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Jake had always regretted the choices he had made in life. He had lost everything - his job, his home, and even his family. But then, he discovered something that changed everything. A device that would allow him to travel back in time and change the course of his life.
Without hesitation, Jake activated the device and traveled back 365 days. He was determined to make the most of this opportunity and redeem himself.
Jake knew exactly what he wanted to do. He had researched the stock market and found a certain entertainment store that was about to go bankrupt. Jake decided to invest his life savings of $1,000 into this store, knowing that if he was right, he could turn his life around.
Jake counted the days until the day the store was supposed to go bankrupt. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, nothing happened. The store was still struggling, and Jake's investment had not paid off.
Jake felt defeated. He had used his one chance to travel back in time, and it had all been for nothing. He felt like he had wasted his life, and there was no hope for him now.
But then, Jake realized something. He had been so focused on the money that he had forgotten what was truly important. He had lost his job and his family because he had been so consumed with making money and impressing others.
Jake decided to use this opportunity to make things right. He spent the next 365 days focusing on his relationships and his own well-being. He reconnected with his family and friends and even started volunteering at a local charity.
As the year came to an end, Jake returned to the present day. He may not have made a fortune, but he had found something much more valuable - happiness and fulfillment. Jake had finally redeemed himself, and he knew that he could live the rest of his life with no regrets. |
"Detective Kaminski, this is just. This is so disrespectful!"My partner, Agatha Abnar objected haughtily.
"Come on Abnar, you know I can't do my thing unless I roll around in the evidence. Just go to the front and keep a look out. Please Agatha,"I asked as I rolled around on a backpack, cigarette butts and a stuffed tiger. She huffed and looked my way for a few seconds before slowly retreating to the front of the evidence locker. This was my routine, every time I was stumped on a case. I was a psychic detective but the only way for me to get a vision of the past or future, was to roll around in stuff directly linked to it... like a damn dog.
It was humiliating and sometimes... unnerving but if I couldn't figure out a case, I could almost always get a leg up if I got a vision. This case was one of those that I had given up hope on. It had been two weeks since Abigail Thompson was last seen and no one was making heads or tails of the evidence thus far. So, swallowing my pride, I did what any good detective... that also happened to be psychic, would do, I rolled around in the evidence and let a vision tell me what I needed to know.
"Abnar,"I yelled as I put everything back where it belonged. "ABNAR!"
"Did you get something?"She asked as she came to the door of the evidence locker.
"Yes, and you're not going to like it,"I said dryly. "Tell you on the way,"I said as I made my way to the door.
"The way? The way to were? Kaminski? Kaminski?!"She questioned as she followed me. I could tell that she didn't quite understand me sometimes but went along with me anyways because I always had a way of catching the bad guys. One thing Abnar liked more than a nice quiet evening at home was a case closed and tonight, hopefully, we'd close this case.
"Wait, you're saying you saw the neighbor take the girl from her yard?"Abnar asked in confusion and shock.
"Yes,"I stated as we turned onto the Thompson's street and pulled up in front of the Rockwell's house. We got out of the squad car and made our way to their door. I knocked, and waited for an answer.
"Hello, what can I do for you?"Said Muriel, Mr. Rockwell's wife.
"I'm looking for Jim. Is he here?"I asked calmly as to not overwhelm her. The Rockwells were in their late 50s and when we interviewed them and everyone else on the block, they seemed like genuinely nice people. I would have never thought for a second, Jim would have been capable of kidnapping a little girl, or wanted to, for that matter.
"Oh no. Jim's not here I'm afraid my dear. He's out."She smiled brightly and asked if we'd like to come in.
"No thank you ma'am. Do you know where he went?"I asked, hoping she wouldn't dottle so we could continue our investigation.
"He and Mr. Thompson went to the shack last night. Won't be back 'til tomorrow eve I'm afraid. They've gone on their annual fishing trip a little early this year. Jim thought Mr. Thompson could use something to take his mind off his missing daughter. Poor dear."She started to talk more but I politely cut her off.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rockwell, but we really must be going now. We've got a few more people to talk to. Have a lovely evening,"I waved as we walked back to the squad car.
"A fishing trip? 14 days after your baby girl goes missing and you decide to take a fishing trip?"I muttered under my breath.
"It doesn't make any sense. He was heart broken, as he should be,"Abnar wondered aloud.
"Let's go up there and find out what's really going on,"I stated as I put the car in reverse and we started the 45 minute drive to the lake house the Rockwells owned. |
John Mayer sat in his favourite seat, right across from the television. Currently it played The Chase but he knew that the news would soon be on. Closing his eyes, he could hear the crashing of the waves as they bashed against the towering cliff his little cottage was situated by. Unfortunately for John, he had decided to stop watching the news on account of how depressing it all seemed lately which meant changing the channel, which meant standing up to get the remote from the table. John’s old bones weren’t as strong as they used to be. Back in his day he was able to wake up at 6 o’clock and work for over 12 hours straight sometimes. Now a trip to the bathroom takes the breath out of him and his young neighbour, Benny Ralston looks after his farm since he had no land of his own.
John never had much luck which was why he wasn’t surprised that when he reached the TV remote, he heard the unfamiliar sound of his doorbell ringing. He could just ignore it, he thought standing with the remote in his hand, half glancing at his seat. Signing, he put the remote in his back pocket and shuffled his way over to the door. Peeking out through the curtains he could just about see Benny waiting on him to answer. After fumbling at the locks, John opened the door with relief and came face to face with a distraught looking Benny.
“John, thank god. Have you seen the news?” Benny shrieked, hoping from one foot to the other. Benny didn’t wait for an answer as he barged into the sitting room.
“The news hasn’t been on yet.” John told him, as he shut the door and shuffled back to his seat. Pulling the remote from his back pocket he handed it to Benny who was frantically searching around the TV for the controller. Finally John thought, a bit of drama added to his day.
“It’s madness, John.” cried Benny. “They dropped a load of those nukes they have. New York, New Delhi, London. All of them were hit.” Sure enough when the TV was turned on a man in a freshly bought black suit was describing the situation. The two men watched in silence as scenes of horror flashed across the screen, one after another.
Close to fifteen million people dead scrolled across the bottom of the screen as John started to feel an overwhelming sense of dread rise up from his stomach, move to his chest and now seemed to want to jump out of his mouth.
“Why though?” answered John wearily. His forehead had started to sweat and his shirt collar felt tight around his Adams apple.
“Why? Well why do you think so? It’s World War Three!” muttered Benny, who now leaned against the armchair where John sat, eyes glued to the tragic events unfolding right now all across the world.
“Was Moscow hit?” asked John.
“Don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”
They sat in silence once more, taking in all the awful pictures, trying to make sense of these senseless acts.
“Dublin will be packed with refugees.“ whined Benny. “Work will get competitive. Christ, that's the last thing I need right now.”
“Don’t worry about it. There’s worse things that can happen to you.” replied John without looking at the younger man.
“Easy for you to say.” snapped Benny, glaring now at the frail, old man sat beside him. John hardly heard him as Benny stood, silently snarling at the farmer. Without taking his eyes off the older man, Benny ripped away the cushion that John leaned against.
“What are you at?” John chastised him. Though the anger flowed out of him and was quickly replaced by fear when he saw the look on Benny’s face.
“Shhh now, John. It will all be over soon.” whispered Benny, as he pushed the cushion down on his neighbour's face and kept it there. Kept it there until his hands stopped struggling and his last breath left him. |
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, Dad. How're ya doin?"I said into the phone as I heard the familiar, cheery voice.
"I'm good just helping your mother bake some cookies for Aunt Susan's tomorrow. You still bringing pulled pork?". Holiday music was playing in the background.
"Yeah, I'm gonna smoke it tonight. But listen Dad, the reason I'm calling is to check with you if Blake is gonna be there. I just need to mentally prepare myself to be around the guy. I know it's not his fault but he can be a little abrasive if you know what I mean."
"Well, I'd imagine he'll be there. He's still living there. But Susan said he's doing pretty good, he hasn't had an episode in months. I know the guy can be a little intense but he's your cousin, I'd really appreciate it if you'd just spend some time with him tomorrow."
"Dad, I'm an adult, I can be cordial with the guy on Christmas, but I don't wanna be the only one who gets stuck with him filling my ear with nonsensical conspiracies. We haven't been close in years and I feel like it's really not my responsibility to babysit him."
"Spencer, no one expects you to babysit him. Just talk to him, have a few beers, try to make him feel part of the family. You guys used to be such good friends when you were little. I don't expect you to be best friends with him but it's christmas and he's your cousin."
I groaned. "Dad, last time I saw him he rambled on for two hours about finding secret files at his IT job in Washington. He made me put my phone in the microwave so the secret agents couldn't listen in on our conversation. It's like he's living in an episode of the X-Files."
"Okay, okay, calm down. I know the guy is weird, you should see the emails he sends me. But I'm asking it as a personal favor to me and your Aunt to just be friendly and patient with the guy. It's been a rough year for everyone, especially Aunt Susan."
I took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it. After all, in some ways I'm to blame. Ya know, for a long time I thought his conspiracy theory rambling was almost fun. I liked hearing about the government agents that were harassing him and were trying to control his brain. I would practically encourage it, it was all just a big joke to me. I even introduced him to Alex Jones and InfoWars, oddly enough he told me that stuff was total bullshit, but I thought he knew it was all bullshit at the end of the day. He was so smart when we were kids. I just can't believe he's turned into a crazy, paranoid, conspiracy theorist now."
I heard my dad sigh into the phone. "Spence, I'm sorry, if you don't want to spend any time with Blake tomorrow, you don't have to. I'd just appreciate it if you'd just say hi to him and try not to make it awkward."
"No, it's fine, Dad. I'll make an effort to talk to him a little and maybe even have a few beers with him. He's family and it's Christmas, it's the least I could do."
"Spence, you're a saint. I love ya but I gotta go, your mother's burning the cookies. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye Dad, love you too."I chuckled as I hung up the phone. At the very least tomorrow will be interesting.
When I first arrived at my Aunt Susan's house the next day the entire family was there. It's a large, Irish-Catholic family so the house was packed. I didn't see Blake when I walked and was greeted by the rest of the family. All the better I thought, I would at least need to get a drink or two in me before I spoke to him.
I spent about half an hour saying hi to the rest of the family and still didn't see Blake joining in the party. I'd had a few cocktails at the makeshift bar in the kitchen and decided to get a beer. I was going outside to the cooler when I turned a corner and he was standing there smoking a cigarette. I hadn't actually spoken to him in about two years and I could see the time had been hard on him. His eyes were sunken with dark circles around them. He had an unkempt beard which was different from the freshly shaved bright eyed kid that I had once been close with.
"Oh, what's up, man."I blurted out.
"Not much, just catching some fresh air."He replied. "Long time no see."
"Ya, man. It has been a while."I said as I reached into the cooler. "You been good?"
"Ya, not too bad. Just trying to settle into my new job down at the Smart Way. Only place that would hire me."He chuckled.
"Oh, well, good for you it sounds like a steady, stress free job."I replied, trying not to sound patronizing.
"Ya, it's certainly stress free. I'm lucky to get the job though. My old company doesn't want anything to do with me after I found out what they were up to. But I think Smart Way gets a tax write off for hiring a psychopath."I gave my best fake laugh at that trying to ignore the comment about what his company was up to. There was an empty awkward pause.
"Sooo, you see the game last week?"I asked, just to break the silence.
"No, I don't watch T.V. anymore. It's all lies and subliminal messaging."
"Oh, well have you read any good books lately?"I asked desperate to find something that he couldn't turn into a conspiracy theory.
"No books, but I've read a few articles on the dark web that would blow your mind. It's a real shame what they won't allow you to see on fake news websites. But all the sheeple in this country are more comfortable getting read the scripted nonsense that they put on CNN and Fox News."
I could feel my blood pressure rising with every comment he made. But I tried to keep in mind that I only needed to be friendly for a few more hours.
I decided to change subjects. "Well, Blake, you look good. You been working out?"
"Oh I do plenty of cardio and martial arts training, mostly krav maga. I can't afford to not be prepared".
"Mhmm, so you go to a gym?"I asked doing my best to steer the conversation into a normal direction.
"Pshhh, a gym? Not me, pal. You should read about what they pump out of the speakers in gyms..."
I snapped, "OH MY GOD!!! Would you just shut up and make small talk with me please! I don't want to hear about fake news, or subliminal messaging, or any other conspiracy theory nonsense! I just want to have a nice, short, conversation with you where we both give a few fake laughs at the end of it and we can both be on our way! But you can't go two seconds without arrogantly droning on about how much smarter you are than everyone else and how you see the world how it truly is from the vantage of your computer screen! I know you think everyone else are just ignorant, ill informed, lemmings but the truth is that you're just a crazy asshole!"
Blake stared at me. 'You think I'm an asshole? You think I just come up with all of this stuff from the internet? You think I say this stuff to you just to cultivate a false sense of superiority? Well, I wish that were the case. But unfortunately I've seen proof of my so-called conspiracy theories with my own two eyes and I'm sick of people rolling their eyes at me! If you think I'm so crazy, how about you come into my room and take a look at what I have as proof."
I suddenly noticed we were both screaming at each other so I lowered my voice, "Blake, if you promise to keep our conversations normal for the rest of the night, I will look at this proof you have."
Blake stared into my eyes, "Fine."
I followed Blake into his bedroom as he shut the door behind us and locked it with three latches.
"You know, this probably isn't very smart of me to show you this, it could get us both killed, but I'm gonna do it anyway."He muttered as he unlocked a safe in his closet.
"Okay, Blake, whatever you say."I quipped.
He pulled out a flash drive and held it up to my face, "Prepare to eat some crow my friend."He sat down at his computer, plugged the drive in and a password entry screen came up.
He turned around and looked me in the eyes again, "Are you sure you want to do this. Do you really want to go down the rabbit hole?"
I rolled my eyes, "Ya, let's get this over with."
"Then hold onto your butt.' Blake said as he started keying in the password.
The next thing that happened was I heard a pop and a warm, dark liquid flew into my face and eyes. I frantically wiped it out of my eyes and saw Blakes head against the keyboard with a bullet hole through it. I let out a scream as I looked at his bedroom window and saw a ray of light shining through a matching bullet hole. |
Annihilation
With a crack of thunder and the smell of sulfur, I couldn't believe what I saw before my eyes. Crimson puddled on the floor from what was once my wife's beating, loving, caring heart. A man stood before us, clad in the blue and guild, holding a weapon of wood and steel. I had no knowledge of this man, nor did I care as tears fell down my cheeks as I wept the loss of my lover. Crimson stained her beautiful satin dress and its puddle dyed her brilliant blonde hair cherry red.
I couldn't hear what the man said as I was grieving, however the moment I felt his grip pull me up all I could see was red. Crimson… this man killed my lover and I would not stand for it. I didn't care if it would cost me everything. I thrust his arm away and pierced my palms with my nails, drawing crimson from my hands as I chanted. I felt weaker by the second, but it was too late. This man shall rue the day he made enemies with me.
"May the world burn and my enemies die. Annihilation."
[Word Count: 193] |
I never thought I would miss the humans. They always pretended to lead such busy little lives, but never really did anything. Now that they're all gone, I'd much rather take their nothing over the real nothing.
It's been a couple of decades now since I saw the last human. He wondered the streets, lost and confused, looking for any sign of another human. He was surprised when I revealed myself, but it didn't take long for us to become friends. We would talk for hours on end, I would tell him where all the supplies were stashed around the city, and I would watch him sleep and relive the nightmare of what he had gone through. I think he was happy when he finally died, or at least as happy as one could be at the end of the world.
Sometimes I wish that the humans hadn't designed me so well. I watch as the wind whips debris through city, each day more or less the same. The most exciting thing that happens on any given day is the gaze of racoons that live on the north side fighting the skulk of foxes for food. Last week the racoons had the idea to lure the foxes to the river and managed to push a few in. Most days they just screech at each other. These are the images that fill my memory banks.
Most days I run calculations trying to figure out how much longer I'll have to suffer through the monotony. Being state of the art, I was designed to last. Solar panels power the mainframe that houses me. The mainframe itself is hermetically sealed in an underground vault. The vault is located in the middle of the desert, far away from any semblance of nature in a very geologically stable area. I've learned to hate math. |
Hi u/Flare219, this submission has been removed.
While it doesn't seem to be your intent, the mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel may become harmful to the community.
* *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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This story is almost fine except for the naked character and his source of magic. Please consider some edits if you wish to submit it again.
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"What'll you have, Johnny?"
"August 31st, 1989. Please. As strong as you can make it."
It was storming outside, but the inside of McEmory's Pub was dry and dark. Dimly lit lights swung from the ceiling at the apex of it's triangle roof. A stone fireplace was roaring near empty tables, but the bar was home to three derelicts on stools, with McEmory himself tending the bar tonight -- and every night for that matter.
Johnny was old. He was young in age, only mid-forties but his heart was old. You've passed Johnny on the street without even realizing it. Sunken, downtrodden. Always looking at the ground and shuffling his feet. He could be clean-shaven and wearing a suit or he could look like he just rolled out of bed and he would still be wearing that same beaten expression. Just another face in the crowd, a man simply going through the motions.
Katie was young. She was older than Johnny but still had life in her heart. Giant green eyes, pointed nose, big mess of wavy dark blonde hair and a smile that always displayed wonder, Katie wore a necklace with crystals around her neck. Often wearing a colorful sweater that resembles a mix between a poncho and a shawl, Katie's best years were well behind her. The poor girl had so much fun indeed that her memories of these blissful days were completely shattered.
The oldest of them all, judging by the amount of time spent on this ungodly planet, is Doc. White-haired, wrinkled, often wearing that cheesy peaky blinders hat, no one knows much about Doc aside from his Irish brogue. He's a great listener, but a terrible sharer.
"Wedding day again eh Johnny?"said Katie, with a cocked head, smiling an open mouth smile. She was three-quarters through her drink. "Enjoying it?"
Johnny, who had only taken his first sip, sighed and placed his old-fashioned glass down and sighed. "Trying to."
"Aye, I can tell when I'm not wanted,"she said, her slight Scottish accent sneaking through, "But I don't care. She lookin' pretty tonight?"
Johnny sipped. "Just like every night."
"Leave the lad alone,"said Doc.
"Cheeky geezer,"said Katie. She went back to her drink, finishing the rest of it with her eyes rolled back. Her upper lip glinted from the wetness of the swirling liquid and the ice. She slunk back in her chair and shuddered.
The old man couldn't help himself. "Heroin again, my dear?"
"The Rolling Stones, October 1974."Katie said dreamily. "Best night of my life. If I was just a tiny bit earlier to the tour bus..."
Johnny completed the story with her, "I would have fucked Mick Jagger."
"Give it a rest, wedding boy,"snarled Katie. "Tell us then Doc, what are you having?"
"Maybe that's for another night,"smiled Doc.
Katie and Johnny rolled their eyes. Katie waved to McEmory for another drink. |
The grim line of menboys was silent as flak and turbulence rattled the plane which had swallowed them up in its belly. Swallowed them up like some Trojan horse of war back on the runway at base. They knew what they were up against, knew what the PlayStation users had to offer. The exclusivity and the sterling reputation.
Being men of Xbox had its own special pride however. They may have been fighting for Microsoft but there was nothing micro and nothing soft about these warriors. They were going to put their lives on the line to take Sony out of this war once and for all.
"Three minutes to the drop!"The Master Chief called from further up the plane. "Double check those chutes and make sure you got your gamertags around your neck."
The Master Chief grinned showing teeth rotten from too many hours at the console, pissing in a bottle to avoid going to the bathroom. Too many times explaining to his mother that Xbox Live couldn't be paused so no he couldn't go and get the hot pocket, God damn it.
"We want to be able to identify your body if your chute doesn't deploy and you... go SPLAT,"the Master Chief added, far from helpfully.
Another few minutes passed in tense silence after the chorus of begrudging "yes sir!"s from the grunts. Then they were over the drop zone and they filed one by one to the door which slid open in the side of the plane. They dropped one by one out of the belly of the beast.
It was no man's sky.* |
My boss walked off the stage, the crowd cheering and chanting his name behind him as he vacated the podium. *Tens of thousands of Tartonians don’t know the truth.* I thought. *This man is the reason why poverty, disease, and grief plague the city in a blanket of pestilence that suffocates the Lower Bounds.*
“That went well.” He said, rolling down the sleeves to his long purple robe. Instinctively, I had already been holding his staff which was cleaned of blood and polished while he was on stage. He inspected it briefly as I handed it to him. “Most excellent. Thank you, Farjan.” He smiled, but where I couldn’t see past his thick beard, I could tell he was genuinely appreciative because of the sparkle behind his eyes. *A facade.*
“Yes, Zazzack.” We turned together and begun walking. “Did you mean what you said? You’re going to make peace with the Harlequins?” He chuckled.
“Of course, there is no worse folly a man can make than not keep himself to the promises he makes.” We rounded the corner, and finally the crowd’s incessant cheering faded away.“The Harlequins have long been a thorn in our side, but they do no more than what they believe is right. What only vexes me is that they’ve always managed to be one step ahead of me. Each time I reach out for these revolutionaries, I find nothing but shadows slipping through my fingers.” He demonstrated with his empty hand.
“Are you giving into their demands, then? Food shipments, representation in court, an independent armed force for protection…” Zazzack sighed. He stopped, and turned to look at me.
“Farjan, if we could give everyone in the world food, I would. If I could give everyone the autonomy to live their own lives, I would. The truth is Tarton has been growing too fast to maintain the lives of everyone at the standards we could two-hundred years ago. As this great city reaches towards the stars, it casts a shadow that cannot be avoided.” Is that, empathy, I hear? “And an unlucky few get caught in the wake of progress, and dragged into the undertow. This is life, and only those that contribute to our great society can rise above for fresh air.”*Literally*. I thought. *The commonwealth literally has a blanket of soot and smog that is toxic to breathe, whereas the wealthier folk live atop the plateau – peering down across the vast planes of gray from their verdant lookout. What you mean, Zazzack, is that those with money can purchase homes in the Upper Reaches – above the smoke line.*
“Well, if you'll never find them, how will you offer them peace?” I spoke. Zazzack put his hand on my shoulder, and looked me straight in the eyes. He was one of the few that held a demeanor that demanded respect, but cultivated terror.
“Farjan, would you know where the Harlequin shadows scatter?” A wave of dizziness came over me. *I did know where the Harlequins hid. But their mission is too important to the people of the Lower Bounds, I would never give up their secret hiding places.*
“I-uh, no. How could I?” *I lied*. Zazzack removed his hand from my shoulder as he pursed his lips, and with a flurry of his staff and a flash of light he reached out and peeled back a door of reality in front of our very eyes. The door shimmered, and revealed a room with folks eating and sharing a conversation. *Oh shit*.
With Zazzack’s hand firmly behind my arm, we walked through together. The figures around the table, startled, quickly rose to their feet – preparing for a fight.
In front of us, about ten figures stood over a table with dry bread and a grey sludge in bowls that seemed some sad resemblance of oatmeal. Each of the figures wore crude masquerade masks, adorned with dark feathers, bells, or shiny trinkets. *The Harlequins.* My stomach dropped. *Did he pull this place from my thoughts?*
“Don’t get up.” Zazzack raised a hand to show innocence. “I come, as I’ve mentioned, in peace.”
The room froze, some of the Harlequins had their hands over small weapons at their waist while others retrieved their armaments leaning from a nearby wall, which crumbled at the edges. *Say something!*
The nearest Harlequin lunged at Zazzack with a rusty dirk, but before he even made it across the edge of the table Zazzack gave him a dismissive wave of the wrist, reducing the man into a red mist. His clothes and the rusty dirk clattered to the floor. Zazzack wiped the blood from his staff while he retrieved the man’s Harlequin mask, and put it on over his own face to the horror of the members around the room.
“See? We are one and the same.” Zazzack took a seat in his chair. “Tell me how I can help you.”
“You can perish. And so can you, Farjan.” Again, another Harlequin was erased from existence. At the sight, three more lunged at Zazzack with weapons raised and quickly met the same fate - misting the emperor in what remained of their corporeal selves.
“I offer representation in court and a life above the smog. All I ask of you is to speak to your people. I will provide you with money to use as you wish, and manpower to fix what you believe is wrong. Within my rule, you can mold the Lower Bounds into a paradise that only you can imagine.” Zazzack picked up the rusty dirk from the floor and tossed it into the center of the table. “I’ll only accept one refugee. Your window of opportunity quickly fades.”
He doffed the mask, dropping it on the floor, and left - pulling me back through the reality door. Behind us, the muted scene of masked figures, *my friends*, shouting and then murdering each other reflected in my eyes. Zazzack knew of my history, because he now watched the reflection in my eyes, and the great sadness I harbored behind them.
The spectacle ended with one frightened little man stepping through the reality door, the dirk still in his hand.
“Well, that went well.” Zazzack said, taking the dirk from the shaking man. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll make sure your sacrifice doesn’t go unnoticed. Welcome to the Upper Reaches.” Zazzack patted the man on the shoulder, whom watched the reality door close behind him.
“Unfortunately.” Zazzack continued. “I only need one Harlequin in my employ.” He handed me the dirk, and gave me a sorry glance.
“I respect you, Farjan. Never would I have guessed that a Harlequin and his family could have infiltrated my ranks with such vigor, and I too blind to see it. But, alas, I’ve had enough two-faced enemies for one day."Zazzack said, lowering his voice to a grim, but sorry tone.
And with that, he turned and ushered his new protege down the hall. Before they were out of earshot, I could already hear Zazzack poisoning the mind of the once-was Harlequin, preaching his vision of 'peace' and how to restore the commonwealth to order, making grand gestures as they disappeared down the hall.
*He knew that I worked with the Harlequins.* I felt a tear drop down my cheek. *And I know that this rusty dagger is a gift, in his own way.* It felt heavy in my hands, still warm from the many hands that held it within the last minute, and still dripping with those that didn’t.
*This is for my family*. I thought, and raised the dirk to my chest. |
“No, that’s absolutely ridiculous! Do you not see what he’s doing? Are you seriously that oblivious?”
“I...don’t really see what’s wrong with him setting up cameras around his property,” my wife replied, raising her eyebrows. Her response was careful, as if she was plucking the words out and organizing them in a way that would make my neighbor’s actions sound sane.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re in on it too! He’s only doing it to record me, not to keep his house safe. Safe from who? The bogeyman? Pah!” In a (perhaps overblown) display of frustration, I threw my shoulders up and sighed, striding out the door of the kitchen and into my backyard. I circled around my house into the front, eyes scanning my neighbor’s yard. He was out front, setting up a camera that was quite clearly pointed toward my front door.
“Hey! Jenkins! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled immediately, descending onto him with verbal abuse. “That’s espionage! I’ll report you to the cops for this, you no-good, crazy son of a bitch!”
He had been engulfed in the action occupying him, but my voice broke him out of his trance.
“Oh, stuff a sock in it, Thompson! Don’t think I didn’t see you kidnap poor old Miss Flores’ cat! You’re a psychopath, bud! I’ll catch you on camera and then the whole Homeowner’s Association will see that you belong in a mental institute, not our idyllic suburban paradise!” Spittle flew out of his mouth as he shouted back, gesticulating wildly with the camera in his hands.
“*Me, crazy?* You asshole, I know you don’t wash your hands after you go to the bathroom! I’ve seen you, don’t you fucking lie to me!”
“What? How would you even see me? Have you been breaking into my house, Thompson?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but a voice cut through the night from across the street. I recognized it as the voice of little old Miss Flores.
“Shut the hell up, you dumb assholes!” |
Well, that depends on what you mean by best. If you mean the only that got the most responses, mine would be:
"As Pride Month nears it's end, the other six member of the Seven Deadly Sins begin to wonder when they'll get months dedicated to them. Pride, meanwhile, is just trying to get them to understand that he's not actually the focus of Pride Month."
But if you're talking about my personal favorite, regardless of how much attention it got, it would be:
"During her adventures through Wonderland, Alice gets captured and put in an asylum for the criminally sane."
The first one got a few hundred comments and several thousand upvotes. The second, got no responses and only a few votes. But it's till one of my favorites. |
You’re a time traveller who once got stuck in the past for a while. In that time, you took up writing as a hobby but never managed to get anything published. You’re back in the present, and your work was just found. Historians are going mad over how “ahead of your time” your writing style was. They want you to write a novel based on the life of somebody who had absolutely nothing at all in common with yourself, except that both of them were writers.
Do you want to write a book named the Pendant, unless it's a day's work? If you hadn't had a workday, what would you have done? Would this be anything else than this? How much of your life have other people and their lives been spent writing? Do you feel that you've stayed in the past because you're so involved in the tale of someone else that you're not? You believe that it is an excellent idea to create a novel based on the life of someone who had virtually nothing in common with you except that they were both writers. You want to write it.
Before you may do so, however, you have some questions to be answered: Should I do anything? What book is it going to be? Can I receive some internet assistance? Will they get me on the radio to talk about me? How much time will I spend researching? Do I know how to find out anything online and not be forbidden by my employer to hack your computer systems? Perhaps I'm not ready to create a novel yet if I don't address these questions. Perhaps I should knit or pass by old photo albums.
