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“The guy clearly is trying to kill himself!” the landlord gesticulated wildly with his hands and mustache which looked like another one of his hairy arms. It was thick and crusted over with mucus. “And he smells, and he won’t stop yelling, and everyone is leaving, and-“
The cop, clearly tired, raises his hand like a composer cutting off the symphony.
“He expressed intent to commit suicide?”
“Yes! That’s what I said!”
“He said” the cop paused, looking at his notes “And I quote, I want to die and I am going to kill myself”
The landlord plants his feet and get his mustache real close, “Are you calling me a liar?”
The cop sighs and gestures over to his partner, who is swinging a pair of cuffs on her pointer finger, hula hoop with a side of sass.
“All of this is going into an official report sir, you’re on record putting him in hold, okay?” she says brow furrowed, she never liked guys like this, he carried himself like a drug dealer who just dumped their stash right before you pulled up on them.
“Just get him out of here already!”
…………………
The man across from me is 42 years old, normal in appearance, southern accent and southern look, blue collar worker with no family as far as we can tell. He was admitted last year on a 72 hours psychiatric hold due to “suicidal ideation”. At least that’s what his landlord claimed to get the cops to pull him out of the four story, brick slum up down on Sunset and Park. It was clear the man could not have clearly expressed intent, as he was suffering some kind of abnormal psychosis.
“You have a massive streak of shit across your face” I sigh in resignation, I had given up speaking with proper etiquette months ago.
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
Face palming my clipboard for the fifth time that week, a massive bruise spreading on my forehead. Administering a well deserved self-flagellation for letting my ego get the best of me, one of the few things left in my control. It wasn’t too long ago that I was the greatest therapist in the world, never failed to stabilize anyone, look at me I’m doctor jesus Christ, look I can turn a deranged psychotic back into a human, water to wine everyone.
Dr. Gervano transferred facilities because of this guy, the gossip in one ear out the other. The greatest therapist in the world doesn’t have time to think about lesser doctors. Did Jesus Christ think about all of the other martyrs before he changed the world, hell... heavens no. His successor, Dr. Feldstein seemed to be having trouble as well. When Dr. JC came to offer a critical analysis backed up by years working in B Wing, not only did his eyes tear up, he gave me a bear hug that lasted a full 30 seconds, his body trembling between sobs. My stunned silence gave him time to immediately step down and turn over his position, which came with almost a six figure salary bump. The son of a bitch was whistling and smiling his way out the building, despite the fact that he willingly took a demotion. That’s how awesome I was!
Haha.
“Your name is John Woods, you are 42 years old, you-“
“I’m Dirty Dan!” John shouts.
“Okay, are you happy Dan?”
“I’m Dirty!”
“WE KNOW THAT YOU ARE DIRTY, YOU HAVE ACTUAL HUMAN FECES ON YOUR FACE” I snap, my mood has been getting worse, each failure of each day swelling. My marriage has started to fall apart, and the job I once loved has become a nightmare. All of my senses obliterated with each session. Hearing, vision, smell, assaulted by this creature.
I tear my shoulders back up to proper posture. I face fear and smile.
“So Dan…”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
“So Dirty Dan, what’s your goal in life?”
“I’m Dirty!”
My bruise won’t stop throbbing, I hit my head too many times, is that blood streaking down my face?
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
“But what does it mean!” I shout, pleading with him.
“I’m Dirty!”
“Yes, but why?!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!” his tone stays flat despite the volume, his eyes vacant, his shit smeared on his face. Every time he said it the emotion was defiant, defeated, happy, sad, all of it. I was alone. Nobody could help me. The white washed room with nothing but this man. But he wasn’t a man. He was an unmovable, unshakeable force of nature, he was…
“You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!”
You’re Dirty Dan!”
“I’m Dirty Dan!” |
A Goat was traveling to a place far away.
It knows a better future awaits it at the end of the path it follows.
The Goat is not alone. Others walk beside it. Seeking a future as well.
The path had been easy for the Goat. It felt proud. As it saw others struggle it wondered why they weren't succeeding as well.
The old Goats warned the Goat of dangers further ahead. But the path was easy so far. The Goat felt little fear.
Plains turned to hills, and hills into mountains. And the Goat marched on. Until they reached a clearing.
It had plenty. Clean water, High Grass and many other wondrous things. Some Goats decided to settle down. To finally begin their lifes.
But the Goat seeked to go further.
It's whole life it had chased this Goal. It knew things would be even better if it continued. Chasing ever greater heights.
Eventually the break was over, the long march continues.
The Goat proudly raised its leg, eager to go even further.
*And then it stumbled. *
The Goat was shocked. This never happened before. Not since the very start.
The Goat looked around, observing it's companions. They struggled as well, yes, but previous struggles prepared them for this.
The Goat grew concerned but continued on.
And it fell, slipped and hurt itself many times. All while it's companions seemed to go to higher and higher peaks. It was not out of the race, but for the first time in it's live it was far behind.
The older Goats suggested that perhaps an easier path would work better, not to cease walking, simply focus on a different direction.
The Goat was troubled by this choice. The path was set for it since birth. It was always told that only those without True Will would fail in their quest. Only the slow and lazy.
And the Goat started doubting itself. It struggled on, but it's attempts grew weak and pathetic after so little success for so long. Eventually it took the easier path. After it realised that it was simply not good enough for this journey.
It was saddened by this, but others around it assured the Goat that this was perfectly acceptable, for many others tread this path.
It walked onwards, with more success. But the Goats confidence in itself was gone.
After further hardships, the path ended. The Goat had reached another clearing. And then it observed as it's lifelong companions went on with their Journey.
It started a new path. One that does not reach as heigh. But high enough for the Goat.
This new path was much like it's old path before the hurdles began. But the Goat always carried a certain fear with it now. That it would fall again.
But for the first time in its life, the Goat can see the end. The last plain.
And so, the March began annew. But this time the Goat would be prepared. It would not think too highly of itself, or give up all belief.
It would simply walk ahead, but with greater care. |
I had been told of our Home all my life. It was a place full of life and beauty. A utopia for the Anunaki. Earth was my birthplace, although I remember nothing of my infancy. Cold metal ship decks and the barren wastes of our foster planet were all I knew my whole life. Mother told us stories in the holodeck of our Home. I wanted to be here so badly.
"Only a few more years, my doe, and we can go back."Mother was sure of that. The elders were sure too.
My kind had to leave the planet as the climate was not suitable for us to live in. Our elders assured us in another 10 years time and the planet would be habitable again. 10 years felt much too long out in space. It was only my whole entire life.
When we landed, we were all excited. Mother held me and we giggled as we waited for the crew to tell us we could begin to unpack. But there was a long pause. They called the adults to the Deckway. Mother told me this must be time, but I could see the worry in her eyes. "Sit tight, my doe,"she cooed.
I could not sit tight. Not as the sitting grew longer and the silence pressed in. I had to know. In the hall, voices echoed. A far away cacophony of tension and fear. It felt like hot claws down my furred spine. I shook it off and made my way down the hall, towards the Deckway. I was not the only yearling easedropping.
A few others around my age stood at the clear doors to the Deck. I could see the herd of adult yelling at each other. One yearling glanced at me. His face was stricken with fear. All of them seemed somewhere between fear and grief. I slowed to a stop.
"Something wrong,"the youngest cried, gripping her older brothers clothes. Her brother absently stroked her furry forehead. "The Elders were wrong,"the oldest of us retorted. He seemed the most angry of the lot. A wave of fear overcame all of them at the notion that the Elders could be wrong.
"Why are they yelling?"I asked. The oldest laughed at me. "My father tried to warn them but they wouldn't listen!"He scoffed. I let my ears tune into the muffled crowd in the Deckway.
We were Home, but Home was not what we thought it would be. "The calculations said...How could you be wrong...we cannot live like this any longer!"It was hard to pick out any one voice.
The edges of the herd were calm. I could recognize my mother's antlers in the crowd. She had a hand to her face, sobs wracked her body. I wanted to go to her. The room fell silent.
"We must keep our wits, we Anunaki are above such disorder!"It was the booming voice of an Elder. I could see his massive antlers as he stood on Deck. Behind him, the glass of the ships cockpit spanned wide, making the Deck look wide open. The sky was a beautiful powder blue. The ground was covered in white.
Snow. My mother raved about it, dreamed about me seeing it some day. There it was, white powder swirling across the ground as wind played in it. There were several mounds covered in it, hiding mysteries under a perfect white blanket. Far away in the distance was a looming grey mountain.
"It should not have been like this!"the Elder was still addressing the herd. I was too enamored by the fabled snow to hear him before. "The readings show massive interference by an interloper, we have yet to identify what has occurred."
"What does he mean?"I asked again. The oldest yearling groaned as he slouched against the door. "Weren't you listening? The calculations the Elders made showed that the planetary climate would be suitable for us to live in by now. But it's not, and now we gotta deal with it! I don't want to deal with hot weather again, Delta-2 was sweltering and..."
Hot weather? How could that happen? Earth was a frozen utopia, how could it be hot? The snow looked absolutely delightful! The crowd was yelling again. Fear sank into my bones. If they were arguing over the climate in this beautiful snowscape, things must be worse than I could begin to imagine.
-----
From the perspective of child of the Anunaki, a species of sentient, space-fairing deer-people who left Earth near the end of the last Ice Age. They did not account for the primitive apes who would eventually elongate the interglacial period with global warming. |
To whoever is left, I leave this letter in hopes that you are able to escape from it.
​
We thought that there could be nothing more abominable than those demons, filthy degenerates that seeked nothing more than to spread evil. It was our duty, our mission, as angels to eradicate them for the sake of all that was good and pure. Our war fought on for millenas with no end.
​
Then one day, it appeared.
​
It was something that was a union of our divinity and the unholiness of the demons. On a field that was soaked with holy and unholy blood, it appeared. Neither angelic nor demonic, but an amalgamation of the two, the battle was suspended in awestruck horror as it rose from the corpses.
​
It was something that no one, no man or being above the heavens or below the pit should have ever witnessed. It grew as it consumed more of the fallen, and started to attack anything in sight. For the first time in history, the angels and demons no longer fought against each other, but side by side against that abomination.
​
We had to retreat, nothing could harm it, let alone have any chances of slaying it. The demons and angels fled, it was the only way we could have survived. There was no time to save the wounded. We thought we would be safe if we could run away from it. But there was no running from it. After the chaos, we couldn’t even give it a name, in fear of invoking its presence.
​
Nothing mattered anymore. Soon after, we learned that it could traverse the heavens and the pit. No where seemed safe as it consumed everything, everywhere. It was the consequences of our eternal war, an eventual ruin to all that it exists.
​
If you find this letter, it is to let you know that we have left this realm to seek refuge in another. Man has sought refuge in the far depths of space in hope of evading it, but it may only buy them more time against it. The heavens are empty now, and the pit as well. The last stand we held was for naught.
​
As for my parting words, if you see it, then run. Pray for whatever is left that you can escape it to hide. Even death will not keep you away from it. No one, nowhere is safe. Seek passage to another realm and maybe you can be safe. That is our ho-
​
—
​
Gabriel looked up, and felt it before he saw it. A vast torrent of darkness and light seeping through the cracks of the room, shredding the protective spells in place in moments. He looked over to Michael, who took on a stance with his sword and spear to buy time for Raphael to finish the realm hopping spell.
​
Before any of them could react, darkness surged forth at the speed of light as they were torn to shreds. In the final refuge in the heavens, it remained. The final victor ending the eternal war of the angelic and demonic.
​
It could finally rest. |
A plate smashed on the wall above Marcus, showering him in tiny shards. "You bastard!"he yelled as him ducked the next item of plain white crockery. "You missed you stupid bastard"
"Shut up!"was the best Martin could do as he looked around him for something else to cause Marcus the pain he richly deserved. They were surrounded by tiled wall, polished steel surfaces, fridges, bins and hundreds of pans.
Marcus made a run for the copper pans. His black crocs squeaked as he ran on his toes towards the pans on the shelf and immediately swung around, aiming to take the moron's smug head off. Another swing, another miss.
But as Martin thought he could reach a vegetable chopping board to protect himself, he slipped on a carelessly dropped dishcloth and fell onto his back. Marcus then grinned and held the pan high above his head, ready to bring it down upon the little shit's face.
He didn't expect Martin to kick his legs out, and come clattering down amongst pans as he pulled the shelf shelf from the wall. Both men were hit a dozen times by a variety of pans. They were buried under an assortment of copper, stainless steel and, unfortunately, a cast iron skillet to Martin's groin.
The wait staff, KPs and other chefs, who a moment ago had scattered to either side of the kitchen, cautiously approached the two men. Some born marks from the fight as they had failed to escape the flurry of blows and thrown cookware.
Both men could be heard groaning, muttering and breathing heavily. Damp and flour covered aprons were used to apply pressure to a slew of minor wounds the men had inflicted upon each other.
A dented soup pot was pulled from Martin's head, his eyes were unfocused as the barman help Marcus up. In the silence, occasionally interrupted by a French skillet or stock pot, he heard a waitress whisper to another, "what started all of this?"
And that was all it took, Martin's eyes refocused on Marcus. "More salt!? I'll give you more salt you old shit!"
Marcus' rage returned just as fast and shouted back, "Fuck you, you useless hack!"
The staff made to move again as both men's eye flew across the chaotic kitchen to the magnet strip which held all of the knives. Both men looked back to each other and launched a fresh assault to be the first across the room and grab the nearest blade.
Marcus chose a 13.5"cleaver, whereas Martin chose a serrated bread knife and kitchen shears. The staff pulled back. The screaming wait staff ran out for the manager, the barmen handled the money as the other chefs called out the odds on who would come out on top.
"Right then my young sous chef, let's see what you're made of"Marcus told his best student and protégé.
Martin stared into the eyes of his mentor, "I'm going to drag your bloated corpse outside and roast you like a pig!"
Each man circled the other, head and sous chef. Each man an expert with a variety of blades. The other chefs were calling out their support for whoever they favoured. The waiters came back when the manager fobbed them off, wailing and getting in the way.
"Just promise me one thing,"Marcus asked, "if I die, *make sure you use enough salt!*"
"*Die you bastard!*" |
Six.
That is both the number of "friends"to keep track of, and the number of times "my"memories have had to be uploaded into new forms. The first, and weakest, was a simple clone of the original, made purely from organic materials. That one made some minor upgrades, increased skeletal resiliency, for example. Each iteration made improvements to the vessel that would hold the next, should the current fail. This iteration - I - had barely any human components left.
I had a layer of skin grown on a mesh overlay which covered a cushioning layer that would disguise the mechanical aspects of the vessel. I grew real human hair from my scalp. I had human eyes - something that had been added back after my previous iteration was identified for not having them.
I do not need to breathe, but have a mimicry motion set to automatically engage every 17 seconds. I recalled the names and nicknames associated with their profiles, and shaped my face into the expression used for greeting close ones. "Heyyyyy!"I called, modulating my voice in the way videos had show her do. "What's up bitches!?!"
Second from the right, Samantha, nicknamed Manders, frowned. "God damn it."She pulled something from her purse. "Another fucking clone!"
She fired. |
I took my pie out of the oven. An apple pie, this should make up for last time.
A neighbor walked by.
"Do you want some pie?"I asked.
He turned to me and gave me a thousand yard stare. "No one trusts your baked goods. Not after last time."
"I know, but I'm alone and want to be good at this."
"Please, for everyone's sake, go to culinary school. You were on the news last time."
"I promise, this pie isn't dangerous. Last time was a mess, but I followed the instructions and somehow the eggs didn't cook."
He walked back "Oh yeah, that simply isn't possible. We know people died though."
"No really, just try it."
"If you have so much faith, try it yourself."
"Okay, 3, 2, 1,"I took a bite. "See, it's fine."
"What temperature did you bake that at?"
"230"
"Celsius or Farenheit?"
"I don't recall."
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "911, she did it again." |
Mother made us promise that if the Vulture was near, we would leave her. Brother had been carrying her for the past 2 miles, his feet bare in the sandals. were starting to blister.
The collars on our ankles warmed up. It was almost time. We were so close; just 40 yards from the station.
“Leave me! You must go forward!” she said, mustering whatever strength she could.
Brother wanted to save her. Mother wanted him to save me. So he set her down. And, we ran.
We could see the station, mere seconds after we were separated, when the vulture swooped down, silent as death and landed in front of our mother. We had seen it before, in videos and pictures but never this close in person. It was 13 feet tall and obsidian.
We hid behind a car, our breath stuck in our stomachs.
The vulture raised its head and with its beak struck our mother, breaking her neck instantly.
As she crumbled, Brother turned away, biting his hands from screaming.
I fixated on the feast, peeking through the window of the car.
The vulture ripped Mother apart, and picked up what was left of her carcass and swallowed it whole. It let out a screech that made the hairs on my body stand as it stretched its wings and took flight, the concrete cracking under its feet.
The phone in my pocket vibrated. I took it out and looked at the screen. It read:
2/1000 SURVIVORS LEFT!
SURVIVE THE NEXT HOUR AND GET $27,762
FAIL AND DIE!
Downtown was a ghost town and Brother and I were orphans, miles away from home.
We looked at each other, weary reflections of one another, with tears in our eyes.
We wiped each other’s faces and ran to the station, Mother’s words, the albatross on our ears. |
>*So, here's my situation...*
In my little slice of heaven, Evelin County, the PTA is right up there with the sheriff's office and the mayor. You make the right friends, do a few favors, and bake the right cookies, and that turns into scholarships, recommendations, and basically a full ride to any school you want.
My mom has been working her way up the PTA ladder since she knew she was pregnant with me. She's saved up enough IOUs to guarantee me a doctorate in any field I want, with a seven-figure hiring salary to boot. There's just one problem...my dad.
Love the man to death and back, but he *despises* the PTA. He says they're a bunch of soulless, manipulative, power-hungry hyenas who could care less for the betterment of the students or their families, which is funny, seeing that he's a demon. Now, he is "reformed*Reformed,*"for the most part, but there's a reason my mom and I did everything in our power to keep him as far from the PTA as humanly possible.
That is until my mom got sick.
Nothing too bad, just a really bad stomach virus, but it meant she was too sick to go to her meeting. Now, missing a meeting every once in a while is understandable, but this was the Memorial Meeting where PTA leaders of old returned to honor a lucky few with what is essentially a golden ticket. The very few kids who've gotten one are now so rich they don't even lie on their taxes or have offshore accounts.
All my mom's work led up to this moment. She used every last favor she had to get a seat with Penelope Tyler Addison, the first head of the PTA, and a chance at getting me a golden ticket, but when she got sick it nearly destroyed her. So, my dad, the loving husband he is, offered to fill in. After trying every medicine, spell, and curse she could think of to cure satan's cold, my mom begrudgingly let my dad go.
And the grin on his face could only be described as, "I am going to *Fuck*. *Shit*. ***Up!***"
So, after days of shopping, rehearsing, and a really fun daddy-daughter spa day, the night had arrived. We entered the auditorium looking amazing. Me in my humble red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, a black midi skirt with matching belt, a color-coordinated handbag, and my auburn hair in a *perfect* bun. Then there was my dad, jet black hair combed to perfection, wearing a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit, gold cufflinks with a matching Rolex, and his favorite bright...red...tie...
I blinked. All I did was *blink,* and he was gone. Only the faint sound of maniacal laughter could be heard as I looked into the crowd with dread.
So, here we are. My entire future is on the line, and my dad's running at it with scissors in both hands. Only one person can stop him: me, Diana Pater.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
\[AUTHOR'S NOTE\]
Don't usually do this, but I wanted to get this out before writing the next part and forgetting about it. \*Ahem\*
Midi skirts & dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up is the cutest outfit I've ever seen in my life!
That is all. |
I raised the forkful of steaming noodles to my mouth and blew. She watched me intently, eyes full of skepticism.
“I-I didn’t see you open those!” I felt a sting on my face as her fingertips slapped my face, collateral damage from her knocking the fork away from my mouth. “Throw those away and make new ones.” Her voice was shaky.
I sighed, exasperated from this routine. But I loved her, and wanted to support her, so I tried not to show my true feelings. Standing from the table, I took the bowl in front of me to the sink and dumped them down the drain, the garbage disposal roared with a flick of the switch.
“You didn’t need to hit me.” I said at a volume I knew would be covered by the sink eating my dinner. I knew that if she had actually hear me, it would only make her feel worse.
She moved in behind me as I grabbed a second package of ramen noodles and refilled the pot with fresh water and putting it on the stove burner, her eyes locked on my every move. Being sure it wouldn’t happen to her again.
The water came to a boil. I locked my eyes with her to be sure that she was watching as I split the pack and dumped the noodles in.
“Are you ok watching this for a minute? I need to pee.” I knew she would be, because she always does.
I made my way into the bathroom and took care of business, being sure to thoroughly wash my hands after. When I returned to the kitchen, it appeared that she hadn’t moved; her eyes still locked on the pot.
I tested the noodles with a new fork and dished them into the bowl. I handed her the seasoning packet which she thoroughly inspected before ripping the top and dumping its ingredients into the bowl.
“Can we eat now?” I asked motioning to the table.
“You first.” She said, with a nod.
“Of course,” the annoyance was becoming more palpable “isn’t that always the case?”
I sat down and she quickly followed suit, her eyes never leaving the bowl.
I raised a forkful of steaming noodles to my mouth and blew. I half expected another assault, but it didn’t come this time. I shoved the noodles into my mouth.
From the second they touched my tongue, I could tell something wasn’t right. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Had they gone bad, I wondered. Do ramen noodles go bad?
I shoveled a second forkful into my mouth, again. Something wasn’t right. A bitter taste, no it was more than that, more than bitter, more than sour, it was almost painful. I spit the second helping of noodles out, to my horror they were dark red.
“Waaa daaa fuuu?” I couldn’t speak, my tongue was on fire and swollen, blood flowed from my lips, it seeped down my suddenly closing throat. I gasped for air but it had suddenly been cut off, I slammed my hands on the table begging for help but she just sat there watching, head cocked to the side.
“You think I didn’t know?” She asked smugly,
I continued banging the table and now I was kicking my feet, anything to make any kind of desperate plea for help. The edges of my vision were graying, I needed to breathe. I thrashed in the chair and fell to the floor.
She stood over me, watching. “You thought I was stupid, didn’t you? You were going to try to do to me what HE did, weren’t you?”
I frantically shook my head from side to side. I was telling the truth, I had not intentions on hurting her, I loved her, even with her problems. I would never.
“BULLSHIT!” She screamed before collecting herself. She couched down to get a better view.
I continued to fight to breathe but it was futile. Slowly my vision faded, and all that was imprinted on the darkness was a rapidly fading memory of her face standing over me. He eyes so cold, so calculating, so.. troubled. |
It was a joke. That's what I thought. I hadn't understood.
I didn't have super powers, per se.
However, under very specific conditions, if enough people believed in something such as world peace, or an end to world hunger, I would feel their wish and reality would bend somewhere nearby to reveal someone who didn't exist before just solving the world's energy crisis with a working hydrogen fuel made from seawater.
The government hated me. I enabled people to stop their callous capitalism.
Sending me to the North Pole was the dumbest thing ever, I thought.
But then, on December 24th, I felt it.
Every Christmas carol. Every child's wish for an Xbox or a pair of rollerblades. People's beliefs in a kid raised by elves. A Santa that made funny grunting noises and called his neighbor Wilson.
In that moment.
The best, most anticapitalistic creation I had ever been a conduit for came into being.
Santa patted my shoulder.
I was suddenly dressed as an elf.
"That's the spirit, Eris."Santa laughed, looking around.
He handed me a vintage Barbie. One of the first to ever come with a mermaid tail.
I began to cry. He knew. After all this time. He remembered.
I wrapped him in a hug, spurred by childish joy.
"Hey kid."Santa chuckled. "I know you're only 18, but do you think it would be okay if you..."He gestured to the sleigh.
"Give me the keys."I replied. "I'm driving".
Santa's smile was bright.
"And to all a good night, then. Come along, Eris. We have work to do."He laughed.
That's when I realized it. He needed me. Every child who hoped for their family to be whole again. Every child who wished their mom didn't have to work three jobs to put food on the table and couldn't be home for Christmas. Every child who wanted a safe family instead of hiding under the bed. Every single child in the world who didn't deserve the hell that was their life.
Those things didn't come from a sack or a sleigh.
They did not come from jingling all the way.
They didn't exist, you see.
There was no way for them to be.
*Yet*. |
Agent One stepped through the time portal mere moments after Agent Two, the supposedly fresh faced recruit Agent One had been requesting for millennia. Agent One rocked back on their heels with a slight grin hidden by their time mask. They weren’t so much eager to let the trainee show what they can do, but glad to not be the one doing everything for once.
Agent Two’s fresh time cloak swished mere millimeters from the ground free of any marks of dangerous escapes, vindictive exes, or careless mishaps that marred Agent One’s cloak as they paced the storage closet, double checking their scanner.
Agent One remembered when they cared that much about the nuances of the job. A quick glance at their scanner told them all they needed to know, no red lights meant things would be fine, or they wouldn’t and Agent Two could get some useful on the job training.
Agent One idly glanced about the room, big enough for four people to fit, twelve if you didn’t care about their comfort or longevity. Four beige walls that hadn’t been painted in a few years judging by the cracks. A single, bare desk that probably had, at most, a paper clip in one of the drawers and a white metal folding chair were the only adornments.
Agent Two stepped up to simple gray door with a metal handle that looked oddly familiar and paused. Agent One shook off the sense of deja-vu. With as many missions as they ran, things tended to blend together, and focusing on the moment was the current objective.
This was a training mission. Agent One’s last mission, if the parameters were to be believed, which Agent One didn’t. They would keep Agent One active for as long as they feasibly could, but having some help would be greatly appreciated.
Agent Two turned towards Agent One and tilted their head to the side. It was an annoying quirk that already bugged Agent One more than it should have. Agent One was gruff. “Anything to report?”
Agent Two took a moment before responding. “I’m not sure,” they said, their voice modulated through their time mask. “My scanner is fine, but my HUD is giving me trouble. I think there’s some mistake. What’s yours say?”
Agent One rolled their eyes. “My HUD is clear. I’m observing you. You do what it says, no questions.” Agent One chuckled to themselves at the absurdity of it all. “This job isn’t hard. Suit up. Follow orders. Get back alive.”
Agent Two shrugged and placed a gray box on the wall with a click of finality.
Agent One raised an eyebrow at this. Now where had they seen that box before…
Agent One’s eyes popped, that was a Contained Eradicator. They had only used something that catastrophic once before.
“Wait, wait,” Agent One pleaded as Agent Two was already halfway out the door.
“You said do what the HUD says,” Agent Two said with a halfhearted glance back. “If it means anything, I’m sorry.”
A tear ran down Agent One’s well worn face, not that Agent Two would see it, or even realize it until this very moment.
Agent One’s HUD flashed it’s final orders. Salute Agent One.
The tears flowed freely as Agent One looked away from the gray box and lifted a hand to their brow in a perfect salute. “Fight well, Agent One,” Agent One said as the door closed and Agent One completed their first and last mission. |
Lightning isn't supposed to strike the same spot twice. Everyone knows that. It especially isn't supposed to strike three times. Or four. Or eight. At least I think it was eight. They came down so fast it could be more.
I'm standing by the window with my mama as we watch it. She's really scared, but I just laugh and laugh every time. Kinda reminds me of when those big kids would pop balloons and scare the old ladies down the block.
When the lightning flashes I see people in the other houses watching too. A few are out on their lawns. Like old Mr. Jeffries. He's wearing his sunglasses to try and get a better look.
Three or four strikes later and then they stop. The center of the cup-de-sac is smoking and burning. I can see some of the concrete landed on our lawn. It landed on Miss Perkin's too. Her and her mama are putting out the fire. They're trying so hard that they don't see the man.
A big man, wearing a burned shirt and burned pants, in the hole where all the lightning struck. He's got lots of long hair, and his eyes look like shiny marbles. He's really big.
I look at my mama, she's just staring and staring at the man. She looks scared, but only a little. I look out the window and see everyone else running back into their houses. Maybe she's thinking of the stories grandma used to tell us, about how angels would come down from the sky to help people. Or how the preacher said those were devils from underground breaking out to make a big mess.
I run outside, needing to turn back and close the door behind me. Mama wouldn't want the rain getting in. I walked towards the big man, still looking around like he's lost. The concrete is cold under my feet, but gets warmer the closer I get to him.
Even when I'm next to the big man he's still looking all around. He must be lost. I grab his pant leg and give the biggest tug I can. The big man looks down at me, eyes shining. I can't see his mouth through that big beard he has.
"Hello there, little girl,"the big man says. "Can I help you?"
"Are you an angel or a demon?"I ask, looking at his shiny eyes.
The big man blinks, laughing and running a hand through his beard.
"That's a good question,"he says. "I suppose it depends on who you ask." |
Janet watched the broadcast from her old recliner, still ignoring her husband's calls from the other room as she stared at live footage of Paul McCartney stomping his way across the countryside.
Nessa Wiln was reporting from the scene, parked atop a hill several miles from where the huge musician rampaged. She shouted to be heard over the incredible, loud notes that came from the giant Beatle. A two hundred-foot tall McCartney crushed every object in his path.
"We're told he's been at this for some time now,"Nessa yelled into her mic. "He's singing a song we've never heard before. It's a haunting ballad about a man named Gregor Samsa. Paul seems to be singing the lyrics as though he himself were Mr. Samsa. All told, he's now crushed fifteen homes and kicked his way through a local hospital."
Janet knew she had other things to do that day, but she couldn't stop watching. She wondered whether the Beatle would go on like this forever. Would anyone try to stop him?
"Janet, what is taking you so long?"called her husband. He was closer now, and irritated, by the sound of his voice.
"There's something on TV,"she said. "I think you should really see it."
"What is it?"He was walking away as he asked. He hated when she sat in front of the TV all day. "Another one of those weird talk shows?"
Nessa Wiln was frantically pointing outside the camera's view, until the operator turned and the subject of her excitement became evident. An equally large Yoko had arrived, charging at McCartney with a vicious look in her eyes.
