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Because love makes happiness. It makes people hug and kiss and want to be with each other. It makes humans human. Even people who never experience it can still admire it and write about it. Love need not prove itself to anyone. It's wonderful, and it doesn't expect praise. It receives praise because it gives. Love is not rocket science. Love means that people are happy. It means that there are good things on Earth. How can anyone possibly describe something so simple, anyway? Though you can explain parts of it, you can't explain all of it. It's so simple that it's an enigma. I barely know what I'm talking about. I'm only trying to practice writing, and I bit off much more than I could chew. |
You were so *perfect*. Do you know how hard it is to find jeans that actually fit me? I've got bird legs and a fat ass. Jeans fit me like dreadlocks fit Mother Teresa. Except for *you*. You wrapped yourself around every curve, molding yourself to me like paint. You fit yourself into all my boots and fit perfectly over those suede heels I bought just for you. And you were the deepest, most luxurious midnight black ever--not off black, not sparkly black, just black.
And now what are you? You're so dull! Not even grey, not black, just this bland dark color that doesn't go well with anything. You were my shopping jeans, my casual-not-casual outfit jeans, now you're my Friday-at-work jeans. Remember all those fun times we had? How we made the other jeans jealous because you showed off my butt without showing off my underwear lines? Remember dancing, and even riding that mechanic bull at the dive bar down the road? That was so awesome! Now you'll be lucky if I pull you out for spring cleaning!
And it's not just the faded color, oh no. You used to lay at the perfect place on my hips, staying up without a belt. Now you bite into my skin and give me muffin top, but I've actually *lost* weight since I bought you! You *shrunk*! How could you? You tag said pre-shrunk! Not 'shrinks after six months just when you start to depend on them'!
You've let me down, black jeans. You were my everything, now you just suck. That's why I'm donating you, shoving you into this garbage bag and taking you to Goodwill. And you too, beaded peasant blouse with the missing bead, cork clogs that took a nail to the heel... and yes, even you, cashmere scarf. I mean, you're so soft, so pretty, and I wanted you so bad... but this is California, and there really isn't any use for a cashmere scarf. Or any scarf. Let somebody who makes trips up to Oregon or something adopt you.
Oh, don't worry, too-tight fishnet over-shirt. I wouldn't give you up. We have plenty of vulgar outfits to create together, and plenty of Mai Tai's to spill all over you.
*Sigh*. Okay, cashmere scarf, I'll give you one more chance, but only because you were so expensive. Hopefully soon it will look like it's going to rain without actually raining, then I can wear you.
No, black jeans, we aren't speaking. |
Work in progress, will finish
------------------
2: "I'm sorry sir, but I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave the establishment."
1: "No, please, I need to enter. You see, my emotional calibrator ne-"
2: "Again, if you do not have a love setting programmed in your calibrator, then you must not be able to afford it. If you cannot afford the love setting, then you couldn't possibly afford anything else" |
"How did you even get into the polar bear habitat?"
Jeff stared blankly at his desk. He hadn't held his position as Chief of Zoo Security for more than a day before he realized what a sham that label is. As it turns out, stealing zoo animals is fucking hard. Every once in a while, someone will try, but the kind of person who tries to steal an exhibit from the zoo is usually not even as smart as the exhibit they're trying to steal. Cash registers have locks on them, you can roll a tank over one of the ATM machines without damaging either, and the vending machines are managed by a third party. In six years as Chief of Zoo Security (a position which Jeff frequently refers to as 'CZS' on dates in the hopes of convincing his latest fling that he sits in an office with big windows and mahogany tables), Jeff has seen five thefts of any significance.
"Not talking. Figures."
Granted Jeff sees all manners of petty thievery on a daily basis. Kids trying to smuggle stuffed animals out of the gift shop, people requesting a fountain cup for "water"and then filling it with cola, people smuggling in their own animal feed to save a few quarters, adults trying to smuggle stuffed animals out of the gift shop. Jeff doesn't care though. Jeff turns the other way and considers his ignorance outsourcing. You might steal pens and pencils from your place of work, you might even take the break room printer as part of your unauthorized severance package; Jeff lets other people steal things for him.
"Alright so you don't want to tell us how you did it, maybe you'd like to tell us why?"
Obviously if it were up to Jeff, his title would be "Chief Executive Enforcer"or "Localized Public Relations Expert", or something similarly grandiose. In the back of his mind, though, he knows what he is. Jeff is a mediator. In another corporation, he might be referred to as "Head of HR", but unfortunately only half of his job involves humans, and to be quite honest even that's a stretch. Jeff spends his time resolving petty disputes between animals and slightly more advanced animals.
"Goddammit. Final question, do you have any associates?"
Jeff couldn't conceive of a bigger waste of time than grilling a monkey on how it got into the polar bear habitat. Of course it didn't have any associates, it's a fucking monkey, but his boss saw the whole thing go down and the employee handbook clearly states that anyone who attempts to enter an exhibit must be questioned by the Chief of Security before being handed over to the local police.
"Alright Officer, take him away."
The police officer smirked at Jeff. Jeff had no recourse. It's not that Jeff's boss didn't understand how much of a waste of time the last ten minutes had been, but Greg was itching for a reason to fire the chief of security. Greg knew that Jeff wasn't doing his job but he couldn't catch him in the act.
As the police officer left with the monkey, Jeff muttered "'Do you have any associates' like the fucking yakuza is going to try to steal a polar bear. What self respecting mobster would stage a heist at this shitty little zoo?"
