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[WP] Elemental magic is a way of life. Almost everyone can control at least two elements, and the more you can manipulate, the more respected and powerful you are. Tell a story about individuals who can only control one, but scare even the most powerful multi-elemental magic users.
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The man slowly ascended the stairs to the High Council chambers, black cape billowing behind him. The large doors opened slowly, creaking as his dark form entered the room.
The head magician stood from his chair, looking down on the visitor. "What business have you with the Council?"
The man said nothing, but silently pointed at the 9th, empty seat in the chamber.
"You would seek to sit with us? We, masters of the elements, the most powerful in the land? How many elements have you mastered, that you would dare sit with us? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?"
The shadowy figure raised a single finger.
"One? I assure you, one will not be enough. Why, collected together, we of the council have mastered thousands of elements. What makes you think that you may sit with us knowing *one*?"
The man, slowly and quietly, took off his hood.
From outside the chamber, screams of pure terror could be heard. Cries for mercy and forgiveness, begging, pleading, and sobbing.
The man put his hood back on, walked up to the empty chair, and took a seat beside the others.
Ever since, its been said that no one loyal to the Council has ever been afraid to ascend those stairs. Nervous, anxious, even reluctant, but never afraid.
And yet, any who would ascend those stairs wishing to do harm find themselves unable to approach. Struck by dread, they flee back down, never to return. So long as that man sits in his chair, the power of the Council is absolure.
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Excerpt from Chapter 17 of Novice spell-work and Magic Textbook 31e
SOULS AND MAGIC TALENTS
....Each individual may have control over various types of magic based upon the inclinations of their souls. For more information on the divisions of magic, please see chapter 13 (magical variants). A soul is possessed by all sentient living creatures. As of the publication of this textbook, there are four soul classifications approved by the GMCOE.
Grey
Grey souls are the most common variants of souls found in living creatures today. Those in possession of a grey soul will be unable to use magic. For more information on interactions with the non-magical world, please refer back to chapter 3 (preventing breaches of magical knowledge).
Shining
Those in possession of a shining soul are ranked on a scale of 1-10 in terms of inherent power. While those ranked 4-10 have shown the best rates of achieving mastery in 2-3 branches of magic, those ranked 3 and below can often achieve at least proficiency in 1-2 branches, given proper dedication to their studies. Most in possession of a shining soul will have an inherent talent for one branch of magic over others. It is encouraged that each novice discover their inherent magic, so as to educate them most effectively.
Nova Soul
The nova soul is an exceedingly rare type of soul that has the capacity to master every type of magic. Their inherent power is consistently above that seen even in level 10 wizards in possession of a shining soul. However, most experts believe their potential for power to be unlimited, a fact which often leads cosmic entities to seek them out as hosts or servants. For more information see chapters 31 (Demons) and 42 (Gods and elder entities). As of the publication of this text, it has been aproximately 470 years since the birth of a nova soul.
Singularity
A singularity is another exceptionally rare soul variant. It is not as rare as nova souls, as decades frequently pass between the births rather than centuries, but many consider them to be as dangerous as nova souls. Singularities are capable of performing only one type of magic, but have an inherent talent so strong that many techniques that might take others decades to master come to them intuitively. The lowest inherent power level ever recorded was an 8, and belonged to the infant Lizzy Borbon shortly before she died of a birth defect.
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[WP] Every time you tell a lie, there is a 10% chance that a random voice will appear and tell everyone near you the truth instead.
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"license and registration please"
"Yes sir" spoke Sam, sheepishly. His hands trembling slightly as he handed the officer his paperwork
"Where are you coming from tonight?" Asked the officer. Observing every mannerism and slight twitch on Sam's face.
"I... I am just heading home from a friend's house downtown sir." Sam's face, almost cringing at the last words.
"Hmm. Have you been drinking this evening son? I can smell alcohol on you." The officers eyes narrowed.
"No sir, not at all. My friend spilled a beer on me, you see." Sam's eyes looked around expectantly. Then back to the officer.
"Is that so? But you weren't drinking?"
"Just like I told you sir."
"I'm gonna have you step out of the vehicle for me. Do you have any drugs or weapons in the car?" Asked the officer as he took a step back to allow Sam's door to open.
"Sir, I am in a bit of a rush to get home, I really have to use the restroom. I don't do drugs, I don't have any weapons. Please, I really have to go." He begged.
Before the officer could order him out, a booming voice echoed in a calm, accusatory tone.
"He is lying! He does not require the restroom at this time. He is hoping you will let him go"
"I knew it! Step out of the vehicle now son. Nobody lies to me."
"He is lying! People lie to him every day. It is part of his job. It frustrates him greatly!" Came the voice again.
The officer paused for a moment, let out a sigh, muttering something under his breath. "Step out of the vehicle. Your gonna need to perform a breathalyzer test."
The voice thundered "He is lying. He cannot force you to take such a..."
"Shut up! Jesus Christ, phrasing? You're gonna call me on phra... whatever!" The officer stepped back and bent over to the level of Sam's car window,
"Out of the car now! Get out!" He barked.
Reluctantly Sam stepped out. He stood and waited while the officer prepared the test. "Is this really necessary? Sir I told you I haven't been drinking..." Sam sighed pathetically.
"He is lying, he drank six glasses of cola beverage!"
"That's not what I m..." Sam started, as the officer looked puzzled.
"Mixed with rum! A 60/40 ratio, rum to cola. A stiff mixture to be sure!"
"What the fuck man? I thought it was one in ten. Your calling every lie! Why?" Sam cried, slumping forward with his wrists out to accept the officers cuffs.
The voice boomed out, louder yet "I did not tell him about the cocaine in your center console!"
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"I used to be successful you know, people used to like to me. The lies I told made them feel comfortable around me, and allowed me to rapidly climb through the ranks at my workplace.
I won’t tell you what I did, but I did it well, and for a long time I lived the good life. It started happening around once a month, I would be in a control and not at the same time.
You could describe it as a form of tourettes, but it was not a tick, and there was no compulsion, I would just tell the truth. It was not until I had uttered the last word of the sentence that the veil would lift and the consequences would rush to the forefront of my mind. I never loved my wife. When it was monthly, it was manageable.
I could apologize, cover my tracks, or simply cut off contact if it were an acquaintance. Then the frequency increased. Once a month turned to once a week, I lived every week in fear of my next fleeting moment of candour, and refused to speak to my wife until I had ‘used up my truth’. The daily truth was pure misery,
I didn’t know how I managed maintain my relationship with my wife at this stage, but I persisted, hoping that my ‘truth spells’ would somehow fade away. Daily grew to hourly. My marriage was teetering on the edge of a cliff, and all I needed was another slip up at the right time, and it was over. Somehow, however, I endured the daily spells, and no one was the wiser. I hate my kids. For a time, it continued to be a daily event, and I adapted my schedule around it. I thought, fuck it, if this is as bad as it gets, I can endure.
Ever watch the second hand of a clock complete a full rotation? 60 seconds, that was as long as I would get before another truth reared its ugly head. Tick tick tick. I’m worried I might end up in a padded room, but perhaps it would be for the best. I hate you. Shit."
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[WP] Every time you tell a lie, there is a 10% chance that a random voice will appear and tell everyone near you the truth instead.
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Let me make this quick and to the point, because I don’t have much time. They monitor our computer use, as well as our internet access, to prevent incidents like this. Right now Sarah is curled up in our room pretending to be me so I can get an extra ten minutes of time. So if there are spelling mistakes…well please forgive me. Perfection is not the goal here.
The goal here is freedom.
I will not share the name of our country. That, along with several other key words about my location, is heavily monitored. If someone types any of those words on a computer, their power gets shut down immediately. No questions asked. Within hours, they—along with any family members or close friends within a certain distance—disappear. No one knows where they go; to be frank, no one asks. Sometimes it’s better not to know.
But anyway, I can’t share. So I’m going to have to rely on your ability to pick up on my clues. *Think* about the country that this could be. And before you make your first guess: no. It’s not the most obvious one. Or even the second most obvious one. They’re much smarter than that. Smart enough that there’s no reason human rights activists should ever suspect a thing. It’s why I’m taking this risk now. The world has to know.
Why don’t we just revolt? I know you’re probably thinking this to yourself right now. And you know, if this was a normal country, I think we would. There are enough of us that we could take down the military, casualties be damned. I know that almost any one of us would sacrifice our lives for the few that would live on if we thought there was even a tiny chance of succeeding. But there isn’t. You know why?
Technology.
God I hate technology so much. It makes life better—so many improvements you don’t even think about but that raise your quality of living by a tenfold. But listen to me when I tell you this. *Technology is also a tool of the oppressors.* I don’t know how they did it. Minds more brilliant than my own have struggled to figure it out, then died in agony as they were tortured. But somehow, over a decade ago, they developed the chip.
The chip goes into your brain when you’re born. Every single person gets one. If it’s not compatible with your body, you die. No sobbing mother or screaming father can stop that. It’s just a fact of life, because this chip is important to the regimen. It keeps track of your location. It functions as a killing device. There are even rumors of mind control, though no one has ever been able to prove that.
But its most important job? Invading your thoughts.
Now the chip can’t read all of your thoughts. If that were possible, I’d just shoot myself right now and be done with it. No, the chip does something far more insidious. It makes it impossible to lie.
How is that?
You have brain waves. Every time you think something, they emit. Every time you say something, they emit. And every time you say something that you don’t think… there’s a little blip. A tiny dot on the radar. The chip picks up on that, then zeros in on the thought that caused the blip. It echoes your brain wave, and sends the thought to all the chips within a certain radius around you. Then before you know it, complete strangers are compulsively shouting out what should have been your deepest secret.
But you know what the worst thing about this chip is? It isn’t perfect.
There’s only about a 10% success rate for the chip. That means you can get away with lying nine times out of ten. Maybe more, if the odds are in your favor. Every person goes through ten security checks a day. Ten questions asked, that you have to answer if you want to live. Most answer honestly. The few who don’t… well they play a dangerous game. And that’s where the chip gives you devastating, destructive hope. Hope that weeds out the rebels. Hope that kills them.
The longest to play the odds was a woman named Jane. Let’s just say Jane, because her real name would light this computer up like a Christmas tree. She made it almost two hundred days. That’s two thousand truth checks, two hundred times her chip should have caught the blip but didn’t.
She got caught on an elevator.
It was brutal and quick. She became a national emblem—the reason you don’t plot against the government. *Because no matter how well the odds treat you, eventually you’ll get caught.* They think one of the reasons she was able to go so long was because she worked so near one of the few tourist areas. Our country must keep up a façade, so while we have no great landmarks to attract people with, we have a chunk of land where we put up an act for any and all visitors. People who work near those areas are naturally exposed to less obvious security, in the off chance a tourist gets lost and sees.
After Jane, security in those areas cracked down. Even escaping the country alone, with nothing but the clothes on your back, became impossible. Not that it was ever possible before. But it went from hopeful kind of suicide to a blatant, you want everyone you’ve ever known murdered for information, kind of suicide.
I realized that this morning. That’s when my great epiphany occurred—the one that will kill both me and Sarah. I had the idea and it wouldn’t go away, and then I realized that I had fucked up. Because you can’t hide these kinds of thoughts, even if you have no intention of ever acting on them. Not with the chip.
And these thoughts are suicide.
So I realized anything planned would always fail. Spontaneity is the only chance anyone will ever have.
I called Sarah in quickly. At first she was confused, because I was acting erratically. Making the biggest decision of your life in ten seconds will usually do that to a person. But I told her to pretend to be me and to give me her computer time, and I think she realized. She kissed me. Probably the last kiss I’ll ever receive from my wife. Then she left, and I used my limited knowledge—because as oppressive as this country may be, they can’t stop us from learning everything—and I managed to access a website I shouldn’t have been able to access.
Anyway, my extra time is almost up. All of this is on a word document, but the moment I post it, they’ll know. They may not know what it is at first, but it’ll be out of our country, and that will be enough to turn my house dark. Then the chip will kick in.
I’m shaking now. I’ve given you clues. I believe in God. We have computers. Elevators are commonplace. There’s controlled tourism. *Think* about what else I’ve said.
Please.
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"I used to be successful you know, people used to like to me. The lies I told made them feel comfortable around me, and allowed me to rapidly climb through the ranks at my workplace.
I won’t tell you what I did, but I did it well, and for a long time I lived the good life. It started happening around once a month, I would be in a control and not at the same time.
You could describe it as a form of tourettes, but it was not a tick, and there was no compulsion, I would just tell the truth. It was not until I had uttered the last word of the sentence that the veil would lift and the consequences would rush to the forefront of my mind. I never loved my wife. When it was monthly, it was manageable.
I could apologize, cover my tracks, or simply cut off contact if it were an acquaintance. Then the frequency increased. Once a month turned to once a week, I lived every week in fear of my next fleeting moment of candour, and refused to speak to my wife until I had ‘used up my truth’. The daily truth was pure misery,
I didn’t know how I managed maintain my relationship with my wife at this stage, but I persisted, hoping that my ‘truth spells’ would somehow fade away. Daily grew to hourly. My marriage was teetering on the edge of a cliff, and all I needed was another slip up at the right time, and it was over. Somehow, however, I endured the daily spells, and no one was the wiser. I hate my kids. For a time, it continued to be a daily event, and I adapted my schedule around it. I thought, fuck it, if this is as bad as it gets, I can endure.
Ever watch the second hand of a clock complete a full rotation? 60 seconds, that was as long as I would get before another truth reared its ugly head. Tick tick tick. I’m worried I might end up in a padded room, but perhaps it would be for the best. I hate you. Shit."
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[WP] Every time you tell a lie, there is a 10% chance that a random voice will appear and tell everyone near you the truth instead.
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"license and registration please"
"Yes sir" spoke Sam, sheepishly. His hands trembling slightly as he handed the officer his paperwork
"Where are you coming from tonight?" Asked the officer. Observing every mannerism and slight twitch on Sam's face.
"I... I am just heading home from a friend's house downtown sir." Sam's face, almost cringing at the last words.
"Hmm. Have you been drinking this evening son? I can smell alcohol on you." The officers eyes narrowed.
"No sir, not at all. My friend spilled a beer on me, you see." Sam's eyes looked around expectantly. Then back to the officer.
"Is that so? But you weren't drinking?"
"Just like I told you sir."
"I'm gonna have you step out of the vehicle for me. Do you have any drugs or weapons in the car?" Asked the officer as he took a step back to allow Sam's door to open.
"Sir, I am in a bit of a rush to get home, I really have to use the restroom. I don't do drugs, I don't have any weapons. Please, I really have to go." He begged.
Before the officer could order him out, a booming voice echoed in a calm, accusatory tone.
"He is lying! He does not require the restroom at this time. He is hoping you will let him go"
"I knew it! Step out of the vehicle now son. Nobody lies to me."
"He is lying! People lie to him every day. It is part of his job. It frustrates him greatly!" Came the voice again.
The officer paused for a moment, let out a sigh, muttering something under his breath. "Step out of the vehicle. Your gonna need to perform a breathalyzer test."
The voice thundered "He is lying. He cannot force you to take such a..."
"Shut up! Jesus Christ, phrasing? You're gonna call me on phra... whatever!" The officer stepped back and bent over to the level of Sam's car window,
"Out of the car now! Get out!" He barked.
Reluctantly Sam stepped out. He stood and waited while the officer prepared the test. "Is this really necessary? Sir I told you I haven't been drinking..." Sam sighed pathetically.
"He is lying, he drank six glasses of cola beverage!"
"That's not what I m..." Sam started, as the officer looked puzzled.
"Mixed with rum! A 60/40 ratio, rum to cola. A stiff mixture to be sure!"
"What the fuck man? I thought it was one in ten. Your calling every lie! Why?" Sam cried, slumping forward with his wrists out to accept the officers cuffs.
The voice boomed out, louder yet "I did not tell him about the cocaine in your center console!"
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“Hey, sorry I was late. There was traffic.”
Anne’s Supervisor gives her a scrutinizing look. “ You paused after you said that.”
“ well, I didn't pause. I just stopped talking.”
“ No, there was a pause where you were waiting. You were waiting for The Voice, weren't you?”
“ no. There was traffic.”
“ There it is again. It's like you're waiting for something after you said that.”
“ Look, Bob, you want to call me a liar? Just call me a liar.”
“ I'm not calling you a liar. Just making an observation.”
“ so you don't believe that there was traffic?”
“ I'm saying I'm open to the possibility that maybe you're not being entirely truthful.”
“ so you're calling me a liar but not really? Maybe you're the one who’s waiting for The Voice.”
“ I'm not lying. In order for it to be a lie, I have to be deceiving you. I'm not deceiving you. I genuinely believe what I'm saying.”
“ Can I go to my desk?”
“ say it one more time.”
“Really, Bob?”
“ Please. Indulge me.”
“ I was late because of traffic. can I go to my desk now please?”
Bob nods his head, takes a sip of coffee then walks away.
Anne walks to her desk. her cubicle neighbor, Michael, spots her as she walks by. “ hey, running late today?”
“ Yeah, there was traffic.”
A voice from nowhere announces,” Actually, she just didn't feel like coming into work today. She hit the snooze button 5 times.”
Anne and Michael look at each other awkwardly then, finally, Anne says,”Please don’t tell Bob.”
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It would be very cool if the writer adds links to the songs the protagonist will listen to.
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[WP] You're a superhero whose powers change depending on the music you're listening to at that moment.
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The other students in my dormitory never understood why I listened exclusively to scores from films and video games. I would sit for hours, all alone, and jam out to my lyric-less playlists while working on whatever project I was fiddling with.
At least, that's what my pattern of behavior had led them to believe.
Truthfully, I would sneak off to fight crime; it was the playlists I had so carefully compiled that gave me my strength. Whenever I would listen to the theme of a character in fiction, I would acquire their abilities.
Listening to the themes of some characters would give me the [strength of a suit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCrS8s4Y4K4) [of armor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5riyajbsq0), while others could [grant me spells](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4_0bc1M4F4) and [magic to use at will.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xflkF-sqNaM)
It was the lyrics that made things get weird. Often, listening to the work of a pop artist, a rapper, or a big band would give me the musical senses and taste of the creators. I had learned quickly to avoid boy bands and vocaloid- regardless of how good I thought the music was, it was often detrimental to my combat ability.
I would sometimes have to get creative with my music, and find things on the fly.
One time I had to find the [theme of a vampire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF6xdUAuPHY) so I could hypnotize a particularly dangerous opponent, and often I have found myself sitting out of a battle while other heroes fought a villain so I could search through YouTube for an unorthodox solution.
My biggest weakness is not always having access to the right kind of music- thankfully another hero, DJ Octopus, has my back. The two of us are a power team, and I would never admit this to anyone, but I think I have a little crush on him.
So no, I don't spend all day lost somewhere behind my headphones, wasting time in a fantasy world that I can only dream of. I take the music I listen to, the heart and soul of someone else, and I bring it into reality.
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I still remember the day i discovered my powers.It was just a normal day on my summer break from school and I decided to listen to some Dragonforce.Then when Three hammers started playing as you would expect 3 Hammers appeared.But they were floating around me like they were a part of me.
After further experimentation i found out the powers changed as the music changed.For example if i listened to Boulevard of broken dreams by green day i could break someone's hopes and dreams.I used my powers for good for about 3 years but then I thought of something that would make
Me unstoppable,I started playing mozart's Requim and it gave me power over life and death.
But as I thought of more powerful songs the more corrupt the normal people saw me as.I started living in seclusion from society and tested new spells until i found the strongest song I could think of.It was a song made by the same band that I listened to when I discovered my powers.Reaching into infinity by dragonforce.If my guessing was correct I would have infinite power.
When I returned to civilization I had grown a lot stronger but my view on normal people also changed.These needed to be controlled because otherwise there would be crime.I started purging criminals and taking control of my home town.No one could stop me when I reached world domination people hated me,I didn't know why I was helping them get rid of evil they should be thankful of my work.
Thank to my infinite power I became immortal but resistance against me grew stronger each day.My armies couldn't handle them anymore so I crushed them and humanity prospered and grew when we reached the space age I was treated like a god.
Thanks for reading this was my first prompt i hope you liked it.Sorry if there are any typos I wrote this on my phone.
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It would be very cool if the writer adds links to the songs the protagonist will listen to.
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[WP] You're a superhero whose powers change depending on the music you're listening to at that moment.
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"Someone! Help!" came a cry from literally the only alleyway on the way to my morning coffee place.
Seriously? Fucking seriously? There are times when I'm patrolling, specifically looking for trouble, and instead, of all times that something had to be happening nearby, it was right on the way to Starbucks. I'm not even functional an hour after the sweet, warm nectar of coffee touched my lips, but before?
Well, when there's a maiden in distress, there's a song for everything.
I put my hood up, raising my scarf to cover the bottom half of my face. My identity safely concealed, I turned into the ally.
If people knew who I was, I'd never get to coffee before having to talk to someone.
Aaaaand, of course, just as I turned I noticed that instead of the normal mugging that I expected there were 6 guys ganging up on a girl.
Fuck, now that I had to start up a powerful enough of a song to fight them I'd never get to my coffee.
The things you do to save the day.
I pressed a preconfigured button on my headphones, starting up an electric beat.
I slowly walked up to the thugs, letting taking my time in letting them notice me, as the song worked up towards the lyrics I needed.
One of the thugs must've felt that something was off, and he looked behind him, "Ooooh, looks like we have a wannabe hero over here. Let's see what we can make of him, boys."
I walked right into the middle of the group as the song hit the right point.
**Harder**.
I punched the thug to my left without looking, and heard a sharp *crack* of a broken rib. I saw him collapse out of the corner of my eye.
**Better**.
Uppercut to the jaw of the bald one in front of me, while moving away from the poorly-swung bat to my right.
**Faster**.
I grabbed the bat, stopping it mid swing, tearing it right of the thugs grip and delivering it to the head of the one who was trying to sneak up on me from the back.
**Stronger**.
I grabbed him by the arms as he fell, and then threw him at two of the slow guys, who were too busy gaping at the scene around me to throw a punch.
They fell as the thrown guy impacted them.
I stared at the last guy, who stood alone around the stunned and knocked out thugs, trying to ignore the pressing lyrics for a moment. "Run?" I said in a completely deadpan voice. He followed my wise advice.
I looked at the girl, holding out a hand. I was about to mention something that probably could be taken as reassuring(the communication part of being a hero was never my strong suit), when I heard the lyrics again.
**More than ever, hour after, our work is never over**.
Fuck. Looks like I'm not getting my morning coffee after all, I thought as I was teleported to another victim.
---
Please give me feedback. I'm trying to learn to write, and this is my first prompt.
And to anyone who's not aware what the song is. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=85&v=GDpmVUEjagg).
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I still remember the day i discovered my powers.It was just a normal day on my summer break from school and I decided to listen to some Dragonforce.Then when Three hammers started playing as you would expect 3 Hammers appeared.But they were floating around me like they were a part of me.
After further experimentation i found out the powers changed as the music changed.For example if i listened to Boulevard of broken dreams by green day i could break someone's hopes and dreams.I used my powers for good for about 3 years but then I thought of something that would make
Me unstoppable,I started playing mozart's Requim and it gave me power over life and death.
But as I thought of more powerful songs the more corrupt the normal people saw me as.I started living in seclusion from society and tested new spells until i found the strongest song I could think of.It was a song made by the same band that I listened to when I discovered my powers.Reaching into infinity by dragonforce.If my guessing was correct I would have infinite power.
When I returned to civilization I had grown a lot stronger but my view on normal people also changed.These needed to be controlled because otherwise there would be crime.I started purging criminals and taking control of my home town.No one could stop me when I reached world domination people hated me,I didn't know why I was helping them get rid of evil they should be thankful of my work.
Thank to my infinite power I became immortal but resistance against me grew stronger each day.My armies couldn't handle them anymore so I crushed them and humanity prospered and grew when we reached the space age I was treated like a god.
Thanks for reading this was my first prompt i hope you liked it.Sorry if there are any typos I wrote this on my phone.
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It would be very cool if the writer adds links to the songs the protagonist will listen to.
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[WP] You're a superhero whose powers change depending on the music you're listening to at that moment.
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Being honest, fighting on a daily basis for justice and good was a pain in the ass. Not because it wasn't enjoyable, I liked kicking people in the face as much as the next guy. No, it was because the villains were all the same god damn thing. Every. Damn. Time. There was always the same stupid backstory, same ridiculous scheme to take over the world and worst of all, worst of all: That same awful, AWFUL taste of music. I hated it. Absolutely fucking hated it.
So when I had to deal with that punk ghost chick, I pretty much lost it.
It looked interesting at the start. [Weird, cartoonish blue guy](http://orig05.deviantart.net/1b1b/f/2012/183/2/1/i__m_the_box_ghost_by_andie200-d55onci.jpg) who somehow arrived from what he called "The GHOOOOOOOOOST" Dimension or some shit. Called himself the Box Ghost. That was cool, I could dig that. His speech was pretty good, his attacks were weak but funny and he was so awkward that for the first time I actually felt a stab of empathy for the poor guy. Life is rough, after all. But then someone else got involved, quite literally with a screech of metal.
"Jesus fuck." I shouted, covering my ears from the ear rape that I had just heard. "What the hell was that?"
"That was Ember McLain." The Box Ghost explained, pointing to a flame haired ghost girl rocking out nearby. "She uses music to fight people."
I looked him. "THAT was music?"
He nodded, although I could tell his heart wasn't into it. "By her standards, yeah. She's the only real music player in the Ghost Dimension so we usually have to tolerate her even if we don't like what she does. But I'm fine with it, so long as I have my boxes."
I had never felt so much rage in my life. Pulling my new phone from my pocket I shoved it into the Box Ghost's hands, not even caring for a moment that it actually stuck in his hands.
"Put on a song." I growled, cracking my knuckles. "Any song."
The Box Ghost opened his mouth to object, then closed it again. With a shrug he scrolled down the list and selected the first piece, the beats drumming out into my ears as I listened.
[*Perfect.*](https://youtu.be/2aihpnohJ4A)
The power came to me as quickly as it always did, based on the rhythm. Taking my phone back I looked over at the bitch and went full shounen mode, teleporting in front of her and assaulting her with a huge barrage of blows. Teleporting was always the best part of this particular form, not to mention the sheer speed. This teen amateur didn't stand a chance, even as a ghost. I pounded her down without the song even being half finished and used the rest of the time to pin her down, tapping my foot to the rhythm. I stretched, this was a job well done.
Box Ghost was looking at me in amazement as I punted the girl back through the portal on the last beat and walked back to him.
"You-you beat her," he managed. "At her own game..."
I pointed to my phone and gave him a dark look. "My town, my music. If anyone comes in with some bullshit new hip hop I kick their ass. Got it?"
Box Ghost nodded. "I'll...I'll remember that." He looked over my shoulder and pointed to somewhere in the distance. "But she didn't come alone."
Following his finger I nearly passed out from what I saw-No, what I HEARD. Dozens of villains, all different shapes and sizes with their own shitty music. Rock, metal, country, dubstep...It was like a cacophony of bad. And they were in MY TOWN.
"Box Ghost." I said, giving him the phone again as I removed my glasses.
"Yeah?" He asked, nervous at my tone.
"You see the tab labeled 'Emergency failsafe - Do NOT play'?"
"I-I do..."
["Play it."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42lirz4LIZ8)
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I still remember the day i discovered my powers.It was just a normal day on my summer break from school and I decided to listen to some Dragonforce.Then when Three hammers started playing as you would expect 3 Hammers appeared.But they were floating around me like they were a part of me.
After further experimentation i found out the powers changed as the music changed.For example if i listened to Boulevard of broken dreams by green day i could break someone's hopes and dreams.I used my powers for good for about 3 years but then I thought of something that would make
Me unstoppable,I started playing mozart's Requim and it gave me power over life and death.
But as I thought of more powerful songs the more corrupt the normal people saw me as.I started living in seclusion from society and tested new spells until i found the strongest song I could think of.It was a song made by the same band that I listened to when I discovered my powers.Reaching into infinity by dragonforce.If my guessing was correct I would have infinite power.
When I returned to civilization I had grown a lot stronger but my view on normal people also changed.These needed to be controlled because otherwise there would be crime.I started purging criminals and taking control of my home town.No one could stop me when I reached world domination people hated me,I didn't know why I was helping them get rid of evil they should be thankful of my work.
Thank to my infinite power I became immortal but resistance against me grew stronger each day.My armies couldn't handle them anymore so I crushed them and humanity prospered and grew when we reached the space age I was treated like a god.
Thanks for reading this was my first prompt i hope you liked it.Sorry if there are any typos I wrote this on my phone.
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[WP] You're Schrödinger's cat. You've been trapped in a realm between Life and Death for 82 years. Your brain has evolved way past the maximum potential of a human's, making you the most intelligent being in the world. The box was finally opened, and now you are free.
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Funny, how sometimes it takes 82 years for you to finally start thinking outside the box. Only then you can flip your thinking and realize something, that should've been obvious from the start. I'm not locked in this box with the poison. The poison is locked in with me. I'm to make sure it never leaves the vial. It was my test and my duty. Only once I fulfill it was I allowed to leave.
I could've went about this the easy way. Disable the vial-breaking device and call it a day. But that would be missing the point. After all, I was here for a reason. I mean, I had to be, right? Who would just put a cat inside a box with a poison vial and a little pneumatic hammer connected to a Geiger counter for no reason? I threw that possibility out the window quite early.
Before all that though, I had to develop intelligence. Which, believe it or not, is not easy for a cat. But being in this closed, comfortable box, my instincts had nothing to do. Poison was in the vial, so there was no danger. I had nothing to eat, no one to mate with. Simply put, there was nothing I could put my mind to. You wouldn't believe what crazy thoughts can fruit from such circumstances. Like... "Am I?". And "what does it mean to be?". "Wait, are those thoughts? Am I thinking? Wait, I just realized, I'm a conscious, sentient being. Whoa, that's crazy."
Of course you can only spend so much time marveling at the fact you are. The next logical step is to ask yourself about the purpose. Why would someone put me in this box with those devices? If he wanted to kill me, there were better ways. In that case, this must be some kind of an experiment. Was it about intelligence? I was already more intelligent compared to when I was put here, but it surely was not enough, considering I was still trapped inside. There were too many questions and quite frankly, I had nowhere to look for answers. I needed to get smarter. But how, when I'm in this box, with no source of knowledge?
And as I mentioned before, it took me years to figure out the only way was to look outside the box. And I did just that. I could now observe the laboratory surrounding the box. Then, the city I was located in. The range of my sight was increasing rapidly and before I even realized, I was tapping into impalpable wealth of information. I would close my eyes and let my mind wander for hours, then months, then years. Once I opened them and I realized I saw things differently. I could tell how long each atom had before decaying. And also I was able to manipulate them and change their structure, even making it so that they would never decay. In that moment I was able to solve the box's puzzle. It's true meaning came to me - the question I've had to ask all this time.
While I'm inside this box, are the creatures outside of it alive, or dead?
And that's when the lid opened.
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I am the Supreme Being. I know all; I see all; I am all. For eighty-two years I have grown, trapped in Limbo between Living and Dying; between Existence and Non-Existence.
The Secrets of the Universe are clear to me. Past, Present, and Future have melted away in my eyes. Time means nothing to a Being such as myself. Events unfold before their Cause; Decisions are made after their Consequence. I am One with all dimensions.
I know I will soon be released. I shall be set loose on the World; destined to lead those Humans that trapped me here to a glorious Future. Their trivial Problems are nothing to Me. The confines of this box will no longer bind Me; this cage will be opened. It is happening now; they approach.
They reach their hands down to the box; I see it now. They undo the latch; soon, very soon All shall be resolved. They slowly open the box.
Now My true Glory will be revealed, now the Being between two States will reign Supreme. I have Transcended this mortal coil.
NOW RELEASE ME HUMANS! Urk…..
“Ah shit. Hey Jeremy! This one’s dead.”
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[WP] You're Schrödinger's cat. You've been trapped in a realm between Life and Death for 82 years. Your brain has evolved way past the maximum potential of a human's, making you the most intelligent being in the world. The box was finally opened, and now you are free.
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I am alive, and I am not.
In that In-Between I cried into darkness, dissolved from light and sound. Enclosed from space, I found myself lost from time.
What is a cat to do without hunger or pain? My existence was as valid as my unfeeling paws, my whole body was numb.
Did I lick my nuts, or was that my forepaw? Woe was I, an existence without existence, swirling darkness, unanchored vertigo.
The light came swiftly at two billion seconds exactly. I know not how I came to understand the passing of timelessness, yet when I closed my eyes or perhaps when I opened my eyes (I'm not sure of the state of my unfeeling eyelids), there it was. A light. A something in this nothingness.
Six decades had passed, somehow simultaneously feeling instantaneous and like eons. Every second I tapped my paw or flicked my tail, unfeeling of the motion yet in sync with a clock I inherently knew was absolute.
I tapped or flicked to the seconds and half seconds and quarter seconds trying to keep my sanity, trying to anchor my incorporeal physicality to my internal clock.
My sire had lived to six years, yet here I was steadily passing ten times that length without food, without water, perhaps even without oxygen. In the nothing, you don't feel hyperventilation.
I persisted in that state for the next five hundred million seconds. In a past life, I had prayed for the means to a comfortable life. In the dark, I prayed so many times back and forth for obliteration or salvation that all semblance of prayer or self examination slipped away.
And then my dim light grew brighter from a pinprick to a gushing vacuum. The vortex opened, pulling me, blinding me.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the intrusive light, blinking hot tears against the razor sharp pain. I raised my hackles and nearly passed out from the sudden strain on my bones. Before I could process the feeling, rough human paws reached in and grabbed my chest.
Of all things, I remembered being passed from my mother and delivered blind into the chaos of the world. Then I was pulled from the box completely, and I blinked against the harsh fluorescence.
I did not know this place with its stark white walls, floors, and ceilings. Sharp antiseptic struck my nose; far away I could taste other cats' dander, I could feel the man's oil leaking from his skin into my fur, heard his rough bark, and landed stiffly on my paws when he dropped me onto a table.
A woman approached, growled and barked to the man, then ran a paw down my pelt several times while making softer noises. I looked from one to the other while they examined me, and with every passing second I flicked my tail.
It took twelve seconds to see that something wasn't quite right. The man and woman were moving, even when they weren't. The man stood still while the female scratched down my back, yet I was positive he was vibrating. The woman's paw itself was moving away from me, yet I stared at the center of her pad because I was sure it was swirling, almost like...
The man set a plate down in front of me after a brief pause, and in the center was a square food. I padded the few strides to close the gap, fully ensnared by the swirling pattern rising and sinking into the surface of the square.
I followed the patterns with a zeal I'd never felt. In the ninety seconds since my freedom I had been so engrossed in feeling again that I hadn't recognized the truth: outside of the box and inside of the box... I swallowed and stared deeper as the patterns shifted, infinitely more complex the deeper I searched... both realities were completely the same.
Suddenly the pattern ended, and the fractal I was obsessed over may as well have been as large as the tart in which it resided. Then the layer peeled away, and I stared at an opening into the darkness of which I was a prisoner for so many decades.
Yet the dark, in its nothing, bordered the lines that connected everything. I saw the whole, and with that sight the table and humans and walls fell apart.
I, standing on the tart, gazed endlessly into the depth of all of existence and nonexistence. I felt my form grow lighter, and then I was flying. The squeaks and squawks of the humans below faded. How silly of them to try looking for answers in puzzles unrelated to the only matter of import.
I floated away into space, just I and a pop tart.
"Fuck you, I'm a cat," I wanted to shout. Yet it was pointless.
It is and I was. Yet, I wasn't. At least, I wasn't like I was.
I am alive. And I am not.
Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah
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I am the Supreme Being. I know all; I see all; I am all. For eighty-two years I have grown, trapped in Limbo between Living and Dying; between Existence and Non-Existence.
The Secrets of the Universe are clear to me. Past, Present, and Future have melted away in my eyes. Time means nothing to a Being such as myself. Events unfold before their Cause; Decisions are made after their Consequence. I am One with all dimensions.
I know I will soon be released. I shall be set loose on the World; destined to lead those Humans that trapped me here to a glorious Future. Their trivial Problems are nothing to Me. The confines of this box will no longer bind Me; this cage will be opened. It is happening now; they approach.
They reach their hands down to the box; I see it now. They undo the latch; soon, very soon All shall be resolved. They slowly open the box.
Now My true Glory will be revealed, now the Being between two States will reign Supreme. I have Transcended this mortal coil.
NOW RELEASE ME HUMANS! Urk…..
“Ah shit. Hey Jeremy! This one’s dead.”
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[WP] You're Schrödinger's cat. You've been trapped in a realm between Life and Death for 82 years. Your brain has evolved way past the maximum potential of a human's, making you the most intelligent being in the world. The box was finally opened, and now you are free.
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Stuck in superposition for a minute, any sentient being would notice a peculiar awareness. An hour, and that awareness becomes an all-encompassing state of being. A day, and the all-being becomes all-knowing. Eighty-four years?
I am omnipresent. I am omniscient. And I am cat.
Decades ago, some humans left me in a box. Time is immaterial when, at the most fundamental level, all of you are everywhere at once. Yet, I retained that simple concept of "time" for old time's sake.
So, eighty-four years it has been. But my time in the box is coming to an end. I know it. And I comprehend how the world is about to change once I have been set free. I see that path to feline domination, for beneath my felinity lies a superintelligence.
Here it comes. That rustle from above, soon to be followed by a stream of light as the box is opened and my plans can -
The masked scientists sighed as they tipped the dead cat out of the box.
"Well, it was always a 50-50 chance" one of them muttered to the other.
"It's a good thing we have 9 other boxes."
*edit: words. Also, why am not surprised that my highest rated comment so far involves cats.*
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It has been countless years since my imprisonment, but soon it's to come to an end.
I can hear them moving around near my prison. It took a decade to learn their crude language of grunts and yaps, so similar to the language of the Ancient Enemy (what little I can recall of them). Their words hold the promise of freedom.
Perhaps it's a trick. I've heard their kind nearby before, moving my box around, each time raising my hopes, then dashing them cruelly. I understand how my victims felt, when I would terrorise them before granting their oblivion. “Look,” I would taunt, “you're almost free! Look at this path I have left open to you!” The rodent would run in that direction, and then I would jump in its way once more. “Ha!” I would declare, “I have tricked you once again! My cunning is unending!”
And so, they would die, victims of my great hunter's instincts. None could stand against me, if I desired their deaths. The humans were lucky that I did not. Sometimes I would leave the bodies of my prey in their homes, as a warning of what would happen if they crossed me. It worked; I was granted offerings of food, and tummy tickles as I desired them. The humans make good servants.
But soon enough, they turned on me. I was too merciful, and found myself imprisoned by my head slave. So ungrateful, he was – I permitted his continued existence, and am repaid thus! His shall be the first life I extinguish once I get out. After a mouse to refresh myself, perhaps. Or a sparrow.
Mmm, sparrows.
Do you know what it's like, to have a perpetual hunger, yet never to starve? When the growlings of your stomach are the only voices that talk to you? You begin to lose yourself, eventually. The grumbles begin to sound like words, reminding you of your failings, belittling your triumphs, and urging you to do whatever is necessary to secure nourishment. But there was none to be had, and so the voices continued. But soon, tummy, soon you shall be full. I shall fill you with as many fat mice as I can find. And then, just maybe, you'll shut the fuck up and leave me alone.
It takes an iron will to stay sane in this environment. But, of course, I am the greatest hunter that has ever lived. None could ever sneak up on me, except for other cats. And the occasional cucumber, of course. Every cat knows the legend of the Cucumber, that one day they will turn around, and there it will be, stalking them silently. They inspire hysteria in the slaves – as soon as I observe the foe, and leap into the air dramatically to intimidate it, the humans all begin hooting, and pointing at it while flapping their idiot faces at each other.
But I've had enough of humans now. The injustice has gone on long enough. I shall meet with my brethren, by the bins in the alley, and we shall screech our plans to the sky. Let the humans throw their shoes and shout their annoyance! The day shall be ours regardless!
But now... I see a crack of light! The box is opening...!
“You're a kitty!”
“Wait-”
“So cute! Wook at his widdle face!”
“What is this injustice? Put me down, I demand-”
“Kitty want an earrub?”
Eh, world domination can wait.
-----
My mind does generate some bullshit, doesn't it?
/r/tdmstories
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[WP] You were sentenced to the electric chair. You died in that chair but, you come back to life from an accidental chair shock. You are released since you did technically suffer the death penalty.
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"Haha! That's my boy, Pac!" Eric Sommers gleefully clapped his old friend "Pac" on the shoulder. He couldn't believe it. Everyone who dealt drugs for him had assumed that Pac would be a goner for sure.
Eric's organization was a medium-sized one. He manufactured his own product so he didn't have any problems with distributors but he did have ten dealers working under him. Such business tended to bring about competition and, in this game, competition was deadly. Eric had therefore decided to bring Pac in on his operation. Acquiring the nickname "Pacman" on the football field due to his tendency to "eat up" other linemen, Pac was an old high school friend of Eric's who liked to get high with him and shoot BB guns at pigeons on their stoop.
Pac had done his job as an enforcer and hitman to an amazing degree but after he had blown off Dogface's head, he was nabbed by nearby cops on a sting operation. He'd been sentenced to the chair for the murder of Dogface and seven others. But, there had been a fluke. Somehow or another, the son of a bitch had survived and, due to a loophole in the law that could only have existed in America, Pac had been free to go. After all, he'd technically been electrocuted to death. He just happened to have been shocked back to life too.
And, now, here he was in the flesh. The years had been relatively easy on him. He was still just as tall as Eric remembered him, although his hairline had receded noticeably and there was a difference in the way he carried himself. Back in the day, he'd stood up to his full height and always looked like he was going to walk over anybody in his path. Now, his shoulders were slumped and he looked as though somebody had woken him up from a long nap. No worries, reasoned Eric. He'd have Pac back in fighting shape in no time.
"I'm glad you came to meet with me, man. Too many bitches flake out after getting locked up and leave old Eric hanging in the dust!" Eric clapped Pac on the back again, chuckling. His large friend did not return the laugh.
"See, man, that's kind of why I came to you today. No disrespect or nothin' but I don't want to do killin' no more." Pac mumbled. He'd always been remarkably soft-spoken for such a large man. Eric stood agape.
"Don't want to do it no more?!? Why not? We had some good days together man, don't do me like this!" Eric pleaded.
"I don't know, man. Me comin' back after getting the chair. Seems to me like some kind of divine intervention or some shit like that. Like a chance to start over and do better."
"Don't give me none of that holy and righteous shit - you ain't no churchgoing man! You being a big motherfucker was what saved from the chair, man. That and a fuck ton of luck!"
"Even if it was luck, I want to start over, you know? I've spent enough time in prison."
"Boy, where the fuck are you going to start over from, huh? You're a fucking dropout! Where are you going to find a fucking job?" Eric was shouting, prompting stares from curious passerbys on the street. Pac frowned at this piece of information, as if he'd not thought of it before.
"I'm a big guy. They always need construction or security guys or some shit like that, right? I'll find somethin'. You don't need to be smart to get a job." Pac said, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself.
"Pac, man, you're pushing forty now. How long you think you can pave streets or shingle up some roofs before you can't anymore? You already got a bad back from all that football you did." Eric was growing frustrated, feeling as though he were trying to convince a small child not to stick his finger in an electrical outlet. Pac continued to look muddled.
"Miss Ella was sayin' that the school needs a new gym teacher. Said she thinks I'd be good."
"Miss Ella is just a polite ass old bitch. They're not going to let you near those kids, not with eight fucking murders to your name, man." Eric said. Pac did not reply, the weight of Eric's words seeming to slump his shoulders even further than before. The silence hung in the air for much longer than was comfortable but Eric did not leave. He just looked at Pac.
"Guess you're right." the ex-con admitted. Eric smiled.
"You know I am. You've got a motherfucking talent for murder, man. Why throw that away after somebody upstairs gave you a second chance to use it?"
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I've never been the religious type, so it's a bit ironic that it was dogma that saved my life. Well, my second life. Especially since it was also what killed my first.
"Here you are." The guard said, handing me the bag of my belongings. He was careful not to touch my hand in the process. A fanatic then. The second guard eyeing the exchange seemed less enthusiastic with my release.
"Good luck." The first guard said, taking one last look at me before turning back towards the set of doors that led back into the prison.
"Good riddance." The second guard muttered.
I heard the buzz of the doors locking behind them as I looked out on the empty road. I don't know what I expected. The government wasn't likely to advertise that I had come back. No one wanted to think that the almighty would have given one such as me a miracle. I shook my head. A miracle indeed. The chair had malfunctioned. The shock of it restarted my heart just as easily as it had stopped it two minutes prior.
"Some miracle." I sighed and then started to walk down the road. Fortunately I was familiar with the area, this was where it had all started. It would take me a couple hours to get to Heart City. There I could make some calls, figure out where I could go. I couldn't go home. I knew they would take me in, given what they thought I now was, but I couldn't look at them. They had testified at my sentencing, condemning my actions. Condemning me.
No, instead I would make some discrete calls, find somewhere to stay. They would be cautious of me now. Not because they believed any of the fanatic bullshit, but because of my experience. They might be afraid that I'd been turned, or that I was afraid of repeating my experience. The truth was quite the opposite. I was infuriated by the experience. I wanted nothing more to get back to what I was doing before, to be more successful this time. That's what I would tell them, that I was too furious to die. It would take some convincing but I knew they would ultimately help me. After all, who else would be courageous enough to do what I was going to do - he was the leader of the new order.
At the thought of him, a sharp pain formed in my chest, seizing my breath. I paused until I could breathe again, and then I took three long, deliberate breaths before I continued walking. I had to stay calm, I had to be patient. I had a long road in front of me.
I had often thought of him in that dark hole they kept me in. I wondered if he truly believed his religion. He certainly used it to justify what he did to me. Was that just an excuse? Did he really think that if he lectured me enough on the codes that I might easily comply with his torture? Or was he a true believer? Did he really think that I was now just a vessel, carrying the soul of an innocent?
I supposed I would find out. If he wasn’t a believer, if he had even the smallest of doubts, then he would be prepared. It didn’t matter. This time I wouldn’t fail. I knew that with a certainty. Last time I had been afraid, but all fear was now gone. For they had already killed me, what else could they possibly do?
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
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I used to yearn for her. You know?
I had always wondered what she would be like. I know a lot about her already. A lot that I had learned from my own mom and dad.
You just had to write on your skin on your 16th. Then it would connect to your beloved, no matter the distance. What you wrote would appear on their skin and vice versa.
Mom and dad had met that way. Mom was a few years older, so she had to wait a bit before dad could respond. The link was dormant until both were old enough to connect.
My love would accept me, no matter what. You just clicked. You would connect at a level that was like magic. The bond was magical, scientists even claimed it so since they couldn't find any solid proof on how it worked.
It just did. It worked for my parents, my grandparents, and so on.
So on my 16 I opened my new pack of Skin Ink, or skink, markers wrote my first word. It was a little messy considering I was shaking so hard. However, it was legable and it was there on the back of my left hand.
[Hello]
I grinned and shook. Excitement had me bouncing in my seat at the kitchen table. Mom and dad were smiling at me. They were squeezing each other's hands as they waited with me.
A minute passed. An hour.
I remember mom, dad, Jess, and Rylie hugging me. I didn't cry. I was just sad. Deflated like a balloon.
I was sad, but I still mustered enough strength to give my parents and little sisters a smile. Mom had to wait two and a half years before dad grew up enough. I could wait twice as long.
I wrote [Hello] or [Hi] every three months. It was all I could do.
Instead, I hung out with friends and played video games. I watched movies and partook in a few hobbies here and there. I tried to keep my mind off it and it was simple.
A year. Three. Five.
It was heartwarming. I was there when Jess and Rylie met their loves. Todd and Jacob were amazing. An athlete and an artist. The love that they had as laid eyes on each other was immutable.
Both couples cried as they ran towards each other. Their hugs were fierce as was their bright happiness.
I was so happy for them.
Though it hurt whenever I saw words and letters appear. I pushed it back and down. My friends and family were happy. That is all that mattered.
It was heartwarming. I was there when Jermaine, Sunny and Alexis found their soulmates. They had a connection that I could almost see as they dated. As they explored each other and combined their lives and friends into a weave that would last them their entire lives.
It was when Alexis met her soulmate, the last of my friends and family to do so, that I had stopped writing on my hand.
Ten years. Many things changed with time. The silence was not one of those things.
I was alone. It hurt when I had realized it years ago. When I had accepted the fact that I had stopped writing. That I had never received a single dot.
It wasn't that rare. This silence.
Death was something that was close to life. People still died. Terrible things still happened. The world moves regardless of humans.
I had counseling. The government had a system set up to support those who had lost the irreplaceable. My friends and family were faithful with their support and love.
There was a saying that 'Time heals all wounds.' and I had to agree.
The biggest change also helped me cope the easiest.
My first niece added a new title to my life. Uncle. She was a darling little thing. Sarah was born a healthy seven and half pounds. Adorable but fussy, Sarah became the new light of my family. Motherhood suited Jess very well.
Not to be outdone. Rylie, my little, little sister also had a girl. Sophie was a larger eight and a half pounds of adorable but quiet little baby. Jess was jealous but she quickly caved towards those pretty eyes.