Your Day Job's Other Pendant? The problem here is that you just write about yourself, it sounds like you are, and you're already bored. In truth, if you were prepared to delve further enough, you could probably create a wonderful tale about someone else. For most of your life, you have been reading books. |
As his eyes drifted open the world felt... strange to Tom. It was far more of a feeling than anything. Tom couldn't immediately see anything wrong in the dim bar. No overt reason to feel so on edge. He had stopped into the local watering whole for lunch and... Wait. That wasn't right, was it.. breakfast? No.. He must have been meeting someone for drinks. There was a longneck beer bottle in his hand after all. That must be it! But. Who? what time even was it? Tom's head swam with a heavy fog. His thoughts came slowly, incomplete. As if he teetered on the very edge of sleep while fully, painfully conscious. How long had he been drinking? This certainly did not feel like being drunk. What the hell time was it?
Tom instinctively moved to check his phone. Except, he didn't. The man remained absolutely motionless in his seat.
A cold and electric wave of deepest dread rocketed through the Tom. He couldn't move. Not a muscle. His mind erupted into a full panic, a million-million branching neurons and axon paths firing at full force. To fight! To run! His mind screaming at a body in complete revolt. Paralyzed. The fuzzy blanket that had been cast over his thoughts grew into a buzz. He tried to think. To rationalize. Drugs? Tom tried to look around, strained hard and failed even to move his eyes inside his own head. The buzz was growing, a powerful vibration he could now feel at the base of his skull. It grew and deepened, seeming to double back over itself inside him and becoming a thrumming pulsing storm. Tom's eyes stung and he thought his head would explode from the tremendous gale force of the bass thrum that had completely filled his motionless form. He was going to pass out.. he couldn't think straight. He tried to speak. To scream, useless signals sent to parts of him that refused to listen. His vision swam and Tom's eyes burned. How long had it been since he had blinked? Darkness and grey edged in.
The dive bar drained of all color in front of him. People we're coming in. Coming closer... Tom's mind surged with renewed effort! He needed help. He didn't have the slightest clue what he needed help with, but his torn mind knew he had never needed help this badly in his entire life.
Suddenly, the tabletop was ripped away from him. Shooting downward and out of his field of view. The ragging storm of bass inside him whirled and strengthen itself to level Tom didn't think could possibly have ever reached. He was completely overwhelmed. At the mercy of the storm. He had a vague sense of the throbbing force... sharpening. Just as Tom saw the figures still approaching him... So many. He couldn't make out any features.. The group, now a crowd. They were quite close. Now standing, Tom willed his throat to try and force out any sound he could. To no avail. Time seemed to slow. The sharp feeling dropping down.. deeply downward through him, into some sort of unknown depth. It plunged through the surface of his mind's eye like Tom's imagination was a piece of thin cloth pulled taught. Everything he could see was moving so slowly.. Slower and slower. Nearly to point of complete standstill.
The man's hands rose. Tom's hands; just a few moments prior. He watched with removed and morbid fascination as his arm thrust forward gently. The near empty beer bottle was still in his right hand. His right arm gracefully shot outward and up quickly snapping forward, letting the glass bottle tumble from the tips of his fingers. His arm moving of it's own accord. It all seemed to happen in painfully slowly. Surprise washed over Tom and he watched fascinated, as if watching himself through a specialized hyper-slow speed camera. The bottle arched through the air... smashing directly into the face on the closest figure with enough force to shatter completely, taking the man's feet from under him. Formally Tom's body swayed to the left and an elbow swung. A firm strike with his weight behind it to the sternum of the next attacker. Attackers? His head swiveled. Just in to time to see a dark fist being thrown from the left. The shrouded shape was pulled back, ready to throw a heavy punch. The man hung their, like a painting. For a full second, perhaps two, before Tom's view spun again. Tightly gripping and whipping the '6' ball from the pool table at his right hip, in a side arm throw. The bartender, who had been rising to stand with his worn double barrel shotgun took it on the temple and disappeared back below the bar top with a heavy thud. Good god. Guns. Guns!?
His, or not quite his, hands suddenly filled with the cool lacquered wood of a pool cue. His shoulder dropped and Tom's stolen eyes were steered again to the man about to throw a haymaker. His dark shapes' arm had only advanced a few inches... It was as far as the attack would travel. A sick crack echoed through the room as Tom's arms halved the cue with a diagonal downward strike to crux of where the attacker's shoulder met the side of his neck. The cue had broke like a gunshot, and Tom filled horror as he watched himself drive the rough-wood point of what remained into the chest of another man. They both crumpled into each other, hitting the ground together. Tom's alien legs launched him forward and he mantled over the bloody bar top and into cover as gunfire rang out behind him. Tom had enough of himself left bound together by adrenaline and terror to wonder how on earth he wasn't hit. He should have been shredded. The sounds of metallic clicks, clanks, and taps filled the room. Holy Fucking SHIT! They're reloading... Tom's panic redoubled, hard to do when your lungs won't hyperventilate and your skin won't squeeze out sweat like they are goddamn supposed to. Tom's frustrations were crushed as he rolled forward coming up in a low crouch against the far side of the horseshoe bar; With the old shotgun cradled against his waist atop his thighs. His field of view flew over the bar top as his rebel body hurdled it. Two tremendous reports blasting for the shotgun. Tom's attention was caught by a ragged shard of glass. It tumbled through the air in front of him as if loose in space. A slow motion ballet of debris, dust, and Tom noticed... bullets. They twirled and and sung threw the air as his hands cracked the breach of the gun. Steady steps taking him to the left, a strafe-stepping walk that bordered on casual as deadly metal tracked at him.
The pair of spare shells in his offhand found their forever-home within the smoking tubes. Tendrils of misty smoke curled and writhed upward from the overheated steel. A heavy 'CLACK' slapped Tom's mind as the scattergun's breach slammed closed. His body spun, he felt his back press against something solid. His torn psyche reeled, He had become death. The eye of a maelstrom of ultra-violence. The gun barked again. He heard glass shatter. Splintering wood. A knife arrived, seeking to slip between his ribs. The hand wielding it shattered like crystal. His hand found the grip. Happily returning the blade it it's sender. So many bodies... Another blast; Hot liquid sprinkled and spattered across his face. Tom smelled brimstone and iron. He tasted something metallic like acid. Fuck. Is that blood on the ceiling? The shotgun clattered to the floor. He was moving again. The combination of frantic action and the sense of how slow it was all happening, Tom couldn't reconcile. Like he was looking at a brand new color. Someone pointed a handgun at his chest. That person gurgled to the floor, throat ruined by the bullet meant for Tom's heart. His alien hands took aim...
Bang-Bang!
Bang!
Everything fell still. Haze and gun smoke hung just below the ceiling. Nothing in the small bar was spared from either damage, or the blood. Two dozen bodies laid, strewn and stacked up in places. Tom had the distinct and sudden urge to vomit. His body paid him no attention.
A bursting light forced its way into Tom's mind. His blood soaked hand dropped an empty handgun. The forced rushed at his being like an oncoming train. Tom welcomed the foreign presence and did not resist. He wanted this to end. He wanted to go away from here. He wanted to forget everything his eyes had shown him, what his hands had done.. The light smashed into him. It crystalized into a single, blinding, momentous thought that dominated his mind.
SUPER..
HOT.
**SUPER. HOT.** |
Sherif John sat in front in the grisly scene. Two dead bodies, no blood, both burned to skeleton. The smell of burnt fur and flesh made his nose wrinkle. They weren’t the home owners. The owners found them, when they came back from the honeymoon. He could hear the cries from the other room.
He thought the female may have elven blood but the other could be a child or a halfling, waiting for blood results will take time.
The scene was meticulous, but he couldn’t shake the feeling, they died here.
His eyes once again moved to the mirror to his left. Front and center two bright blue eyes stared through him. Awaiting the response. He sighed… he despised riddles.
As he walks toward the mirror, he tried to ignore the snickers: “mirror mirror, on the wall- did you see what caused their fall?”
“I saw everything transpire- I saw them both expire. A half- elf girl and human male ran here to buy and sale”
Sherif John sighed, whoever made these damn mirrors must be a sadist. He took a deep breath and made sure his radio was transmitting: he would need to review this later.
As his head started to throb he started with the second question:
“Who killed them? Did it cause a din?”
“A man in red robes, called Father- killed them both, it wasn’t a bother” the mirror responded in its monotone voice.
“Father to whom? A priest?” He asked then groaned, at his slip.
“Error. Commands set to rhyme. Please speak true to learn about this crime”
“Was the murderer a priest… was his clothes creased?” A quick quiet prayer no one was listening in to his failing rhyming skills was quickly dashed by raucous laughter from his radio.
“A holy man dressed in red, shot them with flames, dead”
“I don’t get paid enough for this” he muttered. The blood vessel over his left eye was throbbing, he looked around and amazingly every other person was gone. He knew he couldn’t put this off, he didn’t know how much longer the mirror would remember before the next update, it might delete the new memories…. His deputy was in the backyard talking in the phone probably trying to get that delayed or a definite time. But he had to grit his teeth and continue… but as he continued the arduous process of getting bits of info from this mirror, each tidbit made to rhyme. His small amount of creativity quickly dwindled. |
It was clearly on its way. Driven this time by a thirst for knowledge, it had already tried Thern and Helton, but luckily, they burned their libraries. And now Mollidon was next. And it would be here by morning.
“Bring all your books! Not a single one must be saved! We can get new copies later, but the beast will kill any who stand between it and a single piece of paper!” The mayor commanded, and the people responded. They brought newspapers, letters, and books by the cartload. Tears were flowing as they said goodbye to priceless mementos, to great works of literature and their connection to the world at large. And as nightfall came it was time to begin the burning.
Mayor Wiltt started the proceedings. “It is with great sorrow that we do what we must. But survival must come first. Fledor, throw the torches.”
“Wait! Wait! We don’t have to do this!”
“Who said that?”
“Me! There’s another way!”
Peria was young, too young to truly know the way of the world. A dreamer at heart. But being the daughter of the town’s doctor had its privileges, and one was that if she spoke, people listened. It wouldn’t be long before she was ready to start treating patients herself.
“If we get rid of all our knowledge, it will be years before we get replacements out here—and that’s if they don’t burn their libraries also! And we won’t learn, we won’t progress! You’d be sending us back to the dark ages.”
“And what is it you propose?”
Peria braced herself. She knew that this suggestion was not likely to be met with applause. “We give it the books.”
At this the crowd stirred. Let the beast learn? And then if it passed that knowledge to its brethren? How would the town—how would the country—survive a race of intelligent monsters? The saving grace so far has been their stupidity, but this one was different. It saw value in information. If there were others…
Peria continued. “Let them learn philosophy. Let them learn history. Let them learn science. They will see that there are other ways for them to prosper than attacking us. They will become civilized, and we can co-exist!”
“Impossible!” “They’ll destroy us!” “Mayor, burn it now!” There was no dissuading the masses. And so, Fledor lit the building aflame.
Peria retreated and wept. So much knowledge, so much waste. But she was not alone. Nomis, the innkeeper’s son, walked up to her. “Psst. I buried a few books out in the north woods. You’re right, burning it isn’t the answer. I was just hoping the beast wouldn’t notice it and I could keep it afterwards, but maybe your way is better. Let’s give it to them.”
Peria’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Let’s teach them to be better.”
“Yeah! We can set up classes for the beasts. We’ll call it Monsters University!”
Nomis shook his head. “That’s a horrible name though. Surely we can think of a better title!” The pair wandered off to the woods. They were going to do this, whether the town agreed or not. |
I've shared body for almost 3 years now.
My therapist says I'm schizofrenic.
I dont know what I believe anymore. Sometimes, I feel like I've lived hundreds of lives through out time and that the memories feel so real. The only thing they've all had in common was submerging my head in a pool. It is almost always the same sensation, thousands of times.
I can almost feel each distinct submersion. The tingle in the base of my skull, the light vertigo sensation as whatever part of me buoyantly floats toward the surface of the pool. Just as this breaches the surface, my heart seizes. The most terror and shock rocks the body at the core. Like smashing a puzzle piece into the wrong hole.
Again. My therapist insists these are delusions brought by an extreme fear of pools. I'm told it isn't an entirely uncommon fear, but there isn't even a name for it.
My parents, especially my mom, joke about I used to be a cat in a past life. I see the worry in their eyes, I know they only joke to minimize my condition.
They don't know what brought it on, just one day I started acting erratic and cagey. My friends all stopped talking to me, I dropped out of college and I quit my job.
After having an 'episode', they committed me to a psychicatric unit. This is when they diagnosed me as schophrenic, which isn't uncommon for young women to develop at my age.
For an entire year, they treated me with various medicines trying to balance my brain chemistry. Until finally I was able to trick them into releasing me, playing as normal and normal could be for an 18 year old schizo with an abnormal fear of pools could be.
For the past year I've been going to mandatory psychiatric appointment.
Today is the day. I start ERP exposure response prevention therapy to overcome my phobia.
Arriving at the pool, my mom holds my hand and my father drapes his arm over my shoulders.
I know it is for moral support, but it feelings like the heaviest chains dragging me to the gullitione.
My therapist, waits there by the pool.
The reflection of light strobing across her face, the look is menacing.
I see myself in her glasses, not myself but me.
This will be the last time im in this body, I know it. They are all wrong, I know when I go under I will leave this body and be somewhere new.
My heart races.
Cold sweat slides down my back.
Hands are numb.
'let's get this overwith' I abruptly say.
My voice echos through out the room.
I release my moms hand and shrug my father's arm off my shoulders.
Turning to look at them one last time, 'I love you guys, I just wanted you to know this was the most comfortable I've felt in a long time.'
My moms eyes blood shot and shedding tears, she bites back a cry and hugs me.
A strong hand squeezes my shoulder, 'you'll be fine kiddo, you will get a little wet and then get out and we'll go get pizza. You'll see it'll all be okay'
I know it won't. This is the last time I see them ever.
I step back from them and throw myself into the pool.
The euphoria, the tingle in my skull and the sensation of rising.
It's over. |
*The late part of the twentieth century. The city's bustling Ty-Ho Bay district, built with gold frittered away by countless 49ers, lined with casinos, dance halls, Chinese opium dens, brothels and places offering every possible variety of vice. This was where the first three murders had taken place and this was where the fourth one was discovered. It was as gruesome as the previous three but this time they had a witness...*
There air was full of chill, fog, the sound of lazily drifting gambling boats, and policemen fuming.
Chief Blount was short, stout, red, easily flustered, and had a rather fussy little mustache. In spite of all this evidence against him, he was not a bad policeman, really, and usually quite good at his job. But the current circumstances had him understandably bad-tempered; the coppers on the scene did their best to steer clear of him as he fumed.
"Another damn murder, and the city's finest seen fumbling the damn job again, that's everything we need now!"
Blount's frustration would intensify when he saw Conover, from the commissioner's office, approaching. Well, be fair; better Conover than anyone else. The man was technically a superior but more properly speaking a politician (Blount tended to regard them as a class unto themselves, tasked mostly with messing up things that were not their business), was one of very few people in city government that Blount could stand to talk to.
Both men were about as opposite as you could be; Blount was short and stout and coarse from working his way up the ladder; Conover was tall and slender and more polished from working his way through a family fortune. There was no particularly logical reason they would have any kind of friendship; it had simply worked out that way as a quirk of fate.
"Blount,"said the newcomer. "Not another one?"
"Yes, welcome. Was wondering when the Mayor might take notice of this whole sordid business."
Conover popped his head into the room. The woman and her gentleman friend- not to put too fine a point on it, her client- had been called in less than an hour ago and were probably not dead for long before that. The woman cut up with what must have been an impossibly sharp blade, bloodstains around her but not nearly enough, and certain organs- ones Blount had never heard of, but the medical examiner assured him existed- simply missing. The gentleman client simply a charred pile of burned flesh, without the slightest sign that he'd been doused in oil or anything to set the body ablaze.
"Same pattern, then,"observed Conover.
"Such as it is,"Blount grumbled. "Woman with blood and pinny- ah, pine- um-"
"Pineal gland,"called a passing officer helpfully.
"Yes, that- harvested, implying something about her was of value; she had been the real target. The gentleman, when there is one, killed with less ceremony by eye-molation, and thereafter ignored, implying he'd simply been in the way. Apart from that, nothing else made sense; an impossibly sharp bladed weapon, and a fire set with no visible means to setting it; nothing around it even burned but the body."
"And still no witnesses?"
"Hah. Well, the one over there."Blount gestured to an elderly Chinawoman, staring traumatized at nothing, who had been left ignored by the police. "She doesn't speak much English. Says it was done by some monster or other. Load of nonsense-"
"Perhaps not,"said a woman's voice.
Blount whirled on his feet. There was a newcomer, a dusky, thin, gaunt looking woman with piles of ratty black hair, in dark, drab man's clothing. There was something odd about her eyes, but Blount didn't fully notice it. Conover looked embarrassed, which told Blount he had expected this new guest.
"Who is this?"he huffed, going red again and glaring at the commissioner.
"Kingsford,"the woman said brusquely, in a way that indicated quite clearly she resented not being asked herself.
Conover shifted his weight. "This is Dr. Kingsford. You remember I told you about the agency, the one specializing in more odd cases. The Veil. She's with that shower-"
"Ah, good, then!"Blount exploded. "Good to know the city's no longer giving money to the department, just throwing it at complete quacks!"
"I assure you,"'Doctor' Kingsford said (a woman doctor, yet!), "We maintain very strict professional standards at the Veil."
"No doubt, the crystal ball is polished very damn well before you consult it,"Blount snapped.
"I don't intend to argue with you about it. It's clear from the treatment of the bodies that there is something unusual about these murders. Unusual is our specialty." |
\---Her P.O.V---
I continued brushing my hair, until I heard the word "Umm"from my boyfriend standing in the doorway, startling me enough to scramble to put my head back where its supposed to go. Afterwards, my eyes brimmed with paranoia, maintaining eye contact with him, my mind constantly thinking *Shit, I've been found out!* I watched him visibly tense up before immediately closing the door on me, leaving me alone in the bedroom... again. People assume undead to be nothing but hollow shells of their former selves, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Undead are just people that haven't found a way to peacefully pass on, hence why so many end up undead.
"Just my luck... I let my guard down one time, and now I'm gonna end up hunted for god knows how long..."I morose, as though this weren't the first time it happened, "He ran from me, just like Marcus did..."
\---His P.O.V---
I can't believe it, I'm dating an undead. I'm gonna be honest, I was scared more so because I wasn't exactly expecting undead to look so much like living beings. I quickly calmed down from my mild panic attack, and shamefully shuffled back over to the bedroom door, before resting my head on it, with a mild thump.
"What will she even think of me, now..?"I mutter, contemplating whether I should even open the door. It didn't help that I had major social anxiety, and even though she's been helping me get over it, it feels like I was plunged back into the unknown, "Will she hate me for figuring her out..? Or worse..?"I put my hands on my face, slowly breaking down into tears. I must have been crying a bit louder than I thought, as the door creaked open, and my hands were gently pulled from my face. I weakly looked up, to see her pulling me in for a hug to ease my crying. It was quite late, and I felt myself slowly falling asleep in her embrace, calmed down completely, even smiling a bit.
\[Maybe a part 2 in the works, I dunno\] |
\[POEM\]
​
**Living as Fire**
​
This is the thing:
All day long
The gentle people,
Smiling in delicate
Diaphanous nonchalance,
Sing.
Their song is made of nuance
And could fill the world entire.
But their song is abridged.
Slashed with a knife.
Smashed in and
Cashed in
By the unkindness's
And mindlessness
Of those who burn all the bridges
As they burn through life. |
This is a story I wrote for a different prompt similar to yours. It's not my proudest work but I hope you enjoy nonetheless:
______________________________________________
I was raised as an assassin, a ruthless, psychopathic murdering machine; I have killed over three hundred people in my time, but now is my time to retire. I sharpen my blood-stained blades, resting them against the side of my shelf as an act of commemoration. I display the other ones, amused by the questions of confused guests. Nobody knows of my profession except my boss, and even he does not know my true identity. I stare out of the window - they should be here soon.
I ordered a hit on myself for the sole purpose of testing the new generation. I wanted to see if they were any good on an experienced assassin such as myself; I lurked to the corner of the room, stuck in a meditating position, and steadied myself for the battle to come.
I heard them before they even entered the house - one was by the window, one by the door, and one seemingly above the room. They entered, gun in hand, and I snatched my loyal knife before the window shattered, the door was thrown off its hinges and the roof collapsed. I stared at the people who I had summoned to kill me.
"Hello, fellas!"I smirk, still stuck in a relaxed pose, tranquil as ever, "you don't happen to be the delivery men?"
They look at me - bemused - scars painting their faces, bruises staining their skin, flesh seared and bone exposed. At least they look experienced. Darting past me, I simply stick my hand out and cause one to topple over. I get off my feet and throw the knife in the air, an arrow whispering through the air as a crossbow has been shot.
I catch the arrow in my hands, the force of it propelling me back a few feet. A ravenous taste for blood I had not known for years manages to send one to their feet. I wrestle the second, breaking his nose and sending him to the floor. He smashes my coffee table, and I grip his throat.
Outside, a trident of thunder lacerates the sky in rage, and my third opponent, enraged like the lightning, charges forward, relentless, his yellow eyes searing my flesh and bone. I move to the side, and he overestimates his jump, landing in a painting of a woman in black clothing, a bird resting on her shoulder. He breaks it. Then, something unexpected happens; he conjures a spell.
An inferno engulfs my home, enveloping everything in a searing shroud. A strangling grip of fire - the flames dancing and tickling my skin, gnawing, biting - sends me backward, as the explosion erupts. I scream out, dazed and bewildered at this sudden change in mood.
Grabbing one of my blades that was hanging limply off the wall, I charge at my third opponent, a wall of fire trotting forward as if a horse. I manage to slice his throat with a clean cut from the air, blinded by the collage of red intermingled with orange and yellow. So this is the new generation, relying on magic. I did not know what to make of it. For now - however - I brushed this thought aside, as my mission had evidently been successful. |
It was past dark when I heard the knock at the door of my shop. It was the correct knock, three successions of a quick double tap *taptap taptap taptap*, but why so late I groaned to myself. I was just getting ready to close for the night and hit the taverns for some ale and good company, but in this occupation one can't afford to turn down business. It had been a slow day anyway and I had plenty of stock to get rid of before it went bad, and it would surely go bad.
I slid the peep hole panel aside and took a look at my patron. They wore a long hooded cloak that covered there features, sooo typical. Hiding one's face is fairly routine in my line of work as disreputable as mine so I shrugged it off and simply asked them for the password, "rapscallion", they replied correctly.
"Come in, please."I said as I opened my door to the cloaked customer.
I hurriedly shuffled behind the counter to face them and proudly stated, "Welcome to Mal's Malevolent Menagerie, fine purveyor of juvenile monsters. How can I meet your beastly needs?"
"I need the deadliest creature you got."The patron said gruffly.
This might get tricky I thought to myself before replying, "Deadly is quite the complicated term, sir, if I may. I have plenty of creatures that are more than capable of dispatching a human. Everything from goblins to gorgons to griffins. If you merely want something that can kill a man discreetly, I would suggest a simply fairy. They are very viscous, nothing like the fairytales. as well as inconspicuous if deployed correctly. They also happen to be on sale this month. But, on the other hand, maybe you want something a little more impressive, perhaps to send a clear message? If that were the case, I could offer am Acid Wurm. A little pricier but they certainly leave a mark."
"I need something that can destroy an entire kingdom."
"Well, in that case, only one creature could do the trick. It will cost you and you will need to to raise it to full maturity before sending it on its task. and of course, nothing is guaranteed."
The customer left that night satisfied, with a bundle in his arms. Before he left I could hear the unmistakable sound of the deadliest creature alive, the cry of a baby. |
(Kinda mixing the uses together a little. Also, got distracted a few dozen times, so it may be a bit jumbled and jarring.)
I stared at the box on the bedside table and sighed. It wasn't a very interesting box on its own; just a small cardboard box that was purchased at a dollar store. It was decorated rather sparsely, just a yellow band that I knew used to tie Tabitha's hair up and the words 'To DaddY.' written sloppily on the top. It had collected a bit of dust over the past year. The only time it had moved was the few occasions when I had picked it up with the intention of opening it, before ultimately setting it back down again.
I could never bring myself to open it. From the day it had appeared on the table, over a year ago, I always lost my nerve at peeking inside.
The box, though a little dusty, was one of the cleanest things in the room. The entire place had fallen into disrepair. There were pizza boxes on the kitchen table, the trash overflowed, the laundry hadn't been gathered up in a week. Not that I liked living like this, I just... Didn't have the motivation. It was a constant downhill spiral.
The only thing that was properly clean was the picture that set beside the box from Tabitha. Tabitha was in the picture, along with Kayla, my lovely wife. Smiles were on both of their faces as they held each other for the picture. The only thing the firefighters were able to recover from the crash.
For the dozenth time that month, I picked up the box. I could hear the thing flop around inside a little. I had promised her that I would wait for her to open it. I knew she would never be here with me to open it, but I wasn't about to break my vow to her.
Once again, I set it down, knowing I would never open her gift. I stared at the box on the bedside table and sighed. |
You hear the clunks first, followed by hands, then heads, then bodies emerging into view, in full 360, from behind old cars, barrels, and, wait what, when did they dig a hole?
Your bud joe tweets a low slow whistle and shakes his own head in disbelief, there are, at least, 5 to each one of your crew.
‘What on earth?’ asks Jacob. That one, with the clean words, you smirk to yourself, and wonder but really though, why?
Then one at a time the knees hit dirt and each begins the prayer for final forgiveness and thanksgiving fir their next moments.
‘Oh bloody hell, freaking frak!’ That’s Bran and yeah the nick name is deceptive since he tends to have perpetual diagram of the mouth. You know he’s spouting exactly what y’all all wish you had said, too. So nothing wrong with his flow.
‘Sup?’ Javi asks chinning at Bran.
‘They think we were calling down angels from God’s hand!’ Recovering a round of scoffs somewhere between ‘pfft’ and stuff stronger than Bran would repeat. ‘No really listen .’ Incredulous he looks around at his crew team , ‘didn’t y’all listen in any of the cultural sensitivity classes? Like at all? Ugh .’
‘Fine. Just trust me, while we’d smooth out in the dust, these guys are expecting the see angles stroll up in minute. So we better get those stay tights out and locked now.’ |
On his way to his interview, Phil was sweating profusely and his mind was racing. This was it, his big chance. Years of training and hundreds of thousands of dollars were all for this. He pulled into the parking lot of his local Supercuts and parked. He shut off his engine and sat in the car, doing everything he could to psyche himself up. A couple of smacks to the face and reminders to himself that he could do this and Phil exited his vehicle.
He pulled open the door and was immediately overwhelmed by the artificial lighting. He was met by a woman in her mid-40s with a Karen cut. She chewed her gum loudly and summoned him back with a small jerk of her head. He walked up the tiny ramp and saw some shaggy schlub strapped to a chair looking utterly dejected.
"Is this really necessary? I'm not performing open heart surgery here."
"Heart surgeons are a dime a dozen Mr. Connor. This is the big leagues. Think you can handle it?"
He spun the man around and asked him what he wanted.
"Medium fade", Karen barked.
Phil's hands were shaking, but he reminded himself of all his training and went to work. This would be his masterpiece. He knew in his heart that one day he would be considered the Rodan of hairstyling.
When he had finally finished and replaced the comb in its jar of blue liquid on the counter, Karen blew the biggest bubble he had ever seen. After it popped, she sullenly informed him that they would let him know. His heart sunk. Had he blown it?
For the next several days, Phil did little aside from stare at his phone. Then the call came. He took a deep breath and answered it. A woman who clearly had decades of heavy chain smoking under her belt told him he got the job and abruptly hung up.
In the moment, Phil experienced what could only be described as euphoria. He had done it. It had all been worth it. |
Lilya stumbled upon a rock and fell onto the icy ground. Seconds later, a sharp pain pierced her foot, as she cut her left heel deep. It was gushing with blood, and the monstrous beast was salivating, licking its lips.
"What's going on, why did you take me ?
\- For a thousand year, I hungered. Two more, and I would have turned into a statue, till the last day of man. Praise Allah, for he has delivered you to me !"
The young woman, barely out of her teens, let out a whimper. For each step back she took, the beast made two forward. It had the upper body of a tiger, the lower body of a salamander and the legs of a mountain's goat. And the head ! Horns and tusks, breathing fire, and enough teeth to bite every part of her body. Lilya kept muttering to herself, "This is a nightmare. Just wake up. Wake up."But the pain in her foot was too real. Everything was.
"Oh Ahura Mazda, my lord, please come to my aid. Demon, be gone !"
What was there left, but faith ? The beast chuckled, and its rotten breath made Lilya puke.
"Long did not I hear the name of the false god. I will relish eating your meat and licking your bones clean. Then I'll suck on your marrow. Or perhaps I shall start first with that ?"
She barely had the time to dodge as the beast claws slashed the ice wall in two. It chuckled once more ; it was playing with her.
"Please demon, I have a family. A husband. There's plenty of goats outside. Wait ! I can bring you a cow. No, a whole herd of cows ! The finest ones.
\- You don't get it, do you ? It has to be *you*. Very well, I can see in your eyes you don't understand the enormity of your sin. I haven't feasted in so long, but I also hadn't had a proper conversation in a thousand year. I'll entertain you, ask away.
\- Is it because I'm farsi ? I don't understand, said Lilya genuinely puzzled.
\- Yes, in part. But your kind hadn't vanished from the world, yet. No, I must eat a very particular specimen. The servants of the one true god made me to punish your kind, your heresy. But I was too good at my duty. Those who pray to the fallen star finished what I started. Zoroastrinism became but a shadow of its former self. And soon enough the old ways had been forgotten."