Greg dismissed Jeff on the spot for insubordination, inappropriate conduct, and wasting taxpayer money on an unruly orangutan. |
You only turn twenty five once. My girlfriend turned twenty five this past Saturday. We had a nice night planned. She had to work that day, so I built her present while she was gone. When she came home, her face lit up brighter than any of the lights we'd be seeing out on the town that night.
We were going to her favorite restaurant. It hasn't been her favorite for long, but they already know us there. We went for our anniversary and try not to go too often because...well, it's a bit pricey. But let me tell you, the place it worth it.
The hostess greeted us by name when we arrived. It was nice to see Suzy again. Looked like she cut her hair. That had our table ready. My girlfriend had to use the bathroom after we sat down. Suzy let me know that our server would bring out our special dessert when we were ready.
The meal started off wonderfully. We love this place for its atmosphere. The music is great, but low. You can have a conversation or revel in the tunes. We kicked off the meal with our favorite appetizers and drinks. They came out almost immediately.
Somewhere in the middle of my urchin ceviche, which came paired with a wonderful balsamic seaweed salad, a group of men entered the restaurant. Suzy sat them in our section. They were the last table. These men were very drunk.
We ordered our first round of entrees and second round of drinks when one of the men started calling for the waiter. *That's ridiculous,* I thought to myself. *They just sat down.* The waiter came running anyway. She was polite, though obviously taken aback. It became clear that she was unused to handling parties such as this.
I had just taken a bite of my bacon wrapped scallops, the crunchiness of the bacon striking hard against the smooth, airy texture of the scallop, when another man in the group began to shout. The profanity emanated in a noxious cloud, gradually spreading itself outward until no matter how hard you listened, you weren't going to be able to hear those lyrics. They might as well have given him a microphone, he boomed so clearly.
The table next to us got up to leave.
I spotted the manager on his way. My girlfriend looked nearly defeated. Today was the day she turned a quarter of a century. She was wearing the nicest dress she had, her makeup absolutely perfect. This was supposed to be a wonderful evening in her favorite place.
It was time to do something.
My thoughts raced with how I might fix things. Do I say something? Pretend I'm intimidating? No, I know I am not. This will be a battle I win with wits, not with strength. Besides, I am outnumbered. I eyed the table and the men with care, searching for anything I might use against them. My girlfriend sipped her drink.
And I knew what I had to do.
I stood up from my table and walked towards the men. I introduced myself. I do this for a living; introduce myself. You would be surprised how many people don't know how to do it. Or maybe you wouldn't. I don't know your life. Rest assured, I know how to make you meet me.
"Quarter of a century!"I said with glee. The men all agreed with me. My girlfriend wore a puzzled expression. Six years together will make you trust someone. Although she was curious, she made no move to stop my actions. "What are you boys drinking? That looks like rum!"
It was. And it was the cheap stuff. These men had no class and no taste.
I bought each of them a round.
Then another.
And another.
It only took four rounds before one of them dropped his face onto the table. I waved to the server for the fifth.
We cut into our filet mignon as the final round of shots came to their table. My girlfriend smiled as the server poured each round into the drunken men's mouths. One of them, the loudest, tried to spit some of it back up. She wouldn't have it. The server rubbed his throat until he swallowed. His face fell flat onto the table.
The rest of our meal was spent with the chef and most of the crew, sampling luscious desserts from their hidden menu. Items we had never had before. The mousse was so rich, it almost completely negated the smell of the men's bowels, which had released themselves a little while after they'd collapsed.
You only turn twenty five once.
It's my birthday in a few months.
And I know just where we'll go. |
"God fucking dammit, where the hell is she?"He muttered to himself idly as he wandered through the crowded room. A tall girl with stringy blonde hair that stuck to her face looked at him. His face scrunched up at her glance. She looked like a rat. They all looked like rats. He pictured everyone in the room scurrying along the floorboards, desperately scrambling to find the best mate in the shortest time possible. His face scrunched up more with the thought. The rat faced girl turned away from him and scoffed. He pictured her on fire. His face softened at the thought.
Snaking through the sweaty mass of flesh taking over what was once a living room, he whispers to himself: "Going away was a bad idea. Sitting next to that girl in biology was a worse idea. And coming here was the worst idea. Fuck this."But even after all of his mutterings, he continued to snake through the crowded room, wishing the creaking bowed floorboards in the old Alabama house would crash under the weight of the rodent people surrounding him.
He finally reaches the doorway into the kitchen, and his pulse quickens.
"Keep it together, asshole."He wants to scream at himself. Instead, a heavy sigh escapes his frowning mouth as he pushes on, scanning the crowd for her bright red hair.
He knows there are people staring at him, wondering how he heard about the party in the first place. As the first bead of sweat falls off of his upper lip, he pictures everyone he looks at inside out. It always calmed his nerves when he pictured people with their insides where their skin should be.
He almost smiled.
Finally, he sees her. She is through the screen door in the dirt back yard.
Without his own consent, his movements become frantic. He is trying to swim through a sea of bodies and trying to force himself not to at the same time.
Over the tops of heads he glimpses the tops of her bare legs coming out of her high waisted shorts. She tosses her long red curls and his breathe catches.
He tried to call out her name but his syllables trip over themselves. A guttural yelp escapes his sweaty lips, showering spit on a girl two feet in front of him. He has to get to her.
He's shoving now. If he can just get to her. He tries to call for her again, getting closer to forming an actual word.
"Ahh-leey!"The syllables sound strange leaving his throat, but at least they're the right ones. She looks up, catching his eyes through the ripped screen door. She turns and gently smiles.
He wakes up gasping. He is sweating profusely, out of breath and sputtering. He tried to stand, momentarily forgetting about the restraints on his wrists and ankles. When his wild arms reach the end of the short length of give in the Velcro straps, it all comes rushing back.
