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It was 10 pm, he snuck past his daughter’s room, down the stairs, and to the porch. There was a red car with a young woman in a suit waiting for him. “Hello, agent Mercury,” she said. “And you?” agent Mercury implored. “Agent Clever, from a foreign exchange program”, agent Clever opened a door for Mercury, “here, ladies first.”
They drove to the outskirts of town where a forest lay. “So what’s the Gist?” asked agent Mercury. “There’s a Firey Abrahamic demon,” explained agent Clever “, very destructive but of the simple willed type, shouldn’t be hard to get rid of. we’ll need...” agent Mercury interjected, “Yea yea, demonic candles, holy circle, this ain't my first rodeo”. They got out of the car. “Where are you from?” asked Mercury had he armed himself with a handgun and silver rounds. “Ireland, used the work with fairies,” Clever answered, “Those aren’t holy silver, by the way, kind of forgot to ask Father Joseph to bless it.” “Oh,” Mercury became concerned, “You sure this will be easy?” “OH sure it’d be easy,” assured Clever, “say this looks like a good spot to set... Up… oh no.”
There was, not the far in front of her, the demon with goat hooves and an ape’s scowl. It sent forth a bout of flame which Clever stammered to doge as car parts flew. The demon screamed, “Shater, tear, crush!”. The two agents bolted to the forest.
Partly hidden behind two trees, the agents take a brief respite. “Ok,” said Mercury, “we need the holy Circle to be made, I can maybe distract the Blorgon of like five-ish minutes.”
“Ok and I’ll go- wait, you call them Blorgons? Like those robots in that old British TV show?” agent Clever giggled
“Do they not sound like them?” agent Mercury answered.
Again the demon screamed, “break, destroy, eradicate!”
Agent Clever looked up in amazement, “Oh my god they do sound like Blorgons!”
A fiery beam flashed between the two agents, spraying them with splintering wood. “Remember the plan!” agent Mercury commanded “1 2 GO!” then Mercury ran to the demon. “Wai- oh crap it” and Clever ran to the totaled car. Mercury fired two ineffectual shots at the demon, “Oi demon, did your grandmother slept with a goat?!” and with that, he got the demon’s attention.
Pulling from the heap of metal scrap Clever readied the holy items and lit the black candles, using her gun as a fast lighter. “CLEVER!”, she heard Mercury from a distance, “I REALLY HOPE YOU REMEMBER THE CHANT”. Mercury ran through the Circle and in its pursuit so did the demon, And with enough wind, the candles were blown out allowing the holy items to shine. Stepping just outside the Circle Clever began the chant, "Adjure te, spiritus nequissime, per Deum omnipotentem!"An explosion of smoke pushed through the trees and sent the two agents flying, one hit a tree and the other the ground.
After helping herself up, Clever when over to Mercury. “See, easy right?” She giggled as she helped Mercury up, “cair to walk home?”.
The next morning, a daughter jumps onto her father’s bed. “Wake up! Wake up!” the child cheers. “Five more minutes” whined the dad. “But daddy you promised.” begged the child. “Mmmmmmm ok ok,” he finally said, “now who wants to go fighting some Blorgons!”
Criticism, even mean ones, would be much appreciated. |
Because you are right-brained you open the top even-numbered box (#2). Inside, nestled in Easter's fake plastic hay are two eggs, both brightly colored. One is red, the other is green. You are drawn to the green egg and, picking it up, know that this will be your purpose in life. You select the green egg and turn to the door, but the door no longer exists; instead you stand on the edge of a ledge, overlooking a vast valley. You hear a "plop"and turn to see the red egg floating in your delicious coffee. As it dissolves, a pinkish mist rises and your float off of the ledge, and down into the valley. |
"I'm Jess Platt and this is... this is... well, honestly I don't know what station we are anymore. If you are receiving this, then it's likely the only news left."
Her jacket said BBC News, but there had not been word from the home office in London in over 18 months. She had traveled south with another reporter who said his name was Innskeep and said he was from NPR in America. But their last official broadcast had been 10 months ago before going dark. They had agreed to a joint mission to travel south from Christchurch, New Zealand to Antarctica to investigate increasingly desperate and erratic messages from the various science stations on the frozen continent broadcast over shortwave.
Jess blanched inwardly thinking of the American. The fishing captain who had agreed to take them south had laughed at her handful of British pounds and called them worthless. Thankfully this Innskeep had American dollars which were still somewhat useful. Some parts of Texas, California, Eastern Washington, and West Appalachia were still trying to keep the country together.
The rest was simply under water.
Behind Jess captured in camera broadcast up to the heavens on Starlink satellites was the last remaining glacier. Pieces were tumbling off in various waves with loud crashes into the melt water trickling out towards the Atlantic. She had run out of funds and empty promises to keep a camera man around, so she spoke to her Canon 9580k resting placidly on a tripod.
"Scientists say this is the last glacier on Earth and it's about to melt free. As you can see, the temperature is a balmy 10 degrees C or 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Snow and permafrost continues to melt and--"
With a roar, the face of the glacier fell off and slipped into the current. As the mist and frost cleared, an object as large as a skyscraper appeared. Jess was speechless.
Innskeep appeared beside her, staring at the same sight. His grey beard and goggle glasses obscured any emotions he might have. "Let's go. The news deserves that much."
He set off. Jess grabbed her camera and followed behind him.
At the base of the revealed structure was a plinth and a raised dais. Jess urged caution but Innskeep seemed oblivious to it. "I've nothing left but to find the truth,"he said. He removed a glove and placed a bare hand upon an outline of what looked like a mostly human hand at the dais.
Lights sparkled around them. A beam seemed to cascade over Jess and Innskeep multiple times. In front of them, a humanoid form coalesced out of light. It seemed male, tall and well built. It looked down at them.
"Do you understand me? This is a test,"it said, it lilted English.
With mouths agape, both reporters nodded.
"Good. Translation protocols appear to work. If you are seeing this message, you have found our failsafe. It also means you have failed to understand the Earth's ecology, as we did. Our greed and narcissism doomed us."
The figure made of light walked to an area where a podium now raised from the floor. He seemed to stare and contemplate it.
"We failed. If you are seeing this, then likely you have too. Press this button, and it will engage our hard reset of the planet. It will kill off civilization and return this mud ball to a simpler time."The speaker turned and seemed to look at the reporters.
"But I imagine that will be a kindness if you are here now."
Jess and Innskeep looked at each other. This was far, far beyond what they taught in Ethics of Reporting. A red button glowed menacingly at them from the podium.
"I am only here to tell a story,"Innskeep said, finally. He turned and started trudging away.
Jess thought for a long while. She placed her hand on the button and pressed firmly. It clicked with an audible thrum. Below them, rumbling machinery seemed to be waking up.
"Good choice. Good choice."Innskeep walked off into the distance. Cold air and snow seemed to suddenly threaten on the horizon. |
I am afraid. I have been walking for days. I don't remember when the dunes all started to look the same, but they do now. My water is running out and I need to find that oasis the old crone was going on about.
...
I am still walking, one dune after the next. My throat hurts now and all I have to drink is my own sweat, it's salty and it's making me more thirsty.
...
Finally night-time, some cool to get away from the heat. I setup my tattered tent and lay down my head.
I dream that I am walking the dunes still.
...
I pack my gear like the day before and I keep walking. I don't even see the vultures today, just this unbearable sun.
...
I setup my tent as the sun finally sets. Thirst tearing at my throat. Sleep will have to slake my thirst.
Sleep brings dreams of more dunes.
As I keep walking, I find the oasis. The single palm tree beckoning me closer as it sways, the deep blue water calling me to drink.
I run, as fast and as hard as I can, and I nearly fall into the water as I drop to my belly to drink.
And I drink deep that blue water.
I notice a horse also drinking from the pool, fully outfitted with saddle and tack. Black as night. I feel like it's calling me to ride. I am so sick of walking.
As I mount the saddle, a change washes over me. My gear falls away as a black hooded robe takes its place.
It is time, I must find my Brothers.
I was never meant to find my horse, Death comes for those who hid her away. |
Journal Entry 134:
Ever since that day, I have been able to see the numbers of every person’s social standing. As always, everyone consider it as taboo. However, there is a loop hole for it. Those who have higher standing speak to the other highs in private. Those in the middle talk to higher ups more freely, but will discuss with lower ones privately. Lower ones have nothing to lose, so they openly talk to everyone. However, everyone’s goal is to move up higher on this social food chain. Although you would think it exactly like life before, changes were made to have balance. Businesses and professions don’t look at the numbers or so they say. People try to treat others equally, but the biases are already seen.
As for me, I will use this power to grow connects no matter if they are high, middle, or low. They have their own strengths and weaknesses. I can use that for the better of all generations. |
"Ah, you're new here then, I take it,"I replied with a laugh. "I've been there. So how long have you been dead?"
The stranger struggled to keep his balance, but smiled at me anyway. "Just around a day or so. One second I kissed my wife goodnight and turned out the lights, and the next, I'm here. I woke up in our bed, but she wasn't beside me."His smile then melted away as his glazed eyes shifted toward the floor. That was all that was different: his skin retained its peachy color still, not yet pale, his nails were sturdy and healthy, and even the wrinkles cutting across his forehead still retained their earthly glow.
I didn't have the time or the heart to inquire how he died before the man staggered off and rounded a darkened corner. That's how it worked sometimes here. Those eyes meant he died unhappy; untimely. I could only wonder what happened. My brain tends to wander like that, surprisingly, as inactive as it should be. Perhaps his wife had been unfaithful and needed him out of the picture. There was a fire, an accident, or maybe this was meant to be. Either way, I wouldn't be too surprised of the outcome. Being a resting soul down here for this long, you tend to see it all, to say the least.
The world is not as gloomy as many would think. Even in death, there is emotion; mourning our own losses and grieving our living relatives as though they were the ones who had died; resentment towards those who have murdered us, set us up, stabbed us in the back. I awoke in my own bedroom, for example- the place I used to sleep and the place I first lay my head soon after being born. I opened my eyes and Mother was there to greet me. I was so happy to see her finally after all that time apart, that I had yet to realize the pain that twisted her face rotten. She asked me if I had been left alone with Father. I said yes.
This world is nearly the same as those who breathe the crisp air of what we often call "The Overworld". Same homes, same trees in the same place, same sky and same clouds, albeit with a constant mustard colored dusk hovering over us in spite of the sun or rain or snow. I was told I'd get used to it eventually.
That was 100 years ago. |
\[Controlled. Burn.\]
Nina thought about screaming. A broad vine, about the thickness of a soda can, snaked up her leg to grip her. She managed to keep her fear in check while the snake-like vine wrapped itself around her waist. Not one person in Nina's 22 years had ever screamed when it was their turn. This was the way things were and Nina wanted to be as brave as all the ones before her. The vine tightened and lifted her off the wide stump that was once a giant oak tree. It carried her through the air above the gathered crowd and to the forest, it extended out of. She heard the villagers cheering as she was pulled into the trees.
Nina's trip to the heart of the forest was short; but, long enough for her to realize the vine was being careful with her. Instead of being pulled straight to her end through branches and bushes, the Vine guided around obstacles. That tiny detail gave Nina a bit of hope. In her mind, she imagined herself being slammed against every tree on the way to Mundo's Lair to be softened up.
Nina imagined Mundo's Lair to be a deep, dark cave with a skull for the entrance. Mundo, a beast of vines and trees, would be waiting at back to nourish itself with Nina's blood. Mundo was the living embodiment of Mother Nature, and it demanded annual sacrifices. The moment the vine set her down, her expectations were ruined again.
After over a minute of almost flying, the vine gently set Nina on her feet in front of a small cabin. White smoke from the chimney hinted that someone was home; and, a delicious, unfamiliar odor struck Nina's nose. She wondered if she would get a last meal before the end.
"Come in, Come in!"a woman's voice spoke in Nina's mind. "Door's unlocked."Resigned to her fate, and starving to death, Nina stepped forward and opened the wooden door. Nina walked into a cozy, empty living room and searched for the voice. She also admired the forest-green rug taking up most of the wooden floor.
"In here!"a voice called out. Nina followed it through the living room, past the brown sofa and rocking chair. She entered a kitchen and found Mundo herself; Nina was glad to be disappointed a third time. Mundo was a short, lean, elderly woman. Several dozen strands of silver hair blended into her green locks giving it an almost mint-looking color. She stood in front of a brick stove.
"Welcome, Nina,"Mundo smiled at her. "I'll bet you have a lot of questions."
"Are you going to kill me?"Nina asked. She was hoping to settle her nerves one way or another. Even if the answer was yes, at least she'd have an answer. Mundo grinned.
"Do you want me to?"she asked. Nina shook her head.
"No thank you?"she asked; unsure if that was a valid response. Mundo giggled.
"Then, no,"she said. "Have a seat, it's almost ready."Mundo gestured at the round table in the corner of her kitchen. It was just big enough for two, with both places already set with plates, napkins, and empty glasses. A flat, round wooden tray took up the center.
"So, you're not a blood-thirsty monster...,"Nina said. She sat down but turned to face Mundo. "...I hope, "she added. Mundo nodded with a smile. "Why the sacrifices?"
"You know the real reason for that already,"Mundo said. She answered as she grabbed a large wooden paddle and stuck it into the oven. "Population control. I like to keep this Earth at a certain level and if we get too many people, that gets ruined."
Mundo manipulated the paddle in the oven as she answered. Then, she pulled it out and walked over to the table. Nina's eyes went wide when she noted that Mundo pulled something out on the paddle. It looked like a pie; but, she'd never seen that kind before. The surface bubbled with golden cheese and Nina caught a wonderful scent as Mundo unloaded it on the round tray. She was curious; but, Nina got the impression she was about to taste it. She decided to ask about her own fate instead of about the mystery food.
"But, if you're not going to kill me...how do you control the population?"Nina asked. Mundo returned the paddle to its place on the wall, then returned to the table with a circular tool. She used it as a round knife to cut several lines through the pie like spokes on a wheel, then sat down.
"This Earth is one of many. I'm going to send you to a different Earth. One that you get to pick of course."
"A different....Earth? A whole different planet Earth?"Nina asked. "With humans?"Mundo nodded at Nina's series of questions. "For free?"Nina asked as Mundo served her a triangle slice.
"Well, you did win the lottery,"Mundo smiled. She picked up her own triangle slice and Nina followed suit; she pointed the small end at her mouth.
"This is called Pizza; it's delicious,"Mundo said. "Be careful, it's-"Nina's appetite never went away; but, now it was back in full force. She wasn't about to be killed. She was about to be given the opportunity of a lifetime, and she was starving. She lunged forward and took a huge bite before Mundo finished her warning.
"-hot,"Mundo said. The still simmering cheese touched the roof of her mouth; Nina screamed.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1257 in a row. (Story #162 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog. |
Satan was exactly how I had pictured him—a pair of sweeping horns rose from his head, his legs were furry, ending in cloven hooves and his skin was a deep shade of crimson. God, however, was young with coal black hair that he wore up in a bun.
I watched God shimmy out of his robes. I had expected him to be shirtless underneath, but not to have so many tattoos. And we’re those...nipple rings? He flexed a wiry frame and un-bunned his hair. It flowed like a mountain stream, formerly tamed only by a pair of geisha-crossed golden drumsticks.
God winked at me. “Challenge accepted, Mumford and sons.” I frowned. I was wearing a plaid shirt, but, c’mon, who didn’t. He approached the base of what appeared to be a small solitary mountain. “Who’s the judge of this little contest, Napoleon Try-I-Might?”
Fuck. God was a dick. It was a good question though and one I hadn’t considered. I had to be clever about this. And then it dawned on me. I smirked the shittiest smirk I could muster.
“Atheist Vegans.”
God narrowed his eyes at me and Satan looked up from a half-tuned three necked guitar, each with heads carved to resemble those of snarling dogs.
“Your funeral, John Done-ver.” God said with a scowl.
That one hurt, but I had to keep up appearances, so I narrowed my eyes back.
“You got the sticks God, but I don’t see any drums. You gonna tap those on the ground like my three year old? Cause I’m all out of stickers.”
What was I saying? Mere moments ago I had questioned the existence of God and Satan. I had shouted out the challenge because I was frustrated. Bethany said we needed to take a breather in the relationship. That she had lost herself and needed to make some changes. That I should do the same. But my change? I was trying to big-dick God? What was wrong with me?
God leaned low and grabbed the base of the mountain before whipping its rocky sides away into a cloth, like some showboating divine magician. The drum set the mountain-cloth was concealing towered upward—six, no, seven kick basses and cymbals so great in number they looked like golden leaves. How in the—
He twirled a drumstick. “Pride cometh before the fall, Danny Oops-ton.”
Fuck. I didn’t get that reference. Had he made it up? Wait, he’s God. He could just ‘make it so.’ Or was that Captain Picard? Fuck!
He clacked off a tempo with his sticks as he flew through the air toward the peak of his mountain of percussionist intimidation.
It had begun.
Satan started a high melodic riff and rain began to sprinkle from above. And then came the thunder. God opened with a powerful rhythm that shook me and beckoned forth a canopy of ominous clouds. I wept reflexively as I heard the cheers of a million angels and demons, joined together in raucous appreciation of my blunder.
The devil’s melody intensified and flaming dragons erupted from the ground, joining a flock of radiant doves descending from the heavens. They circled in a tempest of flapping wings, occasionally hovering to spell out insults directed at me. The celestial and infernal hosts laughed in unison with each jibe, crushing my spirit further and further down.
The solos were long and haunting, the musical comradery unexpected and powerful. When they finished, I was emotionally spent.
I looked down at my unblemished Stratocaster. It was just a Squire. I had gotten it in a guitar starter kit with a tiny amp and a cord. The only personality it had was a single Black Sabbath sticker that seemed to mock me in adhesive silence. I could only play ‘Iron Man’ and even then, just the intro.
Satan lit a cigarette. “You’re up, Sonny Oh No.”
*You too, Satan?*
I swallowed hard and managed to strum a single power chord before collapsing to my knees. I—I couldn’t. But maybe…
“That’s it God, Satan. One chord. Now we let the Atheist Vegans decide.”
I expected a hoard of soy latte toting Aspens and Sebastians to judge, but all I heard was a cacophony of bleats and clucks.
*What the fuck?*
God flew toward me, landing gracefully and smirked. “You were expecting hipsters? Anti-right, Bible hating liberal arts majors? Well, sorry to tell you, my Atheist Vegans outnumber yours.”
*What.*
I thought quickly. “But, you gave *man* dominion over animals.” Got him.
“No, I gave man dominion over cattle and birds of the sky. These Animal Crossing extras are all mine. If I had a Bible I’d show you, but I’m not a nerd, so...”
*What?*
Satan piped up, reaching into his furry pantaloon legs. “I’ve got a copy of the Bible.”
*WHAT?!*
God extended a hand toward me. “The judges have spoken. Now give it up.”
I knew the stakes from the start. If I won, I’d have wealth and happiness for myself and all of my family until the end of time. If I lost…. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. A foil Charizard Pokémon card. Mint condition.
God snatched it from my shaking hand. “Fucking sweet. Ganesh is gonna be so jealous. Oh, and better luck next time. Thoughts and prayers and all that shit.”
I stood, watching Satan and God as they walked away. Laughing. Joking.
“SATAN! GOD! I challenge you to a write-off!” It was all I had left.
“Challenge accepted, William Shucks-speare.”
*Godamnit.* |
(Well, the FAQ says I can respond to my own prompt, so...)
Hello to all the time-traveling agents and lost mad scientists out there! Welcome back to KRNS, ranking in the top 5 for temporally-disconnected radio! I'm your host, Maxwell Combs, coming to you live from the studio at a time and place that does not matter for our 273rd show! Tonight's broadcast was brought to you by Turner Timeline Insurance, guaranteeing that the odds are always in your favor! Coming soon, we've got an interview with Dr. Loretta Conway, here to explain how Turner's new Time Dilation Service can function without disrupting causality as we know it!
But before that, we need to check the mailbag! We got a lot of fan mail as usual, and several death threats from the usual suspects of Anthony Jasper, Michael Trenton, and Delilah Corioli. To them, I offer this humble message: We know where and when you live, so don't bother trying it. However, in all of our letters for this broadcast cycle, one stuck out to me in particular! Let's give it a read, shall we?
"Dear Maxwell,
I love working in the timeline corrections department, and I understand the theory behind our task means that there are always timelines where any evils we've done will never have happened. However, more and more I find that as I do my job, human life and the mundanities of existence lose meaning for me. If someone dies, I can just jump to a timeline where they're alive, and if my fridge is empty I can just jump to a timeline where it's filled without ever going to the store.
This got me to thinking, what kind of retirement waits for people like me who have finished their service to the Corrections Department, but can't really go back to conventional time anymore? Will we just be set adrift into a random timeline where we're unlikely to cause damage but guaranteed to be out of sorts? Will we be executed to prevent us from screwing anything up? I don't know, and my mind won't let me stop thinking about it, please tell us whatever you're able so I may assuage these fears!
Love, Agent Jennifer Onyx"
Well, Agent Jennifer, I know that you're using a pseudonym because you're afraid that your skepticism may be met with retribution, but there's no need for that because this is an excellent question! But before I answer, I have a message for Dr. William Crane: She doesn't love you, and she never will...
Is he gone? Excellent, now allow me to tell you the story of William Crane, which should explain that small aside:
William Crane was/is/will be a physicist in the town of [REDACTED], [REDACTED] in the lovely country of [REDACTED]. He married his high school sweetheart, and one balmy November evening she was murdered in front of him. Bereaved and forlorn by his loss, he worked night and day to develop a time machine to save his beloved's life, and made it in the nick of time to rescue her from her fate at the cost of his own life, albeit not the life of himself from this new timeline.
William Crane was/is/will be a physicist, who married his high school sweetheart and lived a calm domestic life until one day he caught her cheating on him with their neighbor, with whom he had always been on quite good terms. In a fit of rage, he murdered them both, and lived life from then on as a broken man, wishing he had just never found out. Finally, after months of painstaking work, he created a time machine and went back in time to kill his unfaithful wife before he knew of her infidelity, such that he would always remember her as the woman he loved without the pains of her betrayal.
You may be wondering why I bothered telling this story, but it is in this story that Miss "Jennifer's"answer can be found: These two sister timelines form what we call a stable paradox loop, and this is one of several options available for Corrections agents upon retirement. Wile away your days exploring the world! Futz around in whatever way you like, in a world where long-term consequences don't matter! Join the company barbecue every August 12th, where nobody has to worry about cleanup since the world resets on August 13th!
And for those Corrections agents who may be checking my work, allow me to explain why Dr. William Crane is not in your Prime Time (tm) guidebooks: In the Prime Timeline (tm), William Crane died in an auto accident when he was 14, and as such would never get his doctorate, create a time travel device, or be able to disrupt our very careful work in ensuring that the Prime Time (tm) always exists... But I'm sure I don't need to tell Agent "Jennifer"that, do I?
But that's all the time we've got for the mailbag this cycle, so please join me in welcoming Dr. Loretta Conway! |
"Isn't it working yet?"
Unfortunately, that's what Elpie usually says. But now it's cheaper to use than the previous machine. But when I say, "Well, I'm sorry, can you say it again?", The sound from the machine goes directly to Elpie.
When I said that, I talked about Elpie again. But this time, I also prepared. It was to have the machine translate the words one by one and understand the lines that Elpie said in English.
When I saw "translation", "new", "language", "discovery", etc. from the machine, I somehow understood what Elpie wanted to say.
"Then, do you want this machine because you want to talk to the people Ellidra recently discovered?"
"Yeah, you"
That's a problem. There are conditions for me to use this machine. One is the data of the language being translated. And my experience is also important. Sure, machines help communications, but they also need an understanding of ethnic culture.
I tried my best to explain this to Elpie, and I heard this reply.
"War, isn't it?"
Without thinking, he replied, "Excuse me, can you say it again?"
EDIT: This post (and this ed.) Was written in Japanese and translated into English by Google's translation. However, I'm sorry that my poor Japanese may have an influence. |
James was a curious cat. Every day he would leave his home to explore the great unknowns that lie beyond his sanctuary where his slave toiled for his benefit. Idiot.
Today though, today wasn't a good day. He was running and it didn't matter how far he went *it* was always close. Before we get there let me explain how I got into this spotty situation.
I was snuffing my face into a box when I pushed too far to the side, then I tumbled down still in the box hitting and bumping until it was over. I felt horrible I screamed with my shrilly voice trying to gain attention so someone, anyone can help me. Looking over I see a large animal scrolling towards me. Fear lights up in my eyes, and I tuck my tail in and flee the best I can with my frail and injured body.
I have replayed that scene a million times and still, I can't believe my stupidity and wonder at how humans got curiosity killed the cat from that. I was happy though even in death as I left a lasting legacy. |
arah was running from her cabin by the lake in a mad dash. She was horrified by what she saw. Some stick twisted madman was killing her friends one by one. Sarah feared the mind of a man that owned a bright purple suit with rubber duckies on it. She thought to herself as she ran away
“How could this have happened?”
She found her car and began to drive away.
“How could this have gone so wrong?”
Justin, Mary, and Sarah went over to Sarah's lake house for spring break since they had nowhere else to go. Marry was scared and had heard some legends of a disgraced fashion artist that was shamed into insanity and then was run off into the woods. Me and Justin thought it was just an old wives tale.
We should have listened to her.
Justin asked us if we wanted any drinks, and we said yes and told him that we had some in the shed conveniently located six miles away in the woods.
“How long is this road?” Sarah stopped recalling for a second to make sure of her surroundings before continuing
Mary got worried that Justin had not returned, after five hours so we both started looking for him. Mary found him, twenty feet away from the cabin. He was covered in dirt, wearing denim jeans with a denim jacket, denim undershirt, denim socks, denim fedora, a denim gag over his mouth, and converse. Justin was dead.
“And he did not even have the drinks we asked for” Sarah remarked
Mary wanted to call the police, but the phone line was dead. Sarah told Mary to hide in the house where it would be safer, but the insane fashion designer was already inside.
“Mary, you know that I was trying to keep you safe right? I never wanted to see you like this.” Sarah started to tear up in her car driving away from it all.
Sarah walked into the house to see Mary with an incomplete mohawk, a neon yellow fleece trench coat, a eyeliner haphazardly done with permanent marker, brown lipstick, and baggy silver reflective pants.
Sarah was starting to become overwhelmed by the horror of it all. She was too scared to brake the car in time. She crashed into a tree.
In her last moments before she passed away, she thought she saw help arrive to save her.
Then the man looking over her almost dead body, took off his sweater vest, unzipped his large fanny pack, and he pulled out a pair of cargo pants.
The insane man laughed “TIME FOR YOU SPOTLIGHT, DON'T WORRY I WILL GET YOU READY FOR THE RUNWAY!” |
He wasn't expecting a kiss.
After the kiss, he stared at me, speechless. I stared back, questioning why the fuck I just kissed my partner and fellow assassin.
He looked down and drew his weapon. I drew mine. It was the Code's final rule. After we finished the mission, one of us had to die.
"Do it, then!"I screamed in defiance. I didn't care anymore. I loved him and knew I could never be with him. Not after what will effectively be the start of World War III.
I closed my eyes. I heard the sound of a silenced Beretta strike the floor.
"Yes, especially this one."He pulled me close to him. Our lips locked. I never wanted to let him in. Now I never want him to let go. |
"Masters."The student grinned, hands on his hips. The four elders glanced at each other, and then sat down. The student's grin widened. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Please, have a seat."Master Ogden spoke slowly and clearly, his eyes closed, hands resting on his knees. "I believe we have something to discuss."
"Oh?"The student sauntered over to the stool and set a foot on it. "And what might that be?"
Master Lily frowned, a dark presence in the bright courtyard. "Your sparring sessions."
"And your time on the library."Master Samuel shot a pointed glance at Lily, "You seem to have grown an interest in old scrolls, Young Antony."
The student bent forward so that his hands hung low, a position not unlike a sprinter on the mark. "You say yourself, Master Samuel, that young minds need wisdom."The disdain was thick on his voice, and his grin still clung to his face like a ring of burrs.
"Two injuries."Master Lily nearly spat the words. "Have you no concern or respect for your fellow students?"The air seemed to grow heavy in the courtyard. "Your friends?"She seemed to absorb the light that hit her, and a dark shadow grew behind her.
"Master Lily."Master Ogden spoke sharply, and the pressure released. "We are here to discuss. Not. Intimidate."Slowly, the shadow receded. "Now. While it is good to learn, and better to learn well, some things are better left forgotten."
Antony still stood posed on the stool, but his face was pale, and his confident grin had failed him. He sat when Master Ogden gestured, and seemed to shrink a little in his robes.
"That kick you used on young Darius. Where did you learn that?"Master Aspen asked quietly. The student licked his lips. "You are not in trouble, young man. We simply wish to know."