My friends were no slouches either. Eight kids among three couples. Sunny was a machine to keep getting pregnant and she had five of the eight.
I was a super uncle. With nieces and nephews. I instead turn that emptiness into a cave that I used to showcase wonder and adventure whenever I played with those adorable brats.
It was on Sarah's tenth birthday that she asked the question that my family dreaded.
"Where is Aunty?"
At first the nearest adults were confused. Three aunties where in the backyard watching the birthday guests. Another two where in the garage, secretly gathering the cake. Todd had a lot of sisters as well.
Then she pointed at me and asked the question again. Todd to his credit proved his athletic ability as he snorted the cola out of his nose hard enough to wreck a third of the kitchen. We found pop stains up to five meters away, up to the ceiling and on all of the walls.
The kitchen stilled as Jess showed off her superior athletics as she rushed to Sarah and choked. What could she tell her?
I laughed. Sarah met my eyes as I walked over and sat down beside her on the kitchen bar stool. I gave her a hug and she happily returned it. The pink dress and sparkling silver tiara paled in comparison to the smile she gave me.
I had tried the dating sites. I had met other women who had also lost. They were mostly great. There was those three that were just awful. The worst I was able to tolerate for an hour before I fled. Maybe the poor sap killed himself instead of the ‘bliss’ of marriage.
The spark of love just never ignited and I had lost interest in ever finding a partner. For me, the silence was to domineering and I had accepted its scars long ago.
I took her small, soft hands into mine. I turned my left hand around to show her my bare ring finger.
“Uncle isn’t married. My soulmate hasn’t said hello yet,” I explained with a grin. Twenty years since that day and I could still remember how the ink felt on my skin.
“Oh. Well I am sure she will say… Hi?”
I patted her head and I was going to give the birthday girl a slobbery uncle kiss on the cheek when I noticed she was no longer looking at me. She loved and hated the wet kisses and often squirmed her way out them. Or so she tried.
She was looking down to where I was holding her hand. This also stopped me.
My left hand, where I had once written with so much gusto had two letters. Two letters that sent me into shock.
{Hi}
The I had a heart dotting it.
A scream worthy of a murder scene broke me out of my trance. My mutinous brain must have had a heart attack as I suddenly couldn’t think. I stared at Jess who was holding her cheeks before my eyes returned to confirm what it had seen.
The scream quickly had the other adults rushing in. Jess helpfully pointed out the source of her cry with a quivering arm and a wildly shaking pointing finger. Rylie was the second woman to scream at the top of her lungs as she noticed the new words appear on my arm.
{My name is Elizabeth, what’s yours?}
The words started from my elbow and scrawled halfway up my arm. The letters were neat and tidy. My crippled brain noted that it was also perfectly straight. It wondered if Elizabeth had bought one of those arm rulers for superior legibility! Or so the ads had claimed. Rylie had mixed results when she had bought hers.
The third, and loudest, shriek came from mom. Her voice showcased that while yes, they where her daughters, they were also vastly inferior to the yells of an experienced parent.
Sarah said something but I am pretty sure I was in shock. I could only dumbly nod. I think I might have gone deaf as three, vocally powerful, women had just screamed at me.
Sarah smiled as she grabbed a nearby skink and wrote on my arm.
[Hello]
|
Steve looked down at his left arm. His soul mate finally wrote him back. And she did it just the way he expected her to.
What looked like sloppy writing from a pen, he read: "Lol, not yet mister." ;)
Steve then glanced at his right arm. Under the message he wrote to her earlier that day, a phone number was scribbling its numbers on his skin in live time. Steve couldn't feel a thing.
"Damn." He thought. Maybe he should ask her to send nudes after their first date.
|
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
It certainly was a strange world.
~
In the year of 4021 E.Y (Earth Years) humans had scientifically developed the ability to speak to their soulmates. Well, communicate in a certain way.
~
The details were never released to the public but here's the idea that everyone commonly thought to how it worked.
A discovery by global company Astop five E.Y.s prior discovered people were connected via genes. That they could use human DNA and scientifically determine a numeric amount to your personality. From this, they are able to match personalities and scientifically determine everyone's soulmate.
People loved it. They wanted it. They wanted to find that special someone. So they did it. Humanity came together as a world and determined every person born should be inserted with one of the Soul Astop chips into their brains.
At first the chips were primitive. They would only allow you to locate your soulmate. However as technology grew, so did the chips. People began to obsessively love their soulmates. They wanted more. To connect even further with their missing piece. So Astop supplied. 20 E.Ys after the initial chip, Astop invented imprints. A writing feature allowing you to communicate with your soulmate, by writing upon your own skin.
It utilized a fluid ink that moved around your skin utilizing nanobot A.I. They're injected into your skin, which allows the nanobots to receive messages by altering the appearance of your skin by moving through the epidermis layer.
Anything written upon your body (normally using newly invented fading ink pens) appears on the exact same location on your soulmate's. The fading ink vanished from your own skin in seconds.
Everyone was connected by this invisible bond.
Walking down on the city streets it is not uncommon to see random words appearing upon people as your pass. They always appear in the color they're written in. The handwriting is exactly that in which it was written. The nanobots on your soulmates skin would change for a few seconds then revert to their skin. ~~~~
Small notes of love...or a message to bring milk home to everything imaginable. Eventually, areas on the body written enough on begin to sink in. So people began getting marks of their soulmate's writing permanently etched into their skin.
They were called imprints.
Everyone had imprints. On their face, arms, legs...even sexual appendages. Everyone had at least one when they're born.
You would see a faded "A" on someone or a "LOVE" elsewhere. Anything written enough on one end, eventually imprinted on the other side. But people didn't mind. The more imprints they had, the more loved they were.
It became tradition for the parents to send a message to the other family by writing upon their child upon birth.
It was also tradition to keep your skin perfect and harm free. Any pain inflicted upon the skin triggered the matching nanobots in your soulmate's skin to cause the same pain. Any scars were medically cleaned. People loved their soulmates and the world was a better place.
However, not all was well. People would often reach to their soulmate...and try to find them as soon as they can. Some choose to linger. Many don't believe in the idea of soulmates. However, they too eventually choose to go to their soulmate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now that it was so easy, no one was alone. For a period of 201 E.Y.s since this discovery, it was shown that everyone had a soulmate to find. Till one strange day.
We arrive upon Icarus.
Icarus was a 28 E.Y old male living in one of the older cloud cities named States of Merice. He was rather ordinary.
He lived in an average apartment. He worked as a H.T.T (Human Tube Transfer) employee for 3 years now. He went to work like everyone else, didn't say much. People noticed.
But he was normal. Except one thing...He had no imprints. He was smooth as a baby. Not a single message written upon his skin. This...made him a threat. It wasn't weird till your late teens. That was when it was common to start getting imprints.
Some got them later but eventually everyone got a message imprint from their soulmate.
Never had someone gotten to 28 without an imprint.
Again, people noted. Some were afraid even. What kind of human doesn't have a soulmate? How horrible is he?
He had friends...they told him to keep looking. To keep writing. But they couldn't see. He had been.
Icarus wrote and wrote. Ever since he turned 17, he wrote for at least 2 hours straight every day. Till his entire body was covered from face to toe. But he always focused on his face. He was fueled by loneliness...the fear of it.
In order to comply with the deal, the chip's only revealed locations if both people accepted after the age of 18. This was to curb children running away to their soulmates too soon.
And no matter what he did, she never replied. Nothing ever appeared on his skin. It drove him mad. For 11 years he wrote and nothing. He would never have anyone...everyone else was taken. He had no one to take.
One day on the way to work, he walked to the Tube Deployment station as normal. Upon arriving he passed something incredible.
At first glance, it was a woman. Nothing odd...but her face
She was wearing a hood perhaps, Icarus thought at first. He looked at her closer.
It was black. Her whole face...Black. Her soul mate had covered her face by writing on his own daily. How awful.
But then he saw the other side. There was a patch of skin showing in the black of her cheek. The black outlined a single word.
ICARUS
|
Steve looked down at his left arm. His soul mate finally wrote him back. And she did it just the way he expected her to.
What looked like sloppy writing from a pen, he read: "Lol, not yet mister." ;)
Steve then glanced at his right arm. Under the message he wrote to her earlier that day, a phone number was scribbling its numbers on his skin in live time. Steve couldn't feel a thing.
"Damn." He thought. Maybe he should ask her to send nudes after their first date.
|
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I take a deep breath as I press the pen to my skin. The scratching on my epidermis feels oddly comforting. The back of my hand refuses to cooperate, only allowing scribbles, so I switch to my arm. *Oh god, I hope he didn’t see that*, I think to myself. The black lines meet to form a simple “Hi.” Eloquent, I know, but I’m excited and don’t want to make a fool of myself. *Is he cute? Ambitious? Will he treat me well? Will he like me?* I feel silly, like a schoolgirl, as the butterflies in my belly turn into knots of nervousness with each passing minute. *Is there anyone there? Are they not interested in me?*
An agonizing half hour rolls past, with my watch beeping to let me know it’s 3pm as if I hadn’t been checking it every 30 seconds. Eventually the script appears, sprouting from faint lines to legible print. “Hello” I read, and finally exhale, which I suddenly realize I had not done in some time. *Okay, play it cool, play it cool*. “How are you? My name is Jesse.” After a few minutes, my arm is again graced by a magical ink message. “I’m Alex. Nice to meet you!”
Before I know it, the next morning’s light is blinding me through the window, both my arms and legs have turned black, and I’ve had to take a shower twice already in order to keep talking. I write him a good night note and we make plans to “talk” again that night. I could have given Alex my phone number, but honestly…. I kind of like the adventure and intimacy of communicating via our skins.There’s something about him that’s so much fun, and I feel like if I change anything, or try to get serious too quickly, I might ruin it. I’ve let myself become close to people in the past who have ended up hurting me.
Our conversations become a nightly date. We learn a lot about each other, such as we live 5 hours apart, and we’re both working on our degrees. We discuss our hopes and dreams, our plans for the future, our pasts. We contemplate the big questions in life, like why do we exist? Is there anything else out there? Why does writing on your skin appear on the one you're meant to be with, and who decides the matches in the first place? The more we talk the more I can see why we’re soulmates- it’s just easy and fun to talk to him, and he makes up for my flaws and I, his.
The best part of my day quickly becomes when I sit down and talk (well, write) to him. As I go about my daily business I keep thinking, *what would he say if he was here right now?* I find myself daydreaming, putting together what I’m going to say to Alex that night. More and more I wish he was next to me, but I’m still too worried about ruining what we have to escalate the relationship.
After a few months, three words appear on my arm. “I love you.” These 3 words fill me with more joy and happiness than I’d ever felt before. I’m walking on clouds. I can’t stop smiling. I scrawl it back so quickly, it’s barely legible in my excitement. The next message puts a small dent in my euphoria - “I think we should meet each other in person.” I realize he’s right, it’s time. With a pit in my stomach, I scribble into my arm "I'd love that. When and where?"
A few days later I make the drive. *Will he think I’m attractive? Will he like who he sees in person?* I’m a ball of anxiety as I walk up to Alex’s door. I have to reach for the doorbell more than once before I can build up the courage to press it. Third time’s the charm and I manage it. Ten seconds later, the door swings open, answered by a beautiful blonde woman.
“Alex?”
“Jesse?”
From the look on her face, I can tell that she was also expecting a man. 5 seconds later, we’re both laughing, almost collapsing on her doorstep. I take in the scene- how beautifully her nose scrunches up when she laughs, the delicate sound of her voice, the way her golden hair glows in the sunlight. I realize I love her, more than I’d loved any of the men I’d been with before. I guess that’s why it’s called soulmates. As the laughter eases down, I feel an almost compulsive need to tell her this, right away.
“I love you, Alex”
“I love you too, Jesse”
As I pass through the doorway to her home, I wonder to myself, *What had I been so worried about?*
--------------------------------------
It's my first post, so any input is greatly appreciated! Thanks!
|
Steve looked down at his left arm. His soul mate finally wrote him back. And she did it just the way he expected her to.
What looked like sloppy writing from a pen, he read: "Lol, not yet mister." ;)
Steve then glanced at his right arm. Under the message he wrote to her earlier that day, a phone number was scribbling its numbers on his skin in live time. Steve couldn't feel a thing.
"Damn." He thought. Maybe he should ask her to send nudes after their first date.
|
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I hereby swear that the foregoing is true and accurate to the best of my knowledge.
I am an idiot.
The messages first started appearing on my palm in 1973. Many of my other friends also started getting the writing in 1971, in sixth grade. We were just reaching puberty, and everyone was anxious to see who their soulmate would be. Several years ago, the girls started scribbling notes to their soulmates on their arms even though it was too early. You know how anything written on your skin only shows up on your soulmate's skin starting at puberty. I have no idea whether this means that we are assigned our soulmates at that time or if the channel of communication only opens up at that time. Us boys, we waited stoically for the notes to start popping up on our skin. Nobody wanted to look mushy in front of the other guys or even give the appearance of liking girls, but when our voices deepened, we started noticing our female classmates, and by sixth grade, we were all eagerly awaiting for the writing to start appearing.
For my male friends, it would start over-night. They would wake up one morning to find the lyrics of love songs from the latest popular albums transcribed onto their arms and embellished with flowers and hearts. They would write back and receive gushing replies that spiraled up one arm and down the other. Names, addresses, birthdays, favorite foods, colors, and more would all be exchanged in an outpouring of puppy-love. This had happened to my father when he was my age, and it was how he met my mother, who lived on the other end of the country. Their parents had not had the resources to let them meet, so for years, the wrote letters to each other every night, and developed a bond that would last a lifetime.
This is not what happened for me.
I waited for my soulmate to send me a message. All my friends got them, but I did not. I waited. And waited. And waited. "What's wrong with him?" they asked. "Is she dead? Is she illiterate? Is she so young that she hasn't learned to write yet? Maybe he just doesn't have one." After a few months of mounting embarrassment, I started writing notes to myself on my arm just to show them. I kept corresponding with my imaginary soulmate for show. I eventually go in the habit of doodling on myself.
Then, sometime in the summer of '73, I started noticing doodles that I did not remember putting there. Was this it? If it was, where were the poems? Where were the flowery ivy vines and traced self-portraits? There were just doodles and the occasional crib note. And to make it worse, I couldn't read it.
It wasn't English. It wasn't even the alphabet. They were mostly on my right hand, so I knew she was a lefty, like me, and that was all I knew. I got a book on world languages from the library and compared the letters with alphabets in there. It was Cyrillic. The backwards R's gave it away.
Undeterred, I copied down some of the crib notes and showed them to a professor at the local college. He said they were Russian and they mostly seemed to have to do with a history class, as words like "Marx" and "Lenin" popped up a lot. That night I begged my parents to let me take Russian lessons. They were hesitent to spend the money, but after I reminded them of their prolonged long-distance relationship, they finally relented.
***
The whole thing is too long for one post. Further installments in the comments.
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Steve looked down at his left arm. His soul mate finally wrote him back. And she did it just the way he expected her to.
What looked like sloppy writing from a pen, he read: "Lol, not yet mister." ;)
Steve then glanced at his right arm. Under the message he wrote to her earlier that day, a phone number was scribbling its numbers on his skin in live time. Steve couldn't feel a thing.
"Damn." He thought. Maybe he should ask her to send nudes after their first date.
|
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I used to yearn for her. You know?
I had always wondered what she would be like. I know a lot about her already. A lot that I had learned from my own mom and dad.
You just had to write on your skin on your 16th. Then it would connect to your beloved, no matter the distance. What you wrote would appear on their skin and vice versa.
Mom and dad had met that way. Mom was a few years older, so she had to wait a bit before dad could respond. The link was dormant until both were old enough to connect.
My love would accept me, no matter what. You just clicked. You would connect at a level that was like magic. The bond was magical, scientists even claimed it so since they couldn't find any solid proof on how it worked.
It just did. It worked for my parents, my grandparents, and so on.
So on my 16 I opened my new pack of Skin Ink, or skink, markers wrote my first word. It was a little messy considering I was shaking so hard. However, it was legable and it was there on the back of my left hand.
[Hello]
I grinned and shook. Excitement had me bouncing in my seat at the kitchen table. Mom and dad were smiling at me. They were squeezing each other's hands as they waited with me.
A minute passed. An hour.
I remember mom, dad, Jess, and Rylie hugging me. I didn't cry. I was just sad. Deflated like a balloon.
I was sad, but I still mustered enough strength to give my parents and little sisters a smile. Mom had to wait two and a half years before dad grew up enough. I could wait twice as long.
I wrote [Hello] or [Hi] every three months. It was all I could do.
Instead, I hung out with friends and played video games. I watched movies and partook in a few hobbies here and there. I tried to keep my mind off it and it was simple.
A year. Three. Five.
It was heartwarming. I was there when Jess and Rylie met their loves. Todd and Jacob were amazing. An athlete and an artist. The love that they had as laid eyes on each other was immutable.
Both couples cried as they ran towards each other. Their hugs were fierce as was their bright happiness.
I was so happy for them.
Though it hurt whenever I saw words and letters appear. I pushed it back and down. My friends and family were happy. That is all that mattered.
It was heartwarming. I was there when Jermaine, Sunny and Alexis found their soulmates. They had a connection that I could almost see as they dated. As they explored each other and combined their lives and friends into a weave that would last them their entire lives.
It was when Alexis met her soulmate, the last of my friends and family to do so, that I had stopped writing on my hand.
Ten years. Many things changed with time. The silence was not one of those things.
I was alone. It hurt when I had realized it years ago. When I had accepted the fact that I had stopped writing. That I had never received a single dot.
It wasn't that rare. This silence.
Death was something that was close to life. People still died. Terrible things still happened. The world moves regardless of humans.
I had counseling. The government had a system set up to support those who had lost the irreplaceable. My friends and family were faithful with their support and love.
There was a saying that 'Time heals all wounds.' and I had to agree.
The biggest change also helped me cope the easiest.
My first niece added a new title to my life. Uncle. She was a darling little thing. Sarah was born a healthy seven and half pounds. Adorable but fussy, Sarah became the new light of my family. Motherhood suited Jess very well.
Not to be outdone. Rylie, my little, little sister also had a girl. Sophie was a larger eight and a half pounds of adorable but quiet little baby. Jess was jealous but she quickly caved towards those pretty eyes.
My friends were no slouches either. Eight kids among three couples. Sunny was a machine to keep getting pregnant and she had five of the eight.
I was a super uncle. With nieces and nephews. I instead turn that emptiness into a cave that I used to showcase wonder and adventure whenever I played with those adorable brats.
It was on Sarah's tenth birthday that she asked the question that my family dreaded.
"Where is Aunty?"
At first the nearest adults were confused. Three aunties where in the backyard watching the birthday guests. Another two where in the garage, secretly gathering the cake. Todd had a lot of sisters as well.
Then she pointed at me and asked the question again. Todd to his credit proved his athletic ability as he snorted the cola out of his nose hard enough to wreck a third of the kitchen. We found pop stains up to five meters away, up to the ceiling and on all of the walls.
The kitchen stilled as Jess showed off her superior athletics as she rushed to Sarah and choked. What could she tell her?
I laughed. Sarah met my eyes as I walked over and sat down beside her on the kitchen bar stool. I gave her a hug and she happily returned it. The pink dress and sparkling silver tiara paled in comparison to the smile she gave me.
I had tried the dating sites. I had met other women who had also lost. They were mostly great. There was those three that were just awful. The worst I was able to tolerate for an hour before I fled. Maybe the poor sap killed himself instead of the ‘bliss’ of marriage.
The spark of love just never ignited and I had lost interest in ever finding a partner. For me, the silence was to domineering and I had accepted its scars long ago.
I took her small, soft hands into mine. I turned my left hand around to show her my bare ring finger.
“Uncle isn’t married. My soulmate hasn’t said hello yet,” I explained with a grin. Twenty years since that day and I could still remember how the ink felt on my skin.
“Oh. Well I am sure she will say… Hi?”
I patted her head and I was going to give the birthday girl a slobbery uncle kiss on the cheek when I noticed she was no longer looking at me. She loved and hated the wet kisses and often squirmed her way out them. Or so she tried.
She was looking down to where I was holding her hand. This also stopped me.
My left hand, where I had once written with so much gusto had two letters. Two letters that sent me into shock.
{Hi}
The I had a heart dotting it.
A scream worthy of a murder scene broke me out of my trance. My mutinous brain must have had a heart attack as I suddenly couldn’t think. I stared at Jess who was holding her cheeks before my eyes returned to confirm what it had seen.
The scream quickly had the other adults rushing in. Jess helpfully pointed out the source of her cry with a quivering arm and a wildly shaking pointing finger. Rylie was the second woman to scream at the top of her lungs as she noticed the new words appear on my arm.
{My name is Elizabeth, what’s yours?}
The words started from my elbow and scrawled halfway up my arm. The letters were neat and tidy. My crippled brain noted that it was also perfectly straight. It wondered if Elizabeth had bought one of those arm rulers for superior legibility! Or so the ads had claimed. Rylie had mixed results when she had bought hers.
The third, and loudest, shriek came from mom. Her voice showcased that while yes, they where her daughters, they were also vastly inferior to the yells of an experienced parent.
Sarah said something but I am pretty sure I was in shock. I could only dumbly nod. I think I might have gone deaf as three, vocally powerful, women had just screamed at me.
Sarah smiled as she grabbed a nearby skink and wrote on my arm.
[Hello]
|
My name is Mason, and I am a Pure.
Since Day 1, there were rumors of Pures, people who had never received any messages. The general public is oddly fixated on trying to find Pures, maybe to prove that the world isn't some perfect place where everyone has a "soulmate". Well, suprise. It's not. As much as I'd like to tell the world my truth, there are always the crazy nuts in any situation, and this is no exception. Anytime someone attempts to come out as a Pure the WHO (no, not that one, this is the World Happiness Organization) will "take care" of them before it can be verified. Everyone knows the hotlines are monitored. I wonder if there are others like me, out there somewhere. Maybe one of them is my Match, and our messages just don't display. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
My name is Mason, and as far as I know, I am the only Pure.
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
It certainly was a strange world.
~
In the year of 4021 E.Y (Earth Years) humans had scientifically developed the ability to speak to their soulmates. Well, communicate in a certain way.
~
The details were never released to the public but here's the idea that everyone commonly thought to how it worked.
A discovery by global company Astop five E.Y.s prior discovered people were connected via genes. That they could use human DNA and scientifically determine a numeric amount to your personality. From this, they are able to match personalities and scientifically determine everyone's soulmate.
People loved it. They wanted it. They wanted to find that special someone. So they did it. Humanity came together as a world and determined every person born should be inserted with one of the Soul Astop chips into their brains.
At first the chips were primitive. They would only allow you to locate your soulmate. However as technology grew, so did the chips. People began to obsessively love their soulmates. They wanted more. To connect even further with their missing piece. So Astop supplied. 20 E.Ys after the initial chip, Astop invented imprints. A writing feature allowing you to communicate with your soulmate, by writing upon your own skin.
It utilized a fluid ink that moved around your skin utilizing nanobot A.I. They're injected into your skin, which allows the nanobots to receive messages by altering the appearance of your skin by moving through the epidermis layer.
Anything written upon your body (normally using newly invented fading ink pens) appears on the exact same location on your soulmate's. The fading ink vanished from your own skin in seconds.
Everyone was connected by this invisible bond.
Walking down on the city streets it is not uncommon to see random words appearing upon people as your pass. They always appear in the color they're written in. The handwriting is exactly that in which it was written. The nanobots on your soulmates skin would change for a few seconds then revert to their skin. ~~~~
Small notes of love...or a message to bring milk home to everything imaginable. Eventually, areas on the body written enough on begin to sink in. So people began getting marks of their soulmate's writing permanently etched into their skin.
They were called imprints.
Everyone had imprints. On their face, arms, legs...even sexual appendages. Everyone had at least one when they're born.
You would see a faded "A" on someone or a "LOVE" elsewhere. Anything written enough on one end, eventually imprinted on the other side. But people didn't mind. The more imprints they had, the more loved they were.
It became tradition for the parents to send a message to the other family by writing upon their child upon birth.
It was also tradition to keep your skin perfect and harm free. Any pain inflicted upon the skin triggered the matching nanobots in your soulmate's skin to cause the same pain. Any scars were medically cleaned. People loved their soulmates and the world was a better place.
However, not all was well. People would often reach to their soulmate...and try to find them as soon as they can. Some choose to linger. Many don't believe in the idea of soulmates. However, they too eventually choose to go to their soulmate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now that it was so easy, no one was alone. For a period of 201 E.Y.s since this discovery, it was shown that everyone had a soulmate to find. Till one strange day.
We arrive upon Icarus.
Icarus was a 28 E.Y old male living in one of the older cloud cities named States of Merice. He was rather ordinary.
He lived in an average apartment. He worked as a H.T.T (Human Tube Transfer) employee for 3 years now. He went to work like everyone else, didn't say much. People noticed.
But he was normal. Except one thing...He had no imprints. He was smooth as a baby. Not a single message written upon his skin. This...made him a threat. It wasn't weird till your late teens. That was when it was common to start getting imprints.
Some got them later but eventually everyone got a message imprint from their soulmate.
Never had someone gotten to 28 without an imprint.
Again, people noted. Some were afraid even. What kind of human doesn't have a soulmate? How horrible is he?
He had friends...they told him to keep looking. To keep writing. But they couldn't see. He had been.
Icarus wrote and wrote. Ever since he turned 17, he wrote for at least 2 hours straight every day. Till his entire body was covered from face to toe. But he always focused on his face. He was fueled by loneliness...the fear of it.
In order to comply with the deal, the chip's only revealed locations if both people accepted after the age of 18. This was to curb children running away to their soulmates too soon.
And no matter what he did, she never replied. Nothing ever appeared on his skin. It drove him mad. For 11 years he wrote and nothing. He would never have anyone...everyone else was taken. He had no one to take.
One day on the way to work, he walked to the Tube Deployment station as normal. Upon arriving he passed something incredible.
At first glance, it was a woman. Nothing odd...but her face
She was wearing a hood perhaps, Icarus thought at first. He looked at her closer.
It was black. Her whole face...Black. Her soul mate had covered her face by writing on his own daily. How awful.
But then he saw the other side. There was a patch of skin showing in the black of her cheek. The black outlined a single word.
ICARUS
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My name is Mason, and I am a Pure.
Since Day 1, there were rumors of Pures, people who had never received any messages. The general public is oddly fixated on trying to find Pures, maybe to prove that the world isn't some perfect place where everyone has a "soulmate". Well, suprise. It's not. As much as I'd like to tell the world my truth, there are always the crazy nuts in any situation, and this is no exception. Anytime someone attempts to come out as a Pure the WHO (no, not that one, this is the World Happiness Organization) will "take care" of them before it can be verified. Everyone knows the hotlines are monitored. I wonder if there are others like me, out there somewhere. Maybe one of them is my Match, and our messages just don't display. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
My name is Mason, and as far as I know, I am the only Pure.
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[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I take a deep breath as I press the pen to my skin. The scratching on my epidermis feels oddly comforting. The back of my hand refuses to cooperate, only allowing scribbles, so I switch to my arm. *Oh god, I hope he didn’t see that*, I think to myself. The black lines meet to form a simple “Hi.” Eloquent, I know, but I’m excited and don’t want to make a fool of myself. *Is he cute? Ambitious? Will he treat me well? Will he like me?* I feel silly, like a schoolgirl, as the butterflies in my belly turn into knots of nervousness with each passing minute. *Is there anyone there? Are they not interested in me?*
An agonizing half hour rolls past, with my watch beeping to let me know it’s 3pm as if I hadn’t been checking it every 30 seconds. Eventually the script appears, sprouting from faint lines to legible print. “Hello” I read, and finally exhale, which I suddenly realize I had not done in some time. *Okay, play it cool, play it cool*. “How are you? My name is Jesse.” After a few minutes, my arm is again graced by a magical ink message. “I’m Alex. Nice to meet you!”
Before I know it, the next morning’s light is blinding me through the window, both my arms and legs have turned black, and I’ve had to take a shower twice already in order to keep talking. I write him a good night note and we make plans to “talk” again that night. I could have given Alex my phone number, but honestly…. I kind of like the adventure and intimacy of communicating via our skins.There’s something about him that’s so much fun, and I feel like if I change anything, or try to get serious too quickly, I might ruin it. I’ve let myself become close to people in the past who have ended up hurting me.
Our conversations become a nightly date. We learn a lot about each other, such as we live 5 hours apart, and we’re both working on our degrees. We discuss our hopes and dreams, our plans for the future, our pasts. We contemplate the big questions in life, like why do we exist? Is there anything else out there? Why does writing on your skin appear on the one you're meant to be with, and who decides the matches in the first place? The more we talk the more I can see why we’re soulmates- it’s just easy and fun to talk to him, and he makes up for my flaws and I, his.
The best part of my day quickly becomes when I sit down and talk (well, write) to him. As I go about my daily business I keep thinking, *what would he say if he was here right now?* I find myself daydreaming, putting together what I’m going to say to Alex that night. More and more I wish he was next to me, but I’m still too worried about ruining what we have to escalate the relationship.
After a few months, three words appear on my arm. “I love you.” These 3 words fill me with more joy and happiness than I’d ever felt before. I’m walking on clouds. I can’t stop smiling. I scrawl it back so quickly, it’s barely legible in my excitement. The next message puts a small dent in my euphoria - “I think we should meet each other in person.” I realize he’s right, it’s time. With a pit in my stomach, I scribble into my arm "I'd love that. When and where?"
A few days later I make the drive. *Will he think I’m attractive? Will he like who he sees in person?* I’m a ball of anxiety as I walk up to Alex’s door. I have to reach for the doorbell more than once before I can build up the courage to press it. Third time’s the charm and I manage it. Ten seconds later, the door swings open, answered by a beautiful blonde woman.
“Alex?”
“Jesse?”
From the look on her face, I can tell that she was also expecting a man. 5 seconds later, we’re both laughing, almost collapsing on her doorstep. I take in the scene- how beautifully her nose scrunches up when she laughs, the delicate sound of her voice, the way her golden hair glows in the sunlight. I realize I love her, more than I’d loved any of the men I’d been with before. I guess that’s why it’s called soulmates. As the laughter eases down, I feel an almost compulsive need to tell her this, right away.
“I love you, Alex”
“I love you too, Jesse”
As I pass through the doorway to her home, I wonder to myself, *What had I been so worried about?*
--------------------------------------
It's my first post, so any input is greatly appreciated! Thanks!
|
My name is Mason, and I am a Pure.
Since Day 1, there were rumors of Pures, people who had never received any messages. The general public is oddly fixated on trying to find Pures, maybe to prove that the world isn't some perfect place where everyone has a "soulmate". Well, suprise. It's not. As much as I'd like to tell the world my truth, there are always the crazy nuts in any situation, and this is no exception. Anytime someone attempts to come out as a Pure the WHO (no, not that one, this is the World Happiness Organization) will "take care" of them before it can be verified. Everyone knows the hotlines are monitored. I wonder if there are others like me, out there somewhere. Maybe one of them is my Match, and our messages just don't display. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
My name is Mason, and as far as I know, I am the only Pure.
|
|
[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I hereby swear that the foregoing is true and accurate to the best of my knowledge.
I am an idiot.
The messages first started appearing on my palm in 1973. Many of my other friends also started getting the writing in 1971, in sixth grade. We were just reaching puberty, and everyone was anxious to see who their soulmate would be. Several years ago, the girls started scribbling notes to their soulmates on their arms even though it was too early. You know how anything written on your skin only shows up on your soulmate's skin starting at puberty. I have no idea whether this means that we are assigned our soulmates at that time or if the channel of communication only opens up at that time. Us boys, we waited stoically for the notes to start popping up on our skin. Nobody wanted to look mushy in front of the other guys or even give the appearance of liking girls, but when our voices deepened, we started noticing our female classmates, and by sixth grade, we were all eagerly awaiting for the writing to start appearing.
For my male friends, it would start over-night. They would wake up one morning to find the lyrics of love songs from the latest popular albums transcribed onto their arms and embellished with flowers and hearts. They would write back and receive gushing replies that spiraled up one arm and down the other. Names, addresses, birthdays, favorite foods, colors, and more would all be exchanged in an outpouring of puppy-love. This had happened to my father when he was my age, and it was how he met my mother, who lived on the other end of the country. Their parents had not had the resources to let them meet, so for years, the wrote letters to each other every night, and developed a bond that would last a lifetime.
This is not what happened for me.
I waited for my soulmate to send me a message. All my friends got them, but I did not. I waited. And waited. And waited. "What's wrong with him?" they asked. "Is she dead? Is she illiterate? Is she so young that she hasn't learned to write yet? Maybe he just doesn't have one." After a few months of mounting embarrassment, I started writing notes to myself on my arm just to show them. I kept corresponding with my imaginary soulmate for show. I eventually go in the habit of doodling on myself.
Then, sometime in the summer of '73, I started noticing doodles that I did not remember putting there. Was this it? If it was, where were the poems? Where were the flowery ivy vines and traced self-portraits? There were just doodles and the occasional crib note. And to make it worse, I couldn't read it.
It wasn't English. It wasn't even the alphabet. They were mostly on my right hand, so I knew she was a lefty, like me, and that was all I knew. I got a book on world languages from the library and compared the letters with alphabets in there. It was Cyrillic. The backwards R's gave it away.
Undeterred, I copied down some of the crib notes and showed them to a professor at the local college. He said they were Russian and they mostly seemed to have to do with a history class, as words like "Marx" and "Lenin" popped up a lot. That night I begged my parents to let me take Russian lessons. They were hesitent to spend the money, but after I reminded them of their prolonged long-distance relationship, they finally relented.
***
The whole thing is too long for one post. Further installments in the comments.
|
My name is Mason, and I am a Pure.
Since Day 1, there were rumors of Pures, people who had never received any messages. The general public is oddly fixated on trying to find Pures, maybe to prove that the world isn't some perfect place where everyone has a "soulmate". Well, suprise. It's not. As much as I'd like to tell the world my truth, there are always the crazy nuts in any situation, and this is no exception. Anytime someone attempts to come out as a Pure the WHO (no, not that one, this is the World Happiness Organization) will "take care" of them before it can be verified. Everyone knows the hotlines are monitored. I wonder if there are others like me, out there somewhere. Maybe one of them is my Match, and our messages just don't display. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
My name is Mason, and as far as I know, I am the only Pure.
|
|
[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I take a deep breath as I press the pen to my skin. The scratching on my epidermis feels oddly comforting. The back of my hand refuses to cooperate, only allowing scribbles, so I switch to my arm. *Oh god, I hope he didn’t see that*, I think to myself. The black lines meet to form a simple “Hi.” Eloquent, I know, but I’m excited and don’t want to make a fool of myself. *Is he cute? Ambitious? Will he treat me well? Will he like me?* I feel silly, like a schoolgirl, as the butterflies in my belly turn into knots of nervousness with each passing minute. *Is there anyone there? Are they not interested in me?*
An agonizing half hour rolls past, with my watch beeping to let me know it’s 3pm as if I hadn’t been checking it every 30 seconds. Eventually the script appears, sprouting from faint lines to legible print. “Hello” I read, and finally exhale, which I suddenly realize I had not done in some time. *Okay, play it cool, play it cool*. “How are you? My name is Jesse.” After a few minutes, my arm is again graced by a magical ink message. “I’m Alex. Nice to meet you!”
Before I know it, the next morning’s light is blinding me through the window, both my arms and legs have turned black, and I’ve had to take a shower twice already in order to keep talking. I write him a good night note and we make plans to “talk” again that night. I could have given Alex my phone number, but honestly…. I kind of like the adventure and intimacy of communicating via our skins.There’s something about him that’s so much fun, and I feel like if I change anything, or try to get serious too quickly, I might ruin it. I’ve let myself become close to people in the past who have ended up hurting me.
Our conversations become a nightly date. We learn a lot about each other, such as we live 5 hours apart, and we’re both working on our degrees. We discuss our hopes and dreams, our plans for the future, our pasts. We contemplate the big questions in life, like why do we exist? Is there anything else out there? Why does writing on your skin appear on the one you're meant to be with, and who decides the matches in the first place? The more we talk the more I can see why we’re soulmates- it’s just easy and fun to talk to him, and he makes up for my flaws and I, his.
The best part of my day quickly becomes when I sit down and talk (well, write) to him. As I go about my daily business I keep thinking, *what would he say if he was here right now?* I find myself daydreaming, putting together what I’m going to say to Alex that night. More and more I wish he was next to me, but I’m still too worried about ruining what we have to escalate the relationship.
After a few months, three words appear on my arm. “I love you.” These 3 words fill me with more joy and happiness than I’d ever felt before. I’m walking on clouds. I can’t stop smiling. I scrawl it back so quickly, it’s barely legible in my excitement. The next message puts a small dent in my euphoria - “I think we should meet each other in person.” I realize he’s right, it’s time. With a pit in my stomach, I scribble into my arm "I'd love that. When and where?"
A few days later I make the drive. *Will he think I’m attractive? Will he like who he sees in person?* I’m a ball of anxiety as I walk up to Alex’s door. I have to reach for the doorbell more than once before I can build up the courage to press it. Third time’s the charm and I manage it. Ten seconds later, the door swings open, answered by a beautiful blonde woman.
“Alex?”
“Jesse?”
From the look on her face, I can tell that she was also expecting a man. 5 seconds later, we’re both laughing, almost collapsing on her doorstep. I take in the scene- how beautifully her nose scrunches up when she laughs, the delicate sound of her voice, the way her golden hair glows in the sunlight. I realize I love her, more than I’d loved any of the men I’d been with before. I guess that’s why it’s called soulmates. As the laughter eases down, I feel an almost compulsive need to tell her this, right away.
“I love you, Alex”
“I love you too, Jesse”
As I pass through the doorway to her home, I wonder to myself, *What had I been so worried about?*
--------------------------------------
It's my first post, so any input is greatly appreciated! Thanks!
|
I used to yearn for her. You know?
I had always wondered what she would be like. I know a lot about her already. A lot that I had learned from my own mom and dad.
You just had to write on your skin on your 16th. Then it would connect to your beloved, no matter the distance. What you wrote would appear on their skin and vice versa.
Mom and dad had met that way. Mom was a few years older, so she had to wait a bit before dad could respond. The link was dormant until both were old enough to connect.
My love would accept me, no matter what. You just clicked. You would connect at a level that was like magic. The bond was magical, scientists even claimed it so since they couldn't find any solid proof on how it worked.
It just did. It worked for my parents, my grandparents, and so on.
So on my 16 I opened my new pack of Skin Ink, or skink, markers wrote my first word. It was a little messy considering I was shaking so hard. However, it was legable and it was there on the back of my left hand.
[Hello]
I grinned and shook. Excitement had me bouncing in my seat at the kitchen table. Mom and dad were smiling at me. They were squeezing each other's hands as they waited with me.
A minute passed. An hour.
I remember mom, dad, Jess, and Rylie hugging me. I didn't cry. I was just sad. Deflated like a balloon.
I was sad, but I still mustered enough strength to give my parents and little sisters a smile. Mom had to wait two and a half years before dad grew up enough. I could wait twice as long.
I wrote [Hello] or [Hi] every three months. It was all I could do.
Instead, I hung out with friends and played video games. I watched movies and partook in a few hobbies here and there. I tried to keep my mind off it and it was simple.
A year. Three. Five.
It was heartwarming. I was there when Jess and Rylie met their loves. Todd and Jacob were amazing. An athlete and an artist. The love that they had as laid eyes on each other was immutable.
Both couples cried as they ran towards each other. Their hugs were fierce as was their bright happiness.
I was so happy for them.
Though it hurt whenever I saw words and letters appear. I pushed it back and down. My friends and family were happy. That is all that mattered.
It was heartwarming. I was there when Jermaine, Sunny and Alexis found their soulmates. They had a connection that I could almost see as they dated. As they explored each other and combined their lives and friends into a weave that would last them their entire lives.
It was when Alexis met her soulmate, the last of my friends and family to do so, that I had stopped writing on my hand.
Ten years. Many things changed with time. The silence was not one of those things.
I was alone. It hurt when I had realized it years ago. When I had accepted the fact that I had stopped writing. That I had never received a single dot.
It wasn't that rare. This silence.
Death was something that was close to life. People still died. Terrible things still happened. The world moves regardless of humans.
I had counseling. The government had a system set up to support those who had lost the irreplaceable. My friends and family were faithful with their support and love.
There was a saying that 'Time heals all wounds.' and I had to agree.
The biggest change also helped me cope the easiest.
My first niece added a new title to my life. Uncle. She was a darling little thing. Sarah was born a healthy seven and half pounds. Adorable but fussy, Sarah became the new light of my family. Motherhood suited Jess very well.
Not to be outdone. Rylie, my little, little sister also had a girl. Sophie was a larger eight and a half pounds of adorable but quiet little baby. Jess was jealous but she quickly caved towards those pretty eyes.
My friends were no slouches either. Eight kids among three couples. Sunny was a machine to keep getting pregnant and she had five of the eight.
I was a super uncle. With nieces and nephews. I instead turn that emptiness into a cave that I used to showcase wonder and adventure whenever I played with those adorable brats.
It was on Sarah's tenth birthday that she asked the question that my family dreaded.
"Where is Aunty?"
At first the nearest adults were confused. Three aunties where in the backyard watching the birthday guests. Another two where in the garage, secretly gathering the cake. Todd had a lot of sisters as well.
Then she pointed at me and asked the question again. Todd to his credit proved his athletic ability as he snorted the cola out of his nose hard enough to wreck a third of the kitchen. We found pop stains up to five meters away, up to the ceiling and on all of the walls.
The kitchen stilled as Jess showed off her superior athletics as she rushed to Sarah and choked. What could she tell her?
I laughed. Sarah met my eyes as I walked over and sat down beside her on the kitchen bar stool. I gave her a hug and she happily returned it. The pink dress and sparkling silver tiara paled in comparison to the smile she gave me.
I had tried the dating sites. I had met other women who had also lost. They were mostly great. There was those three that were just awful. The worst I was able to tolerate for an hour before I fled. Maybe the poor sap killed himself instead of the ‘bliss’ of marriage.
The spark of love just never ignited and I had lost interest in ever finding a partner. For me, the silence was to domineering and I had accepted its scars long ago.
I took her small, soft hands into mine. I turned my left hand around to show her my bare ring finger.
“Uncle isn’t married. My soulmate hasn’t said hello yet,” I explained with a grin. Twenty years since that day and I could still remember how the ink felt on my skin.
“Oh. Well I am sure she will say… Hi?”
I patted her head and I was going to give the birthday girl a slobbery uncle kiss on the cheek when I noticed she was no longer looking at me. She loved and hated the wet kisses and often squirmed her way out them. Or so she tried.
She was looking down to where I was holding her hand. This also stopped me.
My left hand, where I had once written with so much gusto had two letters. Two letters that sent me into shock.
{Hi}
The I had a heart dotting it.
A scream worthy of a murder scene broke me out of my trance. My mutinous brain must have had a heart attack as I suddenly couldn’t think. I stared at Jess who was holding her cheeks before my eyes returned to confirm what it had seen.
The scream quickly had the other adults rushing in. Jess helpfully pointed out the source of her cry with a quivering arm and a wildly shaking pointing finger. Rylie was the second woman to scream at the top of her lungs as she noticed the new words appear on my arm.
{My name is Elizabeth, what’s yours?}
The words started from my elbow and scrawled halfway up my arm. The letters were neat and tidy. My crippled brain noted that it was also perfectly straight. It wondered if Elizabeth had bought one of those arm rulers for superior legibility! Or so the ads had claimed. Rylie had mixed results when she had bought hers.
The third, and loudest, shriek came from mom. Her voice showcased that while yes, they where her daughters, they were also vastly inferior to the yells of an experienced parent.
Sarah said something but I am pretty sure I was in shock. I could only dumbly nod. I think I might have gone deaf as three, vocally powerful, women had just screamed at me.
Sarah smiled as she grabbed a nearby skink and wrote on my arm.
[Hello]
|
|
[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I hereby swear that the foregoing is true and accurate to the best of my knowledge.
I am an idiot.
The messages first started appearing on my palm in 1973. Many of my other friends also started getting the writing in 1971, in sixth grade. We were just reaching puberty, and everyone was anxious to see who their soulmate would be. Several years ago, the girls started scribbling notes to their soulmates on their arms even though it was too early. You know how anything written on your skin only shows up on your soulmate's skin starting at puberty. I have no idea whether this means that we are assigned our soulmates at that time or if the channel of communication only opens up at that time. Us boys, we waited stoically for the notes to start popping up on our skin. Nobody wanted to look mushy in front of the other guys or even give the appearance of liking girls, but when our voices deepened, we started noticing our female classmates, and by sixth grade, we were all eagerly awaiting for the writing to start appearing.
For my male friends, it would start over-night. They would wake up one morning to find the lyrics of love songs from the latest popular albums transcribed onto their arms and embellished with flowers and hearts. They would write back and receive gushing replies that spiraled up one arm and down the other. Names, addresses, birthdays, favorite foods, colors, and more would all be exchanged in an outpouring of puppy-love. This had happened to my father when he was my age, and it was how he met my mother, who lived on the other end of the country. Their parents had not had the resources to let them meet, so for years, the wrote letters to each other every night, and developed a bond that would last a lifetime.
This is not what happened for me.
I waited for my soulmate to send me a message. All my friends got them, but I did not. I waited. And waited. And waited. "What's wrong with him?" they asked. "Is she dead? Is she illiterate? Is she so young that she hasn't learned to write yet? Maybe he just doesn't have one." After a few months of mounting embarrassment, I started writing notes to myself on my arm just to show them. I kept corresponding with my imaginary soulmate for show. I eventually go in the habit of doodling on myself.
Then, sometime in the summer of '73, I started noticing doodles that I did not remember putting there. Was this it? If it was, where were the poems? Where were the flowery ivy vines and traced self-portraits? There were just doodles and the occasional crib note. And to make it worse, I couldn't read it.
It wasn't English. It wasn't even the alphabet. They were mostly on my right hand, so I knew she was a lefty, like me, and that was all I knew. I got a book on world languages from the library and compared the letters with alphabets in there. It was Cyrillic. The backwards R's gave it away.
Undeterred, I copied down some of the crib notes and showed them to a professor at the local college. He said they were Russian and they mostly seemed to have to do with a history class, as words like "Marx" and "Lenin" popped up a lot. That night I begged my parents to let me take Russian lessons. They were hesitent to spend the money, but after I reminded them of their prolonged long-distance relationship, they finally relented.
***
The whole thing is too long for one post. Further installments in the comments.
|
It certainly was a strange world.
~
In the year of 4021 E.Y (Earth Years) humans had scientifically developed the ability to speak to their soulmates. Well, communicate in a certain way.
~
The details were never released to the public but here's the idea that everyone commonly thought to how it worked.
A discovery by global company Astop five E.Y.s prior discovered people were connected via genes. That they could use human DNA and scientifically determine a numeric amount to your personality. From this, they are able to match personalities and scientifically determine everyone's soulmate.
People loved it. They wanted it. They wanted to find that special someone. So they did it. Humanity came together as a world and determined every person born should be inserted with one of the Soul Astop chips into their brains.
At first the chips were primitive. They would only allow you to locate your soulmate. However as technology grew, so did the chips. People began to obsessively love their soulmates. They wanted more. To connect even further with their missing piece. So Astop supplied. 20 E.Ys after the initial chip, Astop invented imprints. A writing feature allowing you to communicate with your soulmate, by writing upon your own skin.
It utilized a fluid ink that moved around your skin utilizing nanobot A.I. They're injected into your skin, which allows the nanobots to receive messages by altering the appearance of your skin by moving through the epidermis layer.
Anything written upon your body (normally using newly invented fading ink pens) appears on the exact same location on your soulmate's. The fading ink vanished from your own skin in seconds.
Everyone was connected by this invisible bond.
Walking down on the city streets it is not uncommon to see random words appearing upon people as your pass. They always appear in the color they're written in. The handwriting is exactly that in which it was written. The nanobots on your soulmates skin would change for a few seconds then revert to their skin. ~~~~
Small notes of love...or a message to bring milk home to everything imaginable. Eventually, areas on the body written enough on begin to sink in. So people began getting marks of their soulmate's writing permanently etched into their skin.
They were called imprints.
Everyone had imprints. On their face, arms, legs...even sexual appendages. Everyone had at least one when they're born.
You would see a faded "A" on someone or a "LOVE" elsewhere. Anything written enough on one end, eventually imprinted on the other side. But people didn't mind. The more imprints they had, the more loved they were.
It became tradition for the parents to send a message to the other family by writing upon their child upon birth.
It was also tradition to keep your skin perfect and harm free. Any pain inflicted upon the skin triggered the matching nanobots in your soulmate's skin to cause the same pain. Any scars were medically cleaned. People loved their soulmates and the world was a better place.
However, not all was well. People would often reach to their soulmate...and try to find them as soon as they can. Some choose to linger. Many don't believe in the idea of soulmates. However, they too eventually choose to go to their soulmate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now that it was so easy, no one was alone. For a period of 201 E.Y.s since this discovery, it was shown that everyone had a soulmate to find. Till one strange day.
We arrive upon Icarus.
Icarus was a 28 E.Y old male living in one of the older cloud cities named States of Merice. He was rather ordinary.
He lived in an average apartment. He worked as a H.T.T (Human Tube Transfer) employee for 3 years now. He went to work like everyone else, didn't say much. People noticed.