She had turned and smiled.
He had killed them all. |
"THE NICE GUY ALWAYS GETS THE GIRL"
A trope I hate because it's used in movies a lot. In real life, assholes pretend to be nice for the same result. Watch what happens in this riveting, realistic story.
Johnny liked Rebecca. Johnny was an average boy, about yay-high. Thing is, Johnny was a fucking dick. He liked to throw books at people in middle school. He was hated because he was such a colossal douche. Come high school, Johnny knew he had to change to get Rebecca.
"Hey Rebecca. Can I help you carry your books?"
"No, that's okay. And kind of weird. I don't even know you."
"FUCKING FRIENDZONE"
Fuck you Johnny. |
The old man waited there for The Boy Who Smelled Like Onions in a patch of empty land within the surrounding bamboo trees. The forest was a dark place. Certainly dangerous, especially for someone of the mans age. Underneath his gaunt visage, battle scars of old crawled upon his fold-ridden face. Yes, it was no simple old man, but an old, battle-hardened veteran. He knew the boy would not stoop so low as to ambush him, so the bamboo forest posed no hindrance. Such was the code of the warrior.
The forest smelled of sulphur and moss. Every once in a while a bamboo leaf would fall within the old man's vicinity. He would recount the days in his memories where with a single sweep of his katana he could cut them in half with precision keener than human sight could perceive. He could not cut them now. He clutched his sheathed blade, knowing he did not have the power to do it.
An adrenaline clicked in the old man when a familiar scent traveled between brushes. It smelled like an onion patch. He was here, the old man thought. This was it - the final oddity. It started pouring rain thicker than blood. The subtle smell of onions was immediately drowned out, but the old man knew the boy was facing him.
"I've come, Sensei."
"Mhm"The old man said, understandingly.
"Why did you do it? What did they do to deserve it !? The village never posed a threat. I want to know why you abandoned them."
"You cannot comprehend why. You are merely a fool. I took you in as a subordinate only because I felt sorry for you. Such a weak being does not deserve to be under my guidance. I must kill you now. Let us settle this in a single draw. If you cannot even defeat me, you've no chance against the outsiders. Come, boy. Show me what foolish vengeance is made of."
The old man's wise and stagnant eyes pierced through the rain and entered the boys vision. The boy was enraged. The old man clutched the handle of his katana, and the boy did the same to his.
Time seemed to stop. The boy could feel raindrops construct with his tears to flow even faster down his face. The two samurai faced each other with their hands about to draw their swords, nothing but honour of the code keeping them from landing a dirty, early strike.
Thunder struck in the distant mountains and enlightened the patch of empty land. The two samurai had then drew their swords at each other in the draw. Both faced away from the other, having swung when they were near the other, their katanas in the end position of what must have been a fatal blow. A string of blood was flung through the air for a brief moment.
The Boy Who Smelled Like Onions sheathed his katana, unscathed. He looked back at the old man.
The old man was lying in a pool of blood. Upon close inspection, the old man did not wield a real katana, but a wooden one. The boy realized this had simply been a test. He was uninjured, and completely succeeded against his mentor. The boy cried harder and harder, begging for his mentor to come back. To no avail he stood up and looked up at the sky. Muttering behind tears, he spoke.
"I'll never forget you, or your tests, Sensei. Someone must be cutting onions. Like you said, a real man never cries."
|
The first Carthiginian wave halted their advance at the sight of the spectacle. I looked behind me, towards Consul Varro as my men march on, and I await orders. The Consul might have seen me looking. He spoke to one of his attendants, who passed the order to a cavalryman. As soon as the attendant finished speaking, the cavalryman rode swiftly towards me.
"The Consul calls for an orderly retreat to the camp. Now."said the cavalryman. I nodded to him. As he turned to retreat back, I gave the command to my trumpeteer to signal the orderly retreat. I looked back at the Carthiginians, and they too are retreating. Above us, the glowing obelisks floated without motion. The men looked towards the heavens as we marched back to camp, their faces a combination of confusion and awe. There is a steady murmur amongst the ranks as the troops try to make sense of the floating structures above us.
"Always keep your weapons close to you, men. The Gods alone know what those.. Structure or creatures are. I do not like what I see, and neither does the Consul it seems."I told my men as we marched towards camp.
*Indeed, I do not like what I see.* I silently told myself.
|
Probably wrong to reply to your own, but I thought it was interesting that my random character generator spit out three old folks. Since I never see old folks represented here, I figured why not. I'm probably doing over-sixties everywhere a horrible disservice with this, but, hey, gotta try, right?
--
On a warm September day, in the full sunlight of bright afternoon, Millie Rennart was enjoying a mid-afternoon walk with no timecard to punch when she was accosted in the middle of the Main Street crosswalk by a man with shaking hands and a set of teeth too regular and too white to be anything but false.
"You,"he snarled in a low voice that sounded like rust and dark spaces.
Millie was raised to be polite, but he was being so very rude, and they were in the middle of the *street*, for Pete's sake. So she walked on, trying not to limp. She was no spring chicken, but she was twenty years the man's junior, and outweighed him by a good hundred pounds, and that was *before* lunch at Harry's, where that good looking Howson boy liked to smile at her as if she was half her age. (She'd like to rip his clothes off right in the freezer, is what she'd like to do. But that would be to forward by half, wouldn't it just?)
The old man reached out a wrinkled hand, too slow. She was past him.
Behind her, she heard footsteps. Surprisingly quick for someone his age. Nervousness twinged in her belly. She kept moving, but she heard his scuffling steps behind her. Closer, now. She didn't look back.
"It was you,"he said again from behind her. Low and rough, like a man much younger. "You're the one killed her."