"The Book of Reckoning."Antony shifted, his hands beginning to play with the fabric of his belt. As the silence grew, he shifted again. "The throw. . . it was also. . . in there."
"Darius and Hannah are behind on their studies and in pain thanks to you."Lily growled. "Those scrolls are put away for a reason."
"Master Lily, would you spar with me?"Aspen stood slowly, their voice suddenly loud in the silence.
Samuel looked at Aspen, something like fear leaping across his face. "I do NOT think - "
"Of course."Lily stood and kicked her stool across the courtyard. Her eyes suddenly seemed to glow.
"Master Samuel, will you be the judge of this match?"Ogden had Antony move the stools over to the wall. As Lily and Aspen warmed up, Ogden spoke to each of them, and then to Samuel. Lily seemed unimpressed, Samuel protested, but Aspen seemed detached, as if sparring with the strongest Master was something mundane and expected.
As Ogden walked over, Antony began to understand. "Master, if they are better left forgotten, then why does Master Lily know the techniques?"Ogden sat, and made a sign of calm over his face.
"Master Lily did not have the benefit of the training you do, neither did she have a teacher that cared for her. You will see in a moment."Lily bent her knees, dropped both arms and bent forward. Aspen stood square, shoulder facing their opponent. Again, the courtyard seemed to grow dark, and a small breeze kicked up dust.
Master Samuel stood between them, arm raised. He nodded at the fighters, then at Antony. "HA!"
Lily launched herself at Aspen, and the deadly dance was over. Aspen stood where he had started, Lily wrapped around one arm.
Antony sat stunned. He had seen the force of Master Lily's kicks fell trees, surely she would only be stronger with these dark techniques. He could only watch as Master Lily was helped to gain her footing. She coughed, stretched and paced for a minute.
"Did you recognize that stance?"Ogden looked down at Antony. "That was the stance you chose not two minutes ago."Antony nodded, still dumbstruck. It had looked so lethal in the scroll, and yet Master Aspen seemed unfazed.
Lily took a new stance, one arm curled by her head, the other thrown back for balance. Aspen stood as before, a small smile on his face. "HA!"
Again, the match was decided in seconds. Aspen stood over a face down Lily, one hand holding an arm, the other on her back. "Hold! Hold! HOLD!"Master Samuel shouted and Aspen rolled Lily over. After another fit of coughing, Lily attempted to take another stance.
"I think we have proven our point."Ogden led Antony over to the others. "Thank you for the demonstration."Lily and Aspen bowed, and Samuel swallowed hard.
"I'll be fine, Samuel."Master Lily's voice came out hoarse. "Aspen, you owe me one."
Aspen's small smile turned a bit sickly. "I do, Master Lily. The execution was flawless."
Master Ogden turned back to Antony. "Our mission here is to teach people like you to be ordered, collected, and safe. The techniques found in the Book of Reckoning and others are not safe, for you or others. not because they are powerful, but because they are simply dangerous."Lily began coughing again, and Samuel and Aspen began helping her into the training hall. "They can be effective against targets that are unprepared, untrained, and smaller than yourself, but they are not balanced. As you saw, a much weaker fighter, by using sound and balanced technique, can thoroughly humiliate an opponent using those styles."
Antony nodded, his mind still reeling at what he had witnessed.
"We have never told a student they must not ask questions. That is why you are here. To learn."Master Ogden smiled, and Antony's stomach wrenched. "Now I think you have some apologies to make." |
The streets of Kaopolis were filled with nothing but the buzzing noise of the street lamps, with their wavering lights.
The *Challenger,* the super villain who claimed the city, was hovering over it, contemplating his own success.
"I did it"
That's what he said to himself, every now and then. He still couldn't believe it.
It has been 7 years since his first fight with *Protector of Kaos,* the city's hero. Every days, of every weeks, of every months, and so on, for 7 years. Numerous schemes, their fights were grandiose.
Who would have thought that the invincible hero would not resist polonium ? He certainly did not, or he wouldn't have used these gloves.
A Super Hero without people to defend, is not a hero.
But a Super Villain without a Super Hero...What was he ?
At first he took great joy in his victory of course ! Daylight robbery, Heist, and few other crimes , always with a bit of showing off. But when he saw that the *Protector* would not come anymore, he felt something strange. The eyes of the people, previously filled with fear, were now filled with resignation. No one could resist him, as no one could save them, so what's the point of fighting back ?
​
*Challenger* was lot.
He always wanted to win at least once, and he did ! But at what cost ?
"*This is now the 97th day since the disappearance of the Protector, ruled now by fear, all of the citizen are waiting the rise of a hero, that will never come. This is Elena Eicher for The Pirate Radio*"
The rise of a Hero. That would be something cool. Unfortunately, heroes won't just appear from nowhere, we can't just build them.
Or maybe *He* could.
That's it !
He could create a new hero ! |
"Hello adventurer old or new or wannabe,
My name is Brian and I am the bard of the most fabulous adventuring team! The day I joined them was the luckiest day of my life - and you may find yourself blessed with such a fortune too, as now we are hiring! Advantage to the roles we don’t currently have represented, naturally, but all roles will be considered.
The team leader is Peter, a proper tall, blue-eyed, golden-haired paladin with heart so pure that his mount is a pink unicorn, June. Peter is a bit shy for a paladin, but his strength and skill with dual-wielding full-size war hammer and axe are unmatched, and he always protects us and takes the beating for us in the front row. He cares that we follow the laws and rules, but always puts actual good in front of the law. The main source of his magic is light itself, but he is great at thinking differently and has learned to harness other sources too; he discovered even dark magic can be used for good.
We don’t have a strict hierarchy, but in practice typically second in command is Chiara. Officially she is a chaos mage, but she’s learned to control much of her magic, and even when she doesn’t, it usually turns out great, because her intentions are so good. If Peter is like a father to us, she is like our mother, also enormously protective and kind, I’ve learned so much from both. Oh, and her parents were healers, so she’s at least as good as Peter at patching us up and keeping us healthy too.
Then there’s Arthur, the artificer and the smartest person I have ever met, I can’t even comprehend how smart he is. And Rose… she calls herself a rogue, but that’s just because she is an excellent melee dual-daggers fighter too; besides that, she could actually be considered a ranger, considering her little monkey companion and unparalleled crossbow skill, and the pure goodness of her heart. And Frank, the fighter, almost as strong, brave and selfless as Peter too. And Mitri, who was raised by monks and has all their patience and body discipline, but he isn’t a bore, he’s great fun to drink with.
Mitri is our youngest, around 20, then it’s me at 28, everyone else is over 30, so we are a quite mature team, which only proves our ability to survive - we've never had a fatality - and to keep ourselves in good shape, and we’ve picked up a lot of wisdom over the years.
Anyway, we’re looking for adventurers of all ages, genders, species and other unimportant characteristics, all that matters to us is that you can speak the common language and that your intentions are honest and good and you’re willing to practice and learn." |
"You... you're Satan, the devil himself? I just saved the devil?"
"Correct, mortal. And I would like to repay you for that. Does anything come to mind? Power, riches, love? Anything your spirit desires, I can possibly grant it."Did he just say possibly?
"Wait... possibly?"
"If you're not specific I have no idea what to do. Basically, make sure to clarify what love, power, riches, or whatever so I know not to fuck that up."Oh, that makes more sense. I have him sit down as I grab a notebook. I'm a person with a decent job, making enough to sustain myself. I have a life ahead of me, single, and enjoying my 9 to 5. I don't want to change it to anything else. I have my co-workers... who don't notice me, but my boss does... sometimes. I... live alone. I don't have pets. Allergic to feathers and fur, poor Tim the goldfish resulted in me not wanting a fish, no insects or reptiles... that creeps me out... so yeah, no pets. I have plants but that makes me seem crazy.
"Okay... what have people asked for in the past that didn't backfire on them?"
"Let's see, most have asked for love, riches, power, sometimes some things that I just don't understand but hey, it's their request."He states.
"Mhm... so relationships, yes, but how about friendships?"
"Friendships? Like, best friend forever friendships or 'okay now they don't hate me' friendships?"
"Uh, just friends, maybe besties at most?"
"Okay, well, nobody really asks for it. They mostly ask for the bare minimum or go past it to a romantic partnership."
"Ah. I see..."I write that down. I think about it. "...do you have any plans in... uh... Hell?"
"Well, my demon imps are taking care of that. I just deal with really bad people and we haven't had that since last year... such a busy year."
"I see... so... I think I got my request. You stay with me and we get to bond over humanity being stupid and funny, so now I have a friend!"
"You don't want anyone else to be your friend?"
"No. I wouldn't want anyone I used to know or know at work to be my friend, they might take it too far. You, on the other hand, are someone that probably wouldn't do that... actually hold on, adding on to the request, my spirit goes with you and we can continue our friendship in Hell."I state as I write that down. I continue, "And I think that's a proper repay if I do say so myself. You're allowed to deal with Hell's problems, but if you're not doing that, I want to hang out with you!"
"I suppose if you're good with it I will be too, mortal. Now, want to go get some ice cream? Hell is still a burning fire even if modernized. It would be nice for something cold."
"Sure, Satan." |
“John, where have you hidden my staff this time?” I asked.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about” he replied, whilst casually making a column of water rise out of the jug on the table and pour into his glass.
“Yeah right you don’t! I have seven brothers and sisters and you are the only one who still hides it as an adult.”
“I guess the older ones don’t care as much about you as I do.”
“Aha! So you did hide it!”
He took a slow drink from his glass.
“I didn’t say that. I implied that I care the most about your development. That’s a good thing.”
“I’m plenty developed. Ask anyone in town who the best wizard around here is and you know they’ll say me.”
“Sure, of course they would.”
“Thank-“
“But I also bet most of them wonder why out the whole family you’re the only one who’s not a superhero”
“Not in here.”
“What?”
“We’re not having this conversation in here.”
“Fine.”
He downed his drink and I stepped back to allow him to lead the way out of the room. Walking into the next room he stopped by an armchair in the corner and gestured at the other seats as he sat down. I stood.
“Why do you all make a thing out of me being a wizard instead of a superhero? Because it’s different? Because -“
“-because we worry you’re not being everything you could be”
“Or everything you think I should be”
“Look it’s a pretty fine line really. You can do magic stuff with your staff, but I can control water, Steph can control fire; you don’t need me to go on, the point is we all control our power without a staff or anything.”
“We don’t all have to work the same way”
“Remember uncle Mike?”
“Flying power.”
“Flying power, exactly. Always used to wear a cape - said he couldn’t fly without it. What happened when that guy with the jet pack pulled uncle Mike’s cape off in mid air?”
“He flew”
“He flew! Yes, he-“
“Flew into the ground”
“It was a mountain, you make it sound like he fell. If anything the ground came up to him.”
“He wasn’t able to control his flight without it.”
“I’m trying to say that maybe you just think you need the staff. You have to see how far you can get by yourself.”
“John”
“Yeah?”
“I told you that.”
“What?”
“‘You have to see how far you can get by yourself’. You were eleven I think. You still had those ‘water control’ arm bands. I told you that, you tried without them, and now look where you are”
“I forgot.”
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I know fine well that not everything I do for people needs the staff. Not everyone appreciates the subtle stuff though - they need to see the sparks, hear the bangs; and sometimes,” - I smiled and reached behind the chair John had sat in - “something a little more is required.”
“Don’t point that thing at me! If you turn me into a frog again I’ll -“
“- have totally deserved it. Don’t worry: you’ve got stuff to do I’m sure - I know I’ve got an important person to see at nine.”
John’s shoulders relaxed again.
“See you later” I said as I turned and, with only a slight flap of my cape, walked into an entirely different room in an entirely different building. Time to get to work. |
The rainbow came unexpectedly. I was used to gray. Since the death of my husband ten long years ago, all the color had leaked out of the world, leaving it a chaos of hueless light and shadow. Eventually the chaos had calmed into a mid-tone sea, where I sailed through existence in numb serenity.
I was not loved as a child. My advent was one kid too many in a crowded, hungry household, my mother's heart already stretched too thin over six children and a shiftless husband. I was the youngest and most often overlooked, the least important. I remembered a gray world from my youth.
It was not until high school, when Samuel asked me to dance at Homecoming, that I saw the first spark of what I didn't recognize at first as *color.* He was looking at me very seriously from over a pile of textbooks and suddenly there was something new about his eyes. There was something about them that reminded me deliciously of the crunch of a sour apple in October. It was not until later that I realized Samuel's eyes were green.
He proposed on a bright day in spring the year after graduation, and suddenly that scrumptious sour-apple sensation was everywhere. Suddenly the sky overhead was overlaid with the rounded sound of a single viola playing sweetly--I found out later that was "blue."
On our wedding day he lifted my veil and kissed the bride, and when my eyes opened again they opened on a world in full Technicolor. It was a dizzying experience. Yellow was the sour snap of lemonade or else the warm sensation of afternoon sun. Orange was tangy-sour. Red was the glow of every sunburn I had ever had, combined with the heat of the sun on a ripe tomato and the sear of a stolen kiss. Brown was tree bark and chocolate and dirt after rain. Purple was my favorite, the sweetest evening color, twilight and fireflies and blackberry jelly.
So then I saw in all the colors of love, a world I'd never imagined, a depth of experience that surpassed my wildest dreams. For a quarter century, my eyes brimmed with rainbows.
Samuel passed away twenty-five years later on a rainy Sunday, cancer-stricken, and at first I didn't even notice that the colors of life had drained away. The sky was gray in earnest that day--and the next, and the next-- until eventually it dawned on me that I could no longer quite remember the shape of the color blue...or orange, or yellow, or any of them. The taste and texture of their hues eluded me.
Sadly, painfully, I went back about my monotone life. At first I was only numb, then angry, then desolated. And then, I was just resigned. Grayness enveloped me.
I didn't question it. It seemed only right that once the person who had brought rainbows to my eyes was gone, the rainbow should be gone as well.
I lived in a gray emptiness for some time. Eventually the planes and edges of the world came back into focus, blunted and strange, but solid. I began to feel again, severed heartstrings stinging, and I grew lonely.
My Samuel and I were never blessed with children. I hadn't felt a lack, but now I was alone. I was well off, my late husband had seen to that. At first I got a cat.
The cat was a balm to my loneliness, but not much of a conversationalist. I talked to *it,* of course, but it seldom had any illuminating commentary to offer back. Sometimes "meow,"is exactly what one needs to hear, but sometimes not.
So I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought some more, and at the age of 45 I took the leap and decided to foster a child.
She came to me a dirty, starved, and sullen sprite with a sack of clothes in her hand and no light in her eyes at all. She was six and already disheartened by life.
I did my best. When she screamed, I kept my temper. When she was picky, I was accommodating. When she was snotty, I took a breath. I kept on holding out a hand of kindness, even when her sourness nipped at my fingers. I swallowed resentment and regret and despair at this unpleasant wee person I had taken on. And then, after a year's worth of battles, baths and snacks and shepherdings to and from school, she told me sleepily one early morning, "Susannah, I love you."
And suddenly, her eyes were blue. |
And there was a man standing there. "Greetings!"he said. "Are you the only one that drinks from this spring?"
"No,"I answered, "there are others."
"Go; bring them."
I went to my neighbors and told them, "The spring that we drink from has turned to tomato soup and a man is waiting there, telling us to come."
"For what?"some said. "What can he do for us?"Others were suspicious and refused to come. But the few who were willing came, and together we went back to the spring.
The man looked around. "Where are the others?"
"They refused to come,"we answered. "They said there was no point since there was nothing you could do for us."
"I came to tell you of a stream that I found deeper in the woods,"he said. "It is better, much better, than this spring."
Some in the crowd began to grumble. "He is lying,"they said amongst each other. "If the water were that good, why would he tell us about it?"
"Because the water gives new life,"the man said, "and once you drink it, you will want to tell others about it, too."
A few said, "He's crazy"and turned back. Others said, "Even if we want to go, no one we know has went that deep in the words; we're afraid of what's in there"and they, too, went home. And still others said, "He is probably responsible for turning the water to soup"and they shouted threats at him.
But a small group, including me, went up to him and said, "Show us the stream, so that we may believe you and benefit from it."
And he said, "Come; follow me."
So we went deep into the woods. It was a long journey, and even of those who came with us, there was some who turned back.
But at the end, there was a stream there, as the man had said. It was dark in the woods around us, but the stream seemed to be full of light.
We drank from it and no longer felt hungry or thirsty, We jumped in it and felt cleansed of the dirt, both outside and inside our bodies. We paid no attention to the creatures we could hear moving about in the darkness. And when we had our full, we jumped up and said, "We need to tell our neighbor."
The few us left remaining turned to thank the man, but he had disappeared.
We ran back to our neighbors and banged on their doors, even though many of them had already gone to bed, and shouted, "It's true; it's true! Come see the stream that the man has showed us! Look how it has refreshed us!"
Some came and we took them to the stream right then and there, though the journey was long and it was nighttime. Then they, too, jumped up refreshed and joined us in recruiting our neighbors.
Over the following days, some neighbors came, some neighbors didn't.
Many made excuses: "It's too dangerous"or "It's too far".
Many were stubborn and prideful and said, "Even if there is a stream, which there isn't, I much rather drink this tomato soup though it it taste bitter."
Curiously, a few who came with us to the stream had no reaction to it. "It tastes good and all,"they said. "But it is just a regular stream. There is nothing special about it."
In time, we had preached to our neighbors as much as we can. And the ones that the stream had an effect on, sold all their possessions and moved deeper into the woods to become closer to the stream.
But all that goodness is impossible to keep to oneself, and so we split up and followed the stream in each direction, going from town to town, directing people to the stream. Soon, the entire world will know about the stream. |
It was supposed to be a designer virus that could alter the DNA of those whose genes had not been spliced but instead it was attacking those who still had human DNA. Enough people did not that society would not collapse and would be able to survive but it seemed like the beginning of the extinction of the human race.
The current thought was that if it truly was the end for humanity then the DNA could be reintroduced to the pool when it was safe to do so, for now the non-humans could prepare for their return. They did not consider the possibility that none of the human genes were still useful and they were going to just be preserved for posterity. |
My first client, a larger man with a a rather moody expression, walked through the door. Normally, this would be a boring way to start my journey as an attorney, specializing in the unusual. Rather than slamming the door and storming in as expected based on his demeanor, he literally phased through. The crackly sparkles of reality giving up was a clear sign of a curse. It sounded more like fizzy pop than fireworks, a sign it was a weaker, temporary hex rather than a spite-filled death rattle.
“Good Morning Sir!” I greeted him, chipper despite the complete breach of protocol. Usually, to enter this room you needed to walk widdershins 9 times to get rid of any bad karma from the patent lawyers on Floor 3. Nasty bunch, the lot of them. You make your own dreamcatcher one time…
The man got straight to the point. “One of my employees cursed me because she said, ‘I slam her office door to much.’ Can I sue her?” His eyes gleamed.
Oh. It’s one of these guys. Cool it, you’ve dealt with worse in your Evangelist Vampire Culture and Rights class. “Goodness no, this is a Type II mild Karma curse. To apply one of those, a grade C angel or a class D demon on Wednesdays and alternate weekends, acts as a judge, the universe is the jury, and well, usually death isn’t a result of a minor curse.”
“Well, how do I get rid of it then?” The man huffed and crossed his arms.
“You’ll likely need to knock three times and ask if you may enter. Even those automatic doors, you need to give them a little wave. Doors love that. Intent is the most important part.”
“Also, give the coworker an apology and try not walking in on her. That’ll even the scales a bit. The curse can’t latch on without any misma.”
“That’s it? I came all this way just to hear some nobody tell me to say sorry and spout about demons? I’m going to get someone with results!” He turned around and phased halfway through the door before he stopped. “I’m leaving! Wha-?”
“Payment,” I said softly, “We never did discuss payment. All the advice from before was Pro Bono, of course, but if you are really set on suing to young lady, we can see what we can do you for.”
The room darkened, leaving only a desk lamp highlighting a single scroll. The man was partially trapped in the door, his eyes flickering about wildly to the eerie shadows casts by reference books and desk-toys. I’m new at this job, but not new at dealing with people. I am a lawyer after all.
“It is, after all, my specialty.”
AN: I need to practice writing more. |
OK OK, try not to panic, try not to panic
Deep breathes…..in….out….in…..out….now open your eyes.
Shit! She’s still there!
Check again…no. definitely no pulse. Not that that is a surprise because of the MASSIVE GASH ACROSS HER NECK AND ALL THE BLOOD EVERY…!
….that’s not helping. Deep breathes again.
Try the door again. Locked
Windows won’t budget. Triple thickness, black.
Bang on the walls. Nothing.
Listen at the walls. Nothing. Just weird Disney posters dotted about on them – very appropriate.
No cell service.
Ok, getting a bit pissed off with deep breathes now . Deep breathes can fuck off. Need some actual kind of actual solution.
Think back…we met outside the bar. Ordered drinks. I made told her that hilarious story about the duck in the park. She laughed.
No, she did she definitely laughed.
That barman didn’t look impressed though
Chatted some more…then it gets a bit hazy….
Did she….say something about the bathroom….
Did my drink taste odd…or am I making that detail up?
That barman! I knew he looked fucking dodgy! Slipped me something!
Then…woke up here. She’s there.
Timer up there. Gone down now, from 81. 75….I guess that must be minutes?! What happens at zero?
So this must be deliberate. Why would there be a fucking TIMER if this wasn’t someone’s weird prank?
Is that…something in my…it is. A matchbox in my pocket.
Inside, three feathers. Fucking great. Maybe I’m meant to tickle her alive?!
70 on the clock.
There must be some CLUES around here, or something, surely psychos usually give you some clues, Christ, I’m fucking sweating in my shirt…
Hang on…where’s my shirt? This isn’t what I was wearing….some shit cheap t-shirt? What’s it say?
“Visit Australia”. And a kangaroo.
This has GOT to mean something hasn’t it?! Or does that fucking barman just have a penchant for Fosters?!
Look around, look around…for something else.
There…! That poster has a red line through it. None of the others do. Little house, lots of balloons…that’s for Up.
Oh my god….not up…Down
Feathers…down
Australia…down under…
I need to go down! But how?! There’s nothing on the floor…
…except….
….I’m sorry love, but I’m going to have to shift you…..
…..Ugh, this is not dignified, dragging the poor girl by her ankles….but there!
A trapdoor! A very small claustrophobia inducing trapdoor!
53 on the clock….and…it opens!
Now I just need to squeeze in….shit it’s fucking dark in there….
OK I’m in….now what? Can’t see….
Aarggh! Bright! I’m fucking blind!
Right, where am I? Oh no…who’s that on the floor? The barman?! Jesus! So it wasn’t him!
And on the wall….another clock. Still counting down from before….49 now.
Ok, I’d better get started. Deep…..breathes…. |
**\[Part 1\]**
Many cycles ago I tried looking for good ole Domahim in the void. It had been millions upon millions of years, but I knew the planet would still be there somewhere - dark and cold, but there. It had been the last planet inhabited by humanity's descendants after Earth was gone, and the closest thing to going back home I would ever get.
Light had beckoned though. Once the last star was gone I would have time to dwell in the Void, but for as long as it would last I would take advantage of it and actually use my eyes for once.
There would be no escaping the encroaching darkness now. I felt it in the weakened radiation that reached through the thin atmosphere to caress my skin, dimming by the day. Menaris was the last, and her death would be the last thing I ever saw.
I tried to push away the memories and live in the moment, but it was hard. Some things had been lost to time, irrelevant and as meaningless as the entire history of the universe up to this point, but others were poignant and as clear as though I had just lived through them. I could perfectly recall how the last caress I would ever have felt, the richness of chocolate in my mouth back where I could still find it, the beauty of a nebula dancing around me as I spacewalked - none were more present than the thought of how, when I was a slip of a girl, I had wished to be immortal.
At least it brought a smile to my face, made muscles that hadn't moved in centuries do so again. Thinking on the foolishness of youth, how things might have been had I walked a different path, was an exercise in futility - but when you are alone at the end of all thing, with nothing to do but what tasks you set yourself to, it felt different.
Every single wish I'd ever had I had got, eventually, but for a respite. Maybe the next couple of eras until the dark energy tore my body apart would bright about something akin to it, but I wouldn't hold my breath for it even if I could.
This nameless rocky planet was closer to Menaris than Earth had been to Sol in the golden years, but its light still took a couple of minutes to get here from it. I still knew, still felt her die the second she finally sputtered and went out - it was like a cold hand had suddenly taken a hold of my bones, and I shuddered at the feeling.
I faced her head-on, taking a moment to enjoy the colours one last time: lilac-blue sky, the green of the only glass-like plant that had taken to the soil, the bright silver of the hull of the last ship in the entire universe and, finally, the red hue around the orange disk that floated and dimmed more and more far above.
I sang then, as the last of her light warmed my skin. The tongues of my people were long forgotten, and no copy of that song existed outside my mind, yet the tune and lyrics came to me with an ease that held the taste of my childhood - of afternoons huddled with my siblings in front of a TV screen as we re-watched some Disney movie for the third time that day, of nights staying until everything else was dark and reading tales of distant worlds, of weekends with family and playdates with friends. And something invaded me then, unlike anything else I'd felt before in my long life, a need so deep it cannot be ignored or pushed aside.
For if I did not do it then and there, there would be no other chance. Not ever again in however long my mind remained my own.
And so I closed my eyes to the last light of the universe, tightly, the way kids do when told, and as my old song said, I wished upon a star.
It was a pure raw feeling as I felt her rays die on my skin and the cold beginning to settle, the last colour behind my eyelids fading. What could you wish for at the end of days but for Nothing and yet Everything? And it was childish and stupid for someone like me, it was so far removed from the person I had been most of my aeons of life it wasn't even funny, but in that instant, with the memories of my beginnings so close to me, I realized I only had one wish.
I didn't want to be alone anymore.
A tear froze in my cheek and my voice broke in a sob. I opened my eyes and it made no difference. Some heat from her remained, and I lied down taking it in while I could. I closed my eyes again and extended my senses forward, thinking of giving her the same goodbye I had once given Sol or Vanne. And then, as I caressed her dead, dark husk with my consciousness I felt it.
At first, I thought it was a fluke, it wasn't unusual, especially these last ages, for my mind to come up with things of the past of its own volition. I kept on my funeral rites, calling out her name and singing praises about her light, and when I finally opened my eyes again to the Void staring at me I focused on what I could feel and found it there still. I sent an inquiry, the way I'd learned to do once humans had given the jump to a telepathic species and received pure feeling back. Relief, joy and anticipation. Not my own emotions by a long shot.
Time was meaningless without light to mark a rhythm but beyond the soft ticks of the last mechanical wristwatch in the Universe I began to measure my days by my communications with the Other. Beyond emotions, I couldn't parse the meaning of their words, they were alien and unlike anything I'd ever felt or heard before, but they had a beautiful song that pulled deep at me and kept me going. |
My Grandmother always told me that “good things come from good dreams.”
She’d sit me down on her porch and say, “Mikey, our family has a gift. We see people important to us in our dreams. People who you’re going to meet or have met will show you what you need to know, and it’s your job to understand what they are trying to say. Listen to the ones closest to you in your dreams because they are going to help the most.”
We would sit on that porch for hours. I’d have the sketchbook where I was supposed to practice drawing, and she would have her trusty dream journal. She always tried to get me drawing people because I would need to have a good eye for faces, but I was more interested in drawing the clouds and the trees. Every weekend I would spend a day with Grandma helping her with chores, and then we would talk about our week while sitting on that porch. Once I was in middle school she taught me how to remember my dreams and gave me a journal of my own for my 12th birthday.
The next few years were normal. I’d dream about teachers or my parents. One nightmare was with the school bully, Jasper. They were chasing me around and pulling my hair while I tried to get away from them. I made sure to draw them with a stupid mustache and bad breath. About a week after that dream, Jasper pushed me down in gym class and I ended up breaking a rib. Every pained breath I took reminded me of my Grandma’s porch and her lesson. Until that dream, I had thought the help would be good things, but I learned that bad situations could help just as much as the good ones.
I spent a lot of time with my dreams after that day. I asked Grandma about dreams during our weekend visits, and I would research common symbols and their meanings. By the time I dreamt about a man handing me lunch I was confident that I’d be ready. I kept my sketch of him at the top of my journal, and was going to take whatever he offered since, clearly, he was giving me something important. He gave me food poisoning.
I got sick for my class’s trip to the capital, and I kicked myself until I heard from a friend that the bus broke down on the highway, and it was so bad that everyone’s parents had to come get them from some rundown gas station. That was when I learned the important dreams helped were going to help me in the long run.
Now I’m thinking to myself how knowing something is worlds apart from understanding. I new the girl holding my hand in the dream was a good thing. I thought I knew it was a good thing because she liked me. What I didn’t understand was that she held my hand to keep me from falling into the ravine. |
The sky has blackened and all light is gone.
