over that pistol sure does hide it well. I can't look down the sights like this but nobody seems to notice I have a future pistol in my hand. I saw Stalin walk a few tables down and ask a man if he could eat with him. *Wait, that's the other dude!* Maybe I should have paid more attention in history, I think his name is Leanard? Anyways, seeing my opportunity I put out my cigarette and pick up my paper without my hand in it making sure to have a good grip on the suppressor. I don't want that gun to fall out, if I get arrested here I'll never find more acid. As I get near enough to walk by I put my shooting hand in the paper and put the end of the paper right behind Stalin's head.
*Pft* Clack
The gunshot itself made almost no noise. The slide made a slight clack, nothing to worry about by a noisy train station. Leanard made quite the yell of something in Russian as Stalin's brains hit the table though. No big deal though, I put three in his chest real quick and he shut up. I never stopped walking the whole time. I turned onto the sidewalk as the first person began yelling and tucked the newspaper under my arm with my shooting hand still in it, I could feel the casings in the newspaper under my arm. I quickly blended into the crowd as the only attention I had drawn was that Leanard dude's yelling. There was no way anyone could tell me apart in this crowd, everyone has on a funny hat similar to the one I'm wearing. I was walking down the hallway to the hotel room I woke up in before I heard sirens. I think I'll just kinda stay in till the cops cool off. I'll have a cigar and wait for dinnertime before going back out. Maybe get a sandwich and some beer, see if I can chat up any of these past women. Then I'll come back here to sleep and figure out my plan for tomorrow. I have to find pre-nazi Hitler now.
I woke up the next morning and found two small cardboard boxes, a newspaper, some cash, and another note on the nightstand. The headline was referring to the two men I had killed yesterday. *I definatly have not had enough acid for this* I thought as I unfolded the note.
*Good job on the first two, you have been rewarded with two (one for each target) gift boxes, 38 Schillings for first target, 39 more Schillings for second target, and your pistol's magazine has been refilled. Our interns look at your recent life before recruitment to determine what would make a good gift. Enclosed in each box is a tab of lysergic acid diethylamide wrapped in foil and sealed in a vintage small ziplock baggie"*
*Time controlling interns know what's up* I thought as I unpackaged a tab of acid. Time to go find Hitler, I'm almost out of acid you know.
|
Again!
This, *again*. Go back…evil men…blah blah…oh, who comes up with this stuff? When I signed up for the time-travelling assassin get-out-of-jail-almost-free (but mainly get-out-of-jail) card they never told me about all the synthetic drama I'd have to put up with. I mean, sure, I understand, manipulating history is a very delicate business—so delicate that you'd think they'd get someone better than whomever was at the front of death row that week to do it, but hey, what do I know? And sure, I turn out to be very, very good at it—sneaking up and killing folks? Why yes, yes I am quite the dab hand at that. But really, this nonsense might impress some yokel who “done kilt him some bad mans” or whatever, but I'm the Lunar Colony Lunatic—just give me the address and I'll…well, what have we here anyway?
Stalin, silver medallist in the twentieth century Mass-Murder Open. Hitler, bronze. Is this the best they can do? Trotsky?
Ah, wait now. Without Trotsky and without Stalin, then Lenin has a free hand in Russia. But he was maybe the least crazy of them. Is this supposed to help, or hinder? And, no Hitler so no second world war…maybe? But what happens in Germany after they lose the—or…without Trotsky and Stalin, does the October Revolution fail? But without Hitler…this is too hard. What the hell is this scenario supposed to mean, anyway? If they don't tell me the point of the mission then I might as well just be some madman running around with a gun that hasn't been invented yet. Of course, I am a madman—got a court order to prove it. Sure, it's cute and everything that these three guys are in town at the same time but, really, *what's the point?*
So, kill my ancestors, eh? Like I care. Anyone who'd met my grandfather was happy to see the old bastard dead—why after what he did to me, I'd cheerfully strangle…oh, yes, I *did* cheerfully strangle him. Y'know, somebody didn't think this through. I'm pretty much dead anyway, and no loss, frankly. I'm sure those families back on the Moon would agree. Oh, the look on their faces! Especially when I put their faces on the…no, focus, focus.
So…here I am. Vienna. With a big old big ass pistol, nicely silenced. This has a lot more possibilities to it than that last job, man Dallas is a dull town. Oh, oh yes! What if…yeah, that's a much better better plan. Much more interesting. It's 1913, eh? Let me make a withdrawal from a bank, any bank will do, and see about moving to Sarajevo!
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
That's not my phone?
I looked at my nightstand where I *was* reaching for my phone, apparently I had slept past my alarm and needed to check the time.
**HOLY SHIT THAT'S A BIG ASS PISTOL**
Am I still tripping? I dropped the pistol I had grabbed reaching for my phone. Why is there a pistol on my night stand? Where the fuck am I? Is that a letter?
I had to think back to my german class in college, it had been awhile but I still had it.
*You are in Vienna, Austria. You have been armed with an FNX-45 Tactical pistol with a full magazine and suppressor. You are to kill the men in the pictures attached or we will kill your ancestors. Trust me when I say being stuck in the non-existential side of a time paradox is much worse than death.*
The pictures were Stalin, Hitler, and some other dude. They were all labeled though and mystery guy who pissed off the time controlling people is a "Leon Trotsky."
Well, I've never had this happen before. The acid and shrooms had definatly wore off, it was my first time doing both at once though. The big predicament either way was that apparently I left the party. My friends must be playing a prank. I never blackout but once I go to sleep, I'm not waking up till I'm good and ready. They must have moved me as a joke. I looked out the window to see what part of town I was in. *shit.* This isn't the town I went to sleep in, hell it isn't even the same state. There was a sign on the train station across the street though. *"Vienna North Terminal Station"*
Well, apparently I did go back in time. Maybe I shouldn't do shrooms and acid at the same time again. Maybe I should! I could go back and see dinosaurs! That would be dope as fuck! Wait, I need to focus. I have to get back to the future to get more acid. I found a set of clothes; a newspaper, a cardboard box for five cigars with only four cigars in it, a wallet with alias and 37 Schillings, a funny looking hat, a less than half full flask of bourbon, a watch, and a pack and a half of cigarettes in a chair by the bed. They all looked pretty typical for the time. Maybe I would look more normal carrying a newspaper? I could see the use in all the tobacco and alcohol but why the paper? There was also a note saying,
*We made the first two easy for you, they are eating outside the terminal at 12:26.*
Well then, I looked in the mirror. *I sure wish I had some acid* I thought as I put the now quarter full flask back in my pocket. I can't let these time people kill my ancestors, then I'll be stuck in a time loop and never get any more acid! A life without acid is not the life for me. I have some dictators to kill. Now how do I hide this pistol? It's not really that big without the suppressor but I kinda want the suppressor, it makes me feel more like James Bond.
**12:24**
Two minutes before showtime. I was sitting by the wall with my hand in the newspaper. I didn't think it would be useful but folding it over that pistol sure does hide it well. I can't look down the sights like this but nobody seems to notice I have a future pistol in my hand. I saw Stalin walk a few tables down and ask a man if he could eat with him. *Wait, that's the other dude!* Maybe I should have paid more attention in history, I think his name is Leanard? Anyways, seeing my opportunity I put out my cigarette and pick up my paper without my hand in it making sure to have a good grip on the suppressor. I don't want that gun to fall out, if I get arrested here I'll never find more acid. As I get near enough to walk by I put my shooting hand in the paper and put the end of the paper right behind Stalin's head.
*Pft* Clack
The gunshot itself made almost no noise. The slide made a slight clack, nothing to worry about by a noisy train station. Leanard made quite the yell of something in Russian as Stalin's brains hit the table though. No big deal though, I put three in his chest real quick and he shut up. I never stopped walking the whole time. I turned onto the sidewalk as the first person began yelling and tucked the newspaper under my arm with my shooting hand still in it, I could feel the casings in the newspaper under my arm. I quickly blended into the crowd as the only attention I had drawn was that Leanard dude's yelling. There was no way anyone could tell me apart in this crowd, everyone has on a funny hat similar to the one I'm wearing. I was walking down the hallway to the hotel room I woke up in before I heard sirens. I think I'll just kinda stay in till the cops cool off. I'll have a cigar and wait for dinnertime before going back out. Maybe get a sandwich and some beer, see if I can chat up any of these past women. Then I'll come back here to sleep and figure out my plan for tomorrow. I have to find pre-nazi Hitler now.
I woke up the next morning and found two small cardboard boxes, a newspaper, some cash, and another note on the nightstand. The headline was referring to the two men I had killed yesterday. *I definatly have not had enough acid for this* I thought as I unfolded the note.
*Good job on the first two, you have been rewarded with two (one for each target) gift boxes, 38 Schillings for first target, 39 more Schillings for second target, and your pistol's magazine has been refilled. Our interns look at your recent life before recruitment to determine what would make a good gift. Enclosed in each box is a tab of lysergic acid diethylamide wrapped in foil and sealed in a vintage small ziplock baggie"*
*Time controlling interns know what's up* I thought as I unpackaged a tab of acid. Time to go find Hitler, I'm almost out of acid you know.
|
My heart froze as I read the letter. Whoever these people were they had made a terrible mistake! Out of all the people in the world... You see I vividly remember talking to my Grandmother about what she had done during the war for a history project at school. Needless to say, once she had told me, I had made up some stuff about her being a WREN, as the truth was messy - you see she was a high level intelligence officer for Her Majesties Secret Service, going undercover in Russia and Germany. Her job had been to seduce various high profile figures. And she was very good at her job. She told me there were three possible candidates for my grandfather, but couldn't tell me who it was. All I knew was that it was one of the three men I had been sent to kill.
I stared at the sheet of paper. Dammed if I do, Dammed if I don't. Finally I gave a wry smile, picked up the pistol and stepped into the sunshine. I would kill these three men one by one - at least then with a bit of luck I would find out the true identity of my grandfather before I had to kill him.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
Utopia is the idea that we can’t only make the world better, but perfect. Utopia is the thing that drives good men to do terrible things because they can’t imagine that they might be wrong. Utopia is the most horrifying idea in the world.
I wake up with a feeling of wrong-ness. Something deep inside me has become unhinged and I feel like I don’t belong here, maybe not even in this reality. There is dull pain in my skull and my ears are buzzing, but – I am alive. The room is small, clean, old-fashioned, with flowers on the windowsill, and I can move. That’s a step: I can move, so I have control. As long as there is some control, nothing is impossible.
The envelope on the nightstand is not sealed, just tucked shut. Curiously, I notice that before I see the gun next to it, maybe because I’m so used to being around weapons – it comes with the occupation. It’s a plain black Heckler & Koch, a forty-five with a detachable suppressor. I recognise the type: It used to be my to-go sidearm for most operations, back in the day.
I open the envelope and find the photographs. The letter explains they are Stalin, Trotsky and Hitler, but I recognise all three of them. I have paid attention in history and I also feel familiar with them. My emotions are hard to control at the moment, which makes the other part of the letter almost believable: It says I’m in Vienna, 1913 and that I have to kill the three men in order not to be erased from history. I feel so out of place here, I might as well have travelled in time – if not for the impossibility of that. The gun was made in the twenty-first century. But this room …
Utilitarianism is the notion that it is acceptable to destroy one world that suffers to create one that suffers less, or might. Whoever wants to blackmail me into being their assassin, they seem to believe their new world would be a better one if I erase the old one.
-
Adolf Hitler is sitting ten feet from me, reading a conversations lexicon and taking occasional notes. His handwriting is scribbly. I’m surprised how little attention he’s paying to the street café’s gorgeous blonde waitress, but that doesn’t really matter … The really important point is, he’s about to leave. I’ve adapted the speed of my coffee-drinking to his so I’ll pay right before him… And now, I’m able to follow him. He’s carrying the lexicon and his little notebook in one hand and even though I don’t see his face, he seems to be enjoying the sun.
He takes a right into an alley and I follow him – it’s fairly deserted. I could shoot him now, but I wait in a doorframe instead until the bespectacled man from the café shows up. He’s been watching me for the last hour and he’s admittedly not bad at appearing inconspicuous. Still … I step out of my hiding place, raise my pistol and pull the trigger.
A cornered animal acts on survival instinct, an older, more powerful force than any rationality or reason. That same certainty is what I feel.
-
“I have a few questions for you. You will answer all of them, of course. You may decide to try and not answer them, but that only means you’ll lose more fingers before you eventually talk. I can tell when you lie.” I tighten the strap around his left leg, even though the bullet has already smashed the kneecap, so he couldn’t escape even without it. The chair he’s tied to, the dimly lit basement room, it’s all mostly for show, just to demonstrate the situation he is in.
I pick up a bread knife. “This hurts way more than a sharp one, but it will do the job. Now it’s time to prove you like your fingers.”
He is rather well-trained. He loses a lot of fingers. He talks eventually. I leave his body in the basement – I have to move quickly, before they can prevent me from being born. He gave me names, a whole list. This is what my occupation always boils down to – a list of names.
-
I’m in Paris and a woman is begging for her life on an expensive carpet. I don’t tell her that the bullet in her guts is fatal, her body has just not gotten the message yet. Even while sobbing herself to death, she tries to reason with me, make me understand. “We can build a better world. We just take out the biggest monsters, then leave it to grow, like a gardener! Please …”
She keeps crying and her tears mix with blood on the carpet. Blood contains more salt than tears.
“You are not the people for that.” I reload my gun, far more slowly than usually. I had to shoot a large number of guards outside. “You think you’ll stop at changing that, but you won’t. You don’t want your hands dirty, so you attempt to blackmail me ... you are too incompetent even for that … And you would take responsibility for all human history.” I let the pistol slide snap back into place. “I won’t let you.”
Pragmatism is the idea that whether or not it actually works is the true test of any philosophy.
-
I’m sixty-nine years old and yet I won’t be born for another thirty-three years. The allied forces of the United States, Great Britain and France have just started airlifting supplies to West Berlin, as it should be, and my people have made sure nobody from the wrong time interferes. I’ve also replaced the expensive carpets and extensive decorations in the operations centre in Paris with more efficient, streamlined furniture.
I’ve put this off for too long, so I get the files I requested and carefully remove the three photographs. I type in the words on the typewriter, otherwise I might recognise my own handwriting. The agency that should have written these words no longer exists … But I have to make sure things happen as they should. The letter will be delivered and all other steps taken by my people when the right year comes; I’ll be dead by then. I write: “You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors.”
|
My heart froze as I read the letter. Whoever these people were they had made a terrible mistake! Out of all the people in the world... You see I vividly remember talking to my Grandmother about what she had done during the war for a history project at school. Needless to say, once she had told me, I had made up some stuff about her being a WREN, as the truth was messy - you see she was a high level intelligence officer for Her Majesties Secret Service, going undercover in Russia and Germany. Her job had been to seduce various high profile figures. And she was very good at her job. She told me there were three possible candidates for my grandfather, but couldn't tell me who it was. All I knew was that it was one of the three men I had been sent to kill.
I stared at the sheet of paper. Dammed if I do, Dammed if I don't. Finally I gave a wry smile, picked up the pistol and stepped into the sunshine. I would kill these three men one by one - at least then with a bit of luck I would find out the true identity of my grandfather before I had to kill him.
|
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
Utopia is the idea that we can’t only make the world better, but perfect. Utopia is the thing that drives good men to do terrible things because they can’t imagine that they might be wrong. Utopia is the most horrifying idea in the world.
I wake up with a feeling of wrong-ness. Something deep inside me has become unhinged and I feel like I don’t belong here, maybe not even in this reality. There is dull pain in my skull and my ears are buzzing, but – I am alive. The room is small, clean, old-fashioned, with flowers on the windowsill, and I can move. That’s a step: I can move, so I have control. As long as there is some control, nothing is impossible.
The envelope on the nightstand is not sealed, just tucked shut. Curiously, I notice that before I see the gun next to it, maybe because I’m so used to being around weapons – it comes with the occupation. It’s a plain black Heckler & Koch, a forty-five with a detachable suppressor. I recognise the type: It used to be my to-go sidearm for most operations, back in the day.