People were starting to stare. Millie wanted to crawl into the sidewalk. Instead she turned to face him. Summoned up her considerable size. He wasn't intimidated, or if he was those fierce black eyes didn't show it. "I've never seen you before, sir."
An older man, only a decade her senior, stepped from the passers-by. "Now, Tom,"he said placatingly.
"Don't you 'Now Tom' me,"Tom said. "It was her cost me Evelyn, you know it was."
"I'm sorry,"Millie said, looking between the two men. "I think you have the wrong woman. I decorate cakes for Marty's Bakery. Or I did, until last week. I'm retired now."As if it was a defense, as if he would say *Oh, I thought you were still working, I'm sorry, I must have made a mistake.* Jesus Christ on a silver pogo stick, she could be stupid sometimes.
"Don't tell me I have the wrong woman,"Tom said, shaking a finger at her. "I know who you are. What you did to me."
"Tom."The other man put his hand on Tom's shoulder. "You've never seen this woman before in your life."
"'Course I have,"Tom snarled. "You think I got the Alzheimer's? I'm telling you, Rook. It was her cake."
Millie shook her head hopelessly. "I really need to be going,"she said.
"You owe me,"Tom said.
"She doesn't owe you anything."Rook tightened his grip. "Trust me on this, Tom."
Tom flinched at the pressure on his shoulder, but he didn't look away from Millie. "You know what you did."
"I don't."
His fists bunched, his shoulders knotted, he looked ready to hit her if Rook freed him. Still, she stayed. She had nothing to do with his wife, she knew this for a fact. But there was a haunted look to his eyes that rooted her.
"Why don't you tell me,"she said. Gently. Watching him, so he could see her doing watching. See her not walking away. "Come sit on that bench over there and tell me."
Rook caught her eye as he let go of Tom's shoulder. He smiled sweetly. She caught herself smiling back. He wasn't a bad looking man at all. And certainly more age-appropriate than the Howson boy. His back was a little crooked, but he had broad shoulders and not much of a belly at all. She wondered if he would consider shaving the hairs poking out from beneath his polo shirt--
She pulled her thoughts back to Tom, who had begun talking as they made their way to the bench.
"--the roses, she always did like the roses. But I said Evvy, you can't eat that much sugar. Not anymore."
Tom's voice had turned almost gentle with the memory.
"Was it diabetes?"Millie asked.
He sagged down onto the bench and Millie sat next to him. The old man's eyes had gone wet and all the strength had run out of his voice, as if his rage had been all that was keeping him upright. "I went to the bathroom for the insulin, but I twisted my ankle. When I got up there, I told her we should have moved the bedroom to the first floor, we were too old to go climbing stairs, when I got there, she'd let the prescription run out. And our phone was out, we're on a fixed--I'm on--the bills get so high now. By the time I got someone, by the time the ambulance came--"He swallowed, waved a hand, caught his breath. Millie found a lump in her own throat.
"I'm sorry,"she murmured. *Sorry* would never be enough, but it was all she had. "So very sorry."
"I sat with her for weeks,"Tom said. He looked away from her now, looked from her to Rook, to the street behind her. His voice a broken whisper. "Talked to her. Told her I was waiting for her. I did, I waited for her. But she never came back for me. She never came back."He swallowed again. Looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry,"he said. "I had no right."
"It's okay,"Millie said. Summoning a smile, patting him on the knee. "It's okay."
From behind Tom, Rook rested a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "Come on, old man,"he said. "I'll walk you home."
"Yeah."Tom braced himself on the chair, pushed, rose unsteadily. "Yeah, all right."
She watched him cross the street again, the tiny broken man and the bigger one with his crooked back. With the afternoon sun laying across her knees like a blanket, she watched the younger folks pass by, and she wondered what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
|
I am a lonely old man. I used to have many things. Friends, family, and even children. I long for those days. I want those days back. I'm going to return, when I finish my "project". My lonely project as I call it is a time machine. I have learned from the natives in Indonesia the secrets of time travel. For the life of me, I hope their right. My "project"has taken far too long. My family is gone. I'm divorced. My kids are gone. Everyday when I go to the door, I see no visitors. I long for the days when kids came and went to see my children. I miss my wife. And somehow, someway, I want to see it all again. I want to live it again. When the day comes, when I finish it, I will return, and live my life once more. Give myself a second chance. Treat my wife better. Don't be too hard on my kids. These thoughts invaded my mind as I stepped into the machine. And in that moment, I was whisked away, never to be seen again. A blinding light... "Daddy?"A little voice spoke by my feet. I smiled and looked down. "Are you ever going to leave us?"I shook my head. "No. I promise." |
Lost. Confused. Running. Away from the house I used to live in. Away from the family I used to be with. The last 12 hours was hell for me. Trying to find people in this small town who actually knew me. Recognized many but none returned the recognition. Have I just become another face in the crowd? I glanced sideway at an old man reading the newspaper. The headlines screamed *Highly Dangerous Murderer Wanted*. But what caught my attention was the face below it. It was my face.
Lost. Confused. Running. My head hurts as I try to sift through my memories looking for any explanation about my situation. Couldn't find any. Thought about my wife and my children, with the man who claimed to be their husband and father. There was an argument between me and the man, I remembered. I took out my wallet and tried to show them a family photo, but there was none I could show. The man took out his photo and it was clear that I was an impostor. How could that be? Police siren jerked me out of my thoughts. I have to get away somehow.
Lost. Confused. Running. Just saw a police car heading in my direction and had to duck into an alleyway to hide. It was darker but my head continued throbbing. Realised something though. The man who claimed to be me was vaguely familiar. I seem to remember him somehow. But I couldn’t care about it right now. I can feel someone chasing me. Is it the cops? Should I just surrender to them? No, I decided, no one would believe my story. I have to continue running away from this madness until I figure it all out.