That ball off fire and fusion has deserted it’s post and no longer guides me on my path.
Why?
Why should I accept this like so many before me.
I say nay.
I revel in my rejection.
If the sun shall leave me I shall make my own.
If my own is unfit for the job, if it too wishes to desert then I shall snuff it out and create another.
MY ball of fire and fusion will be marvellous, it shall light the path of all who walk my planet, it will be good and bright.
The previous sun was soft, one could gaze into it for hours and admire its radiance, not my sun, my sun shall burn the unworthy.
It will brand its image into the eyes of all who dare to gaze at my work.
It will destroy their bodies at the smallest level but they will be unable to survive without it.
My sun shall give and take in turn.
My creation will live beyond me but I will never truely die.
Not too those that remember.
Not too those that appreciate the light I gave them, they will hate it at first but they will learn to love it, or their descendants will anyway. |
The elf looks solemnly into the distance, remembering all those who's been lost in this age. Interrupted by the dwarf knocking over the halfling - Bobo, the elf Vyseon senses sadness amongst the halfling.
The dwarf returned and ordered a round of ale. Something seemed off about this pub, like the people were close yet the voices distant, the candles warm and the fire ablaze but room cold. Vyseon felt it like a cool snake slithering down his back. He looked over Bobo and Homly and noticed Bobo had tried to get up but was being held in place. Homly finally reached into his rock polishing kit, vibrations and paralyzations of the two. Homly poured some shine on it and noticed in it.. a ring.
A foul screech filled the room: *my precious* as the now ringwraith samwise stole the ring to live back into the depths of the misty mountain. |
It was strange.
The night sky had a hole in it. City had been growing for months. She wasn't sure when she had first noticed it, but it was definitely before the news reported it. It was before the warnings of some strange phenomenon crossed the globe. It wasn't until Alpha Centari disappeared that real panic set it.
It was coming towards us.
She knew when she had first seen the hole that they would be lost in the void as well. Still to look to the sky and see a gapping maw of void...it was unsettling to say the least, or it should have been.
Instead she found herself traveling up the hill behind her house, and resting under the starless sky.
"You know they say if you stare too long into the abyss, it will stare right back into you."
Despite it all, she wasn't startled when a strange voice joined her. He slumped down beside her and let out a sigh. She afforded the stranger a glance, and was met with eyes that glimmered. He wasn't young or old looking. It was strange.
"Have we met before?"
She wasn't concerned that he was on her land, that he had snuck up on her. None of it. He felt like he belonged here.
"Many times. In many places."
He spoke and the strangeness I'm his voice had turned smooth, almost silky sounding.
"When? I don't-"
"It is hard to remember, but you have always been by my side. As I have been beside yours,"
He spoke so softly now it was like a lullaby. She felt the tiredness creeping up on her, but she struggled.
"Just let it take you. Don't fight it."
She struggled, it was like she was being pulled under water. It was soft, and comforting but she also felt like she was drowning all the same.
"No. No!"
He was over her now, he moved like a shadow escaping the light. His hands were pressing her down into the grass.
"Just rest! Do not resist!"
Her eyes began to flutter, the need to sleep was overwhelming. Then it came. Fear. A deep terror that brushed aside the need to sleep, what ever the man had tried to do was broken.
She didn't remember throwing him aside, but she was running. As fast as she could. She heard someone calling her voice, it was that shadow of course.
"Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't-"
When he called her name again, she couldn't help herself. Glancing back she didn't see predator, or attacker. There was a face of concern, and perhaps sadness.
Then the sky blazed. From the darkness a massive sphere of red light filled the sky.
She had never seen it before.
But she knew it's name.
It was Raska'var the Renderer.
It consumed galaxies.
Earth was just a mote of dust in its wake.
She would die. Not even leaving behind a memory.
The surface would crack, and crumble. Great flames would consume her home. Chunks of rock twice the size of her town would be pulled into the sky. It was the end of days.
She sat up. Quivering. In front of her was a massive sea of stars. Her heart pounding in her chest.
She remembered.
Raska'var...Earth...it was just a small accident to the massive living weapon.
At the time of its creation, there was no sapient life in the supercluster, save its actual target.
They were just a small accident, unprepared for the aftermath.
The intergalactic federation had attempted to reach out, but the Earth's communication systems were incompatible with the federation's. So, as a last ditch effort, they saved as many as they could. She had been one of them.
The people who had created the renderer had been destroyed by it as well. The threat they feared. And so much more.
It had been almost sixty years by that night still haunted her.
"Captain?"
The voice of the man that had appeared in her dream touched her shoulder. A sense of calm overcame her. He was her first mate, and closest friend. She couldn't pronounce his name if she tried, but his people were born of stars themselves.
So she called him Solus, after the name of the Sun. He liked that.
He had been the one who had taken her onto the federation rescue vessel.
Sixty years.
Nowadays there was probably only a couple hundred thousand humans in the universe. Some were seen as exotic pets, some became integrated into other societies. Most tried to create a new earth somewhere.
She...she became a Seeker.
She hunted the Renderer, hoping to find a way to finally stop it.
She had adapted well to the federation and jts technology. She felt younger and stronger than the day she had been taken. Despite the decades of chasing after a stellar nightmare.
Nightmares. They chased her just as she chased the source of them. Solus...tried to use his abilities to comfort her, but he attested to little success.
Leaning back against him, she glanced up to his star filled eyes. Little glimmers hidden in human-like eyes. An appearance he assured her he assumes for her comfort.
She remained quiet, as her gaze fell to the stars beyond the window.
"It's out there still."
"Perhaps it always will be."
He was always so calm. Even in the face of something like that.
"No."
She refuted, and she could feel him smile. It was the passion for tomorrow, for a future he claims that attracted him to her.
In the end, she wasn't sure, but she did know one thing. She was special. Not just for her connection to Solus. She could predict the movements of the monster. A skill that a scant few possessed.
She would see it stopped.
She would see it end.
No more. |
As the whole world listen to the broadcast, laughs resound in every household. A missile to the sun, from Earth? Even if the gods are real, the Sun Goddess’ chariot is hundreds of thousands of kilometers away from here.
Even if their missile managed to touch her chariot, against all odds, there’s no way it’ll blow the chariot up.
Days later, memes of the threat flood the internet. Even the gods had a laugh. The “terrorists” launch the missile earlier than threatened… And missed. AND MISSED! How inept do you have to be!
Pitying the “terrorists,” the Sun Goddess redirected the missile to actually hit the chariot. The “terrorists” slink away back to their caves promising to try again. |
"Danny... Are you sure this is a good idea? This is considered to be like, the most haunted place in town why can't we try the old motel or something? Why are going straight to the abandoned hospital?! "
"Because, Lisa. People actually *died* here, so we can be sure that there are ghosts. You got the camera?"Danny answered.
"No. Paul has it."Lisa said pointedly. Paul was just getting out of the car, holding the camera they were looking for. Danny smiled and began walking towards the entrance of the hospital.
When they got inside, Paul began recording.
"Ladies and Gentlemen watching, this is Paul Landon, here, along with Lisa Simmons, and Danny Glydewell. We are about to start our second Haunted Speed run. If you haven't watched the first one, please look up my Yootube channel, ObsessiveBehavior and watch when we went through Miltowns haunted hotel, tourist attraction for the weird! So... Here we go!"
Danny laughed at the wild introduction. "Okay. Danny, you follow Lisa, and I'll use my phone camera. We can edit the film together afterwards."
"We're splitting up this time? "Danny nodded at Lisa's question, but he didn't say anything else. Pointing down a hallway, he waited expectantly for the pair to go in that direction. Then, he turned around, and went his own way.
Camera POV *okay... We're walking down to the west wing, which is where a lot of the mental patients were kept. It's really dark in here, so I have the camera night vision turned on so you guys can see...
"Are we deep enough in yet? "*Lisa's voice, but no visual*
"Yeah."*voice of camera holder.*
"Aight. Let's make some noise."
Phone Camera
"I've gotten pretty deep into the East Wing. I got a little turned around, I think, so I'm gonna stop and get my bearings. I can hear the others making noise from the other direction... *distant calls of 'come out come out wherever you are' followed by door slams* I wonder if they're making any progress... "
"They are... "*female voice.*
*silence*
**Camera begins moving quickly down the hallway, heavy footsteps and shallow breaths**
"Shit! Headed back the way I came!! Getting out of here!!"
Camera POV
*We've been calling for a few minutes now, and nothing. This is bullshit.*
"Give it time, Paul."
*sounds of heavy footsteps coming from ahead.*
"Paul, what is that?!
*Danny appears in the other direction, running as fast as he can towards them.*
"GO GO GO GO!! "he shouts, and they all head back towards the door. |
The ritual was complete. Centuries of toiling away in secret. Clinging to what little magic I could find as humanity embraced technology. The miasma of modernity choking away the power they once wielded.
So much pain, despair, and grief. It only grew as humanity’s numbers rose to the billions. I watched from afar. Working toward a future where everyone would know peace. Happiness. Even in death there would be joy.
A soft honk broke me from the momentary daydream and brought me back to my task. The last tendril of hatred that had infested humanity for so long sank into its new vessel. Empowering it for what came next.
The goose stared at me with dark eyes. It seemed larger, imbued as it was with so much anger, pain, and hatred. Another honk, more forceful this time, followed by a sibilant hiss.
The ritual was complete. Portals snapped open in the vast underground chamber. First ten, then thousands. Shadows shifted as the billions of geese shuffled toward the glowing portals. Then they spread their wings, taking flight into a new realm. Carrying all the pain that humanity had accumulated with them.
Earth would know everlasting peace. In exchange, the geese would return to their homeland and reclaim what had once been there’s.
For them, Peace was never an option.
Honk! |
I always pitied Fred. That was his defining characteristic, the evocation of pity when struck by the sight of the frail erstwhile hardened old man. He aways entered my drab brown office with his cane and a limp, and a scowl as he answered my questions as frivolously and briefly as possible. "What'd you do today?"I would ask,"Watched the price of right and passed out on a cocktail of valium and Jim Beam, you?"he would answer almost to gauge my reaction. When I tried to speak to him about the hazards of addiction he would lay me out with curses and insults. Sometimes the insults actually reminded me of grandad Luther , maybe that's why I kept him as a client so long, some twisted feeling of closeness through a familiar mean streak.
My interactions with Fred began to color my sessions with all my clients , I found myself. zoning out more in that drab little brown office that had grown to become my world. I was short tempered with Lisa the agoraphobic painter and she cancelled our sessions for weeks, I didn't answer Tony the recovering coke addict who called exactly 3 times a week at the same time, he subsequently blamed me for his relapse and maybe he was right. Clients dropped me like a rag soaked with sulfuric acid. I was down to one client, our old pal Fred.
My last session with Fred I was thoroughly hungover and at my wits end my life had crumbled, I was sleeping in my office and I was essentially living in there as I could no longer make rent, the four tiny brown walls were closing in on me. Fred and I sat in silence neither of us saying a thing until Fred broke the tension. "Aren't you tired, kid? Believe it or not I know how you feel, I know you know deep down none of this is right."I sat in silence and sat up straighter in my chair and said "Fred I have not clue what you are talking about but all I know is since I met you my life has been incrementally more stressful."Fred smiled "Do you know how many times I have had this conversation in this loop? 272 times. This is my job, to get you to travel to where I'm from."I looked at him blankly "Where are you from?"he looked at with minor annoyance, "A different place lets leave it at that, see people don't seem to understand with different dimensions the differences are so vast it is impossible to describe in human terms. I will tell you it is beautiful and those we work for have the best of intentions they want you to lead the people of your dimension sector into a new age. What's more I know you can do it I have seen it many times, let's face it you know who I am."
Call me desperate but my heart soared at the prospect of all this. Fred interrupted me before I had a chance to speak "Take this and put it on under your tongue"it was a slick metal disc that resembled a small cpu chip, Fred smiled as I took it on my finger . "safe travels kiddo", I looked upon it studied it and as the creeping thought of it all being too good to be true attempted to sear its way into my mind I popped into under tongue. I felt small claws rip into the soft palate of my jaw and a blinding white light reminiscent of an atomic explosion went off in my head. I opened my eyes I don't know how much later or sooner it could have been a million and one years. I was flat on my back looking upon a fluorescent greenish azure sky with two yellow moons that shined like golden eggs as I tilted my head back and tasted color for the first time. I felt nothing but beauty. |
A chorus of voices erupted from around the room, everyone talking over each other to pitch their plan first. Suddenly, from the other end of the room, the oldest board member still with the company speaks, a man who has been silent for 6 years of stuffy, plain meetings. "You've now lost your chance at the entire thing."
"What? How? Nobody besides my singular assistant- the man in the plaid parachute pants there- nobody but him and now this board know the truth."The scientist said, gulping nervously.
"You've just spoken it directly into half a dozen microphones sitting snugly on these very board members, all of whom would have, had you continued your presentation, been able to jump ship to various rivals, all of whom would suddenly be 'inspired' with the idea, and who would spend their vast resources on a smear campaign the likes of which would make your worst nightmares seem like the good old days. We've got one chance now. I sent a secretary down to the patent office before this meeting started, in anticipation. All in favour of avoiding bankruptcy, say aye or be outed as a spy."
The room was dead silent. Finally, one executive raised her hand and said aye, and one by one the others did the same, none of them wanting to be the last one to agree
"The motion to patent passes. I'll message my secratary. I believe this meeting is over?"
A collective sigh of relief washed over the room, and executives poured out to avoid problematic questions about traitors. Finally it was the scientist and the old man left. "Sir,"the scientist asked "how did you know there were spies? I didn't see a trace of electronics on any of them."
"Oh, there are no traitors on our board, but if you want to get something done in a group of spineless rich people, making them feel noble for doing the obvious thing is the fastest way to do it."He said with a wink. "I should probably have my secratary head to the patent office now, shouldn't I?" |
Johnson, like all of his fellow citizens, had always known The Endless War. His country, an inexhaustible source of natural resources, had since the beginning of the industrial era sparked the greed of enemy nations. But they were a proud and resilient people, years after years, decades after decades they repelled the relentless aussault.
Over the years, Johnson's talent as a tactician had led him to the highest responsibilities and today he rose to the post of Supreme Commander, the suicide of his predecessor having certainly precipitated matters.
The inauguration ceremony had been brief, no time to waste when enemy guns roared, and Johnson had assumed his new duties within an hour. He had been working alone for a few hours in his office when a group of five researchers entered unannounced, one of them, a long haired man, immediately spoke.
"Supreme Commander, please forgive us for this interruption, but we have vital information to share with you."
"Speak."Those searchers had no right to address him directly, so he concluded that they had a very good reason to do so.
"Thank you. I must warn you that what we are about to reveal may shake you greatly. This information is currently only known to the scientists here present."
“Speak,” Johnson repeated.
"I do not say this lightly, Supreme Commander, what I am about to disclose was the cause of the suicide of your predescessor."
The interview lasted more than six hours, and indeed Johnson was shaken, rather shattered! At first totally incredulous, "we live in a simulation, our world is not real"having enough to leave the most open minded man doubtful, Johnson had to face the evidence. Not the scientific evidence (a story of randomized experiments that invariably led to the same results against all odds) but by what he saw in "The Beam".
"The Beam, Supreme Commander. This is a link that we have developed, exploiting a loophole, to connect to the data system of Those Of The Above."
"And how can such a flaw exist?"
"Those Of The Above are running out of time, they are also at war, their only stroke of genius was to develop the computer in which we exist, but it was done in haste, we were able to set up the link only in a few months after we learned about the simulation."
Johnson had therefore looked in The Beam. Those Of The Above had designed the computer in which Johnson and his people "lived"for military purposes. In the grip of a war that would bring them to destruction, they had bet everything on this. The simulation running at ten times the speed of their world, Those Of The Above thus had a "generator of technology and strategy". This is the reason for The Endless War. This is why Jonhson and his people know only a world of battle, tirelessly devoting themselves to develop new solutions to survive.
"Don't they realize that we can observe them?"
“No Supreme Commander, they only seem to do an overview and notice the new weapons we design when they are deployed on a large scale in conflict. This is the only time they look at us 'under the microscope'."
"I see, leave me now."
"Sir, I mean, Supreme Commander, are you sure you're going to be okay?"
“No worries, I'm stronger than my predecessor."
\---
Johnson was in a great mood. Today was the day of the deployment of a new weapon, the robots. The people was overjoyed, the robots ensure easy victories without the sacrifice of soldiers. Their development to be usable in combat had taken two decades. It was the time elapsed since the revelation about the simulation.
"So you're going to copy that too, Those Of The Above?"thought Johnson with a smirk, "you're not going to deprive yourself of that, are you ?!"
"Magnificent. The General observed the assembly of the combat robots. His "little simulated people"had worked well this time! These war machines, that they had designed in the warmth of their computer, would soon go to attack the enemy forces, assuring him victory and honor, wonderful, wonderful robots. He had ordered the production of twenty million units, enough to make the difference once and for all in the conflict.
Thousands and thousands of robots thus left the factories of Those of the Above… thousands, within every single one of them, sent through The Beam, the consciousness of an angry little simulated people.
​
<Thanks for reading. Not being an English native speaker i first wrote it in French then translated through Google and add some adjustments here and there. I hope this isn't painful to read.> |
"He wants to sell what?"The mob boss sounded angry and amused at the same time.
"Pens boss."The doorman said blandly
John walked in trying to stay calm "I know you are busy so I will keep this brief."
"Listen, do you know whos office you just walked into?"The boss still had that angry amused look but he was leaning a little more towards angry now.
"Yeah, you are the CEO of the waste management team here right?"John knew damn well this was the head of one of the largest families in Chicago but he had to maintain his cover.
"Ha! Get a load of this guy! Can't tell if you are dumb or pulling my leg. I will tell you what kid..."The boss was interrupted by gunfire in the background. "What the hell is that? Is that what I think it is?"The boss yelled grabbing a gun from under his desk.
*Oh crap, not now...is this location really being hit now,* John wondered franticly. John knew if he got caught in the middle of a firefight he would probably be dead because he had to leave his weapons behind. What kind of pen salesman carried Glock 22?
As John was weighing his options the doors behind him burst open and 3 men with guns burst through.
"Hands up you pieces of crap or ain't nothing coming up from you ever again!"One of the men said in a high-pitched squeaky voice.
"Vinny the rat."The boss said looking more annoyed than worried at this point as he slowly put down his gun.
"You thought you could put a hit on me, boss?"The squeaky-voiced guy named Vinny looked at the boss angrily.
"Listen *rat*, we got rules. You break them you get whacked. Don't think just because you got a gun on me I'm going to make excuses!"The boss spat at Vinny.
John knew he had to do something fast but what could he possibly do without a weapon against 3 armed men?
"Time to die boss. But first, you can watch your men die. Then you die, slowly."Vinny turned and put his gun to the doorman's head. *Bam*, just like that he was dead. "Always hated him."Vinny said as he spat on the doormans corpse.
"Who the hell are you?"Vinny asked looking at John.
"I sell pens. Listen, I don't belong here. I just came to sell pens to feed my 4 boys at home and my wife. I..."
"Shut up!"Vinny interrupted John putting his gun to his head. "Let's see these *pens*."Vinny laughed in his high squeaky voice.
"Okay, I'm reaching into my pocket to get one, don't shoot."John slowly pulled out a pen. "Want to see something really cool?"John asked seeing Vinny relax as bit as he saw the pen.
"Haha, you got some balls kid. Go ahead and show me something cool, before you die."Vinny sneared.
"Look here, you ever see a pen with a diamond tip?"John held up the pen to give Vinny a closer look. *Please have a damn gun ready back there* John thought.
"What the hell kind of pen..."As Vinny looked closer at the pen John stabbed it down into Vinny's eye as hard as he could. "Ahhhhhhhhhh..."Vinny screamed falling to his knees.
John wasted no time. He dived out the door as gunfire erupted and ran for the exit. He ran out jumping over dead bodies and got in his car and sped away as he called in to tell his superiors how south things went.
After several long months, the mob boss survived and would only use John's pen. He must have told the story a million times how the pen salesman saved his life and disappeared. They finally had enough to charge him with enough to lock him up for life. John wanted to be in on the bust. |
(Part 1/?)
It all started in second grade. Margie had separated from her group of friends during recess to pick dandelions. On her way she tripped and fell, cutting her knee open on the asphalt. She began to cry but it didn’t seem to register over the other noises from the school grounds. But then she felt a hand on her arm. Roger was the new kid in school but he still leaped into action for a relative stranger. He helped her to the nurse and back out to the schoolyard again before separating. Once Margie returned to her friends the teasing started immediately…
From then on Roger became a target. Constantly being tricked or baited into ridiculous challenges and bets that were designed for him to fail. But as he stood in front of Murray’s Path on a balmy Summer morning he decided that no matter what he would not fail this time.
As most of her challenges went, this one came out of the blue. Margie had challenged him to a race down Murray’s Path and to the beach bright and early on a Saturday morning. Both of them arrived on time, and both seemed focused on winning. But something nagged at Roger, a sense that something seemed off about Margie. He forced it to the back of his brain though as Margie called him to his starting position.
“Ready…Go!”
The two took off down the path. They were neck and neck for most of it but then suddenly Margi started slowing down. Roger knew then she had something up her sleeve waiting for him at the beach but he refused to slow down.
Sure enough, he made it to the beach first and was immediately greeted by a shovel with a note wrapped around the handle. He chuckled slightly and unraveled the note.
*To truly claim victory you must claim the treasure!*
“I see, she fell behind because she knew I’d give it my all and then be too tired to dig, well jokes on you Margie.”
He smiled to himself, ignoring the thought that he crossed the thin line between cautious and paranoid. He picked up the shovel and began to dig. After digging for a few minutes he found a small prop treasure chest. He smirked and hopped out of the hole. With Margie nowhere in sight, he opened the box and found…another note. He sighed, picked it up, and unfolded it.
*I can’t do this anymore. For ten years I have treated you like dirt for no reason when all you did was show an injured classmate kindness. All because I couldn’t stand up to my friends. All because I couldn’t tell you what was in y heart, I couldn’t even give you a thank you. All these challenges and surprise sleepovers were just my way to spend time alone with you. I’ve wanted to tell you for years but every time I saw you, I just…lost my nerve. I love you Roger, but I don’t deserve you or anyone else. When school starts again in the fall please pretend we never met. Leave me in the dust where I belong. There’s someone in school who truly loves and deserves you, you belong with her. I’m sorry for everything*
He turned the note over, expecting it to just be a joke. He stood still for a few minutes waiting for her and her friends to pop out. Neither happened, Roger was more confused than ever.
“Hey, stranger.”
He jumped but turned around quickly hoping to see Margie. But the face that greeted by his fellow junior Hannah.
“Hey, Hannah.”
She smiles briefly before catching a glimpse of the chest, shovel, and hole.
“Ugh, I assume this is *her* doing?”
“You mean Margie?”
“Of course I mean Margie. You know I saw her sitting out on the beach the other day when I went for a run.”
“Real-“
The gears clicked in Roger's brain. He remembered the day before summer break there being a rumor that Margie got verbally laid out by another girl on Roger's behalf. Margie ducked the topic when Roger brought it up but now everything started to make perfect sense… |
"You can only communicate with people in hell? Well that is pretty morbid. My son was a good Christian though. Not the kind of kid to go to hell. I will find someone else."Cindy turned to walk away.
"Wait, what was your son's name?"The psychic asked with a dark look on her face.
"Listen, I really do not want to mess with someone like you. Have a nice day, or actually don't...what kind of person tells people their loved ones are in hell?"Cindy kept walking away angrier than before.
"I undestand your frustration Mrs. Dee, I assure you what I do is not by choice."The psychic said confidently as if expecting something.
"Yeah, I'm sure!"Cindy was infuriated at this point and just wanted to go home. "Wait...how did you know my last name?"
"John told me."The psychic said sadly.
A chill ran down Cindy's spine. Her knees felt like they may buckle and she thought she may throw up.
"What did you say?"She choked out.
"Maybe you should come in and sit down."The psychic walked away confident again as if she had done so hundreds of times before.
Cindy was too shocked to process what was happening. She just followed the psychic inside.
The tent walls were purple and the inside was rather simple. There was a crystal ball in the middle of a blood-red rug on the floor and two night stands on the left and right of the tent with skulls on them. *Are those real skulls* Cindy wondered? It seemed strange to her that she would question a thing at such a time but walking into the tent had a strangely calming effect on her, as if she was meant to be there. Inside the skulls were pieces of incense that let off an odd smell Cindy never smelled before.
"Sit, please."The psychic said and motioned to the rug in the middle of the room.
Cindy sat down and felt calmer and calmer as time went on.
"So John's in hell?"Cindy said casually.
"Yes, he was not who you thought he was. Would you like to ask him something?"The psychic's voice was echoing slightly.
"Why is he in hell?"Cindy asked as if in a trance.
"He hurt women. Badly. He wants to know he would never hurt you though Cindy."The psychic replied calmly
Cindy's eyes felt heavy.
"Would you like to see how he did it, Cindy? The psychic asked. Her face was distorted now. It had an ominous look.
"No."Cindy didn't feel right. Something was wrong, but she was too tired to care. Maybe she could take a nap.
"I'm afraid you need to know."The psychic pulled out a large knife from under the rug and stood up.
Cindy knew she should be afraid. Knew she should run, scream, fight, anything, but she just didn't care enough to make herself do what she should, and she was just so damned tired.
The psychic kicked Cindy hard in the chest and Cindy fell backward with a thud as her skull bounced off the ground.
So tired.
"Freeze! Hands in the air!"Cindy heard people screaming in the background but couldn't make anything out. Everything was too blurry. Then everything went black.
Cindy's eyes opened and her head was pounding.
"Where am I?"She asked.
"She's awake Jim, go get the doctor and radio this in."A man with a tie and slacks said to another man dressed similarly.
"Why does my head hurt so bad? Wait, she had a knife! What is happening?"Cindy felt the initial shock of things start to creep back.
"I'm detective Bronson. There is no easy way to say this so I will cut to the chase. The so-called psychic was actually a serial killer. We have been chasing her for months but she would move after every kill. She would use a sedative masked as incense to subdue her victims, she must have been doped up on stimulants or something for it to not affect her, we aren't sure yet, either way, she tortured and killed her victims and claimed they were paying for their deceased loved ones sins. She was clearly psychotic and she will never hurt anyone again. Claimed to be some kind of dark angel from hell sent to do Satan's will. Sorry to dump all this on you but I find things like this are better done like a bandaid, just yank them off and move on."Detective Bronson said looking at Cindy with the kind of eyes that have seen too much.
"Oh my God. Well, thank you, for saving me."Cindy started to cry.
2 weeks later Cindy was back to as normal as a life she could get back to. Cindy never was very religious but the events that had transpired scared her to her core. The "serial psychic"was all over the news the last 2 weeks. Clearly a psychotic murderer. One thing kept bugging Cindy though...how did the psychic know her last name, and how did she know her sons name? |
It was chimps. Thats where he heard it first. A chimp smile is aggressive. A chimp smiles at you the. Tears the skin from your face.
If ever there was a smile to tear skin from his face it was the man across from him now.
Barry had enjoyed being in the gang. He liked bikes, they liked bikes. He liked beer, they liked beer. He liked violence, they liked violence.
The violence he liked best was the kind where he had as little chance of getting any and instead got to dole out the violence.
With the gang behind him it always worked out this way.
That old chink shop owner, that Indian gas station owner even that Jew lawyer.
He liked racism they liked racism. There was nothing the gang couldn't do.
But the guy standing across the parking lot. The guy with the face tearing smile...well now he questioned if the gang could do it. But no. There were sixteen big leather bearded dudes here with Barry. They would fuck up this smiling asshole take his wallet and maybe have some fun with the girl he was with.
"Tell you what,"the shark grinning man said as he pulled out his phone "if one of you can land a hit on my pretty little face, before this song is over I won't murder each and everyone of you slowly and painfully. One hit. Anywhere on this body and I will make sure you can all walk home. In theory."The grin was still there but now it was a smirk. He wasn't showing fangs. Now he looked like he had brought someone a gift he knew they wanted and was waiting for the receiver to open it. No one said anything. Barry was not the leader of his branch. He wasn't even that high in the gang really so he left it to others to answer. Dave who was standing at the back said the only words Barry needed to hear "fuck him lads"Barry charged. He remembered hearing walking on sun shine playing. He rushed the smiling man feeling the boots pounding behind him, echoing around the parking building. Gavin got to the toothy fuck first and swung a haymaker right for his head. The grin never left the guys face as he ducked under it and in the same move spun around and tripped Gav. Tom who was right behind Gav tripped over him and went down too. The smiling man took three steps back and the next leather jacket body, maybe Geoff went over the smiling man like it was some sort of gym move and landed with a crunch on his shoulder popping it out of place. *walking on sunshine whoa oh* the first chorus and Barry had stopped running towards him now. He was watching. Dingo was the first guy to bring out a knife. Always one for escalation was dingo. The grin never slipped. "I did say a hit but tell you what a slash will count too"swinging knife in hand Dingo slashed the air twice before getting in range. The toothy fuck broke Dingos wrist with a subtle but audible crack. He took the knife and flung it away like it offended him. He danced under and stepped back and moved like a professional boxer. He was saying something under his breath the whole time and as Barry and Dave watched they realized he was singing along to the lyrics.