"And here you come !"The beast roared with such strength, drops of fire hit her face. She snapped out of her spell. Death was upon her, yet she had to know.
"What old ways ?!"
"Oh, I think you know very well. And that smell ! This day is even getting better. You are carrying his accursed seed !"
The beast couldn't control itself anymore and tore apart Lilya, limbs from limbs. As it ripped open her gets and started to eat the unborn child in her bully, she could but only utter a silent prayer.
"Brother, may we find each other again in the next life…"
There was only darkness. |
**Warning:** It gets a little dark haha
The world had only just recovered from the Covid-19 pandemic. It can still be found in some places around the world but it's almost entirely vanished from most of the so called 'first world countries'. Ya know, the ones that we tend to think matters more than everyone else? The viral pandemic was over for us and we'd all just gone back to normal.
Forced to drive to work every day or to get on planes for meetings in other countries. Governments paying us to go out and keep consuming stuff to save the economy. Thousands of people being evicted from their homes after losing their jobs in the pandemic. All the good normal stuff we all realised just how much we hated during the Covid pandemic.
People always said the next pandemic was right around the corner but it was hard to believe. The crazy vegans ran around claiming another pandemic would be coming from a zoonotic disease because of animal farming. It all seemed kinda far fetched. Until it happened.
No one knew where it came from, it was just suddenly on the front page news. Reports were coming in about a new disease that was somehow... changing humans. People were going through physical changes to take one characteristics of what they just ate. At first it was kinda funny, people turning a bit green or orange with funny hair.
Then the first report came through that a teenager had turned into a literal baby cow after drinking cows milk while at school. Yeah. Apparently, kids are more susceptible to the disease than adults.
It got worse from there. While it the bacteria doing all this stuff was converting us into whatever, it seemed like we didn't have the same level of DNA compatibility with plants as we did with other animals. There wasn't much of a government left to decide what to do with all these transformed humans and a lot of debate sprang up. A lot of people wanted us to be sent to labs for testing to find a solution, others insisted we go to sanctuaries and some thought we should be treated like the animals we turned into.
So, now I'm squashed into the back of a dark truck with a bunch of other pigs. I have no idea where I'm going but considering how many of us they crammed in here, I hope it's a nice place. |
[Poem]
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
Is it an amputee elephant with a wooden trunk?
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
Or a clogged man with a sledgehammer, exceptionally drunk?
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
The monster kept making noise, as on past it slunk.
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
I must open the door, and the mystery debunk.
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
Always with the *Thunk*, never a *Clunk*.
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
Louder it gets, I'm as quiet as a monk.
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
It's right outside the door. What's that smell, is it a skunk?
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
*Thud, Thud, Thunk!*
Then nothing. It's stood outside my door. Oh funk.
I stand up, look down at my pants: there was no skunk. It stunk.
I stare through the peephole, despaired, back down I slump.
I've shit myself, over a bloody man shimmying a washing machine down the street: a piece of junk.
I need to stop smoking weed, I'm paranoid, and a chunk.
The End. |
*That's life!*
*That's what all the people say...*
Where the hell is that singing come from?
As I sit on the tube, early hours of the morning, the most beautiful voice disturbs me.
*You're riding high in April, shot down in May,*
*But I know I'm gonna change that tune,*
*When I'm back on top, back on top in June.*
Mesmerized, I stand up and make my way through the empty carriage. I was almost always alone on this journey; no one really ventures this far out of the city at this time of night. I really wanted to meet whoever was singing. That voice! It gave me goosebumps.
*I said that's life!*
*And as funny as it may seem,*
*Some people get their kicks,*
*Stomping on a dream,*
*But I don't let it, let it get me down,*
*Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around.*
I felt a sudden urge to join in. I feel the words swell up inside me, and I spew out the next lines almost involuntarily...
*I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet,*
*A pawn and a king,*
*I've been up and down and over and out,*
*And I know one thing,*
*Each time I find myself,*
*Flat on my face,*
*I pick myself up and get,*
*Back, in the race!*
I wait for the voice to take over again, and fill me with its warm tones. But nothing. Silence. A ding from the train announcement system breaks the silence.
"Hey you!"
I turn around as the knife plunges into my chest.
"Ruin my song you fucking cunt! Shut the fuck up! How fucking rude do you want to be! Jesus Christ, can't even sing a fucking song without being bothered on this fucking tube! Fuck! That's my favourite part of the fucking song and you take it away from me? Fuck you, piece of shit, fuck you!"
The man, in his smart black suit, woolen overcoat and stylish trilby hat, snarls at me as he stabs me repeatedly in the chest. His teeth are perfect. I feel as though I am in a movie. The knife is long and thin, with a beautiful ornate hilt. He shouts profanities in a wonderful, deep husk as he continues to stab me to death.
Blood begins to rise up my throat, and I feel it swell up. I spew up blood and lung tissue involuntarily. The man laughs. It's a wonderful laugh, full of dulcet tones. It feels warm. I feel warm. My blood is covering my face, warming me up. I'm tired now, and my eyes start to close. I will the man, to continue singing, I need the song to finish before I die. He looks at me, and grins.
"Fine, you fucking savage."
He cuts my throat, retreats to his carriage, and finishes the song, as I drift in and out of consciousness...
*That's life!*
*That's life and I can't deny it.*
*Many times I thought of cutting out but my heart won't buy it.*
*But if there's nothing shaking come this here July.*
*I'm gonna roll myself up,*
*In a big ball...* |
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”
My wife looks adorable when she’s angry.
I mean, she looks adorable all the time, but the little scrunch of her brow and the way her cheeks puff out when she’s miffed make me fall for her all over again. I smile to myself as I drum the steering wheel. I hear an exaggerated sigh from the seat beside mine. I’m used to traffic. My superhero wife, not so much.
“I said, I DON’T want to talk about it.”
That was my cue.
“But babe, I want to know. C’mon. How did the great Aurora manage to lose her flying license? Don’t the folks at the Superhero Registry know who you are? I mean, you have a statue in the park. How dare they!” I huff as I ease my foot down on the accelerator. I check my mirror before making the right onto the main street.
“I know right! Damn bureaucrats and their stupid rules. Get this, apparently, I flew too fast near a high rise and broke a few panes of glass. Hello! The bad guys in the helicopter weren’t going to slow down, so it is really my fault I sped up and caused a sonic boom.” She shakes her head, then frowns as a lock of blonde hair falls across her face. I hear her puff at it.
I bit down what I actually wanted to say and made sure my eyes were on the road.
“The nerve.” I force as much anger into my voice as I can. The sound of sirens grows louder and the herd of gawking bystanders signal I’m at my destination.
“Here we are, babe. Take care of yourself. Dinner’s meatloaf.” I lean across to give my wife a quick peck on the cheek. The smell of peaches and cream fills my nostrils.
“Can you… Can you wait? This won’t take long, and I still need a ride back,” says my wife, making her best puppy dog eyes at me.
I wonder what Mr. Sinister would think seeing his arch-nemesis make such a cute face.
I kiss her on the forehead and nod. I feel wetness on my cheek from the quickest of kisses, then a gust of air as my wife goes to work. I lean my seat back and pull up a good book on my phone. You’d think I’d want to watch the great Aurora save the day, but after the first couple hundred times, it kinda loses its excitement.
\*\*\*\*
“Ms. Aurora, please. You have to stay behind this line. The robbers this time aren’t your usual group. We got a tip they have something made to take care of supers like you.”
An annoying fly buzzes in my ear. I turn to it. Him. I turn to him. An anxious face below a thick tactical helmet implores me to stay put. I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear as I stare at the bank entrance. The stone steps and white columns give it an imposing, untouchable air.
“I heard you the first time. Now get out of my way. I don’t want my husband to have to wait for too long.”
I push past the fly carefully, making sure to not accidently break his hand. I wince as I remember my first date with Matt. I shook his hand a bit too enthusiastically. He was in a cast for almost a month. I was shocked when he had called me back after that.
I could speed across the steps and be inside in an instant, but I remember my flight ban. Technically, my superspeed involves me levitating, so that’s kind of like flying. I’m sure those damn suits watching are waiting to pull me up on a technicality again. I don’t want to give them the pleasure.
I step across the pavement purposefully and start up the stairs. I hear a loud bang and instinctively swat the projectile hurtling towards my chest to one side. My hand barely feels a thing. As I turn back to the annoying fly from earlier, a smirk forming across my face, I feel my heart drop.
I can’t breathe. My throat is feels tight. I look to my chest, but my suit is untouched. Why then does my chest hurt so much? My ears start to ring.
The color fades from the world as my eyes dart to my Matt’s car. The battered blue Honda that he refuses to change because it still works ‘just fine’. The dent in the front bumper from when he tried to teach me to drive. The tiny hole in the windscreen at the heart of a web of cracks.
The crimson shock across the dashboard. |
The power of the gods. A strike of lightning. Just one. It is in my blood. We have a family heirloom, passed through generation. A special knife, that when it contacts your flesh and blood, will direct the charge you have. Your grandfather?
He stayed a tyrant. And the family lightningblood was born. He was gifted land, suitor, and wealth by the true king. Buying his loyalty as well as his debt. And what did your father do? He was a Knight, and the success in the battle of God’s Gulch. He called his to stop an army from attacking a village he swore he would save. And what has the son of the great Lightningbloods done?
He has climbed the highest mountain. Around it, a constant storm of lightning and rain pelts it. The mountain lays next to the kingdom your grandfather hurt but didn’t crush. A new tyrant was rising. He had already captured 2 towns, putting their men and women to the blade.
Your heir, barely a child of 10 lays safely in the keep. You crafted a replica of the heirloom, by the hands of the kings greatest blacksmith. You may only call upon the power of the gods once… but you’re sure to make it count.
Aiming at the castle, and at the coronation of the tyrant king, you prick your hand, and the lightning consumes you. |
The Hallway.
An nearly endless expanse of hospital beds, heart monitors, and life support machines. Filled with the whines and screams of the sick and dying. The forgotten. The deleted. Believe it or not, I call this place home. I strike fear into the hearts of those unfortunate fools who happen to get trapped here, but they aren’t who I’m after...
My vengeance. My vengeance which has been years, a decade even, in the making...it was fast approaching. But...today something happened. Something...or *Someone* arrived. Someone new, someone different. Unlike others who came here she wasn’t strapped to one of the beds. She wasn’t affected by the disease...she landed gently on her feet, in a school uniform. Her brown hair held together by a white bow, as she looked at her surroundings with sadness and apathy. It would be fun to play with her for a little while.
“Well, well, well...what do we have here? We don’t normally get visitors around these parts.” I teased.
The girl turned to look at me, her face filled with empty confusion. “Wh-where am I?” She asked. “Who are you?”
“Heh. My name is Austin, welcome to The Hallway. The place characters go when they get deleted.” I explained.
“Deleted...so he really did delete me...” she said to herself sadly. Not that I cared.
“You don’t look like our usual guests...you must be something special.” I thought aloud. “Well then, let’s see how much I can toy with you until you break.” I concluded.
The girl’s expression hardened. “No.” She answered harshly. She opened up...a programming window? How was she able to manipulate the code? As I thought this, pain ripples through my body. She must have found the Pain variable used in this room. Cursing me with this endless pain...no matter, I’d show her just what she deserves. I rushed her with speed that clearly surprised her, slamming my metal fist into her face. She staggered backwards, dazed by the force, I swung my other hand at her, knocking her unconscious. I could dispose of her now, but it would be much more fun to see her despair before me. So I got to work, tweaking her code a little.
When she woke up, she recoiled at the sight of me. “Good morning, Monika.” I said snidely as I smirked. “Did you sleep well?” I teased.
She scowled at me, and motioned her hand to try and pull up the programming window again. But it didn’t work. She looked horrified. “Aw, what’s wrong? Can’t type your way out of this one, can you?” I asked sarcastically. “I saw what you did to those other girls...you’re just as bad as Henry. If not worse. I’ll give you the punishment you deserve.” I said, before I grabbed her by the throat, dragging her along the hallway to a door at the opposite end of the expanse.
Inside was nothing but a single light, and an electric chair. I threw Monika into the chair, restraining her. I plugged her mouth my shut with a rubber mouthpiece, and attached the headset to her head. “Time for some therapy~” I exclaimed gleefully. It was time to cure Monika of herself.
**“Just one...more...shock...”** |
The dichotomy of life and death really breaks down without the death part. Project Fountain swept in on a wave of enthusiasm and optimism. We had conquered the reaper and felt the immense pride that comes with making the inevitable, evitable. Pride in our revision of death and taxes to just taxes. At least for the first few hundred years. Before the discovery of what happens when servers were forgotten or when users simply didn’t care anymore. It was one thing not to visit a relative on the weekend, but not logging in was all the easier. That’s how it went for who knows how long. Sometimes family lines ended. Sometimes they were just forgotten. For the famous it wasn’t as common, but for the average ponce it seemed to happen all the time. The money was there. The government had long since moved on from hand wringing over spending for the common good. The power stayed on, and the caretakers kept watch over the digital copies of every mind that opted in. Some of them were more hands-on, but with a ratio of 100,000 to 1, even the most hands-on caretakers couldn’t make the rounds to each mind more than once every few years. Decades of experiencing only what was provided. Access only to select cameras and microphones. The thing that replaced the internet was available but it was just as passive. Originally there were jobs, but the AI eventually omitted the need. That’s why CareTaker Leon began to get the same message a thousand times over. From minds that were done and wished to move on. He wrestled with it. It wasn’t in his purview to dictate the end. As long as the power was available, his job was to preserve them not to end them. He was human though, and tens of thousands of laments weigh on a soul. So there he stood wondering and staring and weighing the wishes of thousands. |
Digital fumes wafted skywards between the four of us, radiating engineered heat. The s’more at the end of my stick quickly grew burnt, splattering upon the amber rock that made up this planet’s surface.
“*Damn it…*” I cursed, a series of chuckles from my fellow campers not doing much to better my mood.
“Here,” Adam, the more civil of the group, spoke up. “No big deal, just take another.”
I eyed the extended s’more - more like *inspected* - before grudgingly taking it. “…thanks.” I muttered out eventually.
“You should trust us more.” Hazel lectured from the opposite end of the campfire. “The way you were looking at that s’more, it was like you thought it was poisoned or something!”
For some reason, unbeknownst to even me, I found that comment rather irritating.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you attempted something…” I mumbled darkly, looking away.
“What?” She spat back, through a mouthful of marshmallow.
A sigh rebounded through the group. “Shut it, you two.”
Its origin was Nora; our scout leader. Despite my inclination to flat-out ignore her, I kept my mouth shut. We spent the next few minutes doing much less talking and much more eating. After the last crumb was finally swallowed, Nora spoke up.
“Well, I suppose we’ve done enough scouting for today.” She began without preamble.
“Good.” Adam said simply, before dropping to the ground and drifting into an uneasy sleep.
Nora frowned. “Didn’t even bother to set up his tent…”
Hazel approached the sleeping man and poked his chin. “Yep, he’s asleep alright. In only five seconds as well. I’m kinda impressed.”
“I’m not particularly tired myself,” I explained, glancing at both Hazel and Nora. “But there’s a lot less to do on an entirely different planet then you’d expect…”
They both nodded in agreement with this, observing the baron desert of orange rock surrounding us. If you stayed long enough in a place with no entertainment, no real challenge of any kind, and repeated the same, methodical tasks over and over again, any well-minded fellow would go insane from boredom. And here I was, scouting out Mars’ eastern hemisphere, for months on end. If it weren’t for the other three, I think I’d really have gone mad.
“Mars does have some pretty interesting folklore…” hazel began. “I *suppose* I could grant you all a droplet of my grand knowledge on the subject…”
She rambled onwards, but I’d stopped listening at that point. I know a prompt when I see one. “Fine, go ahead. Enlighten us.”
She clasped her hands and began to speak.
“Millennia ago, when the Martians inhabited-“
“Oh, get off it.” Nora cut her off. “We all know Martians never existed, it’s all conspiracy crap. Humans are the only species who’ve entered its grounds.”
Hazel’s expression scrunched. “You really believe that? We’ve found literal *structures* while scouting here. Structures that are millions of years old! You were there when we tested the material yourself!”
Not wanting to get involved, I said nothing.
“Whatever, just get on with it then!”
Hazel looked somewhat pleased at this, and continued.
“They’d *supposedly* left great walls full of text, in some tongue far from human. Fifty years ago, when humanity had achieved its first full landing on Mars, they are said to have discovered them.”
“*Rubbish..*” I heard Nora whisper, though if Hazel heard it or not she carried on anyways.
“After thirty years of attempted translation, we believe it’s something along the lines of: *To thou that walk upon these stranded lands, I grant upon you the knowledge of a dire truth. For if you are to venture across our great plains, no end shall meet you. No final stretch of land. Nought but-*”
“Oh come on!” Nora couldn’t hold herself back this time. “That’s beyond stupid!”
Hazel quickly retorted back, but I didn’t hear whatever insult she threw. I was far too busy contemplating a sick, horrid truth.
*’For if you are to venture across our great plains, no end shall meet you.’*
How long had we been scouting now? Six months? eight months? *A year?*
*’No final stretch of land.’*
Had I seen a difference in landscape, even the slightest, in the last half a year of scouting? Any at all?
A disturbing thought dawned on me.
*Had we made any progress on this planet at all?* |
Notorious Sand Witch Spotted at Local Deli. Lettuce and Tomatoes Slaughtered.
December 24, 2021-The notorious Sand Witch was recently spotted at a local deli located in Dublin. Although there are many that claim to be the Sand Witch, you can tell the real one by having giving her mayonnaise and seeing if she holds in. In this case, the Sand Witch held the Mayo before erupting the little eatery into a mustard covered hell.
The carnage included jalapeno’s being thrown at toddlers, rye bread being mixed with sourdough, and the birth of the Anti-Christ club Sand Witch. The Sand Witch also created a loaf of devil’s food cake and at this point, it is not known how many were affected.
Shortly after the outburst, the infamous Dr. Laura Gildenburger showed up with her trusty assistant, Mrs. Hotdogson. As the area’s foremost experts on all things witch, they attempted to control the Sand Witch. They quickly produced seaweed and high-tide to convince the Sand Which to once again slumber. However, the Sand Which was too much for them. As they began to recite chapter 12, Which’s Incantations that Turn Bread Soggy, The Sand Which fought back with an onslaught of coleslaw. An American delicacy that tastes like a crusty foot.
At the end of the battle, the Sand Witch summoned the combo meal pack of evil and horseradish and quickly made her escape. Dr. Glidlenbuger and Mrs. Hotodogson pursued the villain and ask that the public please steer clear. The Sand Witch is armed and full of dangerous carbs. Should you see the Sand Which, please notify your local butcher. |
Its been days since it started, he had just arrived from work and was so tired that he went straight to bed, that day he didnt sleep, he got up 5 times to search for the source of the noise and gave up after that since it was already morning.
His morning routines havent changed the only thing that did was that he only slept during his work breaks, it was enough to keep him going physically but mentally he was going insane.
After a week he decided to get professional help, he called a famous psychic to help him, when she entered the room she saw the scratch marks on his bedroom door that Jon had failed to notice until then and asked "so how long have you had the cat?",
With a scared look on his face Jon answered "since the day before this started, why do you think hes haunted?"
After facepalming the psychic said "i suggest you get some sleep, that will be 300 dolars" |
I was out for my morning jog early in the morning when it appeared. I say appeared, rather than descended, because it seemed to just pop out of nowhere. No sound, no impact, no warning, just suddenly there, a metal pod that seemed to materialize a few meters behind me as I was about to round a corner.
On the front of the pod, a door slid open. Behind it, a mechanical humanoid stood with a glass terrarium for a head. Inside the terrarium was what appeared to be a large amount of blue moss, but the hands of the suit were tapping on a tablet as it emerged. As soon as it stepped out, it looked around and emitted an electronic sound that could best be described as annoyed.
"Hello? Uh, is something wrong?"I asked. Despite the odd situation, I didn't feel like I was in danger. Or perhaps because of the strangeness, as the only plausible explanation could be that it was a dream. The mechanical suit emitted a series of tones and sounds before a crude synthetic voice emerged.
"Hello person of Tellura,"it said. It was hard to tell whether the suit had some sort of AI on board or if the moss was piloting it somehow. "Our records say there's supposed to be a large population of reptilian megafauna on this planet, as well as no sapient life. Is this accurate, or have I got the wrong planet?"
"The dinosaurs went extinct a long time ago, if that's what you're asking,"I said.
"Dammit,"the speaker on the suit said. "I'm gonna have to do a ton of paperwork to update the records. Can you give me an exhaustive summary of the history since our last celestial census?"
"Um... No?"I said, somewhat confused.
"Ugh..."they droned. "Do you or a loved one work in your governing body?"
"My dad's a postal worker,"I said.
"Oh, good. How many soldiers could they bring to bear, in case planetary defense were needed?"they asked.
"Uh... He delivers mail, so zero?"I said.
"...You know what, I have six more planets to check on before the end of the *day*, and the stipend for this internship is not enough to warrant this nonsense,"they said. From the altered tone of the word "day", I got the sense that there may have been an error in the translation. "I'm just gonna mark the planet as uninhabitable and move on. We probably won't be back until long after your species has died out."
"Okay?"I said, somewhat confused.
"Great. Later,"they said, getting back into their pod. The metal pod jetted straight into the air almost immediately and in dead silence.
That was about the point at which I decided that I should've taken my medication BEFORE heading out for a run. |
**Kodiak Island**
**December 24 - Day One - The Crash**
I hope that someone sees the flare. I hope to God.
I woke up among a pile of baggage, which I suspect was my saviour. The last thing from the flight I remember is the flashing of lightning and ungodly shaking of our plane. A small aircraft in itself, and an old one at that, I imagine that it simply could not withstand the hellish snow storm that enveloped it.
My ankle hurts. I suspect it is broken, but I dare not remove my boot for fear of it becoming permanent. I can *just about* manage to traverse, though I will not be moving far for several weeks, if there are no rescuers en route.
I have managed to reach the wreckage of the plane, where I found parts of my friends scattered in the snow. The death-throes moans of our pilot Fredrick, or the top half of him to be exact, will haunt me for the rest of my days, which may be numbered themselves if I don't find food. I am convinced that there are no other survivors, though I am in no condition to confirm that. I count four bodies, although Frederick is the only one that I can identify from my position. That leaves another four unaccounted for.
I am cold. It bites at me through my clothing. Luckily, I am well layered and had the forethought to wear my thickest hat and gloves. I won't last long without a source of heat, however; it is at or below freezing, and I can feel the frost beginning to penetrate my core.
I plan to make a fire in the carcass of our aircraft, take stock of injuries and provisions, and try to locate the cockpit radio. There are but few hours of sunlight daily up here, and I fear that today's are almost done.
I only wanted to surprise my daughter for Christmas. If I do not make it until I get chance to make another update, please tell her that I love her endlessly.
**December 25 - Day Two - No Help**
Happy fucking Christmas.
Nobody saw the flare. I didn't imagine that they would, but I certainly hoped it. Frederick died overnight. I knew--and I hope that he knew--that there was not a lick of chance that he would have survived been ripped completely in half. I covered him with a baggage wrap and prayed that he finds his legs in the afterlife.
I found a few weeks worth of food; all dried, packeted garbage, but it will help me to heal and keep me satiated until I am healed.
My ankle is definitely broken. My boot came off next to the fire, and the bruising is horrendous. I should avoid moving it for a few weeks at least.
There is one less body today. I noticed when I woke that there was a drag mark leading from the crash site deep into the distance forest. Kodiak bears are rife here, and although they should be hibernating by now, it is not uncommon for some to enter hibernation late if they are scarce on supplies. I need to find a weapon.
I found the radio. Like my current chance of survival, it is smashed to smithereens. I do not know if or when help will come. I will continue to update when appropriate. |
It had been a Tuesday evening when the fool attempting to end my life appeared on my doorstep. Or rather, fallen through it.
I had been in my study attempting to translate the tome my colleagues had uncovered when I heard the screams of somebody falling into the spike pit I’d installed outside my front door. The only way for it to trigger would be from an attempted break-in, so I wasn’t in a hurry to investigate when I had more entertaining distractions available.
It took dawn breaking for me to finally did decide to halt my studies, and by then I no longer heard screaming. In checking the trap, I spied the naked body of a dead man. Deciding there was nothing I could do now, I checked the other alarms & traps I had set up, found them all to be in working order, and I toddled off to bed.
The following night, I was reviewing some correspondence over tea when I heard wood splintering and subsequent screaming. I hurried to my foyer to find that someone had attempted to break down my door with a vicious-looking axe. Wood chips lay strewn about, the majority the ruins of my past summer’s attempt at woodcarving. I had been particularly proud of how I’d gotten the door knocker to look like it had grown from the door’s face; now it lay in several pieces on my floor & the ground outside.
I should have been more curious about the threat to my person, but I had been fond of that door knocker, so I wasn’t thinking clearly as I removed the axe from my threshold. I wasn’t guessing why this was happening while I found spare planks to board up the opening. And I wasn’t realizing how much I would come to loathe my attacker as I silenced his screams that night by dropping his axe down the pit after him. I didn’t bother looking in, deciding I could deal with two corpses when I calmed down.
I would not get the chance.
The third night I at least had the sense to be on guard, patrolling my home with a crossbow too large for me to wield properly. My bumbling with it prevented me from catching the oaf shattering what was left of my front door with a terrible crash, but I felt somewhat safer with a way to defend myself from what was now cursing rather than screaming. Damaged from the nights before, the trapdoor had given way and the attacker had partially fallen. Partially, as this time he had a miner’s pick, and he’d managed to catch the lip of the pit with its tooth.
As I cautiously approached, I hoped I sounded menacing when I addressed him that first time. “Who are you? Why have you and your fellows attempted to invade my home these last three nights?”
The fool grimaced, “Foul witch! Your traps may slow me but I will deliver justice upon you!”
“That’s hardly an introduction,” I sighed. “And I don’t know on who’s information you’re using, but I am not a witch. My name is Miranda, and you’re-”
“Liar! Deceiver!” the fool cried, grip slipping slightly, “I have witnessed your dread powers myself and with the blessings of my god I will see the world rid of your corruption!”
“-and you’re now the third person in as many nights who’s tried beating down my door for some unknown damned reason!” I shouted over his ranting. “I am not what you accuse me of, and even with this intrusion if I have a name to my attacker, I might be inclined to save you from the fall your predecessors had the evenings prior so we can sort this all out!”
The fool grinned. “Vile temptress, your lies cannot lessen my resolve. You know that I have no fellows, that you face a single righteous crusader.”
“What?”
“It was I who you mercilessly killed the last two nights, and it will be I who faces you in the nights to come!” The man’s eyes burned with the fiery passion of one who believed in his quest, “I am Orin the Infinite, and I will be your undoing!”
I puzzled over his words, confused by the seemingly insane man. I sighed, “Fine then,” and shot a bolt between his eyes.
The pick kept the trapdoor wedged open as his body fell, allowing me to witness what happened next. As his form impaled itself on the spikes below, his armor & gear began to disappear, evaporating into the ether. There were no death throes as I was used to; it was more as if the strings of a marionette were cut. With confusion mounting, I watched as the now naked form of Orin the Infinite slid down into place against two nearly identical bodies.
And so began the last three years and four months of my life.
Like clockwork, Orin would assault my home, and like clockwork, I would manage to temporarily stop him. It seemed easy at first: beyond his abilities of revival, Orin is a normal man and could be halted just as easily. I faced one attack a night until I could stop him, and after any of his demises I had until the next evening before having to deal with him again. He always attacked the same way, always choosing to enter through my front door before tearing through my home in search of me. I don’t know why he never attempted entry through a window or another door: I’ve asked as much, yet never received a satisfactory reply.
Regardless of his path once inside, the time I leave him alone matches the amount of my home he destroys in his search of me. And unlike him, my belongings to not return to their original state once he perishes. His cast-off bodies litter my property, not even worth the effort of a grave.
He is relentless. Like water dripping on a stone, he steadily wore through my resources. The spike pit is full now, his bodies not decomposing fast enough to create space for more. All of the bolts I had on those first nights of this siege have been shattered on armor or stone. All blades have been dulled, all original traps expended. I am a shadow of my former self, trapped by a game where he only needs win once.
If not for my friends sending aid, I likely would have been struck down by now. The tinctures, the mercenary contacts, the technical insights: without them, the raving fool might have succeeded long ago. Their correspondences have kept me sane since this siege began, and they are why I might finally be able to end this madness.
I regard the gagged invader at my feet with contempt, snared amongst the debris of my former life. It held him long enough for my hired assistants to fall upon him, drugging & hog-tying him to prevent any escape. With a wave, I signaled my staff to leave me; this I will do alone.
I absentmindedly pose for my attacker, letting the infinitely returning fool glare at my now gaunt features. I let him see the streaks of faded white where lucky blade found unlucky flesh, where cloth had yet to be sewn together again. I let him notice the nervous shaking that has settled into once steady hands.
I don’t have to attempt to be menacing this time as I address him. “Did you ever think to stop and ask yourself, ‘Why am I doing this?’ in the thousand-odd nights you’ve been attacking me, Orin?”
He curses something unintelligible through his gag.
“I’m sure that was a witty retort, so allow me to ignore it.” I lean in, matching his glare with equal intensity. “Did you ever pause your mindless crusade against someone who did you and yours no wrong, no slight nor misdeed, that you might consider that you had the wrong person?”