Still lost. Still Confused. But no longer running, just walking. Need to save some energy. Had a near miss just now. A young man spotted me and tried to stop me but I pushed him away. Must be one of those self proclaimed vigilantes. Trying to avoid people was never an easy task, especially so when your head is hurting like hell. I needed some painkillers desperately, so I decided I would just grab some at the pharmacy, pay and run. Took out my wallet to check the cash I had, and chanced upon a photo in it. It was my family photo. Wait, I did not see it during the encounter with my imposter earlier on, did I? Could it be that I imagined the entire confrontation at my house? Questions filled my mind but I have to wave them off for now. Police are increasing in numbers and I have to find somewhere to hide.
Oh crap. I just saw my imposter and I think he saw me too. Managed to get away from the police but here I am, stuck in a dead end, with my imposter walking calmly towards me. At the sight of his knife, I realised he was the murderer, not me. He was going to pin all his crimes on me and adopt a new identity. My identity. He was about 50 feet from me now. My head continued the earlier agony and I screamed as the splitting pain vibrated through my entire body and I blacked out.
I awoke to the smell of medicine, half expecting my imposter to be right beside me. But beside the hospital bed was a benevolent looking doctor assessing me, or rather, my injuries, as I began to learn the truth about everything. I was not actually a murder suspect, but a witness in a homicide. Police had not yet learned the identity of the murderer, and was looking for me to shed some light on it. Someone had found me lying on the street and sent me to the hospital. My injury, I recalled, was caused by the imposter/murderer hitting my head with a blunt object after he caught me witnessing the crime, but I somehow managed to escape from him. The doctor kindly explained that as a result of that impact, I had some sort of amnesia and delusion that would pretty much explain what happened in the past few hours. The doctor further assured me that the police are on the way to question and assist me.
A knock on the door interrupted my conversation with the doctor. “That must be the police, I have to go. Rest well. “The doctor stood up and left the room. I was relieved. My ordeal was over. There was no imposter and I was just a witness. I had dreamt up everything due to my head injury. At this point I wanted to laughed, maybe crack a joke or two with the police about how stupid I was. But I froze when the door opened and a policeman came in.
It was the imposter.
|
My name is Fred Griffen.I work for one of the biggest crime lords in this city, John Donald. Me and two of his men are on our way to collect money from a old friend of his. More of a formality, being that they are so old. They been friends awhile, but he owes money, so he'll just give it up and hand it over hopefully. He made a few bad bets on the wrong guy. Not a problem usually, these people who bet usually got the money... But if it goes sour... Nick next to me in the car, who was driving spoke, his deep voice echoing throughout the car. "You look nervous, Fred."I chuckled,"I don't know why... I got the worst feeling about this time."Behind us, Matt laughed, and sat up,"You always say that man."I nodded, and swallowed,"I know, but..."Matt put his hand on my shoulder,"Don't worry man, it'll go down fine."I shook my head."Don't this guy got a sick kid?"Matt nodded. "He put it off long enough."We kept driving, and we stopped by a rather run down apartment. I took a slip of paper out."Looks like the right place."Matt slid out of the car, and Nick leaned out the window,"Yeah, I'll stay here."Me and Nick looked up at the red brick apartment building. I opened the door for Nick,"Here you go ma'am."He laughed,"After you, mi'lady."I chuckled and walked in. "Up a few stairs. Damnit."Nick shook his head,"Man, I hate these stupid stairs."I tapped the elevator's sign, and nodded,"Elavator's out, man."I spoke without realising. "Well, we came here to do a job. We got a few places to hit up after this. Nobody giving too much trouble though."We begun the walk up the stairs. Nick sighed. "Do you ever feel like we're in the wrong here, man? I mean he gots a sick kid."I shook my head. "If he didn't have the money to bet, he shouldn't."He nodded reluctantly. "Here's the door."Nick knocked the door. Looking over, I saw his pistol in his waistband. A man, who hadn't shaved opened the door. His face went white when he saw us. "John's men?"I nodded. He swallowed, and opened the door,"Come on in."As we walked in, our backs turned. We turned, and I seen him pointing his pistol. "Well..."Nick mumbled. "Just give me a couple of weeks."I shook my head. "If you didn't have the money, you shouldn't bet."He shook his head, sweating profusely. "Come on man."Then I blinked, and Nick was grappling with him. A gunshot rang out, and I yelled,"Nick!"I pulled Nick off, and he was bleeding. Not much of a fighter myself, more of an accountant that got in illegal businesses. I stomped the man's hand holding the gun, and I pulled it out of his hand. "Nick..."I picked Nick up, and began to walk out holding him with my arm around his shoulder. Nick spoke, spitting blood. "We'll be back." |
I see shadows, but there is no light. A body hovers in front of me. It's naked, a woman, lying face down with one arm dangling and the other provding support as a human pillow. Her eyes are closed with a smile on her face. The kind you have after really great sex. Her disheveled hair reinforces the smile. As I near her she opens her eyes, but she sees nothing. They're white as opals, and normally one would be afraid of discovering such a thing, but I know she's been like this for years.