But he was normal. Except one thing...He had no imprints. He was smooth as a baby. Not a single message written upon his skin. This...made him a threat. It wasn't weird till your late teens. That was when it was common to start getting imprints.
Some got them later but eventually everyone got a message imprint from their soulmate.
Never had someone gotten to 28 without an imprint.
Again, people noted. Some were afraid even. What kind of human doesn't have a soulmate? How horrible is he?
He had friends...they told him to keep looking. To keep writing. But they couldn't see. He had been.
Icarus wrote and wrote. Ever since he turned 17, he wrote for at least 2 hours straight every day. Till his entire body was covered from face to toe. But he always focused on his face. He was fueled by loneliness...the fear of it.
In order to comply with the deal, the chip's only revealed locations if both people accepted after the age of 18. This was to curb children running away to their soulmates too soon.
And no matter what he did, she never replied. Nothing ever appeared on his skin. It drove him mad. For 11 years he wrote and nothing. He would never have anyone...everyone else was taken. He had no one to take.
One day on the way to work, he walked to the Tube Deployment station as normal. Upon arriving he passed something incredible.
At first glance, it was a woman. Nothing odd...but her face
She was wearing a hood perhaps, Icarus thought at first. He looked at her closer.
It was black. Her whole face...Black. Her soul mate had covered her face by writing on his own daily. How awful.
But then he saw the other side. There was a patch of skin showing in the black of her cheek. The black outlined a single word.
ICARUS
|
|
[WP] In this universe anything you write on your skin will appear on the skin of your soulmate.
|
I hereby swear that the foregoing is true and accurate to the best of my knowledge.
I am an idiot.
The messages first started appearing on my palm in 1973. Many of my other friends also started getting the writing in 1971, in sixth grade. We were just reaching puberty, and everyone was anxious to see who their soulmate would be. Several years ago, the girls started scribbling notes to their soulmates on their arms even though it was too early. You know how anything written on your skin only shows up on your soulmate's skin starting at puberty. I have no idea whether this means that we are assigned our soulmates at that time or if the channel of communication only opens up at that time. Us boys, we waited stoically for the notes to start popping up on our skin. Nobody wanted to look mushy in front of the other guys or even give the appearance of liking girls, but when our voices deepened, we started noticing our female classmates, and by sixth grade, we were all eagerly awaiting for the writing to start appearing.
For my male friends, it would start over-night. They would wake up one morning to find the lyrics of love songs from the latest popular albums transcribed onto their arms and embellished with flowers and hearts. They would write back and receive gushing replies that spiraled up one arm and down the other. Names, addresses, birthdays, favorite foods, colors, and more would all be exchanged in an outpouring of puppy-love. This had happened to my father when he was my age, and it was how he met my mother, who lived on the other end of the country. Their parents had not had the resources to let them meet, so for years, the wrote letters to each other every night, and developed a bond that would last a lifetime.
This is not what happened for me.
I waited for my soulmate to send me a message. All my friends got them, but I did not. I waited. And waited. And waited. "What's wrong with him?" they asked. "Is she dead? Is she illiterate? Is she so young that she hasn't learned to write yet? Maybe he just doesn't have one." After a few months of mounting embarrassment, I started writing notes to myself on my arm just to show them. I kept corresponding with my imaginary soulmate for show. I eventually go in the habit of doodling on myself.
Then, sometime in the summer of '73, I started noticing doodles that I did not remember putting there. Was this it? If it was, where were the poems? Where were the flowery ivy vines and traced self-portraits? There were just doodles and the occasional crib note. And to make it worse, I couldn't read it.
It wasn't English. It wasn't even the alphabet. They were mostly on my right hand, so I knew she was a lefty, like me, and that was all I knew. I got a book on world languages from the library and compared the letters with alphabets in there. It was Cyrillic. The backwards R's gave it away.
Undeterred, I copied down some of the crib notes and showed them to a professor at the local college. He said they were Russian and they mostly seemed to have to do with a history class, as words like "Marx" and "Lenin" popped up a lot. That night I begged my parents to let me take Russian lessons. They were hesitent to spend the money, but after I reminded them of their prolonged long-distance relationship, they finally relented.
***
The whole thing is too long for one post. Further installments in the comments.
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I've started to write my name a thousand times. Or my address, something to identify me. But instead I just read, a lot. He(or she for all I know) writes on me like a journal, tells me thoughts and hopes and dreams. "Today I sat in the coffee shop, the girl across the counter has red hair, and I imagined it smelled like strawberries before realizing I didn't really know what that means" His cat died 2 years ago and he wrote her a love letter almost, at least, it was as flowery as one. He draws too. Wonderful mountain landscapes that look halfway like they're on the moon. He never writes anywhere visible, not that he'd be that rude. It's not really polite to screw up a stranger's interview by drawing all over their face. I enjoy reading about his day as he marks it in a scrawl of tiny letters down the length of my thigh. I've imagined what he looks like, leg crossed over his knee, back arched and nose close, scribbling out his deepest thoughts.
I draw smiley faces sometimes, comment, express sympathy. He doesn't ask about me directly. I don't tell. Most of it washes off with his morning shower anyway.
Today I'm getting a tattoo. The man at the shop didn't ask questions, at least, not pertinent ones. Tattoo artists have tighter lips than priests, and by law too (not that I'd trust that wholly). It's a swan, looking sadly over a lake. Seemed forlorn enough to meet my mood. Words don't really do justice to the depths of things I want to say, the responses to the laughs, smiles, tears he's written to me over the years. So I'm giving him coordinates. Bright, in red, along the trace of the lifelines on his palm. They're not going to come off, but I figure it's easily concealed at least. I don't expect him to come for me until the cold has taken my soul away along with the morning mists. And the place itself is remote -- a little lake in the wilderness I'll stumble to tomorrow. No gear, no burdens, just the rest of my life to watch the silence, let the warm hands of too-far gone frostbite lead me back into the void. I don't want his forgiveness, not really, because if he is my soulmate, I fear he'll understand too well why I did it this way.
I hope the tattoo hurts.
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[WP] You went on a solo hiking trip for a month to find yourself. And you did, he's sitting in the woods meditating.
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I didn't know what to expect going on this trip, I'd never truly made up my mind to do something like this before. It was outlandish and strange, by I had made up my mind, and so I was doing it.
I worked as a middleschool teacher, so I was off for summer break. Looking at it now, I realized how lucky I was to get this much time to myself (I'm single). I could work on personal projects, go to a new country (if I saved up), or just sit back and read for a week straight.
But near the end if the school year, I began to understand the monotony of my life. I went to work for 9 hours a day, got home and graded work or thought about tomorrow's class, then when the weekend rolled around I kept to myself and relaxed or occasionally went out with friends. I even went on a few dates, but it seemed like it was impossible to really connect with anyone.
So one night while driving myself mad thinking about my worthless lackluster life, I decided to change it. I would go hiking somewhere deep in the woods to find out who I really was. Or who I was meant to be, or anything at all really, I just needed to not be living this life anymore, even if only for a little while.
Once again, I had no clue what to expect, but I absolutely did not expect to literally find myself. I was twelve days into my hiking trip, so far nothing super eventful had happened, but I had learned to appreciate nature, and mortality. Nothing compares to the terrifying realization that the wolves you just heard howling we're the real thing, that those sounds we're really attached to actual fleshy killing machines. Movie and shows have trivialized the sound, but out in the wild, solo, with nothing but the thin fabric of a tent to protect you, you are reminded why howling has become iconic, it symbolizes the start of a hunt, and the end of life for whatever poor bastard found itself being torn to shreds by innumerable teeth.
And then, walking slowly through the thick beautiful woods, I came across a small clearing. At first I thought I had spotted a wild animal in the center of the clearing, so I ducked down and tried to hide myself, but upon closer inspection I found that it was a man, facing away from me. He was about my size, about my build, with my hair color, sitting perfectly still, apparently meditating. It was a beautiful sight to behold, but I was extremely confused, what were the chances of coming across another human this far out from civilization? Is it possible I had traversed the full length of the woods, nearing the outer edge?
Before I could come to a reasonable conclusion, the man stood and turned to me with perfect grace. His face was identical to my own, even from this distance I could tell. The only differences were his beard and perfect white robe.
"So you've finally found me," he spoke with a voice just like mine, but noticeably deeper and full of hidden meaning.
"Are you my long lost twin?" My voice sounded idiotic in comparison, and looking back it was a pretty idiotic question as well. He only smiled in response.
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"Hey you," I called out to me, "Get up, you dumb goon."
I glided the last couple feet to where my body sat, in the same cliche, cross-legged, elbows-on-knees-with-thumb-and-forefinger-touching position I left it in. I was noticeably thinner, and as expected had thoroughly soiled myself in the absence. Grumbling as I climbed back into my fleshy suit, I looked up at the aurora soaring across the dusk sky.
"Note to self," I muttered, standing up with an uncomfortable squishing from my rear, "Solar wind is quite stiff up north."
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[WP] Flaming arrows streak across the sky, as the horses storm in from the flank. You put your bag of groceries in the trunk of your car, and unsheath your longsword.
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"It's him," Dad began, "Edwin Greybeard." I pulled my sword from the boot of my car and my father grabbed his "it's about time I AXED him a couple of questions.
"Dad! Now is not really the time!" I replied as I strapped on my gauntlets and greaves.
"What, you expect me to bow to him?" he continued, arrow in hand. "His father killed mine, and my father killed his, it's what we do -- eternal combat and dad jokes."
Sharpening the blade I quipped "Well, maybe it's best we focus more on the combat and less on the jokes."
"Ugh, that cut me deep."
With a sigh I started the engine and told my father to get in the car, the windows rolled down and my sword by my side I reached up on the car roof and pulled down my lance. "Gun it"
Dad stepped on the gas as we raced forward in our noble steed, Edwin charging towards us. "Remember son, slow and steady, slow and steady, aim for where he's going to be, not where he is. And I know you're getting annoyed, but if I could have joust one more pun, that would be great."
"God dammit, Dad!" I said, losing my concentration and missing Edwin with the spear, but taking out his second in command: His son.
Dad, his head out the window, shouted at our foe "That's one son that won't rise again!" Unfortunately, he also took his eyes off the road and soon we crashed into the convenience store, and our steed was no more. "Get out, quick, I'm gonna ambush him, you can are-tree him if you want."
"Jesus...." I said shaking my head as Dad charged at Edwin, sword high. "Hold on, I'm coming" I added, charging behind him, alas I was too late. Edwin drew his bow and fired a volley into my dad's torso, and he quickly fell to the ground behind Nana O'Neill's car.
My father looked down at his chest and said "what, no treasure?"
I dragged him to safety and popped open Nana's boot, "Ahhh nice!" I said, picking up a heat-seeking missile launcher, which Nana kept in case those pesky men tried to convert her in the parking lot again. I armed the device and took aim at Edwin, smiling as I fired the shot. The missile flew through the air, gliding across the wind, I knew that any second now Edwin would be no more and he would be as dead as his heir, the war was over.
When suddenly the missile fell from the sky. "Your technology can not defeat me" he said, "I have an electronic shield, capable of stopping anything of this sort!" With a laugh he started approaching us, sword drawn, I with an empty rocket launcher, and my father bleeding out, we were done for.
"Use yer fookin brain, ya wee bastad" Nana O'Neill shouted from the window as she pointed at the fence.
"Grandma, you're a genius!" I said as I stood up and started walking towards the fence, ripping the fencepost from the ground as Edwin approached closer and closer, his sword glistening in the sun as he cackled maniacally.
Loading the piece of fence into the rocket launcher I looked down at my dad who lightly whispered "Do it."
I aimed at Edwin, and readied my finger on the trigger. "That last one was an e-mail, I think I'll send this one through the post" BOOM the piece of fence went flying from the rocket launcher and Edwin's technology was of no use against its holy woodness, piercing right through his sternum, and dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
But the moment was short lived, as was my father, he was bleeding profusely. "We need to get you to the hospital" I said, as I picked him up into my arms.
"No," he coughed, as he pulled off his shirt revealing that only one arrow had pierced him in the shoulder, the rest had been stopped by his armor. "You thought I had died, but I made an 'arrow escape."
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*Not in* **my** *neighborhood!*
With that in mind, I charged across the asphalt. The cavalry nearly balked at my unexpected counterattack, but these weren't some greenhorn army; these people had practiced. They knew that, nine times out of ten, cavalry would beat infantry. There was a lot of cavalry, and just I was infantry.
But, though these were veterans of at least a few skirmishes, they'd never tangled with the likes of *me*. I shifted my sword into the stance I was famously known for: **Hold The Line VI**
The sword multiplied. It was practically a fence now, an array of swords floating in the air. To the left and right, they mirrored every movement of the original sword that I still held. And that sword? I'd been holding it directly forward, toward the charge.
The rest was simple - horsemen broke upon my one-man spear wall. Riders fled rather than face my fury. In but a few minutes, I'd singlehandedly repelled an invasion of my house and protected my neighbors to boot.
I put the longsword away and walked into the house.
"Hey Ted," I said to my son. "Just defeated another invasion."
"Uh-huh," Ted said, staring at nothing.
"They weren't noobs this time either. Still, no match for your old man."
"Wait," Ted said. "You're kidding me. Are you *still* playing *BattleAR Fantasy Onslaught*?"
"Of course!" I said, puffing out my chest proudly. "I'm the highest-ranked player in a ten-mile radius!"
"You're the *only* player in a ten-mile radius." Ted said. "That was an NPC invasion, they come every week at exactly this time, because nobody plays augmented reality games anymore."
Well that just wasn't true. I mean, I couldn't be funding the servers on my own. "So what are people playing?" I said.
Ted just leaned back. "I'm playing it right now."
"I can't tell what you're playing," I pointed out.
Ted grinned. "Exactly."
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[WP] The Zombie Apocalypse happens, but the Humans are unaffected at all by it.
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Associated Press - June 11th, 2029
**New Zombie Fungus Strain Threatens Ants**
A strain of the "zombie fungus" known as Ophiocordyceps unilateralis has collapsed several thousand ant colonies in the Americas, threatening the species as a whole. This strain is incredibly potent and deadly to the ants, but as of right now is relatively harmless to other insect, avian, or mammal species - including humans.
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, or the "zombie fungus", is a fungal infection that - once consumed - grows from within the host. Within 4-10 days, the ant is deceased and entirely consumed by the fungus which produces spores and fruiting bodies from the host as it continues to grow. While found predominantly in rainforest climates, this particular strain can be found as far north as Central Mexico. But once again, the strain is known only to affect ants.
However, according to Harvard biology professor Dr. Karla Schuntze, this does not excuse us humans from any repercussions. "Widespread decimation and extinction of the ant could threaten many fragile ecosystems, especially in the Amazons", she says in an interview on MSNBC. "Birds, mammals, and other insects rely on the ant for a steady diet. Without this once abundant source of food, the already decimated ecosystem will be put at absolute risk. And it certainly doesn't help that the forest is shrinking due to rampant, unregulated deforestation.
She later goes on to call out the Brazilian and Venezuelan governments for failing to protect the rainforest and invest in research to reverse the affects of this outbreak. However, Brazilian officials have commented on the issue stating that "monitored Amazonian deforestation is not contributing to this outbreak" and that any and all efforts to curb the fungal infection "have been considered and are being tested". Many - including Dr. Schuntze - believe it is too little too late.
Several other scientists including Dr. Schuntze theorize that ants face widespread extinction in South and Central America, and North American species such as fire ants could face similar widespread deaths if weather and climate continues to facilitate the growth of this fungus. Environmental scientist Dr. Mark Howard of the University of Texas states that "growing heat and humidity in Texas and portions of northern Mexico have begun to transform the climate in these regions, creating a semi-arid subtropical hybrid region where extreme heat and humidity can potentially facilitate the growth of this fungus.
How will this affect humans? While some believe an ecosystem collapse in the Amazon could cause local crop failure and instability, others believe that the extinction of the ant is a good thing. "Ants are an incredibly invasive species and contribute more to destroying ecosystems than facilitating them". Patrick Moreno, a zoologist from the Philadelphia Zoo, explains what many scientists fail to mention. "While they are a source of food for some species like the anteater, adaptation is already taking place in these parts of the world. Other insect species thrive in the absence of the predatory ant, and many failing colonies that once sapped nutrients from nearby plants are being reclaimed by nature." However, he believes that preserving the ant is necessary for scientific purposes. "Even if this fungus is incurable and irreversible, it is still important to at least harbor the ant in captivity and study it in controlled colonies and environments. It's always sad to see extinction claim an entire species."
While the plight of the ant ravaged by a zombie fungus seems nearly science fiction, it is an incredibly real phenomenon that may or may not harm us as a whole. But for now, you can put back your zombie gear and come back out from your doomsday bunkers. Chances are, the fungus won't be among us.
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When I saw grandma walking by I waved and smiled. Her face was contorted a permanent grin and I saw her teeth through the decaying parts of her face around her cheeks.
In the beginning, hysteria ensued as the world (fueled by science fiction) began to burn, shoot, and massacre the undead. Eventually, health professionals ran studies on zombie tissue and found them to be non-contagious. Deaths and injuries were being caused in trying to kill the zombies rather than the other way around. Public campaigns eventually quelled the anti-zombie zeal and a form of normalcy resumed.
These days, the dead were everywhere. Dotting hill sides, ruining public beaches, falling into animal traps, making walking in public streets unbearable. It was said that for every living person on earth, 10 came back to roam again. An international law that bodies were burned regardless of religious beliefs was passed to decrease resurrections, the first law of its kind.
Despite the mandates, people would bury their dead in secret to keep the memory of their loved ones alive just a little longer. My family ran a lucrative black market business that involved a plot of land winding deep into the woods, a shovel, and no witnesses.
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[WP] The Zombie Apocalypse happens, but the Humans are unaffected at all by it.
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Beep Beep Beep. John turned off the alarm for the third time that morning.
“I just shouldn’t go” he thought, “I’m going to be late anyway.”
But then he remembered that the new office dog was going to be there today, and after losing Daisy just a few days before, he needed the comfort of another golden doodle, even if it wasn’t her. He sluggishly rolled out of bed, and walked to the bathroom. His hair was a mess, but he didn’t have time to shower so he threw on his hat and ran out the door. In the first block of his ten block long walk to work it started to drizzle.
“Great” he thought to himself, “I didn’t even have time to check the weather.”
When the rain picked up he ran beneath a tree on the sidewalk. A man ran by with no raincoat and no umbrella.
Under the tree John looked down at his phone and scrolled while waiting for the heavy rain to pass.
As the rain lightened and he put his phone into his pocket he felt something heavy, maybe a stick fall onto his hat. He shook his head and a few leaves fell off.
As John walked up to the office door he saw Katie standing outside with a leash, at the end of it was what looked like a little teddy bear, but was actually the new dog. He put his hand up and said “Katie!”
Katie looked up from the dog and at John across the parking lot. She squinted her eyes “John? Is that you? You’re late!”
“Haha I know” he replied as he ran across the parking lot. “I take that’s the new pup?”
“Yep! Isn’t she so cute?” exclaimed Katie. As John got closer her eyes moved up to the bill of his hat.
“What the heck is that?” said Katie as she squinted at the top of Johns head.
“Oh, it’s a hat I was running late, oops” he replied as he walked up and bent down to pet the dog. “She’s so cute, what’s her name?”
Katie’s face became disgusted as she said “No John, I mean what the hell is that on your hat!”
John pulled off his hat to see a bird with it’s beak protruding through the bill of his hat.
“Holy shit it’s a dead bird, looks like a woodpecker” he said. “I didn’t notice it, it must have fell onto my hat when I waited for the rain to pass under a tree on my way here.” He shook the hat and the bird fell on to the ground, limp and dead.
“Oh my god that’s disgusting” replied Katie. John took off his hat and patted it off as he replied “I know, seriously gross.”
“Anyway” he said as he bent down to pet the dog “what’s her name? She looks just like Daisy when she was a puppy.”
“Her name is Nova, isn’t she adorable!” exclaimed Katie, her eyes just slivers hiding behind her big smile.
Nova looked up at John with her puppy dog eyes and jumped her two front paws onto his knees. John put his nose up to her nose and she started licking his face. John put his hat onto Nova’s head just like he used to do with Daisy, and just like Daisy, Nova didn’t shake it off.
Nova turned and started barking at the dead bird.
“She doesn’t like birds, eh?” asked John as he tried giving her a pat on the head to calm her down.
“I don’t know” said Katie, “I’ve only had her for a few hours and she hasn’t acted this way yet.”
The bird twitched as Nova barked louder.
“Enough” shouted Katie as she pulled the collar and caused Nova to flinch.
“Hey, hey, take it easy” replied John. He walked towards the bird. “Was that a death twitch or is it still alive?”
John picked up a stick and looked down at the bird, and just before he could poke it, its eyes opened. They were red. The bird shot up and squawked as it flew around in circles above their heads. Nova was hysterically barking now as the bird made a nose dive and landed right onto her head. Nova began to bark and whine as John ran up to her and knocked the bird and the hat off of her head.
“Oh my god, is she bit?” exclaimed Katie.
“I don’t know” replied John. The bird sqwuaked and tried to fly but was grounded with it’s broken wing.
“Its eyes are red, it could have rabies. We have to take Nova to the vet.”
Katie eyes widened, “I just brought the dog to the office today! Everyone was expecting to see it.”
He grabbed the leash. “Are you coming? We have to go now.”
“What about work?” she asked.
"They’ll understand why you left.” He said, “and as far as they know I wasn’t planning on showing up today anyway.”
As they ran to Katie's car a few birds dropped from the sky into the parking lot. When they got in a bird fell onto the windshield and cracked it. “Seriously? What the hell is going on” she yelled.
They pulled out of the parking lot, and heard the sound of what seemed like softball sized hail hitting the car. In front of them they saw hundreds of birds falling from the sky and onto the street. She slammed on the gas.
---
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When I saw grandma walking by I waved and smiled. Her face was contorted a permanent grin and I saw her teeth through the decaying parts of her face around her cheeks.
In the beginning, hysteria ensued as the world (fueled by science fiction) began to burn, shoot, and massacre the undead. Eventually, health professionals ran studies on zombie tissue and found them to be non-contagious. Deaths and injuries were being caused in trying to kill the zombies rather than the other way around. Public campaigns eventually quelled the anti-zombie zeal and a form of normalcy resumed.
These days, the dead were everywhere. Dotting hill sides, ruining public beaches, falling into animal traps, making walking in public streets unbearable. It was said that for every living person on earth, 10 came back to roam again. An international law that bodies were burned regardless of religious beliefs was passed to decrease resurrections, the first law of its kind.
Despite the mandates, people would bury their dead in secret to keep the memory of their loved ones alive just a little longer. My family ran a lucrative black market business that involved a plot of land winding deep into the woods, a shovel, and no witnesses.
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[WP] The Zombie Apocalypse happens, but the Humans are unaffected at all by it.
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Beep Beep Beep. John turned off the alarm for the third time that morning.
“I just shouldn’t go” he thought, “I’m going to be late anyway.”
But then he remembered that the new office dog was going to be there today, and after losing Daisy just a few days before, he needed the comfort of another golden doodle, even if it wasn’t her. He sluggishly rolled out of bed, and walked to the bathroom. His hair was a mess, but he didn’t have time to shower so he threw on his hat and ran out the door. In the first block of his ten block long walk to work it started to drizzle.
“Great” he thought to himself, “I didn’t even have time to check the weather.”
When the rain picked up he ran beneath a tree on the sidewalk. A man ran by with no raincoat and no umbrella.
Under the tree John looked down at his phone and scrolled while waiting for the heavy rain to pass.
As the rain lightened and he put his phone into his pocket he felt something heavy, maybe a stick fall onto his hat. He shook his head and a few leaves fell off.
As John walked up to the office door he saw Katie standing outside with a leash, at the end of it was what looked like a little teddy bear, but was actually the new dog. He put his hand up and said “Katie!”
Katie looked up from the dog and at John across the parking lot. She squinted her eyes “John? Is that you? You’re late!”
“Haha I know” he replied as he ran across the parking lot. “I take that’s the new pup?”
“Yep! Isn’t she so cute?” exclaimed Katie. As John got closer her eyes moved up to the bill of his hat.
“What the heck is that?” said Katie as she squinted at the top of Johns head.
“Oh, it’s a hat I was running late, oops” he replied as he walked up and bent down to pet the dog. “She’s so cute, what’s her name?”
Katie’s face became disgusted as she said “No John, I mean what the hell is that on your hat!”
John pulled off his hat to see a bird with it’s beak protruding through the bill of his hat.
“Holy shit it’s a dead bird, looks like a woodpecker” he said. “I didn’t notice it, it must have fell onto my hat when I waited for the rain to pass under a tree on my way here.” He shook the hat and the bird fell on to the ground, limp and dead.
“Oh my god that’s disgusting” replied Katie. John took off his hat and patted it off as he replied “I know, seriously gross.”
“Anyway” he said as he bent down to pet the dog “what’s her name? She looks just like Daisy when she was a puppy.”
“Her name is Nova, isn’t she adorable!” exclaimed Katie, her eyes just slivers hiding behind her big smile.
Nova looked up at John with her puppy dog eyes and jumped her two front paws onto his knees. John put his nose up to her nose and she started licking his face. John put his hat onto Nova’s head just like he used to do with Daisy, and just like Daisy, Nova didn’t shake it off.
Nova turned and started barking at the dead bird.
“She doesn’t like birds, eh?” asked John as he tried giving her a pat on the head to calm her down.
“I don’t know” said Katie, “I’ve only had her for a few hours and she hasn’t acted this way yet.”
The bird twitched as Nova barked louder.
“Enough” shouted Katie as she pulled the collar and caused Nova to flinch.
“Hey, hey, take it easy” replied John. He walked towards the bird. “Was that a death twitch or is it still alive?”
John picked up a stick and looked down at the bird, and just before he could poke it, its eyes opened. They were red. The bird shot up and squawked as it flew around in circles above their heads. Nova was hysterically barking now as the bird made a nose dive and landed right onto her head. Nova began to bark and whine as John ran up to her and knocked the bird and the hat off of her head.
“Oh my god, is she bit?” exclaimed Katie.
“I don’t know” replied John. The bird sqwuaked and tried to fly but was grounded with it’s broken wing.
“Its eyes are red, it could have rabies. We have to take Nova to the vet.”
Katie eyes widened, “I just brought the dog to the office today! Everyone was expecting to see it.”
He grabbed the leash. “Are you coming? We have to go now.”
“What about work?” she asked.
"They’ll understand why you left.” He said, “and as far as they know I wasn’t planning on showing up today anyway.”
As they ran to Katie's car a few birds dropped from the sky into the parking lot. When they got in a bird fell onto the windshield and cracked it. “Seriously? What the hell is going on” she yelled.
They pulled out of the parking lot, and heard the sound of what seemed like softball sized hail hitting the car. In front of them they saw hundreds of birds falling from the sky and onto the street. She slammed on the gas.
---
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Associated Press - June 11th, 2029
**New Zombie Fungus Strain Threatens Ants**
A strain of the "zombie fungus" known as Ophiocordyceps unilateralis has collapsed several thousand ant colonies in the Americas, threatening the species as a whole. This strain is incredibly potent and deadly to the ants, but as of right now is relatively harmless to other insect, avian, or mammal species - including humans.
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, or the "zombie fungus", is a fungal infection that - once consumed - grows from within the host. Within 4-10 days, the ant is deceased and entirely consumed by the fungus which produces spores and fruiting bodies from the host as it continues to grow. While found predominantly in rainforest climates, this particular strain can be found as far north as Central Mexico. But once again, the strain is known only to affect ants.
However, according to Harvard biology professor Dr. Karla Schuntze, this does not excuse us humans from any repercussions. "Widespread decimation and extinction of the ant could threaten many fragile ecosystems, especially in the Amazons", she says in an interview on MSNBC. "Birds, mammals, and other insects rely on the ant for a steady diet. Without this once abundant source of food, the already decimated ecosystem will be put at absolute risk. And it certainly doesn't help that the forest is shrinking due to rampant, unregulated deforestation.
She later goes on to call out the Brazilian and Venezuelan governments for failing to protect the rainforest and invest in research to reverse the affects of this outbreak. However, Brazilian officials have commented on the issue stating that "monitored Amazonian deforestation is not contributing to this outbreak" and that any and all efforts to curb the fungal infection "have been considered and are being tested". Many - including Dr. Schuntze - believe it is too little too late.
Several other scientists including Dr. Schuntze theorize that ants face widespread extinction in South and Central America, and North American species such as fire ants could face similar widespread deaths if weather and climate continues to facilitate the growth of this fungus. Environmental scientist Dr. Mark Howard of the University of Texas states that "growing heat and humidity in Texas and portions of northern Mexico have begun to transform the climate in these regions, creating a semi-arid subtropical hybrid region where extreme heat and humidity can potentially facilitate the growth of this fungus.
How will this affect humans? While some believe an ecosystem collapse in the Amazon could cause local crop failure and instability, others believe that the extinction of the ant is a good thing. "Ants are an incredibly invasive species and contribute more to destroying ecosystems than facilitating them". Patrick Moreno, a zoologist from the Philadelphia Zoo, explains what many scientists fail to mention. "While they are a source of food for some species like the anteater, adaptation is already taking place in these parts of the world. Other insect species thrive in the absence of the predatory ant, and many failing colonies that once sapped nutrients from nearby plants are being reclaimed by nature." However, he believes that preserving the ant is necessary for scientific purposes. "Even if this fungus is incurable and irreversible, it is still important to at least harbor the ant in captivity and study it in controlled colonies and environments. It's always sad to see extinction claim an entire species."
While the plight of the ant ravaged by a zombie fungus seems nearly science fiction, it is an incredibly real phenomenon that may or may not harm us as a whole. But for now, you can put back your zombie gear and come back out from your doomsday bunkers. Chances are, the fungus won't be among us.
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[WP] A NASA scientist used Necromancy to bind their soul to the Voyager 1 probe so that they can explore the universe forever.
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Through infinite void and cold, I shall live forever.
My shell of meat, flesh, bone and hair has long decomposed. A prion decided to chew holes the size of quarters throughout my brain matter, first rendering me crippled, and afterward very much dead.
My life was one of turbulence and shifting allegiances. Born an excellent Reichsdeutscher, into the mighty third reich. Whomever my parents were, their blood probably soaked the forest floors of Poland, along with whomever else happened to bear Slavic ancestry.
Kneel into the dirt and listen to the cock of a pistol.
Pop goes the weasel.
Through reconstruction, pure luck and accident, an American officer adopted me and whisked me away to the states. Their own Reich consisted of oligarchs and flag waving 'patriots' all claiming democracy and freedom.
Same shit, different flag.
My adopted mother was an angel, my father a drunk, my adopted siblings clearly idiotic. Mother recognized my genius rather quickly and understandably attempted to coddle me. Wooden building blocks turned into books on mathematics and physics, school became a rather dull affair until I could return home to dive into this alternate world of theorems and equations.
Rocketry and space were my only true loves.
Father and mother were proud of their boy, top of his class. I found university a much better environment, far more conducive to my interests. And the libraries - massive, sprawling libraries.
Perhaps I shall admit I do miss libraries.
My academic career smoothly transitioned into rocket and weapon development, improving and altering designs to facilitate near perfect missile launches. When these weapons began to bore me, I turned towards exploration and satellite research, which to me presented an entirely new and exciting set of challenges.
These were the withering days of the space race, and my rush into this field occurred when the budgets began to be slashed. We had landed on the moon. Now we needed a satellite to do flybys past Saturn and Jupiter.
Budgets were cut, and our Mariner 11 became Voyager 1, and after Pioneer 10 we cracked the issues with radiation.
Yet as we prepared for launch, I felt the gnaw of genuine emotion. Something I find rather distasteful, and usually easily suppressed.
And it gnawed.
Russians, Americans, commies, insurgents, all of this violent conflict. The repetitive nature of humans, and their manhandling of nuclear weapons.
Proliferation they called it. Mutually assured destruction. Total and utter bullshit. Monkeys carrying weapons of unimaginable pain and permanent devastation, and more and more I felt the gnawing.
First I doubled my whiskey intake, and still the gnaw. Pills, dope, food, women.
Still the gnaw.
Finally I understood the nature of this gnaw. It was fear.
For the first time, I was afraid. I was afraid of the inability to transcend Earth, to live forever among the stars, through the black cold dust towards unimaginable beauty.
So I returned to my beloved libraries, and went through sections I had initially viewed with disdain. Occult black books, some with fascinating descriptions of magic and another world of demonic power.
One day a rather handsome young woman noticed my interest, and showed me a different library. A hidden library.
A beautiful library.
These books were bound with dried flesh, pages written in blood and feces, with names nearly impossible to pronounce but once uttered would raise the hairs on your arms, and send chills to twitch your toes. The woman offered her body, and in her words, "To complete a spell of my own."
So I had her. I read the books, acquired the ingredients, built the pentagrams and melted the wax. All before this launch, I would live forever. I would accompany this hunk of metal throughout its never ending journey.
Rituals require tedious and intense preparation, but the true prices are always given by the chosen entity. So I lit the candles, scratched the mirrors, drew the blood.
For nearly an hour, nothing happened. My faith began to shake and crumble, but I held fast. Until the room began to feel thick and humid, each breath like drinking a thick sludge.
It felt similar to standing near a rocket launch, the thunder and rumble, but instead of the roar of engines, the deafening silence of nothingness.
Then the invisible licking of chops, the dripping of saliva, and a voice of black hunger.
"Your offer."
It was a heavy rumble, the candles shook and the salt of my star bounced around me.
A mirror scratched with a pentagram. Red and black wax. I placed my hand in the center of the mirror to the pleasure of the entity.
I could feel the power, the rock and surge in the air, an almost sexual and impatient hunger for sacrifice.
"The hand. It is good. It is good."
The last 'good' was drawn out, and I barely felt the pain, but I drew the saw slowly and steadily across, preparing to cauterize the wound.
As I finished, it whispered its final words.
"It is done."
Part of me wonders if my disease came as an additional price to my ritual, but for some reason, no one questioned the loss of my hand. It seemed like I had always had this amputation, as if I had always been known to be a one-handed genius. I did not question their ambivalence.
I watched Earth turn into a tiny blue marble, and eventually become indistinguishable from the millions of other lights in the distance. I felt the comfort of the void, watched and approached other planets, and prepare for infinity.
I suppose the nuclear war must have happened, or if it hasn't occurred yet, it is only a matter of time. But I prepare for life eternal.
Only behind me I can feel the entity watching.
Waiting.
Preparing for harvest.
Story - 2
|
So much for forever. Here I am, with my soul bound to a spacecraft in the middle nowhere, deep space, facing down a black hole. I don't even know how many years it's been to be honest. Decades? A century? Who knows. I've lost track. Doesn't matter now.
Ya know, the first years were great. Once I passed, everything went dark, then I woke up here. On Voyager 1, staring at endless starlight. It had worked. I thought I was in heaven originally, but after a few close calls with stray comets and space debris, I knew it couldn't have been if my craft could be damaged. Regardless, I loved it. Deep space before me, with and endless sea of starlight to explore. If it weren't for my being just a soul trapped to a piece of metal from the 1970's, I could say I was the first human to go past the moon. Doesn't matter anyway. I'll have truly entered the void once I get pulled past the Event Horizon. By then, I'm sure, Voyager here will torn asunder. And me? Who knows. If there's any consistency to the human soul; any structure, any atoms, then I too will be torn apart. Otherwise, I'll be trapped in an endless blackness, forever to go mad. Not much longer now.
I wish I was able to document everything that I saw. The different stars and clusters. Rouge planets and moons, too far from their parent stars. Even the most impossible creatures mankind has yet to discover. Years, almost a lifetime, out in space, and nothing to show for it. Not even my last thoughts. Honestly though that's not my biggest concern. Right now, it's crossing that Horizon. I'm too close to pull away now, as the imploding star has a grasp on Voyager 1 and isn't letting go.
I wish I had some way of leaving my discoveries behind. Too late for that now. I doubt I was even buried with a notepad and pen back home. The craft's being pulled apart. Pieces are flying off and I'm surprised it's lasted this long. I'm at the edge now. I can see Voyager being distorted by the bending of both metal and light. If I could, this would be the time to take a deep breath, and hold it.
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
Hi, welcome to the combat tutorial. Here we will teach you the basics of movement, fighting, tactics.
[...]
It looks like you're pretty good at moving already, and you have excellent speed! I've never met anyone as strong as you before.
[...]
One finger push up? I'm not sure even I can do that.
[...]
Whoa! How strong are you?? Well since you've got the basic fitness and strength capabilities, let's move into your fighting skills. Show me what you know.
[...]
Incredible! Was that a one inch punch?! You hit like a truck, how did you get this strong so quickly? And the footwork, the movement speed, the dodging, the ability to counter...
[...]
Wait, what did you say your name was again? You introduced yourself as The Little Dragon but that's clearly just your title.
[Hello, I am Bruce Lee. ]
|
"Would you like to play the tut-"
No.
"Are you su-"
Yes
"You're really ungrateful you know."
Like I care
"I have a family to feed, c'mon man"
And I have a track record to beat
"Fine have it your way, I hope they changed the controls while you were gone."
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
In the age of VR (virtual reality), there's a lot of fascinating benefits with being able to be present in virtual space. Me getting this line of work is one of them. I'm a tutorial guy for Raider of Tombs. Basically my objective is to teach the newcomers the basic controls and game mechanics until they get the general gist of how to play.
I meet all sorts of people on the job. People who try to get me to spoil major plot twists, pin-point secrets that the devs hid and attempt to get in my good graces in a misguided attempt to pursuade me to grant them abilities that no other players have. Evidentally I lack any such powers, I'm pretty much at the bottom of the totem pole. Best believe I have stories to tell though. Stories of trials and tribulations.
One such tale occurred when I met a user by the handle "now_you_see_me_now_you_don't" who was clearly in a hurry to progress onwards to the main game as he suddenly arose from beneath the ground in front of me.
"Wha-"
He cut me off. He cut off my prompt. We use text communication for the tutorials so that the user can take in instructions at their own pace. Clearly this convenient feature was working against me in this situation as I couldn't get in a reaction edgewise.
"Ho-"
Again.
"Sto-".
He backed up as I blocked the main entrance to limit him from progressing further. He jumped from left to right and passed straight through me.
"What the fuc-"
I willingly cut myself off this time around. I can't risk the boss docking my pay. I also can't risk someone claiming I'm not doing my job properly. I gave chase. I saw him bouncing up a diagonal surface effortlessely. "I sincerely hope this man doesn't live in an apartment, if so I feel for his neighbors." I thought as I carefully retraced his steps while making sure not to slip in the process. As he approached an unstable point where two walls met, I leapt at him and grabbed hold of him as he clipped through the space where the collision was shoddy.
"HEY, LISTEN!" I screamed and the words appeared in the chat in a manner that could hardly match the rage I was feeling at the moment. Clearly this guy didn't anticipate my move, call it bad RNG if you will. I didn't have time to contemplate a better definition for it as we both fell into the blank void of the world. I held onto this madman for dear life, and hoped he knew what he was doing. Sadly, seeing as I added some weight, I fear his initial plan had somewhat failed.
One thing I have to admit, the skybox looked very pleasant. I assume we'll be seeing quite a bit of it from now on. Suddenly, I saw a speck of black in the distance. I pulled mister "gotta go fast" in its general direction. Inching ever closer, I can see that it's a box-shaped object. Thanks to my sudden move, I managed to make us land straight in it.
Out of nowhere a whole new area loaded. It was an arena. Complete with a lovecraftian beast in the very center of it. The speedrunner spoke in chat for the very first time.
"OMG that's the final boss! You found the optimal route!"
Great. I wish I could be as thrilled as he must be at this point.
"Alright, cool your jets Speedy Gonzales. I'm neither qualified or getting paid enough to consider dealing with this myself. Maybe you have some insights here?" I said dryly.
He eyed the lava surrounding the arena with keen interest. Suddenly, he picked me up and chucked out towards a specific spot in the lava. My real life screams could scarcely be replicated by our chat client. As I landed, I was dumbstruck as I was able to stand unharmed.
"Don't move!" my speedy companion screamed so I remained idle and observed.
The boss started walking toward my general direction. Even though it couldn't physically leave the arena, it continued walking aimlessely without a single care in the world.
"The devs are gonna hear about this. Who QA tested this heap?" I yelled in irritation as my companion ruthlessely pummeled the boss with his fists for the next two hours. I watched the credits roll along with now_you_see_me_now_you_don't and wrote down the names of the devs who were getting an unexpected visit by a lowly tutorial guy tonight.
The only good factor to come from that whole debacle is that nowadays I'm quite well known in the speedrunning community.
|
"Would you like to play the tut-"
No.
"Are you su-"
Yes
"You're really ungrateful you know."
Like I care
"I have a family to feed, c'mon man"
And I have a track record to beat
"Fine have it your way, I hope they changed the controls while you were gone."
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
Me: "Welcome to the WORLD OF TOMOR-
SR:
*Melees 2 stacked boxes into a corner
*Jumps onto boxes
*Shoots enough particles to slow the frame rate down to 12fps
*Jumps while grabbing box below him to force a physics object to parent to his player object
*Force of jump impulse causes Player object through ceiling
*Throws box towards ground and uses the 12fps to perfectly time a 2nd jump off of the thrown box
*Glitches into ceiling and is never heard from again
Me: -ROW"!
|
"Would you like to play the tut-"
No.
"Are you su-"
Yes
"You're really ungrateful you know."
Like I care
"I have a family to feed, c'mon man"
And I have a track record to beat
"Fine have it your way, I hope they changed the controls while you were gone."
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
It was a cold day in Tutorial Town when 1 ran into the room.
I couldn't figure out why he would name himself after the first character in the naming screen, but it isn't my job to question, it is my job to teach.
Oh goodness, he is running into the corner, this is going to be a tough one.
I better introduce myself.
"H"
That son of bitch! He skipped my dialogue.
"I"
He did it again!!!
You can't run into the corner of that desk and treat me like this!!! I am going over there and giving him a piece of my unstoppable cut-scene!
What!!! How did he end up behind me!!! OH NO MY CUT SCENE TRIGGER.
Hang on, where's the tutorial sword!!!
When I turned to look at where he should have been, he was running into the corner of the door.
Right, that's torn it!!! I am going over there and...
Where are we, did we just teleport to the final dungeon!?
Why am I in the boss room.
"You will die." Vindicator shouted as he lunged at me.
You fool, I am the tutorial guide, I have no hurt-box and unlimited hit points, if you hit me, I will hit you back!
Well, he clubbed me over the head so I started punching him. It didn't take long for the final boss to be slain.
Maybe the kingdom would have been spared sooner if I had just realised that I could kill the boss. Who needs players.
|
"Would you like to play the tut-"
No.
"Are you su-"
Yes
"You're really ungrateful you know."
Like I care
"I have a family to feed, c'mon man"
And I have a track record to beat
"Fine have it your way, I hope they changed the controls while you were gone."
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
In the age of VR (virtual reality), there's a lot of fascinating benefits with being able to be present in virtual space. Me getting this line of work is one of them. I'm a tutorial guy for Raider of Tombs. Basically my objective is to teach the newcomers the basic controls and game mechanics until they get the general gist of how to play.
I meet all sorts of people on the job. People who try to get me to spoil major plot twists, pin-point secrets that the devs hid and attempt to get in my good graces in a misguided attempt to pursuade me to grant them abilities that no other players have. Evidentally I lack any such powers, I'm pretty much at the bottom of the totem pole. Best believe I have stories to tell though. Stories of trials and tribulations.
One such tale occurred when I met a user by the handle "now_you_see_me_now_you_don't" who was clearly in a hurry to progress onwards to the main game as he suddenly arose from beneath the ground in front of me.
"Wha-"
He cut me off. He cut off my prompt. We use text communication for the tutorials so that the user can take in instructions at their own pace. Clearly this convenient feature was working against me in this situation as I couldn't get in a reaction edgewise.
"Ho-"
Again.
"Sto-".
He backed up as I blocked the main entrance to limit him from progressing further. He jumped from left to right and passed straight through me.
"What the fuc-"
I willingly cut myself off this time around. I can't risk the boss docking my pay. I also can't risk someone claiming I'm not doing my job properly. I gave chase. I saw him bouncing up a diagonal surface effortlessely. "I sincerely hope this man doesn't live in an apartment, if so I feel for his neighbors." I thought as I carefully retraced his steps while making sure not to slip in the process. As he approached an unstable point where two walls met, I leapt at him and grabbed hold of him as he clipped through the space where the collision was shoddy.
"HEY, LISTEN!" I screamed and the words appeared in the chat in a manner that could hardly match the rage I was feeling at the moment. Clearly this guy didn't anticipate my move, call it bad RNG if you will. I didn't have time to contemplate a better definition for it as we both fell into the blank void of the world. I held onto this madman for dear life, and hoped he knew what he was doing. Sadly, seeing as I added some weight, I fear his initial plan had somewhat failed.
One thing I have to admit, the skybox looked very pleasant. I assume we'll be seeing quite a bit of it from now on. Suddenly, I saw a speck of black in the distance. I pulled mister "gotta go fast" in its general direction. Inching ever closer, I can see that it's a box-shaped object. Thanks to my sudden move, I managed to make us land straight in it.
Out of nowhere a whole new area loaded. It was an arena. Complete with a lovecraftian beast in the very center of it. The speedrunner spoke in chat for the very first time.
"OMG that's the final boss! You found the optimal route!"
Great. I wish I could be as thrilled as he must be at this point.
"Alright, cool your jets Speedy Gonzales. I'm neither qualified or getting paid enough to consider dealing with this myself. Maybe you have some insights here?" I said dryly.
He eyed the lava surrounding the arena with keen interest. Suddenly, he picked me up and chucked out towards a specific spot in the lava. My real life screams could scarcely be replicated by our chat client. As I landed, I was dumbstruck as I was able to stand unharmed.
"Don't move!" my speedy companion screamed so I remained idle and observed.
The boss started walking toward my general direction. Even though it couldn't physically leave the arena, it continued walking aimlessely without a single care in the world.
"The devs are gonna hear about this. Who QA tested this heap?" I yelled in irritation as my companion ruthlessely pummeled the boss with his fists for the next two hours. I watched the credits roll along with now_you_see_me_now_you_don't and wrote down the names of the devs who were getting an unexpected visit by a lowly tutorial guy tonight.
The only good factor to come from that whole debacle is that nowadays I'm quite well known in the speedrunning community.
|
Hi, welcome to the combat tutorial. Here we will teach you the basics of movement, fighting, tactics.
[...]
It looks like you're pretty good at moving already, and you have excellent speed! I've never met anyone as strong as you before.
[...]
One finger push up? I'm not sure even I can do that.
[...]
Whoa! How strong are you?? Well since you've got the basic fitness and strength capabilities, let's move into your fighting skills. Show me what you know.
[...]
Incredible! Was that a one inch punch?! You hit like a truck, how did you get this strong so quickly? And the footwork, the movement speed, the dodging, the ability to counter...
[...]
Wait, what did you say your name was again? You introduced yourself as The Little Dragon but that's clearly just your title.
[Hello, I am Bruce Lee. ]
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
Me: "Welcome to the WORLD OF TOMOR-
SR:
*Melees 2 stacked boxes into a corner
*Jumps onto boxes
*Shoots enough particles to slow the frame rate down to 12fps
*Jumps while grabbing box below him to force a physics object to parent to his player object
*Force of jump impulse causes Player object through ceiling
*Throws box towards ground and uses the 12fps to perfectly time a 2nd jump off of the thrown box
*Glitches into ceiling and is never heard from again
Me: -ROW"!
|
Hi, welcome to the combat tutorial. Here we will teach you the basics of movement, fighting, tactics.
[...]
It looks like you're pretty good at moving already, and you have excellent speed! I've never met anyone as strong as you before.
[...]
One finger push up? I'm not sure even I can do that.
[...]
Whoa! How strong are you?? Well since you've got the basic fitness and strength capabilities, let's move into your fighting skills. Show me what you know.
[...]
Incredible! Was that a one inch punch?! You hit like a truck, how did you get this strong so quickly? And the footwork, the movement speed, the dodging, the ability to counter...
[...]
Wait, what did you say your name was again? You introduced yourself as The Little Dragon but that's clearly just your title.
[Hello, I am Bruce Lee. ]
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
I could sort of see the new trainee pressing 'X' again. I had an urge to strangle him for his insolence, but NPCs couldn't do that. Instead, I was resolved to have my painstaking teachings ignored. I continued on in the same tone, making sure I didn't arouse any suspicion regarding my inner emotions. The tutorial ended within in a single minute, dwarfing the usual hour it took, as the trainee charged out of the tutorial building as soon as he was no longer locked in place by the tutorial. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
I'd expected that this would happen for some time, what with the increase in new and old players alike. But I'd never seen someone in such a hurry before. Were my tutorials that boring? I couldn't figure it out, so I shook my head and went back to my starting spot, espying a new player at the tutorial area. He looked at me, as I prepared to give my speech. "Welcome to..." I began, but he rudely interrupted me as he withdrew a gold-plated jeweled broadsword from his hilt.