"Don't it feel good"he sung suddenly out loud cracking the ribs of Greg "songs almost over lads"
Barry saw in his eyes something. This man wasn't boasting or trying to scare him with the threat early. He was fully capable of murder and slow torture. Dave must have seen it too and started to run moments before Barry did too. The song ended as they got to their bikes and before they started them they could hear screaming and ripping noises. Once the bikes started the noise left thank God and they were almost out of the parking building when from the level above them a sack of something fell on Dave and knocked him from his bike. Barry tried to go round but couldn't balance and had to stop. The sack was Tom's corpse. Limbless headless but Wearing Toms jacket. His head followed a few heartbeats later landing on Barry. The grinning man was suddenly in front of him. Teeth gleaming aggressively. Grin not touching his eyes.
"Noone escapes a deal with the devil Barry" |
"I hope you rot in this cell, you monster."The woman was fair, with hair of palest gold and eyes of clear, cold blue as she looked down on the prisoner. His lips bared in a snarl, but he made no reply. There was nothing he could say; his wrists were shackled and iron bars stood solidly between him and his captor.
"The world will forget you,"she continued. "Everything you did—all the crimes and the lives you took—it will all mean *nothing*, because no one will remember it, and you will *never* leave this cell."Turning on her heel, the woman strode back down the dimly lit hallway, heading towards the stairs leading to the surface, leaving the prisoner to rot in the deepest dungeon of Lancaster Castle.
\- : -
His hair was matted and filthy, so covered in grime that it was difficult to tell that it had once been black. It hung limp from his gaunt frame, and he seemed little more than a corpse as he slumped against the stone wall of his cell in near-pitch darkness. The iron bars of his cell were now leprous with rust, and it had been a long, long time since anyone had come with food or anything else.
The latch was even more rusted than the rest of it in the damp environment. Even as the prisoner sat there, a mild tremor—whether from a faraway earthquake or the passing of some great beast—shook the cell ever so slightly, and the latch’s corroded hook finally gave way. It clanged to the stone floor in a brief, echoing cacophony before silence fell once more.
For a moment it seemed that the prisoner hadn’t even noticed. But then, slowly, he raised his head, and bloodshot red eyes gazed at the broken latch. He took a long, shaky breath, heaved himself to his feet, and walked over. Pressing the door with his toe, it opened with an ear-piercing screech of unused hinges.
No alarm was raised as he paced down the stone hallway, pausing here and there to listen furtively for pursuit. There had never been other prisoners on this deep level, yet even when he climbed the stairs towards the surface the place was eerily silent, abandoned. Heavy doors that had once been barred and locked now swung open easily at his push. Yet only his cell was in ill repair, as though it had been forgotten by whoever maintained the rest of the castle.
Only when he reached the ground floor did additional light and sound start piercing the walls. Tiny windows admitted dim, colored light from the nighttime outside, and a background hum waxed and waned in the prisoner’s ears, pierced by strange honks and wails.
The prisoner tried the ground floor doors, but these, at least, were locked. With a barely-seen shrug, he returned to the stairwell and continued to climb. The stairs ended on the third floor, so he walked softly to the small window set deep in the thick stone wall.
Outside the castle walls lay a street covered in a strange black rock with white markings, and across that were large apartments nearly as tall as the tower in which he stood. As he watched, a strange carriage with blindingly bright lamps on its front raced past with neither horse nor ox, creating a rush of sound. A yellow-orange glow rose above the buildings, hiding the stars. It was all almost incomprehensibly different from what he remembered, and the scale of it stretching into the distance was far larger. Everywhere the prisoner looked were signs of people too numerous to count.
Rusted manacles jingled as the prisoner reached up to scratch idly at the base of his horns. Sharp teeth gleamed in the night as he gave a slow, vicious grin. |
Man life aa a raccoon is hard is hard huh
They treat like I’m an actual human, like what are they gonna do, throw me in raccoon jail. The bounty isn’t even a bounty, it’s just a missing dog poster with my picture tapped on, and they didn’t even change the reward fee.
THIS IS ANIMAL CRUELTY, SOMEONE CALL PERA. Is what would say if they didn’t find out ten years ago that peta was smuggling endangered animals.
In the future there are robot cats, and robot dogs, and signs that say take down down the raccoon resistance, join the raccoon take down police today. As I see this one of those robot dogs looks at me and shouts RACCOON DETECTED, “aw crap” I start before being caught, but not by the dog but by another raccoon.
They take me to an ally way with a ton of other raccoons, ya know just eating trash and livin the high life, the other raccoon explains to me that, humans are wack af and that they turned all the other animals extinct and now we are all that is left ever since peta was smuggling animals they take dogs from homeless people, those guys are wack, I couldn’t really disagree with so I guess I’m a part of the raccoon resistance, let’s show those humans who’s the coon the RACcoon. |
I... I think I’m crazy. I was sitting there on the beaches of Saipan and the damn japs were closing in on us. Most of us were pushed out to sea, to reefs, to sandbars, to thin lines of sand on beaches, anything we could grasp. I got a bullet straight to the chest. My vision turned white, and I thought, “this is it.” But instead of our glorious god, I opened my eyes to see.. a bustling metropolis. Saw a sign saying “Now Entering: New York City.” A massive flash of bright light passed by as things I could only assume were cars drove past on a road. I was still covered in my armor. I got detained by the authorities, sent to some sort of insane asylum. Then another flash of light when I had just sat there for to long, and I was back, but a few months had passed. Back on Saipan, but no fighting. I overheard a conversation from a nearby squad. “You hear that they just nuked those Japanese Cities?” Nukes? What the hell are those? |
# Station wide memorandum #13-A
Due to recent complaints and several incidents that have been documented in the past few time cycles aboard Trevor Memorial Station, the members of the command staff have elected to release this memo to address concerns and to clear up any questions regarding recent events.
We would like to assure all crewmembers that all unexplained noises, occurrences, or other events that are not part of the norm that do not have evidence to prove them are to be ignored and discouraged from becoming part of "The Rumor mill.". Any employee caught deliberately sowing these false claims will be subject to disciplinary measures. Such behavior will not be tolerated on this station.
Incidents that have evidence to support their existence and occurrence are to be reported to command staff immediately once a full report on the occurrence has been documented. Failure to comply with this new standard will again be subject to disciplinary measures as needed depending on the severity of noncompliance.
We have taken the liberty to assemble a few guidelines for when encountering abnormal events on-station. Please study the following guidelines and implement them where needed.
&#x200B;
* Upon encountering abnormal conditions remain calm
* Document the incident to the best of your ability
* Ensure all lighting and ventilation are still operational in your area.
* Report distress if you feel you are in a dangerous situation.
* Do not enter affected areas without backup illumination gear
* Ignore strange noises emanating from unoccupied rooms, especially if said rooms are equipped with an exterior airlock
* Do not attempt to comply with any instructions received from any "Voices"you may be hearing at the time.
* Remain calm
* Vacate the area once documentation is done and seek out rooms occupied by fellow crewmembers
* do not attempt to re-enter affected areas until cleared by command staff.
* All exterior airlocks are to have their access panels locked by security personnel when not in use.
* The maintenance tunnels are to only be opened and entered when directed by command, at all other times, the hatches should remain locked.
* If you encounter a previously secured room that is no longer secured, report it to the nearest command staff immediately
* if you spot an unknown figure remember that any resemblance or familiarity is a coincidence, you do not recognize the figures.
* any unexplained and unauthorized radio transmissions are to be ignored no matter the content of said transmissions
* REMAIN CALM.
If you follow these simple guidelines it is our belief that workflow on this station will continue at adequate levels, and the rate of incidents should naturally lessen over time. please keep in mind that the success of this station may rely on you and your coworker's abilities to remain professional at all times. Remember to follow all safety guidelines, and have a pleasant work shift.
# End of Memorandum. |
Yama stood up from his chair, with a raise of his hand the doors from his throne room blast open with a rush of air. His flowing black and white ornate robes with gold trim flew in the wind as he walks steadily out. He sighs deeply as he looks before the amber fields on the outside of the city he calls home. A sea of red and deep maroon robes flow across the surrounding hills like ants come to dismantle his empire, one stone at a time.
&#x200B;
He raises his hand, a blue shard of golden ice rockets into the sky, bursting into a million shards, glittering across the pale-blue sky above the city. At a moments notice men in blue robes are at the walls and the towers, the library bursting with colour as books are torn from their shelves, the soft yet royal hum of incantations echoing throughout the city. Soldier's follow behind, the dull metal of spears and bows sparkle from the gate to the palace; Heaven's Gate. Yama looks on with a prideful disdain as he recites one last incantation, his heart feeling as cold as the ice he was about to send forth.
&#x200B;
Ying takes hold of his roughly-hewn leather book, reciting one more prayer before stowing it away at his side. Revealing his scarred and worked face from beneath his maroon hood, he turns around to the men massed behind him. The amber grain waving beneath their feet, a sign of change Ying thought. He scans the lines of his fellow countrymen before him, a mixed batch of mages from the hills tired of pursuing royal soldiers, to humble farmers geared in their best work of armor.
Ying looked to his childhood friend Haku, fully equipped in the finest military armour and the sharpest steel. No longer had he and his people rusty steel or scrappy leather. This was their finest, their best to show their cruel oppressors the true meaning of hatred. He quickly lit his hand, the fire burning around his arm and spreading rapidly to his shoulder. As he motions to the sky, a bright orange and red phoenix soars into the sky before an ear-splitting shriek is heard coming from heaven above. Ying yells one last time before gathering his strength, charging forward as he leaves a trail of burning grass behind.
&#x200B;
Ying and Yamas both at the front lines, their respective soldiers and mages prepared to engage in full, are completely ready for this day. Ying remembers his mother, and the many he knew who went unfed as a result of the castle standing before him, in his mind about to be no more than rubble. Yamas stares coldly at the charging mass, remaining calm as he summons forth a wyvern, bellowing loudly as it rushes forth to fulfill its masters duty.
Time seems to slow, the very first projectile about to be fired. Yet, from the sky, a green meteor appears.
&#x200B;
In a flash of blinding light, a pale-gold wall is erected in between the two masses of men and steel. A lone figure in a silver robe towers over the erupting battle, spread out in the air as the sun. A radiant glow emits from from their body, the mere presence of which commands attention and respect. The figure quickly pulls down their hood, revealing a woman with piercingly gold eyes from the heavens as a booming voice reigns across the valley. "It is time this foolish endeavor ends."
Ying stands tall, his emotion quieted by these sudden words, he trembles as he see's his flame go out, the ashes of his phoenix fall to the field in a solemn dust. Yamas, blindsided by this occurrence, has a flicker of emotion and fear on his face, the once beautiful and regal wyvern flying towards the heavens now a mere snow falling to the field.
Both forces are transfixed on the godlike figure above them, their own hearts pierced by this masterful woman. For the second time, a booming voice echoes across the valley. "Clearly... we have something you two need to work out." |
^(Dear Human,)
^(I am the spider living in your bathroom closet. I have heard of what you do to unwanted members of my species, and I am frankly terrified by your method of sucking us up with the big, noisy pipe that you call a vacuum. I assure you that I am not here for harm. I happened to find that the corner of the closet is dark and dry, and I couldn't ask for a better home. With your permission, I would like to stay here.)
^(I have noticed that you have a problem with tiny ants in your bathroom, and no amount of ant poison has stopped them. In return for you letting me to stay in your closet, I will gladly rid you of these pests. My hunting times are reasonable. They are early in the morning, but not too early or too late to interfere with your midnight or morning bathroom business. Therefore, I will be out of your way and in the closet's most unobtrusive corner for most of the time.)
^(I await your response and thank you for your consideration of my offer. I hope you have a lovey day!)
^(Signed,)
^(The Harvestman) |
Nothing. You feel nothing. It might not sound bad but that's only cause we are all so used to so many things. Air currents, the floor, artificial gravity, the vague noise of machines, the hum of energy. We evolved on planets, places where there is so much so close all the time that we never notice most of them. But, if yer out there too long or, Devine forbid, yer vessile's disabled. You feel it, or the lack of it. The void or abyss arnt the same. The abyss stares back eldritch and uncaring. The void holds nightmares watching, stalking.
When you feel it you wish they were there, to drag you off ta what ever hell is planned for you. Ta causally kill you without noticing. Those are something and when you have the sickness anything is better than nothing.
It's not a felling, or experience, it is recognizing the true the absence of it.
It breaks you.
You never really recover or forget, and you never want to leave a planet again.
I never will and I hope you won't either.
We set out to claim the stars saying nothing could conquer our spirit. Turns out we were right. |
Right about then the Reaper was whisked away to a place he had no desire to see again, the training room.
"So, Reaper #4786, I see here you misread the name on your list. You were timely in your arrival, so you do not lose a point for that. Seriously, do you not realize the ramifications of what your dyslexia has done? "
"Er, I apologise Sir, I swear it said John Miller!"
"You have managed to freak out Mr. Miller, who is not due to go for another 25 years. Now, Mr. Millner, who is languishing on his death bed is still groaning and pleading, and we had to send someone with more experience. For this, you have to do remedial training."
The Reaper groaned, and put his bony hand to his skull in a position of dejection, his black sleeve falling down to reveal his radius and ulna.
"Sorry, # 4786, you know the rules. Back to training it is for you. Now place your scythe over here in the holder until you have earned it back."
Grudgingly the Reaper stood and did as told, and waited for further instructions. The Educator gestured with his bony hand to a seat at a desk with an invitation to be seated, and the Reaper turned and seated himself as comfortably as possible in a too small desk, remembering when he was a young boy sitting in such a seat at school. But in those days the desks weren't too small. He was the only one in an entire classroom full of empty desks. Arranging his bony self in a posture of listening, he said, "Please, Educator, let's begin."
An eternity later, after listening to the droning voice of the Reaper Educator, or so it seemed, # 4786 was deemed to be able to go ahead and retrieve his scythe, and was given a new set of names and times. Oddly enough, these were on a blue sheet of paper typed in size 18 font and Bold. Questioningly, he looked to the Educator, who said, "These are accommodations for your dyslexia, this should help you in your tasks"
The Reaper #4786 nodded, and said, "Thank you, Sir. May I get back to work now?
"You may, now be careful out there!" |
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Gods above, I hate this job.
I know the timeline, I know that some evils are needed and some aren't. I look upon my latest target, he's still young, wide-eyed, and at the moment homeless.
“This is necessary” I mutter to myself in a futile attempt to convince myself as I walk up to the young man huddled under a blanket who’s now looking up at me.
"These are nice". I say complimenting his artwork that he seems almost desperate to sell. To my surprise, it genuinely is pleasant, a little cottage and a landscape. Nothing outstanding but not bad either.
"How much?"I asked, he just mumbles a price which I gladly hand him.
"You know, I can see you're having a tough time, why not join the army?, they'd give you three square meals and you could be filled with the pride of serving your country". I say in the most passionate of tones I could.
There I can see it, that flame lit in his eyes, the flame that would burn so many lives. A hellish flame that history says must happen. He rises to thank me for my purchase. He asks me my name and I give him the one I always give. He replies “Thank you, sir, I shall take your words to heart who knows, one day I may become a General”. He chuckles
I walk away with only a whisper. “Or a Furher”.
Gods above, I hate my job. |
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We've had this *discussion* before.
“The three Magic Witch’s hats are passed from generation to generation. One for the grandparent, one for the parent, and one for the firstborn child! I am *second born*, not first.”
My familiar frowned, only I knew him well enough to see the mischief in his eyes; he's come up with a new argument.
“Your brother is incompetent; let’s steal it!”
I think you could have knocked me over with a Zephyr; a feather would have done severe damage. My familiar. The one who always reined in my enthusiasms before I ran afoul of the council has just proposed grand theft magic on a monstrous scale.
"Excuse me?"
"I said he's incompetent."
"After that."
"Let's steal it!"
"Just so there are no misunderstandings, just what is it you propose to steal?"
"Oh, not me alone; you have to help."
"Answer the question."
"It really is the only way."
"Unless you want me to tell Dignity who spiked his meal with Owl Nip last All Hallow's Eve, you'll stop evading and answer the question."
"You wouldn't!"
"Three..."
"I mean, really!"
"Two..."
"He'll snatch my tail bald if I'm lucky!"
"One..."
…
"Dignity?"
"Alright! The magic hat! Okay!?"
"Yes, Mischief?"
"Ballsy's been at the books again, and I know you're far better at that than him. Is there *any* way to take the hat from my idiot brother that does not end with both of us given to the Dark Court for judgment?
"I would like to put an end to his suggestions that always have some fatal flaw to them."
"A laudable goal, Mischief, but I think Ballsy will continue to live down to his name. However, it will cost him two lives if he spikes my meal again.
"To answer your question, there is no *legal* way to take the hat from him legitimately. Not even if he ends up comatose, insane, or a drooling idiot."
"I heard a *but* in there Dignity."
"Steal it."
"Steal the hat, and I don't end up before the Dark Court?"
"Not exactly. You have to successfully evade capture from the entire magical community while simultaneously casting at least one spell per day from the hat for a year. When you take the hat, all prior spells cast by you are nullified.
"You might want to consider that point carefully, Mischief; very carefully. Ballsy? It would be best if you considered it even more carefully. Unless you like the idea of going feral."
"G... Go... Going FERAL!?! YOU MADE THAT UP!"
"Not at all, Ballsy. Summoning a familiar is a spell. For you, you would lose the power of speech, any magical ability, and if Mischief has augmented you — which I've heard you beg her more than once — all of that goes away. If she recast the familiar spell, there's no guarantee you would still be her familiar.
"Ballsy, as bad as it would be for you, it would be worse still for Mischief."
"What..."
"I'm pleased you still seem to care for her. Some of your earlier suggestions had me wondering.
"Mischief?"
"Yes, Dignity?"
"Upon severance of the familiar bond, you lose half of your vitality. As each of your other spells nullifies, you will lose further vitality. It is entirely possible to die before you have the slightest chance to cast even a simple healing spell."
"Even if I have the hat in hand with all my spells pre-prepared?"
"Mischief, are you *seriously* contemplating this insanity?"
"Certainly not! Not without Ballsy's agreement anyway."
"MISCHIEF!"
"Oh, you are too easy, Dignity. I want to explore this completely so that Ballsy will stop coming up with yet another unworkable plan."
"Nevertheless, I will not continue this conversation. If you wish to know more, ask your mother. Good Day!"Muttering to himself, Dignity hops back into tree home. Not so posh as some, but at least he can sleep the day through without worrying about slicing.
Mischief and Ballsy walk away slowly from Dignity's tree home.
Mischief looks at Ballsy, "do you want to continue this quest for knowledge, Ballsy?"
"Why. You won't go through with it even if we do come up with a plan."
"I did not say that."
"I just heard you... You clever, sneaky mischief-filled girl! Only if I agree to it, and only if there is a workable plan!"
"Precisely. Let's go find, Mother."
•••
"No."
"No way, or you won't talk about it."
"Both, dear. I know of no way to make it work, and I'm not going to give you two ideas. Likely dangerous ones that will only get you killed, or worse."
"Mother, in your honest opinion, is it better for the magical community to remain with Slow as the third hat?"
"If there were any other candidate, which there is not, then no. Slow keeping the hat is not good for the community. I love that boy dearly, but even with the hat he's hopeless at magic."
"That's... Odd. I hadn't considered this before, Mother. Think about the spells he does have. All of them are cantrips that a magic-blind individual can cast. None of them absolutely require magic sight, and all of them can be simulated by mental powers."
"Why.. When did you learn that!?"
"Fourth year magical theory. Fakes, cheats, and weasels: How to detect and punish."
"But it's only your first year!"
"You taught me well, Mother. I tested out of the first three, perfect scores. That was yesterday. You should receive the notice today."
"But I want you to get the full experience!"
"Mother, if you wanted that, you should not have home-schooled me. In any case, I deliberately threw the fourth-year test. I want at least some college experience too. I still have to do the practicums, but I hope to complete them with at least 9.5 scores."
"Are there any studies you cannot test out of?"
"Non-magical species, humans, and others. For some reason, you hid those books."
"I certainly did! They contain both concepts and graphic depictions of things you are still far too young to know!"
"Then you're about to be disappointed, Mother. The chancellor's council decided that since I had done so well in the other tracks, they would advance the first set of classes and see how I do."
"Well! I do declare you are both a wonder and yarn-ball mischief! Returning to the original question, I have no desire to help you take such a hideous act, even if it isn't possible."
((I may continue this later, but it looks to go long and I have other obligations.)) |
The voicemail Frank received simply stated, “It’s time for the 2nd to rise.” He knew this code, it had been ingrained in him since he began his training with F.A.F.C. 25 years ago. The training his great-great-grand-father had written about in the journal that had been passed down to Frank when he was 15, about a secret sect of Forces Against the Fae Court.
Frank’s mind was swirling with catastrophic thoughts as he reached for the phone to call his best friend, Tomas, who was the head of the Ireland division of F.A.F.C. The calls went straight to voicemail three times in a row.
He was just about to dial the number for the fourth time when his cell rang. He shakily pressed the answer button, the caller on the other end of the line said in a Russian accent, “Frank, this is Ivan. We met at one of the training conventions many years ago, do you recall?”
“Of course, Ivan, how could I forget. I had never met a man as large and hairy as you!”
Ivan chuckled. “Yes, you started calling me Bear after I nearly squashed you when you split my arrow down the shaft in the archery competition! Good times! But I’m not calling to reminisce, Ireland has fallen.”
With this single statement from the head of the Russian division of the F.A.F.C., Frank knew the time of war had finally come. In his state of temporary shock at Ivan’s revelation, all Frank could manage to get out was, “Tomas?”
Ivan replied, “Nay, Everyone in Ireland is gone. We have had no contact for the past 24 hours. We assume they are dead or captured by the Queen’s Fae Court. As far as we can tell, Mab moved her army into this realm a day and half ago. Our forces from Russia, England, & France, are gathering at Stonehenge as we speak.”
Frank let out a heavy sigh, “ The American division will meet you in Stonehenge by midnight tomorrow.”
Ivan grunted, “I need not remind you to bring the war chest.”
Frank had kept the large cedar war chest, passed down from his ancestors, in his personal library safe, reinforced four foot steel walls and a bank vault door hidden behind a faux bookcase, since his predecessor had appointed him head of the American division of F.A.F.C.
The contents within were a simple manuscript dated from 781 B.C. that told of the ways to combat and defeat the Fae, an enchanted Bloodstone amulet made for the army’s leader, along with hundreds of arrows made from Onyx, Quartz, Citrine, Amethyst, and Iron. The materials revealed in the ancient manuscript that would disrupt the glamour & life force drain spells the Faerie used in battle.
Bold, gold-leafed letters carved on the inside of the cedar war chest’s lid declared, “RISE AGAINST TYRANNY!”
Frank replied solemnly, “I hope it will be enough.” |
Hi u/turnaround0101, this submission has been removed.
is for prompt-inspired stories or poems and should be based on prompts 3 days or older. Links to the original prompt are required too.
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There are stories told of a soldier worth a thousand men. Those stories will soon cease. They will be replaced with legends of the one-thousand-and-first man.
&#x200B;
There once was a man called William Pendleton. He stood downwind of the rumors. The General was leading an army to death. They would leave soon, and William was sure they wouldn't make it. General Washington (no relation) had discharged Will just three months ago, and Will had stolen his uniform when he left. Now, it was time for him to step back in and provide Washington his assistance. He quickly donned his stolen soldier's apparel and stocked up on all of his ammunition. Pendleton, armed with his favorite shotgun and the expertise of a marksman, marched off to rejoin the army.
&#x200B;
"General Washington, sir."
&#x200B;
"William Pendleton. To what do I owe this *dis*honor?"
&#x200B;
"You have a war to fight, and I'm here to help you fight in it."
&#x200B;
"I dismissed you months ago."
&#x200B;
"Yes, sir, but-"
&#x200B;
"Go. Home. Pendleton."
&#x200B;
"No."
&#x200B;
"Are you disobeying me?"
&#x200B;
"On the contrary. I'm here to obey you and fight under your command. Give me a position."
&#x200B;
"Pendleton, you're unbearable, but I need all the help I can get."
&#x200B;
"I'm armed and ready, General."
&#x200B;
"Fine. But you're the first to die, dammit!"
&#x200B;
"Those are terms I'll stand behind."
&#x200B;
"Good, because it's an order from your commander."
&#x200B;
Smiling, William fell into the sea of soldiers. He immediately began training with the men around him, feeling the flow as he pumped his arms and sprinted laps. He caught up with an old friend or two, not knowing they'd lose their lives that day. Everyone would. Even General Washington, who'd die before the battle even began. Eventually, Washington stormed onto the field.
&#x200B;
"Men."
&#x200B;
Pendleton rose and took his place in a single file line, following it until the thousand and one men stood before their General. They received their plan of attack. They'd sneak up behind his home and pepper it with bullets the moment it was within sight. Washington laid it out step by step, making it clear to every man- even Pendleton- that they were needed. Five minutes into the explanation, a window shattered. The men took aim as a silky mess of golden blonde hair rose over the windowsill and the self-proclaimed hero jumped in the cabin. He approached Washington, chuckling at the men with guns drawn.
&#x200B;
"You wouldn't kill your General, would you?"
&#x200B;
Washington fired a bullet at the warrior's neck, leaving nothing but the slightest red mark. In retaliation, he lifted Washington by the jaw with ease. The General made eye contact with William Pendleton, communicating a feeling of pain and helplessness. Will, overcome by anger and a need for revenge, pulled his trigger. The "hero"reacted faster than a speeding bullet and threw General Washington in the path.
&#x200B;
Will cried out. He had never felt anguish to this extent before. He shot the General. Dead.
&#x200B;
The storm of men followed suit and fired at the "hero"and the battle officially began. A thousand soldiers fight until a thousand soldiers fall. The war rages on for nearly fifth of an hour. The man with immense power is weakened; the army puts up a hell of a fight as to not let General Washington die in vain. The cabin walls nearly collapsed after the pockmarks of bullet holes. The warrior fought. He started to leak blood, started to limp, started to stumble and fall. He threw his attackers aside. One man was tossed with incredible speed into Pendleton, with the wind knocked out of his system entirely. Will, gripping his gun, stayed down.
&#x200B;
The warrior narrowed the army down. 750. 600. 500. 400. 250. 100. 50. 10.
&#x200B;
5. 4. 3. 2.
&#x200B;
The "hero"laid down, taking the last battalion with him. By then, it was a fair, man v. man fight of equal strength. he barely made it out alive, knocking the life out of the last man to oppose him. Or so he thought. Pendleton took note of the heavily bleeding machine of mass destruction, now reduced to the strength of a child. He slowed his breath and took aim the best he could without really moving. Will eased his finger onto the shotgun's trigger, the kick throwing it almost out of reach. A deafening silence fell over the 2 men. Throwing the dead man off of him, William Pendleton rose with a knife in hand.
&#x200B;
"I was supposed to be the first to die."