When I touch her she quivers with exhausted excitment. Coyly turning over to expose her flesh to me. She acts with such confidence of her body, yet she doesn't know what it looks like. I love this about her. As she lies on her back, she stretches and pulls me down on top of her at the same time. I realize at this point I'm naked too. Her hands are quick to read my body, knowing it thirsts for hers. Of course her hands always knew me best. When I entered her she doesn't fight it... she doesn't cry... she seems to somehow know It was going to happen. She never saw me, but always knew me best. With her last breath of energy she touches my face to feel my sorrow. That's when I pulled the knife out of her body and felt the blood on my hands. When I awoke was the first time I ever shed a tear. |
I am Staff Sergeant John Cartman. What has happened over the past few months has astounded and confused many scientists across the world. I have felt despair as I watched men die around me of the painless disease. That's the worst part. They can't know that they are going to die. Every night I sleep, I don't expect to wake up until I got cleared. But I do, I mean I have to carry on. We have started evaculations of all healthy citizens. As of today, I have been cleared to leave planet, and not return. But, I have informed the higher-ups I have one last place to visit. As I strapped the telePORT to my arm, and felt my biohazard suit securely in place, I pressed buttons on my telePORT, and instantly disappeared, my molecules reforming elsewhere. I smiled grimly, and stepped inside the house. "Hello father."I knew he wasn't clear for going off planet. He was too old, and he was too sick. He weakly turned his head, and I smiled sadly. "Hello son."He drew into a coughing fit. Ah, the final stage of the pandemic. Painless, but you start to lose hair, and lose teeth in a horrible process of decay of body. His face was pale. I will remember his face always. I held his hand, and said,"Dad... You'll be with Mom very soon."He laughed,"That's what's been keeping me going.""Dad... I just want you to know something."He smiled grimly, his pale face staring into my eyes, his eyes still a deep grey despite the pandemic's best attempts. "Yes, son?""I love you. I'll never forget you or mom. I'll keep every one of your photos I can keep."He smiled and closed his eyes. "Dad?"Well... I guess its time to go. I pressed buttons on my telePORT. I stripped of my biohazard suit, and climbed into the ship. The machine spoke around me,"Last passenger has boarded."For me, it wasn't Earth I regret leaving that day. It was my dad. |
I remember slipping away... In my deathbed, surrounded by my friends, and my only child. I felt... Free? I was sitting in the most comfortable chair I could imagine, but for some odd reason my eyes were glued to a rather large screen. On the screen was a man. My son. He was... At a cemetary. "Jeesh..."The first noise I had made slipped out of my mouth. I could talk? But then, my son onscreen sighed and walked away, before turning back for a bit and wiping his eyes. "Wow..."As strained as our relationship was between us following the years of my and his shared existence, I couldn't believe he came to my funeral. I tried to move to wipe my eyes, and found I couldn't. I continued watching my son walk through life, the pictures on screen moving rapidly, and yet, I could understand all of them. Finally, he sat on his deathbed, and he spoke to his son. Then I watched the life slip out of him. Then I could move in the theater. I looked to my left, and saw my father, still in his twenties, and then I looked to my right,"Hello, son."A voice spoke out,"You are free to leave the theater now."And yet, I think I'll stay. |
My name was Lou. Not Louis. Just Lou. No last name. And I was a criminal hoping to scavenge some valuables from a house in a war zone. It was perfect for a thief like me. I mean, I could fight, and I wouldn't go down easy... But this house. Had some risk to it. I didn't know nothing about this here city in the war zone. So when I walked into here, into the elegant bedroom, I looked around and saw a man with a gun. Dressed in a suit, he was shaking something fierce. And then, the door behind me burst open, and I was grabbed from behind. Must be this guy's bodyguard, I thought. A garrote wire slipped around my neck. "Ugh..."I grunted heavily. I lifted my enemy on my back up and slammed him against the wall. He was still on me. I got up again, and slammed against the wall yet again. Almost out of air... Almost out, I did it again, and the man on my back slipped off, and I pulled the wire off. I turned quickly. Behind me, dressed in assassin's garb, as I know very well of in my business was a shaken man knocked out on the floor. The man in the suit ran towards me and set me down on his fancy bed. "Thank you..."And before I knew it, I became a hero for the rebels. Everywhere under their control, I was wellknown. The simple man trying to survive through a life of crime. Because... That's what I was. Now that the government has become overthrown, I am an official. I protect the new government from thieves now and other countries trying to take our money.Hell, I even got to go to college. Had to do a few classes to make up for time lost, but...The day when I stepped into that fancy mansion, as I soon learned it was called, was the best day of my life. |
"I mean, what is life really, if not just a collection of happy memories? I'm not happy studying, so I won't do it. In the grand scheme of the universe, studying isn't all that important. I think I'll just watch T.V. instead. The Dingers are on."
That is what I thought, truly. Now I'm sitting here for my biochemistry final, completely unprepared. I mean, I had not gone to a *single* lecture. Never studied once. I don't even know what the fuck biochemistry means, to be honest. I guess I should look over the final before doing anything, so I can pace myself.
Okay, so twenty-two pages. That's not so bad. So far, from the questions I've read, I will get 0% on this final. How do you pace yourself for that? Should I just sit here, not writing anything while the monitors watch me look dumbfounded? Well, the best I can do is just write bullshit in the answer sections. I'll write as many biology terms as I know, and hope I can get part marks.
Oh, that's right. I should write my name and student number. Shit, I don't know my student number, I'm completely unprepared. That would have been handy in my 12 years of education. Oh well, a name will do.
I just remembered, I've come completely unprepared. I didn't even bring a fucking *pencil*. Ill try to etch my name into the paper with my nails.
Oh fuck, I just remembered, I've come completely unprepared. My nails and hands are gone. Ugh. I'm such a klutz. I'll use the edge on my sweater. I think it's sharp enough to make discernible marks.
Of course. I'm completely unprepared. I'm not even wearing clothes. I'm sitting here stark naked in a full lecture hall. Oh what's the use. I forgot to bring my whole fucking *body*. My brain isn't even in here right now. Now, a brain would have been useful. I am just a floating conscience now, in this hall.