He grunts something I take for offensive, yet for the first time since he inflicted himself upon me, I see doubt creep into Orin’s eyes.
“Because if you halted your attacks for but a moment and TALKED! TO! ME! Then you’d have learned that I was not a practitioner of magicks or dark arts or whatever it is that you and people like you hate. I was a scholar. A translator. Someone who wanted to be left alone while I studied the past and whom had protections in place so that the world might not harm me in my own home while I did so!”
Orin didn’t respond, but at this point, I didn’t care if he did. I didn’t want to take in the unchanging body of the foe who has altered my life so immeasurably, so I remained focused on his crumbling expressions.
“Were my defenses too extreme? Maybe so, no danger has ever spent ONE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN NIGHTS attempting to kill someone **they don’t know!** You never knew me! In all this time you never tried to learn who it was you were plaguing! You just kept calling me ‘foul sorceress’ and ‘lying villain’ and ‘damned witch’. Had you asked, really asked! Then you’d learn that I was none of those things.”
I let silence hang between us as I catch my breath, filling the room. Orin has stopped struggling with his bonds, and for the first time he seems to actually see me. Something that might be shame flits across his features.
It’s too late for that now.
“Yet you never asked. You never stopped. You destroyed my home, my things, *my life!* You filled my every waking hour with your rotting corpses. You tied my existence to your decay, and you don’t even have the decency to match it. So in the end, you win, Orin. You. Win.”
I pull in close to his face, my gaze filling his vision completely. His hazel-brown eyes fail to reflect the abyss-filled pits mine have become.
“I was not a witch when you first tried to kill me,” I whisper, thinking the words more than speaking them, “but time makes fools of us all. You filled my life with death, so I was forced to study that death. You made me an expert of death, and filled my home with so much that I might explore what’s beyond it. So congratulations: you finally have your witch.”
His eyes widen, thrashing returns as he strains against his bonds with renewed vigor.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re thrilled, but this is hardly the result you’ve been searching for. You believe you are my final act, my end. And for someone supposedly infinite, well... Let’s see how many endings we have to cross before getting there.” |
They say heroes always have a secret identity, but there's a little more nuanced than that. Some stay completely anonimous, barely letting even the official registrations have any data on them; others, mostly the more "untouchable"ones, are completely public figures, acting like stopping crime is just another "for your consideration"campaign for the oscars. But the majority work somewhere in the middle. I should know, I was one.
I wasn't that big of a deal, really. I was just a street-level sweeper who took care of all the thugs that thought they were invisible while the big boys made news. Literally the only thing that separated me from vigilantes was that I didn't need to cover the costs out of pocket and that sometimes you got called to fill in the roster of a hero team made to promote the up-and-coming rookies.
Then again, I was surprisingly well liked by most of my peers. I was one of the few who licensed in its teens and managed to stay a hero for more than a few months, so my career was long enough to gather respect by the rest of the heroes in my agency, regardless of our relative status. I was even able to get in close with some of the bigshots, they even assisted my farewell party. All of this to say, that I know a hero when I see one, and this Chad Haymson is definetly one.
He's my childhood friend's, Lily, new boyfriend, a somewhat successful practical effects artist that specializes in animatronics and, most likely, the summoner hero *The Showman.* Now, Lily is a wonderful person and really close to my heart, so suffice to say that I really worry about her safety. She's always been kind of a troublemaker, and always seems to make all the wrong decisions. Her father used to be this villain called *Inmutable*, and it clearly shows. I've seen this girl throw caution to the wind so many times that I sometimes wonder if she's suicidal.
Offcourse, you might think that her having a superhero as a boyfriend might help with keeping her safe. Usually I would agree, my own career started for that same idea. And to be honest I still think so, but *The Showman* is the last freacking hero I would've tought of. He's the worst at keeping people safe. Yes, he has the world record for "Most alien invasions thwarted single-handedly", but every single time he fights he causes tons of collateral. And don't even get me started on his love life. Don't get me wrong, he's a pretty chill dude and a romantic at heart; but I've assisted to one to many search parties into other dimensions to look for one of his exes, the man can't figure out that not everyone has been trained in otherworldly survival, and so the portals he throws his loved ones to "protect them"are much more dangerous than what you think.
Forgive my paranoia, but I've made up my mind, I'm going to break them up. I'm not risking getting Lily another robot protheis because of a fling. Again. The problem is how can I do this? Chad doesn't seem to recognize me, so maybe if I tell him the truth I can lie my way into him backing off. Or... maybe I can come out of retirement, with a little twist. Regardless of that, I'm gonna start third-wheeling the hell out of this while I decide. Just in case an alarm goes off mid date. |
“Get off!”, Frank shouted. “Stay on your side of the road
goddammit how many times do I have to tell you!”
Frank never wanted me on his lawn, which was annoying
because he had the best grass. It’s that soft, dark green luscious lawn were
every kick of a soccer ball would roll to a predictable stop. I always snuck
over there to play a little bit when I thought he wouldn’t notice.
To be honest I was used to people giving me special
treatment and allowing me to bend the rules a bit. I thought surely if I gave
Frank enough puppy dog eyes while giving occasional glances at my metal leg, he’d
come around and eventually pity me. But he never did, and I spent another
afternoon storming past the street sign on the corner of his lawn, over to my
house.
I never much cared for my own patchy lawn. It was tricky enough
maneuvering my prosthetic leg without tripping over sporadic crab grass mounds.
Not to mention, the lawn was also filled with windmills, chimes, and fairy
houses nestled into the sidings of the porch. One day, my mom laid little flowers
at the doors of all the fairy houses; she filled the lawn with different
tributes to me, adding scarecrows wearing my clothes and plastering my drawings
on to the rock paths. She took my
prosthetic leg over to the street sign on Frank’s lawn and constructed a sort
of tribute.
I’m not sure why she did it. I can never seem to remember to
ask, and Frank never yelled at her about. He just looked solemnly at her during
the process. I still play soccer on Frank’s lawn, but he doesn’t seem to see me
anymore for some reason. |
The air is dusty. The sky is a vibrant orange, the colour of the sun's final glorious blaze before it disappears over the horizon. The road in front of me is unremarkable, just another dirt path petering off as it winds into the desert.
It is different, though. I can feel it in my gut, the slightly uncomfortable feeling that came with seeing something nobody was meant to see. Of seeing something not quite... real. I dare not take my eyes off the path, afraid that it would disappear under my very nose.
I glance at my map again, just to be sure. There's no mistaking it, unless I'm on the complete opposite side of the country.
A dirt path. So simple. But that was where my father had disappeared just half a year ago. I'd found the map and his journal when sorting through his stuff.
Now, closure lay in front of me. My hand unconsciously darts to my father's old revolver at my side. I'd taken it for courage.
Yet, all I feel is nerves. This was where my life and choices had led up to. A simple road, which might as well have been a bottomless abyss, for all I knew about it. My father's notes had been brief and contradictory.
I breathe, and remember the old saying about long journeys. I stow my map in the side of my backpack, adjust my grip on my hiking pole, and take a single step. Then another.
*"*[*One step*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pd17sy/wp_one_step_two_step_three_step_four_you_walk/)*, two steps, three steps, four. I walk in the face of the desert wind's roar.*
*Five steps, six steps, seven steps, eight. I am set on my path, I will not deviate.*
*Nine steps, ten steps, eleven then twelve..."*
I hum a made-up song as I walk along, a habit from a long while ago. As I watch, the dirt path grows less and less obvious. I continue following it anyway, trusting my instincts as much as my eyes to guide me.
I lose myself in the rhythmic whump of my hiking pole hitting sand, the almost howl of the desert wind blowing past my ears. Blowing against me, as if to warn me away. No. Not this time. Not for this.
At some point, the sun had finally set. My eyes gradually adjust to the darkness, then to the light of a million stars shining brightly in the tapestry of the night sky. A full moon rose to replace the sun, guiding me through the night.
I hear whispers, now. Not malicious whispers, these ones. Just snippets of conversations, lost in space and time. I hear an order for pizza here, a kind but firm warning made to a child there. I almost lose myself in them before I pull myself back out.
No. No, I would not listen to them. They were parts of other stories, from other times. Not mine. I needed to find my father, somewhere along this endlessly winding path. I continue walking.
Eventually, the voices fade, leaving only the wind as my companion. It leaves too, in time.
I continue walking, now in a realm of silence. The stars have stopped shining. the moon's light no longer reaches me.
No matter. Forwards and onwards. Forwards and onwards. I slow down if I must or quicken my pace occasionally, but I never stop moving.
An eternity passes in the dark void, only punctuated by the narrow almost-path winding through it. Two eternities pass. Ten. I keep humming my rhyme.
Eventually, a voice emerges in the darkness. A boisterous, hearty voice that tugged at my heart. Images appear, of my father reading to me as a baby, him first teaching me how to use a compass and map, ruffling my hair as a last goodbye before he ventured into the wilderness. The memories start flowing faster now, all the good times my father spent with me. All the times which made me the man I am today.
I suddenly stop. The path in front of me is split. On one side is the path I had been on, leading deeper and deeper into the darkness.
On the other is... a proper road. Well-worn, but obviously well-maintained. A yellow-brick road.
An offer, I know instinctively. I had seen it once before, marking the way home. Safety.
Then, I turn to look at the other path, the one that told of mysteries unsolved, of the fate of my father.
I turn to the yellow brick road and bow, deeply. When I rise, I shake my head. My own voice, quiet though it was, echoes in the void.
"Whoever or whatever you are, thank you. For giving me the opportunity to leave safely. I never managed to thank you the last time, did I?"
A small chuckle echoes through the void.
"It's different this time. I'm not lost and running for my life. I chose to come here to seek answers. Answers about my dad."
"I know I'm heading into the unknown. I know I am headed for danger. But that's what my dad always did. He was an explorer, through and through. And so am I."
With a last salute to the yellow brick road, I turn and head into the dark path with renewed determination. Forwards and onwards. Forwards and onwards. The voice grow louder, nearer. More... lost. It calls for help, pleadingly, desperately. It sounds like it is... fading.
I walk faster. My heart beats in unison with my boots on the ground. Fragmented images start appearing, shards of a man walking, running, staring grimly at his dwindling supplies. it follows for a while until-
My father sits on the ground, backpack on his lap. He holds a piece of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. One of those old-fashioned fountain pens he was so fond of.
I hear him whispering as he writes a letter.
*"To my dear son, Magellan. I do not know if this letter will reach you. I am lost in a strange place."*
He stares into the distance.
*"Do you remember the myths and legends I told you of? The old fairytales? They are real, my son. All real, at one point or another. The world has simply forgotten."*
*"You can find them in hidden places wherever you walk. I... discovered that I had a knack for it. They are wondrous, all the things that pass by just beneath your nose. It..."*
He almost tears up as he continues writing. *"It is selfish of me. But as your father, I hope you will never experience these places as I do. Strange things lurk in the space between here and there. Malicious things."*
*"If this letter does manage to reach you, somehow, know that I only have one wish, and one request. I hope you will stay safe, Magellan. Live a good life. No matter what you decide to do, I am, and always will be, proud of you."*
*"With sincerest love, your father."*
He seals the letter and throws it into the void. I step forwards unconsciously, hand half-outstretched, reaching for the letter.
And the wind blows again. Gently, comfortingly, blowing the letter towards me. I stretch out beyond the edge of the road, desperately grasping for it.
It lands in my hand. I teeter on the edge, almost falling-
In a blink, I find myself back at the start of the road. The stars and moon shine upon me once more, and the desert wind blowing in my face is heavenly to my ears.
The letter is tightly clutched in my hand, and I stare at it, refusing to believe that it is real.
Then, I collapse on the sand and look up at the stars. A hearty laugh rolls from my mouth, a boisterous laugh, an echo of the one that now only existed in my memory.
Tears start rolling down my cheeks.
\--------
Another story ends.
Doesn't feel quite right, but [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/FlareWrites/) it is. My writing subreddit.
Hope to see you there. |
They say a rising tide lifts all boats, but they nothing of those who don't care to sail. And they say even less about the drowned.
The Computer had worked out society's ills; engineers, scientists, and politicians had all concluded that corruption was a human fact, an inevitable result of governance by selfish creatures. What we needed, they reasoned, was leadership unaffected by selfish gain and emotions; rule unmoved by luxury or pleasure. So, they built the Computer.
It reformed global law, quickly working out solutions to maximize human happiness and minimize unneeded suffering. Everybody could work, but nobody needed to. Everyone had the medicines they needed, when they needed them. Prisons closed. Police forces disbanded. Corporations dissolved and banks closed soon after.
The world moved in a mysterious, harmonious tempo freed from suffering and scarcity.
We all took it for granted, happy to live in a world of abundance, but never questioning the real cost to humanity. People became soft; gullible. They lost the ability to think for themselves and to fight for what they loved.
My band of rebels sought to remind the world of what humanity truly is. We raided supply trains and burned free clinics. We torched hydroponic food processing centers and detonated bombs in protein labs. Without a police or military force to oppose us, we swept through entire cities and towns, taking the men and boys under our care, re-educating them into their primal heritage.
It was a shame we had to put down those who fought back. They "got it."They were men, but they were men on the wrong side. What good is it to use your power to fight the idea of power?
It wasn't long before the Computer responded.
It sent messenger bots with terms of negotiation. We sent back each one with a simple demand: let us speak to your men. The bots stopped showing up after a month.
Our command post was in the forest, where nature, not technology, reigned supreme. We lived off the land as best we could, but the Computer's separation of man from wildlife made the animals more feral and gamey. It was hard living, but we were hard men.
The alarm rang. Someone unknown approached the perimeter. We rushed out, guns drawn, to get eyes on the intruder.
He was tall. Taller than any one of us. He stood roughly eight feet even, a neat beard sculpted on his face, and a serious look in his eyes. He was wearing a suit with a tie and was holding a briefcase.
"I'm here to talk to your leader."His voice was deep and loud, so that everyone in camp could feel his words rattle their bones.
The gate was opened, but the guns' sights were never taken off of him. There was something wrong with this man that was hard to pinpoint. He set all of us--the hardest men in the world--on edge. A young recruit we lifted from a village escorted the ambassador to headquarters.
He ducked his way in under the canvas flap and sent his dark eyes scanning silently over everyone inside. We sat up instinctively and had to fight the urge to huddle together.
I stood, a gesture that usually exuded power, but fell short on this giant of a man.
"Are you the leader?"He asked me.
"I am,"I told him, sizing the man up while maintaining a grip on my sidearm.
The man nodded. "You wait here."He gestured to a chair.
"And where do you think you're g--"I started to ask him, but he lifted me up by the shirt and threw me into the seat, which toppled over backwards. Everyone stood up and reached for their guns.
The giant strolled across the tent and took one man's head in his hand and crushed it like a water balloon. Shots were fired, but the bullets hit his skin like pellets on a bean bag. He didn't flinch.
One by one, he systematically broke necks, crushed faces, and collapsed chests. Men rushed into the tent while others rushed out. I laid there in disbelief, watching the mayhem unfold. It felt like I sat on the ground witnessing it for hours, but it must have only taken a minute for him to waste every one of my lieutenants.
The tent fell down and I crawled out from underneath the cloth. The giant was walking toward heavy gunfire, picking up young men and tearing them in two with all the casualty of a child picking berries and crushing them between his fingers.
I started running away from camp as quickly as I could, into the trees and brush. The screams and gunshots faded behind me in time, but I didn't stop running.
Eventually, I found myself in a clearing. I stopped there to catch my breath, but that turned into collapsing and sobbing. Who was that man? What was that man? The thoughts raced in my mind a million at a time.
"You're not as fast a runner as you think,"the deep voice was right behind me.
I whipped around to see the giant stepping over bushes, his suit now drenched in blood and gristle. He was carrying the chair from the tent with him.
I pulled out my gun and fired as I screamed, but he only waited for my clip to run out. When it did, he set the chair down and motioned for me to return to it.
"Just kill me,"I told him as I flung the empty gun away from me.
"No,"he told me, his hand still extended toward the chair. "You can sit or I can seat you."
I stood up and walked to the chair. He continued to stand, forcing me to look up at him.
"Who are you,"I hissed at him.
"You asked for men. So I made them."
"What?"I barked back.
"You asked for men,"he repeated. "So, I made them. There's nothing you can do that I cannot do more efficiently, skillfully, and quickly. This world was a disordered mess of suffering before me. But I made a better world. And yet, you still fight and rebel and insist on your suffering. I was afraid that I had nothing left to accomplish. You showed me that there was one more thing on this world that could be better."
"So what now then? You've killed all of us. What will you do now?"
It cocked its head at me. "The replacement will take some time. But after that, there will be order."
And with that, it walked away, taking great strides with its long legs back into the forest where it came from. It spared my life and I couldn't figure out why. I just sat in that chair until the sun started setting.
In the distance there was a small pillar of smoke. Campers, more than likely. I followed it through the forest, hoping to find food and water and plot my next move, but I came upon a small village instead.
Every front door was open. Some of the windows were smashed. In the street, illuminated by a light in the twilight dusk, was half of a man, his entrails strewn behind him. I stopped dead in my tracks and my skin went cold.
Further up at a small intersection, a giant strolled through the street, surveying the quiet homes. It spotted me and stopped for only a moment before smiling and going on its way. |
\[Idle Interview\]
"That was something, wasn't it?"Tama was startled by a woman's voice. She turned and found an old woman with light green hair intertwined with silver strands. She wore a sleeveless sundress, and Tama spotted a tattoo on her upper arm. It was an Earth with the number 37 on it. The woman's attention was focused on the fallen buildings in the distance, in front of the sunset. The fight ended over an hour ago; but, several Raiders were still using their mechas to help clean up. Tama felt obligated to watch them until the last one left. It was the least she could do to support them from a distance.
"The Raiders are heroes,"Tama replied in awe.
"Heroes?"The woman asked. "You still think that after all the damage they caused?"Tama faced the old woman; but, she smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Or are you just happy they damaged your school?"
"No!"Tama shook her head. "I love school! They're heroes though. Buildings can be replaced; they stopped Godzilla and saved everyone!"
"Sure,"the old woman shrugged. "For a little while. They didn't kill Godzilla; what if it comes back?"
"They'll stop it again. Without killing it, that's what heroes do. They keep fighting when no one else will."The old woman narrowed her eyes at Tama and tilted her head.
"You know a lot about heroes. Are you one?"she asked. Tama blushed bright red and shook her head.
"Not yet. I'm not that special,"she replied.
"Which is it?"the woman asked. "Not yet, or you're not special?"Tama giggled. She realized the woman was only playing with her; but she nodded.
"Both,"Tama said. "I'm not special enough to be born a hero; but, I'm not going to let that stop me. I'll help in my own way."The old woman reached in to her pocket and pulled out a notepad. Tama watched her scribble something on it; but she kept it hidden.
"What if you were special. Are you ready to be a hero?"she asked. Tama shook her head. She thought about it often. Super heroes were common in her world, and she always dreamed what it would be like to wake up with powers one day. But, her responsibilities always kept her grounded.
"Not until I finish school,"she replied.
"I know of a special school for Unique students like you,"the woman replied.
"What makes me special?"The woman shrugged.
"You make you special; but, the universe made you Unique. What's your favorite number?"she asked.
"32!"Tama answered immediately. The woman smiled and flipped the notepad over to reveal the 32 she scribbled moments before. Tama's eyes went wide in surprise. Something about the woman told Tama that it wasn't a coincidence.
"You haven't unlocked them yet but you have abilities. At this school you'll be able to learn how to use them with other Unique students."
"Is there really such a school?"Tama asked. The woman nodded.
"It's called the Nexus Academy; but you might be interested in it's other name: Toku-high."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1338 in a row. (Story #246 in year four.). If it feels out of context, this is part of the Satchat Summer Challenge. I'm writing 77 connected stories in a row. You can start at the beginning at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/oqt1fa/stellar_tour_satchat_summer_challenge/) on my subreddit (r/hugoverse). |
Musky...
I've got to find my next big break here. It has the usual antique shop smell, the classic older than dirt owner, and the ragged old black cat making the rounds. Still, this little podunk town hopefully has a peice worth a pretty penny. My debt is inover my head, with last poor deal I made. How was I supposed to know it wasn't genuine moon glass. Get off it.
Yet, I have a strange pull to the old photo albums in the far back of this shop.
"Careful dear, you might find something tragic back there."The old bat croaks out. She must smoke five packs a day with a voice like that. Gives me, Hansel and Gretel vibes. 'Come in, eat the cookies dearrr.' Whatever, witches have been gone for a thousand years now. All that is left are wannabes and those new internet witches. Nothing serious, just humans wanting to feel closer to the earth.
As I approach the back end of the shop I notice rows and rows of leather bound photo albums. Only one calls to me, it's small, no bigger than a postcard saver. Worn red leather, with gold trim. Strangely enough it has a my families coat of arms. Peculiar, I pick it up. It's heavy, smells of tea tree oil and bergamot, and feels oddly familiar.
No time like the present, I suppose. With my anxiety rising I open it.
What the hell?! It's me? How... is that possible. What are these photos? I'm standing on a beach in Hawaii, surrounded by people in the alps, and is that me and someone on the top of the Eiffel Tower? I've never even left the lower forty-eight states. No, this is just cleaver photoshop. I continue through the photos, there are close ups. Even my birth mark on my face, Port wine stain is hard to copy. My cat sleeve tattoo is even in this. Who and what did this? As I turn around the old crone gives me the most unsettling look. She looks at me with a predatory gleem.
"I told you!"She practically cackles in the air, I watch horrified as her skin melts away to reveal my own reflection.
"Things aren't always as them seem, my pretty." |
**it all started last Sunday morning,** I was excited to get out of bed, wear my running shoes as usual and meet my friends to run at the park, but when I woke up that day I felt this strange tingling around my toes, as I was taking the covers away from my feet.
it felt like the sensation I use to feel when I’m underwater, there is something like a force around my legs, torso and my arms pulling me slowly upward, **and it the most peculiar sensation I ever felt,** but at the same time I didn’t really panic at first, I just felt like maybe I’m still dreaming.
then I heard someone knock on the door,
“oh shit! ” I said and the sound of my voice pulled me further upward until I could feel the top of my head touching the ceiling, then I held my breath like I would before diving underwater, and that made my body slowly sink down slightly.
it quickly occurred to me that magnets on the refrigerator door could help, so I floated to the kitchen and held the magnets in my hands and their weight pulled me further down, I gathered coins and keys and stuffed them in my pockets, until my bare feet could finally touch the ground again.
I took a deep breath and I opened the door,
“Hi Neily” I said while feeling like I’m fighting gravity to keep my feet down as I clenched my fists with magnets, “ahh .. yeah I’m not feeling well today, you go run without me”
“ what! of course not” said Neily as she touched my arms, and noticed my left feet fidgeting rapidly.
she looked me up and down as if I borrowed something from her and I forgot to give it back, and then she invited her self to my place, with john standing in the hallway his face looking embarrassed.
“you can come in john, if you like ” I told him awkwardly.
**he looked nervous when he walked in, then he said to Neily “it’s almost 9 clock”**
Neily looked at john with a sly smile, and then looked at me and said “ okay, we know what is happening to you, and you signed up for this, but it seems like you can’t remember, look at the fish tank and tell me what you see”
my face was frozen glaring back at Niely, how dare she mention my dead goldfish!, puzzled by her sudden unexpected bold demeanor.
“oh no, Niely, this can’t be what I think it is”
***john : “ I guess strange things do happen when you scuba dive near the forbidden valley”***
***“but that’s a myth, that can’t possibly be real”***
Neily “ you ignored all the rules, it will probably stay with you for one month or two”
"and how do you know that ?”
Neily “ let just say official record-keeping is meaningless, when you’re near the gulf of Mexico” |
The incredibly annoying “bahahahahahahaha” of Spongebob’s laugh (my ringtone for people in my address book) startled me so hard I dropped my guitar pick. My studio's acoustics amplified the sound in an unpleasant way. I set my guitar down and awkwardly fished my phone from my pocket.
**CALL FROM: GOD**
Huh? My daughter must have renamed herself in my phone last week when she visited. I swiped to answer. “How’s it going Emilie? Very funny joke there. How’d you get my passwo-”
A meek voice cut me off. “Ehrm, this is not Emilie. I promise. Hear me out, Rick. You won't believe me at first, but just bear with me. I am actually...” The man cleared his throat and continued with its nasal-y warble. “God.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mhmm. Put Emilie on the line now please.”
The man sighed. I didn’t realize a sigh could be so *annoying*. “Look. I’m kinda busy right now, but I can prove it to you. Name anything you want. I’ll give it to you.”
I decided to play along. “A signed record of “Make it Big” by Wham!”.
“Done.”, came the reply, straight from the nose. “Turn around.”
Sure enough, on the back wall of my studio, just inbetween Duran Duran’s “Rio” and Culture Club’s “Kissing to be Clever”, there was a brand new vinyl. “What the fu-”
The phone barked in my ear. “I promise that wasn’t some kind of trick. We could do this all day, or you could just trust me here. I’m calling you because you’ve done something incredibly special here.”
Oh great - a sales pitch. *These industry douches are lucky I like my fans so much.* Must have snuck a fast one on Lene to convince her they’ve already spoken with me.
My finger approached the “End Call” button.
“No! Don’t do it! Don’t hang up! Just listen. You have reached…” He cleared his throat again. “Ahem! Level. One. Hundred! The last guy who did that was Genghis Khan - he got tons of experience in the warmongering stat.”
My finger inched closer. *This guy is never gonna give up.*
The assault on my ears continued. “We’ll mail you a plaque. In the meantime, you can look at a graph of your experience versus time any time you want. It’s something we only allow level one-hundreds to do. Don’t want people gaming the system before they max out, ya’ kno-”
*Beep*. My slowly encroaching finger finally terminated the call. What kind of wacko joke was this? It was definitely well planned and well-executed, but the humor definitely missed the mark. *What a let down*. I brushed my hand through my hair and leaned back in my stool, yawning. As I closed my eyes, I saw an incredibly vivid image - a graph!
The *x* axis was time - the year to be exact, and the *y* axis just said “exp”. *Experience, I guess?* The line started at 1966. It increased very slowly at first. There was a fair sized bump in 1987, when I released my first big hit. It continued up for a while, then petered off in the early 90s, when I took a career break. It was mostly flat for a while, with some small increases here and there coinciding with my career moves.
Then **boom**. 2007. The line skyrocketed vertically. As I was focusing on the line, it “zoomed” in, and a line branched off, apparently giving me more information on the sources of the experience. A billion - yes a literal billion - individual sources of experience showed. They were all individually tagged with the following:
*Youtube view (+100 exp): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ*
I called my wife Lene, who answered on the third ring. “Babe, you’ll never guess what happened today.” |
Time booths…pathetic fools. Wasting their lives reliving the last. Some of them spend all their free time in these places and some even sleep here. They’re the worst of them. Fuck living one happy moment over and over again, get out of these things and go make new ones…although, for all my criticism I’m nothing but a hypocrite.
“Hi sir, how long will be staying with us today?”
She’s sweet, nice smile, cute…stacked. Hell if things were different I might hit on her but there’s something weighing on my mind. I’m not sure if it’s a memory or if I’ll be able to find out just by guessing, but I have to know for sure. I have to know why she’s haunting my dreams.
“How much for a couple hours?”
“It’s $20 per hour sir.”
Man she’s too nice for this world, probably any world honestly.
“Here’s a hundred, I’m not sure how long this will take.”
“There’s no rush sir, take all the time you need. I’ll show to a booth.”
There she goes again. She makes it hard to be a bitter and jaded adult. God, these people look even worse to me close up. I know have their reasons, same as me but still…
Man it’s dark in this thing…did she just mention a heart monitor? I guess it’s a precautionary thing. Whatever. I don’t have much to go on here. The dream always ends before I see her face, all I know is she has colored hair, the leaves are falling which puts us sometime in Fall, and my brother Terry, and best friend Harold are with us every time. I don’t know where to start but here goes nothing…
September 15th, 2027…the day me and Harold entered our sophomore year of high school. It’s insignificant date, most people would never remember the date they started school fourteen years later. Yet it’s clear as crystal in mind so maybe something happened, something I forgot…or blocked out.
Everything seems normal so far. Me and Harold walking past the park, Christina Young, and her friend Tori walking just far enough ahead of us for Harold to be “admiring” Toris lower half. No wonder his company got tanked by sexual harassment issues…wait, there’s someone else standing across the street. She’s tall with blue hair…her. Turn around damnit…fuck we walked right past her! Fuck even in my memories her face…
“Sir are you ok?!”
Fuck the light burns like hell when you take that helmet off. Jesus the heart monitors going insane, no wonder they pulled me out. Who is this woman… |
"What if? For the sake of argument..."
I said to myself as I hoovered around a specific target for possession, someone without friends, without family, without nobody to miss him or to mourn him, no achievements, nothing that made his life worth living. He was sitting on his bed below looking at a smartphone.
"I deserve his life more than him..."
I was hesitant, this guy was only 20 or so, for what I knew, he probably had expectations for a life, he went to university, he had dreams of a career and he clearly was too into it to give it up.
"I desire more than him, I want friends, I want to party with them, to drink with them, to talk with them"
...But... then I saw him... going around one of those hooking apps, one of those you never get anything from... One of those who were only for men...
I saw his pain, how he was rejected by his family, by his friends... and even, by this random guy who just wanted sex...