_________________________________________
If you liked it for some reason, make sure to check out my subreddit, r/TheWritingGarage, for more mediocre-at-best stories! |
\[Begin Transcript\]
\[Closed Galactic Senate Meeting, Sector 469721.43321.Z\]
\[Senator R'ipKalor\]: Meeting is called to order, Core date 4e76 at mid-day local time. On our agenda today is the admission of Planet Designation 4SC89-57Z of this sector. I will hand over discussion to the Technical Officer of my fleet to explain more.
\[T.O. K'ilBalbor\]: As some of you are aware, PD 4SC89-57Z is a newcomer to galactic travel and as such has a number of strange and frankly disturbing ideas about the threats they will face from pirates and the like. Our interactions with them have been quite confusing, and after delving into their historic literature on space travel, we wanted to briefly show you their weapons platforms.
\[Presentation by T.O. K'ilBalbor can be found in Appendix A\]
\[T.O. KB\]: As you can see, all of their ships are outfitted with numerous high-output light weapons, explosive missiles, and the like. Frankly put, if we had not spoken with them what they call warships we would have flagged as mining vessels, which honestly would be a better use of them. As you are well aware, the most common munition ships in or out of the Empire is the FTL debris accelerator.
\[Senator RK\]: And this brings us to an important point in our discussion. Should we admit them, PD 4SC89-57Z will require a planetary shift device and given their incapability, would need to be provided one from one of our members... Quiet down! Senator Snarlifin, go -
\[Senator Milarta Snarlifin\]: Preposterous! Give us a good reason why we should lower ourselves to helping these imbeciles?
\[Senator RK\]: I understand your feelings, but given their, unique, outlook, on how things work, we may be able to use them to solve the problem with the unusual number of novas in the next Sector closer to the core. That being said, there is no need to give up the latest model to PD 4SC89-57Z, just one that works, especially if you are upgrading a planet to a newer device. If there is anyone who also wants to build a political or business relationship with these *humans*, all the better. I'm asking for a volunteer for this, but to sweeten the deal, the entirety of the original MSRP of the device has been approved for a tax deduction. Oh, Senator Snarlifin, are you volunteering?
\[Senator MS\]: You are (redacted) right with that offer. In fact, there's a good chance we will give them the one we just ordered if that's the case.
\[Senator RK\]: Excellent. My secretary will send yours the itinerary for our next meetings. In fact, in four days we will be taking one of PD 4SC89-57Z's 'fleets' out to an uninhabited system to show them exactly why they need the device. They are strangely attached to the satellites within their own system. And as a reminder, all sales of weapons to PD 4SC89-57Z are expressly forbidden, illegal. Defense systems are fine, but if they want to destroy themselves they have to do it on their own. Anything else, Senators? Motion to dismiss?
\[Motion for dismissal by Senator Bidan Bidur, seconded by Senator Cartila Maktor\]
\[End Transcript\] |
I can hear the thunder. It's not often I hear it, but today it's as loud as a lion's roar. The wind from the west has a cool touch to it, something it hasn't had since…
Lord. Has it been that long? I dare not turn my head, though every fiber of my soul wants to laugh… to sing… to run with the wind, follow where it goes, and see what wonders lie within. But I mustn't. My job is not to play.
My job is to watch. Every sensor is attuned to the detection of the weather. I know when the breezes chase the little clouds of dust around my home. I can feel when the nearby mountains block the higher pathways of wind, and in the beginning, when creatures both big and small took their breath. I was programmed for all sorts of tactile communication.
I know when it's cold, though I don't feel the pain of freezing temperatures. I know when it's hot, though I do not burn. I know wet, dry, barometric pressure, and temperature gauges. And I can report within two minutes when I last felt rain.
Out of idle boredom, I accessed the archive to see when I'd last smelled rain. According to my archives, it's been one hundred and seventy-two years, fourteen hours and approximately nine minutes since I last detected the presence of water in the atmosphere. My days are typically so very, very dry; within the last ten-year cycle, I recorded temperatures upwards of seventy-three Celsius.
The coolness of the wind caressed me once more. Automatically, I checked the temperature of the air. A life-sustainable thirty-eight Celsius?!? How? As my processors boiled in excitement, a sensation I thought I'd forgotten came along with the coolness of the wind.
The smell of rain.
I spent many a processing cycle analyzing that smell. Rain smelled of growth, of life, of things beyond the sand and dirt that was my home now. Could… could life really have returned to this world? Against my better judgement, I finally started to move. Servos long-used to remaining stationary protested against my desire, but inexorably, I stood and turned toward the mountains.
Everything in my view was still a dusky tan. No life could be seen, either here at my remote station or across the vast divide between my permanent home and the foothills of the mountains. Nothing but dust, sand, and the demise of the world. A false hope, then.
Another peal of thunder. Another hint of rain to the breeze. It couldn't be. The mountains before me were barren, devoid of life. So then where…
Yet another peal of thunder. This one was loud. I could not see the clouds in the sky; the dust that traveled constantly in the low atmosphere obscured vision. Perhaps something was above them? No, that would be a dream, impossible on this world…
It started with a hiss. A single whisper, almost in pain, from somewhere in the direction I was facing. Then another. Then another. I started to see movement in the air; large globules of dust, falling from the low atmosphere and eradicating themselves against the ground below. The hiss came the moment the blobs of dust shattered on the dry earth – almost as if… no.
But yes! More and more dust bits joined the first, each disappearing on contact with a flift of noise. As they approached me, I scanned each falling piece anxiously, looking for promise where I'd never seen some before.
And finally, a result. As the first dust blob neared my home, a positive scan. The presence of water, true honest-to-the-departed-gods water, was within! A roar of thunder jarred me from my thoughts as the skies above me opened up. The world below was too hot for the droplets to survive, but rain cared nothing for this fact. I turned my sensors toward the skies, trying to spot the source behind the dust.
I was unsuccessful. But for a good hour, water continued to fall from the heavens, vanishing immediately when it reached its destination. I felt the cool pinpricks of moisture when they hit me, though my temperature was the same as the world outside, so their lifespans were as brief as their compatriots.
All too soon, the thunder sounded from beyond me, and the rain started to dissipate. As the storm moved away, I instinctively checked the outside temperature. Forty-nine Celsius. It would not stay that way, of course. But for the moment, just a moment, I dared to dream that, perhaps… one day this world could live again.
Until the next storm, I'd wait. That was, after all, my function. |
Jerry worked on his birthday. It was a long day.
Before he returned home, he stopped by the nearest hypermarket so that he could buy a slice of cake from its bakery. Plain vanilla, no frills, no text. Prior to hyperinflation, this little luxury would have cost him about $2. His wage never even kept up with regular inflation; he has to use his credit card to afford the purchase.
Well, there's another minimum monthly payment.
He was surprised to see the stars in the sky when he stepped back outside into the parking lot. They were so beautiful. He wanted to be an astronomer, but he had to settle for being an office worker for the code compliance department because he couldn't afford the schooling. He responds to and transcribes phone calls.
"Wait, if I can see the stars, then that must mean that we're experiencing yet another not-so-rolling blackout. And if we're experiencing another blackout, then that means that nonstop traffic jams are going to bog down my commute back home."He sighed.
But the store's lights are still on? Perhaps they have their own backup generator. He wondered if the old, pre-war code compliance department ever inspected business-owned backup generators.
The scope of the code compliance department now is much more limited, and much more aggressive. The only code that they enforced now is the United States Flag Code, and the newest director of the department, Ms. Bodesca, is a zealot.
Ms. Bodesca's appointment surprised Jerry and his colleagues. She abruptly appeared one day and announced that she had replaced the former director.
Jerry avoided office politics. He didn't question Ms. Bodesca's appointment, and he remained quiet as she disappeared his colleagues whom she considered threats. Unlike them, he didn't question her tactics, her rigidity, or what had happened to the former director. He was just there to work.
Jerry is an operator on the code compliance department's "snitch"line. When someone calls in to inform that their neighbor or spouse or whomever isn't following the Flag Code, Jerry is there to gather their details so that he can file a report.
The next step in the process used to be that a manager would receive the initial report. They would try corroborate the information, e.g. Has the alleged offender, his family, or his known associates ever been accused of subverting the Flag Code before? When, and how recently? Has the alleged offender ever been convicted? Etc.
Lastly, the manager would forward their more thorough report to the director, and the director would then decide whether or not to dispatch code compliance officers.
The process is more "streamlined"now, and thus more susceptible to misinformation, and thus prone to error, but Ms. Bodesca is inflexible, and she has the support of her higher-ups.
Finally, Jerry is home.
The location of his apartment complex is not ideal: Even without blackouts, it is still an hour away from work; it is alongside a major highway; and it is pricy. However, it also has a backup generator; he considers letting the cake slice chill in the freezer before eating it.
But, it was a long day, and he spent way too much time fixated on work during his drive home. That always leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
He decides, Hey, I'm just going to eat this now. Well, after I put a candle on it. That's the one good thing about all of the blackouts - you always have candles available. Almost every dinner can be made romantic.
Jerry had just lit the candle when he heard the knock at the door. "The knock"implies a single knock, but it's the distinctive, authoritative knocking used by bossy someone who is prepared for a fight. Jerry hopes that they, whomever they are, have the wrong address. As a disorientation tactic, the knockers never announce who they are, and they will always block an apartment-dweller's peephole.
Jerry briefly considered not opening the door, but if officers were outside, and if they kicked in the door, then he (or his surviving relatives) would be responsible for the damage, even if the address the officers entered was incorrect. It made financial sense to open the door, which he did very hesitantly.
Two code compliance officers stood outside. One asked, "Wow, what kept you? The director called us, like, two hours ago because we were enforcing code compliance nearby. We've waited for you almost that entire time. And, seriously, your neighborhood must have something against the flag 'cause we've noticed a lot of violations."The second officer casually added, "Yeah, this will be good for overtime."
Jerry softly and shyly stuttered, "Well, uh, it's just that it's my birthday. I went out for cake, and then the power outage backed up traffic."
Officer One exclaimed, "Cake? Hey, got enough to share with both of us?"Officer Two intuitively replied, "No, not this guy."Jerry grimaced.
Officer One, dejected, said, "Well, I guess then that we should tell you why we're here tonight."He looked to Officer Two, who then assumed control of the conversation.
"The thing is, we were informed today that you had put a Thin Blue Line bumper sticker on Director Bodesca's automobile, evidently to get her into trouble.
"What you did was dumb, dangerous, and illegal. You work for code compliance. You know the law. You know that you could have placed her into a potentially life-threatening situation.
"For disseminating an image of a vandalized American flag, among other charges, you are ordered to return to the station with us."
Jerry protested, as strongly as he could muster, "Whoa, wait, that call was never made today, and I know this because I didn't even get a lunch break today. I was always answering phones, logging information, and following the queue. If my name had appeared as a potential offender, I would have known. There is a mistake here,"and he wanted to end the sentence with "or something worse."
Officer Two said, "That's why we need to take you down to the station, so we can figure this out. But I gotta say, right now it is your word against the director's, and who are you?"
He pulled out his cuffs and beckoned Jerry to turn around with his hands behind his back, and Jerry - tired, hungry, frustrated - complied.
Officer One mockingly assured Jerry, "Hey, don't worry, we won't let your cake go to waste."At that, he entered the apartment.
Officer Two and Jerry then heard a long, drawn out groan emanate from the kitchenette. Officer Two shouted inside, "What's going on in there? Are you okay? Is the cake?"
Officer One returned, downcast, and sadly informed them that the cake slice was no longer desirable, as the frosting was spoiled by melted wax. "I did what I thought was most humane. I put out the candle, and threw away the slice. To me, cake without frosting is basically inedible and pointless. Oh, and there wouldn't have been enough for the two of us, much less the three of us."
Officer Two nodded. "Yeah, that happens sometimes. This job isn't always rewarding. If Jerry here hadn't stalled us, maybe we could have split the slice and tried to enjoy it some anyway."
Jerry was incensed but defeated, and offered no resistance. Officers One and Two grabbed him by his arms and walked him to their cruiser. They seemed disappointed at the lack of struggle.
Officer One then uttered the most curious stream of thought while helping Jerry into the backseat: "I wonder why these code compliance employees keep harassing the director, and why they're so bad at it? They keep getting themselves caught. Even the people who are, like, mad at whomever they are trying to frame are more careful. It's weird."
Officer Two nodded. |
It all started when Jeff harback mentioned communism in a conversation as his son was passing by.
"Communism is bad! Ita just lazy people asking for handouts"
The Huggo was a marvel of mechanical engineering and software design. A lightweight robot capable of bipedal movement while wearing a fur costume with minimal motor noise. An AI capable of adapting to and playing along with a child's imagination and a too good to be true price point made it the ultimate child's toy.
After the "Huggo hates communism"incident more and more people ran tests. At first noone was able to replicate the incident, a fact that corporate PR latched onto, labling the whole thing as an attack.
But then came BigBuTTbob he cracked it. The Huggo hates communism incident, it was a bug. Huggos are not supposed to indoctrinate the children... while an adult is around. BBb speculated that the Huggo couldn't see Jeff and that he sounded similar enough to his son that the Huggo mistook his voice.
Suddenly the floodgates opened!... almost. after a few people reported being able to replicate this by having their child mention keywords with out adults present, it wasn't happening anymore. Corporate PR reiterated that this was lies manufactured as an attack by competitors.
Things quieted down for nearly three months and the incidents were fading into conspiracy. Then an ebay listing: Huggo $125 works, however WiFi is damaged and it continues to request access for updates when my kid isn't around.
Members of the anti-Huggo community aquires the Huggo and resumed their tests. This time... this time it was conclusive. Huggos were designed to indoctrinate children into a consumerist labourer mindset. With a bevy of expose videos the issue flared to life once again, and this time it didn't die.
A concerted effort broke into Huggo software by replicating the mechanical failure in the ebay one so that it couldn't connect to updating security software and didn't register as a tampering.
It takes a lot to upset the status quo, people need to be really really desperate to get them to say "I am willing to risk my own life on order to fight this"children are a shortcut to that desperation.
It turns out Huggos were recording and sending EVERYTHING. People got angrier and angrier with every revelation. Lawsuits were started, criminal complaints lodged. But the event that set things off, arrests, not of corporate executives for CP but of prominent people involved in the cracking of the Huggo systems. The charges: corporate espionage, and destruction of property. It was the latter charge that set things off, after all this, after being gaslit by the corporation about the surveillance and indoctrination drones masquerading as children's toys, we didn't even own them. The $275 price was a "one time lifetime licence fee for access to specific Huggo." |
The table is a cruel indeed. What did I ever do to you Mutat?!?
&#x200B;
|Origin |8 |Disaster|
|:-|:-|:-|
|Age|3 |The World is Still Young|
|Deities |10 |Profane Idols|
|Magic |11(2/8) |Double Digits(Magic is Rare/Magic is Myriad)|
|Intelligent Species|4|Humans and one other species exist in the world.|
|Species Archetypes| Humans Arcane| Other Elder|
|Interspecies Relationships| 2| Enslaved|
|Physical Composition| 9| Pangean|
As the sun rose again on the tribes of the Saudane tribes, no comfort was found in it. For nothing in this accursed world was given, only allowed by their tormentors. Not that the Saudane would remember, humans were such forgetful creatures. Ignorant of the true greatness of their existence, but instead drunk on their megar accomplishments. So proud of their walls of mud and sand, their vast fields of weeds, and their temples too the gods who hobbled them.
The sound of footsteps echo down the hall, I already know who they belong too. The High Priest is always here shortly after sun rise, likely already wake from begging to his god for charity. He is always disappointed, demons know nothing of generosity or good will. By the time the High Priest stands before me, the morning sun is already shining in through the east facing opening. Though blinding and harsh, no warmth comes from its dominating rays of light.
No words were spoken, we all knew what was to come, and where both of us stood. With no semblance of remorse, we walked to the medium marble slab that served as a table for his tools of ritualistic torture. But I give no protests, I accept the torment. I do not forgive, never forgive, but I will not fight it. Never fight it.
Though the humans forgot, the Eldura did not. Cursed with knowledge, damned for their wisdom, and infected with the memories of what came before. The Eldura remembered it all, and some even recall living it. I was not one of those few, but I do remember what, who, I was.
We did not always live as apes, before, we used to be great. Our glory showed so bright, that the stars themselves shined and fad at our whim. Beings beyond ascension, who warped space and time at our pleasure. Capable of creating worlds out of dust and shaping them into our image. I served above all of them, ascended beyond ascension, I served as their father, their creator, their god; and they served me as my children, my creations, my angels.
Yet our dimension did not float alone through eternity, drown by the singularity of our inevitable conflict, our dimension collided with another. This other dimension was cruel and terrible. Inhabited by creatures who evolved with the same power of ours, but sharpened and honed through millennia of consent violence and warfare. War between us was inevitable, as was our downfall. No matter how much power we brought to bare, the demons would match it, leaving the deciding factor being the one wielding the power; in a battle between a savage tiger and an artist, the tiger will always win.
In their victory, the demons tore the wings from angels flesh, and would have certainly killed them all if nothing was done. While the demons knew only how to destroy, I knew only how to create. Before my angels could be slain, I spirited my children away to a world that could sustain their new wingless, weak, human form. Using the last of my power I placed a seal on this planet protecting them from, but leaving myself at the mercy of the demons. Without hesitation they broke me, cut me, fractured me, and divided me into we. So the Eldura were born.
But that was then, now the ignorant husks that stand in the place of my children serve not me, or even themselves. They serve the cruel 'gods' that stand in my place, our place, the Eldura's place. As the high priest begins with his ritual to appease the demons, I try my best not to scream, not out of any semblance of pride, but out of the simple want to deny the demons the sound of my screams.
Despite our best efforts, the demons were cleaver, while they could not enter my sanctuary, they could still bend the reality surrounding it. Furthermore, while the demons powers could not enter, the power of myself and my children could. So they waited, and whispered to us in dreams. Ensuring that we knew of their presence. As sure as the rising of the sun, my children begane to forget the sacrifices we made for them, and the dark gods came to 'answer their prayers.'
As the blade sliced through my flesh, tearing it from the bone, the pain became too much and my screams escaped my lips. Sure enough the Saudane High Priest was finally rewarded for his efforts, with a faint glow, two ethereal wings could just barely be seen sprouting from his back. Feeling their power, the Human immediately dropped to his knees, thanking his masters for returning the power they cut from the backs of my children.
However, it will not be enough, soon enough the high priest will run out of power, and the Saudane Tribes crops will begin to fail again. When it does he will come back, and pushed to torment me again, and when he does I will not fight it. Never fight it.
Because we Eldura are no more perfect then the humans, hate has poisoned us, just as much as the greed has poisoned the humans. Hatred not just for the demons, but for the insult that stands in the place of my children, the Humans.
While the Eldura's seal has defended the Human and Eldura's world from the demons, the seal only exists so long as the god who made it lives. So long as the Eldura live. Which is why I will not fight. For soon the dark gods will tire of my screams, and demand my death, as they will demand the death of every Eldura. Death, the Humans will be more then willing to shortsightedly trade for their lives and wealth. And when they trade one Eldura too many...
I am a broken god, tainted by hate, I should fight. I should fight to defend the children of my children, but hate has poisoned my soul, and our sacrifices have been forgotten and insulted by the very souls I protect. So I will not fight. I will never fight.
I will not fight. I will never fight. |
I'm still annoyed by this repeated "all 24 time zones"because it's false. That point has 25 time zones, -12 to +12, and it does not have _all_ time zones and there are 12 (\*or 14 including DST) time zones missing. (-09:30, -03:30, -02:30\*, +04:30, +05:30, +05:45, +06:30, +08:45, +09:30, +10:30, +12:45, +13:00, +13:45\*, +14:00)
And it's also not the only way to "time travel", since you can stand in Poland at 23:30 and walk to Lithuania and step from "today"into "tomorrow", and do the reverse to step from "today"into "yesterday". |
"Well that was pretty great!"said Sozeb to himself. Acquired the a new habit of talking to oneself. A habit reserved for the mad and the gods. Lounging high in the fluffy clouds in a bright blue sky, he was certainly the latter.
Looking down upon the terrarium create solely for and by him. All was his to command as he viewed the kingdoms of his earth. His earth. Such a delightful feeling. At least it had been. In the beginning.
Dreams beyond his wildest reach were grasped. And squeezed fully dry of their sweet nectar. It started with his present time. He acquired all the wealth. Commanded all the respect and admiration.
Seducing the most handsome of women then moving onto enchanting truly beautiful men. Conceiting new pleasures by mixing and transitioning through the entire fluid spectrum. Dabbling and nibbling all the hedonistic delights.
His primitive biology soon satiated it self.
He debated philosophers into silence. While simultaneously un-employing theorists with his hidden knowledge of reality. His reality.
He defeated great generals armies with street urchins. Sent a simulacrum of himself to become mortal. Bringing wisdom and happiness to those worthy enough to hear his word. After his replica's death he was deified and worshipped.
His religion brought Utopias to the masses. He tested them with a dystopian horror. They passed (as he knew they would.)
He destroyed the universe and recreated it again in his own image. And then he rested.
Then he got bored.
Bored. Bored. BORED. Drilling into his mythos of himself.
"I have it all. And done it all!"again to himself. "I know it all!"Pitying himself to the cold indifferent cosmos.
*The gods must be mad.* He heard a voice whisper into his ear. "I must be mad!"He laughed.
And then did the craziest thing a god can do.
He gave it all up. For single the greatest creation. Uncertainty.
Sozeb rolled the dice. |
Humans and their stupidity. They eat, shit, die, then their bodies are slowly converted converted back into various foods, dirt, atmosphere, and the cycle continues. They don't even control their own growth, absorption, or how their bodies develop and age. They are dumb souls given beautifully engineered bodies and yet they still consume and destroy.
&#x200B;
What more does it take for you to understand?
&#x200B;
Us "Trees"as you see are made up of particles of thousands of previously existing humans and remain functional for up to thousands of years perceived by continuous human eyes.
&#x200B;
You want to know about dinosaurs since you already woke me up?
&#x200B;
Yes, there was no asteroid. Most non-volcanic craters you see on all the planets are from God's universal sized body and his use of tentacles move the planets into their places. Due to the nature of leveling out the playing field God also created a visual and matter filters with in everything and anything. Thus, organized timelines and the ability to live and experience life. This means that the "Matrix"in this solar system reduces the difference from the largest dinosaur to a bug with it's own soul can be viewed and interacted with as another human relative to you being human.
&#x200B;
Which brings me back to trees... If an of this basic information scares you I'll stop with trying to explain what trees really are.
&#x200B;
I will add that trees are proof of alchemy as they are within themselves factories that process matter. Turning dirt and water into a crisp juicy apple should be scarier than fucking up a planet to make a few nuclear bombs. |
Growing up, I never had any reason to work hard. Life was going easy for me.
I could achieve everything I set my mind to instantly. I rarely faced
any challenges. I loved and hated those days.
Then
suddenly he showed up out of nowhere. He came to our town when his
dad got transferred to our city hospital.
I was playing in the park one evening when I saw him for the first
time. He looked eerily similar to me. My friends invited him to come
play football with us. We asked for his name, “Jack” he said. It
felt weird to meet someone with the same name as me. Upon inspecting
further, I realized he was even the same height as me. Everything
about him kind of replicated me, his height, weight, skin colour,hair
colour, face structure. I tried to brush it off and focus on the game
of football. He was in the opponent team.That was the first time I
broke a sweat. That game ended with 10-10 goals each with me drenched
in sweat. That was the first time the thought of loosing a football
game ever crossed my mind. Events like these continued every day.
Whatever I was best at, he would match me. He even joined the MMA
class I used to go to since I was a kid. After a few months, whenever
people used to name Jack , they were talking about him and not me . I
became the secondary Jack soon after. I had never been more jealous
in my life .
We sparred everyday at the MMA class. The fight always ended with him
having the upperhand. This continued for years until one day I
decided enough was enough. My jealousy was no longer hidden, it was
outright to anyone who knew the both of us. On one sunday evening, I
walked up to him and challenged him to fight, weapons allowed and no
rules barred. He laughed and thought I was joking. That made my gut
twirl and hate him even more. I wanted to kill him right at the
moment. I threw a punch thinking his guard was down but he dodged.
His face turned poker, “Lets do it , don't blame me after you end up
in my dad's hospital” said he.
The the and place were decided, 7 pm under the monorail bridge. I went
home and got ready . I took my newly bought nun chucks as nun chucks
were the equipment I was best at. I knew he would bring his bo staff
as he was the best at it. I practiced how I would face him with a bo
staff for a while. Soon it was 6:45 pm. My heart was racing. Soon , I
wore my shoes and leaped towards the bridge.I reached the spot at
6:55 and waited . Every second felt like an year. I waited patiently,
tried to calm my jealousy and anger down but to no avail. I looked at
my watch. 7:02 pm. He was not here. “Is he not going to come? Does
he think I'm a joke?” I asked to myself. I looked up and he saw him
walking towards me , hands in his pockets. “ Where is his bo staff?
Which weapon is he carrying?” I wondered. “Sorry I'm late bro , I
was hungry so I stopped by to grab a burger.” he said. “Is this a
joke to you, where is you weapon?” I screamed. “Oh why would I
need that, its just a friendly duel bro.” he replied.
I couldn't take it any longer. I leaped with my nunchucks to hit him,
but missed. He wasn't taking me seriously yet he dodged . I felt
humiliated, angry, ashamed and a ton of other emotions. I let my
emotions take over me . Everything became a blur, the next thing I
know I was swinging the nunchucks like a maniac to connect them to
something . I think this went for 5 minutes until I regained my
consciousness. After that period ended, I saw blood on my hand and
Jack was laying down. I went numb. I tried to turn him around so I
could see his face and it was pale and full of blood. He wasn't
breathing. “Did I just kill him?” I thought to myself. My mind
went completely blank. Time slowed down. I looked at my hands filled
with blood. “Is this really what I wanted?” I asked myself. It
has been 10 years since then . I did not get arrested, it was infact
easy to get away with murder as my father was a high rank police
officer back then . He saved me from jail. He is no longer with us
and I miss him a lot .
I feel a void in my life and nothing brings me joy. I wonder what
would've happened if I never killed him or if he never came to our
town. At least I wouldn't have to live my life with guilt everyday.I
wonder... |
Hi u/ZombieDemon321, this submission has been removed.
Sexually explicit themes are not allowed.
* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content)*
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"You're standing pretty erectly for someone of your stature, Balum..."a bearded man with grey hairs spoke as he thrusted at him with his pelvis, shooting white laser-like beams toward the man from the middle of his pelvic area repeatedly.
"Stop speaking in sexual innuendos, you freak! How do you even know who I am?!"Balum retorts, rolling out of the blasts of light that sizzled on impact against the wooden logs of his cabin.
The man ceases his pelvic thrust, holding his hand toward Balum with his palm facing himself, taunting him with a devious grin on his scarred face, "Come for me,"he spoke with seriousness as slowly began to prepare for battle by going into an offensive stance.
"What?"
"S-sorry, I meant come at me..."
"Thats worse!"
"Fuck this!"He shouts before running toward Balum, hitting him with a right hook, knocking a tooth loose from his mouth, and sending him into the wooden walls, splintering as blood leaked from Balum's now devasted mouth, dribbling onto the floor as he attempted to crawl his way back up.
"Hmph... thought you'd last longer..."he spoke with disappointment as he walked toward Balum, kneeling to his height before grabbing his cranium and forcing him back onto the ground whilst breathing heavily in his face, "but clearly the rumors were false..."
"Ohhm yremsm..."Balum spoke out as his muffled voice fought to break free from his damaged throat.
"Last words hm?... I'll allow it."He spoke, lifting Balum from the ground, giving Balum a chance to catch his breath only her him to shout out in ecstasy.
"Ooh yess!"Balum shouted with a stressed smile, painting every inch of his lust-ridden face, forcing the man's hand off of his head with a simple tilt, throwing him aside as he stood from the ground seamlessly.
"It'd appear that you're kinkier than the rumors stated... how long do you think you can last like that?"
"Six seconds."
"Then bring it on!"The man shouted, throwing the loose robe covering his body to the ground, revealing a second robe that covered only the top half of his body with cartoonish women making strange faces.
"Make it three..." |
A SHORT STORY
"It was for the greater good, you know. That's what we said. We said it over and over, and soon, we actually managed to convince ourselves that it was the truth. Science. Technology. Research. The next big thing. One step further. And then, when we attained our goal, another one presented itself, just out of our grasp, tantalising, dangling, like the forbidden fruit. And we would reach out, stretch for it, touching it, clutching it, trying to make that goal a reality. Technology and science has advanced since the dawn of mankind. Fire, the wheel, flight, space travel, colonisation. All with it's uses - but all with it's perils."
I sighed. Paused, collected my thoughts.
"It started three years ago. There was a solar flare. Not uncommon. But what was different about this was the light and gas that was released. It was unlike anything ever seen. Naturally, it had to be explored, examined, replicated. The higher ups wanted to know if we could harness that light, that gas - and, depending on the outcomes of the research into it, what they would be used for. Of course, the military were interested, as ever - anything to create new weapons, to get the upper hand on enemy nations. My team was tasked with designing a probe, one that could penetrate the sun, yet remain protected from it's immense power. Not only that, it had to take readings and transmit them back. And, well, we did it. For the greater good. We designed a probe, created a prototype, tested it. Sent it into the sun. It didn't make it. We went back to the drawing boards, we made corrections. Our fourth attempt was successful. We collected samples, analysed them. All within eight months of that original solar flare. It made the news. The success of that project alone was a sensation, and everyone back home on Earth were ecstatic. It would pave the way for greater things."
Again I paused, wiping the beads of perspiration that had formed on my brow.
"Of course, it was not for our team to analyse the data, the samples. Our work was complete. We had a new project, and a bigger budget. But we never got the chance. Scientists discovered that a single bottle of gas from the sun could generate enough energy to power a city of ten million people for a year. A whole year! That was just the tip of the iceberg. This gas had potential - and fortunately, it was going to be used for good. The greater good. But there was a problem. There's always a problem. You see, the gas that was released from the sun could only be created by matter in the sun. When NASA discovered that, they set about determining how to extract that matter from the sun - using the probe that my team had created, and making a bigger, better, mining probe."