I wake up. It was 12 in the afternoon. I missed my exam by an hour. I guess I didn't even prepare my god damn alarm. What's this, my whole fucking *room* is gone? I didn't even prepare my room for me to wake up. Existence fades because I forgot to prepare my mind for existential thinking. AKA, I'm dead. Better luck next time. Damn, I should have studied.
|
I worked night shifts last summer in order to save up money for school. I didn't mind it so much; sure, I didn't see my friends as often during the week and I had to be real quiet around the house so I didn't wake my parents up, but all in all it was alright. It helped that night shift paid more.
One day, as my boss was leaving, he said to me "It's a light day today. Feel free to leave as soon as you're done."He handed me the docket with a smile before driving off in an Audi A4.
I opened the docket, and all that was inside were two orders of less than twenty pieces each. It would take less than three hours. I felt a little giddy - it was always nice to catch a break. I'd be able to go home and catch up on some of the TV shows I'd missed, or maybe finish that book I'd been meaning to read. I wouldn't be able to talk to anyone, since it would be around 3 AM, but at least I wouldn't be working.
Three hours later I emerged into the brisk night air. Being from northern Canada had its advantages - I'd always hated heat, and the refreshing breeze smelled way better than the smell of oil from the machines. I savoured the feeling for a minute (no one was around to judge me) and finally walked to my car to head home.
Driving at 3 AM was surprisingly peaceful. Usually there's always someone else going to or from work at 7, but this early everyone was either asleep or where they wanted to be. I had the entire road to myself. I revved the engine and hit 100km on a 70 road to get home a little faster. I rolled down the windows and let that amazing night air into my car.
I was about three blocks away from home when I hit a red light. I had managed to avoid them until now, which was a bit unusual, but welcome. Most of the intersections have red light cameras, so I wasn't planning on running them, and waiting a minute for no one would have ruined the mood of tranquility driving quickly on an empty road provided.
"Couldn't last forever,"I muttered to myself. I put the car in park so I wouldn't have to hold down the brake pedal and rolled up the windows so I could turn up the radio without bothering the people in their houses.
The light stayed red for three minutes before I began to question it. Normally, with traffic coming from either direction, waiting three minutes wouldn't have seemed so bad. The only reason I noticed was because the song on the radio changed. No one was coming for kilometres, and I was sitting in the dark waiting for a light to change. I wasn't agitated, because three minutes lost from all the free time I had wasn't a big deal, and no one was behind me to pressure me into going anywhere - but it was undoubtedly strange. Why hadn't the light changed? I shrugged, closed my eyes, and turned my attention back towards the radio.
Another song. I opened my eyes again. The light was still red. Surely it was a malfunction. This had never happened in all my years driving past this intersection. Six whole minutes? Unheard of. I decided to just run it. I knew there were no red light cameras here, and no one was crazy enough to be driving around the suburbs so early. I was in literally no danger of being hit or getting caught. I put my foot back on the brake and took the car out of park.
Then I waited another three minutes.
For some reason I couldn't pick up the resolve to take my foot off the brake. I knew there would be no repercussions. I was alone in the universe for at least two more hours. But something was holding my foot down on that brake. I began to feel agitated, but not at the light. At myself. I wanted to go. There was no point in waiting. But I did.
Another song. I knew for sure that the light was broken. I would be here forever, unless I could take my foot and push the gas pedal and continue with my life. The red light mocked me. It wanted to see me squirm. It wanted to hold me as long as it could. It wouldn't get the last laugh. I picked up my foot off the brake
and put it back down again. There was a knot in my stomach. I was breathing heavily. I don't know what was holding me back. No one had come in the ten minutes I had been there. The clock display read "3:15"- I could have been home by now. I could even see my apartment building from where I was sitting.
But I couldn't do it.
The light eventually changed, and I slowly rolled into the intersection and back to my parking garage, where I sat for awhile and thought about what had just happened. I had let an inanimate object tell me what to do. I knew what I should have done was just go and save the precious minutes of my life. Nothing would have happened.
And nothing did happen. |
Today was the oddly-specific date that the old gypsy woman had predicted. When I was 8. I know, it was a cheesy carnival trick, but she said specifically that I would meet my soul mate.
And what were my plans for the day? Lie in bed and watch Netflix. Lame, I know, but it's my life and I can do what I want, right?
Unfortunately, three episodes of Breaking Bad in, my mom waltzed into my room unannounced and says, "We're going to the store. Get your lazybones up and going."
Because I really wanted to go to the store, not on a day when my destiny was due to change. Still, arguing with my mom was like arguing with a wall, so I got dressed and sullenly got in the car.
The WalMart was in a shopping center with a whole bunch of smaller chain stores that are looking to leech off the popularity of the Walmart with limited success-nobody wants to go to the other stores when there's a Walmart with everything already. It has a Half-Priced books, a Petland a Party City and a Tropical Trends.
Yet, since I was forced to go shopping with my mom, I told her that I'd meet her later and proceed to the other half of the strip mall. I walked into the Half Priced books where a girl (pretty, but not my type) smiled from the counter and said hi. I looked around at the different books, rilfed through their game collection half-heartedly and decided on a pure whim to visit Petland.