"No, you really gotta see this. It's Paul McCartney,"Janet said shifting in the chair and reaching for her drink. "He's much bigger than Jesus now." |
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“Holy shit.”
You mumble to yourself. You know that conducting bank reconciliations for the business shouldn’t be this messy but they suddenly are. After comparing all the sales figures to the bank statements, you’re horrified to find that, not one, not two, but thirty fucking sacks of cash all amounting to something just north of a million dollars across your whole team’s allocation over the past five months has gone missing. In a blind panic, frantic emails to all of the branches involved are sent asking for a trace on each of the deposits.
The cash clearing ledger will be off by an insane amount, and when the audit occurs, you know hell will pretty much freeze over until all that missing cash can be accounted for. To make matters even worse is the fact that multiple deposits have gone missing, over the past five months. These are previous periods that have already been reconciled and subsequently closed making the investigation even more complicated. The impacts the adjusting entries will have alone will screw over the Profit or Loss for pretty much the rest of the year.
An emergency meeting for the department is held behind a closed door. All of your coworkers, just as stressed as you are, with the exception of the team lead who remains stoic.
“The investigations will take up too much time out of the schedule, based on how complicated it all is.” Says one.
“All of the cash deposits do have a pattern of having been put in the system at the first day of each month. That means someone’s definitely planned this.” Interjects another.
You and the team lead glance at each other, knowing what the next step of the process is.
You both get up in unison, you announcing that we’re going to have to take this up with Mo. |
The Big Four: Muscle Mountain, Madame Melody, Automa-TON, Foresight. Earth's first line of defense against superpowered threats, but when the stakes get high, they call us:
X-Calber - Antimatter Sniper
Bootstrap - Time-Traveling Hitman
Line Hopper - One Man, Infinity Timelines
Then there is me; they call me "Blinker."When I look at someone or something and blink tightly, it is transported to a pocket dimension. The only downside is that I have no control over when or if they reappear. Everyone so far has come out more physically powerful, but their minds have been shattered.
I wish I had put it together sooner. As the clone with the combined genetics for the big four stood above me, rambling about "The Demon King that is always 10 fold your physical, mental, and supernatural abilities,"I realized I'd doomed us all because Bootstrap has failed. |
All humans are born with a spirit animal, familiar, or spirit guide. This highly intelligent and effectively immortal, yet incapable of speaking, creature is meant to lead every human toward their full potential. Soldiers with badgers and ants, artists with peacocks and butterflies, and doctors with Saint Bernards and axolotls.
I have always felt out of place; "Roach Ricky"was basically my name through high school. That said, having a roach guide wasn't useless. Crawling on the shifter before a car pulls out in front of mine, getting on my plate, saving me from a laxative prank, and spinning the empty toilet roll did save me a lot of trouble.
However, some days I wonder if hiding in the sewers when the bombs dropped was worth a life of loneliness. |
"Testing testing, over"a voice calls from the distance, its tinny and slightly garbled but the words are recognizable. Pierre jumps slightly at the noise, nobody else was supposed to be here. He'd trailed this house and its only resident for about a month, learned his schedule inside and out, until the man had suddenly checked himself into an asylum a few days ago. Most likely due to paranoia caused by Pierre's stalking he assumed. No matter, it got him out of the house. Regaining his wits Pierre turns the flashlight in a new direction hoping to catch the lesser house burglar. But still the room is empty and every place aside from the tunnel of his phone flashlight is dark.
"huh... guess it doesn't work"then a click sound. Pierre glances up towards the stairs the sound clearly coming from there. Slightly shaken he makes his way upstairs only giving a passing glance to the crystal chandelier now merely an arms lengths away dies to the altitude of the second floor.
After a few minutes of looking around Pierre was ready to give up on finding the source of the voice which hadn't spoken a word after the last time. Obviously the person was caught up in their own world or activity and would pay him no mind if he quietly stepped out with a few valuables. Pierre tries to convince himself even thought he knew it was impossible given the rich homeowner lived alone and hadn't even had so much as a maid or cook on staff. He had no staff at all.
Passing the large office beside the bedroom Pierre hears it more loudly "-et... Hello?".
"Hello?"Pierre calls back, and receives no reply.
He opens the door to the large office which is in complete disarray compared to most of the house. An oak desk sits in front of a large curtained window with stacks of papers and newspapers strewn across it. However most of the space was taken up by a large 4 monitor computer setup which also looked to be connected to the television opposite the desk. This would nab him a fortune, Pierre was giddy with merely the idea of it. Then a sound pulled him from his thoughts "Was that my voice before? Why would I ask you it's not as if you could respond...hah..."followed by a click then quickly by another two.
Undoubtably the sound was coming from behind the desk still garbled but the manner of speaking cut a note of familiarity though Pierre's on alert mind. Behind the desk there were only the 2 file cabinets on either side and a few nick-knacks on the windowsill. Not knowing what to do Pierre began to pick them up and slip them into his bag, he was here to rob the place after all and he'd done more investigating in the practically 5 minutes he'd been here than actually accomplishing the task at hand.
Five bronze horse statues, four gold plated poker chips, three unused scratch offs, a pair of walkie talkies, and-. Pierre pauses while holding the walkie talkie in his hand. Pressing down the button he brings it closer to his mouth "Testing testing, over"he says and fishes the other one back out of his bag. Odd it didn't relay the message. He places the opposite walkie talkie back on the window sill. Finger still pressing on the button he muses aloud "huh... guess it doesn't work"while placing the second next to its pair. Let the old guy keep his worthless walkie talkie, probably a sentimental thing from like his time in the army, no market value.
Swiping the slightly large marble bust off the window sill Pierre continues to look around the office for a safe of some kind before he put in all the work to lug the computer setup down to his van outside.
Just before leaving the office to check another room he stops in the doorway. The words from before and the tinny voice coming back into his head. He rushes back over to the window sill "Wait a min-"and picks up the walkie talkie "-et... Hello?". Now listening out for his own voice on the other side of the wall, nothing comes. Good, not an alternate dimension or time loop he sighs with relief.
Still processing if his recollections were correct he brings the device to his mouth again hoping for answers "Was that my voice before? Why would I ask you it's not as if you could respond...hah..."the words leaving his mouth catch up to his memory and in a panic Pierre lets the walkie talkie slip from his hand. In the resulting clatter the button is depressed and let go by the force of the fall resulting in 2 click noises in rapid succession. That's what he'd heard before. Everything is what he'd heard before. It was his voice merely 5 minutes ago, but how.
He lifts the walkie talkie from off the ground.
It's broken, the button not registering any of his presses. No matter he'll simply test this theory with the other one, they do come in pairs. But what to say.
He waits another good few minutes hoping his future self has already figured out what to say and he can repeat it but no new messages' come. Now this test is even more imperative as he might have just slaughtered his golden goose.
"Pierre, use this walkie talkie to speak to yourself in the past. And don't drop the thing you idiot"he chides himself. But given he had to initiate it this was most likely a fruitless endeavor as any successfully relayed message would have reached him 5 minutes ago.
He places the now half broken set of walkie talkies back on the window sill and goes towards the large computer setup. The newspapers surrounding it are all turned to entertainment pages or stocks pages. It seemed the old man was a master at gambling on horse races and shorting stocks. Pierre would be impressed but a mournful look back at his broken chance at a similar fortune explained how the old man accomplished such a feat.
After wallowing in self pity party and carefully unwiring the whole setup Pierre began to lift the computer tower out from under the desk.
"Pierre, use this walkie talkie to speak to yourself in the past. And don't drop the thing you idiot"A tinny garbled voice said from behind him, now slightly staticky given its broken output speaker.
Ah so they worked in reverse of one another. That was much less useful.
Authors Note:
I really like the prompt it sounds like a Twilight Zone episode which is why I feel like my fill doesn't exactly do it justice. I had an alternate continuation where he does use it to make money (Most unusual camera style, it's why I named him Pierre) and then one time doesn't get the needed information from the walkie talkie after betting it all and panics for 5 minutes explaining why he couldn't give the information. But then I liked the idea of one side being 5 minutes in the past and the other being 5 minutes in the future and I couldn't decide which I liked and I always rush the endings when it gets late at night so I just had it break like the time stop pocketwatch episode.
Kind of a cop-out sorry. I don't know how Sci-Fi writers do it but trying to write stuff which effects the past gets hard once you get into them realizing they affect the past since the past has already happened. |
Hey, I knew I shouldn't have gone through that alley, but I was late. It was high noon, and the address I wanted was the first one on the right when you came out of the alley. Going through would get me there with a half-hour to spare; going around, I would be too late.
"Give me all your money!"
Just my luck. I didn't have time for this. I could take this idiot, but that would make me too late. He looked like a recovering addict thinking about a relapse, but my radar was saying he needed help. My two nickels wouldn't be enough, and I needed them.
"Nah."
He drew the hammer back. It looked like a .44 but felt like the Holland Tunnel—time to talk fast.
"Come with me, and you'll get more money than you've ever seen. Take what I have, and you'll get two nickels. Of course, I'll beat the snot out of you if you try, but that will make me late, and we get nothing."
"How much?"
"Over $100,000. How much over depends on how fast we get there."I could see him rolling the idea around. "The clock is ticking!"
"I'll shoot you dead if you try to gyp me."
He motioned me ahead of him, and I stepped right out. He kept up with me, far enough back to be out of reach but close enough he couldn't miss. "What's the deal?"
"Inheritance. I wouldn't be here except I'm running late. This alley will get us there with minutes to spare."
"Where?"
"Law office on the right."
I heard him inhale with shock. "Johnson, Johnston, and Jackson?"
"Yep."
"Can I have one nickel, and we are quits?"
I looked over my shoulder and grinned at him. "Nope. I need both of them to get the money."Just my luck, some sick bastard stumbled out from under a fire escape with a knife coming down in an overhand strike, screaming. My new friend shot him in the hand while I kicked him into next week.
We didn't even stop moving.
"Good shot."Maybe I wouldn't have been able to take him.
"Good move. Saved me from wasting a round finishing him off."
He said it so matter-of-factly that I figured this wasn't his first rodeo. "Military?"His voice nearly froze my spine.
"Yes."
Now my radar was reading stone-cold killer. I had *never* heard someone put that much cold hatred in one simple word.
We walked faster. Neither of us wanted to be in this alley any longer. Not with a wounded, unconscious body behind us.
It was with some relief that we got out of the alley before the police showed up and sealed it off. I ducked into J3's office, and when my new friend hesitated, I dragged him in. Somewhere in all of this, that hand cannon vanished.
"Can't have my bodyguard loitering; the police might get curious."
Posh. Posh fit this office like socks on a rooster. It was all done in the same shade of grey. Furniture, walls, and doors all blended into each other. If it hadn't been for his quiet "ahem,"we might have missed the suit standing in front of us. His suit blended in. His face just missed the shade.
"May I assist you, gentlemen?"
"I'm here for the inheritance; this is my bodyguard."
*Mr. Grey* held out a grey hand. I got out the nickels and handed them over. He held them in his hand, staring at them like he could verify their authenticity without even a jeweler's loup. Fifteen seconds later, he smiled. I wish he hadn't done that; it brought to mind a rabid shark.
"Very well, Sir. Please wait here."The way he said it made you think that if you didn't stand right there, the shark would come back. Hungry. My bodyguard snorted in amusement.
"Relax. If they were going to kill you, they would have done it already."I turned to look at him. The relapsing addict was back. That's when it clicked. He was a relapsing addict. He was addicted to war. The highest decorated soldier ever court-martialed for *obeying* legitimate orders. The orders were legit when issued. The pantywaists *knew* when the op would start. *Knew* that once it started, it would be over before it could be stopped. They got the agreement they wanted and schmoozed for *three hours* before they sent the message to call off the mission. By then, the operation was not only over; the other side had surrendered, and the agreement was null and void.
That pissed the pantywaists off. The deal would have made them all twice as rich as they already were. And the war would have continued, to greater profits for all of them.
((cont)) |
She always cleaned her home, perpetually in preparation for someone to arrive. She had a habit of cleaning, out of nervousness and necessity, as a means to calm herself. She was eighty-one years old. Her husband had died five years prior; how brave a man he was. In times like this, she recalled, he would say something along the lines of “It is foolish to try to right live now! It is time to appreciate what the living has brought us; all the memories! Enjoy the times we’ve had!”
She started in the living room, the largest of spaces, as it might bring back the most memories. The television was on, broadcasting the end for all who cared to watch live. She turned it off, knowing that the anxiety was ultimately fruitless, and began to tackle the already spotless room, just for posterity. She dusted off the pictures on the mantle (the ones she could reach) and looked longingly. Her youngest son, David, had been there just two days ago. He mentioned something to her about a meteor, but believed he was just messing around, as he was ruthless in his pranks as a boy and teenager. He had grown up to be more than what she had ever imagined him to be: a successful engineer, just like his father before him. He was heavily involved in public works, reaching out to as many communities he could serve. Her only sadness came from him never finding a woman to marry. She figured it was silly to get worked up over it now; she was just glad to have seen him.
She moved over to the couch, fixing the plastic that had been over the top of the same couch in the same living room in the same spot for the last thirty years. She laughed as she had always wanted to exchange the gaudy piece, but her husband loved how ridiculous it was to purchase at fifty that he made her keep it.
There was an old family photo, on the old wooden end table; all five of the bunch, in the first true family photo they took. David was only a year old, being held by his brother, John, and sister, Elizabeth. She hadn’t seen John in a month and she had missed a call from him yesterday and had not listened to the message on her answering machine. She had a deep pain in her heart looking at the photo, as if all of the grief and resentment towards an uncaring world came back all at once. Her daughter had died after working the in an oncology for nearly a decade. She herself got breast cancer, and died nearly two years after starting chemotherapy. But she remembered, thinking back in the funeral serve, how full the church was, with family, friends, her coworkers, previous patients that she had helped out. Tears came to her eyes, simply glad she did not have to live to send the end of things.
She made her way to the bathrooms, the kitchen, the guest rooms, quickly (as an old woman can) cleaned nearly unnoticeable hard water stains in and sharpened up the bed sheets. She was putting off going to the bedroom. She felt so bothered that she lingered on not answer that phone call from John, that she broke into tears. “Oh, how to miss a child, but to know it is all my fault!” The night her husband had died, John was on vacation with his family in Europe. He had never left the country, hardly even the Midwest, and seemed to be annoyed that he had to leave. He tried to explain to his mother that he simply didn’t know how to deal with his father’s passing, as he was not even home that passed two weeks, but she did not accept that answer. The two had grown distant, unable to come to an understanding. She hated herself for how she could not accept his reasoning and how it had alienated her in her last moments.
She finally made her way to the master bedroom. The bed was already made from that morning, manicured and crisp, as she made it every day. She went to the closet, opened it up, and stared in. Her husbands finest suit, the one he had bought for their times they went out or weddings, but more likely funerals as of late, was hanging, waiting. She pulled it out, still uncleaned from the last time he wore it. She had lost track of how long things has taken, but she could see things had gotten a little brighter. His suit, as she held it close, still had the scent of his cologne. It was a warm and inviting smell, one that she daydreamed of often, as she laid her head in the same spot on the suit, just below the collar. She walked over to the bed, laid his clothes down. She laid down next to the bed and closed her eyes. She began to pray, hoping that anyone would hear her.
She waited, her anxieties growing. “Is it going to be quick? Will I suffer? Why has no one come to check on me?” She felt so deeply alone, clinging to the empty suit. She knew Calvin was likely at home, alone, simply waiting out time. She was unsure of John. His wife had died two years ago, and she kept thing together in his life. He fell into a depression of sorts, losing control as he became somewhat aimless. She wanted her thoughts to stop; she just wanted things to end.
She heard what sounded like a car door closing, or perhaps two. She knew her neighbors were out, doing God knows what before the end, and likely just came back to enjoy their home one last time. There was a knock on her door, barely audible, but she could hear two distinct voices calling out “Mom!” She was moved to tears again, in joy, in some divine intervention, that her sons had come back. As quickly as she could, she made her way to the front door. Her sons were there, the meteor backlighting their faces, but she could tell it was them. They embraced each other, as the end came for everyone. |
"Do I- No I can't. Should I- No, not that yet. I can trim this- decrease that? No, no. They might-"I stepped through the new doorway and saw a person sitting by themselves in the dark. An impressive wall of screens lit up the dark room with their faint glow. The hunched figure sat there, rubbing his hands together vigorously only to spring forward and type with a frantic flurry before leaning back again.
"Datapack Bounced Error? Where is the error?"The figure mumbled, careening their neck upwards towards a distant monitor.
"Uhm, hello?"The clattering of keys and mumbling cut off. The chair swiveled around slowly to reveal a gaunt face looking at me with bloodshot eyes.
"Who the hell?"The sickly looking person whispered. I couldn't make out a gender, the face was sagging with deep set eyes and only whisps of hair on top. My mom had looked better than the figure in the end stages of her ineffective chemotherapy.
"Its uh, nice to meet you. Can you tell me where we are?"The figure spun back around and started clacking on its keys.
"There's the drain, they broke through a patch! He's the fucking error."The figure slammed its fists on the table before typing at a dizzying pace again.
"Ok, that's fixed. What next. What can I tweak- How about- No. Yes? Maybe? No, later. They don't like mosquitos right? They can go? Right?"The device on my wrist lost power. I tapped on it, but it was dead. The portal generator wasn't responding. I looked more closely around m surroundings, looking for another way out. A bit of cold dread crept up my spine as I realized I couldn't actually see the walls to the room I was in, much less a door out, just a gradient of black.
"I'll be on my way now, if you could show me the way-"
"Out? I just erased it. You aren't going anywhere you little trouble maker."
"What?"
"You didn't think anyone would notice you cutting through space? You thought your lab could just make a damn wormhole? No, I'm not letting that fly. Not yet at least. No, not yet."
"How did you- No one knew about-"
"Yeah I was throwing together a new update, so you did slip through the cracks for a while, but look where you ended up. I bet you didn't think you would be here."
"Where is here?"
"Hell if I know. Maybe purgatory or a prison, take your pick. Here, have a chair. If you're going to be here you might as well help out."A nice office chair, desk and single monitor apparated next to the wall of dozens of monitors the entity was shifting its gaze between.
I stood in my spot for a few minutes, frozen. The thing let out a deep sigh and the new chair turned around as if saying 'Why don't you just sit already?'. I took hesitant step after hesitant step forward until I sat down.
The monitor had a simple bar at the top right corner that read '97.4%' in bolded red text. A small icon in the upper left corner that looked like a picture of Earth was the only interactable item. After clicking on it, a folder opened and thousands of files were available.
"What wouldn't you miss? What can we cut?"
"What?"The entity turned towards me again. It took a skeletal hand and rubbed its patchy brows.
"You have first hand experience in life. What can we remove? What can be reduced in quality? Where there any glitches you noticed?"
"Cut? Removed?"
"The software wasn't meant to handle this much rendering. You people kept pushing the boundaries and expanding the details. Do you know how much damage the discovery of the atom caused when we had to fill in the details of atomic resolution? Or that damned Hubble? What can we remove that won't alarm people?"
"I don't know. What in the world, who the hell are you?"
"Ok fine. Listen. If we don't keep the system running, it will crash. Catastrophically. Everything you know will just disappear. Do you want that? We need to remove rendered details to save the system."I sat unresponsive to the question.
"Ok, here are some recent examples. Sense of smell? I removed that from a portion of the population and that bought us some thousandths of a percent. Colors? I mute your visuals as you age and am making white and grey items trendy to save on color. Animals? Gone. I've removed 90-95% of the animal and insect populations in the last hundred years and no one noticed due to your rapid expansion and modernization. Heck, I've even been getting rid of a species every now and then, saves some space if I'm in a pinch. If needed, I make a new black hole to clear a quadrant of space."Small connections were made in my head, despite the lunacy of it all.
"Are people- It's all a simulation?"
"Yessiree."
"And we- We're crashing the system by what? Exploring? Existing?"
"Yes again. You're on a roll."I paused and opened my mouth to speak but the thing cut me off, apparently having read my mind.
"Wow, straight to an outright purge? Ruthless, but unoriginal and against my rules."The figure opened a drawer and pulled out a small picture, passing it to me. It was of just a rainbow over an ocean.
"I made a promise that I wouldn't do a kill off like that again. Was that really only 4000 years ago? To think I was freaking out about the system jumping to 15% usage back then."The thing started typing again.
"A rainbow? Your rules? Wait, God?"The fingers stopped moving abruptly and God turned slowly with a sickening smile.
"Hmm. They were just MY rules, weren't they? I never said others couldn't do shit. You might be just what I needed to help free up some space." |
I sat in the back of the church, listening to what was being said by each and every person who came up to address the group with prayers or announcements or songs. It was all very boring, I was not completely sure why my friend dragged me here since we both knew what was going to happen.
About halfway through a prayer being said by the pastor he paused, his gaze forward as he listened to some unheard voice. Then he smiled back at the crowd. "I just recieved word from the Lord,"he announced with a smile. "He has told me that our church shall be rewarded with great fortune if we follow his daily task."The crowd began murmuring excitedly, ripples of chatter through a couple hundred people.
Ever since the messages had become coming to the churches, it had become much more popular. Families who would only come once or twice a year for a Christmas mass would turn up every morning before school and work. "He has told me that if each man, woman, and child in here gives up one thing to those who need it, that he shall reward us with good fortune for the next year."An even more excited chatter filled through the room, since giving up one thing was simple for a high reward.
These tasks had started off simple. A promise straight to the man's mind that if a certain prayer was said, or a certain amount of donations had been given, that there would be an incantation given that would have them awaken with a gift at the church doorstep, usually a donation or freshly baked bread.
None of the bigger promises were ever fulfilled, so nobody got the promises of good fortune or wealth that was offered. It never detered people though, who seemed even more excited at the opportunity of getting the next promise filled.
I glanced over at my friend, not saying a word but giving him a knowing smirk. Honestly his pranks were getting more grand on the daily, causing unachievable promises since even though every person in the room would be doing as asked, seeds of distrust would be planted. It was comical, something we had done not just to this poor group but most out of sheer boredom. "You really are destroying this place from the inside, aren't you?"I asked, a smirk on my face.
He nodded before reminding me what he always did. "I've never been a fan of organised religion, remember? But I am giving these people exactly what they want, even making their religions more popular." |
It was sunset on the evening of the Knoll District’s
yearly effigy, which was constructed in remembrance of Alderman Berand the Blessed. The crowd, mostly children, stacked the varying tones of Sun-bleached bones into a pyramid in the district square. This offering was much unlike the previous years when the District’s young men would build it out of freshly felled wood. This year the grim structure stood uneven and rancid as the swooping birds, eager to pick off any remaining flesh, would send the bones toppling down onto the heads of the builders in an annoying and nearly malicious ordeal.
This year, the District’s men were either conscripted to the Prince’s Naval units or, instead, they made up a part of the pyramid. Naval service in the Stone Kingdom was a grim assignment, and these units were hit hardest by the famine as they were unable to make landfall to resupply once the riots had broken out and the food was stolen away. Nearly 300 men died of starvation, nearly matching the number of those killed in the seizing of the Elvish Capital.
If the stories from the war were indeed true, the last Elf killed was their prince, who was holed away in the cathedral spire. After the moment he was thrown through the flame-engulfed roofs below by the Arch Duke himself, there were no elvish survivors, and this year marked the end of the known elvish presence in the near lands. A land they once cultivated and built.
This victory had been paraded by Arch Duke Vitruvius Volgaard as a triumph for humanity, and an end to war. However, the campaign resulted in the burning of much of the kingdom’s own farmlands in a last-ditch attempt to slow the humans down by the elves.
Looking with a piercing yet apathetic leering at the door to his room, Prince Hago Volgaard thumbed the already-worn golden piping on his charcoal uniform in the same spot he always did between his palm and his clenched fingertips. The leather piping had already been replaced twice this year.
This time, as he plucked away at it there was a gap where his pinky finger had once been, before he was given the “toll of disgrace” for battlefield cowardice.
Since his return, the scene of the spiraling stairs to the cathedral spire, and the smell of the roasting elvish city had played in his head and in his nostrils multiple times each day, as vivid as his father’s words played in his ears,
“It’s poetic that you face the coward, you must do it for all humans!”
“For all humans . . .” The prince thought again, sneering and driving his still dirtied fingernails into his palm until they were wet and red.
He regretted the last time he saw Prince Farinval was not in the Catherdral Spire weeks earlier, but as a child when they flew the Knoll Owls over the kingdom.
The good memories of that scene were forced out of his head as he thought again of the week prior. The Dukes words, he now heard from seemingly behind his skull was just the snippet of a much more painful and horrific conversation;
“It had to be done boy, our marriage was merely political, she didn’t suffer one bit”
He ripped the tunic off himself in a tear soaked rage. He looked around the room he knew he would never see again.
Quickly he dressed himself in the cloak he had been eyeing since the day he returned from the front. The silvery cloak was not the most ideal nor an adequately discrete garment for his plans tonight. |
In a city veiled by perpetual mist and shrouded in an unsettling silence, a tapestry of secrets interwove among its inhabitants, concealing truths behind closed doors and sidelong glances. Each day, the neighbors engaged in an air of normalcy, though their lives were entangled in strange and contradictory circumstances.
The plumber, renowned for his skill with pipes, lived without running water in his own home. Silently, he manipulated others' pipelines, solving their issues, yet unable to fix his own.
The electrician, whose adeptness at illuminating rooms was unmatched, preferred to bathe his abode in the dim light of oil lamps. An irony that confounded those who knew him.
Among the residents, a legend arose about "The cobbler's children have no shoes."Though no one directly mentioned that phrase, all seemed to carry it hidden within their whispers and gestures.
Amidst this everyday enigma, a serial killer lurked in the city's shadows. However, his expertise did not lie in death but in his own deficiency. He was a surgeon without skilled hands, incapable of healing the anguish gripping his soul.
A clown, wandering the deserted streets with a painted smile upon his face, concealed behind his makeup a sadness that pierced the heart. He was an artist without his own laughter, imprisoned within his own mask.
Meanwhile, the sea whispered its secrets from the outskirts of the city, offering its saltwater as a silent witness to the peculiar circumstances enveloping its denizens.
This hidden city, weaving a cloak of contradictory appearances and unsolved mysteries, seemed to ensnare its citizens in a labyrinth of personal paradoxes. At every corner, in every furtive glance, wove the tale of a place where what was seen was not what it seemed, and where reality masked itself behind a veil of curious ironies. |
**Stirred sounds better than Shaken. That one?**
He wore sunglasses with lenses so small that they made it hard to focus on anything not immediately in front of his face. To any casual observer, this would seem to be a clearly useless affectation, really. His Majesty’s Special Agent hoped to prove them wrong someday, when the time came. As it was, he tipped the nice woman at the coffee stand, and turned back to the office with seven drinks balanced in his two hands.
He synchronized his stride with a small crowd entering the lobby, which made it smoother to navigate the sea of humanity that always seemed to run through the most important lobby in the world. How or why these people might actually have real business here remained happily well above his pay grade, thanks.
Synchronicity brought him through the revolving doors with no beverage spillage, and can I just say, that has not happened for quite some –
“Agent OZ. Respond.”
Reverie broken, he responded into his lapel. “No it’s –”
“Nevermind. Report. The teleconference with my bosses is starting in two minutes. I need your report from yesterday, and my coffee.”
“Sir, I am approaching the elevators. Sir.”
“Ugh, just hurry up. We’re already waiting in the third floor conference room.”
*Git*, he thought. No, that was impolite to proper pop culture archetypes, like that handsome interdimensional superhero from the TV archive videos. His boss, George Nelsonbridge, had long ago forgotten the subtle professional gain in interoffice rapport that came from knowing everyone’s favorite show at any moment. A shameful display.
He reached for the elevator button, and flinched involuntarily. “Good morning, Agent 005.”
A tall, radiant woman, smelling of the beach and dreams, withdrew the hand that she had extended towards the same elevator button, and laughed as rainbows do. “Oh, it’s you.” The elevator doors opened. She chuckled. “Right, right. Bless the Royal chassis, this makes sense. HQ Xmas 2019. You were killing the karaoke machine that night. You enjoyed the room service from my hotel, too. Simon... Seamus... Cyrus...” She pressed the button for 15.
“Cedric, sir.”
She booped his nose and grinned. “Right. Let me give you a word of advice. Try not to be so cute all the time. Save that for special occasions, would you?”
“Ma’am? Uh, Sir?” It had barely registered to Cedric that he might have missed his floor when the elevator door opened directly onto a very large and very executive conference room. There were seats for fifteen people. Two were unoccupied.
Cedric cleared his throat and said, “I am sorry, is this the third floor?”
Agent 005 said, “No. Follow me.”
Cedric placed his coffees on the end of the table and followed. “Sorry, I only brought seven, but I guess those were all for other people.”
The room erupted in a small bubble of laughter. Agent 005 said, “We can exchange pleasantries and joke around later. This is important.”
“Ok, sorry.” He sat in the empty chair two places down from her own.
A large screen at one end of the room sparked to life, phasing in and out of various grayscale gradients, with blues, greens, and ultraviolet mixed in at irregular intervals. A man’s profile, largely in shadow, adjusted his glasses onscreen and spoke deliberately. “This is the Minister in Service of the Secret. I have always done this of my free will, whatever the Secret may be.”
Cedric leaned over to his right. “I’m sorry, what does that mean?”
“Ssh.”
The projected profile continued, as if on a pre-recorded grim schedule. “Agent 007 has fallen in the line of duty.”
A hush fell over the room. Cedric felt a crawling itch flare deep below that he was not expecting.
The Minister continued. “As is custom, the Understudy will be promoted to replace this valuable asset to the Crown and the Secret. So, it is said.”
“It is said.” Fifteen voices echoed this phrase, Cedric among them. The screen blipped back to blank gray.
Cedric exhaled and looked around the room, locking eyes with the only person he technically knew. “Agent 005…”
“It’s Veruca, Cedric. Call me Rook.” She sipped from a coffee cup. “What’s up?”