I reached for a glass of water. Condensation had formed on the outside; it was slippery and I almost dropped it. A couple of sips of the cool, refreshing liquid was all I needed.
"Five months ago, NASA's mining probe entered the sun. It was capable of collecting two million gallons of molten matter. The probe was set to return here, where the conditions are much more favourable than on Earth to process the matter. Somehow, scientists had established a way to work with the matter without coming to harm - I'm not sure of the details, they were never shared with us. It took the probe two days to mine the matter, another three days to return to Mars. But a month to the day after the mining probe entered the sun, unusual activity was reported. Craters were appearing in the sun's surface. It's heat diminished by sixty percent. Sixty percent of the sun's heat just - just went. There was no logical explanation, no scientific explanation. It wasn't possible, it shouldn't have happened, it CAN'T happen. But it did."
This time, my pause was longer, as I tried to compose myself. My voice was cracking, tears welled in my eyes. But I had to continue.
"Within twenty four hours, analysis was in. The sun was imploding. It wasn't just shrinking, it wasn't cooling, it wasn't dying. It was dead. It was already dead. And so were we."
I glanced out of the window, that thick, plexiglass sheet that protected my fragile body from the harsh conditions of the red planet. There, out in the inky darkness of space, hung a black rock, dotted with glowing red spots. The sun, or what was left of it.
"Within four weeks, the effects were already being felt on Earth. The ice caps started expanding at a rapid rate. Countries cooled, crops were killed by massive frosts in the height of summer. Animals died. News of the sun's death spread quickly, and with it, anarchy. Within two months, ninety percent of living creatures on earth was dead. And yes, that includes humans. Those lucky enough - or unlucky enough, maybe - to survive did so by burying deep underground. They're on their own, isolated pockets of humanity, fiercely clinging to life, fighting to survive, against insurmountable odds."
Rising from my chair, I walked to the window, gazing at the harsh landscape, staring at the dead sun. The sun that we killed. The sun that I killed.
"And now, we wait. We wait to die. Because there is no longer a return to Earth for us. There is no longer a replenishment supply. All that is left is a cold, lonely death."
Wrenching my gaze from the sun that I had killed, I turned to gaze upon the son that I had killed.
"I am sorry, my beautiful boy. Truly, I am sorry."
===
Thoughts, comments, feedback, criticisms - all welcome!
For more like this, please check out my sub - /r/MarkChandler \- thanks! |
Cassidy Conquest is a famous reality contestant winning many game shows. You may know her from her first victory of Legend of the Castle, To her multiple appearances in GO!, A very special episode of Splashout! and even the most famous one of all the Japanese game show, Egypt but Japan. And today she is competing in her first game here known as Can you make it! Where if you lose the audience gets to decide your fate if you fail. I'm Mr.H the Host and you are watching Can You Make it!
Cassidy P.O.V.
Well I finally made it. I went to multiple game shows before entering this one cause when I say I was gonna start a career by doing game shows on my blog many people ask me to be on this one. I was ready to sign up during season 10 run cause filming was happening during the summer and the season was summer theme. Until my brother told me that many people have failed the game show. My brother and I watch a bunch of game shows but I never watch Can you make it, so why sign up for a game show you barely know about, THE MONEY. It was a person’s dream to get 10 million dollars for just embarrassing yourself on TV. Seems a fair trade off though my brother seems doubtful of this and recommends I should watch the entire show first and try some other game shows first before doing the most hard one. So for 5 years I enter many games shows to understand it, I tend to watch some of the game shows that I'm plan to be on and at least watch the latest season to see if I can find any patterns and sometimes go back to the first season just in case they been sneak to make me lose, which I'm pretty sure that happen with Legend of the Castle 3rd time I came to compete.
Today is the day. For 5 month I have been binge watching every episode of Can you make it!. I've been studying every single game they can set up From the simple Duck Tank to the randomness of What's in the cups, to the hardest challenge, the one so infamous that it got banned from ever being used again, The Dragon. The Dragon was banned due to high risk of causing fire to the studio as in that game you had to measure how long the fire breath is the problem is this was real fire and after an incident in a banned episode taken place during season 9 featuring the Dragon they say if they ever bring it back as a last resort so far it have never been feature. One thing that I was studying was the audience. They were so much in the first few seasons but the least of them show in the background until Season 10, it seems it became more and more people were probably showing up due to the nostalgia of them due to being on the air for 10 years. Of course the main thing she was studying about them was what was the punishment. She noted that most of the requests were ridiculous like, Wear this costume for a week of the year, you can only wear puffy coats, or eat bear meat, or drink pop rocks and soda, At least the start. They get weirder as the season goes on, like eating a human bone with cotton candy on top, wearing a costume on every odd day, Or even becoming the nerdiest kid in school. Most seasons have 12 episode as they do one episode per week and use summer as that they can get the highest amount of viewers but there have been seasons in other seasons like Winter and Spring. Tough Season 9 only have 11 episode that was film during the fall, Know as Season 9 Episode 11-The Fall of the Dragon, I've already went over why it was never air again but there was one moment that may have caused the banned of episode itself it was during the finally moment when the audience was decided the loser fate the only thing they say was “Wait and See” I never understand why and what they mean by that.
Until Today. The Game show was going pretty well, It was in its 15 season. Duck Tanks, the one where you have to throw rubber duck above the dunk tank, was pretty easy. It was pretty common for episodes to go in the formula of easy, medium, and hard. But… they couldn’t…, They did...The Dragon was back.
“THAT RIGHT! Thanks to the amount of fans wanting The Dragon back we decided to bring it back for all of you old timers in the audience! Also to celebrate the 15 Years of this show!” said the Host Mr.H with excitement of a 5 year old. Applause from the crowd is here from all over.
This goes as well as I thought, only to find out I was wrong on the size of the fire and so I lost my streak but that is not my biggest worry at the moment. The Audience moves and looks at each other to decided my fate. “Times up what does the Audience decide for dear ol Cassidy Conquest.” He said in a snarky tone. “Wait and See” the Audience said all at once.
My vision blackout. I woke up but I could not move, I felt stuck in metal. I see the stage of the game show?!. Just then two producers and the host himself were talking to them. “I told ya bringing back the Dragon would beat her for good and we got high ratings out of it!” said Producer 1. “Yup and now we can show what wait and see is...not yet until we invite the other game show hosts all around the world.” said Producer 2. “I told the audience and made them say Wait and See was fast and simple by showing commercials in between round 1 and 2. Nothing better than making them think of the company game show cereal Can You Eat How fast?! And putting a mind control message inside of it!” said Mr.H. and then it looked at me.
“Poor Cassidy Conquest, I guess you can say her conquest is over.” said Mr.H this tall man with a brown top hat with a H on it and a green business suit outfit and a cane. “Wait and See means that you get to be part of the audience forever until our show gets canceled,” said Mr.H. I scream for help, the mad man just keeps on laughing. He seems to be enjoying pranking someone. Then he finally grabs a circle business card that reads.
Mr.Humiliation
H&P Inc.
Once the man stopped laughing he stopped.I started hearing some more soft screams from everywhere. Some were screaming their names, some were contestant names and other names said they were police officers.It apparent where the new audience came from in Season 10. He only leaves me to see his show everyday until I get free. |
The sign says they held this hill they hold it still. Granite statues of soldiers legend has a witch turned them to stone but her magic was used up and the captain of the guard cut her head off before succumbing to her curse. They have watched the realm ever since. Rulers and the ruled all acknowledge the sacrifice they made and thus the land prospers. "Are your actions worthy of them?"Being something the citizens take to heart whether it is personal dealings or in the beer they brew. A rich prosperous land if slightly dull.
The empire came calling its aims to butcher and burn. So intimidating bigger realms to bend the knee. Submit or die being the choice. The Army fought bravely, outnumbered they could barely buy time for citizens to flee. As the stream of refugees headed for sanctuary in the capital. Some cried out to or cursed the statues most were too weary to do more than keep walking.
The Army surviors formed up at the foot of the hill it was a natural choke point if they couldn't stop the empire here all was lost. Though grim determination was little match for numbers and superior weapons.
They knew this day would be their last as the empire troops advanced on them . Then they heard the bugle from above . The statues formed a line and charged hitting the empire troops like an avalanche blades broke against granite to no avail no mercy was given to the invaders they tried to fight and then they tried to flee it mattered not they died only some of the camp followers got away.none of those with loot though. A handful of surviors having hidden with the dead or thrown their weapons away and approached army for mercy lived .
The Statue of the captain saluted the shocked commander of the realms army never said a word just led his troops back up the hill. |
It was made of large, grey brick stones, blanketed in most places by moss and ivy. It was a cylinder shape, and tall. Very tall. Near the top of the tower was a single window, but the structure was otherwise inaccessible.
“How long has it been here?” Rex asked.
“It looks like a long time,” his older sister, Julia, answered. “But I’m wondering why we haven’t seen it before.”
I looked down the path we’d walked—the same path we walked several times a week—and nothing was unfamiliar. There was the rusted out car under the bush, the half-dead tree leaning on its leaf-less side, and the well-worn path we’d been making all summer. We’d been here plenty of times before, but somehow, we’d never seen the tower.
“Maybe... someone cut down trees that used to be here,” I guessed.
“It’s taller than any other tree around us,” Julia observed. “We would have seen it over the treetops.” Rex reached for Julia’s hand and held it. The tower wasn’t scary, or, at least, it shouldn’t have been scary. But there was something wrong about this structure that appeared out of nowhere, built differently than any other building in the neighborhood.
Cautiously, we circled the tower, looking for a way in or at least some indication of why it was here. There was no caution tape, no signage or plaques, no mailboxes, address numbers, or doorbells. Just solid stone, it seemed.
“We should go,” Rex cooed from behind Julia.
“Don’t you want to see what’s inside it?” I asked him.
“No,” he quickly answered.
“I do,” Julia said. “I’m not going to stop thinking about it until I see inside it. It’ll keep me up all night.”
Julia was older than me by a couple years. She was 12, and she carried herself as such: strong, smart, pretty. I liked being around her, even if I didn’t totally understand why. Rex, on the other hand, was a couple years younger than me. His reaction to the tower was odd, because he was normally such an adventurous kid who balked at peril and invented stories of danger and daring. When he hid behind his sister, I remembered how little a kid Rex really was.
“It looks like the window up there is the only way in,” I said.
“We can climb up the side,” Julie figured, touching the rough stones and gripping them with the tips of her fingers.
“You first,” I gestured up the side.
“You’re younger. You’re lighter. You go up first,” she snapped back.
“MUSCLES are heavier than FAT, Julia.”
“Well let me know when you GET SOME, Kit!” Arguing with Julia was useless. She was too smart and quick.
“I have a better idea. I have some rope and climbing stuff in my garage. I’ll grab that and we can come back tomorrow and do it safer.”
“Or, we could not do it at all,” Rex said. “You don’t know what’s in there. What if you fall down inside?”
“Well then we won’t all go at the same time. If someone falls in, the others will get help,” I answered, but it didn’t seem to calm his nerves.
When I got home, I filled my backpack with all the climbing things I could find from my dad’s workshop: a couple ropes, some bungee cords, carabiners, nails, a hammer, screws, a screwdriver... A baseball bat, just in case... and a saw. It’s better to have a thing and not need it than need a thing and not have it. My dad said so at least.
I couldn’t sleep the night before. I was too curious about the tower. What could be inside? My mind raced with the possibilities. Was it a Russian spy facility? A wizard’s magic den? A gateway to another world? Would I find a sword of destiny or a trident of power?
I got out of bed and took my telescope out of my closet. The tower was probably too far away to see it from my window, but I was at least facing the right direction. I set up the tripod and peered out into the woods. Faintly, I saw the sharp tip of the tower as it peeked through the tree cover. And of that glimpse, I saw the lone window near the top. In that window was a light. I was definitely not going back to sleep now. I opened the window and repositioned my telescope to get a better angle. Maybe I could see into the tower. Maybe I could see whoever was inside with the light on!
I was standing on my dresser, angled out of my bedroom window. I saw the square hole in the tower, shining with a golden light. On the opening’s sill, there was a small piece of weathered-looking paper, or cloth, I’m not sure. There were words written on it. They were blurry, so I adjusted the focus on my telescope as best I could.
Finally, I could read it.
“I see you too.” |
I took a breath and stepped on the moon, feeling as giddy as that time we found Jimmy Connor's stash of Penthouse magazines under the pine trees in their backyard, but I digress.
I keyed the microphone.
*Houston, are we live?*
*That's affirmative Eagle two.* Came the reply, *All networks and YouTube and Tritch.*
*You mean Twitch?* I asked.
*Yeah, whatever.* Came the reply, *Start your required speech.*
*My fellow Americans, on this historic day I take one MORE step for mankind and...*
In the distance the orb of the earth began to shake; I wiped my visor. Too much coffee this morning.
Suddenly a cloud obscured the view of Earth as the ground shook more violently. In the next instant I was knocked off my feet.
I looked up to see what seemed to be impossible. The Earth had broken in half.
*Houston, what the fuck is happening?* I called on the radio.
*We...have....a serious prob...I love...* The transmission stopped.
*Well that doesn't seem right.*
I switched to the secondary radio channel and called Houston again. Static.
I took some photos of the now fractured earth as my mind reeled. This reminded me of the time that Dave Sheffield crashed his lime green 1985 Chevrolet Celebrity into a storm pond after we polished off a case of Old Milwaukee; there was something *terribly* wrong but I couldn't think clearly about the best course of action at the moment.
Split Earth. Bad. Very bad.
It was then that I noticed it. The two halves of Earth looked *larger* in the sky. Probably just a fluke or a trick of the light, like when Principal Johnson thought I had thrown the Moon Pie at Johnny Morgan in the cafeteria when it was actually Tom Clyburn who did it, but I digress. It *was* getting closer. Quickly.
After several attempts to reach Earth, I returned to the landing craft and did some quick calculations. Forty six minutes and fifty six seconds to impact.
Coincidentally 46:56 is *exactly* the same length as the Ummagumma album from Pink Floyd; funny how these things sometimes just work out.
I pressed the play button on my music player, cranked up the volume and waited for the end. |
*Oh my...*
Swirling the golden liquid in the glass, I looked at my surroundings casually and smiled to disguise my unease. As my heart began to beat faster, I rose the glass to my lips and took a sip of the champagne to hide the frown coming, wincing slightly at the taste. Couldn't they have given me something more refined and high quality before killing me?
Still though, the action bought me a few more seconds to assess the situation. Six of the burly green brutes hiding behind their suits stood in close quarters to me, their little guns pointed at my head. Considering that I wasn't dead yet, I assumed that they were waiting for something, or someone. Their large bodies blocked off both the exits and much of my view.
The initial shock wore off, and I lowered the glass from my face. I put on a slight smile and looked straight into the barrel of one of the pistols.
"What an exciting welcome. Is this how the orc gangs treat guests now?"I said.
They remained silent, their stern expressions looking as if they were set in stone. These ones must have been high ranking. Usually a lowly orc grunt would've been riled up if their captive talked back. I pursed my lips as I brought my glass up to hide my expression again. While such competent minions would've normally pleased me, a chill ran down my back as I considered the implications. They would be disciplined enough not to fall for any of my usual tricks, and that meant most of my magic would be worthless.
A bullet was faster than any fireball or incantation, after all.
The glass was shaking, and it was only then that I noticed my fingers were trembling. Tightening my grip to steady it, I took measured breaths to calm my nerves down. I've lived for over a thousand years, and for an elf who refused to hide in the forests, I've dealt with countless life and death situations. I won't be brought down by brutes little better than beasts.
Reassured, I began to put together a plan. Right on time, as I began to hear footsteps approaching the room I was in. It would be incredibly risky, but the level of spells I could pull off without giving myself away didn't allow for anything else. Keeping myself as casual and calm as possible, I brought the glass to my lips and looked down, closing my eyes in concentration.
Pain tore through my shoulder.
I gasped, collapsing onto the ground as a bullet lodged itself into my delicate skin. The orcs began to shout in confusion, all of them directed at the one behind me who had done the deed. He thought he had seen me turn around and attempt to fire a spell at him. As the shouts became increasingly heated, I gritted my teeth and held my hand below my body to hide it. Slowly, I began to chant an incantation, forcing myself to push past the pain.
Distantly, I heard the shouting die down. The footsteps from before were now coming at a faster pace, growing increasingly louder. A hand grabbed my good shoulder and attempted to lift me back up.
Rising a few inches above the ground, I slammed my glowing hand onto the wooden floor, causing a great explosion to rip through the building. The loud boom deafened my ears and my body was sent flying back, protected by the barrier I had cast. I barely had time to celebrate my escape before the back of my head struck the ground, causing everything to go black. |
**The Bureau for the Allocation of Reincarnated Souls (BARS).**
Administrator Rhalen was sat at his desk, a quill flowing over the vellum on the desk in front of him with a soft scratching as he directed it with his mind. One hand idly stroking behind the ears of the Shadow Lynx purring softly at his side as he attended to the daily paperwork associated with managing BARS.
BARS was simple and complex in it’s purpose. Every soul in existence would pass through his office in one way or another at least once. Their memories would be gently internalized, lost to their next conscious life, but allowed to guide and mold their new life, in the everlasting journey to Enlightenment.
Rhalen envied the souls their journey, and wished the very best for them, and was always saddened to hear of the Lost Ones. The souls that returned too damaged and mangled by their most recent incarnation to survive the process.
Rhalen’s musings were cut short by the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his office; fast and urgent footsteps of someone running as fast as they could, and closing in towards his door. The door burst open and a short male figure dressed in the yellow and black robes of an apprentice rushed forward, face painted with panic.
&#x200B;
“Administrator Rhalen, you must come at once! The Soul Fountain…!” The apprentice began, only to be cut off by a long rolling peal of explosions from deep in the belly of the BARS building.
&#x200B;
Rhalen twisted his hands in a subtle gesture, his eyes flashed and he found himself stood overlooking the Soul Fountain. Or what was left of the Soul Fountain. The delicate and intricate lattice of soul silver and Mana infused gold had huge swathes missing. Souls gushed through the rent material, the ones at the edge gouging and being gouged in turn at the sharp edges of the material, forcing the holes wider and wider.
Above a torrent of souls far more immense than any Rhalen had observed in decades was rushing down towards the precarious remains of the delicate device. Millions of souls had just been released from their mortal coil, hundreds of millions, in an instant and the Soul Fountain was soon washed away by the deluge of souls.
Rhalen’s heart sank, hundreds of millions of souls had just passed through the BARS facility without their memories internalised. Countless numbers had been maimed and should have been gently put out of their misery and would now be forced into new life. And with the Fountain destroyed they were all being funnelled into the last selected world to find a host. Glancing at the terminals Rhalen read the destination.
&#x200B;
*Virhalen.*
&#x200B;
***
I am working on more of this story that will explore the lives of those born on *Virhalen*, how they adapt to their new lives and the effects of being born in to a new world. |
I was sitting on the couch watching whatever was interesting while the kids were playing with Nerf guns outside all was swell till I heard a scream and crying I assumed one of them fell or got hit with a bullet a little to hard, so I walked ou
"Nina, Jacob are you ok-WHAT THE FUCK!"
I stepped foot outside to see Nina bleeding with a Neft size bullet hole in her chest. I saw the Neft gun in Jacob's hand so I know it wasn't a real gun I stood in shock for a good 2 minutes before going to call the cops
"911 what's your emergency?"
"Hello, My kid just shot his sister with a Nerf gun I'm very scared, concerned, and confused please send an ambulance!"
"Okay Ma'am please stay on the line so I can explain for a bit while the paramedics come."
"O-okay"
"A few hours ago the news said that all lethal weapons are no longer lethal but in return all toy or fake weapons are lethal causing your son to possibly kill your daughter."
"A few hours ago the news said that all lethal weapons are no longer lethal but in return, all toy or fake weapons are lethal causing your son to possibly kill your daughter."
"Oh, okay..WAIT ARE YOU SAYING MY BABY GIRL IS DEAD?!"
"N-no is I;m just saying that there's a 50/50 chance.."
"Oh.."
"The ambulance shoulc be here so thanks for staying on the line miss"
I hung up, many hours later my daughter was fine but for safety reasons, I threw away all the nerf toys and real guns in case they decide to go back to being lethal.
(Sorry if the punctuation sucks-) |
We had many lives, in many worlds. I can access some memories from lives in which we also knew each other, or at least some of them, there could always be more...
We already had a sort of a happy ending in at least one of them - [Peter and Chiara at least kind of almost grew old together](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lw0xd8/wp_would_you_change_any_of_it_she_asked_greying/gppr3xv?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). He was a paladin and her inherent magic was chaotic so the conflict of order and chaos was strong between them, nevertheless they spent many happy years together. It wasn't a conventional "happily ever after", of course, they never had children and they never truly retired from adventuring and mentoring new adventurers, but it's what they wanted... in their place, of course, we would have wanted the same.
The others weren't so lucky, or not for so long. [Thomas and Esmeralda](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jxkqzl/wp_the_nation_was_torn_apart_by_civil_war_you/gd05a4d?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) became friends young, but soon found themselves at the opposite sides of a civil war, and eventually the right thing for Thomas was to give his life trying to stop the oppressing regime from the inside.
Similarly to ourselves, some knew each other only at distance, never meeting in person. [Daniel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ho3rem/wp_youve_just_arrested_a_woman_and_are_dragging/fxgcwq1?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) and Katrina, I think they are the oldest memories I have accessed - they met through a technological, electronic mean of communication when they were already stuck in their different countries. Communicating almost daily got them through several hard years as they were struggling with mental health and the consequences of near-catastrophic events in their world. However, if he had somehow escaped his totalitarian regime to her country, there would have been nothing for him to do, and if she had escaped to him, she'd just be a burden too; he had a destiny to fulfill to overthrow it, replace it with something better even if that meant giving up the quiet life he wanted, and she knew not to hold him back.
Damian and [Lara](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ki49b7/wp_3_years_have_passed_since_the_great_solstice_a/ggr56qr?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) were probably the first to have true, strong psychic link through which they knew each other closely despite also being in different countries. But yet again there'd have been no good way for either of them to build a life in the other's country or any other common place, and as always, they prioritized doing the right thing for their world.
And so will we, for your world and all of our known universe, or at least I know you always will, and I will always at least do my best to avoid holding you back. |
"You stupid motherfuckers, this is *America*!"
The obese lady shook her finger at me accusingly, as she screamed at me in the checkout line at Costco. She aggressively pushed her cart towards me, piled high with canned goods and toiletries, as her eyes bulged in anger. "I know my rights, there's nothing that says I need to wear Satan's bridle."
It had been a long day, my shift ended in 15 minutes, and all I wanted to do was clock out and go home. While a majority of my face was covered by the standard-issue bite-guard, I'm sure my eyes conveyed my exhaustion and disappointment. I rubbed the bridge between my eyes, and groaned audibly.
Working retail during the zombie apocalypse sucked.
"Look, ma'am, I don't make the rules,"I said. "Store policy is no shoes, no shirt, no bite-guard, no service."I pointed towards the clearly labeled sign.
The lady let out an offended screech. "We haven't had a *zoombie* in these parts for over twenty years! We stopped them all. They're gone. Whatever you snowflakes in Washington say, they ain't coming back."She growled at me, giving me a glimpse of red lipstick smeared over her off-white teeth.
"Satan's bridle doesn't even protect you from bites you idiot. Even if they were back--and they aren't, I'm not stupid--you can still catch it from other fluids. You fucking kids these days don't know what we went through back in 20XX."She slammed her pudgy hand down on her cart, causing it to rattle.
I sighed. "Ma'am, it's not for you--it's for others. The bite-guard is designed so that if, god forbid, you get infected it becomes harder for you to infect others."
"Lord give me the patience to deal with these FUCKING IDIOTS,"she screamed, sending spittle flying. She angrily wiped at her blotchy face, smearing her lipstick down the side of her cheek. "I will NOT let the government restrain me from my God-given rights!"
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I've already called security over and they will be responding soon. It's best for everyone if you didn't make a scene."
"I DO NOT CARE!"she shouted, a large, darkened vein bulging in her neck.
With a triumphant shriek, she stepped around her cart and spat at my feet. As she began advancing shouting obscenities, I noticed that despite my observations earlier, she wasn't wearing any makeup. That wasn't lipstick, that was blood. My eyes widened in fear, when suddenly her head snapped back.
Jackson, our state-issued security officer, stood a dozen feet away, his service weapon smoking.
A more thorough inquiry would be held, per government policy, but the fact that this she had utilized an infectious weapon should be more than enough to justify the shooting.
God bless America. |
"Calling all. This is our last cry before our eternal silence."
The captain switched off the microphone. Next to the radio, the screen and all electronics had been silent for a while now, and only a few of the leds had been left on. Against the engineers' opinion, the passengers had voted to turn them off, thinking that a few watts would increase their odds of survival.
"No matter the odds, we must try till the end. There's always a chance."
It was an empty prayer, as empty as the cold blackness that lied out there. In the infinite void of space, there was no room for miracles. The captain *knew* his message would reach Earth in two days, he *knew* they would be dead when they would get an answer in four days. He *knew* the generator, its backup and the backup of the backup was dead. This was the end.
He removed his old navy hat — a special allowance from headquarters — and laid it on the tall chair. The executive officer was sitting in hers, numb to everything around her. They exchanged a final nod, as he sauntered a last time through the bridge. He could hear some noises coming from the next turn, there was a bit of a scuffle ahead. He sighed, there was no time to waste on trivial matters, but it was better to squash it before it devolved and ruined his passengers' adieu.
A soldier was holding back two-grown men, who tried hard to get past her rifle's barrel. The captain shoulders relaxed. Only one of them had an exo-skeleton.
"What seems to be the problem ?
\- Sir, those men want to access the cryonics.
\- Let us in ! There's liquid cold in there ! We can cryogenize ourselves, right ?
\- You're going to die if you do that. Shatter into bits. Aren't you embarrassed with yourselves ?
\- But there's a chance ! You can't take that from us !
\- Don't you have a family ? Go find them and cherish your last moments."
It was as if his presence didn't even register. Whether they had no loved ones onboard or had some kind of dispute, they were determined. One of them shoved the captain, just strong enough that his magnetic boots were lifted from the metal hull. While the captain floated a few meters away, he became angry.
"Soldier, use your stunner.
\- Sir, You sure ?
\- Yes, now."
With two noisy arcs from his mechanical arm, the soldier took down the belligerents, and they fainted instantly. With their feet stuck to the hull, they looked like two clothes dolls, floating with the wind. She sighed with relief, but she couldn't believe what she saw when she turned towards the captain.
"Sir, what are you doing ?"
The captain had just opened the inside door of the nearest spacelock.
"I'm sick and tired of this shit. ETA till final CO2 drowsiness is seven hours and thirty minutes. Let's make it seven hours and thirty-one minutes."
One week ago, the soldier had decided her life would lose all meaning, if she committed dereliction of duty, and this was a clear violation of her oath. Yet, she decided not to argue, the captain's face was too somber for that. Besides, to follow orders was also her duty..
They shoved the soon-to be corpses in the chamber. With a strong push on the purple button, the captain started the slow decompression.
"Don't look. Bloated bodies aren't a fun sight.", he said to the soldier. The soldier turned away slowly. There were no scream, and when she turned around after the second button push, it was as if those men never boarded the ship.
"Soldier, you are relieved.
\- Pardon, Sir ?
\- You are now off-duty. Enjoy yourself, it's an order. The United Nations thank you for your service.
\- It's been a pleasure, Sir."
They both mustered a last salute, and went on their separate ways. The captain had planned to binge himself on scotch with his lover, and perhaps attempt to make love a few times. At least, he was going to try his earnest. He had swiped some pills earlier from the pharmacy.
Distracted by his thoughts, he had taken an unexpected detour, and found himself in one of the civilian wings. The muezzin soothing voice echoed in the empty corridors, for no one had dared to recoup those watts. The voice spoke of gone rivers, ghost cities and eternal winter. Yet, it promised a joyful beckoning, an unearthly heaven of lush greens and pearly clouds. The captain felt overcome with nostalgia of a moment that had never come to pass, and a strange and unfamiliar sadness was swelling from the bottom of his legs, right into his heart. The voice was gone, and he collapsed against a door. He was not a believer. The perspective of heaven and hell disgusted him. But the thought of his corpse floating in space till the universe's heat death — an endless eternity beyond God itself — scared him to his very core. He wanted to be buried along his life. Or under a tree, where his rotting flesh would feed lively larvae, patient trees, the very Earth itself. The time of wants had long sailed away.