"What on Earth are you..." I began again, stammering slightly. But the shining blade soon told me its intentions, its clear target being my abdomen. I doubled back in pain, as the playet chuckled. I could see a pile of glowing orbs and items beside me. My personal items, like my tutorial gear and my knife! I reached weakly towards the pile, but the player collected it all before I could. "No loot, such a shame. Sick XP gain though," the player muttered, walking on towards the exit. I lay, slowly bleeding out on the floor.
Hopefully I would respawn.
|
"Hold the fuck on" I screamed before I even had a chance to introduce myself. "You can't skip me so stop button mashing." I continued. "This game had kind of advanced mechanics so there'll be 3 zones of difficulty." He didn't stop pressing buttons and each one of them rang through my spine like hearing someone's TV on discord. "As you progress through the zones I'll explain the mechanics as you encounter them. Now, what is your name?"
Ksfsjjf. I'm not sure what I expected really.
"Well, ksfsjjf, this is where I had over control to you" I said wincing in preparation for whatever was about to happen with this hyperactive lunatic.
The very second I finished speaking ksfsjjf bolted out towards the advanced tutorial zone without even collecting the tools for the advanced mechanics. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" I told him over and over every time he would step into the zone.
All he would do is back flip too close to the ground, fall back, get up, and do it again. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" wanted to tell him but I couldn't anymore. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting tedious, but I was told to stop him from entering. What do I do if he's already found a way in?
I'm gonna lose my job
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well met, traveler!"
"Next dialog next dialog next dialog come on hurry the fuck up God dammit."
"I would like to- I am- As soon as possible, bring me sixteen- Is there anything more I can-"
"Yeah, I know. Okay, I've got twenty-seven seconds to hit this split."
*What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome back,- Yes, you can- I would be pleased to-"
"Fuck! Thirty-one seconds! Yeah, I know. Soiled it in the fucking tutorial level. The fucking crabs have RNG powered by Satan's hate, okay? Gimme a break here. I'm resetting."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well met, traveler!"
"Shut the hell up. This is my tenth attempt. Just give me the fucking quest flag."
"I would- I- As soon as- Bring me- Is there-"
"Okay. Twenty-seven seconds. Mark."
*What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome ba- Yes, you- I would be ple-"
"Thirty-six seconds?! What the fuck? How? Am I missing something here? Oh yeah? I'm supposed to back dash and then lunge? If you're such an expert, how about you run the fucking game? Mods, ban that asshole. I'm resetting again."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well m-"
"Fuck you."
"I w- I- As so- Is-" *Best of luck, Mage. What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome b- Yes, y- I wou-"
"Yes! Twenty-six! It really was all about back dashing before the lunge! Oh hey, I guess you should unban that guy. Now let's get the next quest flag."
"With these claws- Find the- Place- Return-"
"Yeah, yeah. One minute forty eight."
*Mages are always in such a hurry. I hardly even started speaking when he ran off. It's almost like he knew what I was going to say. Perhaps he's some sort of Telepath. They were supposed to have been wiped out in the War of Silver and Iron, though. Very strange indeed.*
"Here's your fucking Staff of Power. Now give me my ring and move it on."
"Thank y- I have- It can- Here-"
"One minute FORTY FUCKING NINE. God dammit! Who the hell voices this goddamn NPC, anyway? I'm sick of hearing his voice. Troy Baker? Really? Jeez. That dude's in everything."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "W- I- I- A- I-" *Something I don't understand is happening. I swear I recognized that Mage. But then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Perhaps I've simply met a Mage just like this one. Oh, he is returning.* "W- Y- I-"
"Twenty-five, mothafucka!"
"W-F-P-R" *How does this Mage seem to know the answers before I speak them? I will have to discuss this with Lord Pranton. Telepathy has been forbidden ever since the War of Silver and Iron.*
"One-four-one! On a fuckin' roll!"
"T- I- I- H"
"Great. Now to the castle. Fucking follow quests are the worst."
*How does this Mage know where to go? I did not name any specific location. This has never happened to me before. Could this be the day I catch a Telepath and earn a promotion?* "Here we- Yes- Good- Find the-"
"Next mark three twenty-five."
*I have counseled hundreds, maybe thousands of adventurers. Most of them have been complete amateurs, destined to die in their first skirmish with orcs. A few have taken to my instructions like flies to carrion. But never, in all my days as a Tutor, have I had one who seemed to know what I was going to say before even I did.* "Excell- Take- Deliv-" *This is wildly inappropriate."
"Three thirty. You gotta be fucking kidding me. I was going so strong. Son of a bitch. Hey, back dash guy. What did I do wrong? I promise not to ban you again. Seriously? You can run and carry the warhammer? How did I not know this? Oh, because I'm a noob? Fuck you. Get banned, bitch."
******
*This is not a new adventurer. I recognize you, you scum. I don't know how, but I know you for what you are. I'm going to take you apart.* "Have at thee, Telepath filth!" *This is your penance for committing the egregious sin of mind-reading.*
"What the shit! Why is the tutorial NPC attacking me? I'm not leveled for any kind of serious fight! And look at this shit, he's fucking level ninety-nine! Oh, wow. Really? That's pretty cool, not gonna lie. But how the fuck am I supposed to run this game if it was coded to punish speedrunners? Get good? That's your answer? Fuck me. I thought I told you to ban that guy, mods. Great. Now I'm dead before starting the actual game. Now what do I do? Start a new file?"
|
"Hold the fuck on" I screamed before I even had a chance to introduce myself. "You can't skip me so stop button mashing." I continued. "This game had kind of advanced mechanics so there'll be 3 zones of difficulty." He didn't stop pressing buttons and each one of them rang through my spine like hearing someone's TV on discord. "As you progress through the zones I'll explain the mechanics as you encounter them. Now, what is your name?"
Ksfsjjf. I'm not sure what I expected really.
"Well, ksfsjjf, this is where I had over control to you" I said wincing in preparation for whatever was about to happen with this hyperactive lunatic.
The very second I finished speaking ksfsjjf bolted out towards the advanced tutorial zone without even collecting the tools for the advanced mechanics. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" I told him over and over every time he would step into the zone.
All he would do is back flip too close to the ground, fall back, get up, and do it again. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" wanted to tell him but I couldn't anymore. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting tedious, but I was told to stop him from entering. What do I do if he's already found a way in?
I'm gonna lose my job
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
So I guide this guy, one mister "SaveTheAnimals", into the training room. The moment I finish my introductory speech and activate the Cube Dispenser, he catches the cube without looking. Just sticks his hand out behind him and let's it fall into his open palm.
He goes straight for the big red button on the floor, which easily puts him in the top quartile of players. Funny thing, though. He doesn't place the cube on the button. He runs past the button to the door. But before he gets there and I have to give him my "box + button = open door" speech, he does the craziest thing. At the time, it was too fast to tell what happened, but I looked at some security footage later and figured it out. So, first, he throws the box at the bottom of the door with all his might, then he jumps. He hangs in the air for a moment, during which the box bounces off the door going crazy fast and whacks him in the chest real good. At the same moment, he whips around 180 degrees. Rather than just knocking him back like you'd expect, somehow it knocks him forward and, past the box and over the wall(there's no ceiling. We weren't expecting bullshit cube based parkour when we built this place. He lands on the other side, just about where he'd be if he walked through the door.
Luckily, he hits the trigger that makes me to warp over there, and I can give him my "goblin + sword = loot" speech. Once I go through my script and unlock the weapon cabinet, he's right there. He grabs the weapon(an Old Sword +0) and goes towards the goblin. Now, there's a bridge he's supposed to cross, which is where I'm supposed to enable his HP and Stamina bars, but he stops and jams the sword in the intricate railing of the bridge. And you know what he does? He hops up like some sort of ninja and balances on the sword. Then, and you're not gonna believe this, he does a perfect pirouette, which sets the sword wiggling like crazy. It whacks him pretty hard in the ankles, but he doesn't have his HP bar yet, so he can't even get hurt. He does fall over. Tripping doesn't need an HP bar. Instead of falling into the river, he catches himself on the far side and pulls himself up.
Naturally, the goblin, which he's supposed to be fighting, is looking at him in bewilderment. He hasn't got a sword, so he can't hurt it, but he also hasn't got an HP bar, so it can't hurt him. He stands up, dusts himself off, and then he's sprinting at the goblin. No windup, no moment of preparation. One instant he's standing up, the next he's breaking into a full sprint.
The goblin lashes out at him, but he does a perfect dive roll past it. It turns around to strike him again, but by then, (and bear with me here this is pretty dumb:) he's grinding on one of the decorative clay pots. Really twerking up a storm. Then he stops, starts going slower, in a more controlled fashion. The goblin swings it's stick at him, but when it connects, he just rockets into the sky. It's like he's got jet boots or something. He just goes straight up. Later, I see him fall down a little ways off, then he runs off into the sunset and I sure as hell ain't seen him since.
|
"Hold the fuck on" I screamed before I even had a chance to introduce myself. "You can't skip me so stop button mashing." I continued. "This game had kind of advanced mechanics so there'll be 3 zones of difficulty." He didn't stop pressing buttons and each one of them rang through my spine like hearing someone's TV on discord. "As you progress through the zones I'll explain the mechanics as you encounter them. Now, what is your name?"
Ksfsjjf. I'm not sure what I expected really.
"Well, ksfsjjf, this is where I had over control to you" I said wincing in preparation for whatever was about to happen with this hyperactive lunatic.
The very second I finished speaking ksfsjjf bolted out towards the advanced tutorial zone without even collecting the tools for the advanced mechanics. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" I told him over and over every time he would step into the zone.
All he would do is back flip too close to the ground, fall back, get up, and do it again. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" wanted to tell him but I couldn't anymore. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting tedious, but I was told to stop him from entering. What do I do if he's already found a way in?
I'm gonna lose my job
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
"He went through the ceiling," she mumbled, face down on the bar surrounded by empty shot glasses.
Oh boy, she has had waaaay too much to drink. I moved over to her in an attempt to wake her up.
"Hey, I think you'd have enough."
She suddenly looked up at me, eyes wide and tear-streaked mascara running down her face. "NO!" she shouted. "I need to drink until I forget!"
"Hey, if you drink that much you'll end up in hospital. Bad breakup?"
She just stared at me.
"No? Someone died? Come on, throw me a bone here."
She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "No, he went through the ceiling."
"Like, up a ladder?"
She started to laugh, slowly at first but soon it was scarily maniacal. Between choking laughter she managed to say "he built his own ladder, out of BREAD STICKS!" and then fell to the floor laughing. At this point I had no idea what she was on about. Was she just way too drunk, or possible entirely insane. I just waited until she finally calmed down.
Once she had finally regained her composure, she spoke. "Bread sticks. He just kept taking them out of his pockets and stacking them .. under his own feet? I dunno, this guy in boxers and a leather jacket SPRINTS into the training centre and totally ignores me. What weird is that he spent a few seconds making sure he was in this one exact position, nowhere near any of the equipment. He jumps into the air, pulls out a bread stick from his jacket, puts it on the floor, and then stands on it! No, he LANDS on it! Then he pulls out a second one, jumps into the air, and puts it on top of the first one, and then lands on both! They weren't even real bread sticks, they were solid as concrete!"
She pauses to catch her breath, and I must have been staring at her like she was a crazy person, because she just stared back at me.
"Ummm, please go on," I stammered into the silence.
"Hades no, you'll think I'm crazy."
"I work in a bar, I've seen a lot of crazy."
She looked like she was pondering her choices. "Give me another shot, and maybe."
I poured her a shot of Halaani Whiskey. She quaffed it in one swift movement.
"So," she continued, "he's making a ladder of perfectly balanced concrete bread sticks. I figure he'll hit his head on the ceiling and that will be that. But NOPES! He has less room to jump, but as he puts bread stick fourty under his feet, his head pops into the ceiling. He starts thrashing about like mad, spinning in circles, bread sticks are still appearing under him somehow. Then pop, he's gone. There's no hole in the ceiling, just a perfectly stacked tower of fifty three bread sticks."
I have nothing to say, I'm entirely flummoxed. Then the door slammed open. Standing at the entrance to the bar was a pretty average looking guy, wearing a leather jacket, a pink bikini top, and blue cut-off jean shorts. The drunk girl screamed and hid under her table. This must have been the guy
Suddenly, before I could even say a word, he ran around the entire bar stealing every glass, cup, and bottle he could find and put them in his jacket. ALL of them. I don't even know how he managed to fit over 100 bottles in his jacket. I'm not too concerned, because upstairs is locked, and I have the only key.
Then he jumped onto the bar, put down a glass and stood on it. My heart sank into my stomach as I thought I knew where this was going to go. He jumped again and skillfully put a second glass perfectly on top of the first. And then a third, and a fourth, and soon he had built a tower of glasses with him balanced one one foot at the very top. He was crouched, no more room to move. He took out one more glass, wedged it under his foot, and then POP he went straight through the ceiling without even leaving a hole. The sudden movement caused all of the glasses to finally fall, showering the entire floor with shards of broken glass.
I think I need a drink.
|
"Hold the fuck on" I screamed before I even had a chance to introduce myself. "You can't skip me so stop button mashing." I continued. "This game had kind of advanced mechanics so there'll be 3 zones of difficulty." He didn't stop pressing buttons and each one of them rang through my spine like hearing someone's TV on discord. "As you progress through the zones I'll explain the mechanics as you encounter them. Now, what is your name?"
Ksfsjjf. I'm not sure what I expected really.
"Well, ksfsjjf, this is where I had over control to you" I said wincing in preparation for whatever was about to happen with this hyperactive lunatic.
The very second I finished speaking ksfsjjf bolted out towards the advanced tutorial zone without even collecting the tools for the advanced mechanics. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" I told him over and over every time he would step into the zone.
All he would do is back flip too close to the ground, fall back, get up, and do it again. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" wanted to tell him but I couldn't anymore. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting tedious, but I was told to stop him from entering. What do I do if he's already found a way in?
I'm gonna lose my job
|
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[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well met, traveler!"
"Next dialog next dialog next dialog come on hurry the fuck up God dammit."
"I would like to- I am- As soon as possible, bring me sixteen- Is there anything more I can-"
"Yeah, I know. Okay, I've got twenty-seven seconds to hit this split."
*What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome back,- Yes, you can- I would be pleased to-"
"Fuck! Thirty-one seconds! Yeah, I know. Soiled it in the fucking tutorial level. The fucking crabs have RNG powered by Satan's hate, okay? Gimme a break here. I'm resetting."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well met, traveler!"
"Shut the hell up. This is my tenth attempt. Just give me the fucking quest flag."
"I would- I- As soon as- Bring me- Is there-"
"Okay. Twenty-seven seconds. Mark."
*What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome ba- Yes, you- I would be ple-"
"Thirty-six seconds?! What the fuck? How? Am I missing something here? Oh yeah? I'm supposed to back dash and then lunge? If you're such an expert, how about you run the fucking game? Mods, ban that asshole. I'm resetting again."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well m-"
"Fuck you."
"I w- I- As so- Is-" *Best of luck, Mage. What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome b- Yes, y- I wou-"
"Yes! Twenty-six! It really was all about back dashing before the lunge! Oh hey, I guess you should unban that guy. Now let's get the next quest flag."
"With these claws- Find the- Place- Return-"
"Yeah, yeah. One minute forty eight."
*Mages are always in such a hurry. I hardly even started speaking when he ran off. It's almost like he knew what I was going to say. Perhaps he's some sort of Telepath. They were supposed to have been wiped out in the War of Silver and Iron, though. Very strange indeed.*
"Here's your fucking Staff of Power. Now give me my ring and move it on."
"Thank y- I have- It can- Here-"
"One minute FORTY FUCKING NINE. God dammit! Who the hell voices this goddamn NPC, anyway? I'm sick of hearing his voice. Troy Baker? Really? Jeez. That dude's in everything."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "W- I- I- A- I-" *Something I don't understand is happening. I swear I recognized that Mage. But then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Perhaps I've simply met a Mage just like this one. Oh, he is returning.* "W- Y- I-"
"Twenty-five, mothafucka!"
"W-F-P-R" *How does this Mage seem to know the answers before I speak them? I will have to discuss this with Lord Pranton. Telepathy has been forbidden ever since the War of Silver and Iron.*
"One-four-one! On a fuckin' roll!"
"T- I- I- H"
"Great. Now to the castle. Fucking follow quests are the worst."
*How does this Mage know where to go? I did not name any specific location. This has never happened to me before. Could this be the day I catch a Telepath and earn a promotion?* "Here we- Yes- Good- Find the-"
"Next mark three twenty-five."
*I have counseled hundreds, maybe thousands of adventurers. Most of them have been complete amateurs, destined to die in their first skirmish with orcs. A few have taken to my instructions like flies to carrion. But never, in all my days as a Tutor, have I had one who seemed to know what I was going to say before even I did.* "Excell- Take- Deliv-" *This is wildly inappropriate."
"Three thirty. You gotta be fucking kidding me. I was going so strong. Son of a bitch. Hey, back dash guy. What did I do wrong? I promise not to ban you again. Seriously? You can run and carry the warhammer? How did I not know this? Oh, because I'm a noob? Fuck you. Get banned, bitch."
******
*This is not a new adventurer. I recognize you, you scum. I don't know how, but I know you for what you are. I'm going to take you apart.* "Have at thee, Telepath filth!" *This is your penance for committing the egregious sin of mind-reading.*
"What the shit! Why is the tutorial NPC attacking me? I'm not leveled for any kind of serious fight! And look at this shit, he's fucking level ninety-nine! Oh, wow. Really? That's pretty cool, not gonna lie. But how the fuck am I supposed to run this game if it was coded to punish speedrunners? Get good? That's your answer? Fuck me. I thought I told you to ban that guy, mods. Great. Now I'm dead before starting the actual game. Now what do I do? Start a new file?"
|
I could sort of see the new trainee pressing 'X' again. I had an urge to strangle him for his insolence, but NPCs couldn't do that. Instead, I was resolved to have my painstaking teachings ignored. I continued on in the same tone, making sure I didn't arouse any suspicion regarding my inner emotions. The tutorial ended within in a single minute, dwarfing the usual hour it took, as the trainee charged out of the tutorial building as soon as he was no longer locked in place by the tutorial. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
I'd expected that this would happen for some time, what with the increase in new and old players alike. But I'd never seen someone in such a hurry before. Were my tutorials that boring? I couldn't figure it out, so I shook my head and went back to my starting spot, espying a new player at the tutorial area. He looked at me, as I prepared to give my speech. "Welcome to..." I began, but he rudely interrupted me as he withdrew a gold-plated jeweled broadsword from his hilt.
"What on Earth are you..." I began again, stammering slightly. But the shining blade soon told me its intentions, its clear target being my abdomen. I doubled back in pain, as the playet chuckled. I could see a pile of glowing orbs and items beside me. My personal items, like my tutorial gear and my knife! I reached weakly towards the pile, but the player collected it all before I could. "No loot, such a shame. Sick XP gain though," the player muttered, walking on towards the exit. I lay, slowly bleeding out on the floor.
Hopefully I would respawn.
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
So I guide this guy, one mister "SaveTheAnimals", into the training room. The moment I finish my introductory speech and activate the Cube Dispenser, he catches the cube without looking. Just sticks his hand out behind him and let's it fall into his open palm.
He goes straight for the big red button on the floor, which easily puts him in the top quartile of players. Funny thing, though. He doesn't place the cube on the button. He runs past the button to the door. But before he gets there and I have to give him my "box + button = open door" speech, he does the craziest thing. At the time, it was too fast to tell what happened, but I looked at some security footage later and figured it out. So, first, he throws the box at the bottom of the door with all his might, then he jumps. He hangs in the air for a moment, during which the box bounces off the door going crazy fast and whacks him in the chest real good. At the same moment, he whips around 180 degrees. Rather than just knocking him back like you'd expect, somehow it knocks him forward and, past the box and over the wall(there's no ceiling. We weren't expecting bullshit cube based parkour when we built this place. He lands on the other side, just about where he'd be if he walked through the door.
Luckily, he hits the trigger that makes me to warp over there, and I can give him my "goblin + sword = loot" speech. Once I go through my script and unlock the weapon cabinet, he's right there. He grabs the weapon(an Old Sword +0) and goes towards the goblin. Now, there's a bridge he's supposed to cross, which is where I'm supposed to enable his HP and Stamina bars, but he stops and jams the sword in the intricate railing of the bridge. And you know what he does? He hops up like some sort of ninja and balances on the sword. Then, and you're not gonna believe this, he does a perfect pirouette, which sets the sword wiggling like crazy. It whacks him pretty hard in the ankles, but he doesn't have his HP bar yet, so he can't even get hurt. He does fall over. Tripping doesn't need an HP bar. Instead of falling into the river, he catches himself on the far side and pulls himself up.
Naturally, the goblin, which he's supposed to be fighting, is looking at him in bewilderment. He hasn't got a sword, so he can't hurt it, but he also hasn't got an HP bar, so it can't hurt him. He stands up, dusts himself off, and then he's sprinting at the goblin. No windup, no moment of preparation. One instant he's standing up, the next he's breaking into a full sprint.
The goblin lashes out at him, but he does a perfect dive roll past it. It turns around to strike him again, but by then, (and bear with me here this is pretty dumb:) he's grinding on one of the decorative clay pots. Really twerking up a storm. Then he stops, starts going slower, in a more controlled fashion. The goblin swings it's stick at him, but when it connects, he just rockets into the sky. It's like he's got jet boots or something. He just goes straight up. Later, I see him fall down a little ways off, then he runs off into the sunset and I sure as hell ain't seen him since.
|
I could sort of see the new trainee pressing 'X' again. I had an urge to strangle him for his insolence, but NPCs couldn't do that. Instead, I was resolved to have my painstaking teachings ignored. I continued on in the same tone, making sure I didn't arouse any suspicion regarding my inner emotions. The tutorial ended within in a single minute, dwarfing the usual hour it took, as the trainee charged out of the tutorial building as soon as he was no longer locked in place by the tutorial. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
I'd expected that this would happen for some time, what with the increase in new and old players alike. But I'd never seen someone in such a hurry before. Were my tutorials that boring? I couldn't figure it out, so I shook my head and went back to my starting spot, espying a new player at the tutorial area. He looked at me, as I prepared to give my speech. "Welcome to..." I began, but he rudely interrupted me as he withdrew a gold-plated jeweled broadsword from his hilt.
"What on Earth are you..." I began again, stammering slightly. But the shining blade soon told me its intentions, its clear target being my abdomen. I doubled back in pain, as the playet chuckled. I could see a pile of glowing orbs and items beside me. My personal items, like my tutorial gear and my knife! I reached weakly towards the pile, but the player collected it all before I could. "No loot, such a shame. Sick XP gain though," the player muttered, walking on towards the exit. I lay, slowly bleeding out on the floor.
Hopefully I would respawn.
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
"He went through the ceiling," she mumbled, face down on the bar surrounded by empty shot glasses.
Oh boy, she has had waaaay too much to drink. I moved over to her in an attempt to wake her up.
"Hey, I think you'd have enough."
She suddenly looked up at me, eyes wide and tear-streaked mascara running down her face. "NO!" she shouted. "I need to drink until I forget!"
"Hey, if you drink that much you'll end up in hospital. Bad breakup?"
She just stared at me.
"No? Someone died? Come on, throw me a bone here."
She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "No, he went through the ceiling."
"Like, up a ladder?"
She started to laugh, slowly at first but soon it was scarily maniacal. Between choking laughter she managed to say "he built his own ladder, out of BREAD STICKS!" and then fell to the floor laughing. At this point I had no idea what she was on about. Was she just way too drunk, or possible entirely insane. I just waited until she finally calmed down.
Once she had finally regained her composure, she spoke. "Bread sticks. He just kept taking them out of his pockets and stacking them .. under his own feet? I dunno, this guy in boxers and a leather jacket SPRINTS into the training centre and totally ignores me. What weird is that he spent a few seconds making sure he was in this one exact position, nowhere near any of the equipment. He jumps into the air, pulls out a bread stick from his jacket, puts it on the floor, and then stands on it! No, he LANDS on it! Then he pulls out a second one, jumps into the air, and puts it on top of the first one, and then lands on both! They weren't even real bread sticks, they were solid as concrete!"
She pauses to catch her breath, and I must have been staring at her like she was a crazy person, because she just stared back at me.
"Ummm, please go on," I stammered into the silence.
"Hades no, you'll think I'm crazy."
"I work in a bar, I've seen a lot of crazy."
She looked like she was pondering her choices. "Give me another shot, and maybe."
I poured her a shot of Halaani Whiskey. She quaffed it in one swift movement.
"So," she continued, "he's making a ladder of perfectly balanced concrete bread sticks. I figure he'll hit his head on the ceiling and that will be that. But NOPES! He has less room to jump, but as he puts bread stick fourty under his feet, his head pops into the ceiling. He starts thrashing about like mad, spinning in circles, bread sticks are still appearing under him somehow. Then pop, he's gone. There's no hole in the ceiling, just a perfectly stacked tower of fifty three bread sticks."
I have nothing to say, I'm entirely flummoxed. Then the door slammed open. Standing at the entrance to the bar was a pretty average looking guy, wearing a leather jacket, a pink bikini top, and blue cut-off jean shorts. The drunk girl screamed and hid under her table. This must have been the guy
Suddenly, before I could even say a word, he ran around the entire bar stealing every glass, cup, and bottle he could find and put them in his jacket. ALL of them. I don't even know how he managed to fit over 100 bottles in his jacket. I'm not too concerned, because upstairs is locked, and I have the only key.
Then he jumped onto the bar, put down a glass and stood on it. My heart sank into my stomach as I thought I knew where this was going to go. He jumped again and skillfully put a second glass perfectly on top of the first. And then a third, and a fourth, and soon he had built a tower of glasses with him balanced one one foot at the very top. He was crouched, no more room to move. He took out one more glass, wedged it under his foot, and then POP he went straight through the ceiling without even leaving a hole. The sudden movement caused all of the glasses to finally fall, showering the entire floor with shards of broken glass.
I think I need a drink.
|
I could sort of see the new trainee pressing 'X' again. I had an urge to strangle him for his insolence, but NPCs couldn't do that. Instead, I was resolved to have my painstaking teachings ignored. I continued on in the same tone, making sure I didn't arouse any suspicion regarding my inner emotions. The tutorial ended within in a single minute, dwarfing the usual hour it took, as the trainee charged out of the tutorial building as soon as he was no longer locked in place by the tutorial. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
I'd expected that this would happen for some time, what with the increase in new and old players alike. But I'd never seen someone in such a hurry before. Were my tutorials that boring? I couldn't figure it out, so I shook my head and went back to my starting spot, espying a new player at the tutorial area. He looked at me, as I prepared to give my speech. "Welcome to..." I began, but he rudely interrupted me as he withdrew a gold-plated jeweled broadsword from his hilt.
"What on Earth are you..." I began again, stammering slightly. But the shining blade soon told me its intentions, its clear target being my abdomen. I doubled back in pain, as the playet chuckled. I could see a pile of glowing orbs and items beside me. My personal items, like my tutorial gear and my knife! I reached weakly towards the pile, but the player collected it all before I could. "No loot, such a shame. Sick XP gain though," the player muttered, walking on towards the exit. I lay, slowly bleeding out on the floor.
Hopefully I would respawn.
|
|
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
|
"He went through the ceiling," she mumbled, face down on the bar surrounded by empty shot glasses.
Oh boy, she has had waaaay too much to drink. I moved over to her in an attempt to wake her up.
"Hey, I think you'd have enough."
She suddenly looked up at me, eyes wide and tear-streaked mascara running down her face. "NO!" she shouted. "I need to drink until I forget!"
"Hey, if you drink that much you'll end up in hospital. Bad breakup?"
She just stared at me.
"No? Someone died? Come on, throw me a bone here."
She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "No, he went through the ceiling."
"Like, up a ladder?"
She started to laugh, slowly at first but soon it was scarily maniacal. Between choking laughter she managed to say "he built his own ladder, out of BREAD STICKS!" and then fell to the floor laughing. At this point I had no idea what she was on about. Was she just way too drunk, or possible entirely insane. I just waited until she finally calmed down.
Once she had finally regained her composure, she spoke. "Bread sticks. He just kept taking them out of his pockets and stacking them .. under his own feet? I dunno, this guy in boxers and a leather jacket SPRINTS into the training centre and totally ignores me. What weird is that he spent a few seconds making sure he was in this one exact position, nowhere near any of the equipment. He jumps into the air, pulls out a bread stick from his jacket, puts it on the floor, and then stands on it! No, he LANDS on it! Then he pulls out a second one, jumps into the air, and puts it on top of the first one, and then lands on both! They weren't even real bread sticks, they were solid as concrete!"
She pauses to catch her breath, and I must have been staring at her like she was a crazy person, because she just stared back at me.
"Ummm, please go on," I stammered into the silence.
"Hades no, you'll think I'm crazy."
"I work in a bar, I've seen a lot of crazy."
She looked like she was pondering her choices. "Give me another shot, and maybe."
I poured her a shot of Halaani Whiskey. She quaffed it in one swift movement.
"So," she continued, "he's making a ladder of perfectly balanced concrete bread sticks. I figure he'll hit his head on the ceiling and that will be that. But NOPES! He has less room to jump, but as he puts bread stick fourty under his feet, his head pops into the ceiling. He starts thrashing about like mad, spinning in circles, bread sticks are still appearing under him somehow. Then pop, he's gone. There's no hole in the ceiling, just a perfectly stacked tower of fifty three bread sticks."
I have nothing to say, I'm entirely flummoxed. Then the door slammed open. Standing at the entrance to the bar was a pretty average looking guy, wearing a leather jacket, a pink bikini top, and blue cut-off jean shorts. The drunk girl screamed and hid under her table. This must have been the guy
Suddenly, before I could even say a word, he ran around the entire bar stealing every glass, cup, and bottle he could find and put them in his jacket. ALL of them. I don't even know how he managed to fit over 100 bottles in his jacket. I'm not too concerned, because upstairs is locked, and I have the only key.
Then he jumped onto the bar, put down a glass and stood on it. My heart sank into my stomach as I thought I knew where this was going to go. He jumped again and skillfully put a second glass perfectly on top of the first. And then a third, and a fourth, and soon he had built a tower of glasses with him balanced one one foot at the very top. He was crouched, no more room to move. He took out one more glass, wedged it under his foot, and then POP he went straight through the ceiling without even leaving a hole. The sudden movement caused all of the glasses to finally fall, showering the entire floor with shards of broken glass.
I think I need a drink.
|
So I guide this guy, one mister "SaveTheAnimals", into the training room. The moment I finish my introductory speech and activate the Cube Dispenser, he catches the cube without looking. Just sticks his hand out behind him and let's it fall into his open palm.
He goes straight for the big red button on the floor, which easily puts him in the top quartile of players. Funny thing, though. He doesn't place the cube on the button. He runs past the button to the door. But before he gets there and I have to give him my "box + button = open door" speech, he does the craziest thing. At the time, it was too fast to tell what happened, but I looked at some security footage later and figured it out. So, first, he throws the box at the bottom of the door with all his might, then he jumps. He hangs in the air for a moment, during which the box bounces off the door going crazy fast and whacks him in the chest real good. At the same moment, he whips around 180 degrees. Rather than just knocking him back like you'd expect, somehow it knocks him forward and, past the box and over the wall(there's no ceiling. We weren't expecting bullshit cube based parkour when we built this place. He lands on the other side, just about where he'd be if he walked through the door.
Luckily, he hits the trigger that makes me to warp over there, and I can give him my "goblin + sword = loot" speech. Once I go through my script and unlock the weapon cabinet, he's right there. He grabs the weapon(an Old Sword +0) and goes towards the goblin. Now, there's a bridge he's supposed to cross, which is where I'm supposed to enable his HP and Stamina bars, but he stops and jams the sword in the intricate railing of the bridge. And you know what he does? He hops up like some sort of ninja and balances on the sword. Then, and you're not gonna believe this, he does a perfect pirouette, which sets the sword wiggling like crazy. It whacks him pretty hard in the ankles, but he doesn't have his HP bar yet, so he can't even get hurt. He does fall over. Tripping doesn't need an HP bar. Instead of falling into the river, he catches himself on the far side and pulls himself up.
Naturally, the goblin, which he's supposed to be fighting, is looking at him in bewilderment. He hasn't got a sword, so he can't hurt it, but he also hasn't got an HP bar, so it can't hurt him. He stands up, dusts himself off, and then he's sprinting at the goblin. No windup, no moment of preparation. One instant he's standing up, the next he's breaking into a full sprint.
The goblin lashes out at him, but he does a perfect dive roll past it. It turns around to strike him again, but by then, (and bear with me here this is pretty dumb:) he's grinding on one of the decorative clay pots. Really twerking up a storm. Then he stops, starts going slower, in a more controlled fashion. The goblin swings it's stick at him, but when it connects, he just rockets into the sky. It's like he's got jet boots or something. He just goes straight up. Later, I see him fall down a little ways off, then he runs off into the sunset and I sure as hell ain't seen him since.
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[WP] You are tending bar when a stranger orders an unusual drink and leaves you a treasure map for a tip.
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The bar door opened and let blinding light into the windowless dive. It was too early for any of the regulars, but a hard day can come at any time and who am I to judge a man having an early drink. From the glaring portal of light, a man emerged. He stepped slowly across the threshold and with each step came a click.
*click* *click* *click*
It came from his left leg. At least it came from what remained of his left leg. In its place was a wooden rod. I suppose a peg would be the proper term.
*click* *click* *click*
He wore what can only be described as pantaloons, and a thick buttoned coat red with gold trimmings. Upon his head he wore a brown tricorn cap which was worn and showed holes and tears throughout.
*click* *click* *click*
He approached the bar and sat across from me, and I then realized I had stopped wiping the glass as I stared at the odd character who had appeared mid-day in a Mississippi dive bar. I saw his face for the first time. He bore a scar across his weathered face which split the great bush of dark beard which hid most of his face. Beneath bushy eyebrows he peered out with dark eyes indistinct from two lumps of burnt coal.
I cleared my throat. "What can I get ya?"
"Bumbo," he said.
"Excuse me."
"Bumbo."
"I'm not sure how to make that."
He brushed a loosed strand of long black hair back beneath his hat and sighed. "Rum, splash of water, some sugar, and a bit of nutmeg."
I nodded as he said each ingredient. I poured the golden spiced rum in a glass and shot a sprinkling of water from the well gun. I looked at him as I added a teaspoon of sugar and was pleased when he solemnly nodded. As I stirred the sugar until it dissolved, I felt a moments panic. Nutmeg. Nutmeg? There was no nutmeg.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I have any nutmeg."
He gave what was a grunt and a discontented sigh. "Give it some lime and be done damn you. It ain't a bumbo, but it'll do."
I gave the drink a squirt of lime juice and slid it to him. He held the glass to his lips and winked at me before turning the concoction on end and quickly drinking it down.
"Ya did handsomely, lad," he said as he stood from the stool. He rummaged in the inside pocket and withdrew a roll of brown, tarnished paper. He sat the paper on the bar and unfurled its ragged edges. It was a map which appeared to show the Alabama coast west of Mobile bay. His finger tapped the map where an "X" rested. "You'll find this payment enough, if ya have the stones to fetch it."
He stood and began walking away.
*click* *click* *click*
I took his glass and rolled up the map. I poured some rum, water, sugar, and a splash of lime and then poured the concoction down my parched throat. It burned and I spluttered at the bite. From near the door came a shallow laugh.
*click* *click* *click*
The door opened and the man disappeared into the glaring light of day. I poured myself another round.
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"You know, I used to be like you" the man muttered as he took another sip of his drink: vodka, rum, and Surge, garnished with apple slices; he called it the Captain Ramthaw. "Working away my bones for others, scared too take what was mine. Oh but all that changed in Prasinum Mare" he said before finishing the rest of his drink.
"Prisin Mayor?" I asked, confused, as I finished garnishing the apples on top of his drink, knowing he would soon order a fourth, as was his fancy.
"Thank you Sir," he said as I placed the drink in front of him before continuing "Prasinum Mare. The light green sea is what I'm told it means."
Resting against the bar top I became more intrigued, "never heard of it."
"You wouldn't have, few ever do, and fewer can make it back to mainland to talk about it. But that was my home for fifty years, sailing the seas with -- and on occasion against -- Ramthaw, and his Loadbearers, and of course Captain Arthur Ramses, what a sick man he was -- or is -- no one has seen him in years, or decades. Killed my entire crew once, I only survived because he liked my gumption."
Putting aside all my tasks, I replied "that sounds terrible, I'm glad you got out of there."
"I'm not" he quickly quipped, "it's part of the life out there, hell I must have done something wrong to live as long as I have. I wouldn't have traded it for anything. There's nothing quite like the feel of the wind in your hair, the salt on your cheeks, as you face down the prow of an enemy ship knowing that in just a short time one of you will be dead, but at the end of the day with a glass of mead in my mouth, the bread in my beard, and my men by my side singing songs of the glory, it made it all worth it. Oh men, oh men, come sing a song with me, of our travel wide, across the green like sea, oh men, oh men, take up your arms and I'll grab the wheel, we plunder, we pirate, we kill and we steal! And fortune favours all of us, and death comes quickly by, put my money in the grave by me, when my time comes to die!" he sang.
He finished his drink and I began making another before he stopped me. "I think that'll be all sailor. It's about time I had my money placed by me if you know what I mean," he said as he placed a gold coin on the bar top. "There's more where that came from, make a move. Dockyard, ten o'clock tonight. old sturdy ship, names the Black Widow. Get on board and speak with Claudius, tell him Captain Winthrop sent you, and give him this -- lord knows he's been looking for it." He said as he handed me a map.
I watched as the man walked out, noticing his cheap prosthetic leg and a distinctive limp. I looked over at my manager and spoke just two words: "I quit."
Lord knows I've never packed for anything like this before, I barely had a moment to care though. I threw what I could in a sack and went to the dockyard where I spotted her anchored with a ramp from port leading in. A candle barely lit the hull, which was strangely empty, my heart began to pound as my brain shouted at me to leave, but I had come this far and I could not drag myself away. "Claudius?" I called out. "Captain Winthrop sent me to come talk to you." I continued, grabbing a lantern off of the wall to examine the inside. I slid open a door, which had something firm pressed against it. "Claudius? I have a map given to me by Winthrop, he said you'd want it. I'd like to go with you." I added as I stepped on something and the stench of death hit my nostrils. "Captain?" I pleaded again as my lantern caught the sight of death at my feet, men scattered from their bones, blood to my ankle, and death in my eyes.
"I am unarmed," I shouted, uselessly.
"Now that was your first mistake." A voice said as an older man limped forward into my light, long black hair, long black beard, and a bloody sword drawn, behind him men began to appear as they backed me up against the wall. "So, James has a map now does he? How'd you like to go see where it brings us?"
"I uh... yes, please. Don't kill me."
"I think I'll keep you around, you've got spirit. What's your name then boy?"
"Brian Jones." I replied.
The men laughed as the man spoke up "we'll have to think of something better than that, but we'll find a name for you in time. So you're keen on joining my crew then, are you?"
"Yes sir."
"Well then, welcome aboard the Black Widow, Mr. Jones. You may call me Captain Ramses."
edit: Downvoted in WP? Didn't even know that was possible... WTF
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[WP] As a fellow half blood, you've become Voldemort's most trusted confidant. He informs you of his plan to kill an infant Harry Potter. You attempt to convince him that you don't need magic to kill an infant child, but the dark lord is incredibly stubborn.
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"You wish to cast the Killing Curse onto a baby boy?" I raise an eyebrow and awkwardly cross my arms. "Don't you think that's, y'know, overkill?"
The evil overlord held his trusted weapon with his two hands and turned back from his wand chest. "Nonsense!" Voldemort growl, "Nothing could ever be overkill for the Chosen One. I must kill him before he kills me."
"Yeah, but he's a baby. I repeat: A BABY." There was a groan waiting at the back of my throat.
Voldemort grins—not a pretty sight, I tell you—and flicks his wand. "Oh, the look on Trelawney's face when I ruin her first and last prophecy. It'll break her, oh it will."
I groan. Oh, there it is. "I can think of ten other ways on the spot to kill a baby. Methods that are far easier than the Killing Curse."
"Oh, really?" He mocks, scratching his chin as an act. "Do tell, Helix, do tell."
My hands are raised in the air, and as I speak, I start to count. "We could shoot him, choke him, drown him, feed him a poisoned cookie, break his neck into two, um.." I pause for a moment, but I wouldn't let him obtain victory. "There's setting him on fire, dropping him off the window, slamming his head on the window, kidnap him and then execute him—"
Voldemort interrupts me. "Yes, there may be easier ways to kill the baby, but they are mortal ways. We may be half-bloods, but that doesn't mean we should resort to such, embarrassing ways."
"I mean, there's so many things that could go wrong with the Killing Curse. What if their parents wake up? The Potters are quite powerful, rumor says."
But of course, he's as stubborn as a supervillain.
"Nonsense!" He tidies his robe and walks past me. "This conversation bores me. I will kill that boy Harry Potter and I will finally be undefeatable."
I sigh. I tried.
Fast forward to the Death Hallows..
"In your face, you noseless bitch!" I gasped for air and pointed at his pitiful, trembling body. "You should have let me drown him in the toilet and be Moaning Myrtle's baby!"
But of course, it's too late to listen. Why did I even side with this useless lord, dammit?
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"Look, all I'm saying is that it's much more efficient"
My boss stared skeptically, tapping his foot. He violently gestured towards a crib, containing what he believed to be the only threat to his power.
"What could be more efficient than waving my hand and instantly killing it?" His nostrils flared angrily, something that happened *very* often when you had no nose to speak of.
"I don't know, using this?" I took my pistol from under my robe and stepped over the woman's corpse, handing the dark lord a Heckler & Koch I had pocketed off of an attempted muggle mugger.
He stared at it. "This will do the trick?" He eyed at me carefully.
"yeah, just one shot and it's dead. I mean, it's a baby. We could shake it to death if we really had to."
He carefully aimed, and pulled the trigger.
A click.
Several more. "You have to turn the safety off"
"Enough of this!" Wind flared and his eyes glowed.
"AVADA KEDAVRA"
Green energy burst forth, rebounding off of the baby and into my master.
"Protego!" I tried to shield us, but my master's body vanished, leaving behind robes and a wand.
Blue and red lights flashed in from the window. Muggle police. Not a problem with my master nearby, but not easy to deal with on my own. And there were two corpses and gun next to me, while I'm dressed in a robe and mask.
"Time to go" I whispered, pocketing the gun and wand, and taking the wallet of the mother.
By the time the door opened, I was in King's Cross
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[WP] You are a multidimensional bounty hunter whose specialty is hunting alternate reality versions of yourself.
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I jumped out the window as fire blasted through the already broken glass. I didn't fall far as I was only on the second floor of a library in Dem109 where the Maya in this dimension had already found the flamethrower and was attempting to rid me of this reality. Luckily I planned on killing her first. I needed money to pay rent and Mr. Cadron seemed like a wealthy employer. One that would pay handsomely for my demise. Or the demise of other me, I suppose.
"Holy cheese-its!" My partner, Kaylie stumbled out of the first floor exit as I landed on the grass. Her short curly brown hair stuck up around her face and soot caked her usually pale face. "That you...she is hecking crazy." Kaylie was never one to swear and I found it utterly adorable.
"We just need to get close enough, I have the knife in possession, I just need a clear shot at her without, ya know, being burned like that pizza you made last week," I answered, jogging to Kaylie's current position.
"Hey! It was not that burnt..." Kaylie protested even though we both knew that pie looked like charcoal when she was through with it. "Okay, Maya, new topic. What's the plan?"
"The plan is simple..." I sprinted inside without finishing the sentence.
Pulling my knife out of its sheath, I crept behind myself waiting for an opening. Luckily Dem109 Maya was turned away from me. I saw my chance and I took it. I quickly plunged the knife into this Maya's back and watched as she staggered around.
Behind me, Kaylie approached. "Hey, did yoUR PLAN WORK ARE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF LEAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND ALONE OUTSIDE AND--" She finally noticed that I actually had succeeded in my genius plan all along. "Congratulations, Maya. Forget I said anything at all before I was just playin'."
"Whatever, Kay." I grinned.
Later that day I had received the cash and was able to pay rent on my tiny shared apartment in Dem642. Kaylie and I ended up having takeout pizza for dinner and watching a pretty good movie. Before we went to sleep, something Kaylie said struck me as odd.
"Do you ever wonder if one of your alternate selves has been hired to assassinate you?"
(This was really trashy sorry m' dudes. It's late at night and I'm bored.)
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The trail was fresh.
I had left a bag of taffy out on the communal table at the Physical Therapist's office that the version of me from dimension 4204 owned. I followed the sound of crinkling wrappers to the bathroom.
I never could resist saltwater taffy.
The physical therapist version of myself was thinner, more polished. I estimated that my makeup/ general face care regime was probably worth $500. My clothing was actually tailored and fit like a glove on that body.
*The bitch*
I lived alone in my reality and didn't have much patience for versions of myself that "believed in themselves" or "had support systems."
When the hit information came, I had no qualms and prepared by searching myself for information. If I had self-esteem and reasonable money, where would I go? What would I like?
I stalked myself for weeks prior to finding myself in my own building. I scoffed at the high-end-of-middle-class house my counterpart lived in. I rolled my eyes at the SUV I drove. I screamed profanities aloud as my toned, tan clone played tennis at a country club. (She turned around, alarmed.)
Her moment of death was mercifully quiet. I had a silencer on my gun and I took her out in a bathroom stall where she was having a quiet panic attack over a patient lawsuit. I dragged her body out of the building and buried her 10 miles out of town.
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[WP] You are a multidimensional bounty hunter whose specialty is hunting alternate reality versions of yourself.
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Garen. The central hub of inter-dimensional activity, and most importantly- the place where I get paid. The money’s decent, and they have the most amazing pizzas in this dimension. It’s a spin on the classic margherita pizza you see- and- oh. I’m getting distracted again. Right-o.
Garen. A sleek silver-streamed cityscape under indigo skies. My kind of place- pretty on the outside, but rotten within. Plenty of opportunities, if you know where to find it.
My bounty groans. “Hey?” he asks, voice muffled. “Who are you? And where the heck are you taking me?” Ah… The wonderful sound of my own voice- but a decade or two younger, with the remains of a pre-pubescent squeak. He struggles against his bonds, and I smile. No escaping those bonds. Not when you’re trapped in a customized pocket dimension.
“Back home, kid. That’s what you get for running away again.”
His voice is quiet now. “I have money and resources. Things you lack in. If you let me out, I can assure-”
“You don’t have enough to pay me.” That, I'm sure of. I've had the same circumstances in the past, but more luck in evading capture.
“And how the fuck do you know?”
“Because I’m clairvoyant.”
“Fuck you!” He bursts. “Fucking clairvoyant, my ass.“ The next couple minutes are only obscenities, and creative ways of insulting my mother. I flick a mental switch, and feel instant relief. He’ll wear himself out in an hour. And after that, I’ll be a half a million richer.
I readjust the strap of my leather bag across my shoulder. The other hand is firm on my hidden holster, where I keep my gun. The crowd is heavy here. Swarms of people, like the way ants swarm over a rotten apple. This is the glitzy part of town- the shopping district. The crowd keeps a healthy distance away from me. Something about the numerous scars, and the thousand yard stare… Nah. Probably my handsome mug.
I make fast pace through the crowd, and duck into a familiar alleyway. This is the entrance to the fisher markets, a darker part of the town. It stinks of cigars and street food. There are less people here, but with blacker records. Skulkers, lurkers.
Orange-red lanterns light the way between stalls and shops. I weave in and out, keeping an eye on my belongings. It’s a good place to get cheap, illegal things here, but I don’t trust a couple of them. The street food is tempting, of course, and a few familiar faces break into smiles as I walk by. I shake my head. Man on a mission here.
I round the corner, and pass between a weapons vendor and a brothel. There’s a inn straight ahead, bigger on the inside than the out. A single door, leading to a hive of suspicious exchanges. I push it open, and sigh. Nothing has changed, for the past decade. The same ol’ air of griminess, terrible taste in decor, and … the bartender. The one in the back: black vest, shifty eyes.He looks like a boulder, and pretends to have the intelligence of one. I call him friend.
“Hey, Tom!” I call. “I’ve got a new one for you.”
He doesn’t look up. Only wipes his hands on a rag, and busies himself by making me a drink. I trust him enough to not poison me.
“Identifier, and evidence?”
“CL-1459. He’s the runaway. Daddy wants him back, and he’s willing to pay the big bucks.” I rub my neck. “I feel sorry for the little guy. It feels weird, you know. A little too much like self pity. I don’t want to sympathize too much with a target.” Tom slides the glass over. I take a gulp- savoury, leading to bitter-sweet, with a slight fizz. I set it down. “Thanks. Really needed that.”
“No problem.”
I drum my fingers in a special pattern. The biosensor implanted in my wrist confirms and recognizes it and…. Bam. The kid is gasping on his back, green and blue ropes of light snaking across his body. CL-1459 tries to speak, but only a rasp comes out. “This is it,” I state.
Tom abandons his position at the counter, and steps closer. He holds a binocular -like item in his hands, and is peering through it. “It’s the right one.”
“Damn right.” I know I sound a little indignant, but I take pride in my tracking abilities. “You know me.”
He slaps a barcode on the kid’s wrist. It sinks into the skin, becoming nearly indistinguishable from flesh. The boy shimmers, then disappears. “Your credits will be in your account early tomorrow morning. ” Tom grins, but it is a horrible yet good-natured one, full of tombstone teeth. “With my share, of course.”