I open the envelope and find the photographs. The letter explains they are Stalin, Trotsky and Hitler, but I recognise all three of them. I have paid attention in history and I also feel familiar with them. My emotions are hard to control at the moment, which makes the other part of the letter almost believable: It says I’m in Vienna, 1913 and that I have to kill the three men in order not to be erased from history. I feel so out of place here, I might as well have travelled in time – if not for the impossibility of that. The gun was made in the twenty-first century. But this room …
Utilitarianism is the notion that it is acceptable to destroy one world that suffers to create one that suffers less, or might. Whoever wants to blackmail me into being their assassin, they seem to believe their new world would be a better one if I erase the old one.
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Adolf Hitler is sitting ten feet from me, reading a conversations lexicon and taking occasional notes. His handwriting is scribbly. I’m surprised how little attention he’s paying to the street café’s gorgeous blonde waitress, but that doesn’t really matter … The really important point is, he’s about to leave. I’ve adapted the speed of my coffee-drinking to his so I’ll pay right before him… And now, I’m able to follow him. He’s carrying the lexicon and his little notebook in one hand and even though I don’t see his face, he seems to be enjoying the sun.
He takes a right into an alley and I follow him – it’s fairly deserted. I could shoot him now, but I wait in a doorframe instead until the bespectacled man from the café shows up. He’s been watching me for the last hour and he’s admittedly not bad at appearing inconspicuous. Still … I step out of my hiding place, raise my pistol and pull the trigger.
A cornered animal acts on survival instinct, an older, more powerful force than any rationality or reason. That same certainty is what I feel.
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“I have a few questions for you. You will answer all of them, of course. You may decide to try and not answer them, but that only means you’ll lose more fingers before you eventually talk. I can tell when you lie.” I tighten the strap around his left leg, even though the bullet has already smashed the kneecap, so he couldn’t escape even without it. The chair he’s tied to, the dimly lit basement room, it’s all mostly for show, just to demonstrate the situation he is in.
I pick up a bread knife. “This hurts way more than a sharp one, but it will do the job. Now it’s time to prove you like your fingers.”
He is rather well-trained. He loses a lot of fingers. He talks eventually. I leave his body in the basement – I have to move quickly, before they can prevent me from being born. He gave me names, a whole list. This is what my occupation always boils down to – a list of names.
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I’m in Paris and a woman is begging for her life on an expensive carpet. I don’t tell her that the bullet in her guts is fatal, her body has just not gotten the message yet. Even while sobbing herself to death, she tries to reason with me, make me understand. “We can build a better world. We just take out the biggest monsters, then leave it to grow, like a gardener! Please …”
She keeps crying and her tears mix with blood on the carpet. Blood contains more salt than tears.
“You are not the people for that.” I reload my gun, far more slowly than usually. I had to shoot a large number of guards outside. “You think you’ll stop at changing that, but you won’t. You don’t want your hands dirty, so you attempt to blackmail me ... you are too incompetent even for that … And you would take responsibility for all human history.” I let the pistol slide snap back into place. “I won’t let you.”
Pragmatism is the idea that whether or not it actually works is the true test of any philosophy.
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I’m sixty-nine years old and yet I won’t be born for another thirty-three years. The allied forces of the United States, Great Britain and France have just started airlifting supplies to West Berlin, as it should be, and my people have made sure nobody from the wrong time interferes. I’ve also replaced the expensive carpets and extensive decorations in the operations centre in Paris with more efficient, streamlined furniture.
I’ve put this off for too long, so I get the files I requested and carefully remove the three photographs. I type in the words on the typewriter, otherwise I might recognise my own handwriting. The agency that should have written these words no longer exists … But I have to make sure things happen as they should. The letter will be delivered and all other steps taken by my people when the right year comes; I’ll be dead by then. I write: “You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors.”
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I awoke on an unfamiliar bed. I groaned and rolled over. The mattress felt too hard. I figured it was the bender I put on last night making me uncomfortable.
My eyes flickered open. The light streaming through the window hurt so much. I shaded my eyes and pushed myself into a hunched over sitting position.
My bed was in the wrong spot.
My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t have wallpaper in my bedroom. I didn’t have wicker chairs in my bedroom. I didn’t have a ceiling fan in my bedroom.
I whipped my head around trying to figure out what is going on. Maybe I stayed with someone in their guest bedroom. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I’d never seen this bedroom before.
On the nightstand I saw a note held down by an empty glass. I picked it up and began reading the unfamiliar writing.
*You are in Vienna in 1913. You will find a silenced pistol, two full magazines and three pictures. They are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin and Adolph Hitler. Kill them or we kill your ancestors.*
My brow furrowed. My head pounded from my binge-drinking headache the night before. With a shaking hand I opened the nightstand drawer. Inside were three photos, a pistol and two magazines.
I slammed the drawer shut so hard it shook the picture on the wall above it.
I ran my hands through my greasy hair. This didn’t make any sense. I wasn’t a killer. I couldn’t kill anyone.
“Wait,” I muttered. I sat up straight and looked around. Paradoxes were the key.
I laughed. Even if I were in Vienna, 1913 if I didn’t kill the three men I wouldn’t be in Vienna because my ancestors would be dead. I would have never been born.
My laughing echoed through the room as I stood up. I didn’t have to kill anyone because I was still alive. The universe didn’t like paradoxes and me being alive would be a huge paradox.
A grumbling stomach took me out of my thoughts. I needed to eat some breakfast. If those three were going to die then it wouldn’t be by my hand. At least it wouldn’t be on purpose.
I left the room and headed downstairs. Get some sausages or beer or something. I smiled. A nice little vacation was always appreciated.
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[WP] Bob doesn't realise he's the last man on Earth because he's still receiving packages from Amazon.
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August 25th 2017
Dear Diary,
It’s been about three months since the big ebola scare. I haven’t been outside other than just opening the door to pick up my Amazon packages. I haven’t heard from my sister for about two months. I hate talking to people, but I was willing to talk to her that day. We said goodbye just in case. I haven’t heard any messages from a hospital or lawyer so I assume she’s fine. I tried to call her, I picked up the phone and started dialing. I got as far as the first ring before I hung up. I’ll take my medication and try again tomorrow.
Robert.
August 26th 2017
Dear Diary,
Once again, I attempted to call my sister. I sweat so much that I had to shower afterwards. As soon as I heard her voice I blurted out “I HOPE YOU’RE OKAY” before realizing it was her answering machine. I hung up immediately. It’s been four hours and I’m still trembling. I took a walk today. I couldn’t break view of the house, so I didn’t bother going into the bushes or trees. I checked my car in case of emergencies, it still works. I hope I remember how to drive.
Robert.
August 27th 2017
Dear Diary,
I’ve almost finished my latest book. Five months is a new record. I wonder if it’s been my lack of distractions. I got a call today, I let it go to the machine, I won a trip to the Caribbean apparently. It was an automated message recording. I don’t think I would enjoy the trip. I sent the first draft to my publisher via email. I imagine he’ll get back to me within the week. I hate checking my email.
Robert.
August 29th 2017
Dear Diary,
Still no reply from my publisher. I hate checking my email.
Robert.
Sept 5th 2017
Dear Diary,
My publisher still has not contacted me. Amazon delivered my groceries finally, but the meat products are already past their expiry date. Any normal person would complain, I’ll just stick to canned goods for now. Note: Next grocery order, get some more medication.
Robert.
Sept 10th 2017
Dear Diary,
Still no reply from my publisher. I created a website and have begun selling PDF copies as of midnight tonight. The internet is a wonderful place. Sales will probably be slow at first, since I’ve never done this before, but a few here and there and the word should get out.
Robert.
Sept 11th 2017
Dear Diary,
No sales yet.
Robert.
Sept 12th 2017
Dear Diary,
No sales yet.
Robert.
Sept 17th 2017
Dear Diary,
Still no sales. Nothing from my publisher, nothing from my sister. No interview requests. I wonder if the world finally understands what I’m going through. Today is a glorious day, even if my newest book isn’t selling. I visited that reddit website for the first time today. Posted a link to the shop, hopefully there will be some sales tomorrow.
Robert.
Sept 18th 2017
Dear Diary,
I guess reddit didn’t work out. Oh well, I’m doing okay. My amazon delivery was only canned goods today, plus my medication. This month has been almost perfect so far. No one’s bothered me at all. It’s like everyone else on the planet was gone. I doubt it will last forever, so I’ll enjoy it while it does.
Robert
Edit: formatting, name
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“The person you are trying to call is unavailable,” the automated voice said. “Please hang up and try your call again.”
“Oh what the fuck,” Bob sighed. The last three packages sent to him by Amazon were empty boxes. Bob ordered Xbox 360 games, taking advantage of lowered prices since the release of the Xbox One. He’d been waiting for *Fallout: New Vegas* for what seemed to him a long, long time—three or four days, anyway.
Bob’d only called Amazon five or six times; significantly less than the last time this happened. Earlier that week the tap water’d turned a brownish colour—now he couldn’t even take that shower he’d been planning. In terms of other necessities Bob hadn’t worried in quite some time. He lived on dry foods stored for the better part of the past year. His mother sent him boxes and boxes with food when he first moved out, but hadn’t sent anything in a while. Crates of Redbull and Mountain Dew lined his walls.
*Well, I guess I could go over there and see what’s going on*, he thought. *It’s only a fifteen minute walk*.
Bob saved his game, tried smelling himself, and stepped outside into the fresh white sunlight. The light’s whiteness was unmatched in comparison to the whiteness of his skin—a skin that hadn’t met that light in months.
The walk over had been quiet and empty—not unlike childhood sick days spent in the quiet workweek of suburbia. He walked through the front door of the Amazon headquarters. No one answered his mumbled calls. Nauseous and uncomfortable, he decided to go back home.
_______________________________________________________________________________
“The person you are trying to call is unavailable,” the automated voice said. “Please hang up and try your call again.”—Bob heard this over and over. His mother wouldn’t answer, his friend wouldn’t answer, the Gamestop down the road wouldn’t answer.
Bob spent much of the next couple weeks looking out the window. In this time he saw three cars pass along what used to be a traffic jammed street during rush hour. Had the rapture his mother went on and on about finally come? He roamed the world of *Fallout 3*, picturing himself in a similarly emptied wasteland.
And then, a couple weeks later, he awoke not to the one-PM sunlight shining into his eyes, but to the triple-knocking delivery man.
“UPS,” the voice called. “Hello?”
Bob jumped to his feet and answered the door in one motion.
“Hi,” Bob said. “Hi, hi.”
“Mr. Smith?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Few packages here for you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks so much.”
Bob looked past the man at four great boxes stacked one upon the other.
“All this?”
“Seems like it,” he said. “Sent from Missouri.”
“Oh.”
Bob closed the door with tears in his eyes. Inside the packages were bags of dried foods. The note read, “LOVE YOU. COME HOME IF FEELING LONELY. ALWAYS AVAILABLE. — MOM”
Bob keeled over and wept. After a few minutes he got up, packed a knapsack and headed into the ever-white light.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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I squeezed hard on the throttle in my palm, and the ocean below me turned into a lightshow, the crisp blue dancing with fire, with a thousand shades of flame from the setting sun and the wreckage behind me. I was vaguely aware of the Needles that lanced down at me from miles overhead, perfectly aerodynamic forms entering the water with almost no splash, but it seemed of little importance. I wasn’t going to be able to dodge a projectile moving three times the speed of sound in a wimpy Jetsuit. Strangely, that thought put me at peace. I had always handled stress well, even back in Basic Training, when it was still the Austrian Armed Forces, before it was the “United International Effort”, or even the “United European Front”. A Needle sliced into my shoulder pad, momentarily cutting power and drawing me back into reality. The shot spun me around, and my visor fizzled out. I felt my stomach lurch as I began to lose altitude. Subsystems rerouted in milliseconds, and my Heads Up Display lit back up. I completed my spiral, and saw the water less than a meter beneath me. I flattened my body, bounced once, and reactivated my pack, regaining altitude quickly.
I made it out of effective firing range of the Needles, and plotted the destination into my computer. As autopilot engaged, I rotated over and flew on my back, watching the Outsider Airships destroy the two massive craft below with lethal efficiency. We had no weapons like the Outsiders. There had never been a need. Our ships themselves were simply reoutfitted Cruiseliners. It wasn’t a fair fight, not even close. I watched as long as I could, my comm open to every channel, hearing the scream of every woman and man we lost as the ships went down. Somebody had to remember.
The Unified National Fleet had been assembled quickly, a hodgepodge of technology and weaponry from around the world. The combined fighting prowess of every great military thinker of every country. We had thought our might was a destructive force that could burn the heavens. It wasn’t nearly good enough. Our bullets bounced off armor plating with no effect, our rockets sailed past their targets. Our aircraft were sluggish, our vehicles useless. We had no advantage over them. But we had a way out. The Crucible was the Last Possible Option. It was only to be used when the thought of humanity surviving the conflict seemed inconceivable. As long as there was hope, there was no activating the Crucible. For all of the reluctance, the order to use it came three days after the conflict began. We were that badly beaten. And watching as the two ships guarding those sent to activate it sank into the ocean, and listening as the countless onboard drowned and burned and died, I understood why.
Simply put, the crucible was a time machine. A huge underground facility, with arrays of capacitors and batteries harvesting geothermal energy 24/7, ready to pump out enough pure power to change history. The location was the Crucible as much as the Machinery that resided there. A Crack in Spacetime. Put enough energy into it, and the Universe would do what the Universe does best: Increase in entropy. The crack would seal itself, and anything nearby would be catapulted through, and the crack would cease to exist. Predictions of when the crack let out Varied widely, from as early as 1800 to as Late as 1850. Regardless, the plan was the same: Give the presidential seal to the receptionist at the white White House, and wait for your meeting with the President. Build a highpowered telescope, and Fix it on a certain planet a few solar systems over. In 1885, the Capital ship of the Outsiders would pass in front of said planet, and this would drive humanity to create the weapons we so desperately needed.
I touched down on a glacial sheet a few hundred miles from civilization. The freezing winds had buffeted me around for the past half hour as I approached the site of the Crucible; I had made almost no progress against it. It was as if the universe itself knew what was coming, and poured energy of its own into the mix. In any other circumstance, the mere concept of such a thing would have seemed ridiculous and impossible. But in any other circumstance, so would time travel. I made my way to the one blinking light in the distance.
Will continue if there is interest.
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I don't write. But I think this is interesting. So maybe someone else can get an idea.
Fuck! What the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I? "YOU THERE, DON'T MOVE!" Came a strong voice down the other end of the dark, eerie alley. What happened......The last thing I remember is the panic. they were coming in, those squids, God I hope everyone made it out, well, I made it, everything depends on me, i have to complete my mission. "Goddamn drunk" said one of the men advancing toward me menacingly down the gloomy alleyway, "I'll sober you up. More like the Wehrmacht will, what's your name?." I recognize him now, he looks like an old fashioned police officer. "Where am I? What's the date?" I asked. "Christ ya dumb drunk, they'll definitely sort you out. It's Wednesday and you're off to fight in the French trenches before that American president Wilson sends over his army." Shit about 20 years too early. "Adolf, my name is Adolf Hitler.".......
I know this isn't very good guys I'm on a mobile, and again maybe someone else will get a good idea off of this, I'm no writer.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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[The aliens needed a gripping area near human mouths in order for the invasion to be successful. It had to be just the right shape and size, and it had to be present on at least five percent of the population.](http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?id=2509#comic)
We didn't see the threat coming until it was too late. Our weapons were useless against their shields, and none of our bio-weapons were designed to take down such foreign life forms.
But we realized their plan relatively quickly. The facial feature had to be wiped out from human-kind, and there was only one way to do it in time.
So we sent him back. We told him he'd be hated. We told him he'd be alone, that he couldn't tell anyone of his plans. But someone needed to do something so despicable, so treacherous, and so memorable, that no one in their right mind would shave in such a way without risking getting ostracized, or worse, their asses kicked.
History will despise him. But he saved us all.
Edits.
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I don't write. But I think this is interesting. So maybe someone else can get an idea.