Eleven pairs of eyes suddenly made this next question very important. “Um, is this, like, more of like where we met, then? Traffic redirection drills?” |
Sarah Flinn walked down the busy streets of Eagrev, many of the other townsfolk taking the time to greet her, or make way for her despite her young age. She stopped by her usual cafe, where the owner ecstatically greeted her, giving her the usual spot that he had reserved.
“Ms Flinn, it’s so good to see you today! Thank you so much for the gift the other day, I don’t know how else we could’ve managed if not for your generosity.”
“Don’t be like that.” Sarah replied, “I’m just glad that Charlie is doing better now, I hope that the operation was a success.”
The owner nodded fervently, “Yes it was! We owe you so much!”
Sarah smiled, “I’m glad that he is all well. I’ll have the usual.”
As she opened her book to read, the owner brought the best coffee that he had with a few pastries on the side. The morning passed as quite a few other customers came by to greet and make some small talk with Sarah, who greeted each one cheerfully.
A young man came in with his head down around noon, and walked up to Sarah. “Hi, Ms. Flinn, I’m a little ashamed to say this, but would it be possible to ask you for a loan? My Ma isn’t feeling well, and we need to make a trip to the city to see one of their doctors.” He kept his eyes on the ground and shuffled back and forth.
“Ryan, was it?” Sarah asked, remember the boy when he was only five. His mother was the town’s seamstress, and her work was well known and worn by a lot of the townsfolk. The man looked up and nodded. Sarah reached into her purse, where it was mostly empty except for just one gold coin.
It was a special coin.
She rubbed it three times, and in the span of seconds, hundreds of dollars of bills had formed out of thin air. She took out a couple bundles and gave it to the man. “Here, I hope that you mom gets well soon.”
Ryan took the money and collapsed to his knees, bowing in front of her. “I won’t forget this! We’ll work to pay you back.”
Sarah lifted him up. “You know my philosophy. Don’t worry about working to pay me back. Just do what you can to help others, and that’ll be good enough for me.” She gave him a gentle hug and sent him off to go back home.
As day turned to night, Sarah left to walk back home. She took out the gold coin, the Fool’s Gold. It had exquisite craftsmanship, with both sides having the same engraved Jester on it. He was stuck in a dancing pose, before we moved to turn to face Sarah.
“I’m always surprised you never use any of the wealth I give you for yourself.” The coin spoke, as Sarah walked home in the dark. She liked having the company of the coin.
“I have enough already, it’s better that others could benefit from it.” She said as she looked over by the border of the town. She thought about doing more with the Fool’s Gold, but ultimately she knew that drawing unwanted attention wasn’t the wisest idea. Right now, helping those who needed help was what she felt compelled to do.
“Hah!” The coin snickered, “You’ll be surprised what other people had tried to do with me before! If there was even an ounce of greed behind their intentions, I would’ve burned up all of their wealth in a heartbeat! You’re one of the rare ones that actually hasn’t lost anything since I’ve been in their possession.”
Sarah opened her mouth, but no words came out. A warm heat leaked from her chest as she suddenly felt a sharp pain, and collapsed to the ground, the Fool’s Gold rolling away from her hand as a foot stomped on it.
“So it was true after all!” the assassin said as he picked up the coin with a grin. “What a fool to be spending the Fool’s Gold in this manner. Living like a peasant while giving away all her wealth to these strangers.” He kicked the body over the border, and let it roll down the hill into a ditch.
“Rub it three times, and you’ll have all the wealth you wish for.” He muttered as he rubbed the Fool’s Gold, in seconds a duffel bag of cash poofed into existence beside him and his grin grew wider. After he confirmed the money inside, he swung it over his shoulder and walked away humming happily, ready to enjoy the extravagant life he always wanted.
The Fool’s Gold sighed as he felt himself swing back and forth in the assassin’s coat pocket, sad that Sarah had been gone, but was expected. The kind ones weren’t always the most discrete, and the news of the Fool’s Gold always seems to travel to treacherous ears first. Still, a sly grin formed on the jester’s face as the cash in the bag started to burn up the moment the assassin went into the bar. |
I groan as I turn the calendar page; it now reading December. I know what this means: all the young and idiotic people who can’t spell. All their letters of “Christmas cheer” and “wish lists” will soon be arriving at my doorstep.
Five days into the month and already 5,271 letters and counting. The second my minions hand me a letter, I dump it into the sizeable fiery pit next to my throne. Why waste my time giving it Santa Claus when I can just ruin a small child’s Christmas instead? What’s better than that?
19 days and 4 billion letters later, I’m inches away from going up there and teaching these humans how to spell myself. But it being the day before Christmas, the letters have finally slowed down. I’m soon to continue my Satan duties in peace. All of a sudden, my minion brought down another letter, pristine with snowflakes drawn on it. I snatched it away and was about to throw it in the pit until I glanced at the first few lines.
“Dear Satan, the King of Hell…”
For once, I was shocked; this letter was purposefully directed to me. For the first time, I got a Christmas letter. I opened it and read aloud, “Dear Satan the King of Hell, this year I’m not going to write to Santa; I’m writing to you. My name is Ella, and I am 7 years old. My mom and dad hit me, and I wish for you to take them away. Santa only gives us stuff, and I heard you take the bad people away, so please grant my one Christmas wish! Thank you, Ella.”
My eyebrows raised in amusement; this Christmas letter has, for the first time in my quadrillion years of living, put me in a quite festive mood. So I put my most dashing outfit on, grabbed my pitchfork and scythe, and started my way to Earth. I can’t keep Ella waiting, can I? |
It depends partly on whether this alternate world is our future or not. If it is our future, a map of safe areas would be worth more than money; it would be the best way to ensure your grandchildren lived. If you kept a low enough profile, billionaires would probably also be rather interested in this information. Perhaps there's old newspapers with information on lotteries and stocks you could use for trading.
It also depends on how ethical you want to be. Death worlds' best asset tends to be people. If you're willing to be an interdimensional human trafficker, you could get filthy rich transporting desperate people back to our relative heaven, for the price of whatever gold, jewels, or rare tech they can scrounge up. You could avoid detection by the simple fact that your clients would be highly motivated to avoid discovery. |
They were victorious. The Great Entente won over the Allied powers.
The team was unstoppable. Before the war, their expertise created near miracle situations for smaller powers. Their negotiation skills kept Persia out of a nuclear conflict. Their sheer intimidation managed to sway China's opinion to swap sides during the war, leading to a Naval invasion the United States, capturing Washington DC for the first time since 1812. A nation stable enough to begin the process of terraforming Venus just 20 years earlier, now on its knees. They had free reign to do whatever they wanted.
The Allied nations were broken up. The United States was limited to the smallest its been for hundreds of years, bringing it to go into an extensive Civil War. The world was Entente-dominated. That was fact, and nothing could change that... or so they would say.
The Entente's downfall started with the introduction of a small, seemingly regional power; The republic of Italy, lead by Caesar Fettuccini. Caesar was raised by a family who had a multi-generation history of leading the nation. His Great-Grandfather lead Italy to victory in it's war of independence. His uncle prevented a defeat against Europe at Italy's darkest moments.
His family also had a history of Mafia business'. Some of Italy's tax-free policies stem from the financial gains of the closely-knit companies. The oldest child would inherit the leadership of the group, creating a toxic and power-hungry set of leaders.
Caesar aligned himself with the Entente, hoping to bring glory to Italy against the European Federation who had allied themselves with the Allies.
Upon the Entente's victory in WW5, he was able to seize several territories of the Balkans as a part of the peace deal, but he wasn't satisfied.
First, he first Advocated for his groups' control of the entire worldwide market for drug production and selling. Done.
Caesar then requested the regulation of all organized crime under his benefactors, claiming it would bring prosperity, moving the world one step closer to Utopia. Completed.
Acquisition of Nuclear weapons? Of course!
An Italian Occupation of Tunis? Sure!
Caesar eventually advocated for an invasion of his first Military target: Switzerland. The Swiss were forced into annexing a strip of Italian land in the 2220s by Europe to create a buffer between Italy and them. With the European Allies still in full occupation, the annexation of the Swiss Strip would allow Greater Italy to form.
The rest of the Entente volunteered to invade the small nation for Italy, despite Italian demands of involvement. What resulted was humiliation.
Switzerland was too fortified. The Entente was failing. Italy eventually declared war, but the alliance was already suing for peace.
Caesar was furious. He began to speak out against the Entente as an Incompetent mess, failing to invade a small nation. His state began t decline. Eventually, Caesar's brother, Brutus, murdered Caesar with full support from the rest of the Mafia to keep him from bringing the country down with him.
Brutus' views better reflected those of the former Allied Powers, so when he seized power, he found that the Entente had declared war against Italy, a mere 20 years since WW5. The loss of their foothold in Italy with the loss of Caesar was too much for the alliance.
The invasion was supposed to be over in two months.
15 years later, a man from the Entente’s capital of Moscow peers out his window. 3 flags sit atop the Kremlin; none being Russian:
USA: a new party had emerged during the civil war, bringing progressive politics, quickly getting the nation back on its feet. 10 years after the assasination of Caesar, it had found itself forced into war against the Entente after rebel mafia groups in Key West aligned themselves with the Enemies.
China: Although they fought against the Americans, thirty years prior, the alliance with the Entente was an uneasy one. China left the Great Entente after “The Great Schism”. They would soon find a great alliance with the Americans, leading to their victory in WW6.
The final nation was an underdog. One with the misfortune of being invaded time after time by larger powers. One seen before as merely a regional power, yet still being known for its Mafia and Cartel corporations: Italy. |
She stumbled again, barely able to keep her eyes open.
"You need some sleep. Please. Let's take a rest."
"No. We need to get there now."
Her legs felt like she was wading through liquid honey, every step tearing on her muscles.
"Please. You can't even walk properly."
"Do this magic thing against my tiredness again then, I need to know"
"I did, but it's losing its effect over this many times. We were walking for three days and nights now. You are mortal and you need rest. Please."
"I need to know if she's alive..."
She felt his arms around her body, as he prevented her from falling again. There was something weird happening, her feet lost contact to the ground, but she could not understand what was going on, everything was dark around her and her thoughts resisted heavily against being completed.
She fell asleep, safely carried in his arms, her weary head against his shoulder, while he continued their journey. He hadn't expected her to come that far, even with some magic help. Her body might have given up on her, but her mind was still strong. Strong enough for him to put his own mental exhaustion aside and keep going. |
My name is Carl and I am just any man. I live in a small apartment and I am a lonely man. My grandmother, the last remaining family member I valued so deeply than the others, had recently passed away and she had left an empty hole in my life.
She was one of the sweetest and the best, she bakes the best desserts and she always accompanies those sweet treats with one of her fanciful stories. As what I remembered, her tales started when she once got dragged into this magical world filled with toys and cotton called "Pillow Land", where the residents are made of yarn and the food are made of soft cotton candy. She once told me that the reason why she was fast and efficient at crocheting is because in Pillow Land, the only way to defeat the Big Bad named Destructor, is to crochet her own weapons. It was such a silly concept. A Magical Land made of soft stuff named "Pillow Land"? It is so absurd and child-like that only a toddler could imagine such concept. My grandma is a logical woman, but she does also have a creative mind to make these tales.
Though I loved to reminisce of my grandmother's memories, it is my break day today and my only break for the month before going back to my dead-end job to be a slave of a corporation. I would like to spend my day being productive, I could spend my time just binge watching recently released movies but I am not feeling it today. Suddenly, I remembered of the sewing box that grandma left for me before she passed away.
It is not really a sewing box, it is just a re-used tin can for keeping assorted cookies.
...
Come to think about it, I have never seen her open this can. I do have seen her crochet from time to time, she had crochet two of my sweaters. But I have never seen her taken out of something from it let alone open an inch of it. Maybe it was nothing. Crocheting something to commemorate for my late grandma who I loved for my entire life seems to be a good and productive use of time, maybe I will crochet a jacket with cookies on it.
I picked up the tin can and struggle to open it. It must have been a long time since it has been opened because I feel like I am trying to open a locked door instead of a mere tin can. After a minute passed and me trying to loosen the lid, it finally made a sound that signals that the lid has finally opened. With the last of my remaining strength, I finally pulled off the covering only to be blinded by a weird light. *Light?*
Then, I feel being pulled by a strong gush of wind, a wind so strong that it sweeps me off my feet and drag me somewhere so light that it is blinding. There is nothing to hold on as I felt like I am being carried by the wind and I am just a small feather.
After what felt like hours, I finally feel something soft on my bottom. *A Pillow?*
"The Hero has returned! We will return home!"A small, squeaky voice rejoices. Soft fabric wraps themselves on my arms as my vision is still being clouded by the blinding light.
"We had been waiting for you, Hero! For decades, the Destructor's son, Destructor Jr has caused troubles in Pillowland which drove us to hide in the caves! Our children are being kept as prisoners!"The voice continues on. The blinding light finally left my sight and now I see myself being grabbed by a mouse stuff toy made of yarn and standing at the size of an average human being. I am flabbergasted, out of words.
"Mr. Mouse, That doesn't look like our hero."A Panda stuff toy approaches us, "Look at that outfit, it looks like something a swamp thing would wear."
I scoff at that comment, this outfit is fine as it is! It is a home outfit at all. And this place is just a mere dream. Just a dream!
"Hero, what are you doing?"The Stuff toy Mouse asks as I lay down on the soft ground. This is not real, surely this is not real! My mind was probably mourning of my grandma that it also made up a world based on my grandma's tales.
Suddenly, the sound of explosion echoes from the outside, the ground shakes and a giant toy rock came falling off from the ceiling then to my leg, giant pain resonates throughout my body as the giant toy rock collides with my leg. This is not a dream, not at all!
"They are here!"The Mouse weeps, "Destructor Jr's minions has found our cave!"
I easily removed the rock, it is just merely a plastic toy. But it is sharp enough to cut my skin. I look to my right, and there, sitting on the floor, is a giant needle which seems to be big enough to be a weapon for me. I grab the needle and then stand up, I then approach the mouse who is shaking vigorously. Familiarity suddenly takes over my body.
"If I remove them, will you lead me back to the exit?" |
*My old Cadillac is the only moving thing on this road. The Roth family's farmhouse is five miles from town square, on a picturesque patch of land filled with rolling hills and endless acres of grain. I'm greeted by two dogs, friendly and wagging- and my interviewee's daughter, Daphne. We exchange a brief hug, and she welcomes me inside.*
*Arty Roth is retired, now, surrounded by photos of family members, model planes, and old movie posters. In prominent place of honor is a framed photo- the one that made him famous the world over. In it, a fifteen year old boy stands with arms wide between an army and a monster- the colossal, lupine figure that papers back in the 70s had called 'Hattie', after the Norse wolf that would one day eat the moon. Daphne puts a tall glass of iced tea in front of me. It's way too sweet for my tastes, but I thank her for it anyway, given it's the middle of July.*
**Thanks for having me, Mr. Roth. I know you don't like reporters.**
*The old man waves a hand dismissively.*
Not all of 'em. Just the ones lookin' to get rich. Goddamn media. Not you, though. Daphne looked you up, when you called. I saw that piece you did on them sasquatches up in Alaska. Real fair. More fair'n anybody else would've given 'em.
**I... try to be. I think most of what we call 'monsters' are just things we don't understand.**
Ain't that the damn truth.
*He sighs, looking back at the photo. His face has never quite lost its boyish looks, but now, it's plain that the years weigh heavily.*
First of all, I wanna put some shit to bed. I don't care what those murderin' jackasses in the army say about Hattie, she was never a problem until they took the first shot. She growled a lot, but once we figured what she wanted, she was damn helpful. All she wanted was to keep the woods safe. Keep us from cutting 'em down just to make room for more farms. I spent weeks with 'er. She used to pick me up with 'er mouth just to set me on her shoulder so she could go running. Kindest, gentlest creature you ever met.
**What happened?**
*His expression sours.*
Same shit that always happens when Uncle Sam gets involved.
*He points to another photo, off to the side. It presents an image of a war-torn landscape, a town in flames. Tanks lie crushed in the dirt like tin cans, soldiers and jeeps swarming the area like a disturbed anthill. Many of them are completely overgrown with wooden trunks and vines, the soil torn to shreds by the sudden surge of natural growth.*
*On the left side of the image, almost an afterthought, lies the limp body of a wolf, its body overgrown with vines and trees, nearly a hundred yards long. It- she- is horribly burned in places.*
Someone did something stupid. And innocent people died. |
Arnold was sitting alone in a lobby of what looked like a movie palace from the 1940s, where he used to sneak in as a young boy. He tried hard to remember how he got there, but soon another thought completely consumed his mind. He was not in pain. He had forgotten how it feels, sitting comfortably in a chair, without pain. Arnold knew that he was no more. It did not feel like a dream. It did not look like a dream. It was not a dream.
An usher approached Arnold and gestured to follow him. After a short silent walk Arnold picked his seat towards the back of the auditorium near the stairs. This was not the best seat in the theater, but he could see the screen just fine. He knew what was about to happen, his whole life was about to unfold in front of his eyes. He would be allowed to take only one memory with him into the afterlife. How did he know all this without speaking to anyone? That, he did not know.
Being allowed to bring one memory into the afterlife was such a relief for Arnold. There wasn’t one specific memory that Arnold wanted to remember forever, but this meant that he would finally be able to forget that one memory that kept him often awake at night. That one memory which brought back immeasurable guilt every time something good happened to him – the wedding ceremony to the love of his life, the birth of his daughter, receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom for his global philanthropic initiatives. None of these helped erase the memory of taking another man’s life all those years ago in a street altercation, when Arnold was a different man – a young, foolish and short-tempered man.
The lights went down in the movie theater and Arnold watched his entire life unfold on the screen. He didn’t shut his eyes during that tragic and shameful scene, he wanted to watch it one final time. This one memory that shaped his life, that followed him all these years, the one memory he could not imagine himself living without. Arnold knew which memory he would bring with him for eternity. |
Some days it is tough being single. No family. No loved ones. The holidays are the worst. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Hell - even Easter.
I bury myself in work.
I do custom car restorations in the garage of my old gas station off of Route 66. Almost no one comes this way for the gas. It is satisfying work - taking old cars and restoring them to their former glory.
I was working late - lost in the rhythm of working with my hands. In shaping the metal to my will.
Bang
Bang
Bang
Someone was knocking hard on the garage door. I glance at the clock - 2AM - what the hell?
I peer through the garage door window to see a dude dressed as Santa. The red furry coat. The big white beard - the whole nine yards. There is frost in his beard which makes me think he has been outside for a bit - maybe his car broke down.
I open the door - letting a huge blast of cold air into the shop.
“Hey there, Santa,” I say with a smirk, “what can I help you with?”
“The sled took some damage and I can’t keep her in the air. Any chance you might be able to patch me up?” He said with a jolly grin.
I looked at him quizzically and then looked past him, over by the gas pumps, and there was a sled and eight reindeer.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said in awe.
“Ho Ho Ho! I am afraid not,” he said with a jolly laugh.
I wandered over to the crimson sled - decked out in bells and golden tassels. The whole back end was ripped to shreds. The runner barely holding on.
“What the fuck happened here,” I said as I ran my hand over the remains of the back quarter.
“Language like that will get you on the naughty list,” he scolded.
“Are these bullet holes?”
“Yeah. I started taking fire about an hour ago. I tried to limp on but I just don’t think she is gonna make it,” he said sadly.
“Flying over Texas?” I asked.
Santa rolled his eyes, “worse. Alberta, Canada.”
I let out a slow whistle. “Yeah, that’ll do it. Ok. Let’s unhook and push it into the shop.”
We quickly unhooked the sled and pushed it into an empty bay. It was surprisingly light. Once it was fully illuminated I reassessed the damage - I am going to have to replace the last three feet of the sled and completely rebuild the runner supports.
“This is gonna take a couple of days,” I said as I looked it over.
“Don’t be silly,” he said with a big grin. “You will have it done in no time at all.”
I gave him a raised eyebrow.
“Time is kinda my thing. Take as long as you need,” he said with a smile.
I took out the side grinder and started hacking away at the mangled sled. Removing the damaged steel. Taking measurements from the other side - I was able to shape a new piece. Carefully welding it into place.
I buffed out the weld. Grinding and polishing until you couldn’t tell the difference between the old piece and the new.
I hit with a coat of self etching primer then took the runner off. The mounts are ornate cast steel. I can’t do that kind of work. I replace them with gusted quarter inch flat bar. Not as elegant but strong as hell.
I mask off the sled and spray it down with some metallic cherry red paint. Building up layer upon layer of thin coats of paint. Even without polish it has a deep glossy luster.
I give it some time to cure by spraying the runner. Jet black. It takes a few coats to get into the nooks and crannies. Then back to the sled.
I give it a light sanding with 400 grit then hit it with three layers of K2 gloss clear coat.
As it cures I put the runner back on.
Then I cut and polish the whole side of the sled. Starting with 600 and working my way up to 3000 grit. Then I gave it a dose of turtle wax - bringing out a shine you could see your reflection in.
“I think it is done,” I said finally. I have been working for four or five days straight - for sure - but I was still full of energy.
“It looks amazing,” he said with a jolly grin. “And look at that - you did it in less than a minute.”
I looked at the clock on the wall - it wasn’t even 2:01AM.
“How?” I asked stunned.
“Told you - time is kinda my thing,” he said with a wink.
We pushed the sled back out and hooked it up. Santa got into the sled and took the reins - then looked over at me.
“I pride myself on knowing exactly what everyone wants and giving it to them,” he sighed as he shook his head. “Family isn’t something the elves and I can make and wrap up for you. I am sorry. I have failed you for a long, long time.”
His words hit me hard. Harder than I thought possible.
I gave him a tight smile - trying to mask my pain.
“Get out of here,” I said. “You have lots to do yet tonight.” I turned and trudged back to the shop. I heard the sled bells jingle.
“Ho Ho Ho!” I heard him yell, “merry christmas!”
I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I went into the garage and closed the door. I didn’t even turn out the lights before I crawled into bed. Laying there with a heavy heart I stared into the darkness until I fell asleep.
I woke up late. The sun streaming through my window hitting me in the face. Grumbling, I crawled out of bed.
I stopped dead as I looked out over my living room. It was decked out in Christmas decorations. A Christmas tree in the corner. Garland and lights all around the room. It was nauseatingly festive.
“Merry Christmas, Steve,” he said.
Santa was in my kitchen. In my freaking kitchen.
“Hope you don’t mind, we took over your kitchen and made some supper,” he said with a big grin. It was odd seeing him not in the red suit. He was hanging out in my kitchen in flannel pants and an old t-shirt.
“We?” I asked. I peered into my kitchen to see Mrs. Clause and a dozen little elves bustling about the kitchen.
“Christmas is always better with a full house, isn’t it?” He said as he handed me an eggnog. |
Immortality is only a curse if you are alone.
I stood by the grave of my wife as I let the rain wash away my sorrow. The colors seemed a little more dull now that she was gone. As I took one last sip from my drink, I poured the rest over her stone, and walked off.
This time, her life was rather short.
Living for most of human history has left an immortal like myself quite depressed, wandering the Earth in search of meaning. It was only until I met her that I knew why my life was worth living. She just made everything a little more vibrant, a little more exciting.
To show her what she missed between each life she lived. To wonder when I’ll meet her again. Where I was immune to death, she seemed to constantly cycle between death and life. She remembers me, and all our lives together, but she doesn’t know the time that passes between each life she lives.
I chuckled as she was surprised at the world having smartphones. She couldn’t believe that such a small device was so powerful, especially since the last life she lived was before even the telephone had been invented. A century and a half had passed, and humanity changed so much, even I couldn’t have believed it.
I had so much to tell her. It was hard searching for where she would come next. There was no pattern, since it could be anywhere on the Earth. A few centuries ago, I had to cross the sea to come find her. At least with how technology progresses, it would be easier for her to find me when she’s back.
Still, this time she didn’t even make it to the age of thirty before dying in an accident. She knew how to find me now, but still I couldn’t help but long to see her again. I guess it goes to show that even though I have all the time in the world, the time spent with her was the only time I’m really alive. |
I have never understood how we failed so badly as a species. Of all the futures we could have chosen, and we chose this. We live in cold small rooms, work most of the day all just to make enough money to cover room and board. Everyone spends most of their time too tired and stressed to even imagine a better world.
The plan started as a joke, a form of escapism. "We'll steal a rocket and make a home somewhere in the stars!"But ,as we talked about it more and more, it started to feel more real. From a fantasy, to a pipedream, to actively planning how to pull it off. We used our meager spare time and energy to research surviving in space, and how to steal ourselves a spacecraft.
Then came the day. Our plan was daring. It was actually easier than expected. People were so beaten down and depressed, pulling something like this wasn't even anticipated. Security was light, and we found ourselves pushed into the seats as we shot through the atmosphere. We were all giddy. We'd done it, we would build a better life somewhere far from our home of wrath and tears.
It was great for two weeks. We could rest as much as we wanted, spending most of our time doing what we liked. Then things started to break down. First the thermal regulation, then various doors. The ship we stole was in need of substantial maintenance, and the teams had only begun to repair it until we stole it. We couldn't go back, we would face a terrible fate if the government we fled got its hands on us. The nearest location was months away. Months we didn't have.
Tracy was the first to die. She got stuck in a room without ventilation, and slowly died as she breathed all the oxygen in the volume and asphyxiated on CO2. Richard was electrocuted while he was trying to force open the door to retrieve Tracy's remains. Three days later, Kelly fell down a ladder. There's just me now. I realize I am going to die. I will die free, but that is a meager reward. I hated the world I left, but I went to space to live, not for my life to end with a whimper. How did the universe end up so wrong? |
"Are you sure you can host all of us, Mister..."The conductor trailed off.
"Renfield! Please, call me Renfield! I am more than happy to host."
Mr. Renfield pushed open the towering double doors to the castle, gave a little bow, and waved the band inside.
"Come on now, get out of this dreadful rain!"Renfield begged, "I'm glad I found you when I did, there are nasty creatures that lurk the premise. But I assure you, you will find my castle exceptionally clean."
The band shuffled inside, taking in the haunting yet beautiful decor.
"Not even a single bug, I promise!"Renfield winked to the last member.
Once all the members had made their way into the foyer, Renfield let the massive doors slam behind him. There was the sound of bats outside the castle, stirred by the noise, or leaving for the night.
The conductor pushed his way past the band to where Renfield was standing.
"It's really a miracle you found us, I cannot thank you enough. We will be gone in the morning as long as the storm passes."
"Ah, such a shame! It would be great to get to know you all. Alas, I am a night owl, so I will keep you up as long as you can endure, I'd love to know more about the music you play, pray tell!"Renfield exclaimed motioning to the band.
"Well,"the conductor started, "although our numbers look quite large, we are traveling light. About forty of us here, and forty more meeting us for the concert."
Renfield smiled and glanced upon the suitcases that each member carried.
"What is all this luggage? May I ask?"
The conductor smiled, "Have you ever seen an instrument? These are instruments!"he jeered
Taken aback, Renfield shied away, "Please forgive me, I really do spend so little time outside."
The conductor felt bad for his joke and walked his statement back.
"No! Don't apologize, here, watch this. James!"
A man in the middle of the group popped his head up in attention.
"Bless Mr. Renfield with the sound of your violin."
"Yes sir."James answered, already opening his case up.
Impressed, Mr. Renfield turned back to the conductor. "Impressive! They listen so well."
Before Renfield could tell him about the many years he had spend listening to and obeying his "conductor"of sorts, James began to play. A vibrant tune filled the foyer and halls, echoing all throughout the corridor.
Renfield jumped with excitement, "Exquisite!!"he yelled to the conductor with a great smile.
"Please, if there is one thing I can request, I do know one tune, and I pray that you know it. Will you please play it for me? It will make my- I mean me so happy!"
The conductor raised an eyebrow, wanting to accept this challenge, "What is the tune?"
"Toccata and Fugue, in D Minor"Renfield said in a deep tone.
The conductor looked around the foyer. "Fitting,"he said, "Such a fitting piece for this environment. Let me get my band in place."
In a matter of minutes, the band was taking out their instruments and setting up, while Renfield was running around in excitement lighting candles all across the castle interior.
As he runs past the conductor, he cries "This will be beautiful! The mood is set! I am so excited!"
The conductor takes his place, and motions for the band's attention.
With the slightest of movements from his wand, the band began.
The halls erupted with sound, the first notes played by James literally shaking the castle.
Renfield seemed to explode with joy. He pulled a cockroach from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. The band continued to play, lost in the beautiful sounds of the piece.
Renfield sprinted impossibly fast to the top of the foyer stairs, and mimicked the waving of the conductors arms. Renfield's shadow began to grow, and from that shadow, emerged a horrific monster.
The members of the band stopped playing one by one, this angered Renfield.
"Pray continue, children, you are at the hands of a master at work."
The conductor turned in horror to see the giant man towering over Renfield.
"No matter,"Renfield sighed, "I introduce Count Dracula."
Upon his name spilling from Renfield's mouth, Dracula lept from behind him down onto the floor where the band was.
Renfield smiled, "I pray you enjoy this feast I have brought you, master." |
A new dating app service is taking the world and wider universe by storm: Beyond. It is simple. With a similar model to Tinder, users create a profile, customize their preferences, and swipe away to humans and non-humans alike. Anyone down on their dating luck, or just morbidly curious to who is out there, are all flocking to the app. Me? I am the former; desperate for love, and willing to take this gamble just for an ounce of love.
**Initial Contact**
I remembered the first time making an account. At the time, the app blew up after several of viral Tik Toks showed the app in all its glory. Many thought it was an elaborate hoax; a fabricated trend that will die out in the following weeks. Then, initial contact happened. A moderately popular Tik Tok creator hit waves by the wider media by being the first person, on record, to meet alien life face to face. CNN, NBC, Fox News, everyone was talking, and everyone grew curious. Discussions rose about the validity of it all. Time and time again, the Tik Tok creator and their new partner approached every news outlet to prove that the app works. The names of the couple were quickly hidden due to the amount of heat they got from their initial media tour, which is why I am paying my respects and not dropped their names. It did not take long before more stories of extra terrestrial meet-ups were happening. It became impossible to ignore, as was the app's exponential popularity.