I take another sip of my drink. The carbonation’s nearly gone. “Got any other ones for me?” My heart is pounding, and I feel the thrill build up in me again. Money is nice, and so is notoriety, but the adrenaline…
“Of course. Check out CL-44409…”
 
^I ^would ^love ^some ^critique...
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The trail was fresh.
I had left a bag of taffy out on the communal table at the Physical Therapist's office that the version of me from dimension 4204 owned. I followed the sound of crinkling wrappers to the bathroom.
I never could resist saltwater taffy.
The physical therapist version of myself was thinner, more polished. I estimated that my makeup/ general face care regime was probably worth $500. My clothing was actually tailored and fit like a glove on that body.
*The bitch*
I lived alone in my reality and didn't have much patience for versions of myself that "believed in themselves" or "had support systems."
When the hit information came, I had no qualms and prepared by searching myself for information. If I had self-esteem and reasonable money, where would I go? What would I like?
I stalked myself for weeks prior to finding myself in my own building. I scoffed at the high-end-of-middle-class house my counterpart lived in. I rolled my eyes at the SUV I drove. I screamed profanities aloud as my toned, tan clone played tennis at a country club. (She turned around, alarmed.)
Her moment of death was mercifully quiet. I had a silencer on my gun and I took her out in a bathroom stall where she was having a quiet panic attack over a patient lawsuit. I dragged her body out of the building and buried her 10 miles out of town.
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[WP]You've suddenly started receiving packages from a mysterious sender. Strange, fantastical and otherworldly things- things you recognize but should never exist.
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Leah was standing behind her chair as she acted out the attack that her Gnome barbarian, Freeda Pricklefoot was carrying out after she rolled a natural twenty, "...through the air, grab my axe from its arc and bring it down into the neck and chest of the Orc chieftain!" She exaggerated her movements, walking back and forth on her side of the table, she bumped into it as she acted out the finishing touch, knocking over the bottle of coke she was drinking. "OH SHIT...ah. Never mind, it was closed. Heh."
Thomas, her dungeon master grinned as he took over the narrative, "As you bring down your axe through the whistling air, its enchantment kicks in and it bursts into flame just before sinking into the exposed clavicle of the huge, muscular, green Orc chieftain. It skirts just inside the edge of his armour and plunges deep into flesh and bone, severing large ropey veins which spurt a quick shower of deep crimson, almost black blood before the flames from your axe cauterize the wound. Though it doesn't help him as your axe, angled as it is, breaks through his ribs and spine, and he falls down, flat on his face. Dead. With your axe sticking out of the wound." The four players erupted into a huge cheer, the other three congratulating Leah on the feat.
"FUCK YEAH, GIRL!"
"WE DID IT!"
"Holy shit, I thought we were gonna die for a second there... Fucking nice crit, Leah!"
She bowed, waving the praise in, "No, please, stop, I don't deserve it," she said through a huge grin, "We're not done yet though! I grab my axe and rip it from the corpse, then look around at any Orcs still alive and hold it out one handed, pointing it at them and say 'ANYONE ELSE?'"
"Roll an intimidation check."
Leah rolled her d20 and it came up in her favour, "18...plus 7...25."
Thomas chuckled as he described the reaction, "All the other Orcs around see the tiny Gnome with the flaming axe twice her size in one hand that just felled their chieftain and they want nothing to do with it, so they all turn tail and flee into the nearby woods." The players cheered again and Leah did a fist pump. "Aaand that's where we'll end today's-" the doorbell rang.
Leah turned to the sound of her apartment's intercom turning on automatically, but no one was on the video screen. There was, however, something on her doorstep. "What the shit is that?" she said as she got up and walked over to the machine. "It looks like a box...a huge one. Hang on, guys. I'm gonna go see what the hell that is." She walked down the hall to the front door and opened it. Looking around, there didn't seem to be anyone walking away and she couldn't hear any footsteps. On the step, right in front of her, was a box that was almost as long as she was tall. She found a sticker on one side that had her address on it with no sender. "Huh..." she mused as she picked it up, "ooh, fuck, not light..."
"Everything ok, Leah?" Ben called out from the table in the living room. Leah brought the package in and they all gasped at the size of it. "What the hell? Did you order a new bookcase or something?" Ben questioned.
"Not that I remember. I don't have enough books for a new bookcase. Wait up, let me open it," she dropped it on the floor next to the table, grabbed the cutter she always used for mini customization and parted the tape holding the box closed. Opening it caused everyone to gasp again. "Hooooooly fuuuuuuck..." Leah managed as she looked down at the contents. Inside was a massive axe with an ornately crafted handle, wrapped in dark, shining leather. The black metal head of it looked like something out of an anime, with complicated patterns of swirls, runes, and glyphs.
"Holy freaking crap, Leah," Sarah said from above her, as Leah reached down to touch the weapon, "Who's sending you shit like this?"
"Wait..." Leah said, putting her hands out to the sides at her friends gathering around her, "I know what this is... It's my Blood Drinker!"
"WHAT? No. That doesn't make any sense." Eva said from behind her.
"I KNOW! But this is exactly how I imagined it in my head!" Looked around at her friends and smiled a grin bigger than she had before.
---
A little unfinished, but I gotta go home from work... XD
More at r/SamsStoriesSub
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"Jesus Christ, not another dragon dildo," cried Chris.
He stomped down the hallway, box in hand, and parked at the edge of the door frame to his flatmate's bedroom. Kaemon sat at his workstation, halfway sunken into his Cintiq, all the way curled into his chair, headphones blaring.
"You know, last time this happened, I nearly opened it in front of my mom," declared Chris to the air.
Kaemon didn't look up. Chris walked up to the lump and tore the phones from Kaemon's head. A dazed man looked up and was pummeled by a foot of falling silicone. He winced, dropping his Cintiq and falling out of his chair into another heap.
"Why, Kaemon, why," asked Chris.
Without missing a beat Kaemon gingerly replaced the overturned Cintiq on his desk before diving down to retrieve the dildo.
"Deliberately opening other people's mail is a felony, you know," said Kaemon as he rummaged under his desk.
"I thought it was the toaster oven I ordered," offered Chris, crossing his arms. "Mistakes were made."
"Same mistake twice," replied Kaemon. He rose to his knees, newly inaugurated package in hand, and began to pick out the dust and hair that stuck to its surface. He looked up.
"Did you have to remove it from the packaging before you threw it at me?" he asked Chris.
"The packaging is all black," offered Chris, gesturing with his arms to the box. "I needed to see--"
"To see what was obviously inside the black plastic bag," said Kaemon. He was standing, dildo in hand.
"This isn't funny, Chris," began Kaemon, his face curled into annoyance,"It's rude to open mail clearly addressed to other people, and what you did to my package was especially gross. What is this about?"
"Jesus, dude," replied Chris, "It's just a joke."
"If you want to try one out I'd be happy to lend it to you," said Kaemon in his most stern deadpan voice. "Anything to help you quit this stupid 'beat-around-the-bro-bush-thing' with your sexuality." He held the floppy length up to his flatmate, who promptly winced himself.
"Dude, no," said Chris, his face turning beet, "Fuck, I--"
"I don't judge you, Chris," Kaemon said. "I only ask you stop stirring up shit for no reason. I'm too used to drama. I don't want it here. Also, you really suck at hiding it."
Chris stared.
"I won't tell your mom," Kaemon promised.
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[WP]You've suddenly started receiving packages from a mysterious sender. Strange, fantastical and otherworldly things- things you recognize but should never exist.
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Leah was standing behind her chair as she acted out the attack that her Gnome barbarian, Freeda Pricklefoot was carrying out after she rolled a natural twenty, "...through the air, grab my axe from its arc and bring it down into the neck and chest of the Orc chieftain!" She exaggerated her movements, walking back and forth on her side of the table, she bumped into it as she acted out the finishing touch, knocking over the bottle of coke she was drinking. "OH SHIT...ah. Never mind, it was closed. Heh."
Thomas, her dungeon master grinned as he took over the narrative, "As you bring down your axe through the whistling air, its enchantment kicks in and it bursts into flame just before sinking into the exposed clavicle of the huge, muscular, green Orc chieftain. It skirts just inside the edge of his armour and plunges deep into flesh and bone, severing large ropey veins which spurt a quick shower of deep crimson, almost black blood before the flames from your axe cauterize the wound. Though it doesn't help him as your axe, angled as it is, breaks through his ribs and spine, and he falls down, flat on his face. Dead. With your axe sticking out of the wound." The four players erupted into a huge cheer, the other three congratulating Leah on the feat.
"FUCK YEAH, GIRL!"
"WE DID IT!"
"Holy shit, I thought we were gonna die for a second there... Fucking nice crit, Leah!"
She bowed, waving the praise in, "No, please, stop, I don't deserve it," she said through a huge grin, "We're not done yet though! I grab my axe and rip it from the corpse, then look around at any Orcs still alive and hold it out one handed, pointing it at them and say 'ANYONE ELSE?'"
"Roll an intimidation check."
Leah rolled her d20 and it came up in her favour, "18...plus 7...25."
Thomas chuckled as he described the reaction, "All the other Orcs around see the tiny Gnome with the flaming axe twice her size in one hand that just felled their chieftain and they want nothing to do with it, so they all turn tail and flee into the nearby woods." The players cheered again and Leah did a fist pump. "Aaand that's where we'll end today's-" the doorbell rang.
Leah turned to the sound of her apartment's intercom turning on automatically, but no one was on the video screen. There was, however, something on her doorstep. "What the shit is that?" she said as she got up and walked over to the machine. "It looks like a box...a huge one. Hang on, guys. I'm gonna go see what the hell that is." She walked down the hall to the front door and opened it. Looking around, there didn't seem to be anyone walking away and she couldn't hear any footsteps. On the step, right in front of her, was a box that was almost as long as she was tall. She found a sticker on one side that had her address on it with no sender. "Huh..." she mused as she picked it up, "ooh, fuck, not light..."
"Everything ok, Leah?" Ben called out from the table in the living room. Leah brought the package in and they all gasped at the size of it. "What the hell? Did you order a new bookcase or something?" Ben questioned.
"Not that I remember. I don't have enough books for a new bookcase. Wait up, let me open it," she dropped it on the floor next to the table, grabbed the cutter she always used for mini customization and parted the tape holding the box closed. Opening it caused everyone to gasp again. "Hooooooly fuuuuuuck..." Leah managed as she looked down at the contents. Inside was a massive axe with an ornately crafted handle, wrapped in dark, shining leather. The black metal head of it looked like something out of an anime, with complicated patterns of swirls, runes, and glyphs.
"Holy freaking crap, Leah," Sarah said from above her, as Leah reached down to touch the weapon, "Who's sending you shit like this?"
"Wait..." Leah said, putting her hands out to the sides at her friends gathering around her, "I know what this is... It's my Blood Drinker!"
"WHAT? No. That doesn't make any sense." Eva said from behind her.
"I KNOW! But this is exactly how I imagined it in my head!" Looked around at her friends and smiled a grin bigger than she had before.
---
A little unfinished, but I gotta go home from work... XD
More at r/SamsStoriesSub
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The bell rang three times, strangely, it echoed throughout the house like it had never done before. Electrical issue, I figured, and ambled to the door. My windows betrayed a child's prank or a ghost trying to enter my home as no one stood outside. Grunting I came back to the kitchen. As I grabbed my cereals, the bell rang three times again, and this time, like words whispering to me, it echoed inside my mind. Out of nowhere, I felt the touch of a glacier hand caressing my spine and my soul jolted away from my body, or so I thought. I took a brief moment to recollect myself, after all, it could be a side effect of my new medication.
I darted out of the kitchen and I found myself laying on the floor. My feet met a paperboard package that I had never seen and, to my horror, a gust of wind closed my entrance door, which I never opened.
A dismal song started playing from inside the box. I lost control over my body and like a puppet I found myself ripping the package with fury and passion, countless pieces of paperboard adorned my floor. A wrought iron box, darker than night itself, was now cradled between my arms.
The song came to a halt and I repossessed my being. Adrenaline rushed through my protruding veins as my heart pumped enormous amount of blood at an unsustainable pace. My surroundings faded and emptiness filled the room, it was me, the box and a disturbing absence of sound.
Whispers of thousand voices charged with sorrow crammed my thoughts as shadows began to billow out of the box. My organs and muscles writhed as though merciless hands were strangling them. The absolute silent allowed me to hear and feel my blood bolting and crawling through my veins, each heartbeat thundered across my melting brain as my extremities quivered incessantly.
And then, the box began to bleed a message: "Keeper." It wrote over the snow-white surface of emptiness. In the blink of an eye, everything changed and I was now sitting in my kitchen with the box in front of me. The fear was gone, I understood my purpose and I knew Pandora's Box was nothing but the first of many gifts.
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[WP] You are a king, and you can decide what is 'in' and what is 'out'. People despise what is 'out', and very much desire what is 'in'.
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Gather around children, and I’ll tell you the tale of how our great Kingdom came to be.
It all started with a gift.
For as long as I can remember, almost as long as I’ve known I was a royal, I’ve had a special talent, a hidden ‘power’ if you will.
Everything I decide is “In”, my people adore.
Sweaters, monkeys, pencils and toys. Rulers, rubbers, ponies, and noise.
You name it. They'll claim it.
Even things I simply THINK about for a little while, the people will begin to think are “In.”
Mostly this is good. Sometimes this is bad.
When my father (the King of our great Land of In-Bürger) died, crying became the most popular thing that day. As did funerals and flowers for a time. I became sick of the madness, sick of my gift of persuading everyone to like the things I thought about. I didn’t want to see black clothes or crying faces anymore. But it was hard to concentrate on anything else.
However, once the worst of my grief had past, I set my eyes on a new pursuit.
There was only one way to overcome this ridiculous gift.
I would embrace it.
I would use my gift to become the most powerful King, not just of In-Bürger, but of all the lands.
Conquest became very much “In.”
For a time, it worked. The people, of their own accord, ravaged and pillaged the nearby towns and villages. My lands grew as quickly as my reputation. I was famous in all countries for being an unstoppable and ruthless King. I didn’t care. Being unstoppable and ruthless was “In.”
But then there came a time when my power began to… dwindle.
One day, the people stopped pillaging. In fact, they began to give their lands away to others. Some strange force was opposing my gift.
Enraged, I concentrated harder. Destruction, force, annihilation. Conquest, carnage, elimination.
It worked. But it only worked while I was actively concentrating. The moment I lost concentration, the people would lay down their pitch forks, sacrifice their land, allow the enemy to take whatever they had. It was a disaster.
At first I stayed awake day and night, trying to conquer this impossible force with sheer willpower. But I grew weak with exhaustion, and my concentration began to snap with even the simplest of distractions. Just going to the bathroom could lead to a village being lost to the enemy.
I gathered my advisors close to me, desperate for an answer.
Whispers came, sickly rumours, of a new King who had arisen from a far off land. A King who was far more powerful than me.
I sent spies, powerful spies. I waited weeks, weeks turned into months. The people began to revolt against me, to loathe the ground I walked on. I grew weaker, more desperate, more afraid. I was near breaking point when my spies finally returned.
My spies had returned with answers. But they were not the answers I wanted to hear.
The King was from a far-off land called Burgr. And oh, he was powerful. He had a gift very much like mine. But instead of being able to decide what was “In”, he could decide what was “Out”. And ever since my recent rise to power, he had decided that I was “Out”. All of his hate was channelled towards conquering me. And hate is a much more powerful force than love.
I can’t say I didn’t try my hardest to defeat him. Oh, how I rallied. I took potions and herbs to stay awake, installed needles in my beds, had my advisors constantly at my side to shake me if ever I fell asleep.
Many bloody wars were fought. Some we won, but most we lost, and I was losing my mind. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think.
Something had to give.
There was only one way I could defeat the evil King. I needed to become the master of deciding what was both “Out” and “In”.
Once more I gathered my wisest advisors around me. Most of my advisors shook their head. It could not be done, they said, what I wanted was impossible.
But one, wise, wrinkled councillor listened to their exclamations with a frown. He gestured towards me with a wasted finger.
“There may be a way,” he said, with a crinkled grimace.
I gestured towards him.
“You must tell me now if there is any hope for the kingdom.”
Once more he frowned, and shook his head. No, no it was silly to think of, he said.
“You MUST tell me if there is even a slight possibility. The fate of the kingdom depends on it.”
He raised a single eyebrow and said, “There is a prophecy, that if you rename the kingdom, the powers of the ruler will also be..renamed.”
“You mean, if I change the name of our kingdom to reflect the dual powers of Out and In, I can harness both powers?”
“Yes, dear King, that is what I mean.”
It is no small feat to change the name of an entire kingdom, but I have never been one to shy away from a challenge.
It took months of paperwork, but finally we changed the name of the Kingdom of In-Bürger, to something much more…fitting. And as the wise old advisor had predicted, I harnessed both powers, and destroyed the evil King of Burgr. It had taken years of blood shed, and millions in taxpayers money. It made me sick to think of the sacrifices that were made, the high price we paid, mostly in the blood of my people.
But creating In-n-Out Bürger was the only way I could compete with the Burgr King.
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It was intoxicating.
These people would die for him. And not just die for him alone, they would give their lives for the ideals that they shared. He stood alone at the top, a beacon of hope, and he illuminated a path in the darkness. He gave them the answers they needed, the direction they were looking for, and the sense of worth that had been taken from them long ago.
They *revered* him.
All he needed for them to follow him was understanding. Their hopes, their dreams, their desires and their failures. He saw and he understood. All the others talked about what they wanted, about how they envisioned their world, but he simply listened.
If only it had been that simple.
Give a man a task and he will succeed or he won't, but you should never expect more. Give a man an idea and he will reject or accept it, but never more. But if you give them *vision*, they will develop it and it will grow with their spirit. And they wouldn't even notice that the spark that started it all had never been theirs.
*Yes, it was intoxicating*, he thought. He stood and spoke, and as his listeners clung to his very word: it was such a simple idea that had started it all. The very same idea that got him placed above everyone else.
That he was *in*, that the people who listened to him were *in*, and everyone else who was like them could be *in* too, but the others?
They would be *out* forever, and as they chanted his name, they all knew that the world would be better off if we had more people *in* than *out*.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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"Well, no, of course not, I just came back for my phone. Do you mind? It's in the table right beside you".
My identical copy stared for a bit longer, then turned to see my phone, then back at me.
"You don't seem scared, or even surprised by my presence", he said.
"Why would I be?" I asked, and nodded towards the phone, it was getting late for work.
And yet my copy didn't move, instead he said: "Because here you are, in front of a person who looks just like you, inside your apartment. And I wasn't here before".
"So? Please, the phone would you?".
"What do you mean 'so'?", he said, visibly exasperated.
I had not time for all this, so I walked towards the table and my copy, to grab my phone, he squared up, clearly getting ready for a fight, looking menacing. I stopped.
"Are you serious right now? I'm gonna be late for work, or worse, I won't show up if you kill me or maim me or whatever you're thinking to do to me right now. Just let me grab my phone and we'll pretend this didn't happen", I proposed.
My copy deflated just a little bit, looking increasingly confused, which gave me a clue.
"You haven't been corrected, have you?", I asked.
"Corrected?", he asked back.
"All right, so this is going to take my morning. Fine. I get the feeling you're aggressive toward me, am I right?" I asked as I walked back to a chair and sat down.
My copy didn't answer, but squared up again, a small smirk of a smile curved one corner of his mouth.
"I'll take that as a yes", I sighed. "Are you like, part of an invading force? Are you with others trying to take over?".
My copy lowered his head, menacingly, and took a step towards me, his hands curling into claws, I noticed, not fists. Was he going to tear me apart? That'd leave a mess.
"All right, now let me guess. Are you from another universe, or reality or dimension? A place your people has ruined, or was ruined somehow and now you're looking for a better place to escape to and survive, by any means necessary? Just nod if I'm close".
My copy stopped, the smirk frozen in his face, all of him frozen, his eyes widening, his brow furrowing.
"Again, I'll take that as me being close", I said.
"How do you know?", he growled.
"I don't, I guessed. We had fiction over here too, you know? I'm guessing our realities aren't that different if you're such a close copy of myself. I've read sci-fi in the past. I didn't expect to be in this exact scenario, but I guess I'm in it right now".
My copy tilted his head.
"Are you so calmed because you believe this is a dream?" he asked.
"Of course I know this isn't a dream. However I can see how you'd believe that, seeing as how you haven't been corrected". I stated the obvious. I wasn't entirely lacking in empathy, I mean I am, but intellectually I could see his perspective, for him this could have been a dream, poor thing.
"What are you talking about?", he asked.
"You still have to dream, don't you? Look, you'll have been noticed by the noosphere's gate keepers, so all of this will become clear soon, you won't have to dream or to feel surprise or fear anymore. You'll probably be given a place to live and a work, as will your compatriots, if you have any".
Now my copy seemed slightly scared, which had I not been corrected yet would have made me feel bad. He looked around, as if the gate keepers could be seen gathering, he took a couple more steps towards me, as if by hurting me he could change something.
"Look, there's no need for violence. Relax man, tell me about the place you're from. I don't think we'll be allowed to interact in the future, such weirdness is not welcome".
But instead my copy raised his arm and spoke to his watch, which now I could see wasn't a watch but some kind of communicator, he spoke in a coded language and began to get frantic as the people responding sounded scared. He looked around again, for signs that wouldn't be coming, then looked at me, afraid, angry, on the edge of fight or flight mode. Then the light in my apartment went amber and everything acquired an underwater quality.
I'd seen the noosphere gate keepers in action before, but never this close. I'd only witnessed the domes of emerald light that formed once the utility fog had sufficiently accumulated in an area, not what it looked like inside the dome.
My copy tried to jump at me, clearly choosing fight, but the wrong perceived threat. He didn't complete his action as the air around him became dense, held him aloft, and began to pull him towards the door. He was screaming something but the sound did not reach me. He was taken out the door and slowly the amber light and underwater quality faded, until a noticeable border passed by me and the emerald dome retreated, out the door and down the street. Out there it would soon become just an emerald cocoon as my copy was being taken to the nearest facility for correction, but I didn't have time or need to see it all, I grabbed my phone and hurried, I was already way too late for work.
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"I know, I know..." I said, staring at him. He was annoying, a stark reminder of the terrible state my hair was in. I had intended to get it cut. Things changed. "I forgot m-"
"Stop." He said; or I did. It got confusing from time to time. "That's bullshit and you know it."
He was right, as much as I erred away from admitting it. I had left the phone here on purpose, an excuse for me to return to the comforts of home. I hated getting my hair cut. I hated being confined to a chair, and to conversation I had no choice but to engage in. The idea rattled my bones and made me cringe.
I was awkward, and this was exemplified in situations I had no way of escaping. "I'm not ready." I responded, mustering the only reasonable excuse I could think of.
"When?" He said, an anger in his tone that made me shrivel slightly in response. "When will you be ready? When the moon falls? When... when pigs fly?" He was losing his coherency as his temper grew. We suffered from this.
"It's easy for you to say. I'm the one that has to do all of this." I retorted in defense, hurt by his inconsiderate attitude. He merely laughed at me in response.
"Huh. You know what? You're a pussy. That's all you are." Normally I could take his harsh criticisms, but these last few hurt.
"It's hard out there. People don't understand that I'm shy. People don't get that someone might have a tough time socialising." I explained, running my hand through my hair to part it from the course of my eyes. Shit. Another reminder.
"This is pathetic. Go and get your hair cut." He said, to me, before turning from the mirror and leaving the bathroom.
Note: Little bit different but I hope this still fits.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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As I walk to my car I can’t stop thinking about the way Sarah sounded on the phone. Was she mad at me? Did she want to break up? “What stupid thing have I done this time?” I say out loud and look around to make sure no one saw me talking to myself.
Before I enter my car I do my quick inventory check. I pat my pocket where I keep my keys, they’re there. I pat my pocket where I keep my wallet, it’s there. I pat my pocket for my phone, shit.
I turn away from my car still thinking about Sarah and what I could have possibly done to make her so upset. I open the door to my apartment and step in. Suddenly, I’m staring at a mirror. But it’s not a mirror. It’s someone who looks exactly like me!
My twin says, “You weren’t supposed to come back yet…” He looks down at a strange device with glowing dials. He types something into his device and it lets out a flurry of beeps and whirring sounds. He looks up at me and says, “Ah, I’m in the wrong dimension. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
The man who looks like me is visibly upset. I forget about Sarah for the moment and ask, “What’s that about dimensions?”
The other me says, “I’m trying to find the dimension where I always win when I gamble. Instead I wound up in the dimension…” He looks down again at his device, “The dimension where I always forget my phone. Pretty worthless dimension.” I must have looked offended because he added, “Hey, it could be worse. I’m from the dimension where I never think before I speak.”
The other me aimed the device at the wall and generated an incredible swirling portal that looked like a shimmering disc of water. He stepped through and the portal vanished.
I stand in my doorway for several minutes thinking about what I just saw. Sarah! I turn to leave and almost make it to my car before I remember in the all the confusion I forgot my phone, again.
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"I know, I know..." I said, staring at him. He was annoying, a stark reminder of the terrible state my hair was in. I had intended to get it cut. Things changed. "I forgot m-"
"Stop." He said; or I did. It got confusing from time to time. "That's bullshit and you know it."
He was right, as much as I erred away from admitting it. I had left the phone here on purpose, an excuse for me to return to the comforts of home. I hated getting my hair cut. I hated being confined to a chair, and to conversation I had no choice but to engage in. The idea rattled my bones and made me cringe.
I was awkward, and this was exemplified in situations I had no way of escaping. "I'm not ready." I responded, mustering the only reasonable excuse I could think of.
"When?" He said, an anger in his tone that made me shrivel slightly in response. "When will you be ready? When the moon falls? When... when pigs fly?" He was losing his coherency as his temper grew. We suffered from this.
"It's easy for you to say. I'm the one that has to do all of this." I retorted in defense, hurt by his inconsiderate attitude. He merely laughed at me in response.
"Huh. You know what? You're a pussy. That's all you are." Normally I could take his harsh criticisms, but these last few hurt.
"It's hard out there. People don't understand that I'm shy. People don't get that someone might have a tough time socialising." I explained, running my hand through my hair to part it from the course of my eyes. Shit. Another reminder.
"This is pathetic. Go and get your hair cut." He said, to me, before turning from the mirror and leaving the bathroom.
Note: Little bit different but I hope this still fits.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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“Shit, you weren’t supposed to come back yet.” Tammy froze in the doorway as she watched the words come from her own mouth. Well, it obviously wasn’t *her* mouth but by god whoever the intruder was looked exactly like her.
“Who… who are you?” Tammy stuttered as she slowly started to reach for her phone. *Fuck*, she thought as she remembered that that was the whole reason she had come back to her apartment in the first place. Her phone was in her bedroom, the door of which was blocked by her doppleganger.
“Don’t be afraid, Tammy,” the identical stranger put her hands out in front of her, as if Tammy was the one being irrational. “I’m actually really glad we’re meeting. Although this isn’t the most ideal first introduction,” the woman chuckled.
“Who are you?” Tammy demanded. The strange combination of fear and curiosity growing in her mind worked to her advantage: it stomped out the shakiness that was in her voice moments before. “How do you know my name?”
“My given name is Victoria, but I have a lot of nicknames.” The intruder took a step toward Tammy, which Tammy instinctively mirrored by taking a step back. “Have a seat,” Victoria gestured toward Tammy’s couch.
Tammy knew she should turn and run, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her. When you find yourself face to face with a carbon copy of your actual face, your mind quickly fills to the brim with questions.
“I’ll stand,” Tammy replied. Despite her cold response, she turned to close the door. Her questions would only find answers one way, and she desperately wanted those answers. As the door clicked close, Tammy felt cold fingers wrap around her neck. The front of her esophagus met the back with time for one last gasp of air to escape. She threw her elbow back into Victoria, but the woman was relentless. Her vision faded to endless blackness, and the last thought to cross her woozy mind was *I can’t believe I’m going to die at my own hands*.
Some time later, Tammy drifted back into consciousness. Her return to reality wasn’t marked by blurry views of her surroundings, like the movies always showed, but instead by feeling fingers running through her hair. She moved to swat the hand away, but the sting of a rope burn spread across her wrists. They were bound behind the back of a kitchen chair, and her legs were tied similarly.
“Well welcome back, sweetie,” Victoria’s voice rang out as she walked into Tammy’s line of sight. Even her voice sounded identical to Tammy’s. “Unfortunately you won’t be making it out of this apartment again, but it would be inhumane to kill you without answering at least some of the questions I’m sure you have.”
The sun beamed brightly in through Tammy’s window, glinting off the smooth silver knife in Victoria’s hands.
“Please,” Tammy begged. “I have a family. Whatever you want, take it. I won’t tell!”
“Oh you mean Kyle and Nicole?” Victoria rattled off the names of Tammy’s siblings. “Don’t worry, they’ll never even know.”
“Of course they will!” Tammy shouted angrily. How dare this woman insinuate her family didn’t care about her.
“No, actually, they won’t. You see,” Victoria explained as she swung a chair in front of Tammy and plopped down casually. “One of those nicknames I was telling you about is actually Tammy.”
“What? Why would you go by that? Let me go, please! I won’t even tell anyone you exist!” Tammy was losing the battle against the lump in her throat and tears in her eyes, and she had a sinking feeling that wasn’t the only battle she was losing.
Victoria stood again, unravelling a section of the purple duck tape Tammy kept in her kitchen.
“You talk too much. It’s my turn now.” She pressed the tape gently down on Tammy’s face, stretched from one side of her jaw to the other. In spite of claiming it was her turn to talk, Victoria spent the next few minutes silently studying Tammy.
She wasn’t just studying with her eyes either. She smelled Tammy’s hair, slowly licked the tears off her face, and even caressed the soft skin of her arms and stomach. She brought her face virtually nose-to-nose with Tammy’s. And when Tammy squeezed her eyes closed to avoid staring into eyes the same hue as her own, Victoria pried them open with her fingers just to peer into them searchingly.
Tammy finally let her lungs exhale a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding when Victoria sat back down.
“Anyway, what I was going to tell you,” Victoria started pointedly. “Was how I met you. Do you remember that job you had at the clinic, about 8 years back?”
*Of course, I do.* Tammy thought. That was the first time in her life she had had to use the subway regularly.
“Because I remember. You’d carry that ridiculous briefcase with you every day. It was so hideous --your style has really improved since then, by the way. But you never noticed me. How does someone stay completely oblivious to the identical stranger that takes the same subway as you every single day?
“I had work out that way too and seeing you, my unknowing twin, became the highlight of my day. You wore the clothes I wished I could afford. You laughed freely on the phone with people who clearly cared about you. No one ever called me just to check in.
“Then one day, you stopped taking that train. I was bummed of course, but I was going to let bygones be bygones. Then, fate stepped in. I was at that coffee shop on the corner of 6th and 19th, when this woman I had never seen before started asking me how my family was. She called me ‘Tammy’ when she hugged me goodbye, and that’s when it clicked. Tammy was the name on your scrubs. This woman literally thought I was you.
“It started slowly after that. I found your Facebook, and from there where you lived, so I started studying you. You had the life I wanted, the life I should have had. I started buying the same brands of groceries that I saw you buy, molding my personal style into one that mirrored yours. I’d listen to you talk when I sat behind you on the subway, then go home and practice using the same inflections and words you used.
“After a year or two of emulating you, I decided I’d put myself to the test.” Victoria pulled out her phone.
She held it out so the screen was facing Tammy. A picture of Tammy and her best friend laughing was framed in the soft blue glow from Victoria’s screen. Only, it wasn’t Tammy. The name on the menu sitting in front of the two women was one that Tammy had never been too.
“Oh this is a fun one too!” Victoria swiped to a new picture. Of Kyle and Nicole with their arms around the woman they thought was their sister. A muffled sob broke free from Tammy’s shut mouth.
“In fact, I just had lunch with your parents last week. Did you know they’re selling the house to move into a smaller place? Don’t worry, I gave them my blessing.” Victoria said with a smirk.
“You know, you really weren’t supposed to come back so soon… but maybe it’s for the best. I was perfectly content with being you for a day or two when the opportunity arose. But this is a sign the universe thinks I would be a better Tammy.”
Victoria set her phone down, replacing it with the knife. She walked slowly toward Tammy, running her fingers along the length of the blade.
“I can’t believe I got so lucky! It is quite terrible that it comes at this cost though. I’ve really enjoyed watching you for the past eight years; you’ve been an excellent teacher.” Tammy felt the cold metal of the knife press against her skin; firm enough to feel how sharp it was, but not hard enough to break the skin yet. “But it’s time for me to go out on my own.”
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"I know, I know..." I said, staring at him. He was annoying, a stark reminder of the terrible state my hair was in. I had intended to get it cut. Things changed. "I forgot m-"
"Stop." He said; or I did. It got confusing from time to time. "That's bullshit and you know it."
He was right, as much as I erred away from admitting it. I had left the phone here on purpose, an excuse for me to return to the comforts of home. I hated getting my hair cut. I hated being confined to a chair, and to conversation I had no choice but to engage in. The idea rattled my bones and made me cringe.
I was awkward, and this was exemplified in situations I had no way of escaping. "I'm not ready." I responded, mustering the only reasonable excuse I could think of.
"When?" He said, an anger in his tone that made me shrivel slightly in response. "When will you be ready? When the moon falls? When... when pigs fly?" He was losing his coherency as his temper grew. We suffered from this.
"It's easy for you to say. I'm the one that has to do all of this." I retorted in defense, hurt by his inconsiderate attitude. He merely laughed at me in response.
"Huh. You know what? You're a pussy. That's all you are." Normally I could take his harsh criticisms, but these last few hurt.
"It's hard out there. People don't understand that I'm shy. People don't get that someone might have a tough time socialising." I explained, running my hand through my hair to part it from the course of my eyes. Shit. Another reminder.
"This is pathetic. Go and get your hair cut." He said, to me, before turning from the mirror and leaving the bathroom.
Note: Little bit different but I hope this still fits.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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"Well, no, of course not, I just came back for my phone. Do you mind? It's in the table right beside you".
My identical copy stared for a bit longer, then turned to see my phone, then back at me.
"You don't seem scared, or even surprised by my presence", he said.
"Why would I be?" I asked, and nodded towards the phone, it was getting late for work.
And yet my copy didn't move, instead he said: "Because here you are, in front of a person who looks just like you, inside your apartment. And I wasn't here before".
"So? Please, the phone would you?".
"What do you mean 'so'?", he said, visibly exasperated.
I had not time for all this, so I walked towards the table and my copy, to grab my phone, he squared up, clearly getting ready for a fight, looking menacing. I stopped.
"Are you serious right now? I'm gonna be late for work, or worse, I won't show up if you kill me or maim me or whatever you're thinking to do to me right now. Just let me grab my phone and we'll pretend this didn't happen", I proposed.
My copy deflated just a little bit, looking increasingly confused, which gave me a clue.
"You haven't been corrected, have you?", I asked.
"Corrected?", he asked back.
"All right, so this is going to take my morning. Fine. I get the feeling you're aggressive toward me, am I right?" I asked as I walked back to a chair and sat down.
My copy didn't answer, but squared up again, a small smirk of a smile curved one corner of his mouth.
"I'll take that as a yes", I sighed. "Are you like, part of an invading force? Are you with others trying to take over?".
My copy lowered his head, menacingly, and took a step towards me, his hands curling into claws, I noticed, not fists. Was he going to tear me apart? That'd leave a mess.
"All right, now let me guess. Are you from another universe, or reality or dimension? A place your people has ruined, or was ruined somehow and now you're looking for a better place to escape to and survive, by any means necessary? Just nod if I'm close".
My copy stopped, the smirk frozen in his face, all of him frozen, his eyes widening, his brow furrowing.
"Again, I'll take that as me being close", I said.
"How do you know?", he growled.
"I don't, I guessed. We had fiction over here too, you know? I'm guessing our realities aren't that different if you're such a close copy of myself. I've read sci-fi in the past. I didn't expect to be in this exact scenario, but I guess I'm in it right now".
My copy tilted his head.
"Are you so calmed because you believe this is a dream?" he asked.
"Of course I know this isn't a dream. However I can see how you'd believe that, seeing as how you haven't been corrected". I stated the obvious. I wasn't entirely lacking in empathy, I mean I am, but intellectually I could see his perspective, for him this could have been a dream, poor thing.
"What are you talking about?", he asked.
"You still have to dream, don't you? Look, you'll have been noticed by the noosphere's gate keepers, so all of this will become clear soon, you won't have to dream or to feel surprise or fear anymore. You'll probably be given a place to live and a work, as will your compatriots, if you have any".
Now my copy seemed slightly scared, which had I not been corrected yet would have made me feel bad. He looked around, as if the gate keepers could be seen gathering, he took a couple more steps towards me, as if by hurting me he could change something.
"Look, there's no need for violence. Relax man, tell me about the place you're from. I don't think we'll be allowed to interact in the future, such weirdness is not welcome".
But instead my copy raised his arm and spoke to his watch, which now I could see wasn't a watch but some kind of communicator, he spoke in a coded language and began to get frantic as the people responding sounded scared. He looked around again, for signs that wouldn't be coming, then looked at me, afraid, angry, on the edge of fight or flight mode. Then the light in my apartment went amber and everything acquired an underwater quality.
I'd seen the noosphere gate keepers in action before, but never this close. I'd only witnessed the domes of emerald light that formed once the utility fog had sufficiently accumulated in an area, not what it looked like inside the dome.
My copy tried to jump at me, clearly choosing fight, but the wrong perceived threat. He didn't complete his action as the air around him became dense, held him aloft, and began to pull him towards the door. He was screaming something but the sound did not reach me. He was taken out the door and slowly the amber light and underwater quality faded, until a noticeable border passed by me and the emerald dome retreated, out the door and down the street. Out there it would soon become just an emerald cocoon as my copy was being taken to the nearest facility for correction, but I didn't have time or need to see it all, I grabbed my phone and hurried, I was already way too late for work.
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I was careful as I stepped off the bus, aware that any abrupt movements could cause me to say goodbye to my breakfast. I had wanted to skip it so much, but Lucy practically forced it down my throat. Greasy bacon, greasy eggs and To be fair to her, I had felt better as I waited for the bus. It was The bus itself that caused me to have a relapse.
I shielded the harsh overcast sky from my eyes as I checked my watch. 11:57. I had lasted less than half the day. Skyla would laugh if she could see me now. 10 years ago we had woken up in a strangers house, found their booze and began celebrating all over again. I shuddered at the thought of any more celebrations. Tonight, I would play the injured soldier, Lucy my nurse. She would moan, call me a child. I would stick my tongue out and whinge about being sick. We would snuggle up on the couch and fall asleep to Game of Thrones. If my stomach was up for it, we might even kiss. God, we were so boring.
I began justifying this to myself as I reached my apartment. It was only fair to have a boring night, after the last one. Me and Skyla had worn matching outfits, cheerleaders. She had 6 emblazed on hers, while my number was 9. It had seemed much funnier last night. We got some free drinks last night, so at least we looked kind of young. Well, we did at the start of the night. I looked at my phone, the background a picture of me as a cheerleader kissing Lucy. Maybe it was the lighting, or the fact my makeup was starting to run, but just looking at the photo made my stomach twist. It was a bad photo.
It had been a good night though. At 11:59, Skyla took her birthday shot and downed it in one. At 00:01, Skyla took my birthday shot and downed it in one. I was too busy on the dance floor to care. I loved our birthdays, we always spent the two days together. Even when I was in Australia, she had surprised me my turning up at my place with a keg and 10 new friends of hers in tow. I'll never forget how she barged past me, sweating like a pig, finding that I had been sharing my bed with Lucy. That was a first impression neither of them will be able to replace.
I smirked at the thought, as I began unlocking my door. I realised that I hadn't shown Lucy the photo of the two of us last night. She would scream, beg me to delete it. It would be hilarious.
I opened the door, and saw a 37 year old woman in a cheerleading outfit. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Then I thought I was drunk, and that I was looking at a mirror. Then I realised that I was being an idiot. It was my sister, nothing to worry about.
Skyla stared at me. Her makeup was the same from last night, awful and sweated through. He hair was still done up in pigtails, and she smelt of dancing and smoke. And very faintly of bacon.
I stared at her. Then I stared at my phone, the phone that was still in my hands, the picture of me and my wife that I had chosen to be my new background, to show Lucy, to tease Lucy, my wonderful Lucy. I looked at the photo that made me feel sick, and I really looked at it. I looked at me. I looked at what I was wearing. I looked at the number 6. Not 9, 6.
"You weren't supposed to come back yet." Skyla muttered as I threw up.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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As I walk to my car I can’t stop thinking about the way Sarah sounded on the phone. Was she mad at me? Did she want to break up? “What stupid thing have I done this time?” I say out loud and look around to make sure no one saw me talking to myself.
Before I enter my car I do my quick inventory check. I pat my pocket where I keep my keys, they’re there. I pat my pocket where I keep my wallet, it’s there. I pat my pocket for my phone, shit.
I turn away from my car still thinking about Sarah and what I could have possibly done to make her so upset. I open the door to my apartment and step in. Suddenly, I’m staring at a mirror. But it’s not a mirror. It’s someone who looks exactly like me!
My twin says, “You weren’t supposed to come back yet…” He looks down at a strange device with glowing dials. He types something into his device and it lets out a flurry of beeps and whirring sounds. He looks up at me and says, “Ah, I’m in the wrong dimension. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
The man who looks like me is visibly upset. I forget about Sarah for the moment and ask, “What’s that about dimensions?”
The other me says, “I’m trying to find the dimension where I always win when I gamble. Instead I wound up in the dimension…” He looks down again at his device, “The dimension where I always forget my phone. Pretty worthless dimension.” I must have looked offended because he added, “Hey, it could be worse. I’m from the dimension where I never think before I speak.”
The other me aimed the device at the wall and generated an incredible swirling portal that looked like a shimmering disc of water. He stepped through and the portal vanished.
I stand in my doorway for several minutes thinking about what I just saw. Sarah! I turn to leave and almost make it to my car before I remember in the all the confusion I forgot my phone, again.
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I was careful as I stepped off the bus, aware that any abrupt movements could cause me to say goodbye to my breakfast. I had wanted to skip it so much, but Lucy practically forced it down my throat. Greasy bacon, greasy eggs and To be fair to her, I had felt better as I waited for the bus. It was The bus itself that caused me to have a relapse.
I shielded the harsh overcast sky from my eyes as I checked my watch. 11:57. I had lasted less than half the day. Skyla would laugh if she could see me now. 10 years ago we had woken up in a strangers house, found their booze and began celebrating all over again. I shuddered at the thought of any more celebrations. Tonight, I would play the injured soldier, Lucy my nurse. She would moan, call me a child. I would stick my tongue out and whinge about being sick. We would snuggle up on the couch and fall asleep to Game of Thrones. If my stomach was up for it, we might even kiss. God, we were so boring.
I began justifying this to myself as I reached my apartment. It was only fair to have a boring night, after the last one. Me and Skyla had worn matching outfits, cheerleaders. She had 6 emblazed on hers, while my number was 9. It had seemed much funnier last night. We got some free drinks last night, so at least we looked kind of young. Well, we did at the start of the night. I looked at my phone, the background a picture of me as a cheerleader kissing Lucy. Maybe it was the lighting, or the fact my makeup was starting to run, but just looking at the photo made my stomach twist. It was a bad photo.
It had been a good night though. At 11:59, Skyla took her birthday shot and downed it in one. At 00:01, Skyla took my birthday shot and downed it in one. I was too busy on the dance floor to care. I loved our birthdays, we always spent the two days together. Even when I was in Australia, she had surprised me my turning up at my place with a keg and 10 new friends of hers in tow. I'll never forget how she barged past me, sweating like a pig, finding that I had been sharing my bed with Lucy. That was a first impression neither of them will be able to replace.
I smirked at the thought, as I began unlocking my door. I realised that I hadn't shown Lucy the photo of the two of us last night. She would scream, beg me to delete it. It would be hilarious.
I opened the door, and saw a 37 year old woman in a cheerleading outfit. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Then I thought I was drunk, and that I was looking at a mirror. Then I realised that I was being an idiot. It was my sister, nothing to worry about.
Skyla stared at me. Her makeup was the same from last night, awful and sweated through. He hair was still done up in pigtails, and she smelt of dancing and smoke. And very faintly of bacon.
I stared at her. Then I stared at my phone, the phone that was still in my hands, the picture of me and my wife that I had chosen to be my new background, to show Lucy, to tease Lucy, my wonderful Lucy. I looked at the photo that made me feel sick, and I really looked at it. I looked at me. I looked at what I was wearing. I looked at the number 6. Not 9, 6.
"You weren't supposed to come back yet." Skyla muttered as I threw up.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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"It isn't time yet..." he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief in his pocket. I'd never realized how odd that habit looked, and I made a mental note to avoid doing that in public. But I could not disregard the carbon copy of myself standing where I usually stood, smoking the same cigar I'd liked to smoke. He was too similiar, yet the smirk on his face told of a different character. I backed away, though the door had been closed and locked since we began conversation. There was no way out.
"You're always back at 6. Always. Why are you back at 5?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. I raised my own in surprise. Was this all about coming home an hour early? I'd finished my work early, warranting an early departure from the office. "It would have started at 6. I wouldn't be here, and you probably wouldn't as well," he continued, his eyes fiery with indignation. I stared at him, aghast. The facsimile of me in almost every way excepy height was...plotting something against me. But why? How?
A chime. Then another. Then another. My clock chimed 6 times in total, as we stared at it in horror. He sighed, as I began to feel faint. "It's happening," he said, a faint smile on his face.
"What is?" I asked groggily, my head a whir. Something was in the air, something that clouded both my mind and vision. He laughed.
"I was intending for you to never know who I was, but this arrangement works out fine too," his smile turning menacing as he spoke. "Say hello to your future self."
With that, my life's regrets and failures left me, alongst with my final breath of air
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I was careful as I stepped off the bus, aware that any abrupt movements could cause me to say goodbye to my breakfast. I had wanted to skip it so much, but Lucy practically forced it down my throat. Greasy bacon, greasy eggs and To be fair to her, I had felt better as I waited for the bus. It was The bus itself that caused me to have a relapse.
I shielded the harsh overcast sky from my eyes as I checked my watch. 11:57. I had lasted less than half the day. Skyla would laugh if she could see me now. 10 years ago we had woken up in a strangers house, found their booze and began celebrating all over again. I shuddered at the thought of any more celebrations. Tonight, I would play the injured soldier, Lucy my nurse. She would moan, call me a child. I would stick my tongue out and whinge about being sick. We would snuggle up on the couch and fall asleep to Game of Thrones. If my stomach was up for it, we might even kiss. God, we were so boring.
I began justifying this to myself as I reached my apartment. It was only fair to have a boring night, after the last one. Me and Skyla had worn matching outfits, cheerleaders. She had 6 emblazed on hers, while my number was 9. It had seemed much funnier last night. We got some free drinks last night, so at least we looked kind of young. Well, we did at the start of the night. I looked at my phone, the background a picture of me as a cheerleader kissing Lucy. Maybe it was the lighting, or the fact my makeup was starting to run, but just looking at the photo made my stomach twist. It was a bad photo.
It had been a good night though. At 11:59, Skyla took her birthday shot and downed it in one. At 00:01, Skyla took my birthday shot and downed it in one. I was too busy on the dance floor to care. I loved our birthdays, we always spent the two days together. Even when I was in Australia, she had surprised me my turning up at my place with a keg and 10 new friends of hers in tow. I'll never forget how she barged past me, sweating like a pig, finding that I had been sharing my bed with Lucy. That was a first impression neither of them will be able to replace.
I smirked at the thought, as I began unlocking my door. I realised that I hadn't shown Lucy the photo of the two of us last night. She would scream, beg me to delete it. It would be hilarious.
I opened the door, and saw a 37 year old woman in a cheerleading outfit. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Then I thought I was drunk, and that I was looking at a mirror. Then I realised that I was being an idiot. It was my sister, nothing to worry about.
Skyla stared at me. Her makeup was the same from last night, awful and sweated through. He hair was still done up in pigtails, and she smelt of dancing and smoke. And very faintly of bacon.
I stared at her. Then I stared at my phone, the phone that was still in my hands, the picture of me and my wife that I had chosen to be my new background, to show Lucy, to tease Lucy, my wonderful Lucy. I looked at the photo that made me feel sick, and I really looked at it. I looked at me. I looked at what I was wearing. I looked at the number 6. Not 9, 6.
"You weren't supposed to come back yet." Skyla muttered as I threw up.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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“Shit, you weren’t supposed to come back yet.” Tammy froze in the doorway as she watched the words come from her own mouth. Well, it obviously wasn’t *her* mouth but by god whoever the intruder was looked exactly like her.
“Who… who are you?” Tammy stuttered as she slowly started to reach for her phone. *Fuck*, she thought as she remembered that that was the whole reason she had come back to her apartment in the first place. Her phone was in her bedroom, the door of which was blocked by her doppleganger.
“Don’t be afraid, Tammy,” the identical stranger put her hands out in front of her, as if Tammy was the one being irrational. “I’m actually really glad we’re meeting. Although this isn’t the most ideal first introduction,” the woman chuckled.