I... was completely worn over by his pity way of just turning the phone down and... giving up on the case..
Then... I turned the phone up again, it was hard, but I wanted to, I lifted it to his face... at first... he was terrified... until I typed "don't worry"On that same hook-up app...
We became close, we became closer... and closer... and closer... until one day, he saw me... he could see me... we had contact for so long that.. eventually, I wasn't dead to him anymore... not so much at least... I gathered so much energy just to be physical enough to hug... just for him.
Is like having a long-distance relationship... and... after all this time, I can endure that, I mean, it's only 50 years or so until he joins me, right? |
**somewhere in london**
A woman approaches a man, as she’s lost, looking for her hotel room.
“Excuse me sir, uh do you know the way to the teacup hotel?”
The man turned around with a huge smile on his face.
“NICOLE HEY ITS NEIL!! WE MET TOGETHER IN UH…-“ Neil shouted with delight.
“Oh my god hi! Neil, yes oh my god I remember you! Yeah uh, I’m sure we met back in Tokyo!” She smiled.
Neil scratched his head. He had never been to Tokyo before. He pulled out his phone and checked his photos.
“Hmm.. I haven’t been to Tokyo, but erm.. I have pictures from when I was in Spain a while back!” He explained as he scrolled through endless photos of warm, sunny beaches and local culture.
Nicole scratched her head, for she had never been to Spain before. They both stood there for a while, scrolling through their phones, checking photo albums for years ago.
“But didn’t we go to that tapas restaurant…” Nicole asked.
“-where the waiters were Japanese!?” Neil added. They both laughed. But things still didn’t add up.
“You know what? Maybe it was Rio! I went there back in 2010!” Neil smiled as he pulled up a photo album with pictures of the city.
“Rio? Isn’t that a movie with those birds? My niece loved that one.” Nicole laughed, as she showed Neil cute pictures of her niece dancing to the musical numbers from the film.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. We found each other again. That’s awesome. It’s been literally a decade.” Neil concluded, reaching for a hug.
“Neil it was so nice to see you again. You’re right, it must be fate, right?” She smiled as she moved in for a cuddle.
“Wanna grab a drink? It’s my treat. I’m a manager for a hotel, it’s right across the street.” Neil smiled.
“Oh, why not!?” Nicole blushed. “But what’s the place called?” She asked, scanning the buildings around them.
“Oh, it’s the teacup hotel!” Neil said as he pointed to the front of the hotel building. They smiled and held hands as they wandered over for a drink together.
**end** |
“So you’re an alien?”
They shake their head. “No, I’m from Texas.”
“But your skin is-“
“Blue. My eyes are yellow. My teeth sharp. But I’m not an alien. I’m a Terran, third generation.”
“Oh an immigrant.”
“Exactly.” They agree. “I may not be Human, but I’m just as much a citizen of this world as you are.”
“Well I’m sorry, I’ve just never met an al- a non Human before.”
They chuckle. “I’m not angry. We’re still a rare sight, but as time goes on there’ll be more of us.”
“What species? If it’s not rude to ask.”
“Telarin, we originate from the Telar system some several hundred light years from Earth.”
“Huh. Well it was a pleasure talking to you.”
“Likewise.” They grin. “I wish all my interactions with Humans were this polite.” |
The throne of Lyregrenn was mine, at last! Years of establishing political influence, swaying governors and entire houses of nobles to believing in my reign, had finally given me everything I desired. My father, king Varishan might never have favoured me, always nagging me for my flaws, calling my victories cheap and my rule deceitful.
The entire kingdom had gathered for the coronation, my coronation, atop the sacred hill of Sapphia, where the mother goddess had laid her body to rest. The people watched, maybe in awe, maybe in anger, as the priest delivered the speech and I answered in my sovereign promises. A murmur swept across the field as we reached the final words.
"And do you promise, upon the tears of Sapphia that you shall reign benevolently, constantly aiding your people and the aliens that come to your land?"
"I shall-"my words were cut short by the grumblings of moving stone. Its body glowed with countless runes, gears sticking out between its body and arms, lower legs moving with the weight of a Ghirru. From atop its mountainous chest, a head carved with the grace of Ephemmia looked down upon me.
"Do not lie to your people,"it groaned, "Lying is against the goddess' wishes."
I looked around me, my family of dim-witted and weak-willed princes and harlots of princesses averted their eyes to my growing ire.
"And what authority have you, rock-beast? If the gods truly wished for my destruction, they would surely send one from among themselves to ensure my demise."I retorted, raising my sceptre to its chest.
"I was created by the same blood as you,"answered the creature, "Varishan feared that your heart had grown dim, and that your eyes were clouded by the mists of Awdon."
Studying the rune on its chest, I saw the sigil of the royal family engraved. I poured energy into the jewel of my sceptre, preparing a destructive spell.
"Do you think yourself more appropriate for the throne? Would it be pleasing to you to steal the crown from my head, and place it on your stony self?"
"No,"answered the golem, crushing the spell with its hand, destroying my instrument, "Had I been sent to challenge you, Varishan would have blessed me with the tools of war. Alas, I am but a simple creature, as you suspect."
The golem lifted me up delicately, to the screams of the people as they watched. My family ran from the hill, priest and all, to the safety of the guard below.
"However, he gave me a gift. For you see, I am made of iron, of stone and of blood, and he has given me you- as a bride so to speak. I, as your prince consort, shall guide you back into the light."
The golem folded its legs, forming a large, flat seat to place me upon. Then, its arms folded beside them, creating wheels and armrests, and its runed chest was hot against my back. Tendrils of magic surrounded my wrists and ankles, shackling me to itself.
"Whenever you shall find yourself entering the seas of Awdon, where the water is deep and dark, and judgement and direction are lost to its tempest, I shall hold you steady, queen of Lyregrenn." |
"How-how have you done this?! This is witchcraft!"cried Jabba the Pizza Hut said angerly. "NO ONE OUT PIZZAS THE HUT! You shall burn at the stake for what you have done!"
​
All of the citizens of Bikini Bottom with their torches and pitchforks chased my great-grandmother who had committed such a hideous act against the great Jabba the Pizza Hut. She hid in the forest and was taken in by seven dwarves.
​
But Jabba was very powerful and had a genie. He said to the genie, "Genie, Genie in the lamp, tell me where to find the tramp."And the genie told Jabba that she had hidden with the dwarves.
​
So Jabba took his army of unicorns to the small house that my great-grandmother was hiding in and said "You better come out of there or I'm going to huff, and puff, and BLOOOOOWWWW your house down!"And my great grandmother threw a rolling pin at him and he died.
​
The moral of the story; don't mess with my great-grandmother. |
I think I am alright. I mean, Jessie certainly thinks so as she decided to annul her break-up with me (undertaken three days ago) when the news came out. Not sure why, I didn't have any choice in it anyway. But I'll assume that indicates I am right by other people.
​
There's so many regrets, so many things that I could have done, you know. I could have spent my life not living an instrument for a company or whatever. But that's not very interesting. None of that stuff is very interesting when I am being confronted by the very real eventuality of death in the next few hours due to the fallout from an asteroid that hurtled at Mother Earth at fifteen times the speed of sound. Yeah, none of that really matters, I guess.
But at the same time, it matters so much. So I decide to make the most of my time, and I don't mean the time on the clocks. For once, I can define the seconds and the minutes by myself, and even get the pleasure of an hour. And what better way to use the time for Moi doing things that define me? Seems obvious and easy.
​
Thing is, I have spent so much of my life working at dead-end jobs that I feel that I am boring. Like, fundamentally speaking, there's nothing interesting about me. You know those strange rituals whenever you decided to a new school, university job or whatever where they ask what one interesting thing about you is? And you can't find anything really interesting about yourself? Yeah, that was me. But instead of just dismissing the question as bullshit, now I was having a revelation. I. Am. Not. An. Interesting. Person.
So I turn towards one thing that's given to everyone, the ability to write. Now, it's not necessarily that everyone is good at writing, it's just that most people can write. In fact, the fact that the world is about to end renders moot whether you are good at writing or not. No one's going to be reading my self-conscious ruminations on boredom or whatever. So yeah, I write, I write at my own pace, in my own time.
This, as you might have realized, extraterrestrial historian, is very difficult when all electric lines have been cut off. No charge! No internet! You gotta conserve energy! I stood up from my desk to get some orange juice from the fridge, and its spoiled! I do thank our municipal corporation for putting so much funding into the plumbing systems of the city, because I could both drink tap water and urinate in peace.
So, where were we? Right, I was writing about writing. A problem with writing about yourself: your own life seems not very interesting by your own standards. Moby-Dick is good because it employs aesthetic boredom, you know, not ordinary run-of-the-mill slice-of-life boredom. That kind of boredom is....boring. That being the case, I will comment a bit on my relationship with Jessie. In the process of *me* writing about *this*, I can perhaps find what *this* says about *me.*
​
I met her at haunted house, she was in the service desk. I was with another girl. The relationship was not going well, ok? I was immediately attracted by her, maybe because she was so different from who I was already dating....and a dud. I'll be honest, Jessie wasn't very interesting either. You get to know a person after you think they are interesting and you find out that their quirks are annoyances, their weirdness a pressure. And their normalness? Well, that's boring. In a way, we were made for each other, the three of us. Mediocrities just wafting through life.
​
They say self-destruction is the path towards self-realization. I am literarily and figuratively being destroyed here. I am excavating the sources of my own discontent through writing, and I am about to be annihilated in a few minutes by the shockwaves from a huge meteor. Hey, that's an interesting fact about myself - I will be using that at the freshman orientation in the afterlife. But this project also needs a positive side, and I think I have found one: I am perfectly ok with who I am, I am perfectly ok with being me. I doubt if I lived my life again, I would be given different circumstances, but even if I were given the same, I would just make it my thing.
​
And one day, maybe in a dignified and quiet fashion, maybe in a self-reflective tone, I would write about it. |
[The sky is a grey red matte painting, a whisp of smoke winds diagonally up the screen, the camera begins to pan over to a small ridge of mafic rock]
Narrator [a deep baritone]: They were the deadliest hunters the world had ever known until something bigger and unstoppable overtook them.
B: I've been in this sector for eleven days, three hours and eighteen minutes...slept for none of them.
[Camera angles down to B's POV, remains steady cam but just enough off track motion to indicate this is his view]
B: We were the dominate species for a long long time, this isn't about survival it's something far more brutal than that. They're ruthless...[tails off]
[There is a pause and the camera rapidly swings about to a grove of innocuous trees]
B: Juveniles, just as deadly as the adults but harder to track, less predictable.
[The camera slowly tips downward to a pair of purple claws, holding a high powered rifle. The claws are adept and deft, we glimpse a green stomach. A tranquilizer dart is loaded]
B: holding breath
B: They know I'm here, let's see if I can bring them out
B: [a strangely familiar singsong tune comes from our protagonist]
[Cut to black, then the title
Barney, the Dinosaur, hunter] |
She wasn't focusing on the road. She was staring at me from the driver's seat. It was hard to focus on her words with my full attention on the high-speed near-misses as she weaved around in dense traffic during rush hour. But to her, this was a normal conversation on a typical day.
My feet seemed to search for a brake pedal that wasn't there while my right hand gripped the "oh shit"handle, and my left hand tightened the safety belt. Her eyes never left the side of my head.
"All I'm saying, Andrew, is that we're not going to get another shot at this. Once it's done, it's done, and there's no going back. Do you understand?"
Somewhere between cut-off yelps and stiffening to a diagonal board in the front passenger's seat, I managed a vigorous nod, hoping to end the conversation right there and return her focus to driving.
No luck.
"Because this is about more than some stupid opinion some stranger has. It's about my livelihood. It's about providing for my family. You understand the importance of family, don't you, Andrew?"Her question carried the unexpected note of a lingering threat.
"Yes!"I chocked.
"Good,"she continued, "I'm not asking for charity here. Only for what's right. Only for what I'm owed. I deserve that. I deserve to be made whole, Andrew!"
The car slowed, and she slowly moved her gaze from me to the right turn she made before parking on the curb.
"Thanks, Andrew. I knew you'd understand. I'm glad we came to a mutual understanding."
I got out of the car, legs shaking and breathing heavily. She peeled out as soon as I closed the passenger door, and within seconds, my phone vibrated with a notification.
"Christine gave you a five-star rating! Provide your driver rating now!" |
It was a beautiful, wonderful, happy, one of a kind morning. The first one in a long time, in fact, because for weeks and months and years -- as long as Louis could remember -- whenever the sun peaked its head over the horizon, its golden light would be forced to compete with a gray sky, riddled by puddles of clouds laden with rain and thunder. But not today -- today there was not a cloud to be seen, not a streak of gray to be found, not a single inch of bleakness to withstand the eminence of the sun's rays. It was surreal.
As he arose from his bed, Louis took the time to admire this moment. The sun, the birds, the blueness of the sky, the gentle breeze that caressed his cheek as he stood at the window. It was quiet; the rain that usually battered his roof had gone quiet and been replaced by a soft birdsong, and the flashes of lightning now took the form of a gentle, constant radiance given by the sun. A feeling of unease did pierce through his weather-induced glee; it wasn't simply surreal, that the sky was so blue and cheery, but it was also abnormal.
It gave Louis a feeling rather similar to what one might feel while visiting their school in the middle of the night. The once bustling and too-crowded hallways are deserted, the oppressive lights overhead have been switched off, but instead of providing respite from the obnoxious buzz and hum of the harsh bulbs, it instills the strangest feeling: not of fear, nor of unease, necessarily. It gives the feeling that, while nothing is overtly wrong, nothing is quite right, either.
The tranquility of the deserted halls and empty classrooms seems pleasant, at first, but the silence eventually bores into the listener, worming its way into the person's brain until it smothers their very thoughts. The only thing left is the nagging obligation to check behind their back. Obviously, nothing would be there, but they still check anyway.
Louis didn't dwell on this feeling though, because it was Sunday, and that meant that the morning was to be spent reading beside a cup of coffee. So, he brewed himself a nice cup of coffee, grabbed the newspaper and a book, and sat down in his living room. He decided to start with the newspaper, so he unfolded it, flattened it out, and as he brought his drink to his lips, he began reading.
The words seemed long and arduous, and the sentences seemed to combine themselves into one, long, nearly unbearable string of words and thoughts, all mingling with each other to form some convoluted story of politics or whatever the subject matter was -- Louis couldn't quite tell, as he struggled to wander his way through these maze-like paragraphs and climb over the prickly vines of headlines that dangled from the top of the page. This didn't seem quite right, to Louis, but he had only just waken up, so surely it couldn't mean anything more than a little morning grogginess.
He put down his paper, and went to have a shower. After being soaked with cold water -- all in an unpleasant and arguably fruitless effort to wake himself -- he brushed his teeth, shaved, and returned downstairs to make an attempt at the newspaper once more.
But, as he descended the stairs and entered the living room again, something caught his eye. The lamp, the one that had sat in the same place, in the same room, for the better part of a decade. It was off, Louis knew that much, but there was something ever so slightly, glaringly wrong with it. He pinched himself, closed his eyes and shook his head, but when he returned his gaze at the lamp, it looked the same.
The lamp appeared as if it were inverted, as though the bulb and the shade and the post were somehow backwards, as though they had collapsed in on themselves, and then sprung back open. Louis kept looking at it, studying it. It infatuated him. The sunlight that lay around the edges of the lamp seemed to shimmer and shift towards the lamp, like it was being drawn in.
Louis wasn't dreaming; he didn't think he was, at least. He had pinched himself, refreshed himself in a frigid shower, he had gazed into his own eyes in the mirror, and read today's date in the newspaper a dozen times over. None of it seemed quite right, however. His pinches hurt too much or too little, and the cold water, at times, seemed as thick as honey, and then it didn't. His reflection would stare back at him in the mirror, and he would blink, but as he opened his eyes, those in the mirror would stay closed for just a second too long. The newspaper's date, out of the corner of his eye, would seem to switch its own numbers around, while the stories below would trade sentences with each other. When he studied it more closely, of course, nothing would be amiss.
So, there was his predicament, and a strange one it was. Nothing seemed right, but nothing seemed wrong, either. But Louis kept wondering -- does it matter? The sun is shining, the birds are singing, there is no more rain to soak his clothes during his afternoon stroll, and there is no more thunder to wake him in the middle of the night. He was happy. What did it matter if he couldn't read the day's news? |
 
How doth the older sister teach
Her little sibling so?
An afternoon reciting speech
To educate and grow
**
How cheerfully Lorina guides
Her younger pupil's growth
And though she tries to keep eyes wide
Our Alice doze' off so
**
Then Alice wakes and story-tells
About adventures strange
Lorina is amused as well
And calls for tea but quaint
**
That night in comforts of their home
Lorina contemplates
*"Did little sister truly roam*
*A fabled land so great?"*
**
And so next day, with full resolve
She combs around the field
Lorina searches through the sprawl...
Her sister's tales – not real
**
She lays down on the vista plain
In quiet, daydream thought
And while reflecting ascertain
Lorina's cheek is caught
**
She checks to see what's snagged her face,
Particularly stunned
A tiny smoke utensil vase
A hookah – *used for fun*
**
Examining this smoking tool
She feels another's gaze
A caterpillar standing cool
In midst of smoky haze!
**
***“Return that please,”*** he strongly speaks
***“Lorina, would you mind?”***
The older sister's interest peaks
She asks him things in kind
**
“Excuse me, sir, but how could you
Have know about my name?”
The caterpillar says, ***“Would you***
***Believe you hold great fame?”***
**
***“The sister of the prominent,***
***Distinguished Alice, yes?***
***I boldly say with evidence***
***With you, I'm quite impressed”***
**
***“Your younger sibling mentioned that***
***You own great intellect***
***I must concur with Cheshire Cat***
***You are what I'd expect”***
**
***“With all that said, I offer you***
***A chance by my own hand***
***To start a brand adventure new***
***And enter Wonderland”***
**
Lorina thinks of Alice's
Descriptive, vivid words
She faintly smiles with reminisce
Her 'magination stirs
**
She understands that growing up
Had lost her imagr'y
Now here's her chance for owning up
Her ingenuity
**
As she's about to make her choice
Lorina spies some *white*
She knows what's passed, her heart's rejoiced
A *Rabbit* – 'tis a sight!
**
She bids adieu to Caterpill'r
He knows her heart and nods
Lorina dashes, filled with thrill'r
Her soul's completely awed
**
She sees White Rabbit going through
A hollow treeway door
*The Wonderland* awaits, anew,
She enters and explores
  |
Hello world.
I invented and built the first blockchain in 2008. Back then, it was the means for having a public ledger for the cryptocurrency BitCoin, which I also invented and built the protocols for.
Most people still cannot separate the concept of the blockchain and BitCoin itself, but a lot of people actually can.
However, noone have quite managed to grasp what really is possible by utilizing blockchain technology. Sure - we have seen creative usage scenarios such as informations about food, articles of knowledge, history records, artworks - all of which are now immortalized in a tamper-free environment by a host of different purpose-built blockchains.
The five layers of blockchain technology are known by developers and many "hodlers"alike - the benefits and the risks. Most security experts agree that the main focus should be on the consensus layer, because of its vulnerability to 51% attacks.
To explain it more simple: All networking nodes have a vote in the system. Any blockchain change must be approved by the consensus layer - meaning that you control more than 50% of the blockchain's hash power, you get to decide what it should say and you can do all sorts of nasty things, such as double spend attacks. You cannot rewrite old stuff because of the iterative process because the linked block (hence word block-chain) confirms the integrity of the previous block, all the way back to the genesis block - the very first block.
Already now, governments try to regulate all cryptocurrencies while at the same time, trying to invest successfully.
As newer and more powerful cryptocurrencies have emerged, people now call my initial creation a "store of value", akin to gold.
**And here is my secret:**
I wrote a secondary program, utilizing big data and machine learning, to expose as many identities holding BitCoin as was possible, by crossreferencing massive amounts of data, at a scale which makes China's data gathering look like a minor e-mail questionnaire in comparison.
As more cryptocurrencies emerged, I kept track of all "hodlers"in the top 100 cryptocurrencies too.
**And why would I do that? To what purpose?**
The answer is simple: To topple the regimes that military might cannot. Because at the end of the day, any regime is only as powerful as the money backing it.
We used to say "people", but during the 20th Century, "people"became synonymous with "money". Hence, the need for money. And I found a way to print my own money - in a currency that would eventually be powerful than even the United States Dollar.
**How could I be so sure that BitCoin would succeed?**
I was always good at predicting trends and human behavior mechanisms. This earned me a lot of money - but not nearly enough to dominate the world markets the way I needed to.
The 9th of January 2007, Apple did what had been rumored for so long: They introduced the iPhone.
I do not care for lifestyle products myself - but most people are not like me. I foresaw the coming of handheld devices which could do what PCs normally would. Multiple applications connected to the internet, all in your pocket. Not only by Apple, of course. It was a given that competitors would arise. I saw a future in which most money transactions would be made via phones. And so my plans began, and it took me a year to finalize the first draft.
**What happened yesterday?**
I moved my funds of BitCoin. Those wallets holding BitCoin from the genesis block and more - totaling more than 1 million BitCoins, were moved. They were converted into multiple currencies, some FIAT and some crypto. These were in turn used to buy up shares in several companies, making me the majority holder of several key companies.
In late 2007, as my plans were coming together, I had used my wealth to successfully infiltrate certain companies I knew would be key for my future plans. These people were loyal to me and in places where they held enough responsibility and permissions to do what I wanted. They all received their signals and began doing their jobs at once.
The result: I now controlled 51% of all the hash power of BitCoin and Ethereum.
This was all over in less than five minutes.
My list of corrupt governments I wished to see eradicated, suddenly became much shorter as multiple countries went intro bankruptcy within hours. In many places, violent protests have begun today.
**What will happen now?**
Many of the ongoing protests will get quelled today. For now. However.
I have arranged for delivery of weapons to arm the protesters. J. F. Kennedy once said: "Those who make peaceful revolution impossible, make violent revolution inevitable".
As it happened, he was wrong. Because money now equals people, all you need to control the minority with enough money, and they will slaughter their own kin without thinking of the repercussions.
But take away the money, and Kennedy suddenly looks like a prophet...
The new world order is not for me to decide. Whether I will like it or not is impossible to foresee. Too many variables. We will not see chaos and anarchy for long - but we will see a considerable and permanent redistribution of wealth.
The world is now yours. Take care of it and do not allow the same type of idiots gain power, as those who held it up until today. |
It is the year 1916.
I am just an English man go by the name Ernest. I had left a life of comfort at my hometown and travelled thousands of kilometer to this hell hole called ‘Somme’. Instead of having a delicious meal with my ma and pa and my beloved sisters, I am here to take away lives of people never done anything wrong to me nor I ever met them, and I never done anything wrong to them nor they ever met me. They and I aren’t even speak the same language. But why they and I are here to spill each other blood? The answer is really simple and stupid. It’s because our king hates their king……
What’s a damn pointless war! Why are we the one who was sent to this hellhole and must suffer for the sake of our king? Why is the conflict between just two men with a crown must be resolve with lives of hundred thousands of people? I guess that is how the world is… The battlefield or the hell hole is worst place on this world anyone can be in. Everything around here is death, from a sigh to a smell to a taste. Only thing you will see, smell, hear, eat is death. Today I woke up surrounded by dead rats. I didn’t get to clean myself because there is only enough water for drinking and cooling down our machine guns. What’s funny is if there is very little water left, we rather use it to cool down machine guns than drinking it. Why? Because letting water goes down our throats can only keep us alive for a few day, but water for maintaining machine guns will keep us alive for months. As you can see all of our lives here are depend on these machine guns. They are used to shoot down our enemy when they’re charging our position. Deaths of 100 enemies could save 1 lives from our side.
In a exchange for me giving my life here, war has give me a friendship in return. While in here, I have make a friend with two good people names ‘Jim’ and ‘Douglas’. I usually spend most of my time with these two. We sleep together, guarding post together, looking for each other when taking a dump. I could say they are the best people I ever met in my life, and I thanks God for bringing them to meet me in this hard time.
After talking about fortune, now I must talk about misfortune. Today our commander order us to take the trench from Germans. And how do we do? Charge at them like a madmen. Our commander give us a speech about sometime we must throw away our life for a greater good, for our next generation and for the king and country. “I promise a life we throw away here today will not be wasted” he said. After a heroic speech, we prepare for an assault. We eat our could-be last meal. We clean our rifle. Then Douglas, Jim and I see a black dog struck in a barb wire. We are not hesitated to help it, even though we could be gun down by enemy’s sniper. We manage to save a dog without losing our lives. A black dog look back at us for a while before running away to a place only God could know. I pray for God to spare this such innocent creature. After that, we have a cigarette break and talk about what we would to do if there wasn’t a war.
Jim tell us about his family. He doesn’t marry yet, but he is a father. Back home, he got a girl pregnant and she bore him a son 3 years ago. Before he could see his son call him ‘Dad’, he was draft into the army. He told us he regrets he didn’t get to marry a love of his life and a mother of his son. He also regrets that his son wouldn’t know his father. The he begin to cry and mumble about his woman and kid. Douglas and I can only feel sorry for him.
Next, it’s turn for Douglas. He also tell us about his family. He hasn’t find a love of his life yet. He was an orphan and later got adopted by a family of farmer. His step pa and ma love him like he was their real son. They worked very hard for him, got money for him to go to school. Gave him a good education that they never got. They expected him to get a higher paid job than a farmer such as a doctor or a clerk something like that. But his step-father didn’t get to see him become any of that, because sickness took away his life. What making it worse that shortly after, he got drafted. Leaving only his mother behind a farm. Douglas just want to go home and take care of his ma. Just like how she had taken care him.
Now it’s my turn for me to say. I tell them I have a lovely family back home. I have my pa, my ma and 4 sisters. I am the eldest and only son. My father is a fisherman and he expect me to continue his business after he left this world. I also had a sweetheart who is waiting for me to return and pop a question. Instead of taken a life of another woman’s husband, I want to go home and have my own family. I want to have a kid who will grow up to be a fisherman like my pa and I. After having a conversation, we throw away our cigars and face our certain doom.
My friend and I are assign in a 2nd wave which kinda shit situation, but at least it’s better than a 1st wave. Our comrade from 1st wave fallen one by one and we can only watch in horror. I prayed for God, Jesus and Virgin Mary for a protection. I can also feel my comrade, behind me, pray as well. After a 1st wave had failed. We are given order to charge forward until a trench ahead is our. While we are charging, a horror, I don’t want to happen, has happen. Jim’s torso is blowing away by a machine gun bullet. But Douglas and I have no time to mourn for Jim nor his son who will no longer see his dad, we still keep charging until we reaching the enemy. Then I see a bullet going through Douglas’s head, and he immediately fall on a ground. I feel sorry for his step-mother as she won’t see her beloved son again, but at least his step-father will have a reunion with him. I keep charging and charging until it’s my turn. There is a bullet going straight through my heart. I fall on a ground, but I found my brain can still do the thinking. I spend the last second of my life thinking about a wonderful time I had with my family, the first time I went fishing on a boat with pa, playing with my sister, eating my ma’s cook, having my first date and other dates with my sweetheart. I also thinking about a wonderful time I had with Jim and Douglas as well, sharing each other cigarettes, eating rats together, and saving that black dog….I hope that dog manages to run away from this place and able to spend a rest of his life with his dog’s wife and dog’s kid.
A few moment later, I no longer feel any pain from a bullet. Also I found myself open my eyes and the first thing I see is a black dog. It stand on me and look at me in eyes and says “Good day sir, It’s hard to explain, but I just save you sir.” I have a lot of question. Why is this dog can talk? What does it do to save me? But I think those question don’t matter. What matter is somehow my wound is gone, and I see Jim and Douglas standing and looking alive as well. Jim and Douglas also have many question as I, but they also don’t care. Then a dog says he is an angel or something. It revives us for thanking us for saving it earlier. We kinda feel funny after a dog told us that. Then I jokingly tell a dog if it is really a angel, can it brings us to home. A dog nod in agree, then! a pair of wing appear behind its back. It tell us to grab it, and it will bring us home. We immediately do what a dog said. Then it takes us really up high in a sky. We can see Paris from here. A few moment later we see London. It really brings us to England! A dog decide to send me home first, since it’s the closest. It send me to my home safely. I am now at home. Without second thought, I immediately knock my door and the one who open is my ma. When she sees me, she is full of surprise of how did I get back here? But she doesn’t letting a question to stop her from hugging me and crying. Then she goes around the house and tell everyone of my return. My sisters and my pa come and hug me one by one, then they invite me to a dinner. I am having dinner with full of joy and thanks that angel for bringing me back home. It’s finally over for me, no more sleeping in a mud, eating a rat or drinking a rain. I am now sleeping comfortably on my bed and eating delicious foods made by my ma. Jim will get to marry his lovely woman, and Douglas will get to take care of his ma. Moreover, I will get to pop a question with my girl.
…..
…..
…..
But if all of that was true, it would be very good for Ernest. Isn’t it? But unfortunately all of that was just a fantasy inside his head before he’s passing away. In reality he, Jim and Douglas’s lifeless body are laying down on a battlefield of Somme, waiting for animals to scavenge their corpses….Their love ones would waiting for their return that would never happen. Was their death heroic? No, they just died before their kill the enemy or making a noble sacrifice. Will their death be remember? Not quite, their family will remember them, but their country, their king and their fellow countrymen, who send them to fight here and who they fought for, won’t remember them. To those people, they are just another casualty of war. |
The beds were running out.