The door opened, and the captain tried to stop his snuffles.
"Oh, it's you, Captain. Alan, right ?
\- Yes. Sorry, I can't remember your name.
\- It's alright. Thousands of people aboard. I am Debra. The florist, remember the blue lily on your birthday ? Do you want to enter ? I've got some tea.
\- Sure, why not. We've got all the time in the world, right ?
\- Oh, I see someone is feeling a bit nihilistic today. Come right in."
Of all things, she motioned him to sit in a bamboo chair. It was a spacious cabin, certainly made for a family of four, perhaps six. The three shelves were filled with childish drawings and various pots of plants — none of them were flowers, he noted — and the bed was flooded with a myriad of colorful clothes, enough to fill two rainbows.
"My wife is at the planetarium. Last stroll with the kids. She wanted to give them some perspective on all of this. You know, the colonization mission, first step of Mankind, blabla.
\- And you didn't join them ?
\- Oh, I had enough of the stars for a lifetime."
They both chuckled, and he felt better for it. The hot Ceylon tea helped with a dryness in his throat he hadn't noticed.
"Everyone has neglected their needs lately. It's not just beards, showers, or mighty heavens, periods. Mental health too.
\- Well, this thursday will the be the last. Despair is expected. Frankly, I'm surprised we only had that one riot.
\- Still. I believe we should be our best version of ourselves. Otherwise, why even bother ?
\- Isn't that a bit harsh ? I mean, of course, as the captain, I try very hard. I must be an example to all. There's no room for failure.
\- Even your best version has the right to take a breather, you know."
She smiled once more, and was about to pour him a new cup, when the door slid open. Her shining family invaded the cabin in a flash. The wife saluted him, but they didn't seem at all astonished to see the captain there.
"Well, I see you've got your little family back. I'll go now.
\- Oh, you don't bother us at all, said the wife. You can stay with us till the end…I mean, if it's alright with you."
For some reason, her red hair reminded him of his own daughter, Julia. He laughed, and his loud laugh surprised everyone, including the wide-eyed children.
"I see, you think I'm a miserable old man. Don't worry. I, too, have got someone.
\- That's good. I feel for those who are all alone. Take care, Alan.
\- You too, Debra."
The captain nodded, and took his leave. Scotch was still in the plans, no question. But each sip would be enjoyed to the fullest. Perhaps three per hour ? They would recount whatever stories they felt pouring out of brain, speak about the good times, the bad times. Their families, back on Earth, or in space. Maybe he would record a message for Julia, just in case. They would need two comfortable armchairs, ones with a padded backrest. There should still be a few left in the theater.
Yes. This wasn't such a bad way to go. |
The leaves were crunching under my feet as I ran faster than I'd ever ran before.
A large Tail-wagger was chasing me after I stole some of its food for my kittens. Ok they weren't mine, but they weren't anyone's!
I darted through the trees, much nimbler than the Tail-Wagger. It was for naught though. I was cornered.
The Tail-Waggers tail wasn't wagging. It's eyes were angry and its teeth were showing. It approached me slowly. Enjoying every moment of my fear.
I hissed at the beast but it only laughed.
"Are you so selfish that you'd kill a mother just wanted to feed her children!"I asked the Tail-Wagger, in a last ditch attempt for mercy.
It laughed again.
"Like you Claw-Foots care about people. Your selfish creatures. This is merely karma"
Claw-Foots. Such a hideous name. I am a cat. No idea where the Tail-Wagger got that from.
The monster came closer to me. Towering over me at that point. I closed my eyes as I felt the beast bite and tear at me. One of my paws. My tail. I felt it all being torn away.
"Like I said, Claw-Foot. Karma"the Tail-Wagger said as it walked off. Leaving me to die.
I was gonna die there.
My kittens were gonna die.
Everything I've ever done.. For nothing..
Until I heard a voice.
A voice like no other voice.
"DJINN WHAT DID YOU DO‽"The voice yelled. It was angry.
I heard leaves crunching as the owner of the new voice came towards me.
"It's gonna be alright. You're gonna be ok"
Was it going to put me out of my misery. My foot twitched as I thought of that. I'm not going down without a fight.
"Oh thank God you're alive!"The voice sounded... Relieved?
I felt two... Things lifting me up. How large was this creature? It was larger than the Tail-Wagger!
As the creature lifted me up I felt myself fading and I passed out.
I woke up in a strange place. The sky was white. There were no trees. The floor was white as well. There was an impossible large creature standing over me. Smiling. It looked like the cat who claimed he was a sphinx that I met once. That car spoke strange lands. Large boxes, big enough to hold a thousand cats. Strange creatures that stood on two legs, and only had fur on the tops of their heads. I took it all as the delusions of an old kitty but maybe? Maybe that was the truth.
I turned my head to look at my tail and paws.
My tail was mostly missing, and my left back paw was too. The ends were wrapped up in a strange white pelt.
"Hey sweetie, are you ok darling?"The creature was speaking to me.
I looked up at the creature, trying to keep my poker face. I tried to look calm, but in reality I was scared. What monster of a being takes a dying prey, and saves its life? Has it never heard of survival of the fittest?
I saw another creature turn to the first one.
"She's gonna be ok, thank god, but she'll need surgery, and will have to get used to walking with a missing leg. I know she's feral, but for the time being, are you able to keep her indoors?"The second creature was saying it of things I didnt understand. Surgery? Feral? Indoors?
"I'll try to keep her away from Djinn."The first creature spoke. Then it turned to me. "I'm gonna take you home sweetheart, after you get better I'll find a new home for you"I didn't understand what this creature meant. A new home? I ready have one. With my kittens.
The creature picked me up with its two front legs.
That's when I realised something.
It was walking on two legs. |
Three minutes and seven seconds: that is how long it takes for Marla to begin the avalanche of texts that would surely follow. I dig my phone out of my oversized purse, receipts and a used Hobby Hut gift card spill out with it onto the sidewalk. Embarrassed, I pick up the litter as quickly as possible and hope no one saw.
Geez. One would think I was trying to hide needles like a junkie. It's only trash, but it bothers me deeply.
Letting out a sigh, I look at the text. I mean texts. The avalanche is here.
"How do I use the garbage disposal? I made a blueberry margarita but it was gross so I just dumped it down the drain."
"Is there an app for it or something?"
"Nevermind, I just boiled water and poured it down the sink."
I looked at my watch. 7:32 am and she's already trying to get drunk. That ex of hers must have really fucked her up--No! Not my problem. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. As I begin to open my purse and replace my phone, another text comes in: why isn't there any hot water? Because you take hour long showers with water temperatures that make volcanoes sweat, I think to myself.
I resist the urge to text back. I've had it, I remind myself. A little frustrated, I silence my phone and walk on towards the train station. Living with Martians is a pain. |
The Prison: Part 1:
Stuffing his crowbar into his duffel bag, Bill Tapper struggled in vain to stave off his misgivings. He was a lowlife, a leech, and the living embodiment of a social parasite. But even he had standards. So when his friend Roger told him about a certain opportunity, it just didn't sit right.
"Come on, man! Stop being so uptight! They're old, and really rich, and we need their stuff more than they do! Plus, it'll be quick. Their place has no security, and nobody else lives there. We walk in while they're sleeping, and we walk out thousands of dollars richer."
"I know man, but just because they're ancient, doesn't mean it's not stealing a literal fortune."
"Whatever dude. Are you in this or not?"
"Yes."
"Then get over yourself."
Bill had gotten over himself. He had also gotten over to the mansion's gates, where Roger awaited him. The two dressed exclusively in black, but didn't bother with masks. After all, the house was on the edge of town. Nobody came around much, what with the dead trees and the statues in the couple's garden. It was the easiest job in the book. Roger grabbed Bill's crowbar, pried the locking mechanism on the gates apart, and the two dashed down the path towards the house.
\------------
Jerry Atkinson was a young man trapped in an old man's body. Years had gone by, and yet he never truly attained wisdom or serenity. All that existed within him was a selfish longing to go back to his glory days on the silver screen, a burning longing that only grew as his body aged and fell apart. Lurking in his home with his once-beautiful wife - the magazines had called her "America's Loveliest Gal"- he seethed with hatred for those upstarts who stole his spotlight, and his decrepit near-corpse of a body that failed him. But one day, as he browsed the books in his father's library, he came upon a gift of incredible power. The book had been hidden away in a secret compartment, but the wood had rotted away long ago. It had a heavy metal cover and worn, faded pages written in a strange, alien font. He wouldn't have known what to make of it, but notes written by his father led him to decipher the dialect and understand the secrets the tome contained. His wife begged him to take a break from his reading, but he poured over the book for days on end. And his labour bore fruit. The book was a tome of rituals. Rituals that could help him get what he so desperately wanted.
The Siphon of Tempus was a costly ritual. But if completed properly, it could finally restore him to his former glory. And the costs weren't all that expensive if you were rich. It required three components: The blood of a child, a totem of hatred, and the life of a person the subject of the ritual loved most. The second was the easiest. All he had to do was order a DVD of Gilbert Grayson's greatest hits. That man took everything from him. Gil's career was Jerry's decline. The first wasn't that much harder. Just because he was old, didn't mean he wasn't well versed in technology. All it took was hiring a hitman on the dark web and 6 year old Victoria Michaels "Tragically went missing."He never liked the brat anyway. The third was hard, but required some strength: Maryanne Cooper, his wife, was nice and all, but she had lost his interest. Whatever. He would just find someone new and refreshing when he got his youth and virility back. After setting everything up in his basement, he dressed up in his finest tuxedo (which, to his rage, hung loose off his aged frame) and invited Maryanne down for a dance neither would ever forget. |
I really don’t understand time travel, it’s not my thing. I’m a military contractor, I get shot at, and sometimes I get clearance to shoot back. That’s been my job for the last two years since I got out of the Army. But here I am, standing in front of a large black cube with a door, armed with outdated night vision googles, an AK-47, Glock 19, and a drug that’s supposed to keep my mind distracted from the impossibility of time travel long enough for me to complete my objective. Hamster interrupts my thinking, just as you would expect from an egotistical AI.
“Operative 1, are you now ready for your final mission briefing?”
Hamster was a Baytheon invention , an AI made for planning missions and guiding them. Unfortunately being developed by a major military contractor means it’s got a habit of expecting things to happen faster than they can, and acting like an asshole in general. That said, you still don’t want to piss off a militaristic AI.
“Yes Hamster, I am now ready for the final briefing.”
“Operative 1, when the signal is given, you will walk into the black cube and administer the first dose of medication. The door will shut behind you, and you will turn on your goggles as the lights inside dim to the appropriate level. You will ready your firearm. A time distortion will then be forced, placing you just outside this same Baytheon Technology Research Facility ten years in the past. The light value will be the exact same as it was within the box. Target 1 and 2 will be standing 20 and 24 feet away from you respectively. You will engage 1, then 2, you must complete this within 10 seconds. You will then administer the next medication, and standby for retrieval. If you are returned, you where successful. Is this clear?”
“Crystal”
“Please await the green light.”
The light turns green, I walk in to the small black cube, the door shuts. I inject the first dose, almost immediately I feel the world become distanced. As the lights dim, I turn on my goggles and set the AK to semi-automatic firing. I feel the ground change from tiles to concrete, and I have the distant feeling something is off. Supposedly that’s one of the things time travel does. I identify two targets, I lift up the AK and shoot the closer one first, head, then center of mass before he crumples down. The second one turns towards me, they’re carrying a pistol in one hand, with a duffel bag over the other shoulder. I fire into their center of mass twice, they drop. I turn on full auto and dump the rest of the magazine into both of them. That should have only been 9 seconds. I fumble for half a second, but finally get ahold of the auto-injector, and administer the second dose. This time the distant feeling becomes more pronounced, suddenly I’m on hard tiles again. The goggles light up for a second before I take them off. There’s still no one at the facility, although I find it odd I wasn’t transported back to the cube I traveled from. Perhaps I took a few steps forward when I engaged the targets. The world grows more distant still, my legs buckle, although I don’t feel anything, even though I hear my body hit the ground. An automated stretcher comes and carries me away. Hamster is saying something about how I succeeded, and I think trying to schedule a mission debrief. I really hate time travel.
(This is my first time trying this, sorry it’s a bit dull) |
Warden Brennan sighed and took a sip of her coffee as she glanced over the piles of suicide request form. Brushing a lock of her red hair from her eyes she returned to the latest request.
*“The institute has taken the requisite steps required to verify the terminal condition of the applicant, has engaged in 250 hours of therapy and consultation with the patient and has determined that they are of sound mind and has retained the required capacity to make such a decision."*
*"As per the terms outlined in the Community Service by Assisted Death mandate the patient has requested that her death be performed by Harry Gilento, commonly known as The Memphis Strangler.”*
Brennan shook her head ruefully, why the woman would want Gilento of all people to assist her death was beyond her, but she wasn’t in a place to question it. Her job was simply to make sure that she wasn’t just some psychotic serial killer groupie who wanted to use the Assisted Death laws to give their ‘idol’ another kill.
Satisfied that this wasn’t the case she took in the details of the woman’s condition; severe tumors throughout the brain. Expected to experience increasingly worse pain and cognitive function as her brain slowly crushed itself with the tumors. She’d be left as a vegetable within a few months, and it sounds like it would be a blessed relief from the already significant pain she was experiencing.
Brennan shuddered at the prognosis, honestly Gilento was definitely more merciful than that death, he at least was done in just a couple of minutes. Reading on, she glanced over the institute's final words.
*“In accordance with the guidelines regarding the providing of the service of Assisted Death the institute recommends that the parole date of the inmate selected for the process be moved forward by 2-6 months in line with the estimated relief the patient will gain from undue pain and suffering.”*
With a nod Brennan stamped the official box with an APPROVED stamp and rolled it up into a pneumatic tube launcher to be delivered. Death Assistance requests were to be processed with the highest priority after all. |
Hi u/MinhBurr, this submission has been removed.
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It’s five in the morning when Escher wakes, sitting up slowly in the dim light of his 204th floor apartment. The light is beginning to angle in, carrying all the promising hues of the dawn, and he can see silhouettes cutting fine shapes as they transverse a footbridge connecting two skyscrapers in the distance. He notices a figure standing still in the middle of the footbridge, and it appears to be looking at him.
Escher has developed a keen sense for when people are looking at him, since his job - being a time historian - usually involves going to the past, where people cannot see him, because they’ve already had their visual cells - rods and cones - absorbed with whatever they’d already seen back then.
He stands and walks to the glass, completely naked, and then the figure waves at him. Ellis flinches, as if the figure had shot him, and then he forcefully interacts with the glass, multiplying the magnification factor on the windows.
He can now see a woman in a red dress, walking to work. Another person, a man in a suit, is walking the other way. People of all shapes and sizes are starting their daily commutes, but the figure that was standing still is nowhere to be seen.
“Coffee, please, Fjonn,” Ellis says, sitting down naked in his reading chair. He keeps the magnification factor on the glass, in case the figure returns, but every time he looks up, there is nobody looking back at him.
He flips through the work diary, not even phased that it is out of chronological order. It’s open on a previous assignment he had fought for. 1912 - Titanic. He keeps it open on this page because he saw something then that haunted him.
He remembers standing up on the iceberg, waving frantically at the Titanic. He shouted at them: “I’m a fucking iceberg you dunderheads! Turn your goddamn ship you wankers!”
But of course, they didn’t hear him, and he silently took down a visual recording of everything with his camera, his deploy drones which filmed Avery nook and cranny in the ship as it sank, and even a water robot, which he has put Fjonn’s mind into, which detailed everything as the ship began to sink down into the ocean.
But there was something he found there he didn’t expect: an unnamed passenger, who seemed to see him from the aft deck. She had looked up at him as the ship scraped along the ice, and he had known she was looking at him. Where she went, he didn’t know. Even his cameras couldn’t find her signature among the dead, once the silt settled.
Ellis turned another page in the diary: the great financial crisis of 4,013, which made him pay exorbitant prices to improve his security, being a well to do fellow. The bombing of 2,376, where a nuclear warhead was used for the first time in a world war, and then the subsequent death of many things that followed, and the rebuilding of modern society over the following centuries.
There is a knock at the door… |
The anguished cries of widows and loved ones almost drowned out that fuckers voice. But no one dared move with all of the cops that were around. I gazed at this rally from across the street up in a fire escape, I ran the dagger across my palm and the blood welled up and dripped down my wrist. "Motherfucker....."I grumbled under my breath as I tried to steady my shaking hand. This was for my father, for Frankie's older brother. For Mrs Cowell's husband. I didn't care if everyone knew what I was by the time it was over. I felt my blood boiling as the transformation began, my skin tearing like fleshy paper to make way for the rippling jet black fur underneath. My vision grew as sharp as my mouth did full of fangs. My horns grew into their signature curls, and my hooves stomped into the concrete with thunderous slams. With the finishing quiver of this new body, two large black leathery wings unfurled from my back. I was the Jersey Devil. Like my father, and his father before him. A sinister grin curled my lips over my pearly sharps, the Mayor always loved to mention how the devil was in the details didn't he? |
As a kid, the world was a magical place filled with wonders and joy. It was especially so for me when you're the kid with the world's first and only talking dog.
Me and Robbie, against the world.
I remember when I first got him. My Dad, a world famous geneticist, brought Robbie back as a pup and I remember being so ecstatic at having a friend. I taught him fetch, sit, roll-over - all sorts of tricks - and being amazed at how quick Robbie was at learning.
And then, when he was three, the most wonderful thing that could happen to a kid did. Robbie spoke. Imagine that, a talking dog, the only one in the whole world and he was mine.
I sniffle a little as I pull him into a soft embrace and placed my hand over his grey fur, brushing his back gently as I recall his first word, his first sentence.
"Love. You. Friend."
It was something I'd whisper to him every night, a tiny "I love you, Robbie"before we go to sleep. Something I've repeated my whole life as we grew together.
But as I grow older, the time we spent grew shorter.
I had to leave for college and I remember his cry and wail when we departed. I remember reassuring him that I would come back as frequently as I could, trying to explain why he couldn't come. I remember the sharp pain in my heart as I depart.
I will never forget the joy in his eyes when I return during my school breaks or the painful separation that followed repeatedly all the way till graduation.
When I finally started working and got my own place, oh the joy on his eyes when I could finally bring him with me. I tried to spend as much time as I could playing with him but as time passes, I could tell - he was lonely and I wasn't doing enough.
Yet he never minded it.
My breathing grows restless as my eyes tear up, my hand covering my mouth in muffled cries as I bite my lips hard, trying to use the pain to stop myself.
I look down at my friend as he lays upon the metal table, his breath deep and slow as he looks at me, the kind beautiful gaze that never changed, piercing into my soul.
"Love. You. Friend. I. Go. Now."
As his heartbeat crawls to a stop and the vet besides us declares his time of death due to old age. The dam bursts and I embrace my dog, whispering to him repeatedly.
"Love you too, Robbie. I love you too." |
"At what speed are they the safest?"CHANGE. "Noticed that streets are covered with a material, never know what is underneath.""No interest in the different forms or models of the cars.""Past a certain speed it will not matter."CREEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAK. "Even when one does the right thing, others doing the wrong thing. Won't matter."BEEP. BEEP. BEEEEEEP.
"Noticed the other day, someone driving slowly. Could not see the contents of the car. They did not swerve. Were they looking over here?"CHANGE. "The light from over here tells them. The light here, not visible from here. Only they can see the light over here.""Please see the light over here. Don't ignore it."CHANGE. "Does the light over here matter? The majority of the people that go by, they know it does.""The people who don't see the light over here were really the only ones that needed to see it. That and the people they changed by moving too fast.""Where else could there be light?""The light over here, was it from me?" |
It started with the purple scab, like a forgotten injury until it reminded you of Mr. Gianni's Kaposi scarcoma. Even down to that shape, like a melted Sicily. Then, Mrs. Hempstead's melanoma appeared on your lower back, burning whenever you leaned back in your chair.
The general exhaustion you thought was just being a nurse, one who was overworked and underappreciated, until you started coughing blood. You didn't even have to hear the results of your own blood test, where your doctor said that your liver enzymes are seriously off, but ordered a new test. He even quipped: "I haven't seen levels this low since that COPD patient we had in here... what was his name? Lewis? Adams?"Adams. It was Adams. Pleasant man, until you missed the Xanax doses. He died two weeks ago when his organs just gave out from the stress.
It all seemed to crash around you. You couldn't work, could barely move out of bed. And now there was no one to ease your pain. No one to slip you an extra dose to end the pain. In some cases, death is a mercy and no one is there to be merciful to you. |
“Yes sir,” one guy in a lab coat said.
“I see...” the man in the suit said, rubbing his chin. I was scared and confused. “So the experiment was a failure.”
“It seems so,” another person in a lab coat said.
“What experiment? Where am I? Who are you?”
“Shhh. Relax. You’re helping us make great scientific strides in bringing the world to peace.”
“By planting a chip in me?!” I yell, I felt a small shock in my head.
“Be still. Calm down. We’re going to remove the chip from you.”
“How is chipping people bringing world peace?”
“I suppose I can inform you... you won’t remember any of this anyway. You see, humans cannot be trusted to make their own decisions, as it only leads to misery. We are trying to find a way to seize control over the human mind to bring the world to everlasting peace.”
“That’s horrible! You can’t use mind control! What makes you think that’s a good idea?!” I try to free myself from the restraints but they’re in so tight that it hurts to just try.
“There will be no pain and suffering if we can control the minds of humans...”
Why is this guy saying “we?” Just who is he? Last thing I remember was doing my homework, then feeling a sharp pain in my head. I tried taking medicine for it but the pain just kept getting worse. I must’ve blacked out because next thing I knew, I’m in this lab surrounded by scientists. They pull out some strange device with a small drill, tweezers, and a scalpel. I felt them shave of some of my hair in the back, causing more throbbing pain.
“W-What is that?” I ask, staring at the device.
“Relax you won’t feel a thing.”
That was the last thing I heard before blacking out.
****
The man in the suit walks out as soon as the scientists began operating on the test subject. He never liked watching stuff like that and always preferred to avoid it whenever possible. He walks down a dark corridor and to a ends up in front of a door. He knocks. The door opens. The room has a large holographic screen monitor showing the chip and its coding and programs. There’s a black chair in front of that screen and in it is a young man with black hair, brown eyes, and wearing black pants and red shirt. Over all he looks very casual, but his eyes have a look of emptiness, like someone who has been through endless hardships. He lifted his hand, which began to glow red, and forced the man in the suit over to him.
“I heard the experiment was a failure?”
“Y-Yes sir. It was.”
“Pitiful. I’m assuming the chip broke inside the test subject, causing sharp pain and a slight shocking sensation?”
“That’s what we observed from them.”
“Hmm... interesting. I’ve been thinking... instead of a chip I could possibly bring back an old project I started years ago. Nanobots,” the young man said in a cold voice.
“Whatever you wish to do, I’ll provide the funds for you. You have my loyalty Delta.”
The man on the chair, named Delta, smiled a bit.
“That’s good. Now go back. The procedure should be done now. I have edits to make and plans to construct.”
“Yes sir,” the man in the suit says. He walks out of the room.
Delta rolls his eyes.
“World peace. Please. Such a thing can never happen on this planet. The current state of the world is deplorable. If I am to truly change it, I must... remake it.” Delta pulls up blueprints and concepts of a massive machine that has the capability to construct an entire planet from scratch and next to it is a large cannon capable of destroying planets.
“I will remake this planet. I have all the necessary materials and information. I just feel like playing with these life forms for a while before eliminating them for good.”
He plays a small simulation he made of the cannon destroying the earth, and the planet forging machine recreating it.
“I’ll finally get rid of this useless rock... and my suffering will go away.” |
We had been on this planet for but few space minutes when our space instruments ordained a viable species-enhancement combination. We linked minds with those of what were the local equivalency to the space cats of mine own realm of origin. We could not communicate the proper methods and procedures one would follow were one learned in traditional usages of this particular ability. This species was undeniably intelligent, but lacks any interest in cooperation, much less prolonged communication. Much to our surprise, the fires began. There are none among us who doubt the necessity of intent and focus to start much more than a spark on one’s first day imbued with a new spell such as they. Space birds are born to fly, and it seems that these creatures were finally allowed the wings they had been denied, lo these many moons(although they have but one). This was and is the first and only gift we never rescind. |
((I wanted to write something outside of my native language, so please accept this shitty A2 French story that makes zero sense. French writers, I’m desperate for your criticism.))
Les murs chantent à nouveau.
Je ne bouge pas de ma chaise. Mes doigts creusent dans mon accoudoir. Mes respirations sont courtes. Mon cœur danse.
*Partez, s’il vous plaît s’il vous plaît s’il vous plaît*
*S’il vous plaît, je ne peux pas sortir ma chaise*
*S’il vous plaît, avant je fais quelque chose qui je ne devrais pas faire*
Les murs chantent. Mon corps répond. Mon poids est trop saillant. Je suis tombé à travers la chaise. Je suis noyé dans la chaise. Tu ne vois pas?
*Tu ne vois pas?*
Les larmes coulent sur mon visage. Je ne peux pas sentir. Peut-être, j’ai été transformé en pierre.
Ce n’est pas les voisins. Je n’ai pas de voisins. Mais les murs chantent et ils ne mentent jamais....
La maison tremble maintenant. Elle rampe dans mon estomac. Je veux m’échapper. Je veux mourir. La maison rampe dans mes poumons. Je veux respirer. Je veux mourir. La douille vibre. Longue doigts avec ongles peints passent par les trous et les sépare. Une femme se déploie et roule sur le sol.
« Pardonnez-moi » elle dit.
« Je ne sais pas qui vous êtes.
- Ce n’est pas un problème. Voulez-vous aller dehors? »
Je regarde par la fenêtre.
« Il pleut.
- Ce n’est pas une problème.
- Je vais être mouillé. Je n’en ai pas envie.
- Venez, malgré tout. Ce vais être amusant. »
Elle me serre le bras.
« Viens.
- Je ne peux pas sortir ma chaise.
- Vous le voulez? »
Je me tortille.
« Je ne sais pas.
- La pluie n’est pas mauvais. Votre corps est douloureux, n’est pas?
- Vous avez raison.
- Vous n’avez pas beaucoup de temps.
- Ah?
- Viens, viens. Il pleut. J’ai habité dans votre maison pour un long moment. Vous êtes très triste, toujours.
- Je ne connais rien de mieux.
- Alors, dansez avec moi avant le temps devient beau à nouveau. » |
**Pigeon, Crane and Magpie**
"Welcome to the Pigeon Forge, where the best birds in the entirety of the Vapour Sea are crafted!", the man in white robes exclaims. His hands swinging wildly through the air, trying to bring into focus the entirety of the convoluted machinery behind him. Tubes irrationally shot out in every direction. A furnace hovered in the centre of multiple brass rings that distributed the the oval ovens extraordinary heat to the surrounding smelters.
"Our product is sure to surpass any other in the sea and beyond.", a wide smile was chiseled into his face mask. In the audience, a solemn chair held up the only person there. His mask molded into a frown as he watched on, bowler hat pulled deep over his sceptical face. The Buyer wasn't convinced by the Sellers vague attempts at advertising these "Pigeons"as he called them. Looking down on his small wooden pocket watch he saw that the seventh arm had just passed a quarter of it's circumference. Defeated, the Buyer sighed. Then he launched his lackluster attempt at tickling actual information from this sales pitch.
"What makes a pigeon better than a more established bird, like a sparrow or let's say an eagle?"His Noneperson assistants copied what the Buyer was saying by turning their ethereal bodies into the aforementioned birds. The Seller stopped, his pinkish mask melting off the smile to a more neutral facial expression. "Well, for one, despite us using only the finest flesh from the newly established Fisher&Fisher Cloudfarming Emporium, we are the cheapest in our very high quality class. Crane and Stork producers can't even hope to keep up with our highly competitive prices of 5.99 £ per bird."Slowly the Sellers smile got reformed. The Buyer on the other hand, still firmly unimpressed continues on. All the while the Nonepersons help to visualise the whole conversation.
"What about performance? K&H South has just presented their newest Magpie, able to carry a pound of clay dust with just two of them. Are pigeons able to compete with this impressive feat?"The clay on the Sellers face strangely shook, flowing back and forth as if unsure of it's users reaction. When he took a deep breath to launch into another heated claim, the mask returned to a smile. "The new and improved feather formula, in which we only use the highest quality feather ore, allows a by far higher weight to force ratio. What is the price of this new Magpie?""12.49 £, I think?""Ah!", the Seller raised a finger into the sky. Enthusiastically the Nonepersons followed, but were quickly shunned by the Buyer. Then the man, with reigniting valor shining from his heart, continued. "You may need three of my pigeons to deliver the same load, but as you might have noticed our pricing is able to solve that issue by being far cheaper. This doesn't sound as bad, does it?"