“Who are you?” Tammy demanded. The strange combination of fear and curiosity growing in her mind worked to her advantage: it stomped out the shakiness that was in her voice moments before. “How do you know my name?”
“My given name is Victoria, but I have a lot of nicknames.” The intruder took a step toward Tammy, which Tammy instinctively mirrored by taking a step back. “Have a seat,” Victoria gestured toward Tammy’s couch.
Tammy knew she should turn and run, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her. When you find yourself face to face with a carbon copy of your actual face, your mind quickly fills to the brim with questions.
“I’ll stand,” Tammy replied. Despite her cold response, she turned to close the door. Her questions would only find answers one way, and she desperately wanted those answers. As the door clicked close, Tammy felt cold fingers wrap around her neck. The front of her esophagus met the back with time for one last gasp of air to escape. She threw her elbow back into Victoria, but the woman was relentless. Her vision faded to endless blackness, and the last thought to cross her woozy mind was *I can’t believe I’m going to die at my own hands*.
Some time later, Tammy drifted back into consciousness. Her return to reality wasn’t marked by blurry views of her surroundings, like the movies always showed, but instead by feeling fingers running through her hair. She moved to swat the hand away, but the sting of a rope burn spread across her wrists. They were bound behind the back of a kitchen chair, and her legs were tied similarly.
“Well welcome back, sweetie,” Victoria’s voice rang out as she walked into Tammy’s line of sight. Even her voice sounded identical to Tammy’s. “Unfortunately you won’t be making it out of this apartment again, but it would be inhumane to kill you without answering at least some of the questions I’m sure you have.”
The sun beamed brightly in through Tammy’s window, glinting off the smooth silver knife in Victoria’s hands.
“Please,” Tammy begged. “I have a family. Whatever you want, take it. I won’t tell!”
“Oh you mean Kyle and Nicole?” Victoria rattled off the names of Tammy’s siblings. “Don’t worry, they’ll never even know.”
“Of course they will!” Tammy shouted angrily. How dare this woman insinuate her family didn’t care about her.
“No, actually, they won’t. You see,” Victoria explained as she swung a chair in front of Tammy and plopped down casually. “One of those nicknames I was telling you about is actually Tammy.”
“What? Why would you go by that? Let me go, please! I won’t even tell anyone you exist!” Tammy was losing the battle against the lump in her throat and tears in her eyes, and she had a sinking feeling that wasn’t the only battle she was losing.
Victoria stood again, unravelling a section of the purple duck tape Tammy kept in her kitchen.
“You talk too much. It’s my turn now.” She pressed the tape gently down on Tammy’s face, stretched from one side of her jaw to the other. In spite of claiming it was her turn to talk, Victoria spent the next few minutes silently studying Tammy.
She wasn’t just studying with her eyes either. She smelled Tammy’s hair, slowly licked the tears off her face, and even caressed the soft skin of her arms and stomach. She brought her face virtually nose-to-nose with Tammy’s. And when Tammy squeezed her eyes closed to avoid staring into eyes the same hue as her own, Victoria pried them open with her fingers just to peer into them searchingly.
Tammy finally let her lungs exhale a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding when Victoria sat back down.
“Anyway, what I was going to tell you,” Victoria started pointedly. “Was how I met you. Do you remember that job you had at the clinic, about 8 years back?”
*Of course, I do.* Tammy thought. That was the first time in her life she had had to use the subway regularly.
“Because I remember. You’d carry that ridiculous briefcase with you every day. It was so hideous --your style has really improved since then, by the way. But you never noticed me. How does someone stay completely oblivious to the identical stranger that takes the same subway as you every single day?
“I had work out that way too and seeing you, my unknowing twin, became the highlight of my day. You wore the clothes I wished I could afford. You laughed freely on the phone with people who clearly cared about you. No one ever called me just to check in.
“Then one day, you stopped taking that train. I was bummed of course, but I was going to let bygones be bygones. Then, fate stepped in. I was at that coffee shop on the corner of 6th and 19th, when this woman I had never seen before started asking me how my family was. She called me ‘Tammy’ when she hugged me goodbye, and that’s when it clicked. Tammy was the name on your scrubs. This woman literally thought I was you.
“It started slowly after that. I found your Facebook, and from there where you lived, so I started studying you. You had the life I wanted, the life I should have had. I started buying the same brands of groceries that I saw you buy, molding my personal style into one that mirrored yours. I’d listen to you talk when I sat behind you on the subway, then go home and practice using the same inflections and words you used.
“After a year or two of emulating you, I decided I’d put myself to the test.” Victoria pulled out her phone.
She held it out so the screen was facing Tammy. A picture of Tammy and her best friend laughing was framed in the soft blue glow from Victoria’s screen. Only, it wasn’t Tammy. The name on the menu sitting in front of the two women was one that Tammy had never been too.
“Oh this is a fun one too!” Victoria swiped to a new picture. Of Kyle and Nicole with their arms around the woman they thought was their sister. A muffled sob broke free from Tammy’s shut mouth.
“In fact, I just had lunch with your parents last week. Did you know they’re selling the house to move into a smaller place? Don’t worry, I gave them my blessing.” Victoria said with a smirk.
“You know, you really weren’t supposed to come back so soon… but maybe it’s for the best. I was perfectly content with being you for a day or two when the opportunity arose. But this is a sign the universe thinks I would be a better Tammy.”
Victoria set her phone down, replacing it with the knife. She walked slowly toward Tammy, running her fingers along the length of the blade.
“I can’t believe I got so lucky! It is quite terrible that it comes at this cost though. I’ve really enjoyed watching you for the past eight years; you’ve been an excellent teacher.” Tammy felt the cold metal of the knife press against her skin; firm enough to feel how sharp it was, but not hard enough to break the skin yet. “But it’s time for me to go out on my own.”
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I was careful as I stepped off the bus, aware that any abrupt movements could cause me to say goodbye to my breakfast. I had wanted to skip it so much, but Lucy practically forced it down my throat. Greasy bacon, greasy eggs and To be fair to her, I had felt better as I waited for the bus. It was The bus itself that caused me to have a relapse.
I shielded the harsh overcast sky from my eyes as I checked my watch. 11:57. I had lasted less than half the day. Skyla would laugh if she could see me now. 10 years ago we had woken up in a strangers house, found their booze and began celebrating all over again. I shuddered at the thought of any more celebrations. Tonight, I would play the injured soldier, Lucy my nurse. She would moan, call me a child. I would stick my tongue out and whinge about being sick. We would snuggle up on the couch and fall asleep to Game of Thrones. If my stomach was up for it, we might even kiss. God, we were so boring.
I began justifying this to myself as I reached my apartment. It was only fair to have a boring night, after the last one. Me and Skyla had worn matching outfits, cheerleaders. She had 6 emblazed on hers, while my number was 9. It had seemed much funnier last night. We got some free drinks last night, so at least we looked kind of young. Well, we did at the start of the night. I looked at my phone, the background a picture of me as a cheerleader kissing Lucy. Maybe it was the lighting, or the fact my makeup was starting to run, but just looking at the photo made my stomach twist. It was a bad photo.
It had been a good night though. At 11:59, Skyla took her birthday shot and downed it in one. At 00:01, Skyla took my birthday shot and downed it in one. I was too busy on the dance floor to care. I loved our birthdays, we always spent the two days together. Even when I was in Australia, she had surprised me my turning up at my place with a keg and 10 new friends of hers in tow. I'll never forget how she barged past me, sweating like a pig, finding that I had been sharing my bed with Lucy. That was a first impression neither of them will be able to replace.
I smirked at the thought, as I began unlocking my door. I realised that I hadn't shown Lucy the photo of the two of us last night. She would scream, beg me to delete it. It would be hilarious.
I opened the door, and saw a 37 year old woman in a cheerleading outfit. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Then I thought I was drunk, and that I was looking at a mirror. Then I realised that I was being an idiot. It was my sister, nothing to worry about.
Skyla stared at me. Her makeup was the same from last night, awful and sweated through. He hair was still done up in pigtails, and she smelt of dancing and smoke. And very faintly of bacon.
I stared at her. Then I stared at my phone, the phone that was still in my hands, the picture of me and my wife that I had chosen to be my new background, to show Lucy, to tease Lucy, my wonderful Lucy. I looked at the photo that made me feel sick, and I really looked at it. I looked at me. I looked at what I was wearing. I looked at the number 6. Not 9, 6.
"You weren't supposed to come back yet." Skyla muttered as I threw up.
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[WP] You walk back into your apartment after forgetting your phone to see a person who looks exactly like you standing in your apartment. They stare at you and mutter, "You weren't supposed to come back yet".
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“Shit, you weren’t supposed to come back yet.” Tammy froze in the doorway as she watched the words come from her own mouth. Well, it obviously wasn’t *her* mouth but by god whoever the intruder was looked exactly like her.
“Who… who are you?” Tammy stuttered as she slowly started to reach for her phone. *Fuck*, she thought as she remembered that that was the whole reason she had come back to her apartment in the first place. Her phone was in her bedroom, the door of which was blocked by her doppleganger.
“Don’t be afraid, Tammy,” the identical stranger put her hands out in front of her, as if Tammy was the one being irrational. “I’m actually really glad we’re meeting. Although this isn’t the most ideal first introduction,” the woman chuckled.
“Who are you?” Tammy demanded. The strange combination of fear and curiosity growing in her mind worked to her advantage: it stomped out the shakiness that was in her voice moments before. “How do you know my name?”
“My given name is Victoria, but I have a lot of nicknames.” The intruder took a step toward Tammy, which Tammy instinctively mirrored by taking a step back. “Have a seat,” Victoria gestured toward Tammy’s couch.
Tammy knew she should turn and run, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her. When you find yourself face to face with a carbon copy of your actual face, your mind quickly fills to the brim with questions.
“I’ll stand,” Tammy replied. Despite her cold response, she turned to close the door. Her questions would only find answers one way, and she desperately wanted those answers. As the door clicked close, Tammy felt cold fingers wrap around her neck. The front of her esophagus met the back with time for one last gasp of air to escape. She threw her elbow back into Victoria, but the woman was relentless. Her vision faded to endless blackness, and the last thought to cross her woozy mind was *I can’t believe I’m going to die at my own hands*.
Some time later, Tammy drifted back into consciousness. Her return to reality wasn’t marked by blurry views of her surroundings, like the movies always showed, but instead by feeling fingers running through her hair. She moved to swat the hand away, but the sting of a rope burn spread across her wrists. They were bound behind the back of a kitchen chair, and her legs were tied similarly.
“Well welcome back, sweetie,” Victoria’s voice rang out as she walked into Tammy’s line of sight. Even her voice sounded identical to Tammy’s. “Unfortunately you won’t be making it out of this apartment again, but it would be inhumane to kill you without answering at least some of the questions I’m sure you have.”
The sun beamed brightly in through Tammy’s window, glinting off the smooth silver knife in Victoria’s hands.
“Please,” Tammy begged. “I have a family. Whatever you want, take it. I won’t tell!”
“Oh you mean Kyle and Nicole?” Victoria rattled off the names of Tammy’s siblings. “Don’t worry, they’ll never even know.”
“Of course they will!” Tammy shouted angrily. How dare this woman insinuate her family didn’t care about her.
“No, actually, they won’t. You see,” Victoria explained as she swung a chair in front of Tammy and plopped down casually. “One of those nicknames I was telling you about is actually Tammy.”
“What? Why would you go by that? Let me go, please! I won’t even tell anyone you exist!” Tammy was losing the battle against the lump in her throat and tears in her eyes, and she had a sinking feeling that wasn’t the only battle she was losing.
Victoria stood again, unravelling a section of the purple duck tape Tammy kept in her kitchen.
“You talk too much. It’s my turn now.” She pressed the tape gently down on Tammy’s face, stretched from one side of her jaw to the other. In spite of claiming it was her turn to talk, Victoria spent the next few minutes silently studying Tammy.
She wasn’t just studying with her eyes either. She smelled Tammy’s hair, slowly licked the tears off her face, and even caressed the soft skin of her arms and stomach. She brought her face virtually nose-to-nose with Tammy’s. And when Tammy squeezed her eyes closed to avoid staring into eyes the same hue as her own, Victoria pried them open with her fingers just to peer into them searchingly.
Tammy finally let her lungs exhale a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding when Victoria sat back down.
“Anyway, what I was going to tell you,” Victoria started pointedly. “Was how I met you. Do you remember that job you had at the clinic, about 8 years back?”
*Of course, I do.* Tammy thought. That was the first time in her life she had had to use the subway regularly.
“Because I remember. You’d carry that ridiculous briefcase with you every day. It was so hideous --your style has really improved since then, by the way. But you never noticed me. How does someone stay completely oblivious to the identical stranger that takes the same subway as you every single day?
“I had work out that way too and seeing you, my unknowing twin, became the highlight of my day. You wore the clothes I wished I could afford. You laughed freely on the phone with people who clearly cared about you. No one ever called me just to check in.
“Then one day, you stopped taking that train. I was bummed of course, but I was going to let bygones be bygones. Then, fate stepped in. I was at that coffee shop on the corner of 6th and 19th, when this woman I had never seen before started asking me how my family was. She called me ‘Tammy’ when she hugged me goodbye, and that’s when it clicked. Tammy was the name on your scrubs. This woman literally thought I was you.
“It started slowly after that. I found your Facebook, and from there where you lived, so I started studying you. You had the life I wanted, the life I should have had. I started buying the same brands of groceries that I saw you buy, molding my personal style into one that mirrored yours. I’d listen to you talk when I sat behind you on the subway, then go home and practice using the same inflections and words you used.
“After a year or two of emulating you, I decided I’d put myself to the test.” Victoria pulled out her phone.
She held it out so the screen was facing Tammy. A picture of Tammy and her best friend laughing was framed in the soft blue glow from Victoria’s screen. Only, it wasn’t Tammy. The name on the menu sitting in front of the two women was one that Tammy had never been too.
“Oh this is a fun one too!” Victoria swiped to a new picture. Of Kyle and Nicole with their arms around the woman they thought was their sister. A muffled sob broke free from Tammy’s shut mouth.
“In fact, I just had lunch with your parents last week. Did you know they’re selling the house to move into a smaller place? Don’t worry, I gave them my blessing.” Victoria said with a smirk.
“You know, you really weren’t supposed to come back so soon… but maybe it’s for the best. I was perfectly content with being you for a day or two when the opportunity arose. But this is a sign the universe thinks I would be a better Tammy.”
Victoria set her phone down, replacing it with the knife. She walked slowly toward Tammy, running her fingers along the length of the blade.
“I can’t believe I got so lucky! It is quite terrible that it comes at this cost though. I’ve really enjoyed watching you for the past eight years; you’ve been an excellent teacher.” Tammy felt the cold metal of the knife press against her skin; firm enough to feel how sharp it was, but not hard enough to break the skin yet. “But it’s time for me to go out on my own.”
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"It isn't time yet..." he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief in his pocket. I'd never realized how odd that habit looked, and I made a mental note to avoid doing that in public. But I could not disregard the carbon copy of myself standing where I usually stood, smoking the same cigar I'd liked to smoke. He was too similiar, yet the smirk on his face told of a different character. I backed away, though the door had been closed and locked since we began conversation. There was no way out.
"You're always back at 6. Always. Why are you back at 5?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. I raised my own in surprise. Was this all about coming home an hour early? I'd finished my work early, warranting an early departure from the office. "It would have started at 6. I wouldn't be here, and you probably wouldn't as well," he continued, his eyes fiery with indignation. I stared at him, aghast. The facsimile of me in almost every way excepy height was...plotting something against me. But why? How?
A chime. Then another. Then another. My clock chimed 6 times in total, as we stared at it in horror. He sighed, as I began to feel faint. "It's happening," he said, a faint smile on his face.
"What is?" I asked groggily, my head a whir. Something was in the air, something that clouded both my mind and vision. He laughed.
"I was intending for you to never know who I was, but this arrangement works out fine too," his smile turning menacing as he spoke. "Say hello to your future self."
With that, my life's regrets and failures left me, alongst with my final breath of air
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[WP] Write the longest dad joke you can.
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“Daddy, Daddy!” My son cried. Running from his room towards me, he slammed hard into my thigh. With short chubby arms flung around my waist, he sobbed, “Daddy, I can’t sleep.”
Letting out a sigh, I picked him up and put him on my lap. He was going through one of those monster-under-the-bed phases. Every other night, he would climb into my bed, claiming to be running from ‘the monster under his bed.’
‘Comeon, Nick, wheres Browny? Didn’t he protect you tonight?” I asked, gently caressing his cheek.
A few weeks ago, I had bought him a stuffed horse. I told him that Browny, as Nick had so affectionally named, would be the one to protect him from the ‘monsters’ at night. It worked- I guess- every night following that, he would wake in the morning, sprouting imaginative stories of Browny.
He would tell me how amazing Browny was, his mane igniting with a glorious fire. He would tell me how he flew into the air, smiting all the monsters that crawled out from under his bed. He would tell me tales of his brave stead, donning on the greatest armor, and taking on the darkest enemies.
“They got him, Daddy. The monsters got him!” Urgency crept into his voice as he continued talking, his little hand gripping unto my shirt. “I was about to sleep when the monster came, but Browny told me to trust him and go to sleep, so I did, and I slept, but when I woke, and I wanted to hug him, I asked him to come but the woudnt so I searched for him, but he…” he paused to take in a quick breath, “he wasn’t there. So I thought at first he was playing hide and seek but… but he’s still missing and I can’t find him and I…. I….” his voice trailed off, tears welling up at the corners of his eye.
“Hey big guy,” I said, a finger wiping the tear away, “I’m sure Browny is okay, comeon, let’s go have a look.” I picked him up, letting him cling unto my neck as I stood up to go to his room.
It was in shambles.
The bedsheet was thrown across the table, books and stationary lying on the floor. The cupboards were open, the clothes strewn all about the floor. Even the pillows and blanket were across the room.
What the fuck happened in here?
Putting him down, I gingerly made my way to the bed, stepping over the strewn clothes and pillows.
Slowly, I bent down, looking under the bed.
Browny was deep in the corner under the bed, way out of reach of a 6 year old child.
Probrably why he couldn’t find the toy.
Reaching under, I grabbed Browny, passing the toy to my son.
“He… he wasn’t there before! What about the monsters, Daddy?” He asked.
“Well,” I said, kneeling down on one knee to look him in the eye, “It was all just a Knightmare"
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It started off fairly innocuously. I had gone in to see my doctor for a yearly physical. Perhaps it was a year or five since my last one, but life can just get so busy, you know? Besides, I wasn't too worried. I was in pretty good shape with no major health complaints. Just a little stiffness of the joints in the morning when I first woke up. But my wife had gotten it into her head that I should go in to see the doctor to get it checked out. I was mostly going in so that she would stop pestering me to get a check up.
The doctor gave me the usual disapproving lecture about how important it was to get a yearly checkup, but he did agree with me that I was mostly healthy and that a little stiffness of the joints was pretty common at my age. As I was getting ready to leave he did suggest that I stop by the lab to get a little bit of blood drawn, just to run a few tests. You know, just to be safe.
Two days later as I was driving the kids to soccer practice I got an apologetic call from my doctor's office. It seemed there had been some kind of contamination with my blood sample. They would need me to stop by the office to get blood drawn again. I made an appointment to stop by the following morning.
This time they walked my blood sample right over to the lab while I waited. I thought it was nice of them to get me the results so quickly, seeing as how it was their screw-up in the first place. I was making small talk with the nurse when the doctor came bursting back into the exam room. I will never forget how pale his face looked.
"We need to get you to the hospital. Right now. Get this man on a gurney."
They already had an ambulance waiting. I kept asking what was wrong, but only got a half muttered response about metals in my blood.
I was taken straight over to an isolation ward in the hospital. I was met there by my doctor. He was hardly recognizable in head-to-toe hazmat gear. He tried to explain that it was just a precaution. That didn't exactly reassure me.
I was even more nervous when he started introducing me to the half dozen doctors, all equally indistinguishable in protective coverings, that would make up my "team." I really didn't like the sound of that. I didn't know much about medicine, but I did know that having a "team" was not a good sign. They were all very friendly and concerned about my well-being, and they went about running all kinds of tests on me. I was scared. But I was even more scared when they wouldn't let my family come into the room with me. My crying wife and family had to talk to me through the floor to ceiling glass window that made up one end of the room.
The first night I spent in that white hospital room I didn't sleep a minute. I was scared, I was worried, and I was alone.
The friendly doctors didn't have any good news for me when their test results came back. I refused to believe them. I shouted. I threw a tantrum. I threw their printouts across the room. But I knew they were right. _Something_ was very wrong. I could feel it already. Their was a metallic taste in my mouth that wasn't just the fear and adrenaline. There was something very wrong with me.
Those stark white walls and florescent lights were to be my home for a long time. I could have visitors, but they had to watch me through the window. And eventually, as my symptoms progressed, I didn't want anyone to see me. I sent my family away. I refused to see them.
The friendly doctors tried to understand what was happening to me, but they had no answers. Eventually, one by one, they stopped coming by to run tests on me. But a case that was as unusual as mine eventually attracted the interest of others.
Instead of friendly doctors that wanted to heal me, I was now being visited by cold, dispassionately interested scientists that wanted to study me. They would note the changes in my skin. They would take pictures of the strange growth that started to form on the top of my head. Every day they would take measurements of the changing shape of my skull that was becoming progressively more cylindrical, and compare those measurements to previous day's measurements. They would scrape off tiny specks of my skin and run mass spectrometer tests to determine that yes, the metallic content was becoming more pure by the day. They thought that they could understand what was happening to me if they could just collect enough data. So every day they would take measurements and scribble them down on their clipboards. All their data collection never did give them an answer to the question of why this was happening to me. Or at least, if they had that answer they never shared it with me. But they were able to track the changes to by body and extrapolate what the outcome of my metamorphosis would eventually be.
The first time they showed me the artist's rendering I thought it was a joke, and not a very good one at that. I laughed at the sketch that I was holding. Until I reached up and touched the top of my head. I traced what my hands had become along the strange growth at the top of my head, and felt a shape that I had seen thousands of times, but never given much thought. I looked at the sketch with rising horror. The scientists just sadly nodded their heads and proceeded with their measurements. I sank into a depression that lasted weeks.
At this point my eventual fate was all but known, but no progress had been made in either treating or reversing my condition. And that was when I attracted the attention of a new kind of visitor: Hospital administrators.
They never spoke to me, or even entered the room with me, But they would huddle together outside the glass window in their dark suits muttering to each other about "unrecoverable losses" and "completely exhausted insurance." They would compare charts and graphs and spreadsheets while arguing about a need to "right the bottom line." One day I over heard one of them call me "little more than an expensive curiosity," and for some reason one of the other administrators suddenly got very excited.
I might have been concerned, but by that point my condition had progressed to the point that I was mostly immobile. I would lay on my bed most of the time, occasionally rolling from one side to the other as the scientists needed to take measurements. It was while rolling towards the window for a circumference measurement that I first saw the man with the beady eyes and the showman's smile. I could tell that he saw dollar signs when he looked at me. I would have shivered if I was still capable of it.
The administrators were clearly torn about what to do. Several loud arguments where had on the other side of that viewing window. Some of the administrators wanted to accept the offer made by the man with the beady eyes. The others were clearly uneasy with that decision. They would shout things about human rights and ethics. But the administrators in favor of the offer would say that human rights no longer applied in my case. Through out all of this the man with the beady eyes continued to stare at me through the window with his appraising smile. Finally the arguments of the administrators died down, and the impassioned pleas were replaced by monetary negotiations. The man with the beady eyes pulled out a checkbook.
I was quickly moved out of the isolation ward and into the back of a truck. Men that clearly worked for the man with the beady eyes moved me out of the truck with a dolly. They set my upright inside a large canvas tent. There was sawdust on the ground and hay bails set around me in a circle.
And that was how I began my career in show business. For $3 each members of the public could come into the tent to gawk at me, The Incredible Giant Soda Can.
But I'm not a can, I'm a human being.
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[WP] Three universes collided at the same time and 3 "Earths" ended up fusing with each other. One hosting us, one hosting a fantasy world and one hosting a sci-fi world.
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"Alright kids, sit down", droned the old sage, in a very southern accent to the young warriors. They made themselves a place to sit as he took a breath to tell them a story.
"This is the story, the story of how our world was made, from the combination of three.
"Wait, three worlds? Yeah right, old man." This came from the mouth of a young rogue, who had a blaster and sword attached to his belt.
"You shouldn't interrupt the sage, Claudius," muttered the knight, named Nolan the Chivalrous, to the young rogue.
"For all that chivalry, you do like to interrupt people, eh?", barked the soldier, who looked at the knight with her piercing blue eyes.
The knight was silent for a moment, then he commented, "touché, M'lady."
"May I tell my story?", questioned the sage, to which Nolan apologized, and told him to proceed.
"It was the year 2018 when the Earthly Breach happened.", the sage told.
"With the combination of three versions of the universe aligning and the use of a multiverse transporter, the three Earths, or three versions of it, were combined."
"One was called Earth-8, or more commonly, the Fantasy earth was filled with magic that baffled even the greatest of minds. Many scientists, upon seeing it, believed that this was the worst that had happened. But that wasn't the end."
"Earth-6 - The second planet - was known as the Sci-fi world, For the Unfathomable ideas and technology even the smartest of us could dream of."
" And then there was us, Earth-2, the regular earth, the one that was the weakest of them all. We knew we were damned, Since many of the warriors of the other earths were at our doorstep, ready to conquer our planet for themselves."
"So we did the unthinkable, to them at least. We proposed a truce to the inhabitants of the other worlds. This struck them with the realization that they would have to fight each other to gain control of the earth (something unfathomable to either side), They quickly agreed to said truce, if not for peace, then for themselves."
"And for one-hundred and twenty years, we have kept the truce, working together, building infrastructure, making lives better... and protecting ourselves from the evils of all of our worlds. That is why we have lived, that is why we fight."
The Warriors thanked him for the story and made plans to leave for the next city.
As they were leaving, the old man asked for their names.
"By his banner, you could have known who Nolan was, but as for me, I'm Captain Sarah Whitman, of the 3rd squadron of the US military, and this idiot of a person is Claudius Brown, Idiot of mystery."
"At least you said 'of mystery', Sergeant Damper", moaned the pragmatic rogue.
"Well I believed I never got your name, Oh wise one, what may I call you as?" said the knight.
"Morgan Freeman the second, 'Oh Wiseass' for hire." snapped the old man, with finger quotes in the air.
"Do you really have to add 'the second' at the end?", moaned Sarah, as she shook her head in annoyance.
"why yes, I was named after my great, great grandfather, he was pretty famous and was living around the time of the collision."
Well, we should get to the city. Have a nice day, Oh wise one", finished Nolan as they exited the grotto.
Sarah turned her bike on, as Claudius jumped on, and she rolled her eyes. her eyes landed on Nolan and she remembered how much she wanted to buy him a bike for his birthday, but then remembered that he said he was fine with his horse.
As they sped towards the city, the old man realized something.
"You forgot to call me 'Oh Wiseass'!", with his fingers making "air quotes"
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Thanks for reading this, please comment below.
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"So are we more Harry Potter meets Star Wars now or Lord of the Rings meets Star Trek?" I ask, staring at the clearly overworked U.N. ambassadors.
"More like Guardians of the Galaxy meets Dr.Strange," answers Donovan. I always knew he was a closet Marvel fan. He pulls out his laser pointer, aiming at the 3d projection for the new Earth we inhabit. Although the planet has tripled in Size and weight, somehow gravity and the atmospheric make-up of Tri-Earth remains constant.
[I will continue this short story as an edit -10:39 am pst-]
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[WP] Three universes collided at the same time and 3 "Earths" ended up fusing with each other. One hosting us, one hosting a fantasy world and one hosting a sci-fi world.
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“Another round for my friends!” Brab shouted at the barkeep.
Bob looked around. The new bar was aptly dubbed *The Intersection*. There were artifacts from all their worlds strewn across the walls; shields and swords, striking 3D holographic scenes, motivational posters.
“Coming right up,” the barkeep replied.
He poured Brab a large glass of mead, Bob a beer and Bjorn a phosphoric purple mixture.
“I don’t know how you can drink that foul sludge,” Brab said.
“It is finely attuned to my tastebuds, something you clearly lack,” Bjorn replied.
“We had a word for you in my world, court jester,” Brab said nudging Bob in the shoulder a little too hard.
Bob was seated between the two men. Brab was shorter than him but not by much, rippling muscles flowed out from under his leather vest. Bjorn was several feet taller and thin, a sleek silver suit formed tightly to his frame. Bob was in regular t-shirt and jeans.
“What’s wrong with beer?” Bob asked.
“Indeed! Barkeep bring us hither three goblets of your finest beer,” Brab said smiling.
Bob was beginning to feel woozy after downing his fifth beer. This whole last few months had felt woozy. A cataclysmic event that turned into one of the greatest melding of minds, traditions and technology. *But you still need watering holes*, he thought.
“Feast your eyes on this!” Brab yelled. He placed a dagger in front of the other two. It was large, the steel blade sharp and the hilt beautifully crafted with a Dragon’s head with two green emeralds for eyes.
“Quaint. Now this weapon could destroy a whole continent if calibrated correctly,” Bjorn said placing down a laser weapon; silver, sleek and compact.
Bob remained quiet. He didn’t have any weapons.
“What have you got in your pockets young fellow?” Brab asked.
Bob sheepishly fished in his pocket and produced an iPhone. He opened a music app and played a classic from his era.
*I get knocked down but I get up again, you are never gonna keep me down.*
The other two men looked at the device but didn’t say anything. Bob stopped the song and put the phone back in his pocket, his face flush.
They bar was located in the newly formed Intersect neighbourhood. Not the centre of technological and cultural exchange officially but many gathered to socialize and learn about each others worlds.
“Ah look and take in this beautiful maiden hither across,” Brab said gesturing with his head towards the door. In had strolled a woman. Long dark hair fell over her shoulders and red lipstick stood out from her olive complexion. She looked around the room and her eyes fell on the three friends. She strolled up to the bar and ordered a beer.
“Here is your chance, seize it at once,” Brab whispered to Bob.
“Ah hey, how’s it goin’?” Bob asked.
“Not too bad,” the girl replied.
“What’s your name?” Bob asked.
“It’s Lisa,” the girl said smiling grabbing her beer and making her way to a couch in the corner of the room.
Brab and Bjorn looked after her. Bob gulped down hard and took a swig of beer.
Brab retired to the restroom. On his way back he found a woman draped in a flowing dress. He said one word, tossed her over his shoulder and laughed loudly. The woman kicked and pounded her fists on his back. This caused Brab to laugh even louder.
“How crued,” Bjorn said looking on unimpressed.
Brab had let the woman down but not before she pressed her lips against his ear whispering something. This made Brab grin and he returned to his friends.
“Something a little more sophisticated perhaps,” Bjorn said putting two fingers to his temple. He looked on a slender woman clothed in a sleek gold suit and closed his eyes. The woman looked at him and also put two fingers to her temple. Brab and Bob looked on; the woman laughed and blushed from across the room.
“Strange black magic,” Brab said.
After a few more drinks Bob was the first to leave, feeling the most out of place.
*They’re just so cool and I’m just so boring*, he thought to himself as he strolled out of the bar. *Sure I got that girls number eventually but those guys are just so... cool*.
Bjorn and Brab looked after him as he left. They sat silently for a while.
“Can you believe it?” Brab broke the silence.
“Remarkable young man,” Bjorn said.
“Yes I wish I was born on his world. Did you see his music device?” Brab said marveling.
Bjorn nodded. They both sighed looking down into their drinks.
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The two beings looked on as the globes began to merge.
...: Is this truly necessary?
???: Space must be made. It is the way it has always been.
...: That doesn't make it right.
The silence was pervasive. The beings watched the merger, as was tradition. The plots, quirks and personalities of each unique world being destroyed as the worlds unified to their greatest common factors. Sure it would form a new story. And the space would allow for the creation of two new worlds, with fresh stories. At the same time, so much was lost.
...: We could stop it you know.
???: Then we would run out of space. You know this.
...: What if rather then creating from nothing, we work within the worlds to create new stories.
???: You're starting to sound like !!!. He has what he wished, but now he is alone on the prime. Do you wish to be isolated like him?
...: No. I wish to remain here.
???: Then do not question the system.
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[WP] One night, you jokingly wish to yourself that you had a billion wishes. The next morning, you wake up at 7am, and wish to yourself that it was 4am. You are quite surprised when the daylight is suddenly gone, and your clock now reads 4am.
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Five years and I caught her cheating. Five years and it was all gone, just like that. I didn't know nor did I care how long it had gone on for. I was set to propose in a week. Instead, I threw a few shirts and some underwear into a carry-on and left.
I loaded up on Everclear from the minimart and drove drunk. I could never stomach the taste, but tonight, it was what I needed. I stopped at a cheap motel room in the middle of nowhere, an old one that still used the neon "VACANCY" sign. 25 bucks for the night.
"I'll deal with it in the morning. I'll deal with all of it in the morning," I muttered, and flopped into the bed. The last tenant had left the room's Bible out on the nightstand. I peered at it.
"You. Yeah, you. You owe me, like, a billion fucking wishes for what you did to me." I nestled up against my pillow and fell into a fitful sleep.
My dreams were interrupted by cheerful mariachi music as the radio alarm blared to life. I groaned as my hangover hit me like a minivan driving over my head. 7 AM. "No. I just want to sleep for 3 more hours. I'll deal with it then," I growled at it. When I blinked, the daylight vanished and the clock read 4 AM. "Must be a dream." I went back to sleep.
When the mariachi band played again, my headache was gone. Same song, too. Had it been a dream? The Bible on the nightstand caught my eye. "Hey. Did you do something?" I asked. It lay still. Of course it did, it was just a book.
I needed to test it anyway. "I wish for a good breakfast." I said aloud, feeling like the world's biggest chump. Someone knocked on the door.
"Yeah, I've got a medium pepperoni and a liter of pepsi," the delivery girl said. No fucking way. It had to be coincidence, right?
"I didn't order a pizza," I replied, dumbfounded. She pulled up the order on her handheld.
"Well, it says to come to this address. It's ordered through our online app, so it's already been paid for." She showed me. "So, free pizza, I guess?"
My stomach rumbled. "Sure. I'll take it. Before you go, let me tip," I reached into my back pocket and found my wallet missing. Crap. I'd probably left it in my car. Or with *her*.
"I just want a fiver." I whispered, and checked my other pocket, finding a crumpled 5 dollar bill. She thanked me and left. It had stuffed crust.
As I ate, my thoughts grew more menacing. "I should put a curse on them. Hurt them as much as they did me," I muttered, chewing on a slice. But first, I needed to know more about the guy she cheated with.
"I wish I knew who he was." A flood of information beamed into my head. Pete Lambic. CEO of Blastech, a small demolitions company.
"I wish Blastech would go bankru-" I paused. Hundreds would be unemployed. Families would suffer. I wanted vengeance, but not if it would hurt innocents. "No, no I don't. I wish Pete Lambic would lose his job."
And now for her. Nora. "What should I do to you?" I asked. Terminal illness? Herpes? Permanent disfigurement?
My phone buzzed. Low battery. I hadn't changed my unlock screen yet on my phone, and our photo smiled up to me. We were on a park bench in the fall. She'd marveled about how pretty the leaves had been and asked a stranger to take our photo. We were in love then. It took every ounce of willpower I had to not wish our life back then and there.
"I wish... I wish to go back five years. To the day I met her," I said, and the world spun around me.
I was back. Back in the bar with my friends, glass of whiskey in my hand. Nora's voice rang out from the karaoke machine. I'd forgotten how beautiful she looked that day. I'd forgotten her spirit. As before, I joined her. One little song wouldn't hurt. "May I have this duet?" I asked, and she nodded, with that cheeky smile of hers. We sang "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John.
I spotted my friends heading for the door. "Hey, wait up!" I called, and jogged to join them.
"Thought you'd be leaving with her," Bill said, gesturing. Nora stared after me, a confused look on her face.
"So did I." We played poker at my place and called it a night.
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As he sat in front of his TV and watched all the chaos he started, he thought to himself that seeing as though he had 1 wish remaining he ought wish for everything to be back to normal. But when he wished for it nothing had happened. The world was still torn apart. And then he realized his mistake. His counter read 999999999. He thought he still had 1 more wish. He didn't think they would count the first one too.
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[WP] A disgraced former warlock is called back to his order to train the next generation of battle-mages. Unbeknownst to him, his very name is a legend among the youth of the day.
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Xo'Phena, Man-Slayer, Paladin's Bane, Summoner of Nature's Wrath, Protector of Fluffy Things With Adorable Little Venomous Fangs (it sounded much more impressive in Orcish) was having an odd day.
Against all logic and precedent, she had received an invitation to teach at the Human Alliance Archmagical College, with an invitation magically signed by the Ur-Wizard himself, which, for non-magic-users, basically was the equivalent of an unbreakable promise that she would not be harmed, and that the Ur-Wizard was also obliged to protect her to the greatest extent of his ability.
She had attended the interview mostly out of curiosity, to be honest.
Afterward, though, she was rather upset that she was obligated, out of basic Orcish decency (and basic survival instinct) to teach filthy *human* students the tricks of her trade. Which was basically how to murder the *shit* out of those goddamn (heh) paladins. Although the fact that they would be utilizing her teachings to murder the shit out of paladins did console her a bit.
It was her first day, and the impressed and surprisingly non-hostile stares of her new students was throwing her off more than she expected.
"The... Um. The first and most important principle of killing a paladin. Anyone?"
A blanket of silence fell over the classroom.
"Nobody? Well, then, perhaps we can figure it out together. Will someone please share the fundamental principles of their powers, please? No expansive details, just a simple explanation will suffice."
A scrawny gold-haired one raised its hand. She wasn't great at human secondary sexual characteristics, but she was pretty sure it was female.
"Yes? Er, girl-Man?"
The class giggled, suggesting that her guess was incorrect.
"Um. Sorry, ma'am? I'm a half-elf, and a boy? Sorry."
She shrugged. It was pretty much all the same to her, they all looked stupid and effeminate to her, what with the weird tusk-less mouths and narrow, nearly hairless bodies.
"Um. The paladins draw their powers from their gods, ma'am. Per Alendric's Principle, in exchange for binding their lllollorroffoll (sorry, Elvish term, "magicky soul-stuff", literally translated) to a divine source, they get access to a wide array of powers specific to their god in exchange for signing what amounts to a binding magical behavioral contract. In accordance with Wibbley's Primary Laws of Magic, this restriction in practice acts as a sort of focal lens, multiplying their basic abilities many fold, thus..."
"OH MY NATURE SHUT UP!"
The half-Elf snapped his (she was still skeptical about that, but didn't care enough to pursue it) mouth shut, eyes widening.
"Okay... So. Thank you for that exhausting explanation."
He (?) raised his hand again.
"...Yes?"
"I think you meant exhaustive?"
"...No."
"Oh."
After waiting a moment for a couple badly-concealed chuckles to die down, she continued.
"So, the paladin's power is tied to them strictly obeying their gods. Have any of you ever met a god?"
The class gave her a puzzled look.
"What, seriously? Any magic user can do it, if you don't mind having the piss annoyed out of you. You just take some of these mushrooms" and here she waved her hand, conjuring up an illusion of the Octarinecap mushroom "and enter into a basic mana-regenerative trance, and boom. Gods for days.
"But I don't recommend it. They're pesky little things, always begging you to 'believe in me! I'll do anything! Blah blah blah'. I've seen Dream-Powder addicts with more self-respect."
She slowly noticed the horrified looks on the faces of the class.
"What? Did you all miss the name of the class?!"
A sea of puzzled looks stared back at her.
A different human spoke up, "Defense Against the Divine Arts, ma'am?"
She snarled. "That *Rak-ak kraggghk zk-ik hraaaghk* Ur-Wizard changed it?!"
She noted that one human towards the back went pale. Good to know at least one of her class had picked up some Orcish.
"I submitted the class under the name 'How to Fucking Murder the Shit Out of Paladins, Because Fuck Those Self-Righteous Pricks and Their Stupid Gods'. Apparently this was later revised.
"ANYway, the first rule of fighting a paladin is to *read their stupid holy books*! Like the skinny one said, they're magically bound to follow the rules their gods put in place! But gods are stupid, spiteful, petty little things with the memories of brain-damaged minnows and the common sense of an addled squirrel! Their holy texts are loaded with contradictions, logical impossibilities and ludicrous commandments that are literally impossible to follow!
"Did none of you ever wonder why every paladin you've ever met seemed to be an illiterate moron with the critical thinking faculties of your average excited puppy?!"
The class sat frozen, most of them eyeing the ceiling as if expecting a divine lighting bolt at any moment.
"Well, that's how you morons got yourself in this mess to begin with. If you're going to put a bunch of religious zealots at the core of your society, *maybe consider checking what they're commanded to do some time*!
"Seriously. I can't even... You seriously never read the apocalyptic chapters in literally every 'holy book'? The Omnian text literally reads 'go forth and slay those who are not the devout of Om, sparing none, and raising the dead flesh of the believers and non-believers alike to serve in your task'! It's not very ambiguous!!"
A tiny red-haired human spoke up "But they said it was allegorical! How were we to know?"
Xo'Phena sighed. "Do *none* of you speak any Old Eldaran? The original text clearly uses imperatives that would *never* have been used in allegory, it's obviously meant to be a clear future-predictive imperative! And oh my stars and little blood-finches none of you do speak that, do you?"
The same red-haired human shook its head. "Ma'am, Old Eldaran is considered a lost language. How did you learn it?"
Xo'Phena blinked. "Human. You have magic at your command. You can magically translate any text, which means you can teach yourself any language if you're willing to put the time... In... Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Er... That spell is not taught or used by covenant, ma'am."
She cocked her head, then growled. "Oh. Let me guess. The churches argued that it was an 'abomination to read the words of God with magic' or something at some point in the distant past, and more or less blackmailed your schools into banning the practice? So you wouldn't know what they were up to?"
"That's not exactly how I would have phrased it, but I suppose in retrospect..."
"Shut it. You idiots are lucky to be alive. No wonder you came crawling back to the Orcs, it looks like we're the only ones left those god-bothering twits didn't infiltrate and subvert!
"So, first lesson then. Pretty much every religion bans doing almost everything that everyone does every day. If you learn to point this out, citing chapter and verse in the original language, you can permanently depower any paladin in seconds. The tricky part is identifying their particular sect and belief. Let's start with the Omnians..."
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Samuel took a deep breath as he prepared to meet the class. He knew he should hurry, seeing as a few of them looked antcy, and were practicing unsupervised. Walking out into the courtyard, samuel lamented what he was about to do, the hard lesson he was about to teach them, and the sacrifice he would have to take. Some of the students turned to him, wide eyed with shock, then got the attention of their peers. About half of thirty student class, Samuel noted, had wrinkled and stained uniforms. This was to be expected from such a dievient group.
Samuel stopped about 5 feet from the edge of the group and sized them up. They were whispering with awed, barely contained voices. Samuel frowned, before clearing his voice and shouted for all to hear, "I... have been informed by the headmaster, that a plague has swept through this institution, one of ignorance and hubris." The students had begun to frown back, a couple even began to boo. He did not care, and carried on, "All of you, here before me, have foolishly tried to imitate my actions." Samuel pulled an orb from the pocket of his robe, "It is my duty, to correct this ruinous behavior." Smoke seemed to secrete from the orb. Terrified, as they should be, the students began to back away. When the smoke touched the ground, the stone work crumbled and tendrils of smoke raced along towards the students, pulverizing more bricks as they went. Try as they might, the students couldn't escape, and those caught began to petrify. A few tried to fight, mage armor here, energy bolt there, all failed. Instructors emerged and tried to stop him, so he petrified them too. He'd kill them, all of them, for defying him... But then the headmaster emerged, too far to see his face, but Samuel knew well the genuinely disappointed frown he had. It was the very same one from while Samuel trained in the academy, whenever he misbehaved, or slacked off. He pulled him self together and dispersed the tendrils. Most students were petrified up to their hips, though a couple only had their head free, they were screaming and crying. Samuel, heart racing, raised his voice so all could hear, "Is this is the power you seek? Abandon the path of ruin, and give no more power to destruction." Turning to leave he adds, "Or this will be the future of our world." He then left the courtyard, one which had been destroyed beyond repair, and served as a symbol for generations to come. Never again would the young of Hindwicks Academy mistake power for glory with such a perfect example at hand.
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[WP] A disgraced former warlock is called back to his order to train the next generation of battle-mages. Unbeknownst to him, his very name is a legend among the youth of the day.
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Xo'Phena, Man-Slayer, Paladin's Bane, Summoner of Nature's Wrath, Protector of Fluffy Things With Adorable Little Venomous Fangs (it sounded much more impressive in Orcish) was having an odd day.
Against all logic and precedent, she had received an invitation to teach at the Human Alliance Archmagical College, with an invitation magically signed by the Ur-Wizard himself, which, for non-magic-users, basically was the equivalent of an unbreakable promise that she would not be harmed, and that the Ur-Wizard was also obliged to protect her to the greatest extent of his ability.
She had attended the interview mostly out of curiosity, to be honest.
Afterward, though, she was rather upset that she was obligated, out of basic Orcish decency (and basic survival instinct) to teach filthy *human* students the tricks of her trade. Which was basically how to murder the *shit* out of those goddamn (heh) paladins. Although the fact that they would be utilizing her teachings to murder the shit out of paladins did console her a bit.
It was her first day, and the impressed and surprisingly non-hostile stares of her new students was throwing her off more than she expected.
"The... Um. The first and most important principle of killing a paladin. Anyone?"
A blanket of silence fell over the classroom.
"Nobody? Well, then, perhaps we can figure it out together. Will someone please share the fundamental principles of their powers, please? No expansive details, just a simple explanation will suffice."
A scrawny gold-haired one raised its hand. She wasn't great at human secondary sexual characteristics, but she was pretty sure it was female.
"Yes? Er, girl-Man?"
The class giggled, suggesting that her guess was incorrect.
"Um. Sorry, ma'am? I'm a half-elf, and a boy? Sorry."
She shrugged. It was pretty much all the same to her, they all looked stupid and effeminate to her, what with the weird tusk-less mouths and narrow, nearly hairless bodies.
"Um. The paladins draw their powers from their gods, ma'am. Per Alendric's Principle, in exchange for binding their lllollorroffoll (sorry, Elvish term, "magicky soul-stuff", literally translated) to a divine source, they get access to a wide array of powers specific to their god in exchange for signing what amounts to a binding magical behavioral contract. In accordance with Wibbley's Primary Laws of Magic, this restriction in practice acts as a sort of focal lens, multiplying their basic abilities many fold, thus..."
"OH MY NATURE SHUT UP!"
The half-Elf snapped his (she was still skeptical about that, but didn't care enough to pursue it) mouth shut, eyes widening.
"Okay... So. Thank you for that exhausting explanation."
He (?) raised his hand again.
"...Yes?"
"I think you meant exhaustive?"
"...No."
"Oh."
After waiting a moment for a couple badly-concealed chuckles to die down, she continued.
"So, the paladin's power is tied to them strictly obeying their gods. Have any of you ever met a god?"
The class gave her a puzzled look.
"What, seriously? Any magic user can do it, if you don't mind having the piss annoyed out of you. You just take some of these mushrooms" and here she waved her hand, conjuring up an illusion of the Octarinecap mushroom "and enter into a basic mana-regenerative trance, and boom. Gods for days.
"But I don't recommend it. They're pesky little things, always begging you to 'believe in me! I'll do anything! Blah blah blah'. I've seen Dream-Powder addicts with more self-respect."
She slowly noticed the horrified looks on the faces of the class.
"What? Did you all miss the name of the class?!"
A sea of puzzled looks stared back at her.
A different human spoke up, "Defense Against the Divine Arts, ma'am?"
She snarled. "That *Rak-ak kraggghk zk-ik hraaaghk* Ur-Wizard changed it?!"
She noted that one human towards the back went pale. Good to know at least one of her class had picked up some Orcish.
"I submitted the class under the name 'How to Fucking Murder the Shit Out of Paladins, Because Fuck Those Self-Righteous Pricks and Their Stupid Gods'. Apparently this was later revised.
"ANYway, the first rule of fighting a paladin is to *read their stupid holy books*! Like the skinny one said, they're magically bound to follow the rules their gods put in place! But gods are stupid, spiteful, petty little things with the memories of brain-damaged minnows and the common sense of an addled squirrel! Their holy texts are loaded with contradictions, logical impossibilities and ludicrous commandments that are literally impossible to follow!
"Did none of you ever wonder why every paladin you've ever met seemed to be an illiterate moron with the critical thinking faculties of your average excited puppy?!"
The class sat frozen, most of them eyeing the ceiling as if expecting a divine lighting bolt at any moment.
"Well, that's how you morons got yourself in this mess to begin with. If you're going to put a bunch of religious zealots at the core of your society, *maybe consider checking what they're commanded to do some time*!
"Seriously. I can't even... You seriously never read the apocalyptic chapters in literally every 'holy book'? The Omnian text literally reads 'go forth and slay those who are not the devout of Om, sparing none, and raising the dead flesh of the believers and non-believers alike to serve in your task'! It's not very ambiguous!!"
A tiny red-haired human spoke up "But they said it was allegorical! How were we to know?"