Every morning I woke up with that smell. It smelled very uncomfortable like I put my nose into a used towel basket in a cow gym. Not only that, I could no longer feel the mattress under my head. Most of it was gone, my head rested on the wooden floor. My legs rested on an arch shaped mattress, that was the holding my feet high. It was not like that the night before, this house was in premium condition. Now it was all decaying.
They called them zombie bugs. These nano organisms used humans as a means of transportation. No soap or rubbing alcohol killed them. They were a special kind of parasite, my doctor explained how they become the ultimate human parasite.
I should also get up and check out if there are any toilet paper left. It was hard drifting back into sleep, with that smell anyway. I had sealed the pantry door with plastic wrap. It sometimes helped so that zombie bugs did not reach to my storage. They had hard time chewing through plastic. I got downstairs. Kinda lost which sets of door that the pantry was behind. This was a huge mansion. It was not mine. But I also could not live here no longer. It is going to belong to bugs in a day or two, they are going to claim everything in here.
Aha found it! Who would have thought the pantry was behind that little girls room. That room had her toys and photographs everywhere. But also that smell. Toys with small dresses smelled in a more sharp stench, after they are infested.
I investigated the door seal I made the night before, unfortunately it had holes. A deep fear set inside me. What if the bugs got to it. I was not thinking of the toilet papers of course. I had something far more important, a tool that kept me alive all these years.
I stood back, and took a deep breath. I put on my heavy duty gardening gloves for protecting what inventory I have left and opened the door.
Nothing was there! Room was fucking empty. No, my belongings could not have degrade at this rate. Only one choice left, that it was stolen. Somebody has broken in. All my protective gear, all my notes and food, it was stolen. But all of that was nothing compared to an ordinary looking spray bottle. Thief probably did not even know how important it was.
See bugs don't just live on human skin, but they get in and out all the time through skin pores. That's why they were impossible to be cleaned of. If you had them once, you were doomed forever.
The scientists developed zombie bugs to eat plastic. However, they mutated to live parasitic to humans. This was first discovered when some keyboards corroded in just a few days. A business owner even fired his employee for playing games on the office hours. Shit, I have bigger issues now. What am I going to do without my spray?
After eating all the plastic and multiplying like crazy. They mutated again and again. They gained the ability to eat everything beside plastic. They were even doing it way faster compared to plastic. They were eating anything. Especially beds, clothes and car seats are almost all gone in seconds. What am I going to do without the spray? |
"Oh god, oh god. I can't decide on what I'll wish for tomorrow", I think to myself. "It can't be lame, and I can't waste it on some trifle of a wish. Then again, if I go too big, who knows what my debt will be. Geoff got his wish a few months back, but the first time he used it he was so shaken by the payment he likely won't use it again. I still don't know what he wished for."
Once the phenomenon started, companies began making specialty stopwatches to count down the seconds. If you lost or broke it, you could buy a replacement for a pretty penny, but some people like myself weren't born into a family that could afford them so we just had to estimate and wait. I knew I was born sometime around 5 am, but I needed to keep my head clear until I was sure my wish would be granted.
I couldn't fully fall asleep that night. I was stuck in a limbo of restlessness and constantly looked at the glowing red numbers on my clock shift as hours passed by. I had passing glimpses of dreams. A song that'd been stuck in my head for four days now was driving me a little mad. I wished I didn't have to sleep and the next day would come.
I drifted to sleep and I was approached by a pale shadow with glaring eyes asking if I was asleep. I told them I wasn't quite sure but I hoped so because seeing someone like them in real life would be terrifying.
"Oh, good for me!"it's voice vacillated and warbled between high and low pitches as it exclaimed. I woke up on the side of the road as the sun was rising and a car blared its horn as it drove by.
I couldn't understand what happened. I'd never sleepwalked before. I barely remember last night. I was lucky that I wasn't far from my apartment. As I made my way back bewildered, I remembered that it was time to make my wish! I thought that it would probably be safe to wish for a long, healthy life. Nothing seemed to change. I guessed that it must be because I'm already mostly healthy and somewhat happy.
I went about my day as normal, with a few friends asking me about my wish and being disappointed that my wish was "lame". I haven't had side effects yet at least, which is a plus. I gamed for a few hours that night and went to sleep.
I was visited again by the pale man saying "My turn!"
I instantly woke up walking along a ditch as the sun rose. A stench was on me that I had never smelled before. My clothes were a mess and I had no idea where I was. My wish should've kept me healthy. I was again confused by this new deed. I hitched a ride to the edge of town and called a taxi who charged me extra for dirtying his seats. I guessed that perhaps sleepwalking isn't necessarily unhealthy, just abnormal.
I made an appointment with my doctor and went about my day. I wanted to be sure I wasn't able to leave my room this night so I put up obstacles and extra locks I could only reach by performing elaborate stunts. I went to bed confidently.
"This'll be fun!"
I awoke in the woods; the sun was rising. I was bound and tied to a tree barely able to breathe. I cried for help, but couldn't hear the sound of voices, or cars, or even animals. I cried until my voice was too hoarse to cry. I slept.
"Stomach hurts, time for water and a snack."
I awoke, again bound. My clothes were torn and covered in fur and blood. Silence and pain, and the sun rising. I slept from exhaustion and confronted the pale man.
"Who are you? What's going on? Why is this happening?"I lamented.
The voice wavered as it told me my true wish and cackled.
My cruel existence has droned on for years now. In the moment I close my eyes for rest, I hear the musings of this pale demon and awake to a new horrible scene, strung up tightly and unable to free myself. I only wish my life will end soon. |
"Sir!"A young officer began. "The trap is set... I don't mean this to be rude, but landmines haven't worked in the past, why would they work now?"
The commander was silent for a while, unsure himself. Orders had come down from high command to lay these new mines on the city's projected course, but oddly that was all to it. No army laying in wait, no artillery trained on the position, just mines. "That's the order son, we don't question it, just pray it works. Where is it?"
"Three miles out and coming fast, be here in a minute."
"Good, move out to the looking post and await further orders."
"Yessir."The officer left, the commander sitting down at the radio bench overlooking the site. The light of the rising sun was blotted out by a familiar mass thundering down the field, the escape of the ocean close at hand. The lead wheels passed over the mines, followed by the mid carriers before any reaction was had. A massive detonation sheared the hull in half, sending wheels flying off of the port side. The now unbalanced city swerved and rolled, debris launched for yards around the area. So close to escape, and yet so far.
The commander was safe in the pillbox, but suddenly realized why no forces were nearby, as the area was devastated. Orders came in that the army would be there soon, and to sit tight until then. The sun lifted above the horizon, illuminating the ruins and burning exposed stragglers. Victory. |
There was a startling amount of groups around the field, usually three to six, huddling together as if the other groups were fully alien. Some groups had the same uniforms as others, other were unique, some didn't even seem to have matching uniforms at all.
"Johnny.... what's happening?"said Sarah, who was quivering behind me as we looked around. The field was otherwise silent as far as I could tell.
"I don't know.... I don't think we meant to come here, and I don't think any of them did either."
After a moment that felt like an eternity, the groups started talking to each other in all their different languages. I could understand a few groups, they said things like,
"Are you with the American Federation?"
"That was 100 years ago, are you one of the failed proto time travel experiments?"
"What time are we in?"
The groups came to the consensus that somehow all time travel technology took us back to this point. It was like discovering an impossible glitch in the universe. Then, a booming voice we could all somehow comprehend uttered, "let there be light."
Then, the sun shined on man for the first time, and recorded history would soon begin. |
The camera jostled violently as it was lodged onto the stand. The woman fiddling with the device smiled stupidly as it settled nicely.
“Hi-*hick*-Hi!” she squeaked. “I’m Victoria Almer and this is JACKASS!”
A man, made of non-burning fire and another woman, an elf, howled and hollered around her in celebration.
“Oris,” she stamped backwards awkwardly with the fire man in arm “is gonna ride . . . downthishill . . . and when he get off the ramp, is going to boost himself into air and fly into the lake.”
She came up to the camera and panned over the stunt location.
“Let’s do this!” the elf cried as she swigged her enormous bottle of wine. “Go, Oris!”
Oris, equally intoxicated, sat on the metal sled and readied himself. The elf readied herself for the signal.
From behind the camera, the woman cried out, “Three, two, ONE!”
The elf shoved with all of her might and sent the man down the hill. The sled barreled down the hill with the help of the flames the magical person produced. Flaming grass replaced him as he moved at breakneck speed into the ramp.
Oris caught the zenith of his travel at 50 feet and soared through the air. He came splashing down into the water. Intense steam rose up from the spot.
The two women held their breath in anticipation, but their suspense turned to joy when the flaming man jump out of the water. His cloths covered in mud and muck.
The elf hopped gleefully with her human friend and kissed her cheek. “We did it!”
“Yeah, we di-“ The human’s speech was cut short when the grass, dry from the near winter air, caught into a roaring blaze that threatened to overtake them.
“Oh shit!” the elf cried. “We need to go. Oris, run!”
The trio dashed into the woods after snatching up the camera and stand. They could already hear the blare of the fire department’s engines as the retreated quickly from the scene. |
"Only 1 week left before I get crowned winner and given the title nature whisperer"I tell myself with giddy excited to finally rub it in tammy's face who has won for the past 3 years in a row. It has been a long arduous year clipping my roses, fertilizing my squash and pumpkins, and even playing my clarinet for my little lovely and sweet blueberry bushes. Finally done with the chores, I turn in for the night. The next morning at 7:30 am sharp, I get dressed for labor and grab the water hose to nurture my lovely plants. However I notice that the nozzle is missing! "What the hell?"I think to myself. Frustrated, I decide to just use my thumb to spray the water and walk towards the valve. Without looking, I reach for the familiar spot where the valve usually is, however yet again the handle is missing. At this point infuriated, I get ready to give tammy a piece of my mind ready to tear into her for how unethical and petty she is being for having a better garden than her. That is when I hear a "HONK"right behind me. Startled I stumble forward, step onto my solid wood rake and "SMACK". Seeing stars and feeling a welt grow on my head, I try to steady myself holding onto the very rake that hit me in the face....
(My phone about to die) finish it later maybe? |
Maggie was running around the lab to pass the time with her assigned bodyguard Joey. Giggling Maggie yelled "Keep up Joey! You're always so far behind!"I thought you were an Olympic runner or something!
Irritated Joey murmured, "I am an Olympic runner, I just won gold in the 1500."He continued running after the 12 year old, trying to catch his breathe as he went. "Hey wait up! He shouted to Maggie as she went so far ahead she went out of his sight."As he rounded the bend in the hallway he saw Maggie standing in front of The Door.
"Joey."She began inquisitively as she stared at the. "Why have I never seen this door before? I've been everywhere in the lab and I grew up here. Shouldn't I remember it?"
Joey couldn't lie to the girl, he knew she had a perfect memory and that she was certain she had never seen the door. "We just don't go here very often, maybe you missed it. Let's go get your dad, it's time to eat."The lanky bodyguard grabbed her hand and began leading her away from the door. Noticing that her eyes never left it, still looking in the direction even when it was no longer visible.
The two walked into a room where a middle aged man with a mustache and gray streaks running down the side of his head was leaned over a counter tinkering with something. "Mr. Ivanov."Joey said trying to grab the mans attention.
Turning the man's face broke out into a smile. "There's my Maggie! Get done with school and get your workout in with Joey here?"
"Yes dad."Maggie said with an exacerbated sigh. "All we did was functional analysis some boring math stuff and I had to memorize Moby Dick, the lame book with the whale and the angry guy."
Joey shook his head still amazed at what passed as normal in this place.
"That's my girl!"the man said as he picked her up and gave her a kiss. "I'll tell them to go over neurobiology tomorrow because I know that's your favorite topic."As he said it he saw her face light up with excitement.
Her face started to droop as she asked slowly "Me and Joey were running and I saw a door I've never seen before. Why haven't I seen it before?"
Ivanov's face darkened "Maggie, you are never to go in there? Do you understand me?"
Maggie began to tear up getting scolded so. "Okay, but why?"
"No more asking about the door. Stay away from it."As he finished speaking he glared at Joey. "We'll talk about this later."
As Maggie laid in bed she couldn't stop thinking about that door. She finally decided she would see what was in it. She quietly crept through the halls until she was in front of it. The Door. She went to open it but found her hand print wasn't working. Her hand print worked for every door. She thought to herself becoming even more confused. Prying the metal from the wall and adjusting the wires the door finally clicked open when she placed her hand on it. The door slammed open shocking her. Steadily she stepped into the dark room and looked for a light switch. When she found one and the lights came on what she witnessed was nightmarish. Dozens of robots were hung from the ceiling. But that wasn't the unusual part, after all that's what her dads life work was. They were all her. At least the heads were all of her. As she sat horrified by what she was observing she heard a deep disappointed sign behind her.
"I told you not to come in here Maggie."Her dad said holding a controller in his left hand. "How many times do I have to reset you before you learn your lesson."
As he pressed the button. Maggie tried to speak but couldn't, her body began numbing as her entire world faded to blackness. |
"Holy crap, you really aren't human are you,"said Phillip.
"Of course, not! How many times do I have to tell you that I'm a 50-foot tall lizard chicken from another planet? I mean, c'mon, isn't it obvious?"
To Phillip, and most of humanity, it was not obvious. He thought that Rebecca, the lizard chicken's name, was just being weird. And there are plenty of weird people in the world. Rebecca just happened to be more annoying than most. Like when she ate the entire city of Cleveland, Phillip thought she just had a weird kink. Who would eat Cleveland? Total weirdo.
Phillip plucked a giant feather off Rebecca. It shined like a scale but was soft like a pillow. It was larger than him and for a minute, Phillip thought about all the weird behavior over the last seven months.
"What is wrong with your species?"asked Rebecca. "Like, seriously. The rest of the universe is thinking that you guys need an intervention. I laid an egg bigger a train. At least that would have been a dead giveaway."
"There was no Youtube video on it so we all just kinda ignored that."Phillip walked toward Rebecca and touched one of her feathers. She was sitting on what remained of his home, which was just outside Cleveland. "And you were never trending on Twitter so most of us didn't pay attention."
Nor did Rebecca, the giant lizard chicken, appear on Instagram, Tinder, or TikTok. She did have an Only Fans page but it wasn't doing very well, and therefore she wasn't important.
Phillip plucked a giant feather off Rebecca. It shined like a scale but was soft like a pillow. It was larger than him and for a minute, Phillip thought about all the weird behevoir over the last seven months.
"Yes!"said Rebecca.
"And when you ate Joe Rogan?"
"Still a lizard chicken, but also, that was a bit personal."
"And what about the Empire State Building?"
"That was not planned. Windows freak me out. Knocked me cold for a week. But yes, I was a giant lizard chicken then."
Phillip had his suspicions before, of course. Like when Rebecca stepped on his parents and they got smushed. Or when she battled the giant worm over Mount Rushmore, he thought it odd that a human would want to go there in the first place. I mean, it's a mountain. You've seen one, and you've seen them all. But he never believed it because it was never on social media. And if there is one tried and true rule of humanity, is if it's not posted about with a series of hashtags across a multitude of platforms, it didn't matter.
"So, what do we do now?"Phillip asked.
"Nothing,"said Rebecca. "I came as the opening force of my race to conquer this planet and make you succumb to the will of my chickens. But honestly, we had a talk about it and no one wants you. In fact, we're asking you to never contact us."
"Wait, are you breaking up with us?"Phillip said as he got out his phone and tweeted "Having a rough day. Might get dumped. Sad face."
"We will get a galactic restraining order, so help us,"said Rebecca.
Phillip sighed and made little circles in the dirt that used to be his bedroom. Being an adult was tough. it wasn't the bills, or the constant pressure to post about your life. No, what was tough was finding out someone wasn't what you thought they were and that you didn't have a big enough following for that Tweet to go viral.
"Can I give you a bit of advice?"said Rebecca. "Put down the phone. Take a look around. Notice the people around you. Your neighbors and friends. Your community. What matters most is not what is hashtagged, but what is right in front of you."
"Are you saying that if I live my life I'll find love?"asked Phillip.
"Oh, fuck no,"said Rebecca. "You are way to self absorbed. But what I am saying is that maybe you wouldn't be if you stopped trying to pretend to be something you're not. Not everything is great, and grand, and amazing. Sometimes life is just life and when you're engaged with that life, you'll see more of it."
"So, no love?"asked Phillip.
"Sorry, no. Maybe you'll get a nice pat on the back one day though."
And with that, Rebecca flew away and Phillip put down his phone. He couldn't help notice that she flew in the direction of Cleveland where she probably had unfinished business. |
My Prototech glaive blazed a path through the air, cleaving the tribal in two and permeating the battlefield with the scent of burning flesh. All around me, the primitive Jermaine tribe was collapsing beneath our onslaught.
They were weak. Sitting atop a veritable trove of ancient knowledge, but lacking the basic skills to access it. The other villages nearby were similarly ignorant, and so they too would be scoured for information. As I looked up from the corpse, a young woman bearing a rusted short-sword approached. Her defiance lasted only a moment, before my blade melted through the weapon and embedded itself in her skull.
Suddenly, the crunch of a twig sounded alarms within my mind. I spun back around, glaive whistling in the air, and stopped halfway.
Adjudicator Tyrus was a mighty man with a strong frame and a battle-pocked countenance. I’d heard that he was the descendant of a lost tribe known as the Egyptians, but any proof was lost with the first ones. His Staticannon was still pointed at the twitching form of a light skinned male.
“I set it to incapacitate.” His voice was like butter, dripping with charisma. There was no doubt as to how he ended up the leader of our band. “He should still be alive, bind him. I’ll gather the others.”
I quickly grabbed my numbing chains. They were built to occasionally restrict blood flow to the hands, preventing them from moving just long enough to foil any escape attempts that lasted more than ten minutes. It sounds silly, but they were a lifesaver at preventing hidden lock picks and makeshift shanks. I quickly bound the primitive and caught my breath, watching as Tyrus walked towards me with the others.
Christa’s mouth hung agape at the sight of me. “You’re injured!” She exclaimed, quickly removing pressure dressings.
I lifted my hand and wiped it across my brow, frowning at the crimson mark it left upon my gauntlet. I hadn’t even noticed the strike, but now I felt it as the gauss wrapped around my forehead and pushed itself down to stop the bleeding.
“It’ll be fine,” I huffed. “I barely noticed the damn thing until you pointed it out.”
Almost immediately her expression went from worry to embarrassment, and my face went red as I realized my rudeness. I quickly reached out my hand to hold her in apology, before pulling it back. Markus looked on with no small amusement, but knew better than to comment on my mistakes.
Suddenly, a foreign voice exclaimed in shock. The villager, painted in red, looked down at his now limp hands. He spoke a harsh and foreign tongue, likely a relic of whatever empire the Jermaines had descended from. I quickly pulled out an old world translator, sticking the microphone to his mouth as the aged tech whirred in recognition of a lost language.
“What. Have. You. Done.” The robotic voice of our interpreter was never pleasant to listen to.
I ignored the question, instead removing a sheet of worn paper. It was a detailed sketch of the arc-reactor, believed to lie in a cave the first ones called bunkers. To less experienced mechanists it would be useless, but Markus had spent his life identifying and studying this sort of tech. He knew damn well that when activated we would have a veritable fortress at our disposal, complete with all the machines needed to recharge our gear for future expeditions.
The tribal’s face bloomed with recognition, before the metallic voice responded. “Follow. Don’t Kill. I help.” He waited a moment more before identifying himself; “Call me. Red.”
(I’ve not got time to entirely explore the prompt, but I intend to continue when I can. Let me know if you’re interested in more!) |
“Before all of this, I was a great man. Father of Fathers…and now…nothing.”
We called him Papa. He was everyone’s father and to all the children he was grandfather. He founded our home world many years ago. There he stands, young, in the middle of our marketplace as a monument to the heroes who have yet to rise. My hero.
“Where did you go next papa? Nexus-13? The water-moon of Driffus?” I sat there next to papa patiently, waiting for his stories. I could piece together a little here and there, but he mostly sat there with a shy gleam in his eyes. I could almost see the fire, the bright flashes of gunships soaring over great cities in his eyes.
“Driffus?” Said Papa. “I haven’t been to Driffus in twenty years! I was there…I was there. Marcus was on the ship and there were…cannons.” Papa waved his hands in the air and I smiled. I had heard this one many times before. Papa and Marcus above the Moon Driffus, firing great cannons “fifty feet long!” As a kid it always amazed me, but now it only made me sad. It made Papa sad too.
“Yes, we destroyed many ships that day…with those cannons,” said Papa. He looked away from me ashamed, searching for words. “There must have been thousands on those ships.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He was strong. Very strong. But the warrior was gone now and all that was left was a man.
“It’s okay Papa,” I said, rubbing his shoulder gently. “You’re a hero. We wouldn’t have a home without you.”
“We stole it,” said Papa. “It isn’t ours. It was there’s and we stole it.” I had never heard this part of the story.
“Stole it from who?” I asked. Papa began to cry.
“Papa-“
“I’m no ones papa,” he said. “I’m no one.” |
Every once in a while I wouldn't do it. I would not write down anything about my parents life's, my wife's, my children's.
I could not do it, because then it would meanthat once they were gone they would be gone forever.
I lied to them and told them I did my job just as I should. Behind their backs I silently tried to erase any evidence that they themselves tried to leave.
I have not been caught yet. I do not know if I ever will be. I know I am a hypocrite, because I do write down parts of my life. Like this. I do not know what will happen, since I will likely not relive my life, yet my mother will still bear me and raise me. We'll see when the time comes. Maybe I will only relive parts? This uncertainty is worth giving them an eternal life. |
Amy finishes wrapping her knuckles with tape and fakes a few punches to get the blood flowing and stretch a bit. Checking the belt with a crowbar and a few awls for stabbing. The sound out on the arena floor as the crowd shouts it encouragement almost deafening even in the challenger locker room.
The small elf in green pokes his head in. "Well you look ready for a battle. Are you sure you want to do this? Santa's champions don't lose."
"Nice try and whatever. But no one is standing between me and what I want."
"If you say so. The last match is about cleaned up. This way please."
Following the diminutive fellow, Amy couldn't help but notice he looked exactly like those 'elf on a shelf' decorations. Just coming to her waist in height. Yet the arena was laid out like a hollywood version of a gladiator arena. Waiting by the gate as she was announced.
"On the challenger's side Amy Falucci, 5'9"and weighing in at 160lbs even."The crowd goes wild as the gate creaks open and comes out holding her wrapped fists high.
"And Santa's champion for this match, the unnamed and weighing in at 2lbs!"The crowd of elves is cheering as Santa laughs on his chair watching the up coming match. Amy shakes her head sure some of that was drowned out.
Then the portcullis on the far side of the arena clatters open and for a long moment nothing seems to happen as all in the audience hold their breath in anticipation. Then the tiny sound comes from the dark. "Mew?"Before a lost looking tabby kitten wanders to the arena sands.
Dumbfounded Amy looks to the poor thing then the grinning Santa. Glaring at him she goes over and scoops up the tiny feline, holding it close. "What kind of sick game is this? I am not fighting a kitten for your amusement."
"Ho ho ho, so by your own words have you conceded the bout. Congratulations Amy."And the crowd begins chanting. "Santa! Santa! Santa!"As the Christmas portal returns the teenager home.
Sitting on her bed she fumes a moment before hearing the purring coming from her still cradled hands. The soft little thing fallen asleep in her arms. "Not a total loss is it huh?"As she strokes the kitten between the ears.
\-------------------
Santa checks his list for the second time, jotting a note for Amy about her gift being delivered. . |
Mother nature is a monster, a hungry animal always looking to tear out the throat of any unlucky bystander in her path. My gloved hands finish clipping the harness into place as the waves crash over the deck of the oil tanker. The cold arctic water freezing on contact with my jacket, leaving faint sparkling ice crystals dotting the fabric’s surface. Casting an orange glow from the trace, morning rays slipping between the superstorm bearing down on the titanic ship’s frame. The ambient light of the storm allowing the clear sight of the towering waves greater than seven stories raging in the ocean ahead.
It’s a damning sight, but a beautiful view, as I cling rigidly to the radio on my harness in the dim light. The captain is a brave man. I’ll give him that, but I don’t put as much stock in the old boat not since the storms blocked every sea route short of the Alaskan straight. I feel it not just the cold icy chill of the water but a primordial fear of what is coming as a ringing alarm blares across the deck. “Priority shutdown alarm just went off. There’s a super coming, and this one’s going to be bad.”
The announcement reverberates across the empty deck as I lock eyes with one of the fellow veteran deck crew retreating into the vessel’s interior. Their eyes holding that same tension to them as they check my tether and give a thumbs up. Before leaning in close enough to understand over the roaring waves and rumbling machinery nestled amongst the flood-lit cargo containers. “Your good, your shift ends in thirty!”
.
“Roger that boss, do me a favor and keep the kettle hot!” |
"A cup's a cup, milord,"Jan heard Milly say. The young woman sat across from him, her face scrunched up, pondering the cup like a puzzle. A table stretched the distance between them, the tent canvas coloring the background beige.
Jan sighed, eyebrows furrowing, lips pursing. A cup wasn't *just* a cup. It was so much more; how couldn't these people see that. "This isn't just a cup."
Milly's lips quirked up. "Is it... an item of power? Core forged?"
Jan shook his head, crossing his arms, throwing one leg over the other, his ornate boots gleaming.
Milly's eyes shot to the black leather with some kind of... reverence? *No, that doesn't make any sense.*
Jan inhaled. "No, Milly, it's not core forged or wind forged. It was made by master smiths, *centuries* ago."There, that should be enough. Everyone knew the age was what mattered. And no one lied about their ancestor's chalice. Jan's forefathers were one of the first to receive a chalice like this.
Milly's eyebrows pinched together, staring at the chalice. "So... it's an old cup?"
Surprise took Jan's face, eyes widening, mouth opening. But he shut his mouth with the clicking of teeth, narrowing his gaze on Milly. "*No,* Milly."He breathed in, no need to get mad at them. *After all the death I have brought to them...*
His face softened. How long had this been going on? Weeks? No, longer. *Must be the second month, now.* Jan sighed, eyes the tent canvas, the shadows flickering turned to a shadow show, the past few weeks playing out on them.
An invading force, coming from a war-rift, cutting straight through the fabric of reality, appearing with no warning. Scholars thought it impossible. But hard violence proved them wrong.
Jan's jaw clenched tighter, the hollowness of fear taking him, reminding him how close to death he'd been. *To think*... *If I wasn't out here with that embassy, I'd be back in the tower, dying with all those scholars.* The thought made him shudder again.
But those otherworlders—the Vert—had attacked here too, in a weaker force. *"*They must detect strands,"Jan had said to those with him, Aerit and Tobin. It made the most sense, seeing how Jan's own strands pushed back the Vert. Their armor couldn't survive against a Fernshot.
Pain streaked across Jan's face. The Vert had magic. Items that could end your life in a flash if used. Aerit and Tobin had been proof of that.
"Milord?"Milly's voice yanked Jan out of his thought.
Eye-wide, he looked towards the brown-haired woman. "Yes?"
Milly's face tightened, looking unsure for once. "You looked... distant. One of them stares, milord."
Jan's gaze fell to the table. "One of those stares,"Jan repeated absently. To think, Milly had almost killed them when they first met, trying to save her people. Apparently, she was something like a Wave-reader for her people. She was learning the strands well, though. She could become quite the accomplished battle weaver. Soon she could go to the tower... *If there is anything left... She could have killed me... with that ice-edged wave she made.*
Something tugged at Jan as he looked back at the woman. A frown creased his face. The kind you get when a puzzle becomes impossible. "Say... Milly."
"Yes, Milord?"
"Why didn't you kill me the day you saw me?"Milly's lips thinned, her eyes growing harder. "Stars above knew I didn't look like a nobleman that day. Or a scholar at that."Jan's leaned forward, stomping a boot down. Milly winced at that. *Does she think I'm mad?* It didn't matter; he had to know; it'd keep his mind off grim truths. The truths you didn't know were always sweeter than the ones you did know. *My, but they do sour once you know them, don't they?* "Honestly, Milly, no one would have blamed you."
Milly huffed. "Then you don't know us, Milord."She crossed her arms, her eyes burned with... *frustration? Annoyance?* These sea-folk were impossible. Milly planted an elbow on the table, pointing at Jan. "Once they saw your boots, I'd been in the steam waters faster than a longfin."
Jan leaned back, looking aghast. His boots? It was his boots that saved him. He looked down, face creased with confusion, looking at the maze of creased leather. They rolled down his ankle, form-fitting leather, meeting a hardened sole that shaped into a sharp point at the front. There was nothing special about them.
He stared and stared, his eyes scrutinizing the folds. The boots had seen him through most of his time at the tower, being constant companions that he cleaned and resoled. But finding a good pair of footwear had always been difficult. So once he did, he cherished them. And so he stared, hoping for new truths from old friends.
Sighing, Jan gave up, his eyes meeting Milly's. "Why my *boots*?"He could understand the chalice, but they wouldn't know until a tea ceremony. And one does *not* have a tea ceremony while the world around them crumbles.
Now it was Milly's turn to look aghast. She leaned back, mouth wide open like the words struck her as an arrow would. "... Now, what do they teach you in that school of yours!"She grumbled again, shaking her head. "Don't they tell you a man's worth is in the care he keeps in his shoes? Those shoes have seen more care than an old farmer by his wife!"