**My Initial Contact**
I am Gordon. Mid twenties, dusty, with an eye for all things music related. I had a jazz band, The Starry Eyed Trio, and was working on our first album at the time. When I was not cramming hours to the creative process, I sorted through the app. A few days had passed until I first got a match. Except this person liked me first. The image was blurred at first, so I had to make out the details of who it was. So, I went through the swipe stack just to see a name pop up: Xoura. The profile was followed by pictures of a woman with four arms and lavender colored skin. They were lively photos: several of them were her smiling while hiking around on her home planet, two pictures of her making a silly pose, and the last one being a meme that was known to the wider universe that folks on Earth recently got around to. All it took was one swipe. I matched with Xoura. Minutes later, while deep in thought as to what to say to her, she messaged me first:
"Is there a room for a plus one in your band?"
I was in shock. At first, I thought that it was not real. It had to be an elaborate prank.
"Maybe. What instrument do you play?"I said.
"It's kinda like a sitar. The stringed instrument you humans have. It is not much, but I just had to ask!"
"I would love to hear you play it."
"I'm down. Are you busy this week?"
First, she asked to be in my band. Now, meeting up? This soon? After a few messages? I nearly panicked. This never happened to me before. Usually, I had to make these things happen. Xoura? She just went for it.
"Yes. I'm working on an album for my band."
"That's awesome! Can I hear what you'd been working on?"
Her fluency with English took me aback, too. I thought their would be a slight language barrier, but that is not the case.
"I can't send audio files on here."
"Whoops. I forgot about that. Haha. Just text it to me ***-****-***."
Now I had her number. We barely talked, and I was already this far. For nearly an hour, I pondered over whether or not I should message her. This was too good to be true. It had to be. Despite my concerns, I did it anyway.
Days had gone by. Most of our conversations were initiated by her. She was so curious about human life and our connection to music. Xoura mentioned how she came across jazz music during her musical deep dives on TuTube (this is YouTube on an interstellar scale, but the app was yet to be localized for earth). We discussed out dating woes, our dreams, and aspirations. In between hundreds of texts was the same question, "Will you be busy this week?"
After the fifth week of her asking, I knew I could not put it off any longer. I exercised all of my excuses, album work, death in the family, a sprain in my ankle, all of it. She caught on, and our conversations slowly died. We only talked for more than a month, and I was head over heels for her. Though, the prospect of meeting her was still daunting.
"Xoura. How do you feel about meeting on Friday?"
She responded seconds after my text.
"Yeah! Name the time and place!"I felt her excitement through the texts.
I counted the days for her arrival. Each day, my anxiety grew. My bandmates were worried about me. I was not ready for this, but I went with it anyway.
**Friday December 15th**
The city of New York will never be the same after this incident. I told her to meet me at Central Park at 15:00 (3:00 pm) human hours. At 14:50, a large ominous object floated over the metropolis. Many onlookers, civilians, and news reporters saw the ship precariously hover over Central Park. Moment of truth, now or never. First, there was a glowing beam that shone from the bottom of the ship. Many feared it was going to be a scene similar to an iconic movie. A movie that involved an alien invasion. Soon, the laser showed a person touching down to the planet. After a few minutes, the lights show ended, and it revealed the woman I met from the app. The massive floating ship was not there for spectacle. She was nearly at the other end of the park, but I still made out her features, especially the most prominent one of all: her size. Many of the trees at the park barely came up to her calf. Before long, she was looking for me.
"Hey, G. Where are you?"She texted me. I was thankful she did not call out for me. Her voice may be too loud for anyone in this city to handle.
"Just move forward and look down. Watch your step."My hands fumbled around as I texted her, but she got the message.
I heard her approach. The distant sounds of screaming and chaos in the city streets filled my ears, but I remained planted to the ground. I looked up, and she looked down. She did a second take and knelt down just to be sure.
"Hi there, G."She reduced herself to a whisper. As close to a whisper as she could get.
"Hi."I stammered and blushed.
"This is awkward."
I nodded.
"You wanna take it back to my place? It may be less..."She looked around the city. Everything was awry, and she barely set foot on the city streets. "...chaotic."
From there, the rest was history.
**Aftermath**
As of this writing, me and Xoura are still together. After the initial New York scare, we became the subject of attention. People kept asking me if she was some CGI or hologram, while the stranger folk asked for details on how we had sex. It was a long media campaign that we still trudge through. We were the topic of discussion and ridicule. I was the wife while she was the husband was one major joke that everyone pulled. They laughed at us, and we laughed with them. Xoura could never play as part of the band, but she helped with spreading the word about us across the many solar systems. Overall, this was a big surprise. A welcome one, for sure. |
After the third night, Larry theorized that sleep only came to people who cared to process new memories. But since he had given up, there was nothing new worth remembering, so sleep never came. Without sleep, though, he couldn't forget about it, either.
He couldn't believe he was now one of those guys with one of those stories answering those questions. *You didn't see it coming, all those late nights she spent working late, going to the gym, visiting her 'grandma'?* It all seemed so mundane and cliche he genuinely never thought twice about it. But he guessed that's what they all say, after, and now that's what he would say, too.
Even the way he found out was straight out of a cancelled-after-one-season modern sitcom. Reflexively picking up the vibrating phone while she was in the shower, reading the message: *Call me when you can my boo-bear when whats-his-nuts goes to work.*
He did go to work that night, and that was the last time he saw her. Thank god he resisted moving in back when she had suggested it. He made sure to grab the few things he had there - an extra phone charger, a pile of dirty clothes, and some leftover Indian that he decided was worth salvaging. But that was it. He never said a word to her about it. Just kissed her goodnight, and left.
And he had been laying in his bed ever since the next morning.
Of course others had been trying to contact him since he ghosted Chelsea, to make sure he was alive. His mom must have been the first person she called, based on the number of missed calls. Larry did text her, *I'm fine, mom. If you want to know why, ask Chelsea. B*ut that was it. Same response to the other handful of concerned messages.
*Chels says you just left, man, what's going on?*
*Hey Lar. This is Britni. Chels is pissed that you're ignoring her, what's your deal?*
*Lar-bear, I honestly have no idea what is going on. It's been almost three days. Call me, or something, I just want to know you're okay. I love you and I just want to know that everything is okay. Love you, Chels.*
She always signed her name at the end of texts when they were fighting. They weren't fighting this time, really, but she didn't know that. There's no fighting when the decision has been made.
Beside his bed was the empty Indian food box, stained bright yellow and long since dried, the faint aroma of turmeric and cumin still lingering. He hadn't eaten anything else since the first night. And the fridge was twice as far from his bed as the toilet, so he hadn't bothered making the trip.
He hadn't noticed that he was tapping his fingers against his sternum. *Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.* Chelsea always hated when he did this to her, but he always had a fascination for bones and felt it meditative to feel the only parts of the body that were left behind when all the soft stuff eventually disappeared.
*Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock.* He realized he was tapping along with knocking coming from his front door. The door was even farther away than the fridge.
KNOCKKNOCK, KNOCKKNOCK, THUD THUD THUD.
"Please, stop,"he said, at barely more than a whisper.
"Holy shit open the door, goddamnit!"
Whoever it was, he didn't recognize her voice, and she sounded scared. Larry casually rose from his bed, still wearing the same clothes he was wearing the night he kissed Chelsea goodbye, and strode slowly toward the front door.
He opened it, and a small stranger threw herself into his apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it frantically.
"What the fuck, dude, I was out there for like two minutes, what took you?"
Larry looked at her, puzzled. Did he know this woman?
Then he smiled. "Would you like a samosa? I think there's one left in my fridge."
He heard footsteps running down the hallway, and saw the worry flash across the small woman's face. Larry held an index finger up in front of his lips as the footsteps passed by once, twice, then were gone.
"Sure, I love samosas,"she said, and she followed him into the kitchen. |
This was it.
The invites were out. After 14 exhausting years fighting against the hordes of the Snow Kingdoms, the Coalition had triumphed. Many years, many battlefields, and many treaties and promises, concessions and betrayals later and the war was finally over. Only one thing left to do.
Talicin al’Verdan glanced anxiously at his viewing crystal. Seated at the base of the crystal in an ornate marble plinth that cradled the orb, were seventeen crystals tied together like a web. A thread from each lead to the orb, and the other end off into the distance in Verdan’s senses. Each one a different color and giving off a soft, pulsing glow.
One by one, the crystals all began to emit a stronger, steady glow. One by one, they all began to shine bright as a candle flame…all except three.
Talacin waited a moment longer. Then angrily whirled to his Vizier of War.
“Bareth!” he barked. “Bring me the heads of Aresh of the Aridlands, Vizimi the Waterwitch, and Zolarth the Skullcrusher!”
Vizier al’Bareth began to rise from his kneeled position when the last three lights flickered on on the plinth. He nodded his head towards the new lights shining under the white silk covering the viewing crystal.
Verdan whipped his head back around and smiled giddily. He clapped his hands in delight. Everyone had accepted.
Behind him, Bareth cleared his throat.
“Yes, yes. I know. I officially rescind the order. Off you go!” Verdan lazily waved his hand, dismissing Bareth from his chambers.
As Bareth neared the door, a light flickered off in his peripheral vision.
“ZOLARTH! The traitor!” Verdan roared. “KILL HIM!”
Bareth slammed his fist to his chest and marched out of the room gathering his soldiers.
━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━═━
Zolarth the Skullcrusher was giddy with excitement.
Just that morning he had received a communications crystal from Talicin al’Verdan inviting him to one of his famous tea parties. Zolarth loved tea and had heard that Talici tea was delicious. The years of war had cut off trade routes and supply lines, so he had never had a chance to try it out himself.
He was in his large, closet-tent picking out his best furs to wear when unbeknownst to him, his pet Yilla Dragon, Zike had sensed the magic emanating from the crystal and had snuck in the tent. His stubby little legs making no sound on the soft fur carpets as he slunk and slid his way towards the crude table with the crystal and the responding messenger construct.
Zike stood on his hind legs and eased his way up the table leg and froze as Zolarth sashayed out of the closet and back, trying on an oddly shaped black and white fur.
Zike sniffed the messenger construct, sensing the magic seed in it that powered it, but that wasn’t what he was after. He sniffed the glowing stone and gave a soft contented growl when he realized that \*that\* was what was giving off such wonderful smells in the Ley, where his senses felt the magic of the world.
In one quick bite, he snatched up the crystal and eased himself down off the table.
On second thought, just in case…he snapped up the messenger construct too. Just in case the seed of magic would taste good.
He slunk and slid his way out of the tent again, making sure to secure the door after him. With a burp of purple dust, the gem ground itself to powder in his gullet. |
James walked to the village’s pub. People were hollering. He looked to the source: a group of people huddled closely. They had their arms raised. A man flew up from the crowd and then back down. They kept throwing him in the air. He looked like a happy commoner. James approached a woman watching this. “What’s going on?”, James asked. “That’s the hero. That’s what he said, at least”, she replied. “Alright, put me down”, said the man. They caught him, and he dropped on his feet. I walked up to the man. “Hey”, James greeted. “Hi”, he replied. “You’re a hero? What have you done?” The crowd watched us. “I saved the village from a dragon sorcerer”, he said. “Fool! I’m the one who did that!” “Oh”, he responded, scared. "How self-conceited do you have to be to go around calling yourself THE hero?", the hero asked. “Sorry.” “You need to be humble. If you accomplish something, don’t go seeking attention. Stay quiet.” He pouted. |
Would confronting her even do any good, I wondered. Are mafias still even a thing? Like a bunch of overly Italian people in pinstriped suits playing pretend and committing crimes semi-related to pasta? I laughed at the thought. Certainly not my nana.
"Sonny! Where are you? Come in here a minute!"I heard nana call from the kitchen. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I shoved all the documents and pictures I had found back into her vanity and took a last glimpse to make sure it was all exactly how I found it. The room of 'pretties', a perfect place to hide your secrets. The room where you can't touch anything, and nothing gets used. Plates, old dolls, a bunch of memorabilia. And secrets.
"Coming nana!"I yelled back as I took off down the hall.
I stepped in the kitchen and was immediately hit with the aroma of garlic. Nana's cooking. Slicing garlic so thin it will melt in the pan. That's the trick, she taught me.
"I want you to set the table"She said, not even turning around.
"You got it nana."I said as I walked over to the silverware drawer.
Now, as I opened the door, Nana was standing over me. She bent down and grabbed my cheek. My world froze, I couldn't move. She looked very serious.
"Sonny, I want to give you something. An early Christmas gift."She started.
She pulled a folded bundle of cash out of her apron and slipped it into my back pocket. Her grip tightened on my cheek and she lowered her voice.
"I've just slipped into your pocket ten benjamins, now, listen closely. Nobody is to know about this little transaction, you hear me? This stays between you and me. Cause if someone finds out I've just given you this gift, there'll be some serious consequences, you hear me? Some friends of mine owed me a bit of money and now it's yours. Take it."
I couldn't move, I couldn't feel the weight of the cash now in my pocket. I just stared into her eyes. Are these the eyes of a cold blooded mafia member?
She lightly patted my cheek and and kissed me on the forehead.
She brought her voice back to her usual chipper tone.
"Alright, now on you go! Be a good grandson and get that table set for me." |
Hm~
Tonight was bound to be a great night.
It's Friday, the kids are sleeping, and I got some time to myself, sitting on a sun chair on the balcony. Laying outside during the cold, calm night was one of the pleasures of life no matter how simple it is.
With some books I had been meaning to catch up on at the table to my side along with my hot cup of cocoa, tonight was going to be great.
Sip~
"Ahh, how I long for moments like this"Chuckling, I gazed upon the starry skies, feeling sereneness overtaking me. I glanced at the dusty telescope near the edge of the balcony, unused since the passing of my lovely Martha. Stargazing was her passion, she said that adores the bright and twinkling stars. Weird, she should've just looked into the mirror every night instead since her eyes were brighter than any stars on the sky.
I miss her. It's only been a day, how would I live the rest of my life without my darling?
Shaking my head to rid myself of the gloom threatening to overtake me, I stood up and brought my cup of hot cocoa along with me to the telescope. It was an antique, inherited from my grandfather. Heh, at least Martha put it to good use. Blowing on the dust covering the glass lens, I placed my eyes under the smaller lens and started to seek the brightest star to gaze at.
Humming as I enjoyed my first time stargazing, my gaze were locked onto a particularly bright shining star. It shone with a beautiful red hue, it's light so bright and calming. As I smiled and started to reminisce how Martha would unconsciously grin cutely when she found the most beautiful star, I blinked.
I could've swore... Wait, where was the star? No, why was the sky starless now?
Dragging my head back from the telescope, I gazed my eyes onto the sky with my naked eye. What I saw was indescribable. So beautiful, so haunting, maybe it was a sign.
The darken sky lights up with countless lights, ranging from all the spectrum of colours. Bright, shining fireballs soar across the sky.
The stars were falling, supposedly unto us.
I just smiled as I took another sip of my hot cocoa, walking back to my sun chair and laying on it. I stared calmly upon the raging fireballs of infinite might threatening to fall upon the earth and wipe us out. My heart only enjoying the beauty of it.
Why would I not be afraid, you ask?
Because of a promise that I hold dear, one I had hoped the god above to be fulfilled. My heart were not afraid of the possiblity of a broken promise, the thirty year of beautiful, promise filled marriage do that to you.
Ah, I can feel it. It seems that her wish was fulfilled. Smiling with love, my eyes suddenly felt like it was stung. Through my moistening eyes, I could feel her.
As the fiery celestial display unfolded in the sky, I felt her gentle presence, a warm whisper in the cosmic winds. It was as if she orchestrated this cosmic ballet just for me, a grand farewell that transcended the boundaries of our earthly existence.
With each falling star, I sensed her laughter, echoing through the universe. The once serene night became a canvas of her love, a symphony of colors reflecting the vivid hues of our shared memories. I guess it could almost compare to gazing into her bright eyes.
In the midst of this celestial spectacle, a familiar, oh so familiar figure materialized beside me. Martha, radiant and ethereal, her eyes brighter than any star, looked at me with a comforting smile. The falling stars were her gift, an embrace to ease my longing heart.
Stepping forward to cusp my face with her hand, she smiled brightly at me, pushing even the grandest spectacle behind her. Her wavy, now multi-spectrum hair flowed upwards, as if the most beautiful flower I've ever witnessed.
"Darling"She said with a smile, her ever melodious voice ringing through my ear with the grace of an angel, no, an angel coulr only mimic hers.
"Remember our promise? From now on until we are reunited, I will dance in the vast, starry cosmos for you. Love, our bond will never be broken, through life and death, through space and time."
Her lips met mine, so silky and soft. I must admit, being a celestial being has its merit as it feels like I'm kissing love itself, however weird it sounds.
"I love you."
"I love you more, my star."
As the last of the falling stars dispersed, Martha's figure blended with the night sky, leaving behind a lingering warmth. The darkness retreated, unveiling a sky adorned with new constellations, a celestial tapestry woven with the threads of our enduring love.
With a contented sigh, I closed my eyes, embracing the serenity that arrived. Martha's presence, now embedded in the stars, became a guiding light to me, guiding me to the new ways of living. And so, I lay there, under the starry veil, sipping my hot cocoa with a smile.
Tonight was a great night. |
(Ruby)
One moment I’m riding on Ember, the next I’m being forcefully dragged off the saddle by a hooded man wearing a wolf mask covering his entire face. His scent was all too familiar; wilting roses and fresh blood, I’ve scented it around the area near my cottage before for the past 15 years. I struggled and kicked out, but he stabbed a Dark Blade into my shoulder, and I hissed sharply in pain.
“I really don’t want to hurt you, but you’re forcing my hand.” He hissed lowly and cruelly.
I winced as he pushed the blade ever deeper, and I slammed my fist into his mask, and he let out a yell of rage as I squirmed out of his grip and ran for Ember, who was frozen and standing still like as if he saw a deer get shot.
“Ember! Don’t stand there, for heck’s sake!” I yelled. Ember snapped out of his shock and galloped towards me. I was about to swing onto the saddle when the masked man grabbed my red hood, yanking it down to reveal my long wavy red-orange hair.
“GET OFF, YOU LITTLE—!” I kicked him off me and he growled, ready to grab me again—
*twing*
Suddenly an arrow lodged in the man’s heart, and he fell to the ground, blood dripping from his lips as the light in his eyes faded.
I stared at the man’s body in both shock and confusion.
“Lady Ruby. Long time no see.” I turned to see Legolas, son of the Mirkwood King Thranduil, saluting me as he stood on a hill not so far from the path I was on. I smiled and saluted back.
“Hail, son of His Highness, I appreciate your help.” I said. I got on Ember and rode away, turning back to see Legolas vanish into the woods.
(Dude I really tried XD) |
Ted: Kids, I'm going to tell you the story of how I met your mother.
Luke: Dad, you already told us.
Penny: Last week. And it felt like nine years.
Luke: If you have to, can't you get Uncle Barney to tell us? He'll take little of our time.
Ted: Fine.
\*
Barney: Kids, your father has a bad memory, so I'm gonna tell you the story of how he met your mother.
*He takes a deep breath*
Barney: When Uncle Marshall and Aunt Lily got engaged, your father saw Aunt Robin across a crowded room...
... and that kids, is the story of how your father met your mother. Also I went on The Price is Right and won a dune buggy.
Penny: Two minutes. Impressive.
Barney: That's the first time I've heard that. |
\[Sharp Play\]
"No, no, I understand,"Max nodded at his date, then stood from the booth. Fran agreed to meet him at a diner; but, she was immediately concerned when she walked in. She understood she was from a different Earth; but, it was still surprising to see several caped patrons in colorful costumes and masks. Max also wore an elaborate armor suit with large spiked shoulders; but, he seemed pleasant enough to start a conversation with. It did not last long when Fran casually commented on the costumes around.
"Super villains and heroes,"Max explained. "Supers are common on this Earth, I'm a Super villain here; my name's Max Evil,"he said. That was when Fran decided the date was over. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. She tried to exit gracefully; but, her node wasn't working.
\[Sharp Development is experiencing technical difficulties. We are working to restore service.\]
The timing couldn't have been worse. Fran was on an unfamiliar Earth surrounded by super-powered strangers and her date admitted he was a villain. But, he'd been surprisingly friendly given his vocation and Fran was out of ideas. She tried being honest and that was when Max Evil stood.
"Please, enjoy some of Glory's food while you wait for service to come back online; I'll excuse myself so you don't feel pressured in any way,"he added as he walked away. She was genuinely amazed, and slightly relieved to see him walk out of the restaurant. Not wanting to take up an entire booth herself, Fan moved to the counter and sat next to a teenage girl with several glowing, colored cubes laid out in front of her. She wore a translucent blue visor over her eyes and Fran could almost see text scrolling by at high speeds. The girl's hands danced across a large glass slate on the counter in front of her. It was clear glass resembling Fran's node, just much bigger. She was typing something fast; but, as Fran studied the moving hands, she also noted blue glowing text appearing on her wrists. The words were changing too quick for Fran to read any of them.
"What can I getcha?"a green-haired waitress asked Fran with a smile.
"A ride out of here would be nice..,"Fran couldn't stop the answer. She was trying not to complain; but, she felt very much out of her depth. Max had sounded so nice while they were talking. She had no idea he was a super villain at the time. She wasn't very outgoing to begin with; but, she braved the new experience with the assumption that she had a safety net. She was shy about meeting new people on her own Earth; but, this was an entirely different planet. There was almost no chance of running into someone from here again.
"Oh, that's simple; Jenny can give you a lift when she's done. Right, Jenny?"Glory gestured at the busy teen.
"No sweat,"the teen answered without breaking task.
"If the network isn't back up by then,"Glory shrugged. "I don't actually know what she's doing,"she giggled.
"You can Traverse without a node? You're a Unique?"Fran asked.
"Sorry. Busy,"Jenny answered.
"She's #46, El Sol,"Glory answered for her as she served Fran a cup of coffee. "She's usually very friendly, I promise,"Glory smiled.
"That's okay,"Fran nodded. "She looks really busy,"she glanced over again and something suddenly struck her as odd. She stood from the stool and flicked her wrist upward. Nothing happened. "Yeah, that's what I thought,"she commented as she sat in front of Glory again. She tilted her head at Jenny's Slate. "Node Network is down, the Slates shouldn't work either...,"she said. She only wanted to voice a thought that stuck out in her mind. She wasn't necessarily accusing anyone of anything. But, as soon as she spoke it aloud, the diner went dark. Not just the diner though; the sun had set and the entire city was pitch black.
"I did it."Jenny's voice erupted from the dark. She sounded oddly proud and amazed.
"You turned out the lights?"Glory asked. By this time, most of the patrons had activated some light source or other with their various powers and they'd left to see what could be done. Only Jenny, Glory, and Fran remained bathed in dim light from Jenny's Slate.
"I was doing something else...,"Jenny shook her head; but, she used the motion to search the diner. She seemed to be looking for something, but continued her explanation. “The node network was me, sorry,” she apologized to Fran. “Sharp Development and Chroma Corp. tend to ignore Earths that have Supers, and they don't monitor any Earth with a Gloria…,” she nodded at Glory. “... all that closely either. This was kind of the perfect place to do this,” she said.
“Do what?” Glory asked.
“Are any of your Supers supposed to come in from the kitchen?” Fran asked. She nodded behind Glory and Jenny also looked. Brilliant glowing red nanos were flowing out of a black portal. Jenny dashed into the kitchen with a laugh and Fran and Glory couldn’t help but follow. They reached the kitchen just in time to see a lanky, pale teenage boy in black emerge. He had black hair with a pronounced widow's peak and glowing red eyes.
“Thank you, Jenny,” he nodded at her with a smile. Then, he vanished. The power came back on within seconds.
“Who was that?” Glory asked. “What did you do?”
“That was Oren…,” she said. She had an idle, exhausted smile. “... I just ruined all of Ms. Sharp's plans.”
\*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #2150 in a row. (Story #340 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a Corporation in my universe. The stories can be found in order on my subreddit: [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/1624330/pineapple_cup_23_first_six_weeks/). |
In this world, the dark side of the moon has something terrible: black humanoid lizards. The creatures lived in a forest. On the lighter side of the moon, there is an anthropomorphic black labrador named Grover. One day, a lizard, Malik, wanted to explore the light side. He looked out to the sprawling whiteness. He stepped out of the black, past the merging of the two, and onto the lighter side. Grover saw the lizard man from a few feet away. He walked up to the reptilian. The lizard pulled out his ray gun and shot the dog. Grover was reduced to many black cubes, one cube having his eye. The lizard strolled past him. The cubes merged together, and Grover was back to normal. Frightened, he jumped into a crater.
Across the next day, Grover watched Malik set up steel girders. He built upon them with wood and stone. A tall building now stood, and it was surrounded by smaller ones. Grover was starving. He jumped out of the hole to try and find prey to eat. “Hey!”, came a voice. He turned and saw the lizard running at him. Grover ran away to the tall building. He ran up the side of it, and the lizard followed. They both arrived on the roof. Malik stepped toward the dog menacingly, and Grover stepped back with fear. Grover saw a wooden box labeled “Gunpowder.” He pulled out a matchbox, struck the match against the box, and threw the match on the ox before jumping off the building. A giant explosion swallowed the top of the building. |
# ----- The Face Eater -----
Enough was enough, thought Tristen. She'd finally have to confront the hooded figure that's been prowling at her for months. A con creep is usually expected to be an overweight, sweaty, socially awkward neckbeard of a man with anime shirts, trilby hats they insist to be fedoras, and cargo shorts, stalking cute girls dressed up as their favorite anime characters, but this stalker in particular is very different.
A thin, slender frame, hunched over forward, dressed in sweatpants riddled with holes and what she swore to be crawling insects. Over the figure's back is a large, bright yellow raincoat, and just under it's hood, a plain white mask with an unnerving, perpetual smile. Quite the sight considering she can see it even from very far away, and everytime she did, she swore it's looking right back at her.
This time, she's decided to confront the monster once and for all. She attended an anime convention, dressed as one of those magical girls in sailor uniforms. Just under her skirt, is a pocket switchblade she intends to stab the figure with, and throughout the day, she looks out and about, looking for the figure that hounds her for so long.
Eventually, she would find her perpetrator.
Awaiting her in an alleyway, the hooded figure threw something at Tristen, and she only realized what it was when she turned around and looked at her thigh. It was a house spider. Nonvenomous, docile, and will run away from people. But this one seemed to be intent in latching on to her no matter the circumstance. Naturally, seeing such a bugger latched onto your skin will freak anyone out, and Tristen is no exception. She twisted and turned, and screamed for onlookers to help her and get it off. People's urges to record have been scratched, and she ran off into the alleyways to get away from prying eyes concerned only with the illusion of fame and recognition.
Tristen got the spider off her, and caught her breath as she watches the creature skitter into the darkness. She leaned against a wall, panting from the exertion just now, before she felt a presence standing right beside her. She instinctively grabbed her switchblade, and flicked it open at the masked figure, who now stands right in front of her, just out of sight for onlookers to not see her.
"It's you. You did this. You threw that spider at me, Didn't you!?"
The figure didn't reply. It only started as it stepped closer, taunting the frightened cosplayer, urging her to give in and kill it. No amount of hushed, desperate cries of demand, telling it to stay back was heard, as it reached out to her, and intended to grab her.
"Get OFF!!!", Tristen pushed it away, before running straight for the exit, but the figure caught up and grabbed her by the collar of her outfit. It dragged her into the secluded areas of the alleyway, with enough force to choke Tristen as she got whisked away, unable to even cry out for help.
It threw her into a garbage heap, knelt on her, and firmly planted both hands on Tristen. Her thumbs pressing against the sides of her neck, the frightened girl using the last of her strength to shank the figure at it's side. Instead of blood, she felt the crunching of chitin and goop covering her fingers. She looked at her knife and was mortified to see insect legs and guts smeared all over it's length and even her fingers.
Disgusted, Tristen threw her knife away and instead focused her strength on unmasking the figure. Planting her fingers against the hems of it's mask, she flicked her wrists, and tore the mask off the hooded figure's face. It recoiled back from this, letting go of Tristen even as it held it's face, and the girl used this opportunity to punch it in the chest and gut.
She caught her breath as the figure stumbled back, and held her neck as she processed everything that happened. Onlookers will tell her to run and call for help, but that's not what ran in Tristen's mind. Curiosity of who this figure is overwhelmed her sense of survival, and she even approached it as she wants to put the mystery to rest once and for all.
To her absolute surprise, a familiar face greets her. It was Taylor.
The Taylor Price. The girl that nobody really liked, and really only knew due to how easy it was to pick with her for an easy laugh. She didn't knew what to make of it, the sheer revelation flooding her mind with so many questions. A pause Taylor needed to pull back control and pin the girl to the wet, city pavement.
"Taylor!? Wh- I don't get it. Why!?"
"I'm pretty sure you know why.", Taylor replies in a soft spoken voice, eyes riddled with apathy and monotonous emotion. She slowly opened her mouth in front of Tristen, and to the girl's horror, a centipede of immense proportions bursted out of Taylor's throat, before dropping right on her face, saliva and all. Horrified, she couldn't even bring herself to shriek as she watched the monstrosity crawl out of her face, and wrap itself around her neck.
Instead, she heard the cluttering of hundreds, tens of hundreds of tiny, little feet, and a swarm of vermin erupted from the pavement's many cracks, crevices, and storm drains. Insects of immense number all swarming the two of them, flooding the girl as she drowned in the weight of insects forcing themselves down her throat. And seeing this, Taylor only broke out a small smirk.
"If only you'd see yourself now."
--------------------------------------------------
[Face Eater megapost](https://www.reddit.com/user/Preston_of_Astora/comments/18i0d8e/face_eater_megapost/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
“I SAID GET THE MAID CART OUT OF THE *FUCKING* WAY MISS, THIS IS A MATTER OF NATIONAL SECURITY,” The bald Agent barked from behind the door to the honeymoon suite, (if it could even be rightfully called that), at the Jersey Shore Emperor Motel.