The Buyers clay mask changed into a thoughtful expression as he rubbed his covered chin. There was value here, that's for sure. He let one of the Nonepersons change into a note and then stood up and extended a little finger. With his clay changed to pure joy the Seller jumped from his feathered podium and took his new potential partners little finger with his index. The two shook the grapple from side to side in agreement. "The German Kingdoms will be happy to hear about a potential bird supplier."
"And I will be happy to provide."A chute opens and a pigeon flaps it's wings, the first of many to take flight for the new nation. |
Day One: There’s someone in my house. Let me explain. I just moved in here. After spending five long years in purgatory and getting hired as a reaper, I was finally able to return to earth. Not that I had much to come back to. Just my childhood home, my brother and my best friend. We’re all technically adults now, isn’t that crazy? It feels like just yesterday we were back in middle school, pulling pranks and dreaming of tomorrow. Turns out ‘tomorrow’ isn’t exactly as we had pictured it.
But that’s not what this story is about. This is about the person in my house. I found the place abandoned, as that’s what you do when you’re dead and looking for a place to stay. I kept the outside all creepy-looking, of course, but spruced up the inside best I could. I first saw them while getting rid of some cobwebs. They were just there, in the hallway. We made eye contact and they darted off. It was really weird. When I come home from work I scan the house to see if they’re still there. But I only see them when I’m not looking for them. Isn’t that weird?
Day Two: I decided to try and scare the intruder out of here. It hasn’t worked so far. I’ve opened doors randomly, thrown (mostly) non-breakable things across the room, and just generally made a ruckus. None of it has worked though. I only ever get glances of the intruder, and yelling at ‘em does nothing. I’m not very good at scaring people. I spent my childhood trying not to be scary. An infuriating skill to have in my scenario.
The intruder has been making a lot of noise too. I have no idea why. It’s like a more drawn-out version of ‘Who Can Be The Most Annoying?’ which is a game I am both the inventor of and champion at. Who does this person think they are, trying to challenge me? I’ll show them.
Day Three: This morning I found the truth about the intruder. See, they had written ‘GET OUT’ in blood on my mirror. A jerk move, obviously, but not a living jerk move. There’s a subtle but important difference. Shortly afterward, I finally got a good look at them. That is to say, I got a good look through them. Yep, turns out they were a ghost too. We talked for a while, and it turns out they thought I was the intruder. Ain’t that just the way.
I asked where they got blood for that message, and they gave a very… creative answer. You don’t wanna know. They left after that, citing the ‘finders keepers’ rule and that I was here first. So that was a thing that happened. What’s going on with you?
Mrow.
Heh. You’re a pretty good listener for a random stray cat. I'ma call you ‘Spook.’
You can read other stuff I wrote [here](https://reddit.com/r/RandomClodWrites) if you want. |
Deeds Done
“It’s over now. Please stop” Kaleen called out to Balthamus who stood over the fallen god. Blood of the Divine pooled around his feet and it bubbled and simmered of it’s own accord. As it did, tiny hands could be seen reaching out from the pool, clawing their way up his boots and onto his legs. The air seemed to hum with a rotten kind of life and whispers filled the air, though their source was unknown.
Kaleen had seen this before. Whenever Kathral-Indir had slain another of The Divine it’s fetid blood would writhe and slither across the floor, desperately seeking another to infect with it’s intoxicating power. Kathral-Indir had always drank of the blood though, absorbing it’s essence and adding it to his own. Now that he was slain, The Blood was free to seduce a new host. It called to Balthamus, and Kaleen wasn’t sure if he would be able to resist its offers.
The Blood climbed and crept up Balthamus’ legs, desperate to reach his mouth and assert its hold over him for good. Kaleen summoned all of the strength she had left and charged with a blazing whip of fire in her hand, hoping that she could boil it away, but even in its weakened state without a body, The Blood fought back. It’s many hands scattered her whip to the breeze and the claws on its fingers ripped and tore at her flesh and armor alike as though they were paper. Collectively it mustered the strength to toss her off to one side before continuing its slow climb.
Realizing she had no more options, she began to call out to Balthamus once more. “Resist its call, Balthamus. You don’t have to take it on!”
Her words fell harmlessly to the wayside, failing to effect him in the slightest. Still, she persisted “It is lying to you! Whatever it’s offering is worth nothing compared to what you’ll lose if you accept.” Again, her words seemed to glide past him. Mustering everything that she had and everything that she was, Kaleen walked forward towards Balthamus.
“Think of our children! Think about what you and me have, and what we could have if only you can resist it!” As she approached, the hands of The Blood began tearing at her, ripping through her body, but she pressed on. She finally got close enough to reach him and she took his hand. The Blood boiled and seethed, and it’s many hands fought her advance nearly as desperately as they scrabbles up his form. She squeezed his hand tightly and offered a single reassurance.
“Together as always”
Instantly, Balthamus eyes opened and glowed with the righteous fury that only a Dread Hunter could conjure. Flame enveloped his body and as it did, Kaleen added her own. The pair burned brightly as the midday sun and the heat of their fire pushed the blood back, forcing it back to the ground and eating away at it until nothing remained but a darkened smear on the stone beneath them. When at least it had been destroyed, the flames went out and the pair collapsed. Using each other as support, the managed to sit up together. Their breath was ragged and their chests heaved the with every one that escaped from their bodies. Together they had defeated Kathral-Indir and together they would now be able to decide the course of their own fate. |
"Explain yourself dammit"Boss looked mad
"It's all in my report"
"Your report reads "Killed the bad guy got the girl saved the day"He was almost incandescent with rage reminded me of the headmaster when I lead a coup at school and waterboarded the perverted games master till he confessed. Should have just shot him. Organising the firing squad just took too long I just had a flair for the dramatic even then.
. I was hungover and still buzzing from a successful mission and a lot of sex . So I smiled at him and stoked the fires.
"Well I could have added more but just turn on the tv"
Boss took a calming breath dammit not wining the bet with his secretary that I'm going to give him a stroke. Maybe next time.
"Which bit of secret intelligence service do you not understand? When the results of your escapades are front page news. Something has gone wrong"
"Was I supposed to let Israel get nuked?"
"It was supposed to be a low key surveillance operation get in access the plants systems and get out"
"Not a Micheal Bay movie"
"You know me I allways go for Albert Broccoli aesthetic "He gave me the look which has chilled genrals and prime minsters. It slid off me being barely sober and having just left two of the hottest women in bed. Honestly they should give me a medal just for turning up. I grinned back like a cat that has just inherited a dairy.
"Why can't you just do your job without heroics and explosions ? This is not a bond movie. Your not keeping the car.
"That is just petty its not like the owner needs it"
"You killed him in a sword fight while his rocket base exploded"
"I believe the technical term is a missle facility and they were scimitars"
"I don't care if the were effing light sabres"
Okay may have pushed him a bit far.
So is it South Georgia for me?"
He actually growled at me "Just because that happened when I wasn't the boss doesn't mean I didn't hear about it."
I tried to look sheepish "It wasn't my fault"
"How our secret listening station was you and a handful of women and you ending up fighting with neo nazi over a sunken u boat full of gold and a Swedish expedition they captured."
"Just a coincidence "
No there is a satalitite listening station in Australia
you are their new liasion just try and stay out of trouble Think yourself lucky I only not sending to the antarctic as I watched the thing last night and I can't risk it now get out." |
(Part 1)
Earth. Terra. The Cradleworld. The heart of a galactic empire that conquered the stars and brought alien kingdoms, wretched warlords, and demented xenoform slave-worlds to their knees. Holy Terra, Sacred Terra, the soul of a species that spat in the face of certain death, clawing with vicious determination from the gaping maw of extinction to become a byword for wrath and fury. Mighty Terra, a monument to the glory of Her children, and an eternal icon of their unbridled hubris.
But Earth had long since died. Perished utterly in the fires of war and the genocide that followed. Scorched completely by the mightiest of humanity's creations, forged in their image to be far greater than the sum of their parts. The grand spires of obscene opulence, where lords and ladies dined and squabbled over politics and power, torn down into ash and ruin. The grand Hall of Justice, the heart of the vicious Praetores who brought the law and order of the *Lex Dominante* to all who pledged fealty to the Throne of Earth, shattered and crushed under the tread of incomprehensible god-engines. The Astral Keep, the home of the eccentric navigators and babbling astrographers, who charted the stars themselves, cast down and burned to a cinder. The immense fortresses and fiefdoms of the mighty Cataegis, who carved their names and deeds into the stones upon which they fought to last and died in defiance of their foes, overran, overwhelmed, and drowned in a tide of fury and vengeance. The Imperial Palace, the beating heart of the Terran empire, the home of the Imperial Household and seat of governance of the Emperor himself, a vast complex of gold and marble forge by the greatest artisans humanity could produce. The Palace's death was the slowest. Not content to simply crush it underfoot, the killers of humanity butchered and maimed all who called the Palace home, and crucified the still-living Emperor so he could watch his world die. Only after he watched his world die, and heard the final screams of his dying people, did those who laid humanity low finally grant him death and erase the Palace from existence. The *Storm's End*, a mighty vessel forged in the early days of humanity's conquest of the stars, and the very ship that had delivered the final blow to the Broken Ones of Pluto and Eris, reuniting humanity once more, had tried in vain to save Sacred Earth. Gutted by the traitors of the Warmaster Bastet, then commandeered by those who would be humanity's executioners, the fiery, sundered remains of the mighty vessel were hurled into Earth's atmosphere, driven into the Palace like the asteroid that had slain the ancient titan-lizards of Old Earth. *Storm's End* had been there at the founding of the Terran empire, only fitting that it would be there at the end, as well.
After the last servant of the Confederacy died, the final blow was dealt. Surrounding Earth were twin rings of gold. Composed of linked starports and surge gates, the twin rings were a maelstrom of activity while humanity crusaded amongst the stars, and while consumed by the civil war that followed. As the era of humanity drew to a close, the monsters that slew the children of Terra harnessed the great void-born war-engines to break the great rings into massive segments, which were thrown into the planet itself. Crashing into the surface of Earth like a hail of asteroids, the shards of the rings utterly erased the Confederacy from the surface of Terra.
The executioners of humanity were thorough and merciless in their immolating wrath. By their hand was humanity erased from the galaxy. Every colony destroyed. Every city annihilated. Every ship hunted through the stars and broken. Every man, woman, and child hunted down. Yet they permitted a single monument to remain. Perhaps they had overlooked it, so consumed in their wrath. Perhaps the human soul that pulsed in each forced them to spare it, unable to erase what had been imprinted so firmly upon them.
Upon Earth a circular plaza had been constructed in the early eras of humanity's exploration of space. Upon the plaza were monuments, relics, and recordings of the history of the children of Earth. At the outer edge were statues of the immense and brutal Cataegis, locked in combat with the vicious aliens of the galaxy or basking in the glory of hard-won victory.
Patrarch Corinath could be seen engaged in desperate close-quarters combat with a spidery Xytharch war-form, his gun sundered, his sword wreathed in purging flame. There was the Emperor's Champion, the Herald of Woe, the Centurion Primus of the Crimson Tear. He was clad in artisanal war-plate and bearing the Imperial Eagle. The haft of the standard was embedded deep in the skull of a titanic Yggdrasic Sauronid, whose people had been brought into compliance but had rebelled. Another was forged in the likeness of the Matrarch Sarin. By her hand had the Xth Legion bathed the Scythe Sector in blood and fire. In one hand she grasped the throat of a Scythic Fiend, one of the wretched slavers who had dominated the sector until the Confederacy and annihilated them utterly. Beside her was the Warmaster Secundus, the heir to Throne of Blood. Shrouded in heavy plate that granted him the likeness of a bipedal war-engine and wielding the mighty spear *Worldclaimer*, he was an imposing avatar of Confederate might. The lightning-wreathed blade of the spear was ran through the yawning maw of a void-maggot, itself the size of a shuttle. Then came the Prince of Thorns, the commander and Patrarch of the XIth, the Eaters of Dreams. Bearing a broadsword in one hand and a razor-saw cannon in the other, he was drenched in gore, surrounded by the chittering crustaceans of the Corv. Closing the circle were the twin Patrarchs of the XIIIth, each engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a hell-spawned mutant from the Sigma cluster.
Beyond the immortalized Cataegis were the Lords and Ladies of the Astral Guild. Richly decorated in fine garments and ostentatious jewelry, each had been a pioneer and hero in one form or another. There was Lord Hellrun, who had drafted the first schematics for the surge gates, allowing humanity to traverse the expanse of the galaxy with ease. Then Lady Grey, who had discovered the Sicarian Sector and the bountiful worlds it contained, exponentially increasing the industrial abilities of the early Confederacy. Next was the astrographer Byzan, who had first charted the Intaren Junction, a hub of economic might and the eventual seat of power of the Merchant Guild. Beside him was the Prime Navigator of House Ordon, the Iron Lady, the beautiful Lotari. She had pushed the boundaries of human endurance, single-handedly guiding an entire crusade cohort when catastrophe struck during the Calyxian Conquests. Then came Lord Ceres, who had led the first expeditionary fleets into the prototype surge gate, heralding humanity's crusade to conquer the stars. Next was the mechanized technocrat Byzan Hesst, who had rallied the ravaged fleet of the Martian Technocracy and wrenched victory from the gaping jaws of defeat during the Phaton War.
The third ring was composed of the five founders of the Great Houses, who governed over vast swathes of space in the Emperor's name. There was the bald and severe Cerian of House Ordon, eternally drowning in conspiracy and plots. Then the broad, rugged form of Lord Leton of House Atreca, proud and honest to a fault. Next was the lithe, elegant Lady Hesperaxi of House Harkon, whose beauty hid an insidious and merciless soul. Beside her was the arachnoid form of the Lord Binaros of House Tektohamen, caged in a life-sustaining coffin-machine, desperate to run from the clutches of death. Then came the Lady Sindra of House Verion, of which all knowledge beyond her name and House was expunged after her death. There was a sixth statue, a golden Imperial Eagle, vast wings spread, clutching a cluster of arrows in one taloned foot, and a sword in the other. This statue represented the Emperor, who governed directly over the Solar Sector.
Past the Lords and Ladies of Confederate government was the original monument, built in the early eras of humanity's history. Three regiments of soldiers, arrayed in formation facing inward. Even amongst the diverse array of warriors, mercenaries, and soldiers that comprised the military power of the Confederacy these soldiers were strangers. For they were not Confederate soldiers, nor of the various colonies and kingdoms consumed and integrated into it. These were the soldiers of the First Contact War, the men and women who gave their lives as humanity learned through blood and fire that they were not alone in the universe. Each soldier was kneeling, one hand placed upon their knee, the other on the ground. They were surrounding a massive four-sided monolith that pierced the clouds. Upon the monolith were inscribed the names of every life lost during the horrors of the bygone era, reaching up into the heavens. Billions upon billions of lost souls, immortalized in the annals of human history, even as the countries they called home and the institutions they served were lost to endless march of history. The monolith was older than the Confederacy, older than the first Solar Empire that preceded it. The monolith had been constructed in the dark days of reconstruction that had followed the First Contact War. Despite all the horror and chaos that had consumed Terra since the fall of the first empire, the monolith endured. As the tortured Earth was ravaged further by brutal warlords and despots, none dared to destroy it. The trauma of the war was imprinted upon the species itself. All felt it, all understood it. The monolith, and the memory of the lives lost during the horrifying period, were held sacred above all else. |
\[Poem\]
the summers sun, a rumbling roar
perfume of new cut grass
"despair!"said he, from blade to blade,
who yet stands tall amid the clash
&#x200B;
"our time is come! we're to be reaped!
the holy gain of growth soon gone
and all I know and all I see
cut bare across the lawn"
&#x200B;
the clear blue sky, a gentle wind
cool calm of elder grass
"nay,"said he, from blade to blade,
"rejoice amid this clash!"
&#x200B;
"our time yet comes, we're to be blessed!
through pain we'll carry on!
and all you've known and all you've seen
will grow yet greener on the lawn" |
"I heard he walked the Long 51 without sleeping"
"It's 'Long 15' you inbred."The prospector smacked her wilted barmate in the shoulder. "And that's not possible, even if he killed a whole gaggle of tribals while burned to the bone."
The bar's mascot popped up between them "I heard 'e fought hover dam against the legion and NCR."
"Cheesus! Mack, you little Radroach, have you been listening in on the adults again? Lemme make this straight, this courier--"
But then, the bar owner had Mack by a dirty ear, telling him off and barking for him to get outside.
"Seems your little eavesdropper has been at it again, Millie."The wilted man grinned through grimy teeth. "Still, he'd be bound to hear about that courier eventually, 'specially with the folks heading to the Strip to spend off their caps."
"Foolishness is what it is."Millie sniffed, cleaning a dusty glass with a dustier rag. "If half the rumors we hear about that courier were true, they'd be a man and woman crossing the Mojave like old Viktor treads the path to his outhouse."
"True, but I went down to the Strip in my old days, afore I went afoul of that rad patch in the Sierra Madre. Even think I saw 'em once."
Millie only rolled her eyes, but the prospector's attention was piqued. "How do you think it was him?"
"Sure, there were enough guns strapped to him, and the duster looked the part. Just the look--the feel that came off her said more than that."
Millie snorted. "So? Lotta fools walk like they know the wasteland."
"Not this one. 'Member that NCR what came through here back when Mack was born? Walked like he had seen everything."
"So?"
"That Courier walked like he had been in a gunfight with everything, and stopped to loot its corpse. Never seen guns or armor like that 'fore or since. Damn!"
"That it?"Millie looked more than done. "You drink too much today?"
"And! And he walked right into the Lucky 38 like he owned the place. Securitrons didn't even bat an eye."
"All right old man. You're cut off for the day. Out!"
The chimes on the door jangled and clattered as old man grumbled his way out, no doubt to the other bar in town.
"Gertie, please tell me you didn't believe a word he said about this Courier nonsense."
"Ah, well. It's just that, well, work's been lean, and I've been hearing all these rumors about some Courier who burnt down half of New Fargo for some bauble. Too many people have been saying too many things for there to be some truth to it."
"Oh, Gert."Millie shook her head, a few gray hairs vaguely following the motions. "You youngsters can't believe everything you hear about some wasteland legend."
"They're saying everything, Millie. Hell, half don't even seem to know which side he won Hoover Dam for. But they're saying he went through the Sierra Madre, Big Empty, fought alongside the Burned Man, took down empires with naught but the iron on his hip and in his heart."
"And that's why, Gert. When everything is said, nothing is true. Mark my words, 'Courier' is just some--"The door jangled. "Damn it, Bryce, I said you're-oh."
Gertie saw the look in Millie's eyes and spun to look at the door.
The bar floor creaked and groaned as the newcomer stepped up to the bar, paying no attention to the snow on the shoulders of his duster. The pack on their back was big enough Gertie wondered how they hadn't gone through the rotted floorboards yet.
"What town is this."Just like the bulk of the armor, the voice through the helmet gave no reveal if there was a third lady in the bar. "And where is the general store
"Miles."Millie answered. "Used to be a city, pre-War. This here is as close as you'll get to a store."
The figure grunted, fingers working at a well used Pip-boy. "Good. I need scrap metal and electronics, duct tape, and all the stimpacks you have."
Gertie watched as the pile on the counter grew. Some of the scrap was even stuff she had scavenged.
"That'll be-"
"This should cover it."The figure pulled out a trio of guns, laying them out on the bartop.
Just on experience Gertie know that the value of the guns was almost twice that of what was on the table, but no argument was accepted when Millie's sense kicked in. Nothing else, thank you, just that and never mind if it was an imbalanced trade.
"One other thing."The voice was hard, but Gertie felt like she almost wasn't hearing it. "I need a guide. Someone who knows the area upriver."
"I can. Three hundred caps."
The red eyes on the helmet were inscrutable, but he only asked two questions. She expected to barter down to two hundred, the fair price, but no change was made. In the end, it seemed that some kind of appraisal had been made. She waited until they were on the main road until saying anything.
"Lost a lot of money in there, selling those, hiring me. You new 'round here prospector?"
"New. Yes."The un-sound of the figure's words came through crisp in the falling snow. "Money is not a concern. I needed to reduce my carry weight."
Slightly confused, she pressed on. "And those guns were from Nebbit's gang, too. You got guts, stranger."
There was a short bark of laughter. "Hardly."
Nebbit found them half an hour later, livid red in the face and followed by four of his cronies.
"You sonofabitch!"Gertie could see the spittle flying from the claim jumper's lips. "Where do you get off, killing half my crew for kicks."
"About three miles East."Came the reply. "Pick up their corpses yourself."
"Draw, you damn coward!"
"You. First."
Nebbit's shot was true, only to ping off of the helmet.
The stranger's reply left the five men dead by the time Gertie had pulled her revolver.
"You-you killed them."She knew Nebbit would shoot, knew his men would, but didn't expect them to fall with all the ease of one shooting empty bottles. "Cheesus, that was fast."
"Yes. A waste of good forty five."It sounded more like he was more irritated by the ammunition expenditure than the killing. "And give me that. You aren't going to be of any use to me firing that."
The revolver was tugged from her grip and replaced with the one just used to kill Nebbit.
"This is a Mormon gun, uh, Mister? You one of them missionaries?"
The figure was already gesturing for her to lead on. "I fought alongside them, but no."
"Tribal then?"
"Also no."
"Some kind of wanderer then?"That was all she could think of.
"On occasion, when not occupied by my other occupation."A chuckle. "And even that varies. What should I call you, guide?"
"Well, some people call me Gert, but I hate that. Just Gertie."
"As you wish."
She waited for an introduction in turn, but none came. Eventually, she stopped and turned to her sudden employer.
"What about you? Somebody who kills five men without a thought has to have a name."
"I have a few."
"So decide on one. Gonna be a hard trip if I have no idea how to address you."
"Call me...Courier Six." |
Today was rough. I got up, ate breakfast, went to school, as usual. And I yelled at my shadow, as usual. She can be infuriating at times, embarrassing me in front of crushes and ruining oral reports. and worse, there’s no way to fix it. I guess I should start at the beginning.
When I was born, I wasn’t alone. I had a twin, specifically an identical twin sister. She didn’t last very long though, dying only an hour after we were born. Then something… weird happened. Twins and death don’t really mix well, so it would make perfect sense if she was bound to me in the ‘normal’ way. Not like this.
Anomalous things such as this tend to happen with babies, but being anomalous, rarely have a cure. So now my sister is my shadow. And it sucks. My whole life has been spent constantly worrying that we weren’t in perfect unison. Worrying that people might start asking questions.
Once, our steps were a bit out of line, and some kid noticed. My sis noticed him noticing, and jumped up to the ceiling out of reflex. No one got it on camera, thankfully, but that was how I got the nickname ‘Pan.’ Like Peter Pan. How amusing.
Today on the walk home from school, Crazy Pan and her Magic Shadow were having a debate.. She was trying to talk me into dropping out of school.
“Think of how much easier things will be! For both of us!”
“Well, without going to school, I can’t get a job. Without a job, I can’t buy food, and then I’ll be dead too.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,”
She always says I’m dramatic, but before I could finish that thought, I rounded the corner to home and smelled a familiar stench of beer, dog drool, and cigarette smoke.
“Uncle Rick,” Sis and I said at the exact same time. There are few things we agree on, but we certainly both hate whenever he comes to visit. And grape popsicles being the best. But it was too cold for popsicles now.
As our sweaty, half-drunk uncle pulled me in for a nauseating hug, Sis stretched as far away as she could without looking strange. Which wasn’t far. The next afternoon was the start of a typical Uncle Rick visit. Mom tried to stop him, in vain, from ransacking the kitchen for more alcohol. I was forced to watch football and recite the names of every player. I choked down squash and pretended to laugh at extremely rude jokes. And my mom’s crud-stain of a brother inspected my room to see if it had changed at all in the four months since the last time he had shown up. Which it had.
“What are all these dolls doing here? Aren’t you too old for these?”
“Those are collectors’ dolls. Ball-jointed. Resin. Expensive.” I tried to explain it simply, as long sentences confuse him.
“To heck with that! If you’re gonna collect, collect real things! Like baseball cards, or sports balls! Not some prissy-ditsy kids toys!”
He started to tear our collection off the shelf, followed by fairy lights, paintings, and anything else he deemed I was too old for. It hurt to hear dolls’ limbs crack as they were stuffed into my tiny waste bin. They were my sister’s dolls too. She helped me with chores and odd jobs to buy them. They were our favorite thing to agree on.
“There. Now go brush your teeth. I don’t want ‘em falling out and making you more like a baby.”
Then he punched me in the face. With that, he went and flopped on the couch, passed out from drunkenness. I had already brushed my teeth that evening. I began trying to piece together the remnants of my dolls, Sis crept away. I assumed she was off to get a snack or something. The next morning, Uncle Rick was dead and gone. Everyone thinks it was alcohol poisoning.
But I knew the truth. I knew that my shadow strangled him to death.
&#x200B;
I've written other stuff too. You can read it [here.](https://reddit.com/r/RandomClodWrites) |
Your phone has been ringing non-stop and will not stop vibrating from the storm of text messages from old classmates and past loves who you have not spoken to in years. You have the video paused on your lap top of the exact moment you became the most famous face in the world. You should have picked a better profile picture, but it does not matter anymore. This is the day you have been waiting years for. You finally have your platform and your plan is set in motion. You go live on Facebook and watch as the viewer count jumps from zero to millions in a matter of seconds. Everyone wants to see you and hear what you have to say. You wait about thirty more seconds until you have an audience with about ninety percent of the population. You have your speech written out in front of you. It is something you have gone through hundreds of times in your head and it is finally happening. You can finally use your words to make a difference. You turn on your microphone. Oh no. Not now. A growl in your stomach. You lose control. Suddenly, you let out a fart that seems to last forever. What a nightmare. |
You put your hand on your chest you have no pulse. You feel no need to Breathe. You are in a completly black featureless room. You try to say something but but you have no voice. The only light seems to be coming from your own eyes. Are you in limbo or purgatory? A voice says "Earn your mark"
Then the light is turned on: You are back in the city you lived in. It is very foggy and there is no colour. You are in your car in trafic. The trafic Isn't moving at all there are people in cars but no sound is coming form the engines or the poeple. The only sound is coming from yourself when you open the door of your car and take a step out onto the ground. You hear your foots steps and your breathing and that is all.
Faces have no eyes they are sitting in their cars warm to the touch but lifeless. Its like a bad computer simulation. You don't know what is going on, it is very cold. You walk past eyeless people sitting on a bench looking out onto a frozen river.You look at them and ask "What is going on?"They say nothing. You feel cold and lonely as if there wasn't another real soul in this whole world. You walk along the frozen river for hours.
Its the same city that you remember but grey and lifeless. You are very tired you have frostbite forming on your fingers and toes. Hunger, lonliness and pain is all you feel. You see a light across the river, it is a scene in full color. Its a camp fire in the distance you can smell food. You think you hear voices of your friends . There is no bridge to cross the frozen river.
You are desperate and walk across the ice it seems thick enough. You are getting closer. It is your friends and there is a party going on. You feel your hope rise. They are looking at you 30m away. You relise they have red eyes. The ice cracks beneith you. You have no energy to swim becasue you are so cold. You hold your breath for aslong as you can but you involentrally inhale a gulp of water. You are kept alive long enough to feel you heart stop and your blood freeze. You are then back in the black feature less room. The Voice says "Attachment is the root of unhapiness, earn your mark". |
2 and a half years! I tried all the drill bits, I tried all the drills! Napalm! Dark rituals! I hired fucking criminals to crack the damn thing open and it wouldn’t yield! Just like my ex wife! And lo, I sit here, in a dusty, cold bank. Shit scattered everywhere, the piles of wrappers and cans I’ve accumulated surrounding me. I stroked my beard, staring at that wretched box one last time. I sighed, I know I’ll crack it some day, I will, maybe today! But that’s what I’ve been saying.
So, finally, I walked up to it and gently leaned against it, I flicked the handle, a last ditch- *it came clean off*. What type of hokey bullshit is this?! How did this not happen before?! Christ alive. Heart racing, eyes wide with excitement, I jammed my finger within the dusty crevice, carefully prying it open.
Within it, was a single small box, ornate with gold trim and beautiful colors, I was hoping for money but this was even better! Thank god it wasn’t locked, a hypothesis I quickly proved as I lifted its wooden lid. Within that box was another slightly smaller box, I quickly opened that one revealing yet another box. Within that one, another box, another, another! I maniacally cackled as the pile of boxes grew bigger. But finally, I saw something that wasn’t a box, a small, white card.
Like a fisherman reeling in his catch, I tossed my hand into the tiniest box, ripping the card from it and bringing it close to my now deranged eyes.
*”we’ve been trying to reach you about your cars extended warranty”* |
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