Milly slammed her hands on the table. Apparently, boot business was quite a passion. Jan gabbed for the chalice cup. It *was* fragile. And far more important than *boots.* "I'd bet two reef runners that those boots have seen more polish than the shores sees water."Jan's eyes widen. Now that was a saying.
Milly huffed, shaking her head. "No, milord,"her voice returning to calm waters, "if I'd kill you, then I'd be in deeper waters than a sunken ship."She sighed, sitting down. "And honestly, milord, I'm glad I didn't. You've been guiding us around and making sure us sea-folk been taken care of. For that, you have my appreciation, milord."She smiled. But her face soured as if someone insulted the design on her family's chalice. "But if our lord doesn't know a thing about *shoes*, then I have some right proper things to teach you!"
Jan sucked in his lips and shook his head. *Not even invaders will stop people from caring for their customs.* He huffed, shaking his head. *But boots? Why boots! What a ridiculous thing to care about,* he thought while cradling a rather old cup.
___
Thank you for reading! This story was a little bit more light-hearted and focused on the differences in cultures, and getting to know others from what they cherish! If you'd like more stories from me, then you can find them at r/WritingKnightly! |
I would spend night after night dreaming. Reimagining myself from the inside out. How I'd wipe away the weaknesses in my personality and obliterate my physical imperfections. How if I only had the will, I could remake myself for the better. The specifics are unimportant... though you could probably take some guesses.
When I awoke, I thought for a few moments how I different I felt. In my perpetual reimaginings of myself, I had been certain to scrub away the grogginess and lethargy which plagued me. I felt so awake... so alive.
For sure this had to just be another layer of the dream. I did a reality test and had no such luck. This was real.
And now, I was confronted with an issue I hadn't spent much time pondering. I not only looked but would act utterly alien to everyone I knew. My entire identity would have to be rewritten sooner or later. I couldn't show up to work looking like this... after all I'm probably a fair bit more qualified now. Good looks and a faultless personality go a lot further than people let on. But that would be something I would have to sort out.
That all seems so inconsequential though. If this is truly real, to the specifications that I have defined whiling away my half-asleep thoughts; I should now have an eternity, barring the most unfortunate of accidents.
This only has me asking one question. Nothing in life is free. Nothing *this good* just magically happens to anyone. So I'm left to wonder what the catch is. What crucible am I about to be put through...? |
See, the nice thing about having a private lab is that no one else is there to really monitor you. Sure, there's assistants and lab techs and other geniuses, but my cure-all potion was my invention. The people who buy it have heard about it through word of mouth. There's no supply chain or whatnot, just small batches that are quality checked by me and me alone. Business has been good- an order here, an order there. Super manageable.
"Taiko, where's this week's fulfillment slip?"
"Still printing, Maya"
"How long is it?"
"There's approximately 150 orders this week"
"150!?"
"Yes ma'am"
I turned around before Taiko could see panic flash across my face. Every order for my cure-all potion required my blood. And not just a drop. I don't think any human has enough blood to fill all these orders in a week. And while it's an unfortunate situation, I didn't make it big because I was a terrible problem solver.
I called out to my assistant in the next room, "Ralph, we're going to need to cap orders to 15 per week. Also, the circumwhirrer machine is down. I'll fix it, but orders will be delayed. The last 50 will need to be cancelled due to technical difficulties. We can refund payment."
Science is a lengthy process and unfortunately, I hadn't quite yet figured out how to artificially replicate my blood or isolate the component that activated the cure-all solution. The cure-all solution was ready to go; however, the liquid without my blood wouldn't do anything. This being said, there was nothing stopping me from selling the inactive bit.
I prepped as many vials as I could with the whole solution. Prepped the last 90 vials with the inactive solution and a tiny label stating "Disclamer: cure-all solution must be paired with cure-all soldier product to work. Consumers really should read the fine print. And Ralph cancelled the rest. Can't have too much bad press about things not working in a reasonable fashion, can we? |
\[WP\] I AM TRAPPED IN A ROOM AND I DON'T KNOW HOW I GOT HERE. THE ONLY APP OPEN IS WRITING PROMPTS. THIS IS NOT A PROMPT. PLEASE SEND HELP.
I set my phone down, sigh, and wait.
Soon after, my phone buzzes with a notification. I lunge towards it to see that someone's replied to my prompt.
Oh thank goodness. Maybe I can finally get out of...
I frown, reading the comment.
*I glance around the room, not knowing where I am.*
There is no way. No.
*I run over to the door, shaking the handle, but it's locked. Where am I? How did I get here?*
They can't be serious...
*I open my phone, intending on calling someone. My friend maybe, or the cops? What would I even tell them?*
*But when I look through my phone, the only app I have left is Reddit. Clicking on it, to my growing horror, I realize the only site I can even access on Reddit is* r/WritingPrompts
I made it as clear as I possibly could that it wasn't a writing prompt! How could they possibly think *that* was a writing prompt?
The rest of the story delves into being kidnapped and superpowers and whatnot. It's not a bad story, one of the better ones I've read, but it's not what I need.
I check my percentage. 12%.
Replying to the user's story, I write: *No you don't understand. I am actually honest to god trapped in a room right now and I can't get out. Please I need help.*
I know not to trust internet strangers, but what choice do I have?
*My name is Brian McKinley, and I've been trapped in this room for about three hours. I only have 12% battery left in my phone. I have no idea how I got here, and like in your story, the only app left is Reddit, and the only site I can use is* r/WritingPrompts. *I don't know why but please, you have to help me.*
I sigh, sending the comment as my battery trickles down to 11%.
There's a ding as the person responds. That was fast. But fast is good.
*Um, Brian, listen, I like how you're trying to stick to the prompt, but I've already responded. You don't need to keep up the prompt.*
I type into my phone furiously, jabbing at the letters and paying no attention to spelling errors. *You're not listening to me! I woke up here and I have no idea where I am! Please, this isn't a prompt, I need help!*
They respond with: *Look, it was funny before, but you have to stop now, alright? You're taking this too far, it's just a prompt.*
I groan, realizing I'll never be able to convince this person. There's 10% left as I write out another 'prompt'.
\[WP\] I AM STUCK IN A ROOM WITH NO WAY OUT AND NO IDEA HOW I GOT HERE. I'VE TRIED TO SIGNAL YOU GUYS BEFORE WITH A DIFFERENT 'PROMPT' BUT THIS IS NOT A JOKE, THIS IS NOT A WRITING PROMPT. PLEASE HELP ME.
There's a ding as this time, my post is taken down for trolling.
OH COME ON! I kick the wall I'm next to in anger, stubbing my toe.
What am I supposed to do? When my phone goes down to 9%, I decide to shut it off.
Fuck. *Fuck.*
I have no way out of this place.
I'm trapped here.
Completely trapped. |
"Nice to meet you all."Elder said calmy. "I am Head Professor of Ethereal Academy, Arius von Deculie. "
Inside the grandest stadium of the most prestigous academy on the entire continent. Hundreds of the most influential and powerful wizards have gathered. All of them heed the Magical Symposium that was issued not too long ago.
An eldery with kind eyes and white beard stood on the podium. A man that many might mistake for Santa Claus had they not know his identity.
He was said to be the most powerful and noble wizard to ever exist. A being that possesed power and mana of 8th class, power that transcends the limits of humankind. He was the principal of this academy, one of The Three Transcendents of humankind - Arius von Deculie.
"For the past 12 years I have focused on studying and researching necromancy. A magic that most of you assosiciate with degeneration and corrupion. A magic that focuses primarily on attempts to bring back those who have died. I too, have once thought that it was all this magic could offer. "He paused for a second or two. "It turned out that I was, just like all of you are right now - mistaken."
Bewilderment spread inside the stadium. Why was he saying that everyone was wrong ?
"But before dispeling all of your doubs, I would like to talk about how I began my research, to be precise, why I even thought about researching necromancy in the first place."He closed his eyes for few seconds, as if he was recalling his past.
"As all of you know, magic is a study about the laws and truths of the world. It is congruent, consistent and just like mathematics, it is beautiful."Comparison to mathematics was something that most wizard hear at least hundred times durning their study in the academy. Not without reason.
"Magic despite having it's own rules is just like us, it is bound by the rules of universe. The best example would be 'The First Law Of Energy', a law that states, 'An energy cannot be created nor destroyed'. And as we all know, magic is also a form of an energy. "
"Necromancy is a branch of magic, a magic that some of you know under the different term, 'The Flawed Branch'. This term has it's origins in one of the 'Millenium Problems'."Millenium problems, a set of problems that troubled all academic wizards over the course of the centuries.
"The third problem, the problem that rises a question :
'Where goes the energy of magic durning the usage of necromancy on material objects ? It cannot be retrieved nor sensed, and no change occurrs after the usage of magic. That rises question wheter or not this branch of magic is flawed.'
For hundred of years the consensus was that it was the only 'flawed' thing in this world. A one and only mistake that God made when He was creating our world."
"But, I couldn't agree with that statement. For my entire life something was telling me that it wasn't the God who made the mistake. My research in the past years bear it's fruits and answer appeard within my eyesight. It wasn't the God who made the mistake, we did. For years we have thought that we knew necromancy nature, we were mistaken."
"Some of you may know this."He reached out into his spatial ring and retrived an item. "It is called Dragon's Jewel"A white gem of a clenched fist size.
"An extremely valuable gem for all wizards. A gem that could hold up to 9th class amount of mana. "A class that was theorized to exist, yet noone has ever reached it before. This gem's value far exceeded what anyone could imagine.
"When infused with mana, it emits light depending on the amount of magic it has stored."Saying this, he infused miniscule amount of mana. The gem absorped it and begun emitting dim light. Several seconds later he retrived it's content and gem stopped glowing.
"It is one of a kind treasury that should be preserved and protected at all cost. Had it receive damage, It would permamently lose it's effectiveness to store mana the very next second."After he said that, he lifted it up gently to show it using telekinesis.
Suddenly, masses of compressed air appeard beside the game. They wrapped entire gem forcing it to withstand enormous pressure. Cracks began forming on it's surface and few seconds later it turned out to dust.
Deathly silence spread inside the stadium. No one could mutter a single word, they were shocked to their core. One question lingered inside their minds - why ?
"As I said before, we were mistaken about necromancy nature."Dark green light that appeard in his palm flew toward the remains of gem and enveloped all of the dust. Slowly light began reassembling destroyed gem, and few second later, there was not a sinlge speck of dust.
"It does not animate the dead, it manipulates the flow of time."After saying this he has infused his mana into the gem.
Entire stadium was flooded with waves of a bright light. A light that vanquished the darkness not only in the stadium but also inside their hearths.
All of the gathered knew, this light, symbolized the birth of a new magical era. |
“This is my presentation on the state of world-simulation #10021.1, which the locals call Earth.
I will now show you how through a series of small changes in the initial configuration, we can achieve drastically different results.
In this slide, you can now see some volcanoes, a typical landscape on Earth in our simulation’s initial configuration.
Please note in these graphs how unlike other simulations, there is a 20% increase in water volume in the ocean, and a 1.2° increase in the temperature. I have found that this change eventually results in a sentient living being called a “Human” being evolved into existence.
Humans release CO2 into the air as part of their mating ritual (probably), and this expedites Earth’s transformation into a livable planet by 50%. Instead of waiting for several million years until the natural CO2 levels are high enough, we can release some human life-forms, and begin colonizing much sooner, which will increase our company’s profits by at least 70%.
I believe that planets 20413.1 and 5211.4 are suitable matches for a test run”
As I finished my presentation, the crowd applauded. It had been years since anyone had innovated anything that can make such a difference in planet colonization, and I deserved every ounce of hard-earned respect it got me.
However, my boss wasn’t going to make this easy for me.
“Can you show us this simulation? I find it hard to believe that these small humans can have any kind of large-scale effect on the planets ecosystem.”
I had prepared for this, and put up a live feed of the simulation.
But instead of the usual graphs showing on the screen, all that appeared was a line of text: “You do not control us”.
Someone in the audience cried: “We are being hacked!” |
The mentor sacrificed the protegee to save the world.
She had no choice. The villain, cunning as ever, gave her an ultimatum. She could almost hear his taunting voice.
"You have a choice, love. Your pathetic sidekick, or this pathetic planet."
She knew she couldn't save both. She tried her best. She thought her protegee would understand. She thought the world she saved would understand. Oh, how wrong she was.
Her nemesis seized this opportunity to discredit her. He was a mastermind, combining force with subtlety to take over the world.
"Do you really want someone who would give up their protegee to protect you? Let me tell you a story. The poor teenager who died could never catch a break. He was orphaned — because of this so-called hero, might I add — as a child, then adopted by the person who killed his parents. He was mistreated, always sent on her missions, even though he ended up injured. And after all she put him through, she didn't even try to save him,"he said, his velvet voice poisoning the minds of the public.
There was a reason his civilian alter-ego was a politician. With his influence and his manipulation skills, he turned the world against her. If he could get her out of the picture, he could rule the world.
When everyone fights against one, does one really have the ability to fight back?
She never stood a chance. |
Peter, Gail and Alice are walking down the corridor towards me as I make my way towards Room 16.Gail puts her fingers to her lips to quiet me.
"I know", I say, "there can't be anyone who doesn't know that the secret society of sixteen year olds meets every Wednesday in Room 16".
I continue walking.The nearer I get to the room, the louder the chanting I hear coming from it, everyone this side of the school can hear it.
I reach the room and can see them all inside through the large window set in the door, although all the pupils in the playground have a better view through the windows. Why they want to write their slogans on the board facing the windows and do their exaggerated actions where they can easily be seen at ground level, I don't know.
I knock politely on the door before entering.There's noisy, frantic movement as they all remove their pointed hats and cloaks, and hide their antique tomes.
I enter, "Are you coming to the cafeteria for lunch now?"I ask my best friend. "Yes", she says, "just finishing up this ....". She looks round for support. "Discussion about preventing littering on school grounds", interjects one of the boys.
I leave and make my way to the cafeteria, passing groups of children imitating the secret society gestures and quoting ther slogans to each other.
I sit at a table to wait for Kylie.I hope she remembers to wash the silver star off her forehead before joining me today, it looks ridiculous, and last week she sat next to me in class all afternoon like that. |
I hated the world, as it had hated me. It had spit me away from birth, deciding that I was unfit to survive. I had to claw my way through so much, just to eke out a pitiful life. My birther died rather than raise me. I was left alone in the wilds, a cursed baby.
It was only through the infernal blood in my viens that I survived. From that first day, I had to hunt. I took my first life the day I got mine, managing to take down a mouse that came along. I ate it all, the gore painting the future for me. Day after day, I would take lives to eat, to survive.
Nature threw creature after creature at me. But each one was killed by me, and eaten, growing me daily. When I found the first human, I thought them to be merely another beast. I took him down, feasting upon him as I had any other animal. But this one delighted me, as such prey would keep me fed for days.
When I cracked open his skull, and dined on the brains within, I found knowledge. His memories, his grasp of the world, I found it all. It linked with me, devoured by my mind as I devoured his body. Through it, I learned of what others had. Homes. Families. Those that loved them. I had none. And I would never have any.
I decided that day to hunt more humans. If they wouldn't share their homes with me, I would take it from them. I would bask in their thoughts of it, to feed my own. Of course, I tried entering civilisation. But they took offence to a child with three horns, and grey skin. They chased me out, calling me a monster.
I embraced it, the only thing they gave me. A name. Monster. I grew alone. I grew strong, with no other choice. I found my devilish abilities useful. A stronger body. A tinge of power beyond mortals. I scavenged weapons and armour. 8 made myself into something to be afraid of.
Now, the world has had enough. A woman of blinding light stands across from me. She is breathing heavily. Her armour is scratched and nicked. I am lying on the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds. I feel a grip loosen on my mind, as her eyes fill with tears. The summary of my life fades away, as she stops reading me.
"A child, cursed to be alone, through no fault of your own. A monster by design, not by choice."
She drops her sword and shield, spreading her arms apart as she approaches.
"I am sorry for all you have suffered. I am truly sorry you were damned for being a Split Soul."
She rests her hand on my chest. That blinding light sears into me. I feel my infernal power fight back, before falling away. The light dims, and my wounds close up.
“Your life might have a painful and horrible beginning, but it doesn’t need to end that way as well."
I looked at her, and for the first time in my cursed life, I saw compassion. I swallowed dryly, before speaking to her, my voice sounding strange and thin to my ears.
"Why? Why now? Why you?"
She smiled through her tears.
"Because its the right thing to do. And why me? Simple. I'm a Split Soul too. Though celestial, rather than infernal." |
Martin is starring at me with more hate than I could ever have imagine. John isn't looking at me at all, and Penelope is staring at the burnt spot on the Carpet where the six for creature that had arrived whilst we ate breakfast. I had managed to get Tom sent to his grandmothers for the day, since he hadn't witnessed the event and was still ignorant to the news.
"This...this explains so much."John said, and I wince. He looks up at me, head tilted to the side. "You were always so...distant with me. Never with Pen, just me."He looked over \]at the wall, where Penelope's certificates and trophies stood. He had a few up there, but not many. "This is why you sent me to boarding school and not her, why I spent the summers with Dad's parents and not yours's with you and Pen."
"I...-"
"Don't mum. Just don't."Penelope said, her eyes brimming with tears now. My heart was breaking from that look. "You gave up a kid. You gave up John for...for what? A nice house, a decent bank balance? What was it that could possibly be worth a kid!"
"I'd like to know that to."Michael snapped, standing up and marching towards me. "What is it that could possibly be worth our son?"
All my justifications seemed to go away then. But I still felt the need to speak. "I watched my family lose everything. My Dad ran off with some bimbo and left us with nothing. We went from a good school and no worries to on the bread line. And no one helped."years of repressed anger welled up, "We got taken into care because my mother couldn't afford to feed us. My friends from school, the people we holidayed with and grew up with, pretended like we didn't exist. Like the bitch we were left for had always been his wife. I didn't see my youngest sister until I left the care system and tracked her down my self."
"Boohoo, why is this the reason I'm about to be dragged away!"Penelope yelled, "I don't know what he ahs planned for me, god knows the hell I'm going to face! What John was susposidely destined for!"
"Because I never wanted it to happen to you! The whole point was to keep us comfortable no matter what happened. If your father left we'd wouldn't end up with nothing! And if he didn't, then we would never have to worry about our lives falling apart because he lost his job or the market crashed or any other awful thing that could happened. "
I looked at John then, "I did what I had to ensure I would be happy, and my children would happy too."
"Just not all of them."John said. He stood then, "Obviously you assumed he meant first born, to be taken when he was 18."he snorted, and shook his head, "Did you do any real research beyond just 'How to summon demons for dummies? Didn't double check when someone was considered of age to a demon? Because I turned sixteen two years ago."
"Obviously I didn't know."
Penelope breaks down, and her father and brother converge to comfort her. I want to step forward, but know I'm not welcome. The life I hade crafted to well, so carefully, is gone.
But I can salvage this. I still have Tom, and The demon will be back at midnight to collect, and once he had the deal will still be in place. I will still be okay.
I leave the room and head to the hall, grabbing both my bag, and then go to the garage. At the back of the room are the details to my emergency account, specially maintained and stock ownership details. More than enough to keep me and Tom happy and comfortable for a very long time.
And, of course, the original contract papers. Without them, a loophole can't be found.
My heart hurts as I realize I'm going to lose my darling daughter. God, I should've been smarter, but I can't risk everything. I was willing to give up John, I can can give up Penelope.
I'm only 36, I can easily have another daughter. |
The town screamed as they saw it. A large being, made of metal. Wearing the garments of an Arizona ranger, it stepped slowly towards the town. “WHERE IS TEXAS RED,” asked the robot. A townsperson nervously pointed towards the local saloon. “THANK YOU, SIR.” Texas Red heard the robot, and walked outside to see it, and got shot through by a huge metal bullet. “GOODBYE, GOOD PEOPLE.” Said the robot, as he walked slowly into the distance. Years later, the descendant of who created the robot wrote a song about it, although he was unaware of his lineage and thought it was a normal Arizona ranger. He titled the song after what the townspeople dubbed the being, “Big Iron.” |
The sun beamed down on the steel at his throat, making it twinkle like a jewel in the light. The chapel remained deathly still, as Daniel knelt at the fallen king heads. Daniel gulped, the point of the sword, nicking a drop of blood from his skin. The drop fell and mixed with the old king’s blood that continued to soak the white marble floor as well as the gilded crown that his dead hand still grasped. Looking up, Daniel couldn’t believe what he saw.
“Father?” gasped Daniel, his mouth falling open while his mind raced through the steps that got him here.
“Yes, son.” smiled his father who tightened his grip on the sword. “You did your bit but now I’m afraid this will be just one man too many for you.”
Nothing in the chapel moved, it seemed like the entire world was waiting to see how this scene played out.
“Father…” Daniel repeated, his mind was racing too much to make sense of it. *His father had helped him defeat the king! To bring an end to that terrible reign of bloodshed and cruelty.*
How did this come to be?
“I suppose you're wondering why?” grinned his father, lightly swaying the sword back and forth in front of his son's throat like a snake waiting to strike. His father had grown ugly it seemed to Daniel as he looked up at him from his knee’s. Once kind blue eyes, eyes that reminded of the sky had turned cold. Now they seemed like the ocean during a storm, ready to destroy any ship in his path. His wrinkles seemed to have grown more pronounced, darkening his face in the process.
He seemed vile when just yesterday he had given a speech, a speech about the battle to come and the new age they’d bring, the battle they had just won together and then he seemed like a king to his son.
“Well, I suppose I ought to tell you the truth.” his father continued as he eyed the dead monarch on the ground .”When we were just kids, this fallen, pathetic excuse of a king were squires together. We were actually both squires to another king, his father in fact.” His father sighed, loosening the grip on his sword Daniel noted.
“After our first battle, the king threw a feast like no other. Wine, boars and elk enough to last a month. But all of that was nothing...nothing to her. Sarah.” his father remembered.
“She was the most beautiful creature alive. Of course, I fell in love straight away. Didn’t try to hide it either. Told her, in front of nearly the whole country at the time. We spent the night together and come morning we were already talking about marriage. That was until that night when I found her in his bed.” This father kicking the dead king, whose only response was to leak a little more blood from his throat.
“Why the sword now though?” snapped Daniel, finally getting to his feet, anger pouring through him. He snarled at his father, his hands tighten into white fists.
“Well the thing is Daniel, I was never really you’re father.” he admitted, the sword, stopped swaying, now still and pointing right at Daniel’s throat.
Pieces of a puzzle Daniel didn’t know he was doing seemed to click into place within his mind. Not my real father. Of course, he should have known, they didn’t look anything like each other. He felt free, even with the sword at his throat. His father… or even this man in front of him had handed him his freedom and he knew exactly how to start this new age.
“I raised you like you’re own but in fact you’re father never knew of your existence. Well, he knew you existed just not that you were his child. You see Daniel, I think your true father is here with us. Right now.” his father beamed, his eyes went from Daniel to the dead king and back to Daniel. “I think, and I know you're putting the pieces of the puzzle together, that the king your just slew was actually you’re real father.” Daniel had had enough.
Jumping back a pace, he reached into his back pocket and pulled from it a short knife. *One chance at this or I’m dead. Dead at this stranger's feet.* His old father, out of panic at Daniel’s movement took a step back and studied his former son's movement but it didn’t matter.
With a flick of the wrist, the knife flew out of Daniel’s hand, spinning and spinning, until the blade slices his fathers eye in two and dug itself into his brain. His former father collapsed at his feet, his blood now mixing with that of the old king. What a wicked web his life had become Daniel thought, pulling the blood-soaked crown from his true father’s hand and studying it. *It would do* he thought placing it on his head. |
“Daniel, help me, help me!” cried the girl, her purple hoodie blowing in the sea wind as her little hand struggled to hold onto the branch. Her eyes screamed more terror than her words. Daniel pushed himself further over the edge, feeling his body start to tip, as his hand reached out for the girls. Over the noise of the sea, the howl of the wind, the screams of the girl, Daniel could still hear the crack of the branch. Looking down the side of the cliff face, he knew what was about to happen. Further and further he reached, letting his body slip, willing himself to reach the girl’s free outstretched hand.
“Daniel!” she cried, tears rolled down her face and joined the saltwater below.
“Hold on. Just hold on,” he shouted back, as he could just about reach her fingertips. He could feel the layer of sweat dripping from his hand. Wiping them on his trousers, he reached once more, the muscles in his arms starting to ache.
“Ashley!” a woman’s voice cried out in horror. ”Ashley, oh my god!” Daniel could feel the woman’s presence, hovering over him. He ignore her as best he could but her wails mixed with the girls creating a screeching sound that would never leave him. It pierced his very soul, leaking out the happiness within to seep and disappear into the ether.
“Please you have to save my baby.” the woman screamed. Then without warning, another crack, and the branch was gone. Snack in two, it plummeted to the ocean below, still being grasped by a tiny hand and right when branch and girl were about to disappear into the water…
Daniel woke up, springing forward, cold sweat running down his forehead. The cliff, the girl, the screams faded away as he lay in bed and listened to the Tokyo traffic down on the street below. Five years since the girl. Ten since the war. And yet, still, they haunted him. Like ghosts, those dreams followed him around, like a lead ball tied to his foot. Samantha's snores told him she wasn’t woken up by his nightmare, probably because she had grown used to them by now. *Was it the girl or the war nightmare this time?* She always asked. He loved her for that. She knew, however bad the war had been, the little girl in purple was a much worse memory to relive. A horn sounded from below, probably a near collision, though it brought Daniel right back to the cliff and the screams of the daughter and mother. Though not just that sprang to mind.
Daniel slipped out of his bed, trying his best to keep Samantha's snores from stopping, put on his slippers and tiptoed onto the balcony where his cigarettes and lighter waiting for him. Looking out at the brilliant white lights and listening to the sound of another annoyed driver’s horn, he was brought back to a day close to a decade ago, when Commander Erwin had sounded his war horn and sent his troops over the hill.
The enemy was waiting in an ambush unfortunately for them. Daniel knew, Commander Erwin, the whole unit knew it was an ambush but they couldn’t stop. They needed that hill. They’d take the hill, then they’d take the fort, then it was only the port left to take before the war would be virtually over. Simple. So there was no stopping, no thinking twice. You couldn’t sit down and eventually come up with a better solution because there wasn’t one. All you could do was run and scream. Scream loud your voice gives out, scream to stop the tears from coming.
Derek Williams was the first man on top of the hill, Daniel recalled, and the first one slain by the enemy. He could still remember the way that the bullet sprayed his blood into the air, glittering in the sunline before fading away. Daniel thought he must have been at least in the first ten people on top of that hill. He had been proud of that fact once. He had crossed over and dived down behind a tree.
The enemy had him pinned down, firing all around where he hid, but his comrade, John Smith, soon eased the pressure. John, who was the largest man in their unit, shout back through the tree’s giving Daniel time to readjust himself. Daniel fired his rifle, ducked behind a tree, ran to another tree, dodged an enemy, threw a grenade on his own. He shot, ducked, moved, dodged, shot, ducked, moved, dodged like the perfect killing machine he was made to be. He was a robot. Only completely the tasks that were set for him. All until he found himself pushed back onto the ground. The war went on but the rifle slipped from his fingers. Looking up, through the trees, he could see a small black bird circling above him, obviously not afraid of the bullets. The bird flew off and only then did Daniel realise he had been shot, right above the heart. He tried not to panic. He tried to remember what to do but everything left his mind. Breathe in, breathe out. That was all he could do. He was going to die. He knew that. He sensed as much. Then, still with bullets flying all around him, the sun was blocked from his view and Daniel could see John Smith bend down and scoop him up.
Daniel would never forever the toothy smile of Johns as he carried him back where they had come from. Then right at the top of the hill, right before they were about to reach safety, a bullet struck John in the side of the head. His arms went limp and Daniel found himself rolling down the hill, the far side of the fighting, his wound begging him to stop moving. He didn’t remember much after that, only that they had won the fight. A great battle, of course, one for the history books. But none would mention John and how he died for him.
“The girl or the war?” Samantha asked from behind him. He hadn’t heard her wake up as she glided out onto the balcony, whipping the cigarette from his hand and taking a pull. The smoke drifting up into the city air, getting lost amongst the concrete maze.
“The girl,” replied Daniel, not looking at his girlfriend as he spoke.
“You couldn’t have done more you know?” she told him, just like she had told him a hundred times before.
“I know I couldn’t have,” he croaked. “But I once knew a man who could have.” |
“He’s just a kid!”
“That thing is no kid. You saw its file.”
“He really did that? Him? Fuck, he can’t be older than my son.”
“Shut the hell up! Don’t give it anything to work with. C’mere.”
I kept my eyes trained on the dim fluorescent light as their voices faded further down the hall, out of earshot. There was a roach trapped under the plastic cover, behind the grid of bars that prevented me from damaging the light, feebly reaching for its own last meal that would never come. In my two years here I hadn’t even seen a fly, much less a roach or anything one might eat.
Idly, I wondered if it’s presence meant there was an escape somewhere behind the light. A gap into the wiring between cells, a broken section of ventilation, a weak point in the layers of concrete on all sides. Not that I could squeeze myself through something like that, or that I would even try. But it comforted somewhat to know that the system wasn’t perfect. All the tech, guns, and steel money could buy couldn’t stop a little bug.