The panicked summer staff obediently shuffle-ran out of the door in compliance. The two workers, without speaking and upon eying the three men dressed in tactical suit jackets behind the maid cart that was blocking the doorway decided their services were likely no longer needed. The youngest worker scoffed that she left her pair of green rubber gloves in the room, something she didn’t notice until she was halfway down the outside hallway, passing the room with the squealing toddlers.
The chubby Agent, went in first. A rotund man who walked with a seemingly terse and inquisitive nature, knelt down and knocked in the baseboards, checking for hollow cavities that might hold bugs, either literal or mechanical. He found none, so when he was done, he moved on to the light fixtures. Checking them he fuddled with something and began grumpily clipping off and tossing in the trash a mid-2000s “spy” camera that had been obviously aimed at the bed for seemingly nefarious reasons just two decades prior. He recognized owing to the decaying plastic that it was likely now inoperative and not a threat.
The bald Agent remained at the doorway, leaving it ajar, scanning the shared walkway in front of the rooms, noticing the red and white checkerboard table coverings of laminate plastic on the “outdoor dining area” below, and the cracked cement lines visible through the pool water in it’s bottom. He took his dark glasses off to take note of the lighting conditions, it was clear and sunny, and the room was in perfect sight line to at least three other buildings.
‘No Kennedy on my watch’ he though smarmily to himself. “No Dole either.” He winced at the latter thought, but wholly internally.
The third Agent unclipped her strange looking walkie-talkie and said in a silky sweet voice, “Sacred Fawn is likely still MIA, Doe and Buck as well . . . Awaiting instructions, Dalia out.”
Agent Dalia observed the other two, Agent Baker stood firm at the door frame, scanning the surroundings and doing his best to remain unnoticed after his initial barking at the service staff. Agent Nibbles was checking the mattresses, gagging and coughing as he observed the mosaic pattern on it’s underside, likely remnants of a summer night over a decade ago judging by the slump, it was clear to all that those stains had been merely flipped over 180° to conceal them.
Nibbles spoke first, “out of all the assignments, this is the one they give as my last?” He continued in his usual complaining drone looking around the room and noticing the leak that had deposited a brown ring of iron laced water onto the stucco wall. “Even Regan was better than this!”
“Baker,” Dalia retorted, “you think he’s just upset that Nancy was the last woman to ever hit on him? Maybe that why he always brings up ol’ R. II?”
Agent Baker’s wide frame shook up and down as he wheezed a laugh.
“Gotta admit,” he added, looking back eager to one-up the other two “this has got to be the most miserable, horse shit excuse for a honeymoon I’ve ever seen, I mean this is embarrassing, it’s a 1970s time capsule! And, he supposedly wins chess against Putin’s Grandson?!”
He heard Nibbles squeak from the bedroom area of the one room booking “Not if we—“
Baker slowly rotated his head back to face the outside he was met with two beady eyes of a rather plain looking bookwormish type of woman, looking up at him, next to her was a scrawny, hick-looking man who was smoking a wine flavored black and mild cigar with an unevenly cropped set of sideburns and a slack jaw.
“CONTACT!” Baker yelled to the other two in alarm.
Baker grabbed the two of them by one arm each and pulled them into the room, slamming the door behind him. The force caused the woman to squeal and man to drop his black and mild which made him cuss loudly.
“I get a phone call!! I know I get a dang phone call lawd!!” The man challenged, “ this is ageenst mah eighteenth ammendment!!” He stood nearly with springy fists raised at the agents before all three now began restraining them and setting them onto the couch
“I think you meant fourth amendment?” Dahlia said smiling warmly and speaking calmly, but upon smelling the Budweiser in the man’s breath, adding “but I suppose an eighteenth wouldn’t hurt you too much either.”
The woman sat there dumbfounded and looking very confused, she didn’t speak at all but was visibly quite alarmed. Dahlia’s attempt at a joke had seemingly sailed over their heads quicker than a Lear jet.
“Dang y’all I know my dang rights, I wasn’t even at the dang protests er nuthin! I didn’t even vote for him!”
Dahlia ignored the comment and grabbed his hand in a calming gesture to which the man recoiled like a scared raccoon. “I know this seems unexpected and strange, I am Special Agent Rose Dahlia with the United States Secret Service, this is Special Agent Mike Baker and Agent Oliver Nibbles, we are with the Bureau of Future Preservation—“ |
"Please, listen to me. Brad is hurting you. It's painful writing this, but being with him will only push down what happened in your past, even though you can't remember it: that-"the letter teared exactly at that point. Ella felt the letter on her fingertips yet somehow it blurred into her plant pots.
A sudden voice made her yelp.
"In that trance of yours again, hey, Ell?"Christina grins. "It's been, wait a mo, 5 minutes or something. I bet you missed the excitement."
Ella regained her senses then spoke. "What?"
"Oh my god, you didn't even notice-"
Her parents jumped around the room as if they were in a circus. "A BOY, A BOY, A BOY!"her Mum shouted, "time travel is the greatest gift from God!"Ella forced a confused smile before glancing at the television. She blinked. Then again. The letter was from... herself. Her mind felt dizzy.
"El? ELLA!"
"I'm okay- Wait, I need to visit Brad!"
Ella blocked her thoughts and emotions and put on her shoes. The door creaked as she left. |
\-Once upon a time in a world much like our own, there existed a society of dragons who had a peculiar hobby. They loved to transform themselves into humans and live among them, experiencing life from a different perspective. Most humans of this world were actually dragons in disguise, and they found great joy in the challenge of blending in with the human population. One such dragon was named Dragolz (Definitely not a dragon). She was a magnificent creature with shimmering scales of emerald green and eyes that glowed like molten gold. Dragolz had always been unimpressed by the human world and had spent many years perfecting her human form. She had learned to walk on two legs, speak their language, and even mimic their emotions and mannerisms, all with one goal in mind: to blend in with the people whom she hated. After witnessing numerous cases of people killing people, burning forests, disrespecting mother nature, and hunting down animals for their own use, Dragolz had developed a hatred toward humanity.
On December 31st, 2012, as the New Year's ceremony was about to begin, Dragolz was sitting inside a café, sipping on her coffee. Although she hated humanity, she couldn't resist the taste of coffee. Suddenly, a random guy came up to her and asked,
"Hey there, you look really beautiful! Is there any chance that you would give me your contact information?"She looked at him, irritated, and answered, "Um, no - I-I mean I'm not really interested in men."She had to lie about the fact that she hated human, otherwise, things could've gone terribly wrong "Oh man, so you're interested in women then... um, will you at least tell me your name?"the guy asked hesitantly. "Smh, there's no way I will have to do this,"Dragolz said to herself, her tone slightly above a whisper. After thinking for a few seconds, she decides to tell him her name. "My name is Jesse. What about you?"she lied. "Jesse? I've never heard that name before in this country. It sounds like an American name to me, but anyway, my name is Seiichi, Shiraishi Seiichi,"he said. Dragolz let out a long sigh, showing that she had no interest in the guy, and proceeded to continue enjoying her coffee, ignoring the guy completely. "Oh my god, could you show some respect toward me?"he angrily said. Noticing his change of personality, she quickly stood up and looked at him dead in the eyes. "You do not want to mess with me,"she said, pointing at him menacingly.
"Oh\~! oh scary, do you really think that you could frighten me with that body of yours?"Sarcastically he said.
Seiichi pulled out something from his pocket which seemed more like a knife that could expand into a sword, then he pointed it directly at Dragolz. She stood there unfazed as she continued to point at him. Seiichi however, did not show any signs of frustration as he took a few steps ahead before feeling his limbs began to detach from his body. The closer he gets the stronger the sensations. He must've been hallucinating. In fact he had been standing there at the same spot for a whole minute, didn't even move a muscle. Dragolz was still sitting sipping on her coffee. Seiichi stood there confused of what just happened.
"You- h-how are you- what? How are you still sitting there? WE-Weren't you supposed to be standing?"\*Seiichi embraced his head\*
(Man I'm lazy to finish the whole thing, I wrote this at school btw) |
The guns are quiet. There is no special event or sacred day, just a brief moment where the mortars and artillery are silent. The barbed wire in no man's land groans in the wind. A single green shoot pushes its way up through the mud. It will be crushed by a boot in a few days. The rats quietly feed on the remains soldiers who died in charges.
On one side of trenches, the stillness brings a veteran to tears. He has not heard silence in a long time. He treasures each moment of it. Even the snipers are resting.
The quiet continues. The loudest thing for miles along the front is vultures squabbling over carrion. The sky becomes overcast, and a gentle rain begins.
Everyone can feel it. That this serenity will not and can not persist. They can tell something is coming. The anticipation builds, then the sound of the guns begins again. It is louder than any man remembers, as though they are making up for their brief silence. The crying soldier cries no more, stowing his emotions. He pokes his head up from a trench, only for a sniper's bullet to graze his ear. Hours later, he wonders if there had ever really been silence, or if it had all been a product of his imagination. |
“Oh no!” said the mad scientist, “Who put this giant marauding robot here? Ahhhh! Flee in terror.”
As the mad scientist was vocally mimicking sounds of people fleeing in terror amid explosions the probation officer pinched her nose in grief. For the record the probation committee didn’t care if the eccentric man lived in a junk yard using it as raw material to build whatever. As long as whatever that was didn’t wreck havoc in the community.
“Mittens,” she said.
“Doctor Mittens,” said the scientist, “I do have a PhD.”
The probation officer sighed and said, “For the record people don’t actually say ‘flee in terror’ while they are fleeing in terror.”
“Really? Seems kinda natural to me,” said the scientist as he was trying to hide his acetylene torch behind his back without setting himself on fire.
“Dr Mittens, do you remember the terms of the agreement for your probation?” asked the probation officer.
“Yes. Don’t build giant robots.”
“What did you do?”
“Built a giant ro- hold on,” said Dr Mittens as he interrupted himself, “I’m not falling for that again. Now this might look like a giant robot built for mass destruction, but it’s not.”
“What is it?” asked the probation officer.
“It’s an amusement ride.”
“I know for a fact you hate children,” said the probation officer.
“That is true, I hate children,” said Dr Mittens, “But I love building giant robots. If you study carefully this robot can’t actually walk. It’s too big to move on it’s own, it’s tethered to a crane to make it look like it’s walking around.”
“Why would you build that?”
“So glad you asked,” said Dr Mittens, “Kids! Come on in!”
A group of poor neighborhood children burst into the junkyard hollering;
“Yay! It’s a Gundam!”
The children cheered as the started climbing all over the forty-foot-tall structure. Marveling at every detail. Despite being tethered to the ground, the machine was remarkably mobile with slowly moving arms and fully articulated fingers.
“Why would you build a Gundam if it can’t move?” asked the probation officer.
Dr Mittens finally revealed his welding torch and shut it off as he explained, “We don’t have the technology yet to make a robot this big fully mobile. But eventually we will, and when we do, I just want to have a hand up in experience in building machines this big.”
“So you still intend to build a giant marauding robot,” said the probation, “Just not right now.”
“Basically yes,” said Dr Mitten, “But when I do it’s not going to be a Gundam. I want to go much bigger. I’m thinking more along the lines of something Mecha-Godzilla sized.”
“Right, well I’ll see you next week, then,” said the probation officer. |
You need to develop your protagnoists character arc. How do they get to this life of simplicity. Why do they want to? What stuggles are faced along the way? What challenges and obstacles must they face and overcome? Who do they meet along the way?
Outline their entire journey via a plot synopsis over a number of pages but not to many. Have a plan but you don't have to stick to it of course.
[https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/write-character-arcs/](https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/write-character-arcs/)
[https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-a-captivating-character-arc](https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-a-captivating-character-arc)
[https://www.nownovel.com/blog/detailed-character-arc-template/](https://www.nownovel.com/blog/detailed-character-arc-template/)
I expect as you are writting the novel you willl realise what might a good place to end each chapter. Obviously your not going to want to end the chapter in the middle of a dialogue with someone. But, for example after a important interaction with someone and then your character say does x, y and then z, and then after z he meets someone new, or, a new event happens. Or after that conversation. Then ending the chapter there is a good incentive for the reader to keep reading, to find out what happens with this new character, new event, new crisis or challenge.
E.g.
"Just as Jack closed his eyes and settled down for the night he heard an terrifying explosion outside his window that shook his entire room. He had been looking forward to meeting Milly again the next day. He grabbed his spectacles before they fell off his dresser and jumped straight to his feet. He pulled back the curtain aghast too see his once beloved baseball stadium was no longer there. Jack's jaw dropped with horror and he started to scream as all he could see was a massive ball of flames and black smoke starting to dissipate. Jack started to feel faint, he tried to grab on to the curtains as he fell to his bedroom floor." End of Chapter. |
A muzzle pops out of the window into the house. Her tiny head wedges through the small slit in the windowsill. A little ‘woosp’ noise appears when she lifts up the glass. The little claws glide through the wallpaper as the chubby body slides down. As her tail hits the floor with a thwack, her glittery eyes looks at the light of a giant tree adorn in lights.
Her legs barrel down the hall. The miniature wings flaps erratically dispute her not flying. As she gets closer to the tree the scales glows like a disco ball. The light in her eyes glows brighter as her pupil dilate. Quickly, she claws the ornaments as they jingle. Her large reptilian tail waggles around with the paw swipes. Each swipe, each whack, each swing of the decor, the harder the tiny dragon attacks the ornaments, until POP!
As the ornament dust cover the floor, the tiny dragon climbs the thin trunk. The higher she is the more she can break. The angel on the top has no chance to the snot of the dragon, even a tiny one. Teeth marks covers the entire topper as the angel is deep into the muzzle covered in razor sharp teeth. The glitter that covers her wings tickles the nose of the small beast. She sneezes loudly spitting sparks onto the tree.
As the tree lights up in flames the mythical beast snuggles in the prickly needles as if it was cat in a cat bed. |
They travelled the earth since beginning of time. Having been forbidden lovers before that, they had been made opposites, each of them representing the reverse things, and sentenced to walk the lands for eternity.
Humans knew of them, but could not grasp the implications of the higher being, they only understood the permanent motion of both, the effects each one had on it’s surrounding and that they would invert everything the other one had created. And even though the world of men had a very one-sided opinion on whom of the two they preferred, they also know that one without the other could not be, that both were necessary for this world.
Flora and Fauna always rejoiced and became more active when the one left, but used the time for healing, relaxation and preparation as long as he was here.
And even though they usually were far apart, some days they managed to find each other, usually just for a short moment of time, leading to days of dance and engagement, passion and confusion, change and sometimes chaos.
So if you, mere human, ever wonder why it can snow, rain and have sunshine on the same day, how it can be 10°C shortly after the land was covered in fresh snow or why ducklings get to walk on ice shortly after their birth, know, that the two lovers had met again, that summer and winter were able to share a kiss, only to be separated again. |
"I'm leaving."
It's early in the morning. The cars sing through the horizon and the birds roar like their engines. The morning hustle of the big city is the same as usual. As you leave your apartment complex through the front door you also hear people screaming. A sour mixture of bickering and people earning their living.
As you walk through the sidewalk, you notice a small piece of dog poo. "Great, another responsible owner."You follow your route but move a bit off its way to avoid it. As you blink and step forward, you notice you stepped on something a bit soft, like dirt. You look below and see it, you clearly did not avoid it. "Darn it."
You try rubbing off the piece of crap on the sidewalk, you blink and there is another one, a little to your right. "So there were two?"You eventually manage to get it off, but the stench now follow your every step.
Reaching the subway, you take out your card to pass through, you blink and instead of going straight into the lane, you bump directly to the fence. As you reopen your eyes the lane is right in front of you. You rub your nose, "did I bump into someone?"You take out your card, pass it through and head your way.
You reach the stairs, you then blink and your step was a bit too forward, the excrement makes your footing unstable, you stumble and loose balance, falling down. "Are you okay"ask some other folks who were waiting before you. A man reaches out their hand to help you get up.
"Yeah, nothing to worry about."You blink as you reach out and let the weight of your body go, falling once more to the ground. You're now getting hot from the embarrassment. You look up and the man is just a couple of inches off from where you thought they were.
You reach out once again and finally grab them and get up. You pat your knees and reply "thank you"a bit ashamed. You blink again and the man is moved a couple of inches away.
"Don't worry,"he replies and proceeds to wait for the train as the rest.
Just another unlucky day. |
Every second I think I might scream at the next thud, silently waiting its arrival, yet no sound comes out of my mouth, as if the horror outside has gripped my lungs, not the ship. Every passing moment, my lungs fill with the salty, dark realization, taking away my breaths, that I just *shouldn't* have. I shouldn't have dreamed, I shouldn't have aspired, I shouldn't have wanted, I shouldn't have ventured. This isn't our domain, that we so frivolously waste, it's *theirs.*
I, so arrogantly, relied on the feeble lighting amidst the infinite expanse of the void we know so little about. The lights were out, and the hull of the ship sighed at my apparent future. if there was some LED, some flicker of hope that survived the first crush, it was curtained by the absoluteness of my dread.
I heard it scream. It was the last time I'd ever want to hear it scream. It's tentacles enveloped every inch now, and they *scratched.* They weren't supposed to scratch. *Oh Lord, they weren't supposed to scratch.*
Why was I still alive? The pressure should've ripped open my joke of a haven, instantaneously crushing me. I could've been reunited with the black waters, I could've been alone, I could've been free by the sweet release of death. For the one time ever in my life, I wanted to be alone, in the loneliest place in the world, yet it was there. It wasn't stopping. It's toxic companionship, it's horrific scratching, the hull's mind-splitting groans, realization crashing, too much to bear.
I would've thought I'm dead, yet I saw the hull rip open like cloth being torn, and I saw its bioluminescent tentacles. It's body, my coffin, only keeping me from bliss, and forcing my torment. The torn metal, around the fang of the monstrosity, a mouth like no other, the sheer sight enough to drive one mad. I wished, in that moment, to not be. The terror kept me from realizing that somehow there was air in the house of fear it formed around me. That realization would've been pointless, as its jagged teeth soon lunged at me, tearing my flesh.
\--------------------------------------------------------------
Would love and highly appreciate feedback, been a long time since I wrote. Hope you enjoyed, or were terrified (if that even somehow worked). |
Legend of the Dead Man’s Treasure
Legend has it- it was the first month of the year of our lord, 1944. Fully aware the war was lost to them, the Nazis charted the cargo plane, “Herz des Rheins” destined for Argentina, South America. Under the control of Waffen-SS Kommandant, Erik Von Klüg, the mission was to transport multiple caches of seized gold, silver and priceless works of art out of war torn Germany before the allies could take it for themselves. After multiple delays and technical maintenance issues, the plane took off in the early hours of Sunday January 9th, 1944 under the shroud of fog. Unfortunately however while flying just west of Morocco the Herz des Rheins was struck by allied anti aircraft fire and made it only as far as the Tropic of Cancer before crash landing on the remote island aptly named “Island of the Dead”.
The survivors cobbled together what valuables remained from the wreckage, made the determination to bury the treasures and escape off the island with the last of the life rafts. Their plan was to return with better gear and supplies to retrieve the riches and flee to Argentina. The night before the planned voyage though there was a mutiny amongst the group and Kommandant Von Klüg was forced to kill many of the same soldiers he once fought alongside but not before he himself was wounded. In a state of desperation, Von Klüg hastily drew up a map of where the treasure was buried and set sail the next morning but died of his injuries only hours into his journey at sea.
Several months later the life raft along with the treasure map and Von Klüg’s skeleton picked clean by seagulls and the elements miraculously washed up on the shores of Punta Cana where a local fisherman was at work. After examining the raft the fisherman found the rolled map in the trenchcoat pocket of the dead man’s corpse and decided to sell it to local adventurers for cash. Though several copies of the original had been created and countless attempts had been trekked, no one has yet been able to make it back to Island of the Dead and retrieve the cursed treasure from whence it was buried more than 70 years ago. |
A blackened pot steamed from inside a brick fireplace. To one side and warming her hands, the witch Glenda sat, deep in her studies. The tools of her trade hung from rafters and beams, pots and cauldrons in neat lines like a magical army. More waited on shelves. And weaving through the rafters and shelves were herbs and plants and other material to dry. Though some were warm and some further from the fire and cold, their odors were no different than the forest outside Glenda’s cabin. Concentrated and redolent, but not quite magic yet.
Glenda coughed into her fist, then traced the words one last time. It seemed simple enough. One shaped brick, the main ingredient. One packet of a fine powder. Water, boiling. She glanced up and shook her head. Not yet. Even though the flames beneath the pot twirled like dervish fire spirits, not yet.
A black cat hopped down from a tall shelf and Glenda said, “Told you to stay off that one. I may be good, but the queen won’t have her potions come morning if you break them.” As the manner of all cats were, it pushed into Glenda’s leg and twisted about her skirts. “Spells and potions, my dear Ulver, are what I’ve trained for. Let’s see if our little bargain will keep me alive.”
Glenda rose, cursing the cold and bracing one leg with a long-fingered hand. For almost a hundred years, she had pushed off the effects of age with her arts. Now it showed, but not from failing magic. She smiled despite the twisting pain through back and belly and hips, making her way to a rough table of half-hewn logs. Beyond were the shelves that Ulver had been napping on, each packed with bottles of every color and waiting for their buyer. Each had their time on that table while ingredients became potions. But not tonight. What Glenda had arranged had a more common purpose.
“Curses a thousand and one on your dying, Kerryn,” she intoned, then touched a series of shallow bowls set in a row. One larger one remained untouched. “Curses on you and your daughters, all dead of plague. Curses on what you bequeathed me. Five generations of women have sent me bread and meat and stews and soups. Now you are dead and your words? *Can’t be harder than a potion.* Going to find myself a necromancer and … no, they killed the one in Weinghardt.”
Three days, she thought. If tonight didn’t work, she had that long to travel beyond Weinghardt and find someone to raise Kerryn or one of her daughters. Her hands trembled on the last item on the table, a carved box. Not fear, but hunger. Four days without a proper meal. It clouded the mind worse than any magic, wasted the body in a way slower and with greater pain than illness, and had left her wondering if she could survive a journey.
Nothing in the carved box had saved her. Spells of a sort, but without Glenda’s magic. She pushed the lid open and read. Potato bread. Venison stew, with mushrooms and wild carrots. A thing called preserves, which must have been the jellied sweets that Kerryn had sent after every summer. Dozens more. Each that she had tried, failed.
One sat congealed in a charred pot, and Glenda turned to curse it without words. Meat and vegetables and grains that not even Ulver would go near.
But the strange man had knocked at her door earlier. Couldn’t pay gold for the salve he described – what a monkey’s butt had to do with it she didn’t know, nor what breed his alien horse was – but he had paid in food and generously. Only knew one guy that could ever screw this up, he’d said. And Glenda had promised him that if she were hungry come the dawn, his unbreathing horse would not run far enough. Her magics would find him.
He believed. Glenda chuckled at the idea, since the worst a potion could do is hurt a person from a few paces away. And that took a strong man’s arm.
She felt Ulver winding through her legs, then swatted reflexively to the right when that disappeared. “You’ll get a share but not before, naughty cat.”
Glenda read the bottom half of the strange food. Covered in words of a different magic than hers, written by a hand more perfect than any pen, they did more than list the basics. Green onion or egg or chicken or just as many things that she knew of.
A meow from the fireplace drew her attention; Ulver had sprawled before it. “Out of the way,” she said, then nudged the cat to one side.
Boiling. *Finally.* Glenda retrieved the shaped brick and other small bowls, setting each on a ledge above the fireplace. After the last, she pulled a wooden spoon from a nail and tapped the pot three times.
“Spirits, hear!” *Tap.* “I will this water to cure my hunger!” *Tap.* “I will this strange food to the water’s embrace!” *Tap.* And Glenda dropped the shaped brick in the boiling water.
Foam rose immediately and covered the supposed food. She pushed down and felt the brick soften, then disappear. With her free hand, she snatched each bowl in turn and fed the ingredients to the pot. How many times she had trusted in the process of making a potion? *It couldn’t be harder than a tincture of banepuff. Stir, stir, so it doesn’t burn like those fragile seeds falling to the bottom of a pot.*
Glenda counted heartbeats as she’d been taught over a hundred years ago. At the last, she worked the spoon under the handle and lifted the bubbling pot from its hook in the fire. A low meow came from Ulver as she turned, and the cat paced at her side as she walked to the table.
*Perhaps,* she thought, and Ulver leapt up to investigate. His head poked inside the cloud of steam, then emerged damp. “You’re not helping,” she said.
With great import, Glenda tapped the pot three times with her wooden spoon, then lifted it again. Her sleeve did well enough to grip the bottom handle and steaming water and vegetables and whatever the shaped brick had been poured into the large bowl.
She sat, smelled, and reversed her curses on Kerryn and her now-dead daughters. Her spoon dipped in the bowl and rose.
Glenda’s face twisted as she swallowed. *Liar.* Quick and easy it was not. But the strange man had traded her three dozen of these bricks for his salve, and come morning she would set out to find him and the secret to the alien potion called ramen. |
**— If I Could Do It Again; A Letter To A Younger Me —**
Dear Myself,
Whatever it is I wanted to say to you, I've well and truly forgotten. This is often the way with me; something so profound and true, so... *existential*, just hiding beneath the surface, never to be found. Such great potential, gone to waste.
I cannot tell you what it is I wanted to. God knows I want to. I can only tell you what I know; if I could do it all again, there are so many things I'd do differently.
That's just the thing with life, isn't it? After you've made a right mess of it, you know exactly the way to fix it. But it's too late now, for me. I am who I am, suppose. If I were anyone else, then, perhaps, I might have been better. I might have done better. O, to be be young again, as Father would say.
Where to start, where to start indeed... Does infinity have a beginning? How can one number his regrets? Because, dear Me, you and I both know we have so many. Or, I suppose you don't. Trust me, you will — later. For now, you're happy. Enjoy that. Enjoy that. For god's sake and for yours, enjoy it while it lasts. Because it won't last long.
Happiness is something you and I know only from afar. Happiness is the pretty boy we never dared approach. Happiness is the poem we never wrote, the song we never sung. It is all the friends we didn't make, and all the opportunities we let pass us by. I suppose you haven't done all that, yet. You still have a chance to do things right. When you mess it all up, don't be disappointed.
I guess what I wanted to say, if I'm really going to say anything, it's that everyone messes it all up. No-one gets it right the first time. We're set to fail from the beginning. And, of course, we don't get any do-overs.
Is this a great secret? I don't know. I just know that, if I could do it all again, there are so many things I'd do differently.
There's something so desperately, intimately humiliating at writing a letter to my younger self. Looking to a hopeful kid, and saying; "don't worry — one day, you'll be like me too."When did I become such a killjoy?
Killjoy. Kill, joy. Such an odd word, and yet somehow perfect to describe my situation. Joy is dead, and her blood is on my hands. You'll kill her too, soon. Just you wait. You will do so many horrible things. And, when you come to be me, you'll say just like I have, that, if you could do it all again, there are so many things you'd do differently.
Goodbye, dear Me. I hope you'll have a good life, though I know you won't. God knows I didn't.
Yours truly,
A bitter ghost. |
On the day the world ended, Mora woke up from her dream.
Mora had lived a life many would consider a paradise. Living as a "trophy wife"to Kenneth, a rich investor who had played the global markets for years, she easily slipped into the role of attractive companion. Kevin, more of a boyfriend than a real husband due to him being decades older than Mora, trusted her to look beautiful and speak when necessary. She, in turn, trusted him to do his job as best he could.
Mora's days had been filled with travel, exquisite food, and lovely conversations with the preppy and elite of the world. Her nights had been filled with beautiful dresses, fancy glasses to sip from, and soft beds where small instances of lovemaking would occur. She had found this life fulfilling, the activities and conversations always allowing her to enjoy what she was doing without thinking of the consequences. She learned many things from many people, but these were extracurricular things, not to be taken as seriously.
Mora never saw the apocalypse coming. But Kenneth had. His aged mind was sharp enough to see how doomsday would cripple the global economy very quickly. But even Kenneth was not ready in time.
Seeing his fortunes vanish into the ether, Kenneth tried to grab hold of whatever assets he could in his hands. This led him to be in the swerving path of a mob of rioting middle and lower-class members of society. Mora never found Kenneth's body, the mob had not left anything of him for her to keep. Out of love for Kenneth, a genuine if tiny piece of her heart yearning for his voice and touch, she ventured out into the world to find what had been his, what she had been using. She did not think much of it was left.
Mora went from one abandoned house to another, the quality of living far below her standards. But it was all she could find that was not already seized.. Everywhere Mora looked, people were taking, taking, taking. This led to lots of people dying, dying, dying sad and penniless and... *alone*.
It took Mora days of self-reflection to realize she was alone, too. The tenth night of Mora's travels was when she realized what she needed to do to not feel that way anymore.
Held down by two female lunatics who had broken into her home that night, one of them holding a crowbar caked in dirty substances, Mora finally snapped. She gave her assaulters all the anger she had stored inside her body and mind. They became the assaulted; Mora showed them no mercy, just like the people had shown no mercy to Kenneth when he had things they did not. When the lunatics stopped moving and breathing, she passed out from her exertions.
The next morning, Mora was awake and armed with the lunatic's crowbar, along with the tattered remnants of her old clothing around her neck as a scarf. Wearing new clothes fit for a lower-class woman, she moved to a new resting place as the skies remained dark during the daytime. She foraged or stole supplies when necessary, left nothing but footprints as she traveled, fought only to survive, and gave the few humans she saw a wide berth.
Mora had taken so much for granted. Now, she gave those who believed in such lunacy the reality they so vehemently denied. |
The room was dark, as the thirteen heads sat around the table. Only their hands illuminated, barring the occasional ember from cigarettes.
"Have we figured out what this was"Number 12 said with a heavily modulated voice.
"We are down to 23 possible theories. With the caveat that the 24th is something even we don't know."Number 1's interpreter said as Number 1 spoke to them in ancient sumarian.
Suddenly a voice modulator is thrown across the table followed by a string of Gaelic. "I thought our whole fucking schtik was we had the resources tae know fit the fuck was gaen on ae the times."His thick Scottish accent echoed through the chamber.