Fuck! What the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I? "YOU THERE, DON'T MOVE!" Came a strong voice down the other end of the dark, eerie alley. What happened......The last thing I remember is the panic. they were coming in, those squids, God I hope everyone made it out, well, I made it, everything depends on me, i have to complete my mission. "Goddamn drunk" said one of the men advancing toward me menacingly down the gloomy alleyway, "I'll sober you up. More like the Wehrmacht will, what's your name?." I recognize him now, he looks like an old fashioned police officer. "Where am I? What's the date?" I asked. "Christ ya dumb drunk, they'll definitely sort you out. It's Wednesday and you're off to fight in the French trenches before that American president Wilson sends over his army." Shit about 20 years too early. "Adolf, my name is Adolf Hitler.".......
I know this isn't very good guys I'm on a mobile, and again maybe someone else will get a good idea off of this, I'm no writer.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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“Do you think they’ll be gentle?” she asked.
“Bystro! Vot! Der'mo!” Rough voices yelled above the hammering on the bunker door.
“They spent twenty millions lives to get this far. What do you think?” I said, cold brown eyes appraising.
Eva made a soft noise of agreement, absentmindedly curling a twist of brown hair around her finger, our eyes boring into the 20 centimeters of steel in front of us.
I could hear it, now that the hammering of the door gave way to silence. A thump, every minute or so. Hanging empty in the absolute silence of the bunker. My mind plays tricks on me, imagining the door bursting open with shrapnel and bullets.
“Do you think it was enough?” She asks.
I turn around, and see her plaintively looking up at me, her soft features catching in the tungsten bulbs burning brightly overhead. Why didn’t I see it before? All this time on assignment and I’ve treated her only as a brother in arms, a fellow solider doing our duty against the Tau Cetians.
“What a waste…” I murmur, looking away.
“Twenty millions lives now against eleven billion in 2067? Hardly a waste!” Her eyes flash towards me as she moves farther from the steel door.
“But was it enough!” She demands. “Flimsy rockets? Non atmospheric flight? Nuclear fission? What’s that against the Von Neumann machines? Against the splitting of Luna?”
The thumping against the door ceases.
“Sir!” She shouts, completely ignoring the door. “They seeded our oceans! They mined the core! Old Earth doesn’t even rotate anymore!”
I look at Eva, her face glowing with an unreserved anger so much unlike her. That curl of hair she was playing with flits over her cheek. I move to gently move it back behind her ear.
A slow groan comes from our last barrier. The bunker door, finally defeated, falls forward with massive shriek.
A Russian wearing tall black leather boots walks in, his short Gimnasterka covered in blood and grime. My mind continues its tricks, as I imagine his face showing the scorched Russian fields he left behind. Even if he did know what the future held, he would never forgive.
I grab Eva. Our lips barely touch before other Soviet soldiers fill the room and tear us apart.
“Comdiv! Chto nam delat' ?” The solider holding Eva asks.
The commander wordless takes a bottle of cyanide ampules and hands them over. I’m thrown to ground; jerked back up again into a kneeling position. My eyes stay locked with Eva’s as a dirty maimed Soviet forces a capsule into her mouth. Something jams into the side of my head as the Commander draws my attention with a gloved hand.
He forms the shape of a “T” with his index fingers. Tau.
“Chto otkhodov.” What a waste.
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I don't write. But I think this is interesting. So maybe someone else can get an idea.
Fuck! What the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I? "YOU THERE, DON'T MOVE!" Came a strong voice down the other end of the dark, eerie alley. What happened......The last thing I remember is the panic. they were coming in, those squids, God I hope everyone made it out, well, I made it, everything depends on me, i have to complete my mission. "Goddamn drunk" said one of the men advancing toward me menacingly down the gloomy alleyway, "I'll sober you up. More like the Wehrmacht will, what's your name?." I recognize him now, he looks like an old fashioned police officer. "Where am I? What's the date?" I asked. "Christ ya dumb drunk, they'll definitely sort you out. It's Wednesday and you're off to fight in the French trenches before that American president Wilson sends over his army." Shit about 20 years too early. "Adolf, my name is Adolf Hitler.".......
I know this isn't very good guys I'm on a mobile, and again maybe someone else will get a good idea off of this, I'm no writer.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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*October 14th, 2041, was a day like any other. Children went to school for 7 hours just as they had their entire lives. People walked, drove, or rode public transit to work. Families gathered at the dinner table and ate a home-cooked meal, as they always had. It was a typical, normal day.*
*October 15th, 2041...was the day the world changed.*
*They came without warning. Beings from another world. They approached our planet at speeds we had once thought unfathomable. By the time people in my city were beginning to wake up, it was already all over the news. Intelligent extraterrestrial beings were on a direct course for Earth. Many initially believed that their intentions were of a peaceful, diplomatic nature, but that hopeful speculation soon turned to sheer terror as their massive ships began to encircle the planet; the only logical explanation for this maneuver was preparation for an attack. The panic during that afternoon was already bad enough. Hundreds died in stampedes as entire cities descended into chaos, looting, and mass exoduses. And then, just like that, the attack came.*
*That was 25 years ago. The longest war in centuries. When the invasion first began, humanity was no match for the Others. Although most of our nations were living in peaceful cooperation with each other, the alien forces possessed technology so vastly superior to our own that the first couple years of the conflict could not even be called a "war"; the word war implies that both sides are able to fight. Over a billion people had died by the time we were able to capture or salvage enough of their technology to mount a resistance five years later. I was only a schoolboy in Germany when it first started, one of those children that sat in a classroom like every other day. War is the only thing I've known for most of my life.*
*The battle has raged on for another two decades. The entire planet is in ruins. For most people, the quality of life has not been this poor since medieval times. We managed to force them into a stalemate for now, but humanity's supplies and weapons will run out long before theirs will. We seem to be a doomed species. So imagine my surprise when General Chambers, my CO, pulled me from the front and summoned me into Allied HQ. He said he had a 'special' mission for me. He said that he wanted me to save humanity.*
"Is this some kind of a joke? My men need me there with them! We cannot lose those Iraqi oilfields! Colonel Bahkar is counting on me!!"
"Maximilian, if this mission succeeds, we won't have to worry about those oil fields, or any other strategic area. We can go on the offensive."
The very notion of attacking the aliens made me burst with laughter. I was still convinced that this was some kind of prank. "Okay, let's say this isn't a joke. How exactly do you plan to do this?"
He rose from his seat and turned to face the charts and documents posted on his wall, none of which I understood.
"For the last twenty years, we have been stockpiling one of the element that the Others use on their aircrafts: dyedrenium. Our ability to shoot down their ships is so poor that it had taken us this long just to get enough for one use."
"Use for what?!", I asked.
"Max...we're going to send someone back in time. To change everything. To give us the upper hand. To save our species for extinction...you're that person, Max."
Obviously, it took me a while to process what the General had just said. Even longer to finally respond to him. There was quite a bit of back and forth, but eventually, I realized that he was telling the truth. That I could single-handedly ensure the continuity of the human race. "How...how am I going to do this? Am I going to warn people in the past?"
"No.", the General said in a very firm tone. "No one would believe you. Your warnings would appear to the ramblings of a mad man. You'd be confined to an asylum for the rest of your life...if you were lucky."
"Then...how-"
"We know how to fight them now, but the damage we took in those first few years crippled us. Left them with a massive advantage. You're going to ensure that by the time they come, we will already have the means to fight back."
I had known the General for years. Fought along side him. I trusted him with my very life. I had no choice but to believe him. "General...Bob. Tell me what I have to do."
"You're going to go back to the mid-twentieth century. You are going to single-handedly ignite a second Great War. A war of such grand scale that nations will be forced to advance their technologies decades ahead in only a few years. And the weapons they create will continue to grow more sophisticated. In the new time line, by 2041, humanity might just be able to repel the invasion."
I pondered for several minutes on what he had just said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. Just listen. In the Great War, Germany fought against many nations with only one or two allies at their side. They can do that again. The country was in chaos after the war...it is the logical nation to choose. One could easily use it to their advantage to take power and lead the country. Restart their industry. Create new weapons. Lead them on the path to war."
"So that's why you chose me?", I asked. "Because I'm German?".
"No. I chose you, because you are the most loyal, dependable person I know, and because you have the will to do what must be done."
"This is a one-way trip, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. I won't bother you with the technical details. But make no mistake, that is not the only price of this mission. You will be the direct cause of the most horrible, bloody war the human race will have ever experienced up to that point. The men under your command will be fanatical, and commit terrible atrocities. The entire world will forever hate you. The mere mention of your name will become a taboo. People will compare you to the Devil himself. They will curse you the way we curse the Others everyday."
"No shit! You're asking me to directly cause the deaths of millions of people!!"
"You're right. But we have to be cold and mathematical about this. Millions in the past will die...so that billions in the present can be saved."
The very notion chilled me to the bone...and yet it made perfect sense at the same time. "So, what's the good news?" I asked.
The General chuckled. "The good news is we can supply you with enough information to help you become the leader of Germany. Certain people to ally with. Certain opportunities to take advantage of. New technologies to bring back, so advanced that it will take the entire world to defeat you. And..."
"And?"
"We'll be forging an identity for you. Give you documents, birth certificates, pictures of family, and the sort. But...you get to choose a name for yourself."
"........Adolf Hitler. For my father...Adolf Hitler Deitrich. He always thought I was meant to do great things."
The General smirked slightly. "Very good, Mr. Hitler. Please come with me".
He lead me deep into the heart of Allied HQ, through about five security doors with codes I could not even understand. Finally we reached a large, circular room with a strange device in the center. Within the device sat a glowing, white crystal of sorts. You could feel the energy emanating; it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made my skin feel...younger, somehow. About 14 people in white lab coats all turned to face us. The General walked ahead, until he was right beside the device. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me.
"Well....Mr. Hitler........Are you ready to save the world?", he said as the security door locked behind us.
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I don't write. But I think this is interesting. So maybe someone else can get an idea.
Fuck! What the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I? "YOU THERE, DON'T MOVE!" Came a strong voice down the other end of the dark, eerie alley. What happened......The last thing I remember is the panic. they were coming in, those squids, God I hope everyone made it out, well, I made it, everything depends on me, i have to complete my mission. "Goddamn drunk" said one of the men advancing toward me menacingly down the gloomy alleyway, "I'll sober you up. More like the Wehrmacht will, what's your name?." I recognize him now, he looks like an old fashioned police officer. "Where am I? What's the date?" I asked. "Christ ya dumb drunk, they'll definitely sort you out. It's Wednesday and you're off to fight in the French trenches before that American president Wilson sends over his army." Shit about 20 years too early. "Adolf, my name is Adolf Hitler.".......
I know this isn't very good guys I'm on a mobile, and again maybe someone else will get a good idea off of this, I'm no writer.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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[The aliens needed a gripping area near human mouths in order for the invasion to be successful. It had to be just the right shape and size, and it had to be present on at least five percent of the population.](http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?id=2509#comic)
We didn't see the threat coming until it was too late. Our weapons were useless against their shields, and none of our bio-weapons were designed to take down such foreign life forms.
But we realized their plan relatively quickly. The facial feature had to be wiped out from human-kind, and there was only one way to do it in time.
So we sent him back. We told him he'd be hated. We told him he'd be alone, that he couldn't tell anyone of his plans. But someone needed to do something so despicable, so treacherous, and so memorable, that no one in their right mind would shave in such a way without risking getting ostracized, or worse, their asses kicked.
History will despise him. But he saved us all.
Edits.
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Today was the same day I died the first time and the day I was born for the second time. Not many people could look back at their life and pinpoint the exact moment they became a monster. Not many people can remember every single day of their life clearly until the end they say. For me, it was quite the opposite. In my final moments, I can barely recall the world I left behind, barely recall the horrors I've seen. Now, all I can think of are the horrors I've caused.
The only day of the life I had to leave I can recall is the day I left it. I can still remember the scent of death thick in the air around me, and the dryness of my hands and feet as water rations had been low for months. I hadn't taken a shower for almost two weeks, and I was given every possible special treatment they could afford. For days I was given more food than ten other man combined, yet still I was hungry as my eyes pored over maps and bio's. My job then was simple, I was to memorize everything I could about every important man and event at the time. I was to go into there prepared for everything, to be un-defeatable yet still be defeated. It is hard, let me tell you, to force yourself to lose when you could win easily. It is hard to kill yourself, when the world you're saving seems like a bad dream.
Even now, as I reflect upon my success, I cannot help but wonder if I was making up this future I came from. What if I am just a madman? What if I am just a crazy, genocidal murderer? What if I was lucky? What if all those weapons and papers just happened to be coincidence and not given to me. I can barely even remember the face of her...without that I would be sure that I am truly a monster. That, and the room. The god-forsaken accursed room! With it's steel walls, and it's caging doors! Damn that room! Damn it to hell! If only, I wish, it hadn't been me. I guess it is only fitting that in my final moments in one world I remember my final moments in another.
I was late already. By only 10 minutes, but their voices were screaming at me, telling me to hurry up because the walls had been breached! I had been hit right below the neck by shrapnel, and I my legs were starting to falter when I heard the sound of boots pounding against the floor. The first face I saw the was the cold, steel face of my best friend, grabbing me by the shoulders and dragging me forward. I coughed only once, too little water in my body to even cough again. When finally George threw me through the door, and shut it behind us, I looked like the monster I was too become.
Dust covered my face and body, and blood was dripping slowly down my chest out of the thousand cuts the shrapnel had made. I was bruised and beaten already. We were beaten in this world, but maybe another world had a chance.
"Adolph, you look like hell found you."She quietly said, but her voice seemed to ring in my eyes and the mere sound of it voice gave me the tiny glimmer of strength to stand on two feet again.
"It's been looking for a long time, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised it managed to."She nodded. And then George cut us off, "I'm sorry you two but we have no time to waste right now. They could reach us any second. You have to go."
I nodded, and took a step towards the machine. But my breath vanished, and George had to catch me again. The commander of the final fort was also already by my side. She and George lifted me up, carrying me towards the portal.
It wasn't what I thought it would be. It was just a door, a normal looking door. But the two assured me that it would work when I voiced my doubt. They held me for a second in front of it, giving time for the love of my life to come over to me. She simply took my hand, and whispered into my ear, "I'll love you, and I'm proud for the strength you have. There's one last gift we need to give you though."And then she grabbed my hand and pried open my closed fist, planting into it something I couldn't tell what it was. She closed my hand for me afterwards, and said, "When ever you don't have the strength to continue, look at this."
And then she backed away, and George opened the door and I was suddenly thrown through. I remember what it was like to see grass again, for the first time in forever. It's odd, I die for the second time in a place very much like the place I died at first. I wonder how historians will explain some of my more irrational decisions, like my refusal to put more troops at Normandy. Even when all my advisors knew that they would land there if we didn't. And here, I opened the locket for the last time it would be opened by my hands. A drop of blood dripped from the thousand cuts that covered my neck, cuts from shrapnel that flown across it earlier. Once again, I saw her face. I wonder what the soldiers who open this locket will think of this picture. The picture of a girl who never was in this world. The picture of a girl I loved enough to kill millions for. And if she does happen to come into this world once more, I hope she meets me again. At least one Adolph Hitler can find peace. This one surely couldn't.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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“Do you think they’ll be gentle?” she asked.
“Bystro! Vot! Der'mo!” Rough voices yelled above the hammering on the bunker door.
“They spent twenty millions lives to get this far. What do you think?” I said, cold brown eyes appraising.
Eva made a soft noise of agreement, absentmindedly curling a twist of brown hair around her finger, our eyes boring into the 20 centimeters of steel in front of us.
I could hear it, now that the hammering of the door gave way to silence. A thump, every minute or so. Hanging empty in the absolute silence of the bunker. My mind plays tricks on me, imagining the door bursting open with shrapnel and bullets.
“Do you think it was enough?” She asks.
I turn around, and see her plaintively looking up at me, her soft features catching in the tungsten bulbs burning brightly overhead. Why didn’t I see it before? All this time on assignment and I’ve treated her only as a brother in arms, a fellow solider doing our duty against the Tau Cetians.
“What a waste…” I murmur, looking away.