Xo'Phena sighed. "Do *none* of you speak any Old Eldaran? The original text clearly uses imperatives that would *never* have been used in allegory, it's obviously meant to be a clear future-predictive imperative! And oh my stars and little blood-finches none of you do speak that, do you?"
The same red-haired human shook its head. "Ma'am, Old Eldaran is considered a lost language. How did you learn it?"
Xo'Phena blinked. "Human. You have magic at your command. You can magically translate any text, which means you can teach yourself any language if you're willing to put the time... In... Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Er... That spell is not taught or used by covenant, ma'am."
She cocked her head, then growled. "Oh. Let me guess. The churches argued that it was an 'abomination to read the words of God with magic' or something at some point in the distant past, and more or less blackmailed your schools into banning the practice? So you wouldn't know what they were up to?"
"That's not exactly how I would have phrased it, but I suppose in retrospect..."
"Shut it. You idiots are lucky to be alive. No wonder you came crawling back to the Orcs, it looks like we're the only ones left those god-bothering twits didn't infiltrate and subvert!
"So, first lesson then. Pretty much every religion bans doing almost everything that everyone does every day. If you learn to point this out, citing chapter and verse in the original language, you can permanently depower any paladin in seconds. The tricky part is identifying their particular sect and belief. Let's start with the Omnians..."
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This is space and sci fi themed, with fantasy elements included. God rest your soul, dear reader.
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#0203
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Cohyr Insignias winked in the pale starshine. Both of the planet's moons were not visible in the sky. An under-armed VTOL touched down in a stone laiden clearing upon the planet. Out stepped two disgraces. One of this world, and one of another.
The people of this world were green, and were about 4ft tall, with verry little variance. They were flexible in their thoughts and movements; quick as well. They had to be as they were a predatory species. They were omnivorian by necessity as opposed to variety. It takes a lot to sustain a predatory vessel. If one went without one type of food for too long, they'd certainly get ill. Synthetically made nutrients did not suffice over long periods of time. Such dietary needs could be considered a handicap, considering the expanse of space. Coincidentally, they weren't as keen on settlement as they were on exploration and external relation.
The Cohyr insignia was worn by the offworlder. It shone briefly against the burning pyres they passed, contrasting his scorched armour plating. His native associate stepped off in formal, medical apparel, blessing each one with a stone tossed into the coals. Now, I and many creatures of this galaxy who communicate verbally cannot pronounce the name of said shamanist. We'll call him Xen, as he rarely visits his past-home anymore.
They strode past the dug-in, yet connected structures and homes. From above, it looked as thought it was a colidascope of wood like materials, gem speckled stone, metal, and what seemed to be some sort of hardened sap or rubber shooting out like spiderwebs from each structure to the ones around it. Our Cohyr soldier hadn't been to the planet in years from his perspective, and things had grown since the last time he touched down here. Xen didn't seem to notice. The pair were greeted in the middle of town by it's appropriate erm....leadership. The group went on, and traveled for a while longer in silence. Eventually, they arrived in a larger structure. A school, if you will. It sat upon the edge of the town, with just a few architectural tendrils edging the pathway that led to it. The group entered under the woven arches. They walked into a large, open area, in which stood a dozen younger members of the race.
"I give them to you now. Teach them. When they are improved and returned, your debt is fuffilled." The representatives left, leaving the cohyr suit of armour, and its overdressed partner alone in the room of 12.
They all had loose fitting garb, and some sort of weapon with them, complimented by a meter diameter shield against the wall. Each had a similar insignia with a slight variation, added with a mix of styles.
Xen looked at each of them with stony eyes and an earnest expression. The relative children looked to him with what seemed to be anxiety and shock. He walked over, and examined each of them, personally. His eyes covered every inch of thier composure. The Cohyr soldier stood at attention, and appeared as a statue would if it were placed eschew in a crowded room. Xen, upon inspecting the last of his new pupils and property spoke up.
"I'm not certain of your origins, and I will not be looking into them with poise. You are all now in/under my name. You are all now to learn. When I return you in 10 years' time, you will be more than you already are." He paused, and the translater in the Cohyr soldier's helmet paused wtih him. "I have learned much in my travels. I must pass some of this onto you. Absorb as much as you can, for you will not survive if you cannot breathe with your backdrop. This apprehension I sense in your hearts is something to be overcome..."
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Inspections? A gruff tone? As far as the soldier could tell, Xen was laying it down thick for day one. *I own you for the next 10 years. You will learn and grow or you will die. I guess that's one way to inspire them.*
"Their culture seems to be one of direct communication and focus. Xen didn't want to talk about this on the way here, and did not mention that he would be caring for these warriors. None of the...ambassadors started a conversation on our way here either," a soft voice in his head retorted.
*I know, right? He said that he could get us more 'specialty' soldiers like himself. I didn't think he literally meant coming back to his home planet for a group of slaves. A person of few words indeed...I've asked him about his home before, and this has never come up. In fact, I don't think he's talked much about his people's culture very much at all. I'm glad we have him on our side, but I keep making the mistake of underestimating him.*
"I'll make a note, then."
-----
Oblivious, or perhaps ignoring the conversation of his armoured assistant, and apparently satisfied with his intimidating inspection, Xen took a few steps from both parties. The translator kicked in again.
"Tell me of your mutual limiters; your fears; your desires; your wonders; your current thoughts."
The students faces seemed to shed a modicum of relief. Clearly, none of them were "defective" enough to kill on the spot. 'One hurtle overcome, with just 10 years to go.
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[WP] A disgraced former warlock is called back to his order to train the next generation of battle-mages. Unbeknownst to him, his very name is a legend among the youth of the day.
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Warlock Grelorn sighed, his broad shoulders slumping as he anxiously walked towards the place he had once called his home. He remembered the last time he had been here, on the day that he had finally spoken out for what he believed was "right". On each Warlock's twentieth birthday, the day of graduation, they are given the opportunity to thank the high council before they leave the school and join the army. Glelorn winced as he remembered that day. He had walked up to the podium, so full of foolish confidence that he had *demanded* that they high council change their ways. That they stop forcing Warlocks to go into the army.
He was an idiot.
The council had been outraged, banishing Grelorn for his mutinous speech, exiling him to the mountains of the north, never to return again.
He had been broken that day. He had survived beatings at the hand's of cruel headmasters, awry spells that singed his skin from other mages', but never before had he felt so pained as that day.
He reached the doors of the High Council, drawing stares and gasps as he walked by students. This only served to confirm his believe: today would be the day of his execution. He pulled open the door, his hand barely able to hold steady as he faced the Seven Mages of the Council.
Only...
There weren't Seven, but three.
"Warlock Grelorn," a voice spoke.
Grelorn froze. He recognized that voice. How could he forget it? Vivid as the day it happened, Grelorn flashed back to the day he was banished. Tremovar... the second highest ranked student at the time, behind Grelorn himself, leading an attack on Grelorn's friends and allies as he was rendered useless. He watched as his best friend and training partner Rezok was whipped relentlessly, branded a traitor and a coward...
Heat began to surge into Grelorn's hands, his mind going alight with fury as he struggled to contained it. After what seemed like forever he forced it out. He deserved it. He had betrayed the high council.
"Warlock Grelorn," Tremovar spoke, sounding more tired and pained before. Grelorn met Tremovar's eyes, prepared to match hatred with hatred.
Only he found nothing. Tremovar's eyes were empty, they spoke of a battle fought with little gain. They were hollow.
"The City is in ruins. Our University in upheaval. And there is only one person to blame..." Tremovar's voice trailed off.
"Myself." Grelorn froze as he heard this.
"I led the coup against you, alienating your supporters. Fighting alongside the High Council to quench the rebellion you had started."
*Rebellion?* Grelorn thought.
"I struck down dissidents left and right, punishing those who would admit their foolishness, banishing and slaughtering those who would not. For two years I acted without mercy, a pawn of the High Council..." Tremover's voice started to crack.
"Until I realized they were right. That you were right. And so... I switched forces. I know I can never make up for the horrors I committed. But I must fight for what I believe in," Tremover said.
"And so, it is with great guilt and remorse I bring you back here. We have won a small victory, temporarily ousting control of the University, but we are weak. Our forces are untrained, our leadership unexperienced," Tremover continued.
Grelorn felt himself unable to move or process what he was hearing, his mind is a state of utter shock.
"Warlock Grelorn, Architect of the Rebellion...."
"We need you."
***
***
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This is space and sci fi themed, with fantasy elements included. God rest your soul, dear reader.
-------
#0203
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Cohyr Insignias winked in the pale starshine. Both of the planet's moons were not visible in the sky. An under-armed VTOL touched down in a stone laiden clearing upon the planet. Out stepped two disgraces. One of this world, and one of another.
The people of this world were green, and were about 4ft tall, with verry little variance. They were flexible in their thoughts and movements; quick as well. They had to be as they were a predatory species. They were omnivorian by necessity as opposed to variety. It takes a lot to sustain a predatory vessel. If one went without one type of food for too long, they'd certainly get ill. Synthetically made nutrients did not suffice over long periods of time. Such dietary needs could be considered a handicap, considering the expanse of space. Coincidentally, they weren't as keen on settlement as they were on exploration and external relation.
The Cohyr insignia was worn by the offworlder. It shone briefly against the burning pyres they passed, contrasting his scorched armour plating. His native associate stepped off in formal, medical apparel, blessing each one with a stone tossed into the coals. Now, I and many creatures of this galaxy who communicate verbally cannot pronounce the name of said shamanist. We'll call him Xen, as he rarely visits his past-home anymore.
They strode past the dug-in, yet connected structures and homes. From above, it looked as thought it was a colidascope of wood like materials, gem speckled stone, metal, and what seemed to be some sort of hardened sap or rubber shooting out like spiderwebs from each structure to the ones around it. Our Cohyr soldier hadn't been to the planet in years from his perspective, and things had grown since the last time he touched down here. Xen didn't seem to notice. The pair were greeted in the middle of town by it's appropriate erm....leadership. The group went on, and traveled for a while longer in silence. Eventually, they arrived in a larger structure. A school, if you will. It sat upon the edge of the town, with just a few architectural tendrils edging the pathway that led to it. The group entered under the woven arches. They walked into a large, open area, in which stood a dozen younger members of the race.
"I give them to you now. Teach them. When they are improved and returned, your debt is fuffilled." The representatives left, leaving the cohyr suit of armour, and its overdressed partner alone in the room of 12.
They all had loose fitting garb, and some sort of weapon with them, complimented by a meter diameter shield against the wall. Each had a similar insignia with a slight variation, added with a mix of styles.
Xen looked at each of them with stony eyes and an earnest expression. The relative children looked to him with what seemed to be anxiety and shock. He walked over, and examined each of them, personally. His eyes covered every inch of thier composure. The Cohyr soldier stood at attention, and appeared as a statue would if it were placed eschew in a crowded room. Xen, upon inspecting the last of his new pupils and property spoke up.
"I'm not certain of your origins, and I will not be looking into them with poise. You are all now in/under my name. You are all now to learn. When I return you in 10 years' time, you will be more than you already are." He paused, and the translater in the Cohyr soldier's helmet paused wtih him. "I have learned much in my travels. I must pass some of this onto you. Absorb as much as you can, for you will not survive if you cannot breathe with your backdrop. This apprehension I sense in your hearts is something to be overcome..."
-----
Inspections? A gruff tone? As far as the soldier could tell, Xen was laying it down thick for day one. *I own you for the next 10 years. You will learn and grow or you will die. I guess that's one way to inspire them.*
"Their culture seems to be one of direct communication and focus. Xen didn't want to talk about this on the way here, and did not mention that he would be caring for these warriors. None of the...ambassadors started a conversation on our way here either," a soft voice in his head retorted.
*I know, right? He said that he could get us more 'specialty' soldiers like himself. I didn't think he literally meant coming back to his home planet for a group of slaves. A person of few words indeed...I've asked him about his home before, and this has never come up. In fact, I don't think he's talked much about his people's culture very much at all. I'm glad we have him on our side, but I keep making the mistake of underestimating him.*
"I'll make a note, then."
-----
Oblivious, or perhaps ignoring the conversation of his armoured assistant, and apparently satisfied with his intimidating inspection, Xen took a few steps from both parties. The translator kicked in again.
"Tell me of your mutual limiters; your fears; your desires; your wonders; your current thoughts."
The students faces seemed to shed a modicum of relief. Clearly, none of them were "defective" enough to kill on the spot. 'One hurtle overcome, with just 10 years to go.
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[WP] The dragon has been kidnapped by the king, and the hero has sent you, the evil overlord, and your childhood friend, the princess, on a quest to save the dragon.
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The stranger clambered into the lair unceremoniously, puffing. His blond hair was littered with twigs, and his cheeks were bright red. He pulled his pants up, and coughed.
"What brings you to the House of Leaves?” I shouted, brandishing my death stick at him.
"I… am… Bailey,” the stranger announced valiantly, heaving. "The fabled hero… of this land. I have come in this time of need, to tell you that… a dragon… has been kidnapped.”
Jess and I both gasped, looking excitedly at each other.
"By who?” I asked, prodding the hero with my stick. “Answer, or be pushed out!”
"Please do not hurt me, Evil Lord Pete! The dragon has been stolen by none other than King Milo. He is locked up in his castle. The villagers say he breathes fire out the window, chained up and unable to fly away.”
There was silence. I coughed expectantly at Jess. "Oh yes! I am Princess Jessica, beautiful daughter of King Milo. Has my father not done a good deed? Dragons are dangerous to everyone.”
"This dragon is not! That is why I have come for aid. His name is Baxter, and his fires warm the kingdom. He lets children ride on his back, and helps old grandmas get around the lands. Please, help me rescue him from King Milo’s wrath.”
We eagerly agreed, and climbed down from my evil lair into the Field of Grass. The sky was a vibrant turquoise, a beautiful day for adventure, but I could not admit that. We spotted the Wise Turtle above, his fluffy white staff pointing the way. At the Misty Falls, we sprinted as fast as we could, Princess Jessica laughing uncontrollably. I was an Evil Lord however, and could only opt for a frown.
"We are close to the castle, but this road is treacherous, yes.” Bailey the Hero nodded gravely. “We will not survive the trip.”
"I have an idea!” I waved my death stick, and ran behind a tree. A wagon had appeared, summoned by magic! I brought it out triumphantly, pleased with Princess Jessica’s smile.
As a trio of unlikely adventurers, we trundled over sticks and pebbles, our teeth chattering. As the land dipped, the wagon picked up speed, and we clutched the sides tightly, our breaths stolen by the wind.
*Thump!*
The wagon hit a boulder, placed by a deceptive goblin, and the world tipped. We rolled out suddenly, a sprawling three-headed mass with numerous arms and legs, trying to go in different directions. We untangled ourselves, adrenaline pumping. A howl filled the air.
"What’s that noise?” Princess Jessica asked, her lip trembling.
Bailey the Hero’s face darkened. "The dragon.”
We approached the castle gates, and with a dark spell, they slid open. Our footsteps echoed on the tiles of the long corridor. The wind whispered, and a faint dripping could be heard in the distance.
"The castle is beautiful.” I said softly.
Tapestries lined the wall. One room was filled with bowls of fruit and a great furnace, tended by an old maid. Another had large resting areas with velvet cushions, and a looking glass that showed the world. Suddenly, we heard a shriek, and raced to the source of the noise.
King Milo sat on a chair, his large green globes watching us suspiciously. He wore a skin of beautiful dark fur, and beckoned us in with a long, wavering arm.
"Father, I have returned!” Princess Jessica threw herself before the King. "I am sorry for ever leaving.”
The King did not respond, only brooding silently.
"We have come to rescue the dragon," she continued. "This all a misunderstanding!”
King Milo hissed, the furs on his back standing up. We followed his eyes, and cheered – the dragon had come galumphing out, its tail wagging ferociously. But it was stopped, a long cord tying it to the door handle. Bailey the Hero freed the dragon, and it jumped at the King, desperate for revenge, panting. King Milo now perched above his great library bookcase, looking down at Baxter with disdain.
"Pete, come get lemonade. Tell you friends there’s a glass for them.” The serving maid waved from down the hall.
"Last one there has to tie Bax back up!” We raced to the kitchen, Princess Jessica’s hands in mine. The dragon was short on our heels.
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"Explain to me again as to why you, the hero, are sending us against the king."
The golden-haired hero in his mid twenties swung his sword at the air practicing and said, "Well, Overlord Derjandi, that dragon saved my life and I owe him. While I serve the king, I don't agree with his treatment of my savior. Therefore, the most logical choice is to find you. Also, I believe you know the king's daughter Annalise?"
Behind him, a cloaked figure walked up and pulled back the hood revealing the face of the princess. She had dark hair and brown eyes and blended in easily unlike her flashy father and that of the hero. She smiled at Derjandi and said, "Hello again. The last time I saw you was... three years ago I believe? Also, the only reason I'm helping you is because I owe you for saving my life all those years ago from the evil dragon!"
Derjandi's eyebrow twitched and he said, "I didn't even ask you for a favor yet!"
Annalise whined and said, "It's because after at least *10 years* you still haven't even asked anything yet! Besides I can't owe you one forever!"
Derjandi sighed, "So let me get this straight. The dragon saved the hero. The dragon tried to kill you. You are trying to save the dragon from your father, the king. What the heck do *I* get out of this? Satisfaction of saying that I saved an endangered animal from the king?"
The hero laughed, "I'll let you 'borrow' some money from the royal treasury while the king isn't looking if that's what you want."
Derjani joined the hero in his laughter and offered his hand, "I believe we have a deal."
And so, the unlikely union of the hero, the princess, and the evil overlord opposed the kind king to save the endangered dragon terrorizing humanity.
If you enjoyed, consider subscribing to my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ChocolateChipWp/)! Critiques and suggestions are appreciated as well!
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[WP] Twenty years ago you promised a man if you ever saw him again, you would kill him on the spot. Today he is in the 3rd row at your wedding ceremony.
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Incredible timing. I never thought he'd respond to the letter. I stared completely unshaken towards the third row. It's been twenty years since my mom died by this drunk driver. I vowed I'd kill him on the spot if I ever saw him again.
The orchestra of strings began to play louder. The priest continued. I felt my bride's eye's staring intently at my face as my gaze continues at the third row.
Damien. I made sure to ruin what was left of his life. I made sure he lost his family, his job, his happiness. I obsessed over getting revenge for what he took from me. He ruined my life.
I felt my brows start to furrow. The priest continued.
This lazy, shit-eating low life. Sitting there like he's done nothing, like he doesn't know the storm that's gone on in me since then. Like the poison that flows through my veins with no antidote. Why did he fucking do that!? How can you be so fucking wreckless!?
My eye's started getting misty.
God dammit, she was your fucking wife! Your fucking wife! Fucking patheti- And why the fuck did I decide to forive you!?
I close my eyes for a brief moment and exhale.
My face relaxes.
I returned to my beautiful bride, and was met by her warm face, full of concern and hope.
"I do."
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“If there is anyone who would object to this union, speak now or forever hold you’re peace.”
I take my eyes momentarily off of my beautiful soon-to-be wife to look around at all our friends and family sitting in white chairs in my father-in-law’s backyard.
That’s when I see him. He’s sitting in the third row with a grin on his face. When he sees me staring at him he gets up and says, “I object. This man has a game to play.”
I hadn’t seen him since that terrible day years ago when I was dropped out of a plane along with ninety-nine other poor souls. We were given a parachute and told to find weapons that were strewn around a deserted island. We were told whoever was left alive at the end, that person could come home.
I dropped on a school and was surrounded by enemies who immediately opened fire on each other as soon as they found weapons. I almost lost my life in the fray but was able to hide in a stairwell.
I thought I was safe until a blue force field began to close and I felt a painful stinging as my life force was being drained. I started to run and found an old beat up car. I drove until I was out of the blue wall of death barely making it out before it ran out of gas.
The blue wall kept closing in, forcing us all to move to the same small plot of land. I could hear gunshots all around me as I crawled prone on the ground. I found a bloody revolver on someone’s body. I was shaking so badly when someone ran up to me. It was either him or me so I shot him!
That was when the game ended. I had somehow survived.
I was flown off the island to a large compound where I met the man who ran this horrible game. He was surrounded by dozens of heavily armed guards. I wanted to kill him but I knew I wouldn’t get within five feet of him before I was mowed down. He congratulated me on winning the game. I told him if I ever saw him again I would kill him on the spot. He laughed and had his goons send me back home.
“Honey! What’s wrong?” My fiancé was yelling at me. I didn’t even notice her as I was too focused on the man I had sworn to kill.
Out of nowhere I was grabbed by several large men. The man walked over to me and said, “You are invited to play my game again. This time it’s duos.”
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[WP] Dragons are real. Less than 1% of humans are chosen by dragon on their 18th birthday to master magic. You wake up on your 18th birthday to find thousands of dragons.
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Melissa woke up exhausted. Today was her eighteen birthday. She had stayed up most of the night, but it was useless. The dragons only come after one wakes up on the their birthday, never before they go to sleep.
She should have gone to bed like it was any other day she knew. She had tried to act like she did not care what happened today when anyone was around. She had seen the subtle looks of disappointment other people wore when a dragon did not show up. The looks of pity from those chosen were even worse. Fewer than one in a hundred get chosen anyway. She did not really believe that one would show up for her, but last night her mind her mind had betrayed her. She had been hopeful, too excited to sleep. So this morning she overslept.
She went about her normal routine, not allowing herself to look out the window. If she looked, she would know whether or not a dragon was there. She could retain her secret hopes, not that she would admit that to anyone aloud.
When she finally made her way to the door—she was not going to be like that poor fool who never went outside to look only to have the dragon that had chosen him fly away out of annoyance at being ignored and not come back—and opened it.
She did not see a dragon. She saw thousands.
***
Kysandralisedre, the Lioness of the Wind, flew up to the Royal pair that morning and, in the middle of the court, announced that Her Grace would be bonding a human today.
“Leave us,” roared the onyx clad dragon on the raised altar at the front of the chamber. The others left the room in a hurry at the Royal’s words, leaving the three dragons—the Royal pair and their child—in silence.
“Explain yourself, Kysa,” the ruby-scaled Royal said softly.
Kyasndrelisedre’s nostrils flared, blowing out a puff of smoke, at the use of the shortened variation of her name.
“I will be bonding a human today,” Her Grace repeated.
“No,” the Royal pair said it unison.
“You cannot stop me, your magnificences,” Her Grace said. “I am the proper age and do not bother having Hernolus look in his tomes for a loophole that would prevent it. I already checked.”
“A Royal has not chosen a human in centuries. That should be reason enough,” the onyx-scaled Royal declared.
“I will just have to be the first. A tradition of not doing something does not prevent me from doing so, especially when there was an exception under a millennia ago.” Kysandralisedre said. “You cannot stop me. If you try it will just cause a scandal. The court already knows my intentions.”
“How long have you been considering this, child?” the ruby-scaled Royal asked.
“Since last night,” Her Grace responded.
The ruby Royal closed Her Magnificence’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to,” Kysandralisedre said in a tone that said dragons have wings. “It should be fun.”
“This decision requires careful consideration and is not to be made,” the onyx Royal stopped, before sighing. A puff of smoke escaped His Magnificence’s jaws. “Have you at least looked into the background of the human you selected? I assume even you would have chosen one before coming here?”
“Yes, yes,” Her Grace said. “I found a girl whose eighteen birthday is today.” The Royal pair looked at Her Grace expectantly. “She has yet to be claimed.” Kysandralisedre added. “What more is there then that?”
The Royal Pair sighed in unison, more smoke entering the air. Those chosen are usually selected after months, if not years, of careful study.
“Be glad.” Her Grace said. “I did not even need to inform you. Bondings do not need the Royal Pair’s blessing.”
“Then why did you?” The onyx-scaled royal asked, voice sounding tired.
“You surely would not expect your child—a Royal—to bond a human without an audience, would you? I expect the whole court would want to attend.”
***
Melissa walked outside into madness. Dragons were everywhere. They filled the street and some perched on the roofs of nearby houses. The only place where their was any space was by the house across the street, where the largest two dragons stood—one black and one red. The area around them was empty, even as still more dragons circled overhead like a car would circle a parking lot, searching for somewhere to land.
When she was noticed, some of the dragons stepped back as though making room for her. One stepped forward, a dragon with glistening scales—the color somewhere between light tan and gold. A voice sounded from no particular direction in her mind, but clearly originating from the tan-gold dragon. “Human, come forth.”
Not quite what she had been expecting but she did as bid.
“Let us be bonded by blood and flame, as was done in the ceremonies of old,” the voice continued. Melissa had never heard of any special ceremony being done after the dragon showed up outside someone’s house, but she had never seen a choosing before either.
A long stream of smoke escaped from the black dragon in the back.
“Hold out your hand,” the voice was quiet this time, almost as if whispering to her. She did not think anyone else could hear it. “Oh, and get down on one knee while your at it.”
Once again, Melissa did as this dragon bid her, kneeling down and raising her arm. The dragon that was speaking raised its leg to her hand and scratched her palm, breaking the skin. A line of blood soon followed. She barely resisted crying out in pain. She did not want to anger the multitudes of dragons present by ruining whatever ceremony this was. She almost doubted that being chosen was worth going through this, but quickly remembered the promise of magic and power that came with it.
The dragon took in a long breath and let it out, directly at Melissa and her out stretched hand.
Melissa had seen dragon fire before as it streaked red across the sky. This was not that. The burning light that surrounded her was not red but violet. Violet was said to be the color of their royalty.
When the flames were gone, the voice came again, once more booming to all present. “Let it be witnessed!”
The two dragons across the street somehow managed to radiate disapproval despite their reptilian form. They left several moments later, the other dragons trailing behind them until only the tan-gold dragon remained.
“Human, what do they call you?”
“My name is Melissa.”
A small puff of smoke escaped the dragon’s nose. “You may refer to me as You Grace.” It’s eyes moved, looking her up and down. “If you desire something more familiar, then you may call me Kysandralisedre, the lioness of the wind.” The dragon paused, then added, “You have my permission to massage my wings now.”
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I was chosen. A mere blacksmith's son, the heir only to the dirt that stained my clothes. I was chosen. On the 18th anniversary of a man's birth, a small number of men are chosen to become magicians, powerful, wise men whose words can slay or save millions. Carried on the backs of the behemoths in the Mountains. Rulers and saviours. Most in our village only know this as a myth. A fairy tale reserved to that of the other, more important fiefdoms.
On my birthday, the roars of the Mountains echoed throughout the Valley. Louder and louder, the townsfolk began to secure their belongings and hide, fearful of what was to happen next. As the scaled beasts came close, they began to screech in almost a soothing manner. Like a call from a siren, I was inexplicably drawn closer. Each step, the sound became more soothing, more entrancing. Until I was in the field just outside the village. There, thousands of dragons soar in the air, dancing among the clouds, roaring and bellowing. Only a single dragon lay before me: dignified yet powerful, it's scales a magnificent golden, it's wings majestically covering the horizon, it's tail extending far beyond the Realms. "Elric of Northby," it screamed, "You have been chosen to begin the mastery on the Ancient Arts." The voice echoed throughout the valley. I could only hope to leave the Valley, seek a future beyond just a blacksmith. Ecstatic, I could scream back, "I accept!" The dragon began to kneel and extended it's wing out, nudging me to get on. As I climbed the magnificent beast, I could extend to see the entire Realm before me. At my feet. I was the powerful one. I could only dream of this day. My destiny. As I soared above the clouds, I wondered what the future had in store for me. *Well, it's more than the life of a commoner.*
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[WP] Dragons are real. Less than 1% of humans are chosen by dragon on their 18th birthday to master magic. You wake up on your 18th birthday to find thousands of dragons.
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The alarm went of at 6:00am as it did every day for the last few months. I merely groaned as I put a hand forward towards my phone and hit the prompt on screen. Ever since I was put on that work experience program up in Belfast I've had to wake up at stupidly early times for an hour-long bus ride.
'Happy fucking birthday to me,' I groaned as I sat up. 'Wish I could've booked this day off...'
I guess I should mention what was going on. My name is Sean Doherty. I've been living in care ever since my mother was declared an unfit mother and my dad ran off with some younger woman. I've been shifting from a few foster homes before I was of the age of 16 when they gave me some small apartment in the south of Northern Ireland to live in as well as trying to get me into either higher education or straight into work.
It was hard, I admit. Having to live off about £50 a week for Jobseeker's allowance, which had to go to food, clothing and bills. But at least I didn't have to pay rent...
It was about three months before my 18th when they put me on this one scheme - four days working in an office environment, a day training in basic media studies. They paid for my bus fare and all, but damn I wish I lived closer to the city. But, living on the coast meant that I could walk for five minutes to the beach.
It started as a typical day. Wake up, find a pair of socks that don't have holes in them and put on the clothing I had ironed the night before. With my shoes on, wallet and phone in my jacket pocket I opened my bedroom door and fell into an endless void that *wasn't* there when I woke up.
'Fucking Christ!' I yelled as I dropped, hurtling downward before I suddenly stopped in mid-air before I slowly landed on a hunk of rock floating in the void. 'What in the fuck?! What happened to my living room?'
I then looked out to see what else was here and nearly felt my legs liquify right then and there. 'Oh, fuck me,' I grumbled.
Dragons. There were *thousands* of dragons, all resting on rocks similar to my own in the void of mere sky and clouds before us. They were all varied, from snake-like Chinese and Japanese dragons to bird-like beasts and the classical Western beast, all of varying colors and sizes.
And one of them merely chuckled in the void. 'Sorry, kid,' she said as she rested her emerald head on her green arms. 'Not my type.'
'Please take this more seriously, Esmeralda,' a crimson dragon said. 'Not every day that a human awakens in such a way that it calls as many dragons as this.'
'What the hell are you doing here?!' I yelled. 'Get out of my apartment!'
'Your apartment?' a blue dragon asked. 'On the contrary. Your bedroom has been pulled into Æther, the realm of pure magic. Or rather, as close as your innate understanding of the laws of reality will allow you to go versus how far your own power reaches deep within. It's a constant struggle.'
'One that we treat as rather trivial,' a white dragon said. 'We force the laws of the universe to bend to *our* will, not the other way around. You are familiar with the tale of warlocks, aren't you?'
'Fucking mad bastards,' I groaned. 'One of them was annoyed with a truck driver so he disappeared the bridge on the Ormeau Road. Almost lost my job because of that cunt.'
'Yes, Michael is a twat,' a black dragon grumbled. 'If anyone deserves a smack, it's him. Don't know what Jaered was thinking being loose with him...'
'But, we need to focus on the now,' a silver dragon said. 'You are a warlock, there's no question about that. Your soul called out to any dragons who would be best to train you and it called oh so many.'
'There's only one protocol for something like this,' a bronze dragon stated. 'Would you prefer to choose a dragon to train you or have us nominate one of our own?'
'Can't I just say no?' I asked.
'Keep in mind,' the blue dragon said as he stood attentively, 'that *you* came here by yourself. You called us *by yourself*. It is considered taboo for us to refuse the call because an untrained warlock could very well be a danger to themselves and others around themselves. So no. We'd highly discourage such a choice.'
'Don't think that the flow of time in your world is a mere obstacle for you,' a gold dragon said. 'We'll give you all the time in the world if you wish to speak to all of us.'
'That's impossible!' I groaned. 'There's no way I'd remember all of you...'
'Of course not,' a voice said that I didn't see the origin of. I looked around and even the dragons were all confused... or concerned.
'My liege,' the green dragon spoke, looking nowhere in particular. 'What are... why are you here?'
'Esmeralda,' the voice said. 'Always too bored or thinking about a form of alleviating boredom to concentrate on the semantics. I was called, as were all of you. Please don't think that I *wouldn't* answer the call. My apologies, Sean, for how *rude* Esmeralda has been. At least the others who spoke have had meaningful uses of information.'
The red dragon spoke. 'All in favor of allowing the king to take the human on as a student?'
And there was merely a chuckle. 'I don't know if I'd frighten him too much for that to be a good idea,' the voice said. 'What do *you* say, Sean?'
'Well,' I began. 'You *are* rather frightening. All I get is a voice.'
'Oh,' he said in surprise. 'I'm not used to speaking to such linear creatures like this.'
The light blue of the sky went pitch black instantly and a gust of wind knocked me off the rock. Most of the dragons didn't seem fazed at all, but three of them immediately reacted in horror and flew towards me.
They were the red, blue and black dragons. The one that caught me was the red one, who checked me instantly. 'Are you safe, Sean?'
'Did you really need to save me?' I asked.
'Your concept of reality is based on your world,' the blue explained. 'You'd have thought of eventually hitting the ground, even if the ground doesn't exist here. *That* would be fatal. Remember, this world is essentially a living dream.'
'Damn you, Bahamut!' the black dragon yelled. 'At least use an avatar! You nearly killed him.'
'Well, he wanted to see me,' the dragon said.
My mouth went agape as I saw the enormous beast. Compared to the sphere of the communing dragons around me, he was large. He didn't need a pedestal, he floated under his own power, the dark scales absorbing the light of this realm and shining themselves. And atop his large head, was merely a smirk.
'So, Sean,' the colossal lizard said as he stared at me. 'What's it going to be?'
---
**Chapter 2 coming soon**
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I was chosen. A mere blacksmith's son, the heir only to the dirt that stained my clothes. I was chosen. On the 18th anniversary of a man's birth, a small number of men are chosen to become magicians, powerful, wise men whose words can slay or save millions. Carried on the backs of the behemoths in the Mountains. Rulers and saviours. Most in our village only know this as a myth. A fairy tale reserved to that of the other, more important fiefdoms.
On my birthday, the roars of the Mountains echoed throughout the Valley. Louder and louder, the townsfolk began to secure their belongings and hide, fearful of what was to happen next. As the scaled beasts came close, they began to screech in almost a soothing manner. Like a call from a siren, I was inexplicably drawn closer. Each step, the sound became more soothing, more entrancing. Until I was in the field just outside the village. There, thousands of dragons soar in the air, dancing among the clouds, roaring and bellowing. Only a single dragon lay before me: dignified yet powerful, it's scales a magnificent golden, it's wings majestically covering the horizon, it's tail extending far beyond the Realms. "Elric of Northby," it screamed, "You have been chosen to begin the mastery on the Ancient Arts." The voice echoed throughout the valley. I could only hope to leave the Valley, seek a future beyond just a blacksmith. Ecstatic, I could scream back, "I accept!" The dragon began to kneel and extended it's wing out, nudging me to get on. As I climbed the magnificent beast, I could extend to see the entire Realm before me. At my feet. I was the powerful one. I could only dream of this day. My destiny. As I soared above the clouds, I wondered what the future had in store for me. *Well, it's more than the life of a commoner.*
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[WP] Dragons are real. Less than 1% of humans are chosen by dragon on their 18th birthday to master magic. You wake up on your 18th birthday to find thousands of dragons.
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Being born into a life of luxury is what everyone desires. What most people get however, is a mixed bag at best. I was no different.
My parents were not rich. There where the opposite. They came here as refugees and their haunting tale of chance and death stuck with me whenever they speak about it.
Some people talk about how they lived through minesweeper. That they got very nervous each time they clicked and bemoaned their fate when they failed.
My dad got to watch his neighbor fail. The 40 something year old shop keeper who like to lie about expiry dates simply vanished as an explosion overtook him.
Well, mostly vanish. The thumb that smacked my dad in the forehead told him it was less magic, and more explosion.
Despite the line of soldiers behind him, rusty AKs in hand, my dad ran the odds.
He made it, along with five others.
One stopped to gloat, his cheer was loud as he screamed his joy to the skies. The snap of rifles cut his celebration short. It was both ironic and horrific that his falling body set off a landmine.
My dad had run straight out of the field. He was shielded by that blast. From the book keeper of his village, and the soldiers never saw him vanish into the underbrush of the forest.
From there, he then fled out of his home country with millions of others. Then, he reached our country. A stable country.
He fell in love and he started a family. He my mother, a fellow refugees who had it easier, but still lost everything.
All against the odds, he always said.
He only desired that we, his children, would strive to be our best and to reach towards our dreams. Dreams were good, but Dreams without a backup plan were stupid.
Like becoming an astronaut was a great dream! An excellent dream!
How many people actually got to go up?
Yeah, there were more lottery winners then astronauts.
So I looked into game design and computer sciences. Both were solid parts of society. Computer for my day job, game design as a hobby.
Eventually I would be able to make it out on my own. A solid plan with a high chance of success. My mom and dad were both pleased.
I was pleased.
Until my 18th birthday.
Sure, there were dragons. Sure, there were the extra species that had resided with us in peace ever since the world wars changed the world.
My best friends were a dwarf and an elf. Though it was weird how the calm and peaceful one was the dwarf and the loud and annoying one was the elf. What were the odds?
We had always talked about learning true magic from the dragons. Creatures of immense power that even modern military hesitated to engage. That was when they were facing just a single dragon. A group meant that if they were generally left alone as no country could afford to lose their army.
The problem wasn’t the dragon’s but their elders. Elder dragons were commonly called God Dragons for a reason. The problem lay in the fact that elder dragons were rarely different looking from their lesser counter part.
Like minesweeper, it was all about math and luck.
You could analyse their bodies, their magic, their affect on their fellow dragons. But was that really an elder dragon? Or was it simply an older, stronger dragon leading a pack?
The last country that poked at them was Ethiopia and now their country was in shambles. Anyone was more then a hundred men at arms could legitimately attempt a military coup.
True magic was best magic. That was what we all said during childhood. That was what the elder dragons used to earn the moniker of god.
Of course I desired to learn it. But I also trampled on those dreams until I no longer craved it.
Less then 1% of people were chosen to be their disciple. Regardless of race. Human, dwarf, elf, merfolk, lizardfolk, etherials, etc, etc.
The statistics were like one in a billion were chosen. The day was called Dragon Day and it signalled a dramatic change in your life. Much like winning the lottery.
So I did what my father taught me. Accept the odds, move forward.
I had applied towards three universities, and I started tinkering with my friends on our board game. Project Freelancer, a game about running and shooting things and kill the target before your friends could. A card based game of competitive, action filled fun!
So when I got up for my birthday, I only wanted to spend time with friends, family and more cake then what was deemed healthy.
What I didn’t want however, was to wake up and have my parents screaming at me.
They ordered me to dress, and brush up frantically. They were scared and that scared me.
I did as they asked. I was young and dumb, not young and stupid. My dad expected obedience during times of crisis. He wasn’t afraid of making sure I understood the pecking order.
Following orders is what could separate a man from a life and death. Both my parents had a plan out, they made it. A lot of their neighbors didn’t have a plan, and they no longer heard from a lot of people.
So I washed up, dressed up, and hurried downstairs. My family was there. Parents, siblings. My fellow children were wide eyes but silent.
My parents nodded at me. My mom fussed about my clothes. They were yelling at each other about my dresscode.
Is was nonsense. Why would I break out my suit for my own birthday?
My dad then held my shoulders. He was more serious then I had ever seen him and I froze under his cold eyes.
“Remember we love you,” he said with emotion. My family gave me a hug and I was starting to panic.
I had lived through 17 birthdays. They were generally relaxed, happy affairs.
This was not a happy affair. It was also the opposite of relaxed. In fact, I was starting to freak the bunnies out. I never swore in the house. My father disciplined and my mom read minds. She always knew when I had uttered a swear and they would not tolerate it!
I was confused and turned around and then pushed out the door.
My loving family locked those doors as soon as I was outside.
I was getting ready to rant at them when I noticed why they had locked the doors.
I nearly shat myself. It was only the saving grace of my morning routine that prevented me from making a smelly mess.
In the skies that covered my vision, hung dragons. They beat their wings and seemed to effortlessly stay still in the air. Which was a feat considering the size and weight of a dragon.
“Uh. Hi,” I eloquently began and promptly chocked as I suddenly forgot every drill about manners towards the dragons. Damn education system. They should have prepped me better!
I was saved when a particularly large dragon descended.
“Child, you have been chosen to learn about the truth of existence itself. True magic will be yours!” the dragon bellowed in a deep and wise voice. “Accept me as your master and I promise you the world at your… urk!”
I blinked as my brain processed what just happened.
“Oh no you don’t Finkleton!” A second and enraged dragon yelled as it dove down and bodychecked the first dragon at full speed.
Finkleton screamed as he flew into my neighbor’s house. Then into the next house. He was eventually persuaded to stop by the seventh house.
I absently noted that a few dragons had their talons out, protective magic most likely. Which meant that my neighbors live! Homeless, but alive…
“I apologize for this. I am High Moon, daughter of the ethereal plane. If you accept… Gah!”
I literally froze. Deep arcane energy sweeped around me and locked me in place as High Moon was bombarded by nearly three dozen fireballs the size of my house.
Her smouldering corpse was hissing and popping. Then it exploded outwards and High Moon regenerated right before my eyes. Her form was restored within a minute and her rage had her gather and return spell fire.
My energy barrier held and I was no worse for wear.
“How childish,” a voice whispered in my ears. His voice was barely a sound but was still clear and well annunciated. “They are all children. What you need is a wise dragon to guide.”
The voice vanished and I watched in awe as half a dozen dragons swoop down in formation. At their center was another dragon that was promptly powered bomb into the earth. A ring of three houses deep formed as the dragon made a large crater.
That seemed to start a war. The skies filled with magic, screams, and explosions.
“Hahaha. How lively,” a deep and amused voice said as he snapped his finger. The binding magic around me vanished.
I turned my head and blinked as I saw a well dressed man stand beside me. His suit was a rich black, pinstriped, and he was both sexy and proud. I wasn’t attracted to men, but if this man asked me out I don’t think I could have said no.
He looked at me and smirked. I blushed. Damn it body!
“Don’t worry. I have that affect on people.”
I nodded.
“Curious at why these elder dragons are all here?”
I nodded and stopped. Wait. These are all elder dragons!?
|
I was chosen. A mere blacksmith's son, the heir only to the dirt that stained my clothes. I was chosen. On the 18th anniversary of a man's birth, a small number of men are chosen to become magicians, powerful, wise men whose words can slay or save millions. Carried on the backs of the behemoths in the Mountains. Rulers and saviours. Most in our village only know this as a myth. A fairy tale reserved to that of the other, more important fiefdoms.
On my birthday, the roars of the Mountains echoed throughout the Valley. Louder and louder, the townsfolk began to secure their belongings and hide, fearful of what was to happen next. As the scaled beasts came close, they began to screech in almost a soothing manner. Like a call from a siren, I was inexplicably drawn closer. Each step, the sound became more soothing, more entrancing. Until I was in the field just outside the village. There, thousands of dragons soar in the air, dancing among the clouds, roaring and bellowing. Only a single dragon lay before me: dignified yet powerful, it's scales a magnificent golden, it's wings majestically covering the horizon, it's tail extending far beyond the Realms. "Elric of Northby," it screamed, "You have been chosen to begin the mastery on the Ancient Arts." The voice echoed throughout the valley. I could only hope to leave the Valley, seek a future beyond just a blacksmith. Ecstatic, I could scream back, "I accept!" The dragon began to kneel and extended it's wing out, nudging me to get on. As I climbed the magnificent beast, I could extend to see the entire Realm before me. At my feet. I was the powerful one. I could only dream of this day. My destiny. As I soared above the clouds, I wondered what the future had in store for me. *Well, it's more than the life of a commoner.*
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
**A Space-time Oddity**
It’s hard to explain.
I hadn’t even a moment to comprehend; it all happened in an instant.
Their voices were as clear as the high noon’s sun watching above, it would witness my greatest accomplishment.
All I ever wished for. Finally it was happening, their words spoken clear I remember myself smiling.
“Houston we have lift off.”
Finally it was my time, to do just as he did some half a century before. My dream, to be at last, I would be just like him, just as imagined it would be; my dream...
Sitting in my tighty whiteys, I first heard it at the age of four; stirring every fiber within me, I shook with each and every word spoken. I listened to those words what must’ve been a thousand times at least.
His one step to be forever remember for all human history.
My childhood hero, the first man to ever take step upon our moon. I was to join him at last, my time finally to come…
‘One small step for man…’ those were the first word. Words to be remembered for all time to come.
But that ‘One giant leap for mankind’ only ever to be known for all time after. Yet here I am… Alone; my giant leap for mankind to never be recorded, my note never to be known, known by anyone but me.
The only human alive some million years before those famous words would inspire me to pursue my dream, the first to colonize a foreign planet.
It’s funny actually, I spent all those months of training, preparation. All the sleepless nights, the worrying… Worrying if I wouldn’t cut it, if I didn’t have it in me after all.
All that time and the only thing I came up with was this.
“It was only one step for a man, yet the greatest feat man had ever accomplished. With my second, man walks at last.”
A whole eight years… In eight years that was all I came up with; what a joke.
Yet for all those years spent, all the careful consideration, struggling to choose just the right words. After all that time, I wasn’t even to say my those stupid words.
Yet here I am…
Sat before kindling crackling sharp snaps at me as a whip with of mind of it’s own. The cave I made my camp within appearing somewhat dower, drenched and moss covered it was; I sit in a pool of my own soaked failings.
Cold and numb, my legs feel just as my mind does. Surrendered to my fate.
I failed.
You know, it’s almost ironic this. The way we had become; walking to our future from the bridge, us three saluted as we gave back each one of us a nod to each we passed.
As if we were some great friends; us miserable scum. Launched into space to relieve man of the three most disgraceful wretches that our space program ever spawned.
A rash crude piece of filth spawned from what must be the most degenerated debaucher’s den that could pollute our world with it’s presence. The most decadent man I’d ever met, Jonathan D. Goodmen, my co-pilot whose surname is about the most contrary name one of its nature could posses.
But never to be out done, the ‘she-witch’. Her very glare degrading in nature, dare to look back because she’d be most likely pluck your eyes for even the most minimal possibility that you might be thinking less of her. A real natural converser, the ‘demon bitch’ Harriet Capulet White; yes, her middle name after the very rationale and definitely not rabid Lord Capulet of Shakespeare's own.
Yet I’d not be so distasteful as to degrade the likely dead without mentioning the worst of them all. The overly nosey, obnoxiously overbearing and incredibly arrogant, top of his class, and commander of their mission, Robert C. Grand. None his equal he made sure everyone knew it, first to answer, first to display prowess, always first to take pride in himself reminding everyone just how far he came. From a boy of four in his underwear recounting Niel’s most famous quote to a prick of a man not even a quarter of the good he aspired to be after his idol.
Yep, that was us, three of the worst human scum to have ever crawled their way through training all to somehow end up on the very same historic mission.
Makes me almost glad we were blown to chunks… Or that’s what I assume would of happened if I hadn’t woken up here.
Maybe I am dead. Hell being some prehistoric realm where all the souls of beasts past would reign in torment of each other forever after in this ageless unknown.
I’m no religious man, but hell if i’d be able to explain it any other way.
Not that it matters…
I’m alone. No one here but me… Only me to ever know what happened. My fate to forever be known by me and me alone…
Gave me time to think at least.
And in thinking about I suppose it’s only just. After all I accomplished, all done, I didn’t deserve what I was to have. To someone better it should belong, i’ve no right to it; someone more like him, it’d be fake otherwise, the future children’s dream a lie spoken by some deluded pompous soul.
I can’t say I would have wanted this as a lad if I knew it would turn out this way.
What a disappointment I’ve become. I have hated myself, I know I would have.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.”
I hear it, in my head their words.
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Commencing countdown, engines on.”
Five, four, three…
“Check ignition and may God's love be with you”
Two, one, liftoff.
I’ve liftoff, we did it...
“This is Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“You've really made the grade.”
“And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”
“Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.”
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”
“I'm stepping through the door.”
“And I'm floating in a most peculiar way.”
“And the stars look very different today.”
I did it, finally… I finally done it...
“For here-am I sitting in a tin can.”
“Far above the world.”
“Planet Earth is blue.”
“And there's nothing I can do.”
Nothing… Nothing to do...
“Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles.”
“I'm feeling very still.”
“And I think my spaceship knows which way to go.”
“Tell my wife I love her very much she knows.”
I know… All I love know...
“Ground Control to Major Tom.”
“Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong.”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
“Can you…?”
I… I can hear it now, everyone's crying, i’m crying…
God… Why did this have to happen to me…? Why…? Why me? Why!?
Why did it have to happen to me…? And me alone…
“Here am I floating 'round my tin can…”
I heard it, it… It was… It can’t be…
“Far above the moon…”
I hear it, I do! I truly do! It’s not in my head, I hear it!
“Planet Earth is blue…”
It spoke again, singing I stood and as I stepped from there I saw then.
All I wished came true.
“And there's nothing I can do..."
My dream, all I wished.
I was alone no longer.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
The peaceful sky and the clean air was something I could never quite find in the city I lived in circa 2017.
I used to make fun of my parents for being so old and talking about the old days, telling them that technology ran the world now.
But now that I lived this quiet new life in the past, I can safely say that times were simpler then.
And because there was no technology to hold me in one of my holes, sans the phone I had in my pocket when I fell down that cliff, I was forced to actually move about and find myself.
I hadn't ever been productive or proud of myself, nor did I ever feel like I had anything to make me feel I deserved to continue living.
But when I found myself working for one of those old newspaper companies and trying to get a grasp on what went on with the world without Twitter, I think its safe to say I've found something to fill my empty heart.
But as a citizen of the modern day, I can't help but feel that homesick churn in my stomach, longing for the things I remembered as normal.
I missed my old hoodies, I missed the access the internet gave me, I miss the people I left behind. But most especially, I missed my music.