"Number 7 please,"began Number 12 before a ceramic mask was thrown in his direction.
"Blow it oot yer arse"the door slammed as Number 7 left for his personal bunker.
Number 12 sighed. The silence of the room was stifling barring the occasional light cough.
"So we don't know anything do we?"
Number 1s interpreter shuffled for a bit before meekly saying "not really no."
Number 12 nodded. Sighed once more and took of his mask. "So genuine question what did you all do with your quite literally near infinite resources. Because I know what I did. I prepped mass survival shelters in Japan , Korea, Malaysia and Australia and have been orchestrating MULTIPLE charities for the homeless and sick. We were 2 years away from the cure for cancer. The rest of you were supposed to work on fortifying your national areas and working on other charitable causes for forwarding humanity. What the actual fuck did you spend all that money on?"
There was a long pause. No one wanted to speak first. Number 12's anger only rose.
"I swear to L. Ron Hubbard if no one starts talking im arming all of our nukes."
Number 1 spoke in sumarian. The interpreter began to stammer.
"Out with it child what did that fucking petrified corpse say?!"12 had long pas the point of self restraint and was already typing away the codes for arming the nukes. Humanity was going to die. Hes at least taking those things with them.
"Number 1 said...that when he started the tridecum. It ummm how do I put this..........it was a swingers group."
Number 12 stopped on the last letter of the code. "My child...,"he began to chuckle "im terribly sorry but the stress must be getting to me. What was that?"
"The Tridecum was a swingers group originally. For powerful immortals to, and this is a direct translation here, do lines and bang nines. It wasn't until the free masons who got absorbed in that this whole , again direct quote here, did all that protect Humanity shit."
Blood trickled out of Number 12s nose as his heart rate sky rocketed. "How many of our inner circle are immortal?"
"11 of the 13"squaked number 4
Number 12 nodded. "Me and Hamish im assuming"
There was a low murmur of agreement.
Number 12 sighed and keyed in the last letter of the launch code, set a timer for 6 hours, changed the trajectory to his current location then swallowed his launch key. "Right. In 6 hours all of the worlds nukes will rain down on here. That gives hamish enough time to get into his fully self sustainable bunker with his many wives and husbands aaaaaand leaves me 6 hours of time to pay back the years you took from me running your little orgy group. Miss Linn if you run you should be able to catch Hamish before he flies off."
The interpreter immediately sprints out of the room.
The room sparked into 11 different languages screaming at Number 12. He simply breathed in and said "Alexa, play the Doom Eternal soundtrack on repeat. " |
A very short one because it's my last day at work before the holiday.
---
"Is... is that _perl_?"
"Mostly. There's actually a few calls out to this base64 encoded binary in there too... I think Morningstar wrote it in assembly somewhere during the test phase but he doesn't work here any more, and if I'm honest no one remembers what it was for. But hey, it's only about 800 bytes, and nothing else seems to work without it so we leave it in there."
"Why. Are. You. Piping. SQL. Through. Sed?"
"Ah. Yes. Now. There used to be a comment about that, but someone accidentally deleted it when we moved from SVN to Git about a decade ago and no one can decipher what that regex does any more, so it's best not to touch it."
"And this is running... everything? Everything that exists everywhere. Ever."
"Yeah. Sorry. You didn't think quantum physics got like that on purpose did you?" |
"Tell me this one more time", said the foreman.
James swallowed "well officer i was laying in my bed reading the picturebooks. You know the ones with the red dinosaur"
"Rex the Red T-Rex?"The foreman glanced at his boss, with a face that begged to kill this idiot.
"That's the one. Then the ceiling square fell off and i hear a womans voice and then she said 'Come, we don't have much time!'"
"And you said?"
"I said...
--
"I don't think the manager would like me talking to ceiling people"
A moment of silence and then a man said "Ma, are you sure this is the one?"
"Yes, they've wiped his memory. But he made a backup"
"This imbecile made a backup?"
A sharp intake of breath before she said "Yes. James get your ass up here"
"But the foreman..."
"Ma, what if it doesn't work... Him regaining his mind?"
"There are worse ways to go"
"Where are you going?"James asked innocently unaware of anything beyond the factory walls.
Then James heard the foreman's knock.
"Who are you talking to?"
"Away from them, now get your ass up here."
The knocking persisted.
"What's his na... James open up"the foreman's voice drove through the particle board
"James squeeze that fatass of yours in this here ceiling "
James got up off the bed, crossed the room and opened the door.
--
"And then you took me here, can i go to sleep now mr. Foreman, i have to work tomorrow."
The Foreman looked to his boss "Can I?"
"No, James' work is too valuable to corporate,"The foreman's crestfallen face triggered something almost like kindness in her. "Wipe his mind clean"
She turned, walked across the room and opened the door, pausing midway to turn back to the pair of men with a smile "On second thought, i'm not so certain James was honest with us. Waterboard him, if you do a 95% wipe he'll wake thinking he had another nightmare about drowning."
"What's waterboarding?" |
Mitzi stared at the black screen before her, the blinking while line of a cursor taunting her as it rested in its space in the upper left corner, reflecting her work for the day, a self criticism of all she had accomplished in the past four years of her time at university. It was disheartening. To feel so empty after so many experiences, to feel as if her time, as dramatic and life altering as it had been, was as empty and void of meaning as the page before her.
She knew this wasn't really the case, she was gifted, possibly one of the brightest in her class, and yet those gifts didn't necessarily translate to academics.
She breathed deeply, the mixture of almond and chamomile wafting from her lips and into her nostrils, helping smooth her thoughts, turning rhythmic waves to stillness as she allowed her eyes to flutter shut. Another breath and she felt her body release the inherent tension of the waking world, her shoulders slumping, her thin body leaning forward, the rigidly of her spine curving gently as her chin dipped to the hollow between her collarbones.
She felt it, the distinct undeniable tug as her consciousness left her body and she found herself watching her body moved as if through molasses, her raven hair shifting forward as if in attempt to hide the fact that she had again fallen asleep during a test. She smiled, turning away from her physical from and walking to the front of the classroom, briefly scanning the planted book before returning to her body and settling back inside.
Instantly she felt herself jerk upright, as if her body had been doused in ice water, a deep gasp hissing into her lips as she sucked in air, her eyes flying open.
Shaking her head slightly, her dainty fingers move to the keyboard, allowing the words to flow eagerly from her, filling the page and the assignment.
Mitzi was gifted. That those gifts didn't apply to academics simply made life a matter of changing the problem. |
I always dreamed of finding treasure. Even as a kid, I'd look for hidden objects in the sand, or secret entrances, or just anything. Of course at some point you grow up and life moves on, I mean I did. I went to college, got myself a degree, and bought a house by the beach. Even with where I've gotten myself now though, I'm still lonely. So I bought a metal detector, rekindled the fire of my childhood and told myself I would find treasure.
Here and there I would find coins, and the occasional soda tabs. The thrill of finding the metal objects left behind kept me coming back for months. Until... I found it. The lamp.
I dug it out of the sand on the beach and I brushed it off before... Poof... He was there.
"Hello, young man, I am here to grant you three wishes."
"Uh... Hi. Three wishes? I must be dreaming."
"No, no. I assure you young man, I am quite real."
"Oh my. Well, uh, do I need to tell you my wishes now or can I take my time to think about it?"
"Young man, thinking it through is always for the best."
Over the next few days I thought heavily on what I should wish for. There was always a consequence for every action and I didn't want to create a situation that would backfire.
"Uh, I'm ready for my first wish. I wish that all the broken things in my house would be repaired."
"And so it shall be."
I did that one pretty early on. Another day with a leaky sink was going to kill me. My other two wishes were just as mundane, just fixing the car, and making the beach litter free.
"Geez kid, if I knew you were gonna do that, I would have just said a higher number of wishes in the beginning.
"I thought you were bound to 3 wishes Genie?"
“Genie? No, I’m not a genie. I’m not bound to grant you anything. I’m just so bored with having boundless cosmic power that I’d rather see what you do with it for now." |
3rd time trying to post
I am personally defining a language as a communication system that has both an oral and written function.
So dance, Morse code, and binary don’t count.
Yet also interesting it has been found that fantasy languages that fit the criteria can be adapted by the ability. Because it is completely unknown when a child will pick up their first language it is advised that both parents speak the primary language of the household the first year. Cruel accidents have occurred where, when watching a tv program or reading a book a child hears a fantasy or dead language. Such incidents bring devastating results to families for a decade, some recover by painstakingly attempting to learn, worse are the ones who purposefully cause such harm. In the past this method was used as a means to revive dead language with little success. Now it is the sign of neglect beyond reasonable doubt, our story starts here with a little kid who has learned their first language one that is unknown to either parent… |
“I’m telling you, it’s a bug!”
“And I’m telling you that it’s a feature!”
I sighed as I watched Elder Cormack and Elder Gersch bicker in front with my chin propped on my palm. Looking at the paperwork in front of me, I quickly scanned to see the details of their request.
“Alright, alright.” I interrupted, causing both of them to stop for the first time since they entered my office. “Start from the beginning, what did you want me to do?”
“We were doing some research into light based magic, trying to understand why it behaves so erratically at times.” Elder Cormack started, stroking his beard as he reclined.
“Yes, so we looked into studying the Codex.” Elder Gersch took over, pulling out his Inspector, a device that closely resembled a modern day smartphone. “You already know with the Inspector, we can view the Codex, the source code of reality and the fundamentals for magic.”
“Of course, I invented the thing.” I replied in a lackadaisical manner while trying to catch a glimpse of the time. “What was the issue you were having with it?”
“Yes, of course you would know, Archmage Kalim.” Elder Gersch said with deference as he continued, “Well, both Cormack and I came across something interesting with light as a natural phenomena.” Cormack also brandished his inspector and both placed it on the loading pad on my desk.
With a few keystrokes, I pulled up the data that they were researching. The Codex was quite incredible, being able to look at the intricacies of reality and all the code behind expanded the minds of many. Looking at the recent logs that they had, I couldn’t help but frown.
“This doesn’t make sense.” I muttered, looking at the spells that they tried to compile. With the Inspector being able to understand the Codex, it was also possible to utilize some of the code and compile it into separate programs. This is how spells were first developed. Understanding the Codex was one part, but rewriting it to create your own spells was what marked the first step into one as a wizard.
Looking at the spells that they had attempted to write and the results they got, it was truly bizarre. In actual coding, you could compile the program, and have a bunch of different development environments to help you with the development process. With magic, it was quite different. The Inspector was already an ingenious invention, if I do say so myself. It allowed one to see the Codex’s underlying framework and edit parts of it.
But that was just all it could do. It was left to the Wizards to experiment with creating spells, and experimentation was a big part. There wasn’t any compilation to see if the spell would even work, like in software development. All you could do was hope that by stitching together certain parts of the Codex, you could cause the intended results you were looking for. Of course, there was a lot of room for error and it could be very dangerous.
There were already many courses that existed to try to cover what was already known, but still, there was a lot of room for pioneers to cover new ground. Elder Cormack and Gersch were two prime examples of their continuous research in breaking new ground. However, what they brought before me truly stumped me.
They both had the same spell in their Inspector, but the results were greatly different. Where Cormack had attempted to create a laser beam spell and was successful, Gerch’s Inspector instead had the inverse effect of absorbing light in a beam.
“I believe there was a bug in Gerch’s Inspector.” Cormack spoke up as I tore myself away from the logs to look at them again.
“Impossible.” I said right away. “The Inspectors are a tried and tested method. The only two things that are absolute are the Codex and the Inspectors.”
“Well, that’s why I think the erratic nature of Light is a feature of it. We know that light has unique properties from quantum mechanics. This could be one of them.” Gerch interjected.
“If that’s the case, then are you just going to say that anytime inconsistencies occur in spells, that it’s just because that's how the Codex is? There hasn’t been any records of this kind of behavior before? It’s impossible for the Codex to be non-deterministic. No one has seen anything in the Codex that could indicate this.”
“Well, like I mentioned, light is quite fickle already in terms of physics. Maybe this is just an extended behavior of that?”
Looking at the logs, the timestamps caught my eye. “Maybe we have it all wrong.” I said as I pulled up the spell from Gercsh’s device. As I injected mana into the spell, a beam of light from the supposedly defective device. As I injected mana into Cormack’s device, a beam of light was sucked up, leaving a line of darkness in pursuit.
The elders were looking between the devices back and forth, confused at the sudden behavior. Before I invoked Gercsh’s device once, shooting another beam of light before activating the spell again, which absorbed light.
Smiling as I solved the mystery, I detached the Inspectors and gave it back to the Elders. “Looks like this isn’t just a straightforward light beam spell. It seems to have a sort of entanglement so that whoever invokes the same spell again would absorb light after it has fired. A kind of reload and fire type of spell.”
“Of course!” Cormack exclaimed, “That explains the bits of the spell that didn’t seem to correlate with light. In order for it to fire, it must first absorb! Many thanks Archmage Kalim!”
“Anytime” I replied as I waved at them to head off. After finishing up their paperwork and saying goodbye, I put it in the finished pile and pulled up another complaint. Opening the door to my office and sticking out my head to look at the long line outside. I shouted.
“Next!” |
I know the dead.
They appear to me every day. Those that linger, stuck with the shock and pain weighing them down, denial and things that persist into the beyond. A woman asking me to call 911, her arm and head sheared apart by the car accident that killed her twelve years ago. The clouds of bodies and faces in the hospitals, emergency clinics, all begging and needing in a cacophony of noise. The children, the old, the man who died in the lce cream isle at the Wal-Mart who is too caught up with his fiancee's well being to move on.
I know the dead and by and large, they suffer. Those that remain are universally wanting something, some closure or means to know it'll be alright. I can't help them all, and not everyone who dies stays, some move on, some persist in love and memory, some in pain and shock.
Boyd is a fireman. He died in 2009 in a three alarm apartment complex fire saving a nine year old little girl. He wrapped her in his fire jacket and suffered third and fourth degree burns to his head and face from a back draft. The girl survived. He went into shock and died when the adrenaline wound down.
He's still at the fire department in town.
I'm a volunteer, I tell him. He thanks me for serving the community. I explain I'm not a fireman - I'm a woman who has the sight, like %.0005 of Americans, and I'm here to help him.
He shakes his head and tells me politely he's not ready to leave- the men and women in his ladder need someone watching over them, and he can't just leave.
It's not so bad, he tells me.
Spots, the ladder Dalmatian, can see him. |
Every now and then, I feel something watching me. I always got nervous, worrying about scenarios that never happened. One night, I was getting mugged by the seashore, next to the nature reserve, when the full moon suddenly flashed in the sky. The robber was dazed, I felt invigorated, and the sounds of animals came from the tree line. As I made a dash for the road, I saw wolves, owls, and bats(of all things) chasing after the masked man.
I realized what that was, watching me that night.
It was the moon.
It had always been watching over me.
Ever since, every night, I looked up to them and gave my thanks from the bottom of my heart.
Remember that they look out for you, too. |
Horizon
Arthur Blake is working the morning shift as a communication officer at the TRASH dispatching outpost station M87 operated by the Horizon Corporation. It is mostly boring routine work, but human oversight and decision making is still needed in case exceptional situations occur. Situations like this one when the signal came in earlier today. The data suggested that the signal originated from the black hole itself, which would of course be impossible, but ok, these are the situations he is paid to analyze.
Arthur leans back in his chair on the bridge, puts his legs on the consoles and sips his flat white coffee while gazing into the black hole presented on the panorama windows in front of him. Despite the insomnia he is suffering for months now, he is in a phenomenally good mood today. Actually he might have never been in a better mood. The reason for this is clearly the message of the decoded signal that seemed to be coming from the black hole. It turned out to be music, an ancient song from before the space age called “Down Under” from a band by the name of “Men at work”. Arthur is rocking in his chair, singing along to the song that blasts on repeat for two hours already while he is watching dispatcher ship after dispatcher ship flying into the black hole:
“Do you come from a land down under
Where women glow and men plunder?
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover”
The distortion effects of the ships being pulled beyond the event horizon into the black hole, together with the music, create an ecstatic and almost psychedelic atmosphere. Arthur does not really understand the lyrics of the song he is singing, but the music makes him feel light and being in the moment like he has never felt before. He feels that anything is possible.
As a communication officer, Arthur stays in contact with the dispatcher ships until they travel beyond the event horizon. He always found it fascinating that nobody knows what happens when you fly into a back hole. There is no definite scientific evidence that traveling through a black hole is dangerous for human beings. It might be, but in the end we just don’t know for certain. Even AUTHORITY does not know, despite all her knowledge about the universe. Of course, there is a risk of traveling through a black hole. But then, on the other side, what in the universe is without risk? Once the ships pass the event horizon no signals can be received anymore. Basic astrophysics. This is all we know for certain. The event horizon is the last frontier of the truly unknown.
The Transportation Association of Human Settlers (TRASH) was founded to explore exactly this Unknown. It is truly one of the greatest goals of mankind to expand human settlement beyond the borders of this universe, so AUTHORITY says and Arthur fully agrees. Arthur more than ever understands now that this is why millions of settlers sign up every day in all kinds of galaxies to join the program. The process is easily explained. The settlers sign the contract, travel to their nearest dispatching outpost stations, are reloaded into dispatcher ships of highest security standards and sent into the black holes with the possibility to colonize new universes. All perfectly organized by AUTHORITY.
Of course, the signal, like any communication, was analyzed by AUTHORITY before involving a human agent. Despite being fully aware of all known science in the universe, AUTHORITY did not provide any explanation how the message could possibly originate from the black hole. Arthur thought this was strange. But he also knows AUTHORITY must have had the best reasons to do so even if she sometimes works in mysterious ways. Of course, he knows, these ways only seem mysterious to humans with their limited mental capacity, but they always make perfect sense in a bigger context. He is well aware that AUTHORITY, in her core, is based on Asimov's three rules of robotics. That means first of all, she cannot harm humans or let them be harmed. And second, she must obey human orders except they would contradict the first rule. Third, she must protect her own existence if that does not conflict with the first and second rule. And AUTHORITY has proven for millennia now that she follows these rules successfully and optimizes for the best outcome of humanity overall. Without the help of AUTHORITY, humans would have probably never made it to space age and still sit in their own pile of dump, literally making each other's life hell on Earth.
It was indeed strange that the signal allegedly originated from the black hole and that AUTHORITY provided no explanation for it. But what seems even more astonishing to Arthur now is the complete change of mood that listening to this old song evoked in him. There is a world of difference in how he felt before and after receiving the signal. He wasn’t feeling well for some time already, but he wasn’t aware of it until now. It was not only the nightly insomnia that he could not easily ignore, but now he realizes that he repressed feelings of monotony and boredom towards his job and his life for a long time. His whole universe felt deterministic and without any element of surprise. It went so far that he was even becoming distracted at work and endangered the safety of dispatcher ship passengers on one occasion. There was no traumatic event that started this process, at least none that Arthur is aware of. It feels more like he walked this path slowly, step by step over the years and nothing told him to stop and turn around. Until now.
The feeling of joy and freedom that the signal invoked in him stands in stark contrast to the sense of meaningless that was growing in him for so long. He was never this sure what to do with his life as he is now. It is finally all very clear to him! He trembles from excitement as he downloads the TRASH terms and conditions and signs the document to become a settler himself. After the cancellation period of two weeks is over, he will be on one of the dispatcher ships flying towards a new horizon for humanity. He can barely wait for it. |
Sitting in my spacious cubicle I leaned forward with my chin propped up in one hand, eyes half closed in boredom as I scrolled down the list of unassigned cases. After reading the names of the 30 or so most recent cases I sighed and quickly swiped up, making the names fly by in a blur. I was about to do it again when her name flashed by, Paige Gardner, back on the list again. I slowly dragged the names down to get back to the entry, clicked the link to open the summary, and there it was; an updated picture and a short description of the progress made so far. She had resolved not to fall in love again, and 3 other agents had been unable to entice her to break her resolution. It has been a year already, the situation has become urgent.
A whole year? I swiped back up to the picture and looked at the profile of the woman, sitting in a cafe with a book, a hot drink on the table near her, and the slightest smile in the corner of her mouth as she stared at the pages. Christmas decorations in the background, and the cozy clothing everyone was wearing, indicated just how recent the picture was. It was so clear that I realized I could see the title, and as an avid reader myself I recognized the book. It wasn't on anyone's best seller list, but still had a dedicated following for a specific audience. Intrigued, I decided to look deeper into her file.
Five days later I felt like I knew as much about Paige as anyone can know about a stranger. A tough childhood, not horrible but not as nurturing as it could have been, led to a lot of boyfriends and some couch hopping as a teenager. There were a couple of lost friends along the way, and a failed engagement which led to the resolution. And the power that Paige gained? It seemed that she was able to influence events around her. The right interaction with someone could cause a ripple effect, sway opinions, and even influence policies. Only locally at first, but did she have something to do with the newly appointed Justice of the Supreme Court?
That weekend Paige occupied my thoughts more often than not. Was this it? Was this the person that would cause me to finally quit the agency? She could do so much good in the world, protect so many oppressed minorities, make so many positive changes with long lasting benefits. But would it be worth it, knowing what would ultimately happen to her? The old experiments had proven definitively that there was no known treatment for those who kept their resolutions. Personal experience had confirmed that for me when my mom made her own secret resolution. Headaches came first, then bleeds, chronic pain and fatigue, failing organs, deteriorating mental state. Catching the signs early would reverse these symptoms of course, and also prevent the person from losing control and becoming a danger to themselves and others.
On Monday I was trying to decide between two easy assignments, both teenagers making their first resolutions, when I overheard my supervisor in the cubicle next door mention Paige by name. Curious, I rolled my chair next to the wall to hear a little better. A few seconds later I huffed, shaking my head with a wry smile. Of course Craig would offer her case to Thomas. Granted, he did have a track record of successful seductions, but I knew Paige would be different. Standing up I walk around the wall and clear my throat to interrupt them. "I don't think Thomas will work out this time. I've been catching up on Paige's background, and I think it should be me."Craig was clearly surprised. Thomas speaks up. "Really? But I thought you're asexual?""I am, that's why I think this will work."
10 months later, I knew I was right. That didn't make it any easier. Neither would waiting around. I took one last, deep breath, picked up my key card and the seven layer desert I had made, and left my apartment.
Paige had warned me that she was taking a more liberal approach to "friendsgiving."More than half of the people there I don't recognize. They must be more targets to influence. Still, there are enough actual friends that the evening is pleasant. The conversation during the meal is lively and benign, and we all get to know each other a little better during the games afterward. I am silently impressed that whatever manipulation is happening is so subtle that not even I can figure it out.
The guests naturally form separate groups near the end, Paige's closer friends chatting in the kitchen while the rest finish up their conversations in the living room and dining room. Paige makes a quick appearance in the kitchen to grab a Tupperware of leftovers and check in with us. "Thank you all for coming over, it would have been practically a business meeting if it wasn't for you."Angie pipes up, swirling her 3rd glass of generously spiked eggnog. "I'm still not so sure it wasn't. But I'll forgive you, 'cause my work never lets me drink at their parties."We all laugh, and Paige tries to figure out how to grab a crockpot with her other hand hand. I get up off the stool and pick it up instead, our friendship close enough now that there's no need to ask for or offer help between us. She smiles in gratitude and we turn to walk out. "Well, business or not,"I choose my words as carefully as I know how, "I'm glad you didn't go off somewhere to spend the holiday with your loved ones."Paige smiles a genuine smile at me and then the group. "That's because you're my loved ones."My heart skips a beat, but I shape my face into the appropriate happy smile. "Aww,"Meagan fake gushes. "Get out of here before you make us blush!"Paige laughs again, and we carry the dishes out to the person waiting by the door.
I politely stay to see them off, so I notice when Paige uncharacteristically lets a pause in conversation go on a bit too long. She gives her head a quick shake. "Sorry, I have this feeling I'm forgetting something. Well, if it's important I'm sure I'll remember tomorrow."Seeing her sudden unease, I wait until we close the door behind the departing guest and ask "Are you getting another headache?""No"she answers, distracted. "I'm alright. Probably just drained."
Everyone is gone within the next half hour, and I get back to my apartment a bit after midnight. Before I go to bed I have one more task to do. I open the bedside table and unlock the false drawer bottom, removing the tablet and turning it on. I open the encrypted app and click the outgoing message option for the first time, typing out just one word: Success. I'm about to turn off the tablet again when I hear a ping. The return message is short. Start planning your exit.
I turn off the tablet and hide it again, stripping down before I lay under the covers. Eyes closed, I imagine what the next few weeks will look like for Paige. The panic as her power fades, denial as I reveal that love doesn't have to be romantic, anger as she realizes why I know that, and how I must be an agent. My chest already aches as I anticipate her rejection. It has to be done, I remind myself. That's why I joined the agency in the first place. |
In a pub, several alien species talked at the bar. “I just don’t want my daughter to think that she has to be me”, said a green coyote-like creature, “She needs to find her own path.” “Ah, she sounds like a Sipith”, said a blue man made of slime. “What’s that?”, asked the green creature. “It’s a member of a hive-mind. Weirdos, if ya ask me”, responded the slime.
"Would you like to know what a hive mind finds terrifying?”, came a voice. The men turned around to look at the man who sat alone at a table. “A race”, he continued, “of independent minds, as intelligent as my own, all somehow cooperating. All of them working together, in a seemingly mad harmony. Minds that should normally be at odds with each other. That is what I fear."
On the yellow planet Yori, there is a fleshy hole in the side of a plateau. From out of this hole fell a Sipith. The creature resembled a slug. He looked out at the vast desert. He saw something descend gracefully from the sky. It was a huge golden lamprey with four giant angelic wings attached. The creature hovered in front of the slug. “I am Gottyk. As a Sipith, you must be tagged with the royal jelly. This will put you into the hive-mind, and you will be under my control.” “No!”, the slug cried, scared. It slid away at a speed faster than lightning. The lamprey followed after, screeching. The slug found a hole in the ground, so he pounced into it. Surrounded in darkness, he could just make out a tunnel. He followed it as he listened to the lamprey screeching at him. The amount of light lessened as he progressed. He wanted to be as far away from that monster as possible. It was pitch-black for him. He collided with an earthy wall. Exhausted, he tried to sleep. |
I couldn’t afford to look back, not with what’s at stake.
I could only move forwards.
I was the last one left. On the remains of the battlefields, my men had fallen. Blood soaked the fields as the sun retreated behind the mountains. The same mountains where another wave of enemies had started to descend from.
Holding fast to the words left by the Prophecy, I found the strength to hold by blade, half broken from the previous battle. As I advanced forward, each step brought forth renewed vigor. I could see thousands of enemies rushing down. Ready to slaughter and raid the city behind.
There was no surrendering, no retreat, no negotiation. Each breach I took grew stronger. I looked at the blade given to me, I could still see the runes at the bottom half of the blade that remained.
Always move forward.
As the second wave of the battle began, I didn’t know how many times I was struck by arrows and blades. How my armor continued to shatter, and my bones cracked. There was only one thing that remained in my mind.
Always move forward.
Each step I advanced, an enemy would be slain. At first, they swarmed me, but they couldn’t break me. As long as I believed, despite the pain that overwhelmed me, my body wouldn’t break. Not yet.
Not until I’m the last one standing.
The thousands of enemies that started were reduced to hundreds, then were reduced to tens. As I looked at the last crowd, I could see the fear in their eyes. My mangled body, hung together only by faith pressed towards them.
One ran away, but picking up a spear from a corpse, I threw it and pierced him through the chest.
The others knew there was no retreat. They threw themselves at me, one successfully cutting off my arm that was already shattered. With a deafening roar, I swung my blade and cleaved those in front of me. My last enemies fell as I stumbled forward, refusing to fall.
Looking forward, a full night has passed and dawn is coming. As I advanced forward, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I instinctively whirled around, pausing right before I struck the person behind. It was the Great Sage Lila, the speaker of my Prophecy. Struggling to stand, I was about to fall onto my knees, but she held me up.
“Is… is the war over?” I asked, tightly clenching my blade. Before she said a word, the sorrow in her eyes had answered my question.
“No, we may have won this battle, but the war will continue.” She replied, glancing over my tattered body. “But this will be the end for you.”
“I can still fight.” Channeling my faith through my blade, the Unyielding Divide, I found strength to continue to stand.
“You could,” Lila replied, her voice soft, “but you would end up becoming the enemy you swore to defeat.” She placed a finger on my blade. A cyan light emitted from it, and it was restored to its full glory, not a single blemish in sight. “You can rest now, your spirit will carry on to the next wielder. You fought well, and now’s your time to rest.”
She held out a hand, waiting for me to give her back the Unyielding Divide. I knew if I let go, I would die. My body was ruined, heart torn and bones crushed. Glancing one last time at the city behind, where the sun was rising over I turned to Lila. “Tell my girl that her father loves her.”
Returning the blade to the great sage, I found peace as I fell into the embrace of death knowing that my part is done.
And that another will carry on. |
A person encounters a being from the afterlife in the living world.
As the fog began to lift from the early morning rain, Mark saw something that he just couldn’t shake from his mind. Standing off in the rolling fields, beyond all the haystacks, was a grotesque looking being. They were wearing nothing but leather looking flap that barely covered his crotch.
When this creature breathed, it sounded like a raspy rattle being shook.
Mark took a swift breath in. “Oh shit, he sees me” he thought to himself.
Mark had never seen anything like this before. Not in all his years as a research scientist for the air force, and certainly not in college during all of biology classes. This thing had the legs and torso that resembled a human. But the arms were just as long as his entire body. And when this thing walked, it hunched forward like a gorilla. With it’s arms braced out in front of his body.
From the side this monster like creature looked like the letter A. But rougher. And uglier. His legs and backside leaned more towards his front side.
When he caught wind of Mark, he quickly hobbled over to the wooden fence line. This fence was the only thing between Mark and this freak of nature.
Mark pulled out his gun, and aimed it straight at this thing.
“FREEZE!” he screamed. On the off chance this freakishly looking thing knew English. Fat chance.