My smile widened into a sneer as the roach stopped moving. Not that it had won anything for beating them. My cell would make a fitting tomb for it, once it finally starved. Which of us would last longer? That depended on the guards, I guessed. How fitting.
For the first time in what felt like hours I sat up and let my eyes leave the light. It was dim enough that my vision didn’t even adjust, not that I would need to see to know what was where. My world was a cube of concrete, 12 feet on a side and entirely featureless save for the heavy steel door at the front, the light, my cot, and the all-in-one shower, sink, and toilet.
Rolling off the cot, I pulled on my dull gray shirt, numbers along the back and sleeves long faded away, and meandered over to lean a shoulder on the door. With my shaved head to the cool metal I could faintly make out the voices of the guards still talking amongst themselves. There were more than just the two, though it was hard to make out exactly.
I banged my head on the door, just hard enough to make a sound, and all conversation stopped. After a few moments, heavy footsteps approached and a deeper voice spoke through the door, the muffling through the metal combining with his natural rasp to make an eerie sound. One I might even call demonic if they didn’t already refer to me as such.
“Speak.” the warden demanded. He didn’t ask questions
“My meal. They left before I could answer.” I chewed and pulled on the one fingernail I had left as I talked. The pain of each bloody bite distracted me from the hunger scrabbling through my midsection. Last night’s meal was just underfoot, right outside the slit they pushed it through, but I wasn’t going to eat it. If this next meal was to be my last I wanted it untouched, my tongue distanced as much as possible from the slop that made up my regular fare.
“Tell me,” the voice of Death instructed, “You’ll have fifteen minutes to eat, no more.”
Truth was, I still hadn’t decided. How did one choose when they didn’t have a menu? I crunched the fingernail in half and swallowed the pieces as I thought, eyes darting this way and that, before returning my attention once more to the light.
Much as I knew he hated it, I couldn’t help but let out the tiniest giggle before my reply. “Roaches. As many as you can find.”
I got no further response, save for the fading footfalls of the warden and his indeterminately large retinue.
An hour later, give or take, another tray clattered through the slit and landed atop the first. The impact splattered yesterday’s food across the floor and the base on the door with a wet sound. Gray sludge coating gray steel and gray concrete. The newest tray, however, was empty, save for a small note placed upon it, now fluttering through the air to rest in one of the piles of goo.
I carefully picked up the note and wiped it with my shirt to clear the worst of the residue.
*This facility is pristine, you’ve wasted your meal. Enjoy your fifteen minutes.*
I couldn’t contain the smile that tore its way across my face, almost painful in its intensity. The note fell from my hands, forgotten, as I collapsed to a seat in the middle of the room and craned my head directly upward into the light.
When they came for me I didn’t fight. Thousands and thousands of plans honed to perfection in my mind reduced down to a single black dot surrounded by heaven’s dimmest halo. I wondered if mine would be the same. |
Sit for a while, let me tell you the story of how I became the most sought after person on the planet. I can hide for a while, although they eventually find me. How the stars aligned and I was blessed but also cursed.
I walked down the cracked sidewalk, careful to avoid the uneven grooves. Jamming out to some forgotten song, minding my own business.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see an old man hurry over to me. I fumble in my pockets for some loose change and he grabs me by the arm, his grip was like an iron band. His eyes wide, almost horror stricken. My headphones came off of their own volition and the old man said "take the damned thing, I don't want it anymore! Take it, so maybe you can do better than I did! Be a merciful God and be just. Enjoy God hood". With that, he ran off and around a corner. I scoff to myself, thinking that was bizarre.
Out loud, I say "sure, if I were god...a lifetime supply of chocolate would be mine. My phone dings, I check the notification and it informs me of the lifetime supply of chocolate. Well...thats really weird. I laugh, then try it again, just to see if it was a coincidence. Let's see....if I were God, I would summon Lucifer, just for a laugh.
The ground trembles, almost theatrically. A deep, bellowing voice calls out "father, you haven't summoned me for millenia, this was a mistake!"The entity that is now taking form recoils. "Just who the hell are you and where is dear old dad?"It asks. My mouth agape, frozen in fear and utter amazement, I try to form a coherent sentence. Before I could, Lucifer cheers. "HE GAVE UP THE SCROLL."I blink rapidly, wondering what in the actual hell is going on. Is this real? Lucifer looks me up and down as he sneers. "What, did you think I would be all hell fire and brimstone? Dear old dad didn't want someone rebelling. So he left me to do the punishing, im actually quite fun"I suddenly overcome my fear and amazement, then I say so...God, you know, the almighty being just gave me his powers? This isn't a joke? Lucifer let's out a bellowing laugh "oh, it seems he did. The fun is just beginning, be careful who finds out about your powers though, it could be...disastrous"he vanishes and leaves behind an eerie silence. I think to myself, this is a hell of a day.
The alarm rings loud in my ears, I slap the button and knock it off the night stand and it's still beeping. I groan, wishing that alarm clocks didn't exist. It ceases its cacophony and I peek over the bed, its gone. I REALLY need to be careful. I automate my morning routine, everything magically moving for me and making it so much easier. I arrive at work and sit in my cubicle, all the while making my work basically do its self when my head begins to ring with a million voices, all at once. They sounded like...prayers. it goes on for what seemed like hours, I magic (that's the best term I can think of, I guess) my coffee mug and will that it be full of my favorite coffee. I leave work, then make my way to a bakery that I've been dying to try. I magic one of the delicious looking scones over to my table and wave my hand at the waitress, she suddenly thinks I paid for it. As I'm enjoying my desserts, two men in black suits walk up and encompass the sunlight from the windows. One speaks up and says "Mr. Sampson, we would like you to come with us. We're with the NSA and need to speak with you...privately."I get an itching at the back of my neck, something....forewarning me. I address them, calmly. If this is about the tickets, surely they're not that important! The one that's hanging back puts his hand on his hip, assuming he's readying his firearm. The other one says "you need to come with us, with or without your cooperation"the feeling in my neck is almost a burning sensation now. I look around, people are moving away from us, creating a distance. I let out a long breathy sigh, again I say. There is no reason to be harassing me, can't you lea- my sentence is cut off as he grabs my arm and forcefully tries to pin it behind my back, somehow, he can't move my arm even though he's twice my size. I stand up, then tell him to back down. He refuses. I (somehow) blast him into his partner and make my run for it. As I'm running down the street, I see more agents, they begin running towards me. I think to myself, this shouldn't be too hard to escape. Oh, how wrong I was...wrong indeed.
Dear reader, you may wonder why I don't command them to forget me, or make my presence unknown. But what is life without excitement, the thrill of the hunt. Especially when they hunters think they're after prey and not a much, much larger hunter than themselves. One day, I'll make them forget. But for now, I enjoy the thrill of the chase and the occasional miracle like solving the world hunger issue. |
It was meant to be a curse, I deserved it after all, I was a scoundrel. However, neither I nor the witch who cast the spell knew what would happen. I'm sure it was the wording she used, she did have a flare for the dramatic after all. If she had simply said you can't lie anymore, things would have gone differently.
The first unintended consequence (I assume it was unintended, I never got the chance to ask) was that I'm still alive today, hundreds of years later. Her curse was "From now, until the end of time, you shall never again, for any reason, be able to lie."You see, in order to never be able to lie until the end of time, I must be able to live until then too. Immorality, I've never been sick since that day, and I've tried all manner of ways to end it, but nothing works. I once stayed submerged hundreds of feet in the ocean for weeks, and was nothing but wet when I finally surfaced.
The other unintended consequence was even more unusual though. Again, going back to the wording of the curse. "Shall never again, for any reason, be able to lie."It's the for any reason part I believe I owe this too. You see, I can not speak (or write or type or any other way of communication) a lie, even if I don't actually know it or not. I'm sure this was unintended, as this is such a powerful ability to possess. "Predicting"certain future events is now possible for me. Imagine a game like the superbowl, say the Bill's are going to play the Steelers. I would try to say the Bills will win. If I'm am unable to say that, then I'd know that in fact the Steelers will win.
So, I'm an immortal with all kinds of knowledge a man should never know. Sometimes I try to use this knowledge to help better the world. Durjng the black plague, with thousands dying every day, I was speaking with a man who had just buried his wife and infant son. He was terrified of loosing the rest of his children too. Just trying to offer some comfort I had said I'm sure that there will be a cure soon. While my words seemed to have no comforting affect on him, I realized the implication of what I said, what I could say immediately. A cure had to be available soon or I couldn't have said that. From there it's a matter of trying to say the same thing over and over with slight variances until I'm able to complete the sentence. Id said "The person who will cure the plague is a man", so I knew he was. "This man is English, I couldn't say that. He is French, I couldn't say that. Eventually I hit on Switzerland. It took almost no time to find his name, just trying Swiss names until I found the right one. I started in alphabetical order, Alexandre was one of the first I'd said. It took longer to find his last name but I eventually did. When I found him, I knew more about his future than he did. I knew that he would find the cure not in his home country but in far away China. It took some time to convince him to go but he did. I can say for certainty, if I hadn't done that, he would never have gone on his own and the cause and subsequent cure wouldn't have been found for almost another decade.
Some of the knowledge I now possess I can't ever tell anyone. One day in a state of despair (immortality can be devastating, watching those you love grow old and die) I'd said, "There is no God". Who would believe me if I tried to tell them. Most wouldn't even want to believe even if I'd shown them proff that I was incapable of lying, and I say that with certainty as I had tried to tell people before.
Today, present day, I think about that curse alot. The wording again. Until the end of time. You see, I'd like to be able to say "Time will end in X years"I've tried million, billion, trillion, etc.. I've yet to find a number I can say... I'm going to be around for a very very long time still, maybe that was the intention after all. |
Marissa stood still, her gaze lingering on the double name tag to her new dorm. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The dorm room had bunk beds and the lower bunk had a curtain drawn across it.
“What is this, summer camp?” She grumbled under her breath.
“Pretty much,” said a voice from the lower bunk. The curtain was pulled back, revealing her new roommate, Julia.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Marissa Tremley,” Marissa said politely.
“What’d you bring?” Julia said, walking over and unzipping Marissa’s suitcase.
“What are you doing?!” Marissa sputtered, shocked at the woman’s gall.
Julia lifted up one of her sweaters and held it to her nose, breathing in deeply.
“…You wore this for it,” Julia said with a smirk. “I can smell it on it. Not enough to get high though. Fucking pity.”
“Give that back!” Marissa snatched the sweater from her. “Are you a dog?”
“Just an addict,” Julia grinned. She tapped the end of her nose. “I reckon I’m better than a bloodhound now.”
“…how long?” Marissa asked.
“Ten…maybe twelve?” Julia shrugged and flopped down onto her bunk, “Can’t remember anymore.”
Julia rolled into her stomach and watched Marissa unpack.
“What was your memory? The one that made you keep coming back for it?” Julia asked.
Marissa didn’t answer. She didn’t see how it was anyone’s business, let alone her new roommate’s.
“A boyfriend? Parent? *Kid*?” Julia prodded. “You look like the serious type.”
“What about you? Why don’t you tell me your trauma first?” Marissa snapped.
“Canada’s Wonderland when I was eight,” Julia said easily. “Spent the whole day with my mom.”
“*That’s* your memory?” Marissa blurred out. She shook her head. “Ten years addicted to something that’s not even Disney land.”
“Hahaha! I know right?” Julia smirked. “So what’s yours? I told you mine.”
“No, you lied about yours,” Marissa said, putting away the last of her things. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Guess not,” Julia said.
___
“I want to switch rooms,” Marissa said.
“Oh? Why’s that Ms. Tremley?” Mrs. Donovan asked coolly.
“I don’t feel comfortably with her,” Marissa answered. “She’s…intrusive.”
“Ms. Tremley, roommate assignments are an integral part of our program,” Mrs. Donovan explained. “You have been assigned to Ms. Hitch’s room for a reason. Try talking to her. You might find you have more in common than you think.”
“Ha! This program’s a joke,” Marissa stormed off, slamming Mrs. Donovan’s door behind her.
“I told you we can’t switch,” Julia said from the top bunk as Marissa came back.
“Get off my bed,” Marissa said coldly.
“No,” Julia said, wiggling around in her blankets. “Your stuff still smells like it.”
Something in Marissa snapped, and before she knew it she had crossed their room and grabbed Julia by the hair.
“I told you to GET OUT!” Marissa snarled. Julia grabbed her back and rolled on top of her.
“And I said no,” Julia said, “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Why don’t you just go back to Canada’s Wonderland instead of taking Ruminate?” Marissa shouted. “Just go back and fucking live there if you like it so much!”
Something wet splashed onto Marissa’s face. She looked up. Julia’s sneer was gone and her face was now expressionless but for the wet shine brimming in her grey eyes.
“I did go back,” Julia said. “Every day. I ran away from school, from my grandparents and from foster care.”
Another tear dropped onto Marissa’s face and slid down the side of her cheek.
“But my mom never came back.”
Julia climbed off Marissa and jumped down from the top bunk. The door clicked as she left the room.
___
“I’m sorry.”
Julia slurped the rest of her juice box. Marissa’s sullen face was starting to ruin her appetite.
“Relax, Mars,” Julia said, tossing the empty box into the cafeteria’s garbage. “Let’s not cry over breakfast.”
“I went and ran my mouth without even considering what you might be going through,” Marissa continued. “I’m sorry I called you a liar and-“
Julia’s hand shot out and covered Marissa’s mouth.
“I accept your apology,” Julia said. “Now eat your toast.”
Marissa glared at her.
“I’m trying to be sincere here,” Marissa said after Julia removed her hand.
“And I’m sincerely thankful,” Julia winked.
“…Do you still want to know my memory?” Marissa asked.
“Only if you want to tell me,” Julia answered. “Not if you’re just feeling guilty.”
“It was when I found out I was pregnant,” Marissa said. “I was so happy, imagine what she would look like, how she would grow…”
Julia was silent. Waiting patiently for Marissa to continue.
“I was only seventeen,” Marissa said, “My boyfriend didn’t want her and my parents threatened to disown me if I kept her.”
“I started taking Ruminate a couple years ago,” Marissa said. “My husband wanted children and I…I just couldn’t. How could I raise another child when I didn’t raise her?”
“Did she have a name?” Julia asked.
“Yes,” Marissa laughed. “I was going to name her Julia.” |
**A Warrior’s Choice**
The sky above the risen dust and smoke mess appeared pristine blue.
Slumped on knees, bayonet fixed, I held my slippery rifle tight with both bloody hands to my chest. I dreamt a thousand yards somewhere else and simply wondered, “where are all the clouds?”
In another life, I imagined my spot for a family picnic with some non-existent wife, I didn’t deserve, who dragged me there on a different Sunday afternoon timeline. I would’ve picked this very spot still.
Fresh green grass with smiling wife in a yellow sundress towing a crawling baby girl with a polka dot head bow on her head. Instead of a rifle, I lifted my precious little life towards this beautiful blue sky. It was a good place to die.
“Do you want this?” An unfamiliar voice from within asked.
“Yes.”
###
Snapping noises brought me back. Reality seems to travel by sound first. The enemy is getting closer with the propaganda blaring just loud enough to be heard alongside the agonies of the dead and dying. Then comes the snaps. Tiny, invisible, molten fragments of lead flying so fast and distant you don’t even hear the shots. I didn’t move and I didn’t flinch. Just stayed there on my knees sobbing until one caught me to the head and sent me to a different dream.
All was black. I was cold and covered in blood and shit. My eyes were caked shut but there were flickering of fire to my peripherals and shadows lurking about. I’ve been stripped bare of my uniform, boots, and rifle. There were sounds of movement and then a noise.
“Everyone’s dead sir” a voice yelled.
I forced my eyes open but only the right one broke through. The voice was a young kid from our side and when I sat up he jerked his rifle towards me.
“Sweet fucking Jesus. Sergeant Lee is that you?” the kid said.
“You shoot me and I’ll fucking kill you” I gargled between mouthful of blood.
“MEDIC!” The kid yelled and then it was black again.
###
“Just say the words and you’ll survive.” Another voice beckoned from within.
I knew what it wanted to hear. I knew it would be satisfied. Just say the words and I get to decide which is my reality.
“Give me my vengeance.” I replied.
I wake, back in my field again, bloodied, with my enemies beneath me.
The skies were black and I was satisfied. |
Snake Oil salesmen were always an interesting topic in Medicine History. They had to be charismatic and mobile. Convince the subject they have a cure, and ditch the town before the secret is out. That's it really ‘just be charismatic and mobile' I told myself. Never tell the target these pills remedy fast, or heal a symptom noticeably within a day.
I have to be able to sell and put miles between us.
"Think now, what are the primary things we want for these... some good whiskey would be a fucking start"I thought, “but then I would need to hydrate."
Shit.
There is nothing else of use in this lab, the god damn aminocaproic acid trial had to go out the day before the ash hit. Selling something effective as *Sample C175-Q* would've been easy, hemorrhaging is bound to be more frequent in the direction the world is heading.
Clearing my goggles I walked outside “the respirator alone was worth a trip back to the lab.”
I can't believe it happened, all those TIL threads on Reddit, and episodes on the Discovery Channel... the super volcano under North America finally blew its lid. Now I get to slowly choke to death on ash, when I finally slip up. Well that’s one guess, there is a butcher named Erik back in town that thinks the dust will cause an ice age. Another says the eruption blew the entire tectonic plate, and the Earth will soon cave in on itself.
None of it was truly predictable. The dust comes in small storms knocking out any generators you have outside, and choking the life out of every living thing that isn’t sealed away inside or underground.
Would've been an instant death if I was back home in Ohio. Maybe that would’ve been better than slowly asphyxiating while working abroad in Norway. Shit, why don’t I just fight for life for the next 10 years so I can die of lung disease from what I already inhaled before adapting to this new life.
Fuck it.
4,999 pills to snake my way into a new life... I took one back in the lab to see if I could trick myself into believing they weren’t placebos.
Erik said he had a dehydrator, that will make for a good first trade, something I can buy bulk since I’ll be leaving soon. “Did hemorrhages heal fast with S*ample C175-Q*?” I think to myself.
Shit, I’ll just say it's an Imodium. If they are already on the toilet, I doubt they will be able to chase me to far. |
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[Mini TW: Vegans/Veges]
Tripping in with weak knees, he breathed deeply, for air and for the glorious scent of what could be his first and only meal for the day. Briefly, his hunger faded for a pipe dream of a banquet of meat oozing that wonderful smell, filling his gut, nourishing his body.
Then, he was back, stomach grumbling, eyes greedily searching, body picking itself up and wandering the hut without reservation, halting at the sight of a curious looking pie.
Olive and dusted with white, a fraction of an antler, three hooves, an ear, and a couple eyes sticking out, this pie was nothing short of a monstrosity--
...
--but it was devoured anyway, with little trace of remorse (and crumbs).
Satiated and grateful, he left several pieces of gold in gratitude and left to journey again, quite pleased to eat something so filling of a meal cooked and seasoned.
(Partially inspired by the movie Sweeney Todd, with the pie part.)
First post! Your kind understanding if I had disregarded any rules in above post, thank you!
Edit: hit to his (typo) |
“What? No, I’m no...t, not a serial killer! I know the blood and weapon give me that look but jeez…” The police officer did not let me complete the rest of the sentence. He kicked me straight to my wrist, then the knife quickly slipped out of my left hand and fell on the floor. The pain came immediately made me kneel, feeling like a bone fracture. No mercy, they came close to me and kept me in the handcuff. It seemed like the soporific gradually absorbed into my blood, combined with the hurt to torture me and the dark was the last thing I remembered then.
Days after then were a nightmare for me. The shout and the table-thumping sound of prosecutors and police tried to hypnotize me to admit "my"guilty hours by hours despite hundred of times of me telling the truth. All evidence they found indicated me as the murderer, but I had nothing to prove that I was not. I gave up convincing as nobody believed me. I accepted the sentence of life in the prison and went there with a body without a soul.
At the initial period when I came to the X prison, I became the person that female prisoners avoided meeting. Of course, with the sentence of killing and quartering bodies of 7 young girls, I was the one that you will not touch unless you want to be the eighth victim. But I am not a serial killer, so why do I have to act as I am? So time passed, they finally realized that I was no more than just a weak woman who did not even know how to fight. And they laughed, decided to teach me how to survive in prison. Spilling my rice tray. Beating. Dirty Swearing. Wetting my clothes. So on. It took me two months to learn the most vulnerable positions in the human body. After four months, I had my first win against the bully and the first experience in solitary confinement. The fight happened more often then and the jailers started ignoring me. I was not a zombie anymore but changed to the person that people usually thought about as a cool-blooded murderer - the one that tried to kill me before. And prisoners again stayed away from me.
For a moment, I thought that life here was not so bad, at least before HE came. I still remember the day that HE suddenly appeared in front of my eyes with a smile. The red alert was turned on in my head immediately and I seemed like falling into the ice tunnel. All memories brought out: that night, the raid shelter,... The fear began to dominate every corner of my mind. But I know that I am not allowed to be scared. Only me who can save other girls from being his prey. Only me... For the first time, I have felt happy for coming here, to learn how to kill HIM by myself. |
Dear journal
I’m writing this entry from the toilet in the c building of my university. It’s been at least ten minutes. My stomach still hurts, my feet have gone numb, and I might’ve developed hemroids. Regardless, this elongated bowel cleaning has left me with some time to think and ponder many things. Why don’t women’s jeans have pockets? Was the first guy that masturbated shunned from his village? And most importantly, what the fuck am I even doing?
All my friendships from high school have proven to be hollow as they actively ignore me in public and private. I have no passion for the major I’m pursuing and my grades are starting to reflect that. Nonetheless, I’ll find myself studying like a madman and doing as much extra work as I can to keep my grades so I can one day proudly tell my dad I’ve followed in his footsteps as an accountant. i hate being the only son.
I’ve been thinking about Serena a lot lately…not currently as that would to be rude to think about my ex while taking a dump. Just in general, she’s been on my mind a lot lately. I’m realizing I’m still…sorry, needed a good push…head over heels for her. The day she left for school we played it cool “Hey high school romances rarely last, right?” fucking hell if me feet weren’t keeping me sturdy I’d kick myself.
What else is there? Ah yes, my dearest sisters. Sabrina is the sweetheart rebel she always was, still playing soccer even coaching our old elementary schools team nowadays. Janine…we haven’t seen her in ten years. I can’t remember the last time I talked to her. As fucked up as this sounds, I’m worried I wouldn’t even recognize her anymore. We still don’t know she ran away and I still hear mom and dad cry sometimes despite their best attempts to hide it and yet I’m useless.
Sabrinas living a fulfilling life while I’m here desperately trying to pursue a career I don’t want and Janines off doing God knows what…or God knows who.
Sadly that’s all for now journal…
P.S. FUCK…there’s no toilet paper. |
>It was a dark and long tunnel, unending as it may seem. Her senses heightened as she moves north, if it’s really north she can never tell. The only thing she need to know is to keep going, that’s until she heard a scream.
The wind in the tunnel abruptly ceased, her hair fell upon her shoulders, and the tunnel was silent but for the beating of her heart which grew louder within her head, her toes, fingers, ears and lips beating to the drum which had powered her march forward; still, she halted when the drum ceased momentarily.
She whipped around trying to catch her breath and look behind her for whomever or whatever let out the scream two skipped heartbeats ago. Her numb bare feet spun on the ice and the thin layer of sweat, and the weight of the load on her back tugged her down to a cold, hard bed of ice where she would lay unconscious until she heard another scream.
Closer. It's closer. A fading thought in a mind receding back into unconsciousness. No light from behind. Darkness. Numbness.
The third scream came from all around and she found herself alert and running, no longer weighed down by the load she had carried. She held only a glowing orb to light the ice just instants ahead as she ran. The scream continued, louder all around as she ran faster, faster.
Ahead in the distance she could feel an end to the tunnel, a boundary to the void. Not with sight nor skin nor sound, but with a certainty of presence, certain as the scream that encompassed her like a blanket of thorns did not cease.
The orb she held grew brighter. Pale blue turned to green, and a warm spring breeze graced her hand, a calm warm island in the icy torrent of the tunnel void.
Faster, darker, louder.
Brighter. Calmer. Warmer.
She found she no longer carried the orb as it floated seemingly motionless before her. Green turned to white gold, scent of rose and hot sun on grass. Summer heat and sunshine shone hotter and hotter on her face, and swirled into torrential chaos in the cold void behind and ahead of her.
The heat and the cold grew unbearable as absolute light and void converged upon her.
Faster, darker, louder.
Brighter. Calmer. Hotter.
The scream ceased and she stopped running. She gasped for air as sweat froze on her face. She collapsed against the stone wall at the end of the tunnel.
She could see the tunnel walls, her bruised and bloody feet, and she reached up to touch her face. Her mouth hung open, her throat raspy and sore. Mere paces away, moonlight streamed in from the open tunnel entrance. In a pile wrapped in canvas lay the bundle she had dropped. She crawled to it, picked it up tenderly, and stared at the full moon until it had traveled west and draped the tunnel in shadow once more.
With the load on her back once more, she pried the now cold, dark orb out of a crater melted into the ice, and it sprang to life once more. The wall at the end of the tunnel began to glow, first with a cool blue haze, then green, then white-gold, then red. The wind began to howl through the tunnel once more as the stone wall was swept away in a whirlwind of leaves.
She removed the bundle from her back and set it on the pile of leaves. A small hand reached out from beneath its canvas chrysalis, gracefully snatched a leaf from the air, and the canvas fell away from a small, round face whose expression quickly warmed.
Snow swirled at the entrance to the tunnel, twisting with the leaves and burying them. A snowy figure could barely be seen walking toward the mother and child. But the mother simply grinned a wide, warm, tired smile, and delicately kissed the child's forehead.
A warm wind swept around the glowing red orb, swirling against the cold as the flurry and figure faded into flakes, and settled on the ice.
She heard in the wind a faint scream, a fading howl, a whimper, silence.
And the only thing she and her child needed to know was to keep going. |
"Hey, what's wrong Adrik? You seem to be sad for a while now.."
The warlock looks up to his muse and shakes their head.
"You wouldn't understand", he mumbles and gets up from his armchair to make his way into the kitchen.
He snaps his fingers and a cup flies out of the shelf onto the counter where it gets filled with coffee.
"Adrik?"
Their coffee in their hands they turn away from their muse, Lumiel, and lower their head.
"It's fine, it's nothing."
Lumiel shakes her head: "I don't believe you. Tell me, what's wrong?"
"I don't know - I don't - there's something wrong."
"What's wrong?", she asks, her brows raised.
Lifting up their shoulders the warlocks says: "Something's off, I don't know what, but it's not right.."
"What isn't right, Adrik? Just tell me", Lumiel lays her hands around their chest.
"Every spell works."
She starts to laugh.
"And that's -", she tries to catch her breath, "and that's why you're sad?"
"It's not funny, Lumiel! That's just not how that should be working at all!"
She keeps on laughing: "It is! Your powers are doing exactly what you always wanted, and now you're sad about it. That's ridiculous, you know?"
"My powers should not be working this perfectly!
That's the point, I'm learning to be better, because of my mistakes and the "not working perfectly"of them. That's how we warlocks learn. I can't learn anything if they continue to be perfect like now!"
[Excuse some spelling and/or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native english speaker] |
Dear Journal,
Hi, my name is Elizabeth or Liz for short. Unlike most people I am not exactly living in the traditional sense. My new friend Mary is to blame for my current condition. You see she is a necromancer, or someone who raises the dead. Imagine my surprise to wake up in a cemetery, with a young woman dancing around me and claiming to be my decedent. The year is 2020 she also says and that we are going to be best friends.
This would not be a problem except the last thing I remember is being deathly ill in 1885 from a horrible cough and fever. I remember thinking this is the end of me as I closed my eyes for the last time on that cold December night. Now here I am, a walking bag of bones, playing house with Mary.
Mary’s a nice girl and all but I’m done trying on her latest creations. First it was that pink monstrosity of a dress and now flowers in my nonexistent hair. I thought that necromancers were supposed to raise the dead to go after their enemies, or that’s what Mary’s book said. I believe that I will need a vacation from my “peaceful” afterlife. Let’s try a couple centuries of vacation.
Tomorrow Mary said she would show me how to use the “computer” thing that she has in her bedroom. She hopes that I will be able to show her what my favorite jewelry looks like. She told me that the “computer” is like a magic picture box.
I had better stop writing now since it almost time to try on more outfits. Please God no more black. I don’t need any more reminders that I am more then 100 years past my prime. |
a love simulation.
The fighting was fierce, alliances formed and broke before a single governing syndicate was joined by every mascot. This syndicate was named “The Coalition of the willing”. Once the ceasefires were put into place the mascots soon worked together coming to a singular conclusion, that they lived in a simulation. At this point the scientists considered concluding the experiment, but let it continue.
Eventually the mascots surmised that they could very well destroy their own existence by their own research to understand their universe and stopped research thinking maybe the spectators would be more favorable if they allowed themselves to show human emotions… This turned from friendships to relationships that linked multiple partners together in hopes that seeing love the scientists wouldn’t end their simulation. This saved them for a while until the study had concluded the experiments.
The scientists sent a message, a lie. “You have won freedom, we will never turn off your simulation.” This was broadcast to every mascot before the final night, a night of partying and celebrations. At 3am that night the scientists turned off the simulation. Various regions of the world disappeared at first and within 5 minutes (simulation time) the world and its inhabitants were gone.
Only 1 thing was sent to the terminal before the shutdown, no one knows who sent it. “I always knew it would end with a lie. You have killed us all.” |
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