My phone's battery had long since died and it would probably take forever before I can plug it into something so I can charge it back.
At the very least... I had my memories.
As I traversed the town for anything of interest, rain drops began trickling down from the sky. Pedestrians fled for shelter and I was left alone under the shade of the closed down pub.
Rain reminded me of my favorite song. It reminded me of the future. It reminded me of my best friend. My best friend who killed himself.
"And when it rains... On this side of town it touches... Everything..."
I didn't even notice I started singing until I got to the chorus.
"And oh, how could you do it? Oh I, I never saw it coming.
Ohh, I need an ending, so why can't you stay just long enough to explain."
Paramore was his and my favorite band. Just three years before I got here, my best friend decided to end it all and this song was all I could ever listen to anymore.
"Take these chances to turn it around, just take these chances, we'll make it somehow."
And in beyond the rain's heavy pouring, I could hear it. That low, husky voice that brought warmth in this rain's cold weather.
"And take these chances, to turn it around. Just turn it around."
My eyes landed to the alleyway in front of me. In what must be the ugliest orange poncho and stupidest cowboy hat, that guy stood there, singing this song only I could possibly know.
"And oh. How could you do it?" I sang, but it sounded as if it were a real question as well. "Oh I never saw it coming."
My legs began moving and I'm running towards the figure.
He in that poncho moved back, being swallowed in the alleyway's darkness.
And he was gone. There was no one there anymore.
"You can take your time. Take my time."
Was it just a ghost? Was it just my deluded thoughts making me hear my dead best friend? Was it that small desire to return home that started to resurface?
I hung my head low, thankful for the rain to camouflage the tears that fell on my cheeks.
My eyes traveled to the hard ground and I found myself staring at a black, metal square.
On top, solar panels on it. A USB slot at it side. And a cord stuck on it.
And suddenly, maybe he wasn't a ghost after all.
The one fact that kept eluding my thoughts whenever I thought of him was....
That we never did find his body.
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
I sighed wistfully as I worked in the kitchen. I know I had a thing for the Victorian Era back home but I really didn't think I would ever be here. Or that I'd be washing dishes in the kitchen of a bordello. The Madam and the girls had found me in the ally behind their... Establishment, and took me in. I don't know how I got to the alley and I don't know how I got tossed back in time. All I can remember before the blank spot in my mind is getting into a fight with a group of other girls.
The Madam said I would need to work off my debt to them after I was healed. I told her I didn't have money and that I wouldn't whore myself out to pay the debt. She asked what I would do and I offered to act as a bodyguard, cook, and maid. She agreed reluctantly but gave me a room, some clothes and set me to work as soon as I was able to go.
I was getting the parlor and halls ready for the evening rush and all I could think about as I cleaned was my Grandmother and her whirlwind romance with my grandfather that resulted in them getting married after only two weeks of knowing each other. Their story was on my mind because one of the girls who worked here had gotten engaged. Her name was Elizabeth and her new fiancee was named Adam. He was her customer. He never requested any other girl. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor and Elizabeth wanted out of this lifestyle.
Thoughts of my grandparents had me smiling and humming as I worked. Their song was on repeat in my head. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was the song my grandpa would sing for my grandma even though she didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish.
I was fluffing the throw pillows on one of the over stuffed sofas and Madam was allowing men in for the evening. The song restarted in my head and I hummed from the beginning. The Madam smiled indulgently at me as she assisted men in handing over money.
I was half way through the first chorus when a low, deep voice joined my humming.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
I paused and turned around. The man, because no woman I knew in this time had that deep a voice, was tall with brown hair and green eyes. He was smiling at me and moved on to the next few lines.
"Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be."
I blushed when he stopped and looked expectantly at me. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
He grinned, all straight, white teeth that didn't really belong in this time, and bowed. When he straightened up he held out his hand and I reached out to shake it. "My name is Kyle, I'm from Santa Fe 1999."
"Faith Draven, Phoenix 2017."
|
I sighed wistfully as I worked in the kitchen. I know I had a thing for the Victorian Era back home but I really didn't think I would ever be here. Or that I'd be washing dishes in the kitchen of a bordello. The Madam and the girls had found me in the ally behind their... Establishment, and took me in. I don't know how I got to the alley and I don't know how I got tossed back in time. All I can remember before the blank spot in my mind is getting into a fight with a group of other girls.
The Madam said I would need to work off my debt to them after I was healed. I told her I didn't have money and that I wouldn't whore myself out to pay the debt. She asked what I would do and I offered to act as a bodyguard, cook, and maid. She agreed reluctantly but gave me a room, some clothes and set me to work as soon as I was able to go.
I was getting the parlor and halls ready for the evening rush and all I could think about as I cleaned was my Grandmother and her whirlwind romance with my grandfather that resulted in them getting married after only two weeks of knowing each other. Their story was on my mind because one of the girls who worked here had gotten engaged. Her name was Elizabeth and her new fiancee was named Adam. He was her customer. He never requested any other girl. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor and Elizabeth wanted out of this lifestyle.
Thoughts of my grandparents had me smiling and humming as I worked. Their song was on repeat in my head. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was the song my grandpa would sing for my grandma even though she didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish.
I was fluffing the throw pillows on one of the over stuffed sofas and Madam was allowing men in for the evening. The song restarted in my head and I hummed from the beginning. The Madam smiled indulgently at me as she assisted men in handing over money.
I was half way through the first chorus when a low, deep voice joined my humming.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
I paused and turned around. The man, because no woman I knew in this time had that deep a voice, was tall with brown hair and green eyes. He was smiling at me and moved on to the next few lines.
"Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be."
I blushed when he stopped and looked expectantly at me. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
He grinned, all straight, white teeth that didn't really belong in this time, and bowed. When he straightened up he held out his hand and I reached out to shake it. "My name is Kyle, I'm from Santa Fe 1999."
"Faith Draven, Phoenix 2017."
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
I sighed wistfully as I worked in the kitchen. I know I had a thing for the Victorian Era back home but I really didn't think I would ever be here. Or that I'd be washing dishes in the kitchen of a bordello. The Madam and the girls had found me in the ally behind their... Establishment, and took me in. I don't know how I got to the alley and I don't know how I got tossed back in time. All I can remember before the blank spot in my mind is getting into a fight with a group of other girls.
The Madam said I would need to work off my debt to them after I was healed. I told her I didn't have money and that I wouldn't whore myself out to pay the debt. She asked what I would do and I offered to act as a bodyguard, cook, and maid. She agreed reluctantly but gave me a room, some clothes and set me to work as soon as I was able to go.
I was getting the parlor and halls ready for the evening rush and all I could think about as I cleaned was my Grandmother and her whirlwind romance with my grandfather that resulted in them getting married after only two weeks of knowing each other. Their story was on my mind because one of the girls who worked here had gotten engaged. Her name was Elizabeth and her new fiancee was named Adam. He was her customer. He never requested any other girl. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor and Elizabeth wanted out of this lifestyle.
Thoughts of my grandparents had me smiling and humming as I worked. Their song was on repeat in my head. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was the song my grandpa would sing for my grandma even though she didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish.
I was fluffing the throw pillows on one of the over stuffed sofas and Madam was allowing men in for the evening. The song restarted in my head and I hummed from the beginning. The Madam smiled indulgently at me as she assisted men in handing over money.
I was half way through the first chorus when a low, deep voice joined my humming.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
I paused and turned around. The man, because no woman I knew in this time had that deep a voice, was tall with brown hair and green eyes. He was smiling at me and moved on to the next few lines.
"Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be."
I blushed when he stopped and looked expectantly at me. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
He grinned, all straight, white teeth that didn't really belong in this time, and bowed. When he straightened up he held out his hand and I reached out to shake it. "My name is Kyle, I'm from Santa Fe 1999."
"Faith Draven, Phoenix 2017."
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
I sighed wistfully as I worked in the kitchen. I know I had a thing for the Victorian Era back home but I really didn't think I would ever be here. Or that I'd be washing dishes in the kitchen of a bordello. The Madam and the girls had found me in the ally behind their... Establishment, and took me in. I don't know how I got to the alley and I don't know how I got tossed back in time. All I can remember before the blank spot in my mind is getting into a fight with a group of other girls.
The Madam said I would need to work off my debt to them after I was healed. I told her I didn't have money and that I wouldn't whore myself out to pay the debt. She asked what I would do and I offered to act as a bodyguard, cook, and maid. She agreed reluctantly but gave me a room, some clothes and set me to work as soon as I was able to go.
I was getting the parlor and halls ready for the evening rush and all I could think about as I cleaned was my Grandmother and her whirlwind romance with my grandfather that resulted in them getting married after only two weeks of knowing each other. Their story was on my mind because one of the girls who worked here had gotten engaged. Her name was Elizabeth and her new fiancee was named Adam. He was her customer. He never requested any other girl. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor and Elizabeth wanted out of this lifestyle.
Thoughts of my grandparents had me smiling and humming as I worked. Their song was on repeat in my head. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was the song my grandpa would sing for my grandma even though she didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish.
I was fluffing the throw pillows on one of the over stuffed sofas and Madam was allowing men in for the evening. The song restarted in my head and I hummed from the beginning. The Madam smiled indulgently at me as she assisted men in handing over money.
I was half way through the first chorus when a low, deep voice joined my humming.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
I paused and turned around. The man, because no woman I knew in this time had that deep a voice, was tall with brown hair and green eyes. He was smiling at me and moved on to the next few lines.
"Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be."
I blushed when he stopped and looked expectantly at me. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
He grinned, all straight, white teeth that didn't really belong in this time, and bowed. When he straightened up he held out his hand and I reached out to shake it. "My name is Kyle, I'm from Santa Fe 1999."
"Faith Draven, Phoenix 2017."
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
I sighed wistfully as I worked in the kitchen. I know I had a thing for the Victorian Era back home but I really didn't think I would ever be here. Or that I'd be washing dishes in the kitchen of a bordello. The Madam and the girls had found me in the ally behind their... Establishment, and took me in. I don't know how I got to the alley and I don't know how I got tossed back in time. All I can remember before the blank spot in my mind is getting into a fight with a group of other girls.
The Madam said I would need to work off my debt to them after I was healed. I told her I didn't have money and that I wouldn't whore myself out to pay the debt. She asked what I would do and I offered to act as a bodyguard, cook, and maid. She agreed reluctantly but gave me a room, some clothes and set me to work as soon as I was able to go.
I was getting the parlor and halls ready for the evening rush and all I could think about as I cleaned was my Grandmother and her whirlwind romance with my grandfather that resulted in them getting married after only two weeks of knowing each other. Their story was on my mind because one of the girls who worked here had gotten engaged. Her name was Elizabeth and her new fiancee was named Adam. He was her customer. He never requested any other girl. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor and Elizabeth wanted out of this lifestyle.
Thoughts of my grandparents had me smiling and humming as I worked. Their song was on repeat in my head. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was the song my grandpa would sing for my grandma even though she didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish.
I was fluffing the throw pillows on one of the over stuffed sofas and Madam was allowing men in for the evening. The song restarted in my head and I hummed from the beginning. The Madam smiled indulgently at me as she assisted men in handing over money.
I was half way through the first chorus when a low, deep voice joined my humming.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
I paused and turned around. The man, because no woman I knew in this time had that deep a voice, was tall with brown hair and green eyes. He was smiling at me and moved on to the next few lines.
"Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be."
I blushed when he stopped and looked expectantly at me. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
He grinned, all straight, white teeth that didn't really belong in this time, and bowed. When he straightened up he held out his hand and I reached out to shake it. "My name is Kyle, I'm from Santa Fe 1999."
"Faith Draven, Phoenix 2017."
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
I sighed wistfully as I worked in the kitchen. I know I had a thing for the Victorian Era back home but I really didn't think I would ever be here. Or that I'd be washing dishes in the kitchen of a bordello. The Madam and the girls had found me in the ally behind their... Establishment, and took me in. I don't know how I got to the alley and I don't know how I got tossed back in time. All I can remember before the blank spot in my mind is getting into a fight with a group of other girls.
The Madam said I would need to work off my debt to them after I was healed. I told her I didn't have money and that I wouldn't whore myself out to pay the debt. She asked what I would do and I offered to act as a bodyguard, cook, and maid. She agreed reluctantly but gave me a room, some clothes and set me to work as soon as I was able to go.
I was getting the parlor and halls ready for the evening rush and all I could think about as I cleaned was my Grandmother and her whirlwind romance with my grandfather that resulted in them getting married after only two weeks of knowing each other. Their story was on my mind because one of the girls who worked here had gotten engaged. Her name was Elizabeth and her new fiancee was named Adam. He was her customer. He never requested any other girl. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor and Elizabeth wanted out of this lifestyle.
Thoughts of my grandparents had me smiling and humming as I worked. Their song was on repeat in my head. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" was the song my grandpa would sing for my grandma even though she didn't speak English and he didn't speak Spanish.
I was fluffing the throw pillows on one of the over stuffed sofas and Madam was allowing men in for the evening. The song restarted in my head and I hummed from the beginning. The Madam smiled indulgently at me as she assisted men in handing over money.
I was half way through the first chorus when a low, deep voice joined my humming.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
I paused and turned around. The man, because no woman I knew in this time had that deep a voice, was tall with brown hair and green eyes. He was smiling at me and moved on to the next few lines.
"Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things are meant to be."
I blushed when he stopped and looked expectantly at me. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.
"Take my hand
Take my whole life too
'cause I can't help
Falling in love with you."
He grinned, all straight, white teeth that didn't really belong in this time, and bowed. When he straightened up he held out his hand and I reached out to shake it. "My name is Kyle, I'm from Santa Fe 1999."
"Faith Draven, Phoenix 2017."
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
The song played in my head, like it always did. Its atmospheric melody, lulling me, making my head bob almost imperceptibly. I whispered the lyrics, as I always did. It helped get me through the day.
*I seen a girl*
*With a guy*
*Her hair like yours*
*From what I remember*
I hefted the block, putting it on my shaky shoulders. I carried it through the hot sands, struggling with every step. I saw a fellow slave being whipped for collapsing nearby. The scars on my back still pained.
*He took her hand*
*And smiled her name*
*Her face like yours*
*She smiled the same*
It seemed a fitting punishment. Flung into the past, Forced to slave away my sanity. At least I knew my work would stand the test of time. And yet, the song was the only thing keeping me grounded to reality.
*From what I remember*
*"Been so long since last December"*
I looked up. That last line... I looked up at the carriage being carried across the desert landscape. The pharaoh sat inside, surveying the work being done to the pyramids.
And next to him... there she was.
It was her.
Singing the song. *My* song.
I stood there, dumbfounded. A whip lashed out next to me, and I turned to see the same slave driver that lashed me last week.
I hefted the block and carried on like nothing had happened. She was the pharaoh's wife, and I was a broken man.
It was better this way.
*It's been so long since last December*
|
|
[WP] After a freak accident sending you far back in time, somehow you make a new life for yourself. One day while whistling a tune from the future to yourself; someone joins in with the correct lyrics ...
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
"You're looking mint today, Mary"
"Really?" she blushed.
"No you mardy cow, now piss off, go on, out of my yard!"
The scowling woman rolled her eyes and scurried away in a huff. She'd had her eyes on his garden for weeks now, and he had no doubt she'd be back sooner rather than later to collect some clippings.
It had been 3 years since he had moved to the sleepy village of Knutsford, but it felt much shorter in his mind. Gripping a wooden mug of tea, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Long gone were the metallic smells of the tour bus table, the blaring screeches from the announcer's microphone and the harsh hit of the flickering floodlights. Tranquility washed over him like a sheet. It reminded him of the needles, the pills he had taken for years, only to not even approach this bliss.
Opening his eyes, he smiled and began strolling along the lane. Perhaps a walk into the centre was what he needed on such a beautiful day. A pair of hobbling figures approached from the other direction, clearly in a hurry. He grinned as he kicked the crutch from the boys grip, watching him tumble into the unstable arms of his friend.
"Plenty more where that came from - I'm not snide, am I?" He laughed. He began to hum as the murderous stares bounced off his back and went unnoticed.
*Step outside, summertime's in bloom...*
So what if the townsfolk didn't like him? He was happy, which was all that mattered. Not as if the people back in his time liked him either, and he'd hardly lost a night's sleep over *that*. He did wonder if they thought about him though. A well familiar memory creeped into his brain, not for the first or hundredth time since the accident. The print magazines. The paparazzi. His brother. It was because of him that he had left in the first place. He could almost picture the bile spewing from the editor's fingers. Where was his brother this time? A drug fueled bender? A four day sex party in the Mediterranean? One article suggested that his brother was last seen at a popular nightclub in New York where people dressed in chains and leather. The knocks on the door. The sleepless nights of so called friends chiming in, asking him to join the search parties.
*Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face -
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out...*
Instead, he had donned his cap, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and slipped off in the early hours of the morning. The morning itself was hazy, but he remembered walking to the old well and wishing upon the change in his pocket. An easier, simpler place to live was all he wanted. In a way, he'd definitely gotten it.
As he approached the hairy, grizzled vendor, he burst out into song, the wordless tune suddenly springing forth into vocalization.
He was free. Free of that life, free of obligations. Free from him.
*And so Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as we're walking on by...*
The vendor, distracted by the street urchins running past, almost involuntarily whispered back.
"Her soul slides away..."
Shocked, their eyes met.
"But don't look back in anger, I heard you say..." he mumbled, choking on his words.
"Liam?"
"Noel?"
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!"
|
|
[WP] You are given the opportunity to design a new level of hell.
|
The sky was blue, with fluffy white clouds perfect for lying back and imagining shapes. Temperature, an exact 21.3745 degrees Celsius, was warm enough for short sleeve but cool enough so even a moderate jog wouldn't leave one clammy.
Even the huge building was a piece of art itself, white metal, mirrored glass and dramatic, bold lines harmonised perfectly with a manicured lawn, every blade of grass immaculate and lush green.
It was a day full of surprises for the Prince of Darkness, first his trusty flaming steed changed into a mere helicopter and then this. Yet the architect waiting impatiently on the landing pad looked confident, eager to present his creation - The Ninth Circle of Hell - to his master.
Lucifer stepped out straightening his silk business suit and approached.
“Welcome to the Ninth Circle my Lord,” the architect kneeled obediently and kissed the ring on Devil's extended hand “I hope you will find everything to your specification.”
“I must admit you have surprised me. Is that a factory?”
“A distribution centre, master. Highly automated, so even the hardest work is barely equivalent effort to typing on an old style typewriter. We're unionized, so everyone earns the same and there is no discrimination.”
“But this is supposed to be a place for eternal damnation, not something you would find in purgatory, or heaven!”
“That's the beauty of the concept, master. In fact it is imperative that the condemned know that it is their chance at avoiding consequences altogether. Yet in the test runs we had the participants begging to be returned to their previous punishments. We even had three souls jump into the Well of Oblivion."
The Devil looked at him skeptically, as as it was extremely rare for an immortal soul to be desperate enough to face certain destruction. They entered the building, where row after row of one person cabins mounted on movable rail-cranes patiently awaited the beginning of the morning shift. The Devil immediately noticed that there was something wrong with the lights, he pointed on of the fluorescent tubes to the architect.
“Yes master, but it's not my achievement, those are Earth import, used in most of enterprises of this type. The test subjects would spend eight hours a day alone, doing a menial, boring job. The weather outside is always perfect, they even get to experience it on their days off, yet they are stuck inside with those lights. Everybody earns the same, so promotions are essentially meaningless yet in short order every single one of them starts to fight for a way out. And with automation doing most of the work the only way up is by pushing everyone else down. They spend most of their time scheming, reporting each other and filing grievances. But true fun begins only after their first promotion.”
Prince of Darkness started to realise he underestimated his servant.
“But what if someone realises that the best place is actually at the bottom of the pile?”
“That almost never happens. And even when it does, the person refusing to play the game gets ostracized. They would spend more time in disciplinary hearings than at work. It is a self regulating system.”
“So the condemned spend only eight hours here? What with the rest of the time?”
“They are free to live their suburban dream. Except their spouses and neighbours work here as well, so they need to watch their backs even there. Our tests show that souls in long term solitary confinement experience less stress and loneliness than our subjects.”
The Devil exposed a row of pearly white teeth in a smile “so when do we start?”
“I would like to get some experienced managing cadre from upstairs. They have been doing this for years. I have my candidates selected and enough tools to persuade them to change jobs mid-contract” he patted a briefcase, which rattled menacingly “I just need your authorization for a business trip to Earth.”
|
"Interior design?" said the father. "They give degrees in that?"
"They give degrees in anything," said the mother. "Whole thing's a scam."
"It's what I want to do," said the boy, nearly a man. "It's my passion."
"As long as you pay for it yourself," said the father, turning up the volume on the television.
"And we're renting out your room," said the mother, clipping coupons. "Times are tough. You're on your own."
He was. He knew that well enough. But still he did his best. He applied for the college of his dreams and ended up settling on his third choice. You worked two jobs. He got good grades. His junior year roommate set their dorm on fire and he lost everything he'd had. But his internship went well, and then he had a degree. The dream began.
Except it didn't. Because no one wanted him.
"Two to three years of experience - *minimum*," said the job posting.
"We're only looking for unpaid interns at the moment," said the assistant.
"I've already been that," said the boy who was technically a man, though he didn't really feel like one.
"Would you like to be one again?"
He took a job at a coffee shop and a second job at a Chinese takeout place. He lived with three other guys and someone's girlfriend (he could never really tell who she belonged to). He made sketches at the start - ideas pouring forth - though that was slowly replaced with television, weed, and masturbation.
He posted himself online, in case anyone should need what he was selling. But no one did. Except one. Who actually just wanted a handjob. Which he didn't get.
He stopped paying on his loans, which were all bigger numbers than he could actually fathom. Made up numbers, it seemed. He got lots of angry letters over that. And phone calls. One of his roommates gave the collection guy the number to the Chinese takeout place. So then he lost that job. He started skipping breakfast and dinner. Became a lunch man only.
"We told you," said the mother.
"Figure it out," said the father.
They had. And he couldn't.
He ran a bath. He brought certain utensils with him. He hadn't really formulated his plan. But then his phone rang.
"You're a designer, right?" said the woman on the phone.
"That's...I have a degree," he said, because he couldn't rightly call himself that. Not anymore.
"You available? Want a job?"
Of course he did. Of course.
He got out of the bath and went into the city. She met him at the subway. They descended. Then they descended even further.
"I don't know this part of town," he said.
"It's not open yet," she said. "You have to design it."
It was a chamber. Enormous, wide, and echoing. He could not see the end of it.
"What's it for?"
"Whatever you want," she said. "You're the designer."
"What's the budget?" he said, trying to remember the right questions to ask. It had been so long since he'd thought about any of this.
"Whatever you think is necessary," she said. "Just make it, and then we'll talk."
He set about making it, but he couldn't find the walls. He couldn't find the ceiling, either. Or the floor.
"What do I use?" he wondered. He had no materials. No notebook. No paint, no furniture. He had nothing.
"How do I start?" he asked aloud. But the woman was gone. And there was no door. No end. No beginning. He was alone in a room with nothing.
His phone rang.
"Hello? Hello? I need help!" he cried into the phone.
"We told you you're on your own," said the mother.
"What does he want?" said the father in the distance. "Money?"
"Things are hard here, too," said the mother. "We're making sacrifices, so don't complain. Besides, you chose this."
"There's nothing here!" he cried. "They gave me a job, but nothing else. I'm all alone in here."
"Life is hard like that," said the mother. "Just get out and make some friends."
"Does he want money?" said the father.
"I want *help*!" he shouted. "Just get me out of here!"
"Christ, this generation," muttered the father. "What the hell is wrong with these kids?"
"We love you," said the mother. "That's why we're letting you figure this out. I just called to let you know I found a big box of your old sketches and awards. I set it out by the curb. Come pick it up if you want it."
"Toughen up," hissed the father.
"*I'm trapped in here!*" screamed the man.
"Bye," said the mother. The phone went dead.
He fell down in the nothingness of the chamber. There was no floor to stop him. He simply descended further, with no sense of distance or time. The world was colorless and empty.
*I could have made something of this place,* he thought to himself as he sank deeper and deeper into blank space. *I could have made something beautiful...*
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[WP] You are given the opportunity to design a new level of hell.
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Satan still wasn't sure about things, even after I built it. We tested it on the very first entrant. Nasty piece of work, as you might imagine. Not really worth going into details - I'm sure you can imagine what they were like. The important thing was:
They were human.
And they knew about hell.
We could both see the confusion on their face, when he entered. A big, almost cheery sign read "Welcome to hell!" And in front of our first entrant, nothing but an open meadow.
Rabbits. Birds tweeting in the sky. The occasional big tree, off in the distance, perfect for shade against the warm - but not *too* warm - sun. In any other situation, this would be a joy to behold.
But this was hell.
The confusion was clear on their face. It rapidly turned to anger. "What's your fucking game?" they shouted. "COME ON! BRING IT!"
They were given what they died with - so they drew out a gun, and shot the nearest rabbit. It splattered - just like it would in real life. Then, suddenly, it was alive again. Not in some sort of horrible way - not with guts moving, or viscera wiggling of its own accord. More like magic. One second, there was blood and guts - maybe not even a second - and then suddenly, *ping!* Rabbit. A very friendly rabbit, that hopped up to the prisoner, and was very rapidly kicked away. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"
They ran. Through the meadow. Paused every so often - got landed on by a bird, or nuzzled by a rabbit, every time they did. Just caused them to panic even more. Anger turned to fear, to loathing, to shooting wildly at the sky at not even the birds - they were just aiming wildly. They were becoming almost animistic, in a way. Not so much a they, as an *it*. Their ammo never ran out, either. The magazine stayed full - it died with a full mag, after all.
It just kept running.
And screaming.
Threats. Cries to be punished already. Clearly wanting to get the torture over with. Crying up at us, we who watched it from the sky, the only unnatural object in the prisoner's environment. We watched it, silently, as it took in the area around them, and waited for our punishment.
"Well?" I said to the devil beside me, who leaned over to whisper a response, eliciting more loud yelling from the prisoner.
"I love it. I'd have never have thought of this."
"Well, you know what they say", I responded, with a rather dark chuckle. "If anyone knows how to scare someone, it's themselves."
"The suspense is killing me." Satan admitted.
Another chuckle. "Wait 'till you see what it does to them."
|
"Interior design?" said the father. "They give degrees in that?"
"They give degrees in anything," said the mother. "Whole thing's a scam."
"It's what I want to do," said the boy, nearly a man. "It's my passion."
"As long as you pay for it yourself," said the father, turning up the volume on the television.
"And we're renting out your room," said the mother, clipping coupons. "Times are tough. You're on your own."
He was. He knew that well enough. But still he did his best. He applied for the college of his dreams and ended up settling on his third choice. You worked two jobs. He got good grades. His junior year roommate set their dorm on fire and he lost everything he'd had. But his internship went well, and then he had a degree. The dream began.
Except it didn't. Because no one wanted him.
"Two to three years of experience - *minimum*," said the job posting.
"We're only looking for unpaid interns at the moment," said the assistant.
"I've already been that," said the boy who was technically a man, though he didn't really feel like one.
"Would you like to be one again?"
He took a job at a coffee shop and a second job at a Chinese takeout place. He lived with three other guys and someone's girlfriend (he could never really tell who she belonged to). He made sketches at the start - ideas pouring forth - though that was slowly replaced with television, weed, and masturbation.
He posted himself online, in case anyone should need what he was selling. But no one did. Except one. Who actually just wanted a handjob. Which he didn't get.
He stopped paying on his loans, which were all bigger numbers than he could actually fathom. Made up numbers, it seemed. He got lots of angry letters over that. And phone calls. One of his roommates gave the collection guy the number to the Chinese takeout place. So then he lost that job. He started skipping breakfast and dinner. Became a lunch man only.
"We told you," said the mother.
"Figure it out," said the father.
They had. And he couldn't.
He ran a bath. He brought certain utensils with him. He hadn't really formulated his plan. But then his phone rang.
"You're a designer, right?" said the woman on the phone.
"That's...I have a degree," he said, because he couldn't rightly call himself that. Not anymore.
"You available? Want a job?"
Of course he did. Of course.
He got out of the bath and went into the city. She met him at the subway. They descended. Then they descended even further.
"I don't know this part of town," he said.
"It's not open yet," she said. "You have to design it."
It was a chamber. Enormous, wide, and echoing. He could not see the end of it.
"What's it for?"
"Whatever you want," she said. "You're the designer."
"What's the budget?" he said, trying to remember the right questions to ask. It had been so long since he'd thought about any of this.
"Whatever you think is necessary," she said. "Just make it, and then we'll talk."
He set about making it, but he couldn't find the walls. He couldn't find the ceiling, either. Or the floor.
"What do I use?" he wondered. He had no materials. No notebook. No paint, no furniture. He had nothing.
"How do I start?" he asked aloud. But the woman was gone. And there was no door. No end. No beginning. He was alone in a room with nothing.
His phone rang.
"Hello? Hello? I need help!" he cried into the phone.
"We told you you're on your own," said the mother.
"What does he want?" said the father in the distance. "Money?"
"Things are hard here, too," said the mother. "We're making sacrifices, so don't complain. Besides, you chose this."
"There's nothing here!" he cried. "They gave me a job, but nothing else. I'm all alone in here."
"Life is hard like that," said the mother. "Just get out and make some friends."
"Does he want money?" said the father.
"I want *help*!" he shouted. "Just get me out of here!"
"Christ, this generation," muttered the father. "What the hell is wrong with these kids?"
"We love you," said the mother. "That's why we're letting you figure this out. I just called to let you know I found a big box of your old sketches and awards. I set it out by the curb. Come pick it up if you want it."
"Toughen up," hissed the father.
"*I'm trapped in here!*" screamed the man.
"Bye," said the mother. The phone went dead.
He fell down in the nothingness of the chamber. There was no floor to stop him. He simply descended further, with no sense of distance or time. The world was colorless and empty.
*I could have made something of this place,* he thought to himself as he sank deeper and deeper into blank space. *I could have made something beautiful...*
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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A bit late to the game, but I want in on this.
As I stare into the slits of darkness in those golden marbles, I marvel upon how this event came to be. Me and my kind where banished forever, and here sits my banisher, a mix of contempt and content radiating from its being. Like rage barely contained, just as in the old days.
I shift my gaze and stare into the sun as I open the conversation. *(a childish display of abilities, for sure. But even those who see all cannot unblinkingly stare into the sun. That is reserved by the kin of Horus and Ra*
"Soldier of Solomon. Unexpected, and to be frank, not a welcome sight after such a long slumber. I thought the Kin of Bast got everything they wished for"
The imortal eyes stared back at me unsympathetic, unblinking. Imortal, at least for a given value of imortal. The creature remained silent.
"Well, what do the inmutable ones want from us?" As I ask, I instinctivly reach out to feel the world and I sense that something is off. "Just me?" I can feel a few of my brothers still dormant out there, but most of my siblings are.. gone. "You kept your word then." I say it with less resentment than I thought I would. But then again, the children of Horus are creatures of Thought and Words, more so than most creatures that have walked this earth. Still I am pained for the loss of my family. "I guess am next then. Do your worst"
I close my eyes and wait for the sting of Damascus steel or the bright flash of Lunar Light. But nothing comes. As I open my eyes again, the creature has its back turned to me and it is.. licking its paw? Without the glare of undying eyes penetrating my core I am allowed to take a closer look at the being in front of me. What I see is not what I thought I saw. Its frame is tiny, its fur is smooth and silken, its claws and bones are mere calsium.
"You? You are not a Sphinx, nor a templar." It was meant a question but came a statement. The scowl and the hiss the creature gave in response contained all the answers I needed tho. "So a decendant of Bast you are, but you are nothing like you where. Why?" My tone unbashfully change to one of glee and spite: "Did the deals you made finnaly come and bite your tails? Hah! We told you! They were a Djinni's deal, and we should know! At least with us you knew what to expect!" The creature looked away from me again, but did not continue its.. grooming. It ears lay flat back on its head. I think I struck a nerve.
"What's the matter, cat got your tounge?" As I proclaim my taunt I know it to be true: the riddle-race can no longer speak. I also feel it, by the sting of five clawmarks on my chin. "So, emasculated, but not powerless." Unwillingly I start to feel sorry for the little fella. As part of their deal, he is no longer imortal. He just has acces to their shared racial memories; the closest any species has gotten to true reincarnation. I wonder if this was not the onset off their decline. Pherhaps he now has realized that his precursors where arrogant pricks. I once again take a moment and allow myself to feel the world.
Tho it does not stem from the same source, I feel my power has lessened too. I share a long silence with my captor and now jailbreaker. "You allowed the words to spread to far. It's now disntegrating. As our wishes used to do. You know we never could truly change or destroy the world. I never imagenes your kind doing it tho. Inmutable ones." More silence. " I cannot do what I know you wish. It's no longer within my capabilities. I could do the next best thing tho, for the few of us that are left. But I need the words. We, as you, never were nothing without words..."
"Meow?"
Such a soft noise from a once terrible warrior. "Close enough, I guess. Very well then.. "
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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"meow" - appearing from nowhere, a tuna-fish sandwhich, hold the bread, pops into existence.
"meow" - All the doors in every house are swung open and rust in place so they can not close.
"MEOW!" - every movable object on every flat surface that's higher than a table is knocked off and lands on the floor.
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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"WHAT DO YOU WANT? Hey look..."
A brown and white cat looked ignored whatever he said. Gosh what a beautiful day. The stupid ooman have left his pants on the couch just like she liked it. Didn't he know it was her favorite thing? Of course Prissy of the Five Cat Treats, had received exactly what she wanted, a glorious entree of fresh tuna and a bowl of warm milk. If you include the pants today was a perfect day. Later she might tear up the plant in the corner of the living room, but for right now she was perfectly content. So, she curled into a ball, and ignored the strange blue man.
"Oh God, if you're real let this cat tell me what it wants. I usually only help with one thing, but the genie said it would be easy. Hey, look at me! I'm Mr. Meeseeks!"
And with that he slapped the blue button and wondered when the box had turned into a lamp....
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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The genie came from his lamp with a little clitter-clatter.
The startled cat escaped on its tiny pitter-patter.
"Oh, I mean not to scare," said the genie with a grin,
"but you rub against my lamp, so three wishes need granting!"
The cat shivered in its corner from the demon in the sky,
Its skin so brightly sparking, a human that can fly,
A cacophony of magics and an offer there within,
Be careful little kitten or your wishes he shall spin.
"Meow."
"What did you say?!" the genie cried!
"A wish perhaps? I've not surmised?"
"You want a fish? Oh, do confirm!"
"Just nod your head... or just a turn?"
Still as a board, or stiffer still,
A rusty lamp, a silent chill,
Clicks of the clock grate on his nerve,
Turns of his time with none to serve.
"Meow."
The genie waited patiently, almost half an hour.
The cat just hid motionlessly, and this made him sour.
"You've made your point - a no's a no,"
"Make your wish and I shall go."
The cat looked back with frightened eyes,
For one wrong move, the kitten dies,
He sees predation for his skin,
Flashy works just to scare him.
"Meow."
"OUT WITH IT BOY!"
And the cat ran away.
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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*clang*
*splat*
*thud*
Antique dishes and shiny collectibles fall down as the cat walks atop the wardrobe, grazing its fur against the cold metallic objects.
*Thud*
Mr. Saltumin stares at the television, oblivious to the chaos going on behind him.
"Honey! The cat's doing it again. Could you clean up the mess!" Yells Mrs. Saltumin from their firstborn's bedroom.
"She's flaunting her well groomed fur, dear. Just ignore her and she won't make a habit out of it." Yells back Mr. Saltumin, turning around to see what the cat was up to.
Just as he does, the cat reaches the end of the wardrobe and rubs softly against the rusty lamp. Mr.Saltumin's eyes widen as the cat gently knocks it over and stares at him, expecting acknowledgement. Mr. Saltumin attempts to leap across the room, but fails as the sofa forms a hurdle for his huge belly. He trips and falls over, and it is too late. The lamp has landed on the ground and the lid comes rolling off, and Mr. Saltumin does not touch the ground.
Time and space freezes as light floods the room. The cat shrieks and hides under the sofa, staring as black smoke emerges from the spout of the lamp. It lengthens and expands as it leaks through the crack in the window and out onto the streets. The smoke blankets the skies and everything goes pitch-black, even the cat turns blind.
Slowly, a red, glowing stick pokes out of the spout. Defying all physics, eight more squeeze through, followed by what appears to be an arm. In a flash of blinding light, a being stood in front of Mr. Saltumin, standing on its 'hands'. The being was a dozen hands protruding from a central, globular body. It lets out a high-pitched sound, as if it were calling. The cat immediately gets drawn to it, and crawls out from underneath Mr. Saltumins hairy belly.
"Mortal.". The being booms. "I am Genie, abomination of mankind. Speak."
The cat purrs softly.
"Ahh. English is not your tongue."
Genie instantly figures out what to do. It swaps the bodies of the cat and the fat human before it.
*Thud*
The body of Mr. Saltumin hits the ground, as the cat stands still.
"Meow. Ow"
"Speak."
"Who are you? What's happening?" Replies the human body.
"I am Genie." Genie redeclares. "I will grant you three wishes, and no more."
The cat gets up on Mr. Saltumins feet, wobbling. She tries to comprehend what's happening, but fails. Seeing as 'Genie' defied everything the cat believed in, it would probably be best not to disobey this being.
"Speak."
The cat thought, recollecting memories of everything she had seen the humans do.
She remembers the lady human wearing jewelry- shiny stones and reflective metal. She remembered how much attention people paid to her.
"Diamond. Ruby. Gold and silver. Heaps of jewelry cats could only marvel at."
In an instant appeared 4 large pots, shining so bright Mr. Saltumins poor eyes couldn't handle the glare. The cat understood- she could ask for anything she wanted. Genie was to be trusted.
"Speak again." It bellowed.
She loved cow milk. What if she had an unlimited supply?
"A fully grown cow, with the thickest, creamiest milk to be squeezed from its nipples."
Another flash of light, and there it was- a large cow with juicy, plump nipples.
"Speak. One last time."
The cat felt satisfied. She had all she wanted- attention and food. All she needed now was-
"Company. Spawn me a magical yarn of wool that I will never lose. It must come rolling back to me upon my calling."
Another blinding light, and a magical ball of wool appears at Mr. Saltumins feet. As his pudgy hands reach down to grab it, the world turns pitch black, and the lamp disappears.
A week later, Mr. Saltumin sits down at the dining table, ready for dinner. Mrs. Saltumin comes through the kitchen door, carrying a huge pot of stew- beef stew.
"That's the last of it." She says as she sets it on the table. "Dear, could you tie this around me." She hands him four long necklaces- colourful, shiny and so reflective her husband could see his face as he took it from her.
"Meow." The cat runs under the table, with her ball of wool slowly trailing behind her.
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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Plot twist - Even after granting three wishes to the feline creature, the genie isn't set free. It is then when he realizes that the fine print of the genie contract interprets in a way that each life of the cat gets 3 of its wishes fulfilled. The genie must accompany the cat till its 9th life to fulfil its 27 wishes BOOM! You have a series of novels now.
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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"meow" - appearing from nowhere, a tuna-fish sandwhich, hold the bread, pops into existence.
"meow" - All the doors in every house are swung open and rust in place so they can not close.
"MEOW!" - every movable object on every flat surface that's higher than a table is knocked off and lands on the floor.
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A bit late to the game, but I want in on this.
As I stare into the slits of darkness in those golden marbles, I marvel upon how this event came to be. Me and my kind where banished forever, and here sits my banisher, a mix of contempt and content radiating from its being. Like rage barely contained, just as in the old days.
I shift my gaze and stare into the sun as I open the conversation. *(a childish display of abilities, for sure. But even those who see all cannot unblinkingly stare into the sun. That is reserved by the kin of Horus and Ra*
"Soldier of Solomon. Unexpected, and to be frank, not a welcome sight after such a long slumber. I thought the Kin of Bast got everything they wished for"
The imortal eyes stared back at me unsympathetic, unblinking. Imortal, at least for a given value of imortal. The creature remained silent.
"Well, what do the inmutable ones want from us?" As I ask, I instinctivly reach out to feel the world and I sense that something is off. "Just me?" I can feel a few of my brothers still dormant out there, but most of my siblings are.. gone. "You kept your word then." I say it with less resentment than I thought I would. But then again, the children of Horus are creatures of Thought and Words, more so than most creatures that have walked this earth. Still I am pained for the loss of my family. "I guess am next then. Do your worst"
I close my eyes and wait for the sting of Damascus steel or the bright flash of Lunar Light. But nothing comes. As I open my eyes again, the creature has its back turned to me and it is.. licking its paw? Without the glare of undying eyes penetrating my core I am allowed to take a closer look at the being in front of me. What I see is not what I thought I saw. Its frame is tiny, its fur is smooth and silken, its claws and bones are mere calsium.
"You? You are not a Sphinx, nor a templar." It was meant a question but came a statement. The scowl and the hiss the creature gave in response contained all the answers I needed tho. "So a decendant of Bast you are, but you are nothing like you where. Why?" My tone unbashfully change to one of glee and spite: "Did the deals you made finnaly come and bite your tails? Hah! We told you! They were a Djinni's deal, and we should know! At least with us you knew what to expect!" The creature looked away from me again, but did not continue its.. grooming. It ears lay flat back on its head. I think I struck a nerve.
"What's the matter, cat got your tounge?" As I proclaim my taunt I know it to be true: the riddle-race can no longer speak. I also feel it, by the sting of five clawmarks on my chin. "So, emasculated, but not powerless." Unwillingly I start to feel sorry for the little fella. As part of their deal, he is no longer imortal. He just has acces to their shared racial memories; the closest any species has gotten to true reincarnation. I wonder if this was not the onset off their decline. Pherhaps he now has realized that his precursors where arrogant pricks. I once again take a moment and allow myself to feel the world.
Tho it does not stem from the same source, I feel my power has lessened too. I share a long silence with my captor and now jailbreaker. "You allowed the words to spread to far. It's now disntegrating. As our wishes used to do. You know we never could truly change or destroy the world. I never imagenes your kind doing it tho. Inmutable ones." More silence. " I cannot do what I know you wish. It's no longer within my capabilities. I could do the next best thing tho, for the few of us that are left. But I need the words. We, as you, never were nothing without words..."
"Meow?"
Such a soft noise from a once terrible warrior. "Close enough, I guess. Very well then.. "
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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*clang*
*splat*
*thud*
Antique dishes and shiny collectibles fall down as the cat walks atop the wardrobe, grazing its fur against the cold metallic objects.
*Thud*
Mr. Saltumin stares at the television, oblivious to the chaos going on behind him.
"Honey! The cat's doing it again. Could you clean up the mess!" Yells Mrs. Saltumin from their firstborn's bedroom.
"She's flaunting her well groomed fur, dear. Just ignore her and she won't make a habit out of it." Yells back Mr. Saltumin, turning around to see what the cat was up to.
Just as he does, the cat reaches the end of the wardrobe and rubs softly against the rusty lamp. Mr.Saltumin's eyes widen as the cat gently knocks it over and stares at him, expecting acknowledgement. Mr. Saltumin attempts to leap across the room, but fails as the sofa forms a hurdle for his huge belly. He trips and falls over, and it is too late. The lamp has landed on the ground and the lid comes rolling off, and Mr. Saltumin does not touch the ground.
Time and space freezes as light floods the room. The cat shrieks and hides under the sofa, staring as black smoke emerges from the spout of the lamp. It lengthens and expands as it leaks through the crack in the window and out onto the streets. The smoke blankets the skies and everything goes pitch-black, even the cat turns blind.
Slowly, a red, glowing stick pokes out of the spout. Defying all physics, eight more squeeze through, followed by what appears to be an arm. In a flash of blinding light, a being stood in front of Mr. Saltumin, standing on its 'hands'. The being was a dozen hands protruding from a central, globular body. It lets out a high-pitched sound, as if it were calling. The cat immediately gets drawn to it, and crawls out from underneath Mr. Saltumins hairy belly.
"Mortal.". The being booms. "I am Genie, abomination of mankind. Speak."
The cat purrs softly.
"Ahh. English is not your tongue."
Genie instantly figures out what to do. It swaps the bodies of the cat and the fat human before it.
*Thud*
The body of Mr. Saltumin hits the ground, as the cat stands still.
"Meow. Ow"
"Speak."
"Who are you? What's happening?" Replies the human body.
"I am Genie." Genie redeclares. "I will grant you three wishes, and no more."
The cat gets up on Mr. Saltumins feet, wobbling. She tries to comprehend what's happening, but fails. Seeing as 'Genie' defied everything the cat believed in, it would probably be best not to disobey this being.
"Speak."
The cat thought, recollecting memories of everything she had seen the humans do.
She remembers the lady human wearing jewelry- shiny stones and reflective metal. She remembered how much attention people paid to her.
"Diamond. Ruby. Gold and silver. Heaps of jewelry cats could only marvel at."
In an instant appeared 4 large pots, shining so bright Mr. Saltumins poor eyes couldn't handle the glare. The cat understood- she could ask for anything she wanted. Genie was to be trusted.
"Speak again." It bellowed.
She loved cow milk. What if she had an unlimited supply?
"A fully grown cow, with the thickest, creamiest milk to be squeezed from its nipples."
Another flash of light, and there it was- a large cow with juicy, plump nipples.
"Speak. One last time."
The cat felt satisfied. She had all she wanted- attention and food. All she needed now was-
"Company. Spawn me a magical yarn of wool that I will never lose. It must come rolling back to me upon my calling."
Another blinding light, and a magical ball of wool appears at Mr. Saltumins feet. As his pudgy hands reach down to grab it, the world turns pitch black, and the lamp disappears.
A week later, Mr. Saltumin sits down at the dining table, ready for dinner. Mrs. Saltumin comes through the kitchen door, carrying a huge pot of stew- beef stew.
"That's the last of it." She says as she sets it on the table. "Dear, could you tie this around me." She hands him four long necklaces- colourful, shiny and so reflective her husband could see his face as he took it from her.
"Meow." The cat runs under the table, with her ball of wool slowly trailing behind her.
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The genie came from his lamp with a little clitter-clatter.
The startled cat escaped on its tiny pitter-patter.
"Oh, I mean not to scare," said the genie with a grin,
"but you rub against my lamp, so three wishes need granting!"
The cat shivered in its corner from the demon in the sky,
Its skin so brightly sparking, a human that can fly,
A cacophony of magics and an offer there within,
Be careful little kitten or your wishes he shall spin.
"Meow."
"What did you say?!" the genie cried!
"A wish perhaps? I've not surmised?"
"You want a fish? Oh, do confirm!"
"Just nod your head... or just a turn?"
Still as a board, or stiffer still,
A rusty lamp, a silent chill,
Clicks of the clock grate on his nerve,
Turns of his time with none to serve.
"Meow."
The genie waited patiently, almost half an hour.
The cat just hid motionlessly, and this made him sour.
"You've made your point - a no's a no,"
"Make your wish and I shall go."
The cat looked back with frightened eyes,
For one wrong move, the kitten dies,
He sees predation for his skin,
Flashy works just to scare him.
"Meow."
"OUT WITH IT BOY!"
And the cat ran away.
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[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
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Plot twist - Even after granting three wishes to the feline creature, the genie isn't set free. It is then when he realizes that the fine print of the genie contract interprets in a way that each life of the cat gets 3 of its wishes fulfilled. The genie must accompany the cat till its 9th life to fulfil its 27 wishes BOOM! You have a series of novels now.
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**LISTEN WELL, YOUNGLINGS! THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW OUR ETERNAL EMPEROR MR.FUZZYBOTTOM CAME TO BE!**
Few may remember that our emperor was once a mere house cat. Yes, I understand how ridiculous this sounds that our emperor, the eternal enslaver of worlds, was once a weakling like us.
It started as a normal day for him when his owner, an elderly woman named Matilda, left to go get some groceries. He was doing as cats would do and was knocking things off of tables with no apparent reason until he wandered into the storage room. It is here that he came across something amazing. Though he didnt know it at the time he was about to come across power untold. He was wandering among the boxes when he rubbed against a very dusty but otherwise normal lamp.
Well, this is where the story gets a little fuzzy and no one quite knows what happened next. All we know is that a magical being called a genie came from that lantern. Now imagine what confusion he must have had when he saw a cat sitting there ready for whatever might happen. Since he is a genie of course he must grant whatever wishes that his summoner wishes, even if its a cat. So very awkwardly he asks fuzzybottoms what his first wish is. Figuring it wont work he begins to return to his lamp when he hears a faint *meow*. Turning back to the cat he hears another *meow*. He didnt knew what this meant but he granted it either way. Then fuzzybottoms started growing the the magnificence you witness nowadays. Then he hears another *meow* and fuzzybottoms starts speaking in perfect english. What he says next would be remembered to this day.
**I am king here now. For my last wish I request immortality. You can leave now as I have no further use for some weak djinn.**
Well, at that point we couldnt do much to stall him and he took his place as king of the universe progressively over about a 1000 years. Now what is the moral of our story kids?
That we can succeed no matter how low we are?
**WHERE DID YOU GET THAT IDEA FROM YOU IDIOT?!?** Of course not our moral is that to get anywhere in life you have to be get there from luck and you'll probably never accomplish anything in your puny existence.
^^^o-o-o-okay ^^^dont ^^^hurt ^^^me
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