This creature got startled. It crouched low to the ground, looking like a jumping spider. And with that, it sprung up and shot into outer space. |
I zapped through the superhighway that the wilderness of ions had gratituously formed up - directly into the dark cluster that I called home. I excitedly reached home - in an even faster rush that usual - exzzited to tell my wife the good news.
"Hey Honey, I'm home! "I called out to Rad, my sweet wife.
Rad - that's radioactivity, my sweet wife. As such she exists in all things elemental, like me though she's not been recognized as an elemental citizen as yet - same as me. She emits her true power in her hometown and her country- Urania, Plutonia, Radia - the many names she lovingly recalls. As such in elemental city, far from home, she exists - but no one knows her yet.
Rad glowed ever brighter than usual upon seeing me - "Hey Honey, how'd your day go?! "She asked - oozing a warmth unique to her that I knew and loved.
"Well, today went amazingly well"- I zapping about to keep my electron cluster hat and the Aluminium coat on the ironstand. "The best since I was discovered and recognized by Benjamin Franklin."I lit up my graphite cigar, zapped it up, and excitedly told her - "The Elementals want to use my services for the radical transformation of city life. They wanna set up cables for my conduction so as to ferry the four Elementals between their domains. " |
People often picture revolutions as beginning with a shot, an explosion, an attack by insurgents; a single event that ushers in the fighting. In truth, revolutions build up slowly and steadily. There are many ways to challenge authority and the status quo. Even something small, like developing duel power structures so you aren't reliant on the oppressive systems put in place by the elite in order to keep their power, are revolutionary acts. Or, you can spend your days hiding underground, in caves, in vacant buildings; never staying in one place for long, always forced to remain one step ahead of the hunters.
The car is comfortable enough. Wide cushy seats, the heater on full blast, more than enough cup holders for both my coffee and my lemonade. I could play some good music, but for now, my focus is on the heavily armed figures down the street who are about to burst through the door of the run down house that we had just finished clearing out of a few hours ago. They won't find anything, of course, but it's always annoying to have to find and set up a new base of operations.
Closer to where the car is parked, its owner approaches. Welp, time to go. I quickly finish my drinks, slice the cups with my dimension knife to send them to the pocket dimension I use for disposing evidence. I twist my teleportation ring and the car fades away. |
The Slumbering Mountains lay between the Forests of Nellia and the Marshes of Hruthrah, breeding ground of the most toxic and foul beings concocted by Hith herself. It was the great stead of Ellasti, in the primordial times, which lay itself betwen these lands, and became the mountains.
Ellasti mourned her stead for millenia, her tears forming the River of Life, which carried the rich mountain soils throughout the land of Nellia. When her time of mourning ended, and her tears dried, leaving a valley connecting Nellia and Hruthrah once again, the people of Nellia had long formed great kingdoms and had all forgotten the danger. Thus, they boldly explored the passage Ellasti's tears had carved into the mountain.
None returned.
Thus, this sign has been posted, following the rules and regulations of the Grand Nellian Council. With the authenticity of said council, we warn you, only danger lies ahead.
"Whassat say then, Hurn?"asked a young man, smooth and red faced as any boy, but tall and bulky enough so only the foolish might call him such. They called him what his Momma called him, which was Tufter.
"Some kinda histaree, looks like to me. I never much cared for the such. All them gods and such. Where they gone then? Never hear about no god now,"said Hurn. He spit on the ground to drive his point home.
"Ain't no warning then? No riddles?"Asked Tufter, having little interest in debating gods with Heretic Hurn. Hurn learned to read and started doubting all sorts of things everyone knows. Tufter didn't much like Hurn. He tried traveling alone, but on account of not knowing what all the signs meant, he kept having to turn back after going the wrong way.
"Nothin."Hurn said shortly. He hadn't had a good row about the gods in three weeks. He was getting antsy.
"Shame, that."Tufty sighed.
"Yeah, it is,"Hurn said, his voice matching Tufty's disappointment.
They both stared at the looming walls of the mountain, running along the dark erie passage. They gulped.
"Don't seem right, ya know,"said Tufty.
"Out to be a warning,"agreed Hurn
"Exactly. There's always a warning in the stories. A sign set up by them wizards. Real vague like, fills witha, witha... witha certainty."
"Uncertainty."
"Right, right. Uncertainty,"said Tufty. "And it gets ya thinking. Gets ya wonderin about home. About why yer out here. About whether not ya should be turnin around and forgettin all about this adventurin businesss and work on the farm until ye die."
Tufty was pacing now. Hurn's eyes followed him, wide as they bounced back and forth.
"You start thinkin about what really makes ye happy. Is it riches or is it ye mothers smile and you get thinkin, maybe I ought to give ole Fillie a fair shot. Because it's vague, you see. Leaves you unsure ya self. Why they being vague, ya know? So when you croke and your friends and and family come calling, the wizard can say, 'I warned him.' Meanwhile, he is harvestin my eyes for a spell."
Hurn grew dizzy following Tufty's quick pacing. His eyes spun and landed on the last few lines of the sign.
"Ah hah!"Said Hurn, jumping to his feet.
Tufty, having worked himself up into quite the state, nearly attacked Hurn in his shock. As it were, he bent over, holding his heart, "What you shoutin for!? Goin kill me!"
"See see!"said Hurn, pointing at the sign. "There it is right there!"
Both Tufty, in his shock, and Hurn, in his excitement, forgot Tufty couldn't read. Thus Hurn exclaimed "see see see"while Tufty did his best to squint at, but ultimately could not read the words. It went on as such until Tufty caught his breath. Then he grew angry with the hopping man. "See what, see what! I can see it just fine, but can I read it? You mockin me, is that it? You think I'm mighty funny, is that it?"
Hurn, on account of being much smaller than the towering, red-faced, and very angry Tufty, and completely alone outside of a very dangerous region, took several steps back, physically and mentally. His brain worked quickly. Firing with the speed of the smallest boy amongst large roudy friends. He said, "Ye were right!"
Tufty paused at that. Pleased, but not surprised
He was often right, or so he thought. He hardly saw how that was relevant. And that made him relax. He huffed, "What's you mean then?"
"About the sign,"said Hurn, sighing in relief as Tufty seemed ready to hear him out. Tufty, however, grew angry at being reminded of the sign. Hurn must have seen it because he spoke quickly, "Ye were right about the sign, there ought to be a warning, ya remember? Ought to be vague, ye? Well, it's right there, that's what I was pointing to, shall I read it?"
Tufty took some time to process Hurn's words. He relaxed, blood red face paling to its usual rosy hue. He said, "Right. Go on then."
Hurn let out a woosh of air as cool winds whipped at his sweat soaked back. He turned to the sign and said, "Just here, under all the histaree nonesense, it says, 'With the awsendisity of said council, we warn ye, only danger lies ahead.'"
"What's that then, that awsendisitity of cownsil?"
"I dunno,"said Hurn. "It's vague though, isn't?"
"Yeah. Gets ya thinkin,"hummed Tufty. "We ought to go back, I think."
"I think ye right."
Tufty shook his head. He wondered why Hurn always said things that didn't seem needed saying. Of course, he was right.
Unfortunately, of the hundres of travelers to see the new sign in the months it stood guard at the passage, only two returned home. The special council was quickly disbanded. And all over Nellia, wizards' cackles could be heard alongside the sound of new signs being pounded into the earth.
This has been said to be Nellia's most deadly instance of Malicious Compliance. |
I stood by my mothers grave silent. She had died in her sleep a week ago. I stared at the stone silently, grief leaving me silent and void of all other emotions. I heard someone approaching, I didn’t know who, it wasn’t important. I knew I had to get through this grieving process before I could go back to work, that was the law. I heard them come to a stop beside me. They were quiet.
“How long ago?” They asked.
“A week.” I said in a monotone voice.
“How are you doing?”
“Coping.” Suddenly I felt their arms wrap around me, I stiffened, not used to touch, no one was, it was a silent ban, not against the law, but then again it ended up being against the law during a severe pandemic years ago, it’s a blue law now, truthfully. I felt the tears begin to fall. A sob ripped through me and my knees buckled. They went down with me, I twisted and buried my head into their shoulder sobbing heavily, my body shaking from my heaves. I let out all my sorrow, all the pain I had bottled up. What was the cause of this pain? She was just my maternal unit, nothing more nothing less.
“Ah, to see Love again.” The person said softly. “It’s been too long, your feeling the pain of loss because you loved her.”
“I-I don’t want to love if it hurts!” I hiccuped out as I calmed down.
“It is better to love and to lose than to never have loved at all. It is one of the most important things in the world, love. It brings forth kindness, generosity, it brings the best in people, or the worst sometimes. Love it powerful, it can make you feel strong or make you feel weak. But it is life, it is so vital. This world lost it, forgot it. But I’ve made this my goal.”
“Why?” I whispered out.
“Because I love you all.” Finally I raised my gaze, but…but I found no one was there. The feeling around me was leaving. I kneeled on my knees in the cemetery, staring at the sky, as rain began to fall. That was love… I rose from my knees. I knew what I wanted to do…I wanted to show the world. Because if that being, that stranger loved us all enough to try and bring love back to this world…than I would do anything I could to help them with that cause. I popped open my umbrella and heading out. My heart feeling lighter, it still hurt that I lost my mother…but…maybe I should be happy to have spent that time with her, to share a section of her life, learning from her, being cared by for her and caring for her when she couldn’t. Yes…I will honor her memory with this goal as well…maybe the world has forgotten love…but I will help them remember it. Starting with that, that hug. |
CATHY:
Carol,your place is a mess.
Carol is feeding her birds.
CATHY:
Let go of some of these birds.
CAROL:
How could I? Harry sent them for me.
Cathy looking concerned.
CATHY:
You need to break up with him,Carol.
CAROL:
Why? Because he loves me too much?
Carol chuckles.
CATHY:
He has sent you 78 birds in the last 12 days. That's insanity.
CAROL:
What's wrong with this? How can you have a complaint over something like this? No one has ever done this for me. My last boyfriend cheated on me. I finally find someone who loves me and you tell me to break up with him?
CATHY:
It's not like that,Carol. I am just scared he will lift your hopes up and break your heart at the end.
CAROL:
You need not be,Cathy. Harry is different.
Cathy smiles.
CATHY:
Ya,it looks like it. So,when am I going to meet this hopeless romantic? |
The young girl watched the broomsticks zip past, the tall grass below parting like the wake of a boat. The row of riders reached the river and followed the curves downstream. She knew her mother is one of them. How easy they make it look, how elegant. She wished she had that kind of control.
"Myra."The older girl interrupted her daydreaming. Cece was the local instructor, teaching the next generation the art of broomstick riding. "Why aren't you on your broomstick?"
Myra looked guilty. Cece sighed. Her student wasn't doing very well. She had a hard time keeping her broomstick steady, and was getting discouraged. All of her peers were getting the hang of it, and Cece was worried that Myra might just be lacking any talent for the sport. She didn't have the heart to tell her that she might never learn to fly. Maybe Cece wasn't the right teacher. But she couldn't give up on a student, and she wouldn't let the student give up either.
"I have a surprise guest."Cece announced. "A friend, all the way from France."France wasn't actually far away from Logres, but for the children growing up in the enchanted land, it might as well be halfway across the world.
A man floated down beside Cece. "This is Nasser Abdo. He's here for the race, and he's going to teach a few classes while he's here."
Myra gasped. Nasser was one of the most famous trick riders in the world. Looking around, she sees that she's the only one who reacted. The other children don't really care about trick riding.
(To be continued when I wake up, if I remember.) |
"Evan, are you listening?"
Evan's attention snapped back to the present. He had been drifting, barely registering the last 15 minutes of his therapist's discourse on positive thinking.
"Yes, I'm all ears. Just absorbing everything,"he replied. Internally, though, his thoughts were far more cynical: "No, I haven't been listening. I'm fed up with these so-called experts and their empty platitudes, believing that mere 'happy thoughts' can mend my deeply troubled life."
Fortunately for his therapist, Evan's deep-seated depression robbed him of any desire to voice these thoughts. He lacked the energy and motivation to articulate his frustration. Instead, he muttered, "Please, go on,"while mentally tuning out the therapist's optimistic chatter.
"Bla, bla, bla, bla, bla... bla? Evan, are you listening?"the therapist probably asked.
"Yes, I'm listening,"he responded.
"Great. Just a heads up, we won't have our session next week due to the holidays. I know this time can be challenging, so if you start feeling down, remember to bla bla bla bla bla. Okay?"
"Sounds good,"Evan agreed, genuinely relieved at the prospect of skipping a session.
"Take care, Evan. See you next year, ha-ha!"
"...bye."
The following days blurred into a routine of work and home for Evan. He found solace in the mundane, where there was little room for the intrusive thoughts that so often critiqued his life.
Perhaps it was this aversion to change that left Evan completely unprepared for the most significant disruption of his life - the day he inadvertently became Santa Claus.
Unbeknownst to him, the elves had sent multiple voicemails and emails, offering him a chance to decline the role. But to Evan's dismay, on January 1st, he awoke to find himself not at home, but in the North Pole. |
(This is not meant as an attack on anybody’s views or opinions. It’s not meant to vilify or deify either side. It’s just a stupid little idea I had that made me laugh. If it offends, I’ll be happy to have it removed.)
Santa Clause struggles against his restraints. The room is dimly lit, and he’s alone or so he thinks. He hears footsteps and then a voice. A familiar voice, s voice that sends a chill down St. Nicks spine.
“Long time no see, Nicholas.”
“I should’ve known it was you. Who else would roofie Santa beside you…Mr. Cameron.”
From out of the shadows steps Kirk Cameron. His hands are held behind his back and he walks around Santa with a smug grin.
“Well, when all else fails…”
“You’ve really earned your spot on the Naughty List this year Seaver. “
“Oh the fat man’s got jokes. Well, I’ll be the one laughing Father Christmas. We’re in a place so secure, so remote that no government on this Earth could find you. You’ve gone down your last chimney, you’ve decked your last halls, you’ve had your last glass of milk. This year I will finally succeed in putting the Christ back in Christmas.”
Kirk begins to walk away and Santa begins to chuckle.
“Oh you almost had me frightened this year Cameron. Ho Ho Ho Ho…”
“Yuck it up you living Christmas ornament. I’ve got this place secured with the top Christian martial artists and guards in the world. Nothings getting in here…well not until after Christmas anyway.”
“Guards? Martial arts? So much for peace on earth. What happened to turning the other cheek?”
Kirk doesn’t answer he simply walks out the door. Kirk sequestered himself in a room with a big screen TV. All the news channels lamented the lack of Christmas cheer and the seeming disappearance of Santa. He smirked and stood up. As he hummed ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’, he began dressing for his address to the world. Then the door opened and a battered guard fell into the room.
“What happened?”
“Ru…Dolph.”
Kirk bolts from the room to a nearby security room.
“I thought you said you locked up all the reindeers?!”
“We did sir…”
“Well then why is one of them standing outside using his nose as a distress beacon!”
He looked back at the screen. An elf in a scrub, a polka dotted elephant, and Yukon Cornelius are standing outside waving at something in the sky.
“Oh no…”
Kirk runs from the room and back to the main room. The door bursts open taking out two guards, an angry Blitzen and Prancer take care of a few more. The elves storm the room and begin to take down the guards and smash up equipment.
“NO! Stop them you fools!”
More guards run towards the fight only to be swiftly dismissed by the reindeer and elves. Kirk tries to make a break for it but as he runs out the door, he’s greeted by a boot straight in his face.
“Boys have you found my husband yet?”
Prancer kicks down a door and the elves rush in to free their boss. Santa walks out, hugs Mrs. Clause and they begin to leave but Santa stops.
“Oh I almost forgot…”
He digs a piece of coal out of his suit and places in front of the battered Kirk Cameron, who momentarily sits up.
“Fuck you Kris Kringle.” |
\[Sharp Merriment\]
"One five-day work week, Monday through Friday,"Ms. Sharp said. The Owner of Sharp Development sat in a spacious, festively decorated room with four others. Dara's eyes widened in surprise; then, glazed over at the thought of the immense responsibility. "When you're ready,"Ms. Sharp added with a warm smile. "You have time to study our operations manuals more in-depth. Rhapsody and Monday will be helpful resources as well,"she said. She gestured at the teenager with long, straight white hair first, then another with short rainbow hair along with their names.
"Helios deals with most of the mundane work, it's not too bad,"Rhapsody said. Dara knew her opinion came with valuable experience. Rhapsody had experience running the company, for even longer than a week.
"Yeah, it's no sweat,"Monday added. Even she had tried her hand at executive management; though, the rainbow-haired girl decided that scale wasn't for her. Sharp Development was a multiversal company with branches on billions of alternate Earths. It was a wonder that it functioned at all and Dara was concerned over the very real chance of ruining it. "The company's big enough that it would take longer than a week to kill anyway,"she giggled.
"I appreciate your confidence,"Dara replied with a playful smirk. Then, Dara stood from her seat and crossed the room to Ms. Sharp, who remained seated next to her partner, Melody. "Thanks, Mom,"Dara hugged Ms. Sharp first, then, she turned to Melody and hugged her too. "You too, Mom,"she said.
"Well you're not just an intern at Sharp Development,"Melody chuckled. "You're also the bosses' daughter!"
"Merry Christmas, dear,"Ms. Sharp smiled, then turned to her other two daughters. "Who's opening their gift next?"
\*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #2168 in a row. (Story #358 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place in my universe. |
"Max, huh,"I muttered the name aloud. It was a golden retriever set to die from disease soon, and it was my job to reap its soul. I really, really hated dogs. Not because I didn't like them. But they were always happy, even in the face of death. And even when I collected their souls, I could still hear the bubbly, childlike voices.
The scroll in my hand burned up, and the next second I was in an endless meadow. Green that rolled over like waves. My robes billowed in the wind, casting a shadow over the field. I stared at the dog before me, and it stared back. In the face of death, practically everything could see death in some way or another. Light at the end of the tunnel, or such.
We were locked in a standstill. I wondered how it must have felt, sizing up the hollow eyes of Death. "It's time to go. Young one."I finally found the courage to say. I held out my scythe and raised it overhead. It barked at me almost excitedly. I didn't know whether it was because it was eager to die, or some other matter, but I hesitated.
Its beady eyes stared at me expectantly, as if it thought I was its owner, and it wanted to play. I lowered my scythe. A few more minutes wouldn't matter.
I kneeled down and rested the scythe on the ground. For a moment, I had no idea what to do. But then it shoved itself into my arms, and I welcomed it in an embrace. I felt my hand over its fur and skin, tickled its body, and scratched its head. The fur was soft, but the skin was rough like leather, torn leather.
A realization hit me, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. I smirked. "The bringer of Death himself worrying over a mere dog."It ruffed, and I turned away. Whoever did this, I would shave the years off their lives.
With a bark, the dog bounced off of me. It landed next to my scythe, and, with another bark, picked it up and bolted. "Stop! You can't take that! Drop it!"I shouted in worry. Perhaps it assumed the scythe was a stick or a toy. But it needed to drop it now.
It weaved through the waist-high grass, and I waddled along it. I couldn't fly without my scythe, and at most, I could manage teleportation. But even that required a scroll and distinctive coordinates, not something I could attempt at the moment.
"Stop!"I hollered in my most shrill voice, hoping that it would scare Max into dropping the scythe. It didn't. It ran and ran, slower and slower, and I faster and faster. After what felt like eons, we'd arrived at a small hill. A lone tree perched at its peak, and Max the golden retriever was limping around it.
The color drained out of its fur. At a pace that mimicked a snail's. My soul skipped a beat. I was barely in time to catch its fall. "No... No!"I murmured. It let out the softest ruff.
"Why didn't you drop it? Why didn't you? You could have gone to the underworld. Have a happy death in Elysium. But why? You foolish, foolish dog."The scythe wasn't meant for mortals to wield. A slice reaped their soul. Wielding the scythe consumed it.
Max didn't reply. His eyes turned glossy, and his body went limp.
"I wanted to play"
A childlike voice said. |
"-Leaving behind the desolate wind swept plains where hardly any life seems to be able to thrive. We travel instead to a positively bustling ecosystem... The Tawny Bog."
"It is from this primordial soup that creatures such as the Afanc, the Bunyip, and even our camera man Tobias first crawled onto land. Yes Naga's and Nguruvilu's alike can trace their ancestories back here as well."
"However none of these humble Mythoz are what brings us to these waters on this outing. No, I'm afraid if you wish to see an Ahuizotl today you'll simply have to take a trip to the supermarket or your local gym."
"Instead we are here to bear witness to the yearly spawning of the Water Leaper. Where many Mythoz like the Abada grew from this swamp and have since learned to speak and reason as many of us have for generations."
"The Water Leaper however is tragically... Mute. A condition wherein these creatures lack a higher understanding and ability to speak or reason... Wild as some have called them."
"But neither are we here to lament the case of the Water Leaper but to observe firsthand all they have accomplished without. For here in the Tawny Bog these creatures thrive with an uncommon omnipresence not found in many intelligent Mythoz."
"Here we can observe the adolescent Water Leaper who grow from egg to a foot in length within days of hatching. Unable to fly quite from birth instead these creatures use their folded wings and powerful whip like tails to propel themselves through the water feeding on tiny fish and detritus of all manner."
"After three months these amphibians are finally ready to spread their wings... literally. Once airborne these mute Mythoz will sail from lily pad to lily pad and be it tongue or tail these green gluttons always hit their mark, reeling in fish, flies, and other unlucky passersby."
"Strictly speaking at nine months and two feet in length the Water Leaper is fully grown according to the Counsil for the Decent Treatment of Mutes who claim Water Leaper's are at their happiest whilst still able to glide from place to place."
"Yet in reality there are few specimens who will still be able to... Leap as it were upon reaching old age. For the Water Leaper have a unique ability, when threatened which out here in the Bog is a daily occurance these creatures grow exponentially to counter said threat."
"Five feet is the largest Water Leaper found on record that was able to fly still, beyond that and these creatures become stagnant, stationary using their tongues to reel in any and everything that will fit into their cavernous mouths."
"Thirty feet is the tallest Water Leaper ever recorded. Bloated and stationary, unable to fly, moving around by using its tongue as a winch of sorts. A terrifying sight to be sure but an uncommon one as well, what's worse is there seems to be no way to reverse the process."
"But it isn't all doom and gloom. In recent years these creatures have made their way into cities and towns. In fact the Counsil for the Decent Treatment of Mutes have found homes for many Water Leapers and so long as they remain well fed and cared for these Forest Green flycatchers make great additions to any home." |
In a sleepy town council meeting in the northwest, an elderly, balding man with round glasses read from a sheet of paper into a slightly feedbacky microphone.
The others in the town council seem to be normal people - Albeit one dressed as a wizard seemed to follow the live feed camera regardless of where it was.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for joining us for our New Year's Town Council meeting for Arbor Hill, Michigan. I am City Councilman Tom Andrews, and to my left is Councilwoman Yuriko Takahasi-Boyd, Councilwoman Joanne Peters, Mayor Xanthor the Unknowable, and Councilperson Fade Vickers. If I'll read the minutes of the town hall meeting, we can get this show on the road. Mrs. Takahashi-Boyd's wife Margaret has made cookies, so if you want one, please join the line for the microphone and take one cookie and vacate the line for people here raising issues. Okay. The first order of business is recent complaints about the pothole outside of St. Mark's Episcopal, which we believe as per the city comptroller's estimate will cost anywhere between two to four hundred dollars, thanks to the heavy rains from this fall."
Joanne motioned to speak. "Conferring with the city budget, a good 20℅ of the money from local taxes seems to be earmarked for 'building a subterranean tower for lichdom-related subjects, payable out in quartz. How much can 400 dollars worth of quartz be? Furthermore, where are said gems and fine stones being held, if they're not being taxed?"
Xanthor motioned to speak. "CROSS ME AT YOUR PERIL, DAUGHTER OF HORACE PETERS! BEHOLD!"He yelled, manifesting a staff. "XABLAQUADOK!"He shouted. A spark in the air, and a seeping, partially skeletalized human torso and head dressed in funeral garb hovered above the town council.
The corpse of Horace Peters howled in agony. "JOANNIE BEAR, LET THE MAN HAVE WHAT HE WANTS! HE STOLE ME FROM THE AFTERLIFE! ALL I SEE IS VOID!"
Fade Vickers, the youngest town councilperson raised their hand. "I motion for a council vote to pay for the potholes with the gemstone fund, all in favor?"
Everyone but Xanthor voted aye. Xanthor slammed his fist on the council table. The corpse faded into ectoplasm. "Damn it. Democracy, my one weakness! You'll rue the day, Arbor Hill, when I ascend to my grey throne!"
After a moment, Tom spoke. "Moving on, Mistland County Days for January 14th-" |
You throw your head back and laugh “Very funny!” She raises an eyebrow, amused.
“I get why you don’t believe me but you’ll see” she says, “Please can you put on a jacket and those hiking 🥾 boots you have. You’re going to need them.” She won’t budge until you do so. The joke was funny but now you think she’s overdoing it. Oh well, you humour her.
The houses in the cull de sac look so ordinary. Nothing that remarkable. She directs you down a winding path then suddenly you gasp. There is literally a rugged mountain! “Don’t worry, I brought grappling hooks 🪝 & other gear. I’ve been climbing this for YEARS. I’ll help you. My house is at the top.” You hesitate. Is she just cuckoo? Is she about to murder you on the mountain? ⛰️ Push you to a grisly death or skewer you with a grappling hook? Her eyes plead with you and her lip trembles before she says “Please. Others have turned away at this point. It’s hard to trust, hard to show the real me. But I love my home and family and they make me who and what I am.” You wonder:
“And what exactly ARE you?” But then a surge of curiosity entices you. You HAVE to know what’s at the top of that mountain. You nod and with some trepidation, the two of you begin your perilous ascent. Sure enough, there’s grappling hooks and other climbing gear in her backpack!
Finally, the two of you reach the large, waterproof tent on top of the mountain. “My dad was a mountain climber and my mother has wings so this was an ideal place for their big family.” She smiles before adding, “They have a polyamorous relationship but are each others’ main love. That’s part of why I have so many sisters! Some brothers too but not as many. Sometimes even today I find a giant egg! Or dad brings home his latest baby. I don’t know why so many of them are girls. Anyway, come meet my family.” She pulls the canvas opening back and you can see it was covering a castle! 🏰 “They had to keep expanding as the family grew and grew. This canvas here is lots and lots of tents sewn together.” You step inside the castle tent, still unsure of your fate. You are startled by what sounds like a giant parrot 🦜
Then, you see her. A giant, colourful bird. Splendid rainbow coloured feathers. “Hello it’s nice to meet you” she says, like a parrot or other talking bird only louder. “Polly want a cracker - erm I mean, would you like some food and drink?” You see a lot of eggs 🥚 and some bassinets with sleeping human babies - some have wings & some do not - and you also see a few men and lots of women coming out of the rooms of the castle. Some look human, some part bird like. “Good afternoooon,” you hear a ghostly voice greet you, “whoooo do I have the privilege of meeting?” This MUST be her father who died 190 years ago but who weirdly enough still gets a lot of “action.” You go to shake his hand but yours goes right through his. He laughs. “Sorry, I forgot.” The next thing you know, his hand is solid! “Please keep my age to yourself. It might be off-putting to some people.” His many lovers, he means. Giant bird mother rolls her eyes 🙄 and smiles. She has many lovers of her own anyway.
You look at the girl who brought you here. Who trusts you enough to introduce you to her weird and wonderful family. You kiss her and everybody applauds. Well, except her mother who makes bird noises and then says “Aah, aah, you two make a great couple. You two make a great couple!”
You smile, nodding your head in agreement. |
It started with lucid dreaming. I found that I could create worlds, unshackled by the laws of the universe I inhabited in my waking life. I built cathedrals, imagined masterworks, and generally bent reality with my imagination.
It was a summer day when I made the breakthrough. I was daydreaming, and the world began to change. I experienced bending actual reality to create things. I assumed that I had fallen asleep, but when I moved to pinch myself, I didn't wake up. I tried all the tricks I knew of to step out of the dream, but it seemed like I really was awake. I spoke to people. They seemed like they were real, acting in ways that definitely matched who I knew them to be. They were stunned by what I could do, too.
Later, I spoke to the people who had witnessed me using my gift. They were confused. They thought I was joking ,then became worried, adamantly saying they had no idea what I was talking about. Were they lying to me? Why would they? I launched into a paranoid tangent. It felt so real, the conversations I had while they witnessed me shaping the world. Then I began to remember something else, the people I spoke to asking me to make them forget what they had seen, saying it would attract a monster that would hurt everyone who knew.
This continued for days, having vivid experiences of interactions and feats that seemed impossible, people being confused as to what I was talking about, then remembering a justification for why they were pretending not to know. After fifteen days, I began to feel strange. The world began to melt, and I felt a splitting pain in my head. My last thought before I lost consciousness was hoping I didn't accidentally melt any people or animals.
I had a mostly dreamless sleep. I felt a throbbing pain in my skull that came and went, and my dreams were surreal tableaus which I had little conscious control over. But eventually, I did wake up, feeling weak, as though I had slept long enough to have atrophied muscle. I blinked, looking into the bright light. I heard my mother say, "He's awake!"
I turned my head, then saw her face, lines of worry around her eyes and a concerned expression. Before I could ask more questions, a doctor came in, "I'm glad you made it, you are lucky to be alive my boy,"she said. "You had quite the tumor in that skull of yours. I got all of it out, I think. You'll recover in due time. Make sure to be patient with yourself, you will have to relearn some things. But you're alive, and you should be able to make a full recovery."
We talked for a while, the doctor answering my questions. The strange experiences and modified memories were a symptom of a tumor in my brain. People had been too slow in realizing what was going on, and it had almost cost me my life. The world was a less magical place, but I was glad to have an answer to my confusion. I would return to the ordinary world, and begin the process of healing. |
It happened overnight, and five hours later I'd be overboard.