“Twenty millions lives now against eleven billion in 2067? Hardly a waste!” Her eyes flash towards me as she moves farther from the steel door.
“But was it enough!” She demands. “Flimsy rockets? Non atmospheric flight? Nuclear fission? What’s that against the Von Neumann machines? Against the splitting of Luna?”
The thumping against the door ceases.
“Sir!” She shouts, completely ignoring the door. “They seeded our oceans! They mined the core! Old Earth doesn’t even rotate anymore!”
I look at Eva, her face glowing with an unreserved anger so much unlike her. That curl of hair she was playing with flits over her cheek. I move to gently move it back behind her ear.
A slow groan comes from our last barrier. The bunker door, finally defeated, falls forward with massive shriek.
A Russian wearing tall black leather boots walks in, his short Gimnasterka covered in blood and grime. My mind continues its tricks, as I imagine his face showing the scorched Russian fields he left behind. Even if he did know what the future held, he would never forgive.
I grab Eva. Our lips barely touch before other Soviet soldiers fill the room and tear us apart.
“Comdiv! Chto nam delat' ?” The solider holding Eva asks.
The commander wordless takes a bottle of cyanide ampules and hands them over. I’m thrown to ground; jerked back up again into a kneeling position. My eyes stay locked with Eva’s as a dirty maimed Soviet forces a capsule into her mouth. Something jams into the side of my head as the Commander draws my attention with a gloved hand.
He forms the shape of a “T” with his index fingers. Tau.
“Chto otkhodov.” What a waste.
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Today was the same day I died the first time and the day I was born for the second time. Not many people could look back at their life and pinpoint the exact moment they became a monster. Not many people can remember every single day of their life clearly until the end they say. For me, it was quite the opposite. In my final moments, I can barely recall the world I left behind, barely recall the horrors I've seen. Now, all I can think of are the horrors I've caused.
The only day of the life I had to leave I can recall is the day I left it. I can still remember the scent of death thick in the air around me, and the dryness of my hands and feet as water rations had been low for months. I hadn't taken a shower for almost two weeks, and I was given every possible special treatment they could afford. For days I was given more food than ten other man combined, yet still I was hungry as my eyes pored over maps and bio's. My job then was simple, I was to memorize everything I could about every important man and event at the time. I was to go into there prepared for everything, to be un-defeatable yet still be defeated. It is hard, let me tell you, to force yourself to lose when you could win easily. It is hard to kill yourself, when the world you're saving seems like a bad dream.
Even now, as I reflect upon my success, I cannot help but wonder if I was making up this future I came from. What if I am just a madman? What if I am just a crazy, genocidal murderer? What if I was lucky? What if all those weapons and papers just happened to be coincidence and not given to me. I can barely even remember the face of her...without that I would be sure that I am truly a monster. That, and the room. The god-forsaken accursed room! With it's steel walls, and it's caging doors! Damn that room! Damn it to hell! If only, I wish, it hadn't been me. I guess it is only fitting that in my final moments in one world I remember my final moments in another.
I was late already. By only 10 minutes, but their voices were screaming at me, telling me to hurry up because the walls had been breached! I had been hit right below the neck by shrapnel, and I my legs were starting to falter when I heard the sound of boots pounding against the floor. The first face I saw the was the cold, steel face of my best friend, grabbing me by the shoulders and dragging me forward. I coughed only once, too little water in my body to even cough again. When finally George threw me through the door, and shut it behind us, I looked like the monster I was too become.
Dust covered my face and body, and blood was dripping slowly down my chest out of the thousand cuts the shrapnel had made. I was bruised and beaten already. We were beaten in this world, but maybe another world had a chance.
"Adolph, you look like hell found you."She quietly said, but her voice seemed to ring in my eyes and the mere sound of it voice gave me the tiny glimmer of strength to stand on two feet again.
"It's been looking for a long time, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised it managed to."She nodded. And then George cut us off, "I'm sorry you two but we have no time to waste right now. They could reach us any second. You have to go."
I nodded, and took a step towards the machine. But my breath vanished, and George had to catch me again. The commander of the final fort was also already by my side. She and George lifted me up, carrying me towards the portal.
It wasn't what I thought it would be. It was just a door, a normal looking door. But the two assured me that it would work when I voiced my doubt. They held me for a second in front of it, giving time for the love of my life to come over to me. She simply took my hand, and whispered into my ear, "I'll love you, and I'm proud for the strength you have. There's one last gift we need to give you though."And then she grabbed my hand and pried open my closed fist, planting into it something I couldn't tell what it was. She closed my hand for me afterwards, and said, "When ever you don't have the strength to continue, look at this."
And then she backed away, and George opened the door and I was suddenly thrown through. I remember what it was like to see grass again, for the first time in forever. It's odd, I die for the second time in a place very much like the place I died at first. I wonder how historians will explain some of my more irrational decisions, like my refusal to put more troops at Normandy. Even when all my advisors knew that they would land there if we didn't. And here, I opened the locket for the last time it would be opened by my hands. A drop of blood dripped from the thousand cuts that covered my neck, cuts from shrapnel that flown across it earlier. Once again, I saw her face. I wonder what the soldiers who open this locket will think of this picture. The picture of a girl who never was in this world. The picture of a girl I loved enough to kill millions for. And if she does happen to come into this world once more, I hope she meets me again. At least one Adolph Hitler can find peace. This one surely couldn't.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
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*October 14th, 2041, was a day like any other. Children went to school for 7 hours just as they had their entire lives. People walked, drove, or rode public transit to work. Families gathered at the dinner table and ate a home-cooked meal, as they always had. It was a typical, normal day.*
*October 15th, 2041...was the day the world changed.*
*They came without warning. Beings from another world. They approached our planet at speeds we had once thought unfathomable. By the time people in my city were beginning to wake up, it was already all over the news. Intelligent extraterrestrial beings were on a direct course for Earth. Many initially believed that their intentions were of a peaceful, diplomatic nature, but that hopeful speculation soon turned to sheer terror as their massive ships began to encircle the planet; the only logical explanation for this maneuver was preparation for an attack. The panic during that afternoon was already bad enough. Hundreds died in stampedes as entire cities descended into chaos, looting, and mass exoduses. And then, just like that, the attack came.*
*That was 25 years ago. The longest war in centuries. When the invasion first began, humanity was no match for the Others. Although most of our nations were living in peaceful cooperation with each other, the alien forces possessed technology so vastly superior to our own that the first couple years of the conflict could not even be called a "war"; the word war implies that both sides are able to fight. Over a billion people had died by the time we were able to capture or salvage enough of their technology to mount a resistance five years later. I was only a schoolboy in Germany when it first started, one of those children that sat in a classroom like every other day. War is the only thing I've known for most of my life.*
*The battle has raged on for another two decades. The entire planet is in ruins. For most people, the quality of life has not been this poor since medieval times. We managed to force them into a stalemate for now, but humanity's supplies and weapons will run out long before theirs will. We seem to be a doomed species. So imagine my surprise when General Chambers, my CO, pulled me from the front and summoned me into Allied HQ. He said he had a 'special' mission for me. He said that he wanted me to save humanity.*
"Is this some kind of a joke? My men need me there with them! We cannot lose those Iraqi oilfields! Colonel Bahkar is counting on me!!"
"Maximilian, if this mission succeeds, we won't have to worry about those oil fields, or any other strategic area. We can go on the offensive."
The very notion of attacking the aliens made me burst with laughter. I was still convinced that this was some kind of prank. "Okay, let's say this isn't a joke. How exactly do you plan to do this?"
He rose from his seat and turned to face the charts and documents posted on his wall, none of which I understood.
"For the last twenty years, we have been stockpiling one of the element that the Others use on their aircrafts: dyedrenium. Our ability to shoot down their ships is so poor that it had taken us this long just to get enough for one use."
"Use for what?!", I asked.
"Max...we're going to send someone back in time. To change everything. To give us the upper hand. To save our species for extinction...you're that person, Max."
Obviously, it took me a while to process what the General had just said. Even longer to finally respond to him. There was quite a bit of back and forth, but eventually, I realized that he was telling the truth. That I could single-handedly ensure the continuity of the human race. "How...how am I going to do this? Am I going to warn people in the past?"
"No.", the General said in a very firm tone. "No one would believe you. Your warnings would appear to the ramblings of a mad man. You'd be confined to an asylum for the rest of your life...if you were lucky."
"Then...how-"
"We know how to fight them now, but the damage we took in those first few years crippled us. Left them with a massive advantage. You're going to ensure that by the time they come, we will already have the means to fight back."
I had known the General for years. Fought along side him. I trusted him with my very life. I had no choice but to believe him. "General...Bob. Tell me what I have to do."
"You're going to go back to the mid-twentieth century. You are going to single-handedly ignite a second Great War. A war of such grand scale that nations will be forced to advance their technologies decades ahead in only a few years. And the weapons they create will continue to grow more sophisticated. In the new time line, by 2041, humanity might just be able to repel the invasion."
I pondered for several minutes on what he had just said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. Just listen. In the Great War, Germany fought against many nations with only one or two allies at their side. They can do that again. The country was in chaos after the war...it is the logical nation to choose. One could easily use it to their advantage to take power and lead the country. Restart their industry. Create new weapons. Lead them on the path to war."
"So that's why you chose me?", I asked. "Because I'm German?".
"No. I chose you, because you are the most loyal, dependable person I know, and because you have the will to do what must be done."
"This is a one-way trip, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. I won't bother you with the technical details. But make no mistake, that is not the only price of this mission. You will be the direct cause of the most horrible, bloody war the human race will have ever experienced up to that point. The men under your command will be fanatical, and commit terrible atrocities. The entire world will forever hate you. The mere mention of your name will become a taboo. People will compare you to the Devil himself. They will curse you the way we curse the Others everyday."
"No shit! You're asking me to directly cause the deaths of millions of people!!"
"You're right. But we have to be cold and mathematical about this. Millions in the past will die...so that billions in the present can be saved."
The very notion chilled me to the bone...and yet it made perfect sense at the same time. "So, what's the good news?" I asked.
The General chuckled. "The good news is we can supply you with enough information to help you become the leader of Germany. Certain people to ally with. Certain opportunities to take advantage of. New technologies to bring back, so advanced that it will take the entire world to defeat you. And..."
"And?"
"We'll be forging an identity for you. Give you documents, birth certificates, pictures of family, and the sort. But...you get to choose a name for yourself."
"........Adolf Hitler. For my father...Adolf Hitler Deitrich. He always thought I was meant to do great things."
The General smirked slightly. "Very good, Mr. Hitler. Please come with me".
He lead me deep into the heart of Allied HQ, through about five security doors with codes I could not even understand. Finally we reached a large, circular room with a strange device in the center. Within the device sat a glowing, white crystal of sorts. You could feel the energy emanating; it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made my skin feel...younger, somehow. About 14 people in white lab coats all turned to face us. The General walked ahead, until he was right beside the device. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me.
"Well....Mr. Hitler........Are you ready to save the world?", he said as the security door locked behind us.
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Today was the same day I died the first time and the day I was born for the second time. Not many people could look back at their life and pinpoint the exact moment they became a monster. Not many people can remember every single day of their life clearly until the end they say. For me, it was quite the opposite. In my final moments, I can barely recall the world I left behind, barely recall the horrors I've seen. Now, all I can think of are the horrors I've caused.
The only day of the life I had to leave I can recall is the day I left it. I can still remember the scent of death thick in the air around me, and the dryness of my hands and feet as water rations had been low for months. I hadn't taken a shower for almost two weeks, and I was given every possible special treatment they could afford. For days I was given more food than ten other man combined, yet still I was hungry as my eyes pored over maps and bio's. My job then was simple, I was to memorize everything I could about every important man and event at the time. I was to go into there prepared for everything, to be un-defeatable yet still be defeated. It is hard, let me tell you, to force yourself to lose when you could win easily. It is hard to kill yourself, when the world you're saving seems like a bad dream.
Even now, as I reflect upon my success, I cannot help but wonder if I was making up this future I came from. What if I am just a madman? What if I am just a crazy, genocidal murderer? What if I was lucky? What if all those weapons and papers just happened to be coincidence and not given to me. I can barely even remember the face of her...without that I would be sure that I am truly a monster. That, and the room. The god-forsaken accursed room! With it's steel walls, and it's caging doors! Damn that room! Damn it to hell! If only, I wish, it hadn't been me. I guess it is only fitting that in my final moments in one world I remember my final moments in another.
I was late already. By only 10 minutes, but their voices were screaming at me, telling me to hurry up because the walls had been breached! I had been hit right below the neck by shrapnel, and I my legs were starting to falter when I heard the sound of boots pounding against the floor. The first face I saw the was the cold, steel face of my best friend, grabbing me by the shoulders and dragging me forward. I coughed only once, too little water in my body to even cough again. When finally George threw me through the door, and shut it behind us, I looked like the monster I was too become.
Dust covered my face and body, and blood was dripping slowly down my chest out of the thousand cuts the shrapnel had made. I was bruised and beaten already. We were beaten in this world, but maybe another world had a chance.
"Adolph, you look like hell found you."She quietly said, but her voice seemed to ring in my eyes and the mere sound of it voice gave me the tiny glimmer of strength to stand on two feet again.
"It's been looking for a long time, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised it managed to."She nodded. And then George cut us off, "I'm sorry you two but we have no time to waste right now. They could reach us any second. You have to go."
I nodded, and took a step towards the machine. But my breath vanished, and George had to catch me again. The commander of the final fort was also already by my side. She and George lifted me up, carrying me towards the portal.
It wasn't what I thought it would be. It was just a door, a normal looking door. But the two assured me that it would work when I voiced my doubt. They held me for a second in front of it, giving time for the love of my life to come over to me. She simply took my hand, and whispered into my ear, "I'll love you, and I'm proud for the strength you have. There's one last gift we need to give you though."And then she grabbed my hand and pried open my closed fist, planting into it something I couldn't tell what it was. She closed my hand for me afterwards, and said, "When ever you don't have the strength to continue, look at this."
And then she backed away, and George opened the door and I was suddenly thrown through. I remember what it was like to see grass again, for the first time in forever. It's odd, I die for the second time in a place very much like the place I died at first. I wonder how historians will explain some of my more irrational decisions, like my refusal to put more troops at Normandy. Even when all my advisors knew that they would land there if we didn't. And here, I opened the locket for the last time it would be opened by my hands. A drop of blood dripped from the thousand cuts that covered my neck, cuts from shrapnel that flown across it earlier. Once again, I saw her face. I wonder what the soldiers who open this locket will think of this picture. The picture of a girl who never was in this world. The picture of a girl I loved enough to kill millions for. And if she does happen to come into this world once more, I hope she meets me again. At least one Adolph Hitler can find peace. This one surely couldn't.
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
|
*October 14th, 2041, was a day like any other. Children went to school for 7 hours just as they had their entire lives. People walked, drove, or rode public transit to work. Families gathered at the dinner table and ate a home-cooked meal, as they always had. It was a typical, normal day.*
*October 15th, 2041...was the day the world changed.*
*They came without warning. Beings from another world. They approached our planet at speeds we had once thought unfathomable. By the time people in my city were beginning to wake up, it was already all over the news. Intelligent extraterrestrial beings were on a direct course for Earth. Many initially believed that their intentions were of a peaceful, diplomatic nature, but that hopeful speculation soon turned to sheer terror as their massive ships began to encircle the planet; the only logical explanation for this maneuver was preparation for an attack. The panic during that afternoon was already bad enough. Hundreds died in stampedes as entire cities descended into chaos, looting, and mass exoduses. And then, just like that, the attack came.*
*That was 25 years ago. The longest war in centuries. When the invasion first began, humanity was no match for the Others. Although most of our nations were living in peaceful cooperation with each other, the alien forces possessed technology so vastly superior to our own that the first couple years of the conflict could not even be called a "war"; the word war implies that both sides are able to fight. Over a billion people had died by the time we were able to capture or salvage enough of their technology to mount a resistance five years later. I was only a schoolboy in Germany when it first started, one of those children that sat in a classroom like every other day. War is the only thing I've known for most of my life.*
*The battle has raged on for another two decades. The entire planet is in ruins. For most people, the quality of life has not been this poor since medieval times. We managed to force them into a stalemate for now, but humanity's supplies and weapons will run out long before theirs will. We seem to be a doomed species. So imagine my surprise when General Chambers, my CO, pulled me from the front and summoned me into Allied HQ. He said he had a 'special' mission for me. He said that he wanted me to save humanity.*
"Is this some kind of a joke? My men need me there with them! We cannot lose those Iraqi oilfields! Colonel Bahkar is counting on me!!"