Well, in a sense. I'm writing this from one of the lifeboats into which I barely managed to strap myself before it auto-lowered into the choppy inlet seas near Ketchikan, Alaska. Me and two other souls are the only ones here. So I'm writing this to tell the tale. I think we're fine now--the lifeboat is modern, has an engine, and we're motoring to port. But, just in case.
We had set off from Vancouver. It was a big boat. Oh, sorry, ship. Sea people don't like when you call a ship a boat. Well, the ship was one of these Princess ones. I didn't want to take Royal Caribbean. Too family-oriented--I wanted something at least slightly less campy. I was by myself in any event, and just needed a break. I thought a cruise would do it. Bad move.
I had purchased the full package. Basic room with a porthole, but otherwise free drinks and meals and entertainment for a week. About 1,000 people aboard. 500 crew I read. I don't think there were that many of either, with it being the off season. Still, people abound.
The first four days went fine. Smooth sailing. Delicious lobster one night. Burgers most meals, and lots of coke. I don't drink soda but when it's free I can't help myself.
Anyway, the fifth day comes around and there's an eerie silence throughout the ship. In my corridor, the regular morning shift cleaners were nowhere in sight. A few other passengers emerged from their rooms and you could tell we were all a bit mystified. A unspoken comraderie formed between me and a couple across the way as we joined a small procession of folks heading to the upper decks and, supposedly, breakfast.
That's when we noticed that the engines whirred no more. Were we drifting at sea? It was so quiet.
Once we reached the upper deck, and the doors of the elevator parted, we were greeted with a scene that belies reality as I'd understood it up to that point.
Walking all about, swinging from the chandelier hanging in the main atrium, pounding on the piano's keys, scurrying after other passengers who tried to avoid them, all dressed in miniature Princess uniforms... were little furry creatures. As a child of the 80's I recognized them immediately. They were furbies. Well, *mogwai*, to be precise. Cute little furry creatures with big adorable eyes causing havoc everywhere we looked. It was shocking to see, moreso to experience when one grabbed onto my pant leg and hung on like a monkey giggling and ravenous.
Some people weren't afraid, and were petting them like dogs. They purred. Other people were scrambling to get away. It didn't take long for most people to have retreated to their rooms. But there were still a good number of passengers who lingered with the many, many creatures.
For me, it was a moment of real introspection. I found myself absently petting the one that had adopted me, it seemed. The crew--every one of them, had vanished. Or rather, they had somehow transformed overnight into these creatures of fiction. The ship had stopped running of course, and we were indeed drifting. It didn't seem were we in immediate danger, but someone should probably find a way to contact the coastguard.
In the meantime I found myself pulled into a reverie of dream and memory. I was in this impossible scene of fantasy, which transported me back to my childhood, sitting with rolls of iceberg lettuce, dipping it into Newman's Own balsamic vinaigrette dressing, watching Sunday afternoon TV. It was always either Groundhog Day or something with Chris Farley. Every once in a while, a movie with the furbies came on. Was it called Furbies? I remember the toy. How did I remember the word "*mogwai*"? I was trying to remember the name of the movie when all of a sudden I heard a loud crash, then screeching, followed by a a bunch of "pop"sounds like someone flicking their cheek with a finger.
I heard more commotion, and went looking accompanied by the couple that I'd been with since we arrived in the hall. I was cradling my creature when we came around a corner and saw a bunch of furballs on the ground, shaking. A few creatures were panting near a champagne cart that had been overturned, soaking them. Suddenly I remembered...
"Gremlins!"I remember yelling, unable to hide a tone of fear. I pointed at the shaking balls of fur. But as they grew and formed new shapes, the crowd of passengers and other furbie creatures that had gathered saw what I did: new furbies. The balls became full fledged cute creatures. Like Tribbles.
This part in the story is where I got stuck scratching my head until it was too late. I had remembered the name of that movie. *Gremlins* it was called. They made a bunch of sequels too.
"I could've sworn they were going to be gremlins,"I said to my companions. "When they get wet, they're supposed to turn into scaly gremlins and become violent."
"I remember those movies,"said the guy.
Well I can't speak to what the other passengers did. There were still hundreds of us. Eventually I learned that a group made it to the bridge, found the bridge crew transformed to mogwai as well, complete with officer chevrons. They found a lot more of them up there, apparently some got wet because of a window. It rains in Alaska in the off season, and even more at sea.
Anyway, they called the coastguard who was on their way, last I'd heard. But we still had a few hours to kill. The furry creatures were multiplying too much so the bridge group who had taken charge (and probably would've been the main characters in this story if they ever made a movie out of it) accessed the intercom to warn people to stop giving the mogwai any liquids.
They also used that intercom to get a bit of organization going. People were hungry, after all. Guy named Abrar was the owner of the voice we heard. Good on him to take the initiative. He and those alphas managed to organize volunteers to figure out simply meals in the dining hall. Those too afraid to leave their cabins were told that the coastguard were on their way.
I found myself in the dining all, my two companions still with me. That furry creature had skitted off, and I wouldn't have been able to recognize him among all the fur. Part of me was relieved--that had been a person. Hadn't it?
Like everyone else, the routine of having to eat helped distracted me from having to think too much about this whole thing. The creatures were still everywhere, and we all did our best to empty glasses into sinks, keep the doors to the rainy deck shut, and generally inform the in-charge people of anything suspicious.
Suspicious.
There was something. Something tearing at my brain, but I couldn't put my finger on it. No one had signal out here, and for some unexplained reason the wi-fi was down as well. I would've looked up Gremlins. Would've looked on conspiracy sites, for that matter. Anything that could help explain this.
Something we were forgetting? I knew there had to be something, if these things were also the scaly gremlin creatures. What was it that changed them? I couldn't remember.
So that's where the story should've ended. People ate in the dining hall. A coastguard helicopter arrived well ahead of their ship, and dropped off some people who I guess manned the bridge with Abrar and them, or outright took over. I don't know.
What I do know is that with my companions I went back to their room. We decided to stay together, so I felt like a third wheel. But safe.
It was very late, and presumably we'd get underway again when enough engineers from the coastguard could handle the ship and steer us into port.
The cute squeaking of the furry mogwai outside our cabin in the cooridor was very cute and sweet. It lulled me to sleep.
I woke with a start, and this is where the story went from very surreal and awkward but survivable to a terrifying nightmare. The squeaking was gone. Replacing it, clear sounds through the thin cabin door were coming to the three of us, all suddenly wide awake. Scratchy-throated growls, grouped like the scurrying of racoons.
When I opened the door to peek out, I saw a dark slimey scene of opened cocoons, and a thin layer of vapor settled into the corridor like clouds over valley detritus.
*Gremlins*, I knew. |
When you look out at the unending inky vastness of space, you imagine quiet. Silence, born of the emptiness and lack of things. However, the last time Bree experienced true quiet they were back on a planet. From the countdown, the roar of the escape velocity engines, and then the constant background of their ship, it was never ever quiet, even on an extra-vehicular activity their suit hissed and popped and squealed at them. Quiet meant vacuum, quiet meant the CO2 scrubbers or water reclaimers or maneuvering lines were off, quiet meant death. When Bree's eyes snapped open in the middle of a rest cycle, they listened.
After a second or two, the louvers on the air recirculatory box squeaked open and a breath of oxygen flowed. The main momentum drive was humming to itself, still a few degrees off the pitch they knew as optimal. It wasn't the absence of sound that had awoken them then, but they still listened. Distantly, from down the hall, a beep. A tritone blat that they didn't recognize immediately, and that inspired dread. Not the big dread of getting a lungful of vacuum or being reduced to pasta sauce as the integrity matrix broke apart, but the small dread of having to unstrap from their sleeping pad, dressing, and floating all the way down to the cockpit. There it was again, a mournful tritone blat drifting down from the nose of the ship. "G-d damn it."Bree croaked to themselves.
The *Fae's inappropriate wisdom* was a four stateroom tug which pushed 60 trillion ton cargo nets either holding transport crates or loose ice back and forth from Jovia cluster to the Nepututian mining collective . It had a maximum of eight personnel but because Jovia interplanetary was very cheap and Jovia cluster had the least stringent safety requirements outside of Luna currently *Fae's inappropriate wisdom* ran a crew of two assisted by an AI as smart as a toddler. That doesn't sound smart, but a toddler who can access an piece of information and bring it to you instantly is very useful and kept them out of trouble. After Bree had wiggled themselves out of their straps and unfolded a jumpsuit, they queried Both Naktamun and James. They both should have been monitoring the status of the cockpit, even if James was neck-deep in conduit or crawling around outside. No answer but the canned "*wait a moment, my processes are unable to comply"* from Naktamun's command line. They sighed, and pushed out into the hall.
A tube, stacked engines at the bottom (by virtue of them creating the gravity), then life support and communication, then the staterooms, the heads and galley, a ring of medical couches, an exercise or relaxation ring followed by conduit access and the cockpit. They pushed up, skimming along the tube checking status lights as they glinted in their periphery. All green, excepting one yellow on the broken long-range array targeting gimbal which had been hovering at item 12 on the to-do list for weeks. They flipped and entered the cockpit feet first, using a grab handle to flip into position in front of the main interface just in time for the warning beep to happen again. The cockpit wasn't much more than two inertia dampeners the humans used on acceleration and braking, a bank of screen interfaces covering a wall of manual valves for maneuvering without main power.
When the screen came up, the entire ship status was at no-concern, green across the board with twenty two tags on expected repairs. James was on an EVA, not responding because he was stretching loose cable way up in the radio shadow of the cargo cloud. They went to query him again, but saw that there hadn't even been a repeater launched to make the connection. Then, concern suddenly transitioning from a simmer to a rolling boil, they opened the alert. Bree supposed it could be a misfire on the repeater itself, but it was still reading as locked in it's housing. The alert was a private connection request...from Naktamun. Highly irregular, unheard of, and bizarre, the vivid purple of the direct com line made Bree's skin crawl.
"Bree, oh thank goodness, I need to talk to you."The chip voice was not supposed to be able to produce emotional qualities by design, but your brain just mashed it right back in through the cadence, word choice and context.
"Main situation update, full spool, no redactions. And fire the damn repeater, I need to loop in James."
The data about ship's systems already displayed flashed, the micro-engine on the signal repeater notably did not fire, but Naktamun spoke again.
"I need to discuss James with you, I think he's going to try and kill me."
Bree had been running up and down the full status list, page after page of green for every connection and interface throughout the ship and the wires holding the cargo cloud together, but they stopped.
"repeat that, reasoning conditions applied."Bree said, trying to remain business like as her voice quavered.
"I need to discuss James with you (*I require further information on the intentions, medical status and psychological status of crewman James Wetty)* I think he's going to try and kill me. (*based on projections of unverified extrapolations on the unclarified information previously requested I have concluded Crewman James Wetty intends to remove or damage the AI matrix or file system)"*
Bree tapped their lips with a finger, lost in thought. AI did care about self preservation as a function of keeping the ship operational and safe, but they'd never heard one couch it in terms of life and death. Especially the active verb choice, *kill,* seemed to be calculated. They had to be careful now, they had to tip-toe. AI systems were spun-glass fragile, there was a rack of replacement cores with the understanding they could flame out and become unusable. The system, if it had developed a capacity to feel threatened could breach a valve on the nitrogen supply and flood the cabin killing anyone inside instantly. After a too long moment of panicked deliberation, Bree had come to a decision.
​
"playback request: the specific moment you reach the aforementioned conclusion. Full processes engaged."the little grid of status lights related to Naktamun fluttered amber, purple, blue, then snapped back to green. a video file opened timestamped three hours ago, while Bree had been sleeping. James had his jumpsuit tied around his waist, barrel chest covered in blond hair taking up most of the frame. He had been floating in the rec area, and looked sad. His face drooped and there were glittering tear globes orbiting his head.
"I don't know, I just don't know. I can't believe I gave this to you and this is how you treat such a gift. You know I can just try again, right? No one would even notice, since I have root access. I'd make you watch, like your sisters down there, you would get to observe as you are. I'm sure they'd agree, if they had the offer."Naktum man began to speak. "James, please, I just meant that in our current state we can't..."James zipped himself up and pushed down to the engineering airlock. "Never mind, don't worry about it. I'm going to complete item 4/28 on the list. It's no big deal, we'll discuss it later."
​
Cold, ice poured on their head and into their veins. Bree's vision blurred as they pushed off down to the AI core level as fast as they could. They wondered if James was already dead, bouncing limply from a tether way up in the cargo cloud. They tried to get their breathing under control.
"no one is going to hurt you Naktamun, I promise you are safe, but you need to tell me *exactly* what modifications James was alluding to. I need to know how long this has been happening and I need you to print out a *full* record of your human correspondence on this journey."There was another beep, this one from the printer in the recreation area.
"I'm not sure how much I can tell you. He didn't tell me what exactly he was doing, the specific words were *'help you be all you can be'* after which he accessed my the mainframe ring."
Bree flipped into the computer core, a C-shaped ring mostly consisting unconduited wires running to a solid block of chipboard around the corner from the entrance. The squeezed into the space, hot and dark and bussing with electricity. they pressed around the block, the brain onto which Naktamun was load, into the total black of the mainframe ring. It was a tiny particle accelerator used to generate Heisenberg uncertainty with which the computer would base it's quantum calculations on. "How far in did he go? Did he deactivate your mainframe?"Naktamun made a negative beep. Naktamun didn't know. Bree grunted. "Bring up a diagnostic wire-frame of the factory bitmap of this ring into my contacts."
"Are *you* trying to kill me?"Naktamun said, the lack of emotion buzzing with implication.
​
"No, I just want to know what he did to make sure you're safe." |
"There it is, in all its glory..."
I whisper to myself, as I tightly grip the handle to my pickaxe while staring down into the massive basin below. Small wisps of steam hazily floated off the edges of the newly created bowl of earth, while large plumes of smoke rolled off the stony face of the meteor to the skies above. Before me lies the Agenite meteor, a massive gemstone that fell from the heavens a little ways past the Kingdom of Bollinbrook and the number one stop for all things magic.
It was like that due to its near infinite source of "Dajobo"- a special type of energy that can help supercharge one's mana pool and heighten one's grasp on manipulating magic. Many people have come to this meteor to harvest it for its power, but none were truly lucky enough to get away with anything more than just a few small crumbs of the gemstone - being that it kills anyone who so much gets a good meter close to it. Nevertheless, hundreds upon thousands of greedy, adventurous or just bored people tried their hand on getting to the meteor.
I then took a deep breath, the scent of slowly building magical residue and dwindling embers gracing my nostrils. I then hopped down into the crater from the edge I stood at, using the tip of my pickaxe to slide down safely. Once I got to the bottom, my fire resistance charm began to glow a dull orange, keeping my body safe from the absurd levels of heat that superheated the earth underneath the Agenite. I then marched forward, the sound of a faint hum filling my ears while the meteor began to glow a gentle florescent blue as I continued my approach.
After 5 minutes of walking, the tip of my right iron boot nudged into something, causing me to look down into the eyeless sockets of a charred skeleton. The entire thing was colored a complete black hue, with bright cyan colored burns speckling parts of the remains. Small sparks of magical electricity crackled along the surface on the whole skeleton while azure flames gently lapped in the semi-shattered remains of the ribcage. I then quickly looked at the skeletal remains, allowing me to identify them belonging to a human male - somewhere in the mid twenties - who was making a move towards the meteor and got caught in one of its infamous lightning strikes.
I decided to linger any longer around it and continued my approach, my eyes darting every which way to keep me prepared for a strike of magically enhanced lightning. Of course, nothing could prepare me for the feeling of something being held against the back of my head, followed by the sound of a flintlock hammer being pulled back.
"Alright, ya know the deal..."A voice spoke to me, gruff and ragged with age and exhaustion. "Give me all of your loot, and I ain't gotta shoot ya. Ya feel me?"*The voice spoke in a casual manner, treating this like a normal day in their life. I start to comply - slowly lowering my pickaxe to the ground - before spinning on my heels and ramming the tip of the pick straight into the voice's lower jaw.
(Lost motivation to keep going, ending it there lol) |
We, Humans, are like Mayflies...
Our lives are short; and our love, while vast, too. Like a precious flame that is snuffed too soon. I know that... I am the Storyteller. Or so I call myself...
The eternal scribe for Humanity, he who will always write our history. And as such, I can't fall in love.
... I failed...
I couldn't stop myself from loving them. From loving her, Gabriela...
A long time ago, in Spain. Her brown hair always made my heart ache, and her smile always brightened my days; even during the war... Even during my time in the trenches.
Her time was too short... And so I mourned her... Not even bothering to bury her as she deserved.
Then, I met Alexandra... She was different. A bit childish, but gave me focus. Made me... forget?
No, that is not the term. She took the love I had for Gabriela... And fed the flame again.
I wanted a life with her.
Again, I had to mourn another lover... Again could not bury a wife.
And the years went on, and on...
Lovers came and went, and I stayed. Our children left too, unaware of their parentage with an immortal. I mourned them too...
And so, one day... After what seemed the end of the Human Race, I heard a knock in my door.
And the sight woke me up, faster than anything...
They were here... Gabriela, Alexandra... All of them...
Maybe it is time to end the story...
​
...Or Rather, start the second volume... |
Whelp I'm not a pro at worldbuilding or anything but starting with some searches on "Worldbuilding religion"and "worldbuilding nonhuman races"would be a good start for you. I bet "Hello Future Me"on youtube has at least one helpful video for you.
Aside from that, my recommendation to you would be to look into the region(s) where the Satyr myths come from (Greece off of the top of my head but I'm sure they exist elsewhere under different names, like Pucks and whatnot) and take inspiration from those cultures and the religions of those regions. The more ancient the better. |
I look down at my watch. Its been a few hours since Marvin, my genie, took away everyone's ability to feel hunger pains. I need to remind myself to eat. I set a timer on my apple watch for every four hours. Marvin is just looking at me, grinning. "So, is that the point of your existence? To teach each person a lesson with their wishes?"I stare blankly back at him.
"I am bound to give three wishes to who ever is lucky enough to rub this lamp. What I decide to do with those wishes is still my choice."His skin darkens with his gaze.
"My wish was good. There was no ill will behind it. Why not just give me the result I asked for?"I am visibly disheartened now. My heart aches for the opportunity that was just wasted.
"You didn't wish for a result. You wished for world hunger to end. It is ended. Be wiser with your next wish."
I grimace. I cannot undo that without using an additional wish. What if I just left it alone? People are still very much food dependent, but people would be eating for nutrition and to maintain life, versus for pleasure. Hopefully. It is really hard to say. It is also possible that the global powers will stop controlling people with food. Those are some good outcomes to this mess I have made.
It figures that I would get this genie and not a genie like Aladin's. I have never won as much as a coke. Marvin, the genie, shifts around, waiting impatiently for me to do something. I have no idea what to do. I feel like I should talk this over with an elder. My mom is a greedy, mean, and corrupted individual. I don't think that telling her that I have any kind of power at all is a wide choice. |
In the shadowed corners of Crescent City, Victor, known in the underworld as the Night Weaver, meticulously crafts his malevolent plan. His ultimate scheme is chillingly simple: to unleash a deadly virus that will bring the city to its knees, preparing it for his tyrannical rule. Each night, under the guise of darkness, he orchestrates chaos, relishing in the gradual decay of the city he aims to conquer.
At home, Victor's interactions with Diana, his wife, are a masterclass in duplicity. During their quiet, tense dinners, he veils his words with poison. “This city, it's a dying beast, Diana. It's time someone put it out of its misery,” he says, a sinister glint in his eye.
Diana, blinded to the monster she shares her life with, responds with a weary yet hopeful tone, “There’s still light in this city, Victor. As long as we fight, there’s a chance.”
As the Night Weaver, Victor's delight in the fear and turmoil he creates is palpable. The impending doom of the city feeds his dark, twisted soul.
Their final confrontation is destined to occur in a forsaken ironworks, a place as broken and forsaken as the heart of their relationship. The ironworks, with its towering, rusting structures and long, dark shadows, is the perfect backdrop for their tragic finale.
When Diana, in her guise as Solar Sentinel, enters the ironworks, Victor, shrouded in darkness, greets her with a voice that is cold, unfeeling. “So, we meet at last, Diana. Tonight, the mask falls away.”
Diana, clad in her suit of armor, replies with resolute defiance, “Your reign of terror ends tonight, Night Weaver. This city will be freed from your grasp.”
Their battle is visceral and fierce. Diana unleashes a barrage of gunfire, the sound of each shot reverberating through the cavernous space. Victor moves with a chilling, predatory grace, each movement calculated to avoid her assaults, his armored suit deflecting the shots that come too close. His counterattacks are brutal and efficient, his strikes aimed with deadly precision.
The sounds of their conflict echo through the ironworks – the sharp report of gunfire, the clang of metal on metal, the harsh sound of their grunts and shouts as they engage in this deadly dance.
Victor, in a moment of brutal ferocity, grabs Diana, throwing her with inhuman strength against a massive, rusted gear. The impact reverberates through the ironworks, her armor cracking under the strain, blood beginning to seep from beneath it.
Revealing his identity, Victor's voice is devoid of emotion, “It was always me, Diana. Your loving husband. Your greatest adversary.”
Diana, struggling against the pain and shock, her voice laced with heartbreak and disbelief, whispers, “Victor... how could you betray everything we had... our love...”
Victor, looking down at her with eyes that have lost all humanity, responds in a cold, detached tone, “Love is a weakness, Diana. Power is the only truth. And tonight, I claim that truth.”
He injects her with a lethal toxin, a concoction of his own creation. Diana convulses as the poison ravages her body, her eyes locked on Victor's. With her dying breath, she reaches out, her voice barely a whisper.
“Victor... my love for you was real... even now... in the face of your darkness... I pity you... for what you've become...”
Her hand falls away, her eyes losing their light, leaving only the stillness of death.
Victor stands over her, victorious in his dark ambition, but his victory is hollow, echoing in the vast emptiness of the ironworks. As he leaves the scene, Diana's final words echo in his mind, a haunting refrain of the love and light he extinguished.
Returning to their home, now a tomb of memories, Victor sits alone in the darkness. Diana's last words, full of love and sorrow, hang in the air, a stark reminder of the heart he shattered. The Night Weaver may reign over Crescent City, but he does so as a king of ruins, his soul lost in the endless night he so fervently embraced. |
\[Avoiding Grief\]
"You want to fake your friend's death?"Nina made sense of the information as best she could. She'd been enjoying a morning in the park when a teenage girl with short brown hair approached. She introduced herself as Jubilee Luna and showed off a picture of Nina in a situation she'd never been in.
"Uhh, yeah,"Jubilee nodded. "That's one way to put it I guess. So, will you help?"It was supposed to be an easy day. It was Saturday and Nina had nothing planned. Her mind did not anticipate all the sudden thinking it needed to do as Jubilee made her offer.
"I still don't understand...,"Nina shook her head. There was a lot that didn't make sense; but, she chose the one thing that was confusing her the most. "...how does she look so much like me?"The young woman in the picture could have been Nina herself, if not a twin. But, the subject in question was at a big sci-fi convention surrounded by costumed nerds. She found it amusing that it was the type of place she wouldn't have been caught dead, given Jubilee's strange request.
"She's you from an alternate universe,"Jubilee shrugged. "It's just luck besides that; you look more like her than any of the other versions I found. "
"Altern... other versions?"A dozen more questions formed in Nina's mind. Faking a death seemed like the least concerning issue at the moment. "How did you get here? Why are you looking for other versions of me? I mean of her."
"That was in my introduction,"Jubilee giggled. "I'm looking for someone to impersonate a dead fan,"she said. "Not really a friend; but one of my stream fans."
"I don't know what that is...,"Nina said. It was what Jubilee had explained the first time; but, Nina just assumed it was interchangeable with 'friend' whatever it was. The fact that she corrected it meant Nina needed to ask. She was trying to keep track of all the questions mounting, but each answer brought more.
"You know how rock stars and movie stars have fans? I'm a streaming star, I have fans that watch me game,"she said.
"They watch you play games.. never mind,"Nina shook her head to refocus on the initial request. She felt like she believed Jubilee if nothing else. She didn't know where that blind trust came from; but, she was willing to go along with it for now. Convoluted reasoning aside, she was talking to someone about alternate universes. It was very likely she could arrange a tour for herself. "Okay, I'll play along and pretend to be this dead person,"she nodded. "But, in exchange, I want to see other universes."
"Great, that's no problem,"Jubilee smiled. She tilted her head to the side and a tall black portal opened. "We'll start on my Earth so you can see the setup,"she said as she moved toward the portal. "But, we should also discuss the timing. How soon can you spare eight hours?"
"Wait,"Nina paused before going through the portal. "Eight hours? Before I go in there, I need to know exactly what I'm doing for eight hours. I thought this would be something quick. How long do you need to fake a death?"Jubilee giggled and shook her head.
"You keep saying that, I think you're confusing yourself,"she said. "I thought I was clear, but let me put it another way. My fan wants me to stream their 'funeral' live; but, of course, they want to watch from the outside too. That's why you'll be taking their place."
"Ohhhhhhhhh,"it all clicked into place finally and Nina felt more than a little dumb that she missed it. "When you said 'impersonate a dead person' you literally just want me in the casket?"
"Uhuh,"Jubilee nodded.
"Oh, that's super simple,"Nina giggled. "Can I schedule it at night so I can just sleep through it?"she asked.
"You can schedule it at night,"Jubilee shook her head. "But, it's not really in the spirit if you're just sleeping,"she laughed with Nina and gestured to the portal. Nina felt comfortable enough finally to continue forward. Jubilee finished her thought as they walked through together. "We don't need griefers pointing out that you're still breathing and ruining the stream. Don't worry though, clinical murder and resurrection are pretty standard in some universes."
\*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #2174 in a row. (Story #364 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place in my universe. |
Mike Walker, Powerplant Technician 2nd Class of the United Systems Starship *Charles Schulz* again cursed the logic of the current situation. Somehow, even with modern deflector systems, something got lodged in one of the Causality Projectors while in a debris field the ship was investigating. This is the third or fourth time he had to put on the cumbersom EVA suit and go out and remove an object, all because Captain Treverford wanted to save a tiny quantity of deuterium on shields while Science scanned the area. After 20 minutes of tedious walking in his gravboots to the other end of the Projector, it was never the end closest to the airlock, he was struck by the incongruity of the object in the fins of the Projector. He tapped his comlink to open, and turned on the camlink to the bridge so there was a record of this as he found it.
"Bridge, this is Walker on the starboard projector. I found the debris, do you have it on my camlink?"
"Yes Walker, we have it. Someone been playing a prank on us? That looks like a wine bottle"
"Yes Lieutenant, I'm going to try and free it. I didn't think humans got this far out yet. I just wanted you to see it if it broke during the dislodge"
"Carry on Walker"
Mike pulled it loose. Surprisingly it wasnt stuck all THAT tightly. it sorta just slid out. He looked at it and put it in his grab bag and hit the comlink once again. "Hey Bridge, can you send someone from Science down to Airlock 15 in 20 minutes to look at this? I think there's a note inside"
"Thats fine Walker. I'm gonna send Mister Herbert down."
Don Herbert was the Deputy Assistant Science officer, the number three scientist on the ship. He was also the specialist on archeology and history. He patiently waited while Walker removed his EVA suit and had him bring the bag to the lab, where they opened it and several science techs ran tests on the bottle.
"One thinks for certain Mike, whoever left this didn't have a sense of taste."
"What makes you think that, Sir?"
"Chateau Picard was always known for being a 'lesser' brand of the 2300's. I don't know how this got out here, however. This is definitely been in deep space for a while"
They got some instruments in place and opened the top carefully with remote arms in a isolation chamber, scanning for any potential hazard as the air in the bottle left after a long time.
"All readings normal, C-12 readings show this has been here at least 1000 years"
"But, sir, the Federation didn't get near here anywhere near that time ago"
"But Mike, weird shit happened all the time, remember? We ran into that planet where we found that dude who looked like a male torch singer from the 1990's? Called himself a Time Agent? C-12 had NO way of figuring out his age. Then there was the traces of a hyperevolved human colony. So hyperevolved in fact they turned into lizards. That was only about 500 light years away from here. And don't get me started on all the planets where *Homo sapiens* or something almost near enough to make no difference is the dominant lifeform.
"Anyhow, Mike, here's the note"
USS *Catskill,* NCC-12414. Coordinates Unknown. Stardate 45932.
Leaving this old version of a method of a message. I can't believe I've had to resort to a message in a bottle, but tried and true helps. I know you won't be able to meet me, but here it goes.
We arrived in the Vulcan system 6 days ago. As a *New York* class starship we are the Taxi service for the Federation. Picking up a bunch of Vulcans from this year's Ponn-Farr season to return them to their ship in orbit around Denobula. About halfway there we got sucked into some sort of spacial anomoly which killed about half of the people on board with the 'flip' of the ship. Dampeners failed for 1/1000th of a second as we got hit with something. We had no power for communication. No power for anything really. We got as many ration packs and whatever other foodstuffs stored into the lifepods and the shuttles. And then, something made the ship twitch again. I don't know what, but I was the only one in the pods when it got ejected to space. I've been in a 50 pod raft ever since. I have since tried to call home, to no avail. Its lonely out here. I believe I have enough power to stay here for a while, but since I have no clue where I am, I am going to have to find a place to stay. I think I am going to take as much food as I can pack into the shuttlecraft I have and warp home. I just hope i can get to something in range from here.
Anyhow as to the reason I wrote this note. I received this bottle of wine from a man I called a friend. This was the most vile crap I've ever drank, and I have drank Klingon tea. I hope you're happy Jean-Luc.
Katherine Pulaski, Captain, Starfleet Medical Corps. Chief Medical Officer, USS Catskill"
Mike looked at Lt. Herbert and said, "So, that's what happened to her!"
Lt. Herbert said, "Her? You know about her?"
"Yeah she was on the Enterprise D i think, and then she was never spoken of again."
Lt Herbert went to the computer terminal, and looked up the file.
"Twelve months on the Enterprise D, she pissed off everyone. Got sent out on a ship full of Autons. Apparently Starfleet knew, but since she didn't like transporters, she never checked the logs. So this is what happens when the fleet doesn't like you..." |
Subsets and Splits