"Maximilian, if this mission succeeds, we won't have to worry about those oil fields, or any other strategic area. We can go on the offensive."
The very notion of attacking the aliens made me burst with laughter. I was still convinced that this was some kind of prank. "Okay, let's say this isn't a joke. How exactly do you plan to do this?"
He rose from his seat and turned to face the charts and documents posted on his wall, none of which I understood.
"For the last twenty years, we have been stockpiling one of the element that the Others use on their aircrafts: dyedrenium. Our ability to shoot down their ships is so poor that it had taken us this long just to get enough for one use."
"Use for what?!", I asked.
"Max...we're going to send someone back in time. To change everything. To give us the upper hand. To save our species for extinction...you're that person, Max."
Obviously, it took me a while to process what the General had just said. Even longer to finally respond to him. There was quite a bit of back and forth, but eventually, I realized that he was telling the truth. That I could single-handedly ensure the continuity of the human race. "How...how am I going to do this? Am I going to warn people in the past?"
"No.", the General said in a very firm tone. "No one would believe you. Your warnings would appear to the ramblings of a mad man. You'd be confined to an asylum for the rest of your life...if you were lucky."
"Then...how-"
"We know how to fight them now, but the damage we took in those first few years crippled us. Left them with a massive advantage. You're going to ensure that by the time they come, we will already have the means to fight back."
I had known the General for years. Fought along side him. I trusted him with my very life. I had no choice but to believe him. "General...Bob. Tell me what I have to do."
"You're going to go back to the mid-twentieth century. You are going to single-handedly ignite a second Great War. A war of such grand scale that nations will be forced to advance their technologies decades ahead in only a few years. And the weapons they create will continue to grow more sophisticated. In the new time line, by 2041, humanity might just be able to repel the invasion."
I pondered for several minutes on what he had just said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. Just listen. In the Great War, Germany fought against many nations with only one or two allies at their side. They can do that again. The country was in chaos after the war...it is the logical nation to choose. One could easily use it to their advantage to take power and lead the country. Restart their industry. Create new weapons. Lead them on the path to war."
"So that's why you chose me?", I asked. "Because I'm German?".
"No. I chose you, because you are the most loyal, dependable person I know, and because you have the will to do what must be done."
"This is a one-way trip, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. I won't bother you with the technical details. But make no mistake, that is not the only price of this mission. You will be the direct cause of the most horrible, bloody war the human race will have ever experienced up to that point. The men under your command will be fanatical, and commit terrible atrocities. The entire world will forever hate you. The mere mention of your name will become a taboo. People will compare you to the Devil himself. They will curse you the way we curse the Others everyday."
"No shit! You're asking me to directly cause the deaths of millions of people!!"
"You're right. But we have to be cold and mathematical about this. Millions in the past will die...so that billions in the present can be saved."
The very notion chilled me to the bone...and yet it made perfect sense at the same time. "So, what's the good news?" I asked.
The General chuckled. "The good news is we can supply you with enough information to help you become the leader of Germany. Certain people to ally with. Certain opportunities to take advantage of. New technologies to bring back, so advanced that it will take the entire world to defeat you. And..."
"And?"
"We'll be forging an identity for you. Give you documents, birth certificates, pictures of family, and the sort. But...you get to choose a name for yourself."
"........Adolf Hitler. For my father...Adolf Hitler Deitrich. He always thought I was meant to do great things."
The General smirked slightly. "Very good, Mr. Hitler. Please come with me".
He lead me deep into the heart of Allied HQ, through about five security doors with codes I could not even understand. Finally we reached a large, circular room with a strange device in the center. Within the device sat a glowing, white crystal of sorts. You could feel the energy emanating; it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made my skin feel...younger, somehow. About 14 people in white lab coats all turned to face us. The General walked ahead, until he was right beside the device. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me.
"Well....Mr. Hitler........Are you ready to save the world?", he said as the security door locked behind us.
|
I squeezed hard on the throttle in my palm, and the ocean below me turned into a lightshow, the crisp blue dancing with fire, with a thousand shades of flame from the setting sun and the wreckage behind me. I was vaguely aware of the Needles that lanced down at me from miles overhead, perfectly aerodynamic forms entering the water with almost no splash, but it seemed of little importance. I wasn’t going to be able to dodge a projectile moving three times the speed of sound in a wimpy Jetsuit. Strangely, that thought put me at peace. I had always handled stress well, even back in Basic Training, when it was still the Austrian Armed Forces, before it was the “United International Effort”, or even the “United European Front”. A Needle sliced into my shoulder pad, momentarily cutting power and drawing me back into reality. The shot spun me around, and my visor fizzled out. I felt my stomach lurch as I began to lose altitude. Subsystems rerouted in milliseconds, and my Heads Up Display lit back up. I completed my spiral, and saw the water less than a meter beneath me. I flattened my body, bounced once, and reactivated my pack, regaining altitude quickly.
I made it out of effective firing range of the Needles, and plotted the destination into my computer. As autopilot engaged, I rotated over and flew on my back, watching the Outsider Airships destroy the two massive craft below with lethal efficiency. We had no weapons like the Outsiders. There had never been a need. Our ships themselves were simply reoutfitted Cruiseliners. It wasn’t a fair fight, not even close. I watched as long as I could, my comm open to every channel, hearing the scream of every woman and man we lost as the ships went down. Somebody had to remember.
The Unified National Fleet had been assembled quickly, a hodgepodge of technology and weaponry from around the world. The combined fighting prowess of every great military thinker of every country. We had thought our might was a destructive force that could burn the heavens. It wasn’t nearly good enough. Our bullets bounced off armor plating with no effect, our rockets sailed past their targets. Our aircraft were sluggish, our vehicles useless. We had no advantage over them. But we had a way out. The Crucible was the Last Possible Option. It was only to be used when the thought of humanity surviving the conflict seemed inconceivable. As long as there was hope, there was no activating the Crucible. For all of the reluctance, the order to use it came three days after the conflict began. We were that badly beaten. And watching as the two ships guarding those sent to activate it sank into the ocean, and listening as the countless onboard drowned and burned and died, I understood why.
Simply put, the crucible was a time machine. A huge underground facility, with arrays of capacitors and batteries harvesting geothermal energy 24/7, ready to pump out enough pure power to change history. The location was the Crucible as much as the Machinery that resided there. A Crack in Spacetime. Put enough energy into it, and the Universe would do what the Universe does best: Increase in entropy. The crack would seal itself, and anything nearby would be catapulted through, and the crack would cease to exist. Predictions of when the crack let out Varied widely, from as early as 1800 to as Late as 1850. Regardless, the plan was the same: Give the presidential seal to the receptionist at the white White House, and wait for your meeting with the President. Build a highpowered telescope, and Fix it on a certain planet a few solar systems over. In 1885, the Capital ship of the Outsiders would pass in front of said planet, and this would drive humanity to create the weapons we so desperately needed.
I touched down on a glacial sheet a few hundred miles from civilization. The freezing winds had buffeted me around for the past half hour as I approached the site of the Crucible; I had made almost no progress against it. It was as if the universe itself knew what was coming, and poured energy of its own into the mix. In any other circumstance, the mere concept of such a thing would have seemed ridiculous and impossible. But in any other circumstance, so would time travel. I made my way to the one blinking light in the distance.
Will continue if there is interest.
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|
[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
|
*October 14th, 2041, was a day like any other. Children went to school for 7 hours just as they had their entire lives. People walked, drove, or rode public transit to work. Families gathered at the dinner table and ate a home-cooked meal, as they always had. It was a typical, normal day.*
*October 15th, 2041...was the day the world changed.*
*They came without warning. Beings from another world. They approached our planet at speeds we had once thought unfathomable. By the time people in my city were beginning to wake up, it was already all over the news. Intelligent extraterrestrial beings were on a direct course for Earth. Many initially believed that their intentions were of a peaceful, diplomatic nature, but that hopeful speculation soon turned to sheer terror as their massive ships began to encircle the planet; the only logical explanation for this maneuver was preparation for an attack. The panic during that afternoon was already bad enough. Hundreds died in stampedes as entire cities descended into chaos, looting, and mass exoduses. And then, just like that, the attack came.*
*That was 25 years ago. The longest war in centuries. When the invasion first began, humanity was no match for the Others. Although most of our nations were living in peaceful cooperation with each other, the alien forces possessed technology so vastly superior to our own that the first couple years of the conflict could not even be called a "war"; the word war implies that both sides are able to fight. Over a billion people had died by the time we were able to capture or salvage enough of their technology to mount a resistance five years later. I was only a schoolboy in Germany when it first started, one of those children that sat in a classroom like every other day. War is the only thing I've known for most of my life.*
*The battle has raged on for another two decades. The entire planet is in ruins. For most people, the quality of life has not been this poor since medieval times. We managed to force them into a stalemate for now, but humanity's supplies and weapons will run out long before theirs will. We seem to be a doomed species. So imagine my surprise when General Chambers, my CO, pulled me from the front and summoned me into Allied HQ. He said he had a 'special' mission for me. He said that he wanted me to save humanity.*
"Is this some kind of a joke? My men need me there with them! We cannot lose those Iraqi oilfields! Colonel Bahkar is counting on me!!"
"Maximilian, if this mission succeeds, we won't have to worry about those oil fields, or any other strategic area. We can go on the offensive."
The very notion of attacking the aliens made me burst with laughter. I was still convinced that this was some kind of prank. "Okay, let's say this isn't a joke. How exactly do you plan to do this?"
He rose from his seat and turned to face the charts and documents posted on his wall, none of which I understood.
"For the last twenty years, we have been stockpiling one of the element that the Others use on their aircrafts: dyedrenium. Our ability to shoot down their ships is so poor that it had taken us this long just to get enough for one use."
"Use for what?!", I asked.
"Max...we're going to send someone back in time. To change everything. To give us the upper hand. To save our species for extinction...you're that person, Max."
Obviously, it took me a while to process what the General had just said. Even longer to finally respond to him. There was quite a bit of back and forth, but eventually, I realized that he was telling the truth. That I could single-handedly ensure the continuity of the human race. "How...how am I going to do this? Am I going to warn people in the past?"
"No.", the General said in a very firm tone. "No one would believe you. Your warnings would appear to the ramblings of a mad man. You'd be confined to an asylum for the rest of your life...if you were lucky."
"Then...how-"
"We know how to fight them now, but the damage we took in those first few years crippled us. Left them with a massive advantage. You're going to ensure that by the time they come, we will already have the means to fight back."
I had known the General for years. Fought along side him. I trusted him with my very life. I had no choice but to believe him. "General...Bob. Tell me what I have to do."
"You're going to go back to the mid-twentieth century. You are going to single-handedly ignite a second Great War. A war of such grand scale that nations will be forced to advance their technologies decades ahead in only a few years. And the weapons they create will continue to grow more sophisticated. In the new time line, by 2041, humanity might just be able to repel the invasion."
I pondered for several minutes on what he had just said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. Just listen. In the Great War, Germany fought against many nations with only one or two allies at their side. They can do that again. The country was in chaos after the war...it is the logical nation to choose. One could easily use it to their advantage to take power and lead the country. Restart their industry. Create new weapons. Lead them on the path to war."
"So that's why you chose me?", I asked. "Because I'm German?".
"No. I chose you, because you are the most loyal, dependable person I know, and because you have the will to do what must be done."
"This is a one-way trip, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. I won't bother you with the technical details. But make no mistake, that is not the only price of this mission. You will be the direct cause of the most horrible, bloody war the human race will have ever experienced up to that point. The men under your command will be fanatical, and commit terrible atrocities. The entire world will forever hate you. The mere mention of your name will become a taboo. People will compare you to the Devil himself. They will curse you the way we curse the Others everyday."
"No shit! You're asking me to directly cause the deaths of millions of people!!"
"You're right. But we have to be cold and mathematical about this. Millions in the past will die...so that billions in the present can be saved."
The very notion chilled me to the bone...and yet it made perfect sense at the same time. "So, what's the good news?" I asked.
The General chuckled. "The good news is we can supply you with enough information to help you become the leader of Germany. Certain people to ally with. Certain opportunities to take advantage of. New technologies to bring back, so advanced that it will take the entire world to defeat you. And..."
"And?"
"We'll be forging an identity for you. Give you documents, birth certificates, pictures of family, and the sort. But...you get to choose a name for yourself."
"........Adolf Hitler. For my father...Adolf Hitler Deitrich. He always thought I was meant to do great things."
The General smirked slightly. "Very good, Mr. Hitler. Please come with me".
He lead me deep into the heart of Allied HQ, through about five security doors with codes I could not even understand. Finally we reached a large, circular room with a strange device in the center. Within the device sat a glowing, white crystal of sorts. You could feel the energy emanating; it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made my skin feel...younger, somehow. About 14 people in white lab coats all turned to face us. The General walked ahead, until he was right beside the device. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me.
"Well....Mr. Hitler........Are you ready to save the world?", he said as the security door locked behind us.
|
[The aliens needed a gripping area near human mouths in order for the invasion to be successful. It had to be just the right shape and size, and it had to be present on at least five percent of the population.](http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?id=2509#comic)
We didn't see the threat coming until it was too late. Our weapons were useless against their shields, and none of our bio-weapons were designed to take down such foreign life forms.
But we realized their plan relatively quickly. The facial feature had to be wiped out from human-kind, and there was only one way to do it in time.
So we sent him back. We told him he'd be hated. We told him he'd be alone, that he couldn't tell anyone of his plans. But someone needed to do something so despicable, so treacherous, and so memorable, that no one in their right mind would shave in such a way without risking getting ostracized, or worse, their asses kicked.
History will despise him. But he saved us all.
Edits.
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|
[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
|
*October 14th, 2041, was a day like any other. Children went to school for 7 hours just as they had their entire lives. People walked, drove, or rode public transit to work. Families gathered at the dinner table and ate a home-cooked meal, as they always had. It was a typical, normal day.*
*October 15th, 2041...was the day the world changed.*
*They came without warning. Beings from another world. They approached our planet at speeds we had once thought unfathomable. By the time people in my city were beginning to wake up, it was already all over the news. Intelligent extraterrestrial beings were on a direct course for Earth. Many initially believed that their intentions were of a peaceful, diplomatic nature, but that hopeful speculation soon turned to sheer terror as their massive ships began to encircle the planet; the only logical explanation for this maneuver was preparation for an attack. The panic during that afternoon was already bad enough. Hundreds died in stampedes as entire cities descended into chaos, looting, and mass exoduses. And then, just like that, the attack came.*
*That was 25 years ago. The longest war in centuries. When the invasion first began, humanity was no match for the Others. Although most of our nations were living in peaceful cooperation with each other, the alien forces possessed technology so vastly superior to our own that the first couple years of the conflict could not even be called a "war"; the word war implies that both sides are able to fight. Over a billion people had died by the time we were able to capture or salvage enough of their technology to mount a resistance five years later. I was only a schoolboy in Germany when it first started, one of those children that sat in a classroom like every other day. War is the only thing I've known for most of my life.*
*The battle has raged on for another two decades. The entire planet is in ruins. For most people, the quality of life has not been this poor since medieval times. We managed to force them into a stalemate for now, but humanity's supplies and weapons will run out long before theirs will. We seem to be a doomed species. So imagine my surprise when General Chambers, my CO, pulled me from the front and summoned me into Allied HQ. He said he had a 'special' mission for me. He said that he wanted me to save humanity.*
"Is this some kind of a joke? My men need me there with them! We cannot lose those Iraqi oilfields! Colonel Bahkar is counting on me!!"
"Maximilian, if this mission succeeds, we won't have to worry about those oil fields, or any other strategic area. We can go on the offensive."
The very notion of attacking the aliens made me burst with laughter. I was still convinced that this was some kind of prank. "Okay, let's say this isn't a joke. How exactly do you plan to do this?"
He rose from his seat and turned to face the charts and documents posted on his wall, none of which I understood.
"For the last twenty years, we have been stockpiling one of the element that the Others use on their aircrafts: dyedrenium. Our ability to shoot down their ships is so poor that it had taken us this long just to get enough for one use."
"Use for what?!", I asked.
"Max...we're going to send someone back in time. To change everything. To give us the upper hand. To save our species for extinction...you're that person, Max."
Obviously, it took me a while to process what the General had just said. Even longer to finally respond to him. There was quite a bit of back and forth, but eventually, I realized that he was telling the truth. That I could single-handedly ensure the continuity of the human race. "How...how am I going to do this? Am I going to warn people in the past?"
"No.", the General said in a very firm tone. "No one would believe you. Your warnings would appear to the ramblings of a mad man. You'd be confined to an asylum for the rest of your life...if you were lucky."
"Then...how-"
"We know how to fight them now, but the damage we took in those first few years crippled us. Left them with a massive advantage. You're going to ensure that by the time they come, we will already have the means to fight back."
I had known the General for years. Fought along side him. I trusted him with my very life. I had no choice but to believe him. "General...Bob. Tell me what I have to do."
"You're going to go back to the mid-twentieth century. You are going to single-handedly ignite a second Great War. A war of such grand scale that nations will be forced to advance their technologies decades ahead in only a few years. And the weapons they create will continue to grow more sophisticated. In the new time line, by 2041, humanity might just be able to repel the invasion."
I pondered for several minutes on what he had just said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. Just listen. In the Great War, Germany fought against many nations with only one or two allies at their side. They can do that again. The country was in chaos after the war...it is the logical nation to choose. One could easily use it to their advantage to take power and lead the country. Restart their industry. Create new weapons. Lead them on the path to war."
"So that's why you chose me?", I asked. "Because I'm German?".
"No. I chose you, because you are the most loyal, dependable person I know, and because you have the will to do what must be done."
"This is a one-way trip, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. I won't bother you with the technical details. But make no mistake, that is not the only price of this mission. You will be the direct cause of the most horrible, bloody war the human race will have ever experienced up to that point. The men under your command will be fanatical, and commit terrible atrocities. The entire world will forever hate you. The mere mention of your name will become a taboo. People will compare you to the Devil himself. They will curse you the way we curse the Others everyday."
"No shit! You're asking me to directly cause the deaths of millions of people!!"
"You're right. But we have to be cold and mathematical about this. Millions in the past will die...so that billions in the present can be saved."
The very notion chilled me to the bone...and yet it made perfect sense at the same time. "So, what's the good news?" I asked.
The General chuckled. "The good news is we can supply you with enough information to help you become the leader of Germany. Certain people to ally with. Certain opportunities to take advantage of. New technologies to bring back, so advanced that it will take the entire world to defeat you. And..."
"And?"
"We'll be forging an identity for you. Give you documents, birth certificates, pictures of family, and the sort. But...you get to choose a name for yourself."
"........Adolf Hitler. For my father...Adolf Hitler Deitrich. He always thought I was meant to do great things."
The General smirked slightly. "Very good, Mr. Hitler. Please come with me".
He lead me deep into the heart of Allied HQ, through about five security doors with codes I could not even understand. Finally we reached a large, circular room with a strange device in the center. Within the device sat a glowing, white crystal of sorts. You could feel the energy emanating; it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made my skin feel...younger, somehow. About 14 people in white lab coats all turned to face us. The General walked ahead, until he was right beside the device. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me.
"Well....Mr. Hitler........Are you ready to save the world?", he said as the security door locked behind us.
|
“Do you think they’ll be gentle?” she asked.
“Bystro! Vot! Der'mo!” Rough voices yelled above the hammering on the bunker door.
“They spent twenty millions lives to get this far. What do you think?” I said, cold brown eyes appraising.
Eva made a soft noise of agreement, absentmindedly curling a twist of brown hair around her finger, our eyes boring into the 20 centimeters of steel in front of us.
I could hear it, now that the hammering of the door gave way to silence. A thump, every minute or so. Hanging empty in the absolute silence of the bunker. My mind plays tricks on me, imagining the door bursting open with shrapnel and bullets.
“Do you think it was enough?” She asks.
I turn around, and see her plaintively looking up at me, her soft features catching in the tungsten bulbs burning brightly overhead. Why didn’t I see it before? All this time on assignment and I’ve treated her only as a brother in arms, a fellow solider doing our duty against the Tau Cetians.
“What a waste…” I murmur, looking away.
“Twenty millions lives now against eleven billion in 2067? Hardly a waste!” Her eyes flash towards me as she moves farther from the steel door.
“But was it enough!” She demands. “Flimsy rockets? Non atmospheric flight? Nuclear fission? What’s that against the Von Neumann machines? Against the splitting of Luna?”
The thumping against the door ceases.
“Sir!” She shouts, completely ignoring the door. “They seeded our oceans! They mined the core! Old Earth doesn’t even rotate anymore!”
I look at Eva, her face glowing with an unreserved anger so much unlike her. That curl of hair she was playing with flits over her cheek. I move to gently move it back behind her ear.
A slow groan comes from our last barrier. The bunker door, finally defeated, falls forward with massive shriek.
A Russian wearing tall black leather boots walks in, his short Gimnasterka covered in blood and grime. My mind continues its tricks, as I imagine his face showing the scorched Russian fields he left behind. Even if he did know what the future held, he would never forgive.
I grab Eva. Our lips barely touch before other Soviet soldiers fill the room and tear us apart.
“Comdiv! Chto nam delat' ?” The solider holding Eva asks.
The commander wordless takes a bottle of cyanide ampules and hands them over. I’m thrown to ground; jerked back up again into a kneeling position. My eyes stay locked with Eva’s as a dirty maimed Soviet forces a capsule into her mouth. Something jams into the side of my head as the Commander draws my attention with a gloved hand.
He forms the shape of a “T” with his index fingers. Tau.
“Chto otkhodov.” What a waste.
|
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[WP] In the year 2066, aliens invade Earth. Thanks to a few brave individuals, we steal the secret to time travel, and send back one intrepid person to spark a war so vicious that human weapons technology will be advanced enough in 2066 to take on the alien threat. His name: Adolph Hitler.
|
*October 14th, 2041, was a day like any other. Children went to school for 7 hours just as they had their entire lives. People walked, drove, or rode public transit to work. Families gathered at the dinner table and ate a home-cooked meal, as they always had. It was a typical, normal day.*
*October 15th, 2041...was the day the world changed.*
*They came without warning. Beings from another world. They approached our planet at speeds we had once thought unfathomable. By the time people in my city were beginning to wake up, it was already all over the news. Intelligent extraterrestrial beings were on a direct course for Earth. Many initially believed that their intentions were of a peaceful, diplomatic nature, but that hopeful speculation soon turned to sheer terror as their massive ships began to encircle the planet; the only logical explanation for this maneuver was preparation for an attack. The panic during that afternoon was already bad enough. Hundreds died in stampedes as entire cities descended into chaos, looting, and mass exoduses. And then, just like that, the attack came.*
*That was 25 years ago. The longest war in centuries. When the invasion first began, humanity was no match for the Others. Although most of our nations were living in peaceful cooperation with each other, the alien forces possessed technology so vastly superior to our own that the first couple years of the conflict could not even be called a "war"; the word war implies that both sides are able to fight. Over a billion people had died by the time we were able to capture or salvage enough of their technology to mount a resistance five years later. I was only a schoolboy in Germany when it first started, one of those children that sat in a classroom like every other day. War is the only thing I've known for most of my life.*
*The battle has raged on for another two decades. The entire planet is in ruins. For most people, the quality of life has not been this poor since medieval times. We managed to force them into a stalemate for now, but humanity's supplies and weapons will run out long before theirs will. We seem to be a doomed species. So imagine my surprise when General Chambers, my CO, pulled me from the front and summoned me into Allied HQ. He said he had a 'special' mission for me. He said that he wanted me to save humanity.*
"Is this some kind of a joke? My men need me there with them! We cannot lose those Iraqi oilfields! Colonel Bahkar is counting on me!!"
"Maximilian, if this mission succeeds, we won't have to worry about those oil fields, or any other strategic area. We can go on the offensive."
The very notion of attacking the aliens made me burst with laughter. I was still convinced that this was some kind of prank. "Okay, let's say this isn't a joke. How exactly do you plan to do this?"
He rose from his seat and turned to face the charts and documents posted on his wall, none of which I understood.
"For the last twenty years, we have been stockpiling one of the element that the Others use on their aircrafts: dyedrenium. Our ability to shoot down their ships is so poor that it had taken us this long just to get enough for one use."
"Use for what?!", I asked.
"Max...we're going to send someone back in time. To change everything. To give us the upper hand. To save our species for extinction...you're that person, Max."
Obviously, it took me a while to process what the General had just said. Even longer to finally respond to him. There was quite a bit of back and forth, but eventually, I realized that he was telling the truth. That I could single-handedly ensure the continuity of the human race. "How...how am I going to do this? Am I going to warn people in the past?"
"No.", the General said in a very firm tone. "No one would believe you. Your warnings would appear to the ramblings of a mad man. You'd be confined to an asylum for the rest of your life...if you were lucky."
"Then...how-"
"We know how to fight them now, but the damage we took in those first few years crippled us. Left them with a massive advantage. You're going to ensure that by the time they come, we will already have the means to fight back."
I had known the General for years. Fought along side him. I trusted him with my very life. I had no choice but to believe him. "General...Bob. Tell me what I have to do."
"You're going to go back to the mid-twentieth century. You are going to single-handedly ignite a second Great War. A war of such grand scale that nations will be forced to advance their technologies decades ahead in only a few years. And the weapons they create will continue to grow more sophisticated. In the new time line, by 2041, humanity might just be able to repel the invasion."
I pondered for several minutes on what he had just said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak. Just listen. In the Great War, Germany fought against many nations with only one or two allies at their side. They can do that again. The country was in chaos after the war...it is the logical nation to choose. One could easily use it to their advantage to take power and lead the country. Restart their industry. Create new weapons. Lead them on the path to war."
"So that's why you chose me?", I asked. "Because I'm German?".
"No. I chose you, because you are the most loyal, dependable person I know, and because you have the will to do what must be done."
"This is a one-way trip, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. I won't bother you with the technical details. But make no mistake, that is not the only price of this mission. You will be the direct cause of the most horrible, bloody war the human race will have ever experienced up to that point. The men under your command will be fanatical, and commit terrible atrocities. The entire world will forever hate you. The mere mention of your name will become a taboo. People will compare you to the Devil himself. They will curse you the way we curse the Others everyday."
"No shit! You're asking me to directly cause the deaths of millions of people!!"
"You're right. But we have to be cold and mathematical about this. Millions in the past will die...so that billions in the present can be saved."
The very notion chilled me to the bone...and yet it made perfect sense at the same time. "So, what's the good news?" I asked.
The General chuckled. "The good news is we can supply you with enough information to help you become the leader of Germany. Certain people to ally with. Certain opportunities to take advantage of. New technologies to bring back, so advanced that it will take the entire world to defeat you. And..."
"And?"
"We'll be forging an identity for you. Give you documents, birth certificates, pictures of family, and the sort. But...you get to choose a name for yourself."
"........Adolf Hitler. For my father...Adolf Hitler Deitrich. He always thought I was meant to do great things."
The General smirked slightly. "Very good, Mr. Hitler. Please come with me".
He lead me deep into the heart of Allied HQ, through about five security doors with codes I could not even understand. Finally we reached a large, circular room with a strange device in the center. Within the device sat a glowing, white crystal of sorts. You could feel the energy emanating; it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made my skin feel...younger, somehow. About 14 people in white lab coats all turned to face us. The General walked ahead, until he was right beside the device. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me.
"Well....Mr. Hitler........Are you ready to save the world?", he said as the security door locked behind us.
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“What do you mean, 'timing'?”
“Timing is the critical factor, Gus. This war, *this crime of ours.* If it is over before the atom bomb can be developed - and deployed - then this Great Standoff equivalent that you describe in your paper...”
"The Cold War?"
"...then your 'Cold War' hypothesis won't hold."
"Why?" I couldn't help but sound a little offended, Yvonne had, yet again, found a way to turn a discussion about my ideas into a discussion about her ideas. In hindsight, that's what made me so fond of our private chats up here above the atrium.
"In 1957, the Soviet Union ended the Second Great War with just two bombs. At seven kilotons each we 'only' had to watch Paris and London burn to the ground. It could have been worse. Imagine if the Entente and the Soviet Union had started that conflict with the same arsenal America and the Japanese Empire had at the height of the Great Standoff. But with no appreciation of how utterly reprehensible it would be to *actually use one in anger."*
"Good God, tens of millions might have died. Central Europe probably wouldn't have been habitable for *decades.* The Russians wouldn't have been able to reconcile with the British and French the way they did. And there's not a chance in hell that we'd have had the Berlin non-proliferation conference. It would be a calamity approaching even the First Great War.”
“Exactly, nuclear weapons are a uniquely dangerous horror. We've seen this. If they are developed during their 'cold war', as you put it, they won't truly understand the consequences and thus be far too eager to use them. But here's the other problem: they need to have a century so turbulent and violent that they feel compelled to develop weapons capable of reaching yields of *megatonnes,* maybe even *twenty* megatonnes!"
She seemed almost excited by that number. It unnerved me, but I could only manage a scoff. "But that's just not possible, our largest bombs were barely scraping 500KT before the contact."
"And that's why we couldn't stop them until their exploratory ship had spent months scouring half of Europe. We just couldn't crack its shell with what we had at the time. Not to mention that we had to jerry-rig the new bombs into high-speed *rockets.* I bet our new ancestors will even do that as a matter of course."
I couldn't disagree. That incomplete data core we salvaged only taught us the manner of our doom. That one ship was the vanguard for hundreds. We estimated that we had 21 months to prepare. We couldn't possibly do it. We needed change our path long before the mountain was in sight. Somehow our ancestors would have to juggle, for almost a century, an arsenal that could obliterate them all in mere instants. For no reason other than to keep eachother at bay.
She continued. "It's all about making sure they have the right lessons and examples, to put it simplistically. To limit the damage they can do to themselves while maximising the build-up. And, perversely, fostering their commitment to learn how to co-operate. It's the same reason that proposal 14 is being considered..."
As much as I hated that name, I shouldn't have snapped at her the way I did. "Don't hide it behind that number. It's genocide, Yvonne. We're using the Mesopotamian Genocide and the Baltic Horror as models - models! - on how to perpetrate an even larger extermination. The latter ended not fifteen years ago and yet we now put our stamp of approval on it. Don't you dare piss on the victims' graves by tip-toeing around that word."
Her face became solemn. It was almost a pout, if you could even apply that word to someone like her. She rested her elbows on the railing, hands clasped together, and stared up through the skylight as if in search of a retort. I joined her in that pose. A meek method of apology, I suppose. After some silence she abandoned her search and instead chose to change the topic.
"Dima suggested, yesterday, that the vastly increased availability of plutonium will help their space programmes. Projections indicate that they could even launch a probe to Jupiter as soon as the late 90s. Think of it, men on the moon before the 21st century! Sarah De Santis will have to find another way into the history books."
"Why does everyone always forget to mention Rick Potter? He was only second to set foot on the Moon, he landed with her.”
For a short while, she seemed lost in thought. A conclusion was reached and she expelled a sigh that deflated her posture altogether. Her head was cast downwards to the atrium below. With her hands clasped in front of her like that, it struck me how she looked like a woman in prayer. "They aren't the only ones who will be forgotten, you know. We are going to simply erase the billions of humans who were born in the past century. Their lives weren't always perfect. We still haven't kicked our tendency to dominate our fellow man. But they have as much a right to exist." Her voice became more quiet. The offices below us threatened to drown out her carefully measured words, “The general trend is such: we had lots of small wars. Skirmishes. They will have something far worse. Entire nations will crumble. Continents will align themselves against each other, as you have shown in your work. We need to teach them to be the worst that humanity can be, so that we can direct that against beings even more wretched than us.”
Yvonne has been such a source of strength for us this past year. To this day I can't help but be shocked when she does show some slight vulnerability, some slight doubt. "We can't think like that. If we succeed, 2066 will be the year the Wanderers are crushed. They won't be able to go on spreading their murder amongst the stars for millenia to come. We might save countless civilisations that we will never meet."
She abruptly stopped her prayer and stared straight into me, cold and cynical once more. "But what if we go too far, Gus? Might not the Wanderers just be people... people who got too good at projecting their horrors outward?"
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[WP] You just accidentally destroyed an entire alien race while trying to make First Contact.
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*These are great tits.*
I grinned at myself in the full wall mirror, not even bothering to hide my wandering eyes ogling the low cut neckline of the wardrobe tech. She continued to natter on, padding my face with powder. Got to look good for the cameras, right?
As the “ON AIR” sign flips on, I bounce out onstage, waving at the crowd. Finally, I feel alive again. Six years since I broke the biggest news in history, only to have the usual media cycle forget about me a week after.
“Dr. Jonstone! Welcome. Welcome to… America!” The TV host stood to shake my hand with a monstrous grin carved into his face.
*“Loser. Get to the good stuff,”* I think to myself.
I like the Doctor bit, though. Makes me sound like a bigger deal. I’ll have to check with Legal if they can say that, given I dropped out of CalTech in my second year.
“You’ve been famous ever since you tackled the Barnard anomaly six years ago! Tell us again, what did you find!”
Tackled was a bit of an overstatement. Technically I was sleeping in the radioscope lab at the time, having been recently been evicted from my apartment for grossly overestimating my cat’s abilities to use a litterbox properly.
“Well, I was working on my thesis, when the signal alarm from the mainframe supercomputer went off.” I smiled at the crowd, letting them know it was okay if they didn’t understand the big words I was using.
Really, the computer buzzer woke me up. I went to shut down the alarm, only to find I wasn’t able to without checking what all the fuss was about. Although my part time gig at the lab was usually easy, I was off the clock at the moment and didn’t want to get involved in any sort of work.
“Fortune favors the prepared mind, you know,” I said, winking at the wardrobe tech who was standing in the wings.
Fortunately for me, the computer had already done all the hard work of analyzing the so-called “Barnard anomaly.” The whole message was staring at me, more or less in plain English.
“The message from Barnard’s star contained advanced mathematical equations and chemical formulas. The world was lucky I was standing by- no, that I was standing guard that night.” I said, switching from my happy face to my serious-let’s-get-down-to-business face.
Really, the message contained less than a few dozen characters. The bulk of it was a string of prime numbers. The rest of it was a simple picture of a hydrogen atom.
The TV host dropped his smile and crinkled his forehead. “You’ve come under fire for what you did after decoding the message, haven’t you?”
Got to love prearranged “hard ball” questions, right?
“Although I respect Dr. Hawking’s opinion, it’s convenient to say messaging the aliens back right away was dangerous in hind-sight.” I say, keeping my serious face on.
Of course the guy who based his career off aliens would say messaging them was dangerous. He was just upset I beat him to the punch.
“What exactly did you say in your message back to the aliens? God be with you? We come in peace?” The host asked, somehow not looking like he was pandering to his lead demographic.
Laughing, I said “I’m afraid not! I simply wrote them back some corresponding math equations and some fusion chemical reactions.”
Really, I just added a couple of extra prime numbers to them. 9, 11, and 13, to be exact. I wasn’t sure what to do with the hydrogen pictogram, so I just added on a continuation of that sequence- deuterium and tritium. At least that’s what Wikipedia told me I sent.
“And that’s what the neigh sayers got so excited about? That you sent aliens the secret of thermonuclear bombs?” He asked, eye brow arched.
“Patently ridiculous,” I say, talking off my glasses for emphasis. “If aliens didn’t understand such simple chemicals, they wouldn’t be trying to communicated with us.” Another simple prearranged question. Any moment he’ll ask me about my upcoming book and we’ll cut to commercial.
“Six years later, here we are! If the aliens were as quick in replying as you were, we should have heard something by now. We go now, LIVE to the Dr. Jonstone’s colleagues!”
*Fuck.*
What happened to our little arrangement? This wasn’t part of the deal! I don’t want to see those assholes, live, on television! I hadn’t even talked to them in six years! My eye twitches as I try to keep my serious face on.
“Tell me, Pasadena! Do we have mail?”
The exoplanet around Barnard’s star flashes up the monitor, along with my old boss. He’s frowning, which is nothing new.
“No, no new direct messages. Any radio chatter from Barnard e has actually fallen off in the last two weeks.”
A flashy picture showing different coloured bars pops up. “This spectrogram outlines the changes seen in the exoplanet’s atmosphere over the last week. These bight lines here are consistent with massive nuclear fusion detonations involving the entirety of the planet’s surface.”
*Fuck.*
EDIT: The first goddamned word of the post.
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Do you realize how far radio waves travel? A long fucking way.
They knew we were here a long time before we knew they were. We've just been throwing signals around and out and everywhere... everything that could possibly every contact us just has to perk up their ears to know we're right here. Lucky for us, most life in the universe isn't sentient.
I know I'm supposed to be explaining the facts, and just the facts, about what happened, but really, nothing has meaning out of context. That's been the problem with humanity as a whole ever since we figured out global communication; communication is more about context than the words itself, and humans are too damn stubborn to keep that in mind. If you really want to understand what happened and why, you're going to need to know me, as a person in general, and not just as the person who killed an entire world.
My name is Michael Williams. I am the most average American alive. That's all in my file, and it's precisely why I was chosen to make first contact. For those in the future, it's important to understand that my selection was not arbitrary. The Ouht had a nature similar to our own, and understood that power breeds corruption, no matter what some friendly neighborhood superheros were taught in comic books. They'd been listening to our music, our talk shows, our political bullshit for decades. They'd been watching our television for several years, ever since they got close enough that they could compensate for the signal/noise ratio and actually get video worth a damn through the static.
The point is, they didn't want to talk to some government asshole, or some savant academic. They wanted to talk to an average human. The thought was that if we each sent the most average of our kind, that the impressions, knowledge, and experience gained on both sides would be the most honest possible. Brilliant way to minimize the grandstanding.
The data was collected, fed into a computer somewhere, and analyzed. I am of average intelligence, average height, average weight, average age... of all the categories they put in, I was the person who scored average on the most of them. If I'd had the chance to reproduce, I'm not sure that'd be something I would have bragged to my grandchildren about.
It was a matter of minutes between when the computer spit out the result, to when every major media outlet was throwing my name everywhere. I went from sleeping safe one night, knowing that there was no way I'd be the poor sod selected, to the most recognizable face on the planet in the time it took to fry an egg. I hadn't even buttered my toast before there were 4 SUVs outside my house. Pre-coffee, when I opened the door and the first words out of this guy wearing an earpiece were "Sir, we apologize for interrupting your breakfast," there were only two thoughts running through my head; "I'm obviously sleeping through my alarm," and "There is no way you fuckers actually feel sorry for interrupting my breakfast."
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[WP] You're applying for a job in the bookstore. After the third interview, you realize this job is more than it seems.
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"It seems like you're going to be a great fit here," Irvin said as I sat down in his office. He locked the door behind him and seated himself across from me. "You have a lot of experience in retail, which is great, and I called some of your references and they had wonderful things to say about you."
I smiled brightly, trying to convey that I would be a cheerful and personable employee. "Thank you so much. I'm really excited. Even if you don't hire me you'll definitely have my business, this is such a nice store." We laughed for a moment and he leaned back in his chair.
"Why wouldn't I hire you?!" he asked, still smiling. "I would actually like to officially offer you the job right now." My heart soared. "We start at nine dollars an hour."
My smile faltered; I had been hoping for a bit more. He must have seen this on my face, for he continued. "Rachel, don't look so glum! There will be opportunities for improvement and moving up within the company. Not to mention some overnight shifts, where you earn time and a half."
I frowned. "Overnights? At a bookstore?"
"Of course," Irvin said. "We have inventory twice a year, and the books need to be put back in order, so some nights I stay here with another employee to make sure the store is in good shape."
I felt a moment's trepidation. "Just you and one other employee? To fix the whole store?"
"It's just one section per night, usually, so we don't need more than that," Irvin assured me. "I feel like you and I have a good rapport, we would have a lot of fun working these overnights together. Not to mention the extra money you would make. And," he continued, his smile growing, "the more time we spend alone together, the closer we will become. And the closer we become, the more I will be willing to pay you." He winked.
I stood up. "Thank you Irvin, I will consider your offer and get back to you by the end of the day." I shook his hand and walked out.
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Derek leaned slightly on the wooden armrest of a now familiar chair, sitting in a now familiar office. Getting the phone call after an online application to *Rex's Books* had given the young man hope. The callback after the initial interview gave him even more. A third meeting meant he had all but secured the job.
The fourth call was simply annoying.
Still, unable to work any laborious jobs and having little education mixed with even less experience, Derek went to *Rex's Books* for the fourth interview. The small shop had no hiring team, just a middle-aged man by the name of Rex.
Derek turned his head as he heard the door open to the office.
"Derek," Rex's voice had the tone of familiarity and he sounded to be smiling, though Derek couldn't see him. "Glad you could come back."
"Of course," Derek didn't bother making a show of standing, knowing from previous encounters that it would only be discourteous to the man. "I'm glad you called."
"I've decided," Rex walked into Derek's view and to the other side of the oak desk, sitting down on an identical chair across from it. "I've decided that you best qualify for the job."
Derek realized he didn't hide his surprise well as the man laughed deeply, echoing off the small walls of the office.
"You must be thinking I took long enough." Rex stated more than asked.
"To be honest, sir," Derek started, "I think... yes, four interviews seems a bit much."
"Hah!" The man leaned in. "Not just four interviews. I also hired two private investigators to do background checks, plus a good friend of mine that does a little more than that."
Derek paused.
"Shame about your father." He shook his head. "Single black father, rare enough, then he gets into an accident, dies on scene... were you old enough to remember it all or is the leg the only reminder?"
Derek stood up, breathing slowly. "You son of a bitch."
Rex raised an eyebrow.
"I did everything you asked. I told you I would be completely honest and you do-"
"Look," Rex interrupted, pointing to the side of the oak table. Derek looked to see his crutches leaned against it. He narrowed his eyes, not quite believing what he saw. "You're standing."
Derek looked down and leaned slightly more on his left leg, finding it supportive. "How..."
"I think you're gonna like working here, kid."
"But-"
"Go out there and man the counter." Rex said. "We're the only two employees here, you know."
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[WP] Several centuries in the future, your favorite fiction book is found, and believed to be historical fact.
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"I dare you to say it."
"No, you say it!" The other child protested.
A pause, while the boy visibly worked up the courage.
"Volemort!" He squeaked. And covered his mouth in shock, at the exact moment their mother appeared.
"Albus! Don't ever let me catch you saying You-Know-Who's name again! Not in this household mister! Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother." He replied obediently.
He just didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to say it. They were Muggles after all.
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"The world is a planet!"
"No it's not, it's a turtle flying through space, upon which there are four elephants who support the Discworld, stupid Roundworld conspiracy theorist!"
"This is LITERALLY Roundworld! The bloody Disc is a bloody work of fiction! There was a crossover that went into the science by contrasting the two and everything!"
"Yes, the fictional exploits of those Roundworlders was quite entertaining, their evolution was quite exciting, if a bit drawn out. Glad we have a God for such matters."
"There is no God of Evolution. There is no Luggage. THERE IS NO MAGIC, AND *THERE IS NO DISCWORLD*!"
"Says you."
"That's NOT EVEN AN ARGUMENT!"
"I think you just need to get a bit knurd, and think about things."
"You know what, fine! Go toss yourself off a Rimfall then. There is no Disc, Mount Olympus is not Cori Celesti, Australia isn't named after a brand of beer, China is... Actually basically correct, historically anyway, and London does not have a river that is almost solid with contaminants... At least nowadays anyway."
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[WP] Write the history of a group (religion, country, people etc.) as a series of patch notes.
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*Patch 1.1*
------------
- Removed Starting Zone *Garden of Eden* and related tree items. Players now spawn from *Eve* and subsequent women
- *Serpent* NPC nerfed and now unable to speak after player complaints
- GMs given *Fiery Sword* items to deal with problem player characters
- *Mark of Caine* given to griefers, banning them from entering player settlements
- *Wickedness* attribute added.
*Patch 1.2*
------------
- Player-created *Flood* event removed
- All animal spawns reset to 2 per creature
- New Starting Zone *Mount Ararat*
- *Covenant of the Rainbow* added, prevents griefers from triggering future flood events
- PCs split into three tribes, PVP is now activated for the zones *Egypt* and *Canaan*
- *Tower of Babel* event added
*Patch 1.3*
------------
- *Tower of Babel* event ended, languages introduced
- City of *Sodom* removed after player complaints about NPC hospitality bug and GM exploits
- NPC *Abraham* introduced, spawns new questlines, including *Son's Sacrifice* and *The Treaty at Beersheba*
*Patch 1.4*
------------
- *Abraham* questgiver removed from game, added *Jacob, Esau* and *Joseph*
- Israelite faction may now spawn in Egypt
- *Pharaoh* boss added to *Palace of Egypt* instance
- *Oppression* attribute added for Israelite faction - spawns *Moses* NPC
*Patch 1.5*
------------
- *Moses* questgiver added, *Jacob, Esau* and *Joseph* removed
- All new player characters deleted due to initial *Wrath of the Pharaoh* event issues
- *Slave* character class added
- *Egyptian Wizard* character class added to balance *Moses* NPC
- *Oppression* attribute modified to spawn *Ten Plagues* event
*Patch 1.6*
------------
- *Pillar of Fire and Smoke* removed
- New Starting location *Sinai Desert*
- *Mana from Heaven* added due to low spawn rate of harvestable food animals - to be fixed next patch
- *Mount Sinai* added.
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***Patch 0.0***
Adam and Eve are now equipped with shame coverings.
Adam and Eve have been cursed by a permanent passive, God's Wraith - Eve will now lose HP when she levels up and Adam will no longer be able to regenerate at the holy fountain.
***Patch 0.1***
Moses granted elemental abilities, can manipulate water and fire.
All Hebrew characters now gain freedom passive bonus when near Moses, increased movement speed and invulnerability to water abilities.
Egyptians now have reduced defense against water abilities.
***Patch 0.2***
Noah granted power over beast ability, allowing him to control up to 2 of any animal.
He is also granted +50 ship building.
New legendary item, ark of the covenant added.
***Patch 1.0:***
New quests added - three wise men.
Mary now given immunity to judgement based abilities, with her immaculate conception passive.
Joseph given unsung hero passive, gains 2x experience in battles with Jewish opponents.
***Patch 1.1***
Bonus food and wine resources now available to parties of 12 formed.
Jesus now has +40 healing and ability to navigate all terrain.
***Patch 1.2***
Jesus now takes increased damage against Pharisee class.
Pontius Pilot now takes increased damage from apostle class.
Apostles now granted righteous fury buff around all Roman and Jewish characters.
***Patch 1.3***
Judas Iscariot has been permanently banned, due to toxic behaviour.
Peter has been granted a new ability, plausible deniability.
Jesus is now equipped with the reincarnation ability. Cool down 72 Hours.
He is also granted +20 strength, allowing him to move large objects.
***Patch 1.4***
Jesus is no longer playable, now a legendary character.
New guild formed, Christianity, gains experience at 1/4 rate of other guilds.
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[WP] A colony ship leaves Earth to settle on an Earthlike exoplanet. Halfway there, they meet another colony ship heading in the opposite direction.
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I stared through the thick glass porthole at the spacecraft as it loomed closer. It was enormous - maybe four and half times as large as the *Noah*, and we housed 350 personnel, 1.65 acres of enriched soil, and of course all the machinery needed to keep the whole operation running for 120 years.
The shape was also interesting: a near-perfect sphere, and it was rotating about a vertical axis inclined at 10 or 15 degrees, by my eye. I could reasonably assume that the beings who had created this ship had not discovered or mastered quantum control of gravitons, and had modeled craft after their own home planet. There was no obvious propulsion system, but I've been told that it was moving at a constant 9.5 km/s. This may seem fast but against the vast barren backdrop of space, this was a very leisurely speed. The skin of the craft was shiny and multi-paneled: cosmic radiation deflectors, presumably. Or perhaps absorbers - maybe this was their power source.
The door the lab slide open, and my colleague stuck his head in to inform me that the alien craft was answering none of our frequencies but due to the unusual but surreptitious shape of the unknown ship, we were going to try and enter its orbit. I moved to voice my doubts, as I believed a size ratio of 4:1 was still not great enough for a stable orbit, but he had already gone. I moved my attention back to the porthole.
Some hours later, the intercom announced that we had entered its orbit and a small 2-manned shuttle was being prepped for exploration. I checked the computer and was not surprised to see that our orbit was indeed unstable: with each revolution, we increased our eccentricity and eventually, our escape velocity would cross the threshold. But perhaps we had enough time to, dare I say, make contact with the as-of-yet unidentified masters of the spacecraft.
The report began to come in shortly after the selected astronauts, James Mannerus and Sarah Shannon, landed on the surface, and the news was not I had expected.
Nobody seemed to answer the door when James and Sarah knocked, so they drilled through the hull and ventured down using the ion-propulsion hover-packs. And they became rather silent as they continued to provide the video-stream - out of shock, I suppose, like the rest of us. The world inside was intricate, a beautiful combination of machine and vegetation. And we began seeing several individuals as well: tall, spindly legged creatures with tendrils in place of arms and large, disc-like eyes.
But they were all dead.
One lay splayed on bluish grass, while another was half-submerged in a slow-running river. A small group of six or seven had collapsed right onto paved walkways. Inside structures, James showed us several beings who could only be scientists, judging by the instruments in the enclosed spaces. Sarah had gone off to explore a large building that resembled an enormous pillar that ran from pole of the ship to the other, with central module from which thousands of long bridges stretched forth, like microtubules from a nucleus. Inside, we saw dozens, hundreds, maybe even a thousand such individuals. All still.
Our time window nears closing and the astronauts hasten to return. They will make it, I'm sure; what haunts my mind are the images of the sessile beings. Where had they come from - could it be our very destination? And perhaps more importantly, what had killed them?
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We couldnt stay there anymore. Earth had decided long ago to cleanse itself of the virus that we were. We had mined, dumped and polluted the planet all to hell.
Hopefully, we would learn from our past mistakes and treat our new home a hell of a lot better. Our ship "DLuvian" is a great ship and should get us there safe and sound.
Suddenly everything shifts, it feels as though someone has stopped time itself and I realize that we are coming out of hyperspeed. The ship has detected an impending object on a collision course with us. I head to the bridge and in front of us we see a ship. Hailing them results in the worst reverb/squelch a person will probably ever encounter.
As if on cue, the ship shifts to our left as we prepare for a slow pass by. Weapons are hot of course and our shields are top notch. At least by our standards.
Coming along the side of the ship, I feel a pit in my stomach. I can clearly see "DLuvian" on the side of the ship as it aligns with us......
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[WP] A colony ship leaves Earth to settle on an Earthlike exoplanet. Halfway there, they meet another colony ship heading in the opposite direction.
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“What do you mean, blue shifted?”
The captain’s puzzled whisper dropped abruptly into a ringing silence. The dining room was instantly quiet, as senior officers and the chosen passengers alike heard what by all rights should have been inaudible.
He gave an annoyed glance at the silent table, dabbed his mouth with the napkin and stood.
“Ladies and gentlemen, ship’s business calls me away. I apologise for interrupting the meal. Please, enjoy the full hospitality of the Captains Stateroom. First Officer Yee, I would like to see you and Navigator Williamson on the Bridge please.”
The named officers got to their feet, and with mumbled excuses made their way out the door. Behind them, the Second Officer attempted to restart the jovial atmosphere of the dinner party, to no avail. Passengers were worried, and the staff doubly so.
The *Liberty III* charged through EM-space, a quirk of space-time that had been discovered in the early 21st century. To an outside observer, it appeared as a wavering, ghostly shape elongated into a light-month long ovoid as it flashed along the boundary that separated reality from unreality. On the inside, it was a simple sphere about six hundred meters in diameter, luxuriously appointed for the Second Wave of the Colonial Expansion.
Ships had gone furtherer than the *Liberty III*, but she was the first vessel dispatched towards the Webb-15 planet groupings. Discovered shortly after the EM-space drive was tested, the Webb-15 results indicated a system with three exo-planets in the liquid water zone, and one of them had a spectroscopic signature that contained the unmistakable gleam of chlorophyll.
So the first ship of the Second Expansion had been pointed at Webb-15, and let fly. The finest sensors mankind could build had declared the route clean and clear. The ninety-three light-year journey would take a ‘mere’ eleven months and eight days.
*So*, mused the captain as he strode onto the bridge *what’s out there, heading towards us?*
“Analysis, Mr Stevens.”
“Aye Captain. Signal is blue-shifted indicating it’s coming towards us. Value of Doppler shift indicates the signal is approaching faster than our cruising speed. Observations indicate it is not accelerating at this time.”
“Can we get a visual?”
That was pure habit. Unlike low Earth Orbit or even the seas of Earth, In EM-space, objects could be hundreds of millions of kilometres away, barely visible specks that showed nothing.
Still, the viewer changed. The streaks of EM-space narrowed to a point – and directly on it was a faint blue point – barely one pixel out of a majestic swirling image.
“Size? Speed?”
“Estimate it to be at about point eight EM, and roughly….somewhere between one and three hundred meters in size. Relative distance is one light week, but that’s closing at one light-hour per minute. Estimate intercept in twenty-eight minutes.”
“General Quarters – Condition Yellow. Navigator, reduce our speed to point eight.”
The atonal howl of the deceleration alarm sounded throughout the ship. Passengers enjoying their dinners scrambled for the acceleration couches and restraint webbing slid down over every shop front and shelving unit.
“Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking. There is an obstacle in our immediate path, and we are undergoing precautionary deceleration. Please remain calm and follow the instructions of the stewards and automated systems. Thank you. All crew, report to Condition Three stations.”
The bridge was a flurry of activity as the massive engines wheeled about in their gyro-containers and began thrusting the other way. At first it was a slow and steady lessening of apparent gravity that soon gave way to weightlessness. Then gravity resumed, this time in the opposite direction. Entire compartments automatically rotated to compensate.
“Update time please, Mr Stevens”
“Intercept time revising upwards to fifty-three minutes.”
“Navigator. First Officer. Discussion. What do we know of that can breach the EM-barrier?”
There was one possibility that everyone on the bridge immediately leapt to…and studiously avoided saying. The Navigator tried though.
“Could be a comet or asteroid ejected from a system, sir. There are some theoretical models that raise the possibility of an EM-fissure near a black hole. Or…it could…”
The first officer was the one to raise the idea no-one was speaking of.
“Possibility of Intelligent agency, sir. EM-space cannot be broken into by known natural phenomena. For something to be in EM-space…it means it was placed there sir. Deliberately”
Alien intelligence. Something speculated about, but as yet unconfirmed. First Wave expansions had reported bacterial-level life, and the planet Eden boasted a honest-to-god crystalline forest, but aside from the Webb-15 chlorophyll readings, there was no confirmed extra-terrestrial *intelligent* life. The xenobiologists on Earth talked about a “Great Filter” and that if life was discovered, it would likely be more primitive than us.
All that sounded far more reassuring in a brightly-lit television studio on Earth, than in the depths of interstellar space, light-decades from safety.
“Captain, intercept time….is increasing! Object is slowing!”
A chill settled over the bridge. Natural objects did not change velocity.
“Stevens. Any signs of outgassing?”
A last desperate throw of the probability dice. A comet might slow if it outgassed in the wrong direction – but as Stevens and the captain knew, there was nothing in EM-space to heat an object to sublimation temperature.
“Negative. We are getting some spectra readings though. Metals. Titanium. Iron. Carbon.”
“Bring us to Condition Red please, First Officer Yee. Break out the manual X-Ray Charlie One Three.”
Alien Contact checklist. The Captain settled back in the command chair, pressed back by the one point three gees of deceleration, and began reading the manual unconcernedly, like one might read a novel. His nonchalant attitude swept like a cool breeze through the tense Bridge.
He looked up, turning the first page as he did so. “First Officer, since dinner was interrupted, could you ask Chief Steward Sanders to bring a hot meal to the bridge?”
Thirty-three minutes later, the captain put the manual down. As expected, there was absolutely nothing to cover an EM-space contact. Tribal contact, industrial contact, space-age contact, even a ‘please don’t squash us’ advanced contact. But nothing about mystery objects in EM-space. Apart from Protocol Omega, that was.
“Revised time to intercept?”
“Eighteen more minutes. Navigation has extrapolated a course projection”
“Bring it up.”
The display shifted to show the Earth-Webb route. The blue dot of the *Liberty III* blinked about halfway along the route. A red triangle was almost touching the dot, trailed by a solid line – the course they had data on. A dotted line swept right past the blue dot and continued on….to terminate at the Sol System.
“No chance they’re going past it?”
“Rules of EM-drive won’t allow it. They’re going to hit the Sol grav-well and drop out of drive just past the orbit of Mars in…twenty-seven months.”
“What about us?” The first officer looked concerned. “Will they hit us first?”
“Negative. It’ll be a ridiculously close shave, but the Unknown will pass us on our starboard side at a range of about four thousand kilometres. Too far away for our EM-field to interact with theirs.”
“Very well. Navigation, cut engines and rotate the ship ninety degrees to face. Operations, I want every camera and sensor we have concentrating forward. We want nano-second snapshots of the pass. I want to see exactly what we’re dealing with.”
The actual pass itself happened almost instantaneously. At relative velocities of several dozen times the speed of light, the two wraith-like shapes shot past each other in under a minute, each just appearing as an elongated smear.
The reconstruction took fifteen more minutes, and then the crew of the *Liberty III* beheld the first extra-terrestrial vessel that the human race had ever seen. Or more precisely the first three vessels.
The largest ship was structured like a dumbbell, with two spheres connected by a tube. The forward sphere was at least somewhat transparent, and massive structures could be seen inside it. Spectroscopy indicated chlorophyll, oxygen, carbon dioxide and nitrogen. Smaller cylinders clustered around the connecting tube, each the distinctive shape of an EM-drive engine.
The most worrying part was the rear dumbbell sphere. It was dark, and the reason was a visible – a massive gash surrounded by the dark soot of carbon scoring. An explosion – or possibly an attack. Radiation sensors had gotten an alarming spike in gamma radiation from the rear sphere, but not the forward one.
Running behind the main ship were two smaller ones – also dumbbell shaped, but tethered to the shattered sphere. These ones were significantly different though – the forward spheres were festooned with cylinders and boxes that carried a somehow ominous air. Both of these ‘parasite ships’ showed significant signs of carbon scoring.
--------
*To Be Continued, on account of hitting 10,000 char limit*
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We couldnt stay there anymore. Earth had decided long ago to cleanse itself of the virus that we were. We had mined, dumped and polluted the planet all to hell.
Hopefully, we would learn from our past mistakes and treat our new home a hell of a lot better. Our ship "DLuvian" is a great ship and should get us there safe and sound.
Suddenly everything shifts, it feels as though someone has stopped time itself and I realize that we are coming out of hyperspeed. The ship has detected an impending object on a collision course with us. I head to the bridge and in front of us we see a ship. Hailing them results in the worst reverb/squelch a person will probably ever encounter.
As if on cue, the ship shifts to our left as we prepare for a slow pass by. Weapons are hot of course and our shields are top notch. At least by our standards.
Coming along the side of the ship, I feel a pit in my stomach. I can clearly see "DLuvian" on the side of the ship as it aligns with us......
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[WP] You have just died, and your eternal fate is being decided in trial by combat. Every deed you have ever done, good or bad, is now manifest as a soldier in a battle to determine the fate of your soul.
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A sour wind blew through the air, rustling the dry grass of the endless field that would soon grow or wither depending upon the amount of blood shed by the man's spirit warriors.
On one side, an army of imps. Each imp donned rugged leather and bore clubs with spikes. They had the faces of swine and the horns and hooves of goats.
Behind the imps were the ghouls. Terrible, long and slender things, human-like in shape but too gangly and pale. Their dark hair draped in thin strings over their bony shoulders. They jaggedly maneuvered around the battlefield in unnatural, ghostly motions. They screamed, jaws too wide, accompanied by an abundance of black teeth and putrid breath.
Yet behind these ghouls were seven devils, one for each of the deadly sins. Each was fearsome, brandishing terrifying and merciless weapons, some blunt and others sharp. But the Devil of Wrath was by far the worst, with teeth as large as any of the front-line imps. His charred body and glowing eyes cast menacing, swirling shadows upon the ground, horns outstretched to the gray sky which spanned half the length of the devil's body.
And yet behind that was a possessed insect-hydra demon. It was bigger than anything on the battlefield. Each of its heads was twisted into the agonized face of a human, however, these were only fleshy masks pinned to the carapace of the red, scaly hydra. Around the skin where the eyes had been cut out shone the hydra's real eyes – black and beady. Each of its necks was several feet in length. Each neck had two more hydra heads coming off it, with their own flesh masks. The masks – every last one of them – were twisted in fear.
Certainly, this man had committed mortal crimes. However, he was a shrewd man with hope that the paragon spirits of benevolence, the envoys of his good will, would mass throughout the field in even bigger numbers.
A flash of light occurred, and with it, the first and only paragon to fight for this man's honor.
His name was Steve. One could tell because of the red cape bearing his name. He was a short, stocky man with mussed hair and a stupid grin. Drool hung gracefully from one side of his uneven lips. He was bound in armor too heavy to support him. Still, he pushed his bifocals up on the bridge of his nose and turned his back to the enemy, dragging his morning star upon the ground with immense difficulty. He panted and grunted until he got dizzy and collapsed.
“Well, Scheiße,” said Hitler.
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I read a story here a week or so ago about Hitler being a time traveller who committed all his evil deeds in order to fast track combat technology and prevent humanity from suffering an even worse fate at the hands of invading aliens.
I would love to see this WP as a continuation of that story.
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[WP] You have just died, and your eternal fate is being decided in trial by combat. Every deed you have ever done, good or bad, is now manifest as a soldier in a battle to determine the fate of your soul.
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I turned to the guy who seemed to be in charge.
"So, my good deeds will battle my bad deeds?"
"No, not exactly. All of you is one army, the bigger the impact of each deed, the stronger the soldier. They will listen to your every command, and they will fight for you unto death."
"What happens if I lose?"
"Not sure, never seen it happen."
Comforted, I walked into the arena to see a moderately sized army. The soldiers were fit and well armored, and they stared up at my opponent, granted, it took me a few seconds to scan the body, but it was definitely a dragon.
The battle was hard. My men surrounded the beast, taking jabs at it, and attempting to block its flame. The soldiers obeyed my every thought and fought valiantly. When the dust settled my army was nearly annihilated, but a few good deeds remained atop the beast.
"Good job kid, let's see here..." He opened an envelope. "Right, based on the deeds remaining alive, you have been chosen to reincarnate as an Eastern Gray Hawk. Have fun eaten pigeons kid."
"Wait, wh-*AUK*"
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I get into the arena. I look at my little companion with his little knife. Well at least he is armed. I am so going to lose. I feel like there is no possible chance at victory but I was told by the gruff guy at the entrance I had to go through with it.
The guy on the other side has a giant sword. He looks like he is a soldier ready for battle. Dammit I am going to lose I can feel it. The announcer says something I am really not paying attention. I look over at my "champion" as he waddles slowly out into the arena.
I look around for what I feel is going to be the last good moments of my existence. I see the guy move really fast toward my champion and slash his sword. No effect can be seen on my champion. Do I have a chance at winning? No he will clearly win. Again he slashes as my guy tries to close the gap between them. Finally my guy is standing next to him and stabs him with the knife.
Master Tonberry wins!
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