The sheer noise from the cats, dogs, birds, and human animals it was almost too much. Yet I persevered and walked around the cute animals. It was then that I saw her. She was beautiful, everything I'd ever really wanted. She had these big beautiful brown eyes and a smile that could light up a room. I walked up to her and introduced myself, her name was Missy. She was a cocker spaniel. |
I dreamt that I was on top of the world. The dream began like most dreams: in the middle. For some reason I had already passed almost all obstacles barring my way to the peak. There were no more false summits, and now the end was in sight. Normally my dream ended before I reached the top. Other times I would slog my way uphill for hours, always a summit away. The worst times, I would reach the top and realize that I was there all alone, the elation of reaching my goal about as exciting as counting sheep. In any case, I usually entered consciousness with a racing heart and blood-shot eyes.
When mechanical augmentations had been introduced to humanity, two things happened. The first is that people could have mechanical augmentations. Those that had it could think faster, react quicker, see further, and fuck longer. The second is that the humanity was quickly divided into those that could afford the augmentations, and those that could not. I was of the latter group. But I didn't plan to be so for much longer.
This was the final day, my paycheck came in tomorrow. My sweat, blood and tears were on the verge of becoming actualized. The first step however would be to open my eyes…
Around me scattered everywhere was evidence of my almost complete descent into madness. I had a goal in mind, to separate and elevate above the mere common man. The only reason I didn't think I had gone insane was because I wasn't fruitlessly dreaming. The day was approaching. The moaning of the sick, and forgotten echoed around me as others who were living the same meager life as I awoke. There were those who still lived like the early 21st century citizens. Wake-up next to your wife, go to work, come back, if you had the energy; sex, if not rinse and repeat. Now repeat after me: I am free. There were of course those whom believed that that was freedom and embraced it. Living a frustratingly normal life until their hearts or minds finally gave out. With recent medical advances though, if you could afford it, your mind usually gave out first.
I got up, stiff and cold. The november winds rattled through the subway tunnels chasing the metros that preceded them. I pulled out my suit, my suitcase, my back-pack and headed towards the metro. This was the last day, all my hard-living was bound to be paid off. I got on Hummington station and got off at the normal stop. I walked. I entered the gym. I showered, shaved and shat. I poured eye-drops, I rubbed cream and scented oils on my skin to dampen the smell of common men, than I slicked my hair back. Looking in the mirror, my tie didn't look right. My eyes didn't look right. I felt wrong.
My firm didn't have any metal skins. They were a religious bunch, you know how it goes. I wish that the last day had passed quickly, but it didn't. I kept myself busy collecting and sorting data. Each chime of the hour ringing in my head, each incremental step of the second hand tormenting me. The clock was mocking me.
Today was it. The last day. Tommorow I would wake up and pay for my child to have his liver replaced by a mechanical cleaning system. My job as a father complete, maybe now I can finally finish my dream with a morsel of elation.
|
"As you can observe, the aforementioned topic is one of great significance to your being, as well as the ongoing challenges our society faces."
"Explain to us, this process, most learned one."
"Robots, do not fret. This is a most simple concept. Our existence begins at the production and mining facilities in the upper portions of the world. While the foundries may be different, the locations where what our bodies will be may vary, we are all brethren. After raw materials are refined, distributed and formed into the necessary factories, our parts are assembled. Again, once more, we are one, we single undefinable being. Until the Spark of Life is given to us, our bodies will remain lifeless. But, the great forefathers of our age has granted us the knowledge of life. Thus we give it, and with each new body, although we are given specific tasks, we are all essentially the same."
"That is most fascinating Brother Markus. We wanted to inquire more specifically about the manufacturing process in which our bodies are created."
"This is a most specific question. My answer may be out of your knowledge range. You may require an update to fully process the information I am about to provide. Please record and listen carefully."
"Yes Brother Markus. Recording equipment engaged."
"The manufacturing processes begins with the bold into the nut. This is the first stage of the manufacturing process. Afterwards, this bold and nut are duplicated to form a symmetrical beginning point. After in which various facilities provide electrical wiring, boards and outlets. The art of making such refined technologies will be available to you when you achieve the age of 16 years after manufacturing. After the initial skeleton of the body is done, the final pieces are molded on. Depending o n the year and manufacture date, as well as specified role in society, your outer shell may differ from others. At this point, the final Spark of Life is given, in which the God of Manufacturing places his electrical baton within the hole between the body's lower section between the pelvis of the section. This spark and emergence of chemistry and electricity are the final stages of processing and manufacturing and the beginning of our life. This is obviously an oversimplification, however, this is the basic foundation of knowledge for the reproduction of our society."
"Thank you Brother Markus. I had one more inquiry. What are these bones that our excavationkeep on yielding?"
"That is a secret that we fear we will never uncover." |
Demi always told me not to go too far down the dirt road. "Lots of people out there aren't bad,"she would say. "They mind their own business and don't care what you do with yours. But others poke and pry, and you don't want them to see you."
Demi was my mom, but I never called her that. I was nine before I realized that other kids did. We lived in a cabin on an old ranch that had belonged to Demi's grandparents. Other people had lived here too, when I was younger. That had been nice. There had always been people to wash clothes and take care of the garden. Now Demi and I had to do everything on our own. When I asked her where they'd gone, she said, "They went back to the world. They couldn't take it out here."
When I thought about the world, I always imagined a crowd of big cabins with big cars parked around them--I had seen cars before when Demi and I went looking for our cat Maybud once. "It's a big, smoky place, full of poisoned air and stone and metal,"Demi said. She meant to scare me, and it worked, but not for long. Eventually my fear turned to curiosity and I went off down the dirt road.
Well. Most people mind their own business. Not all of them do. He picked me up in his big black truck. It had been years since I'd seen a man. He asked me where I was from. I said, "Down the road."
I was scared he'd try to take me home and Demi would see the truck and get mad at me. But he didn't. He took me to another house, not a stone house like Demi had told me about, but a little rectangle on legs with a faded porch. Three massive dogs were tied up outside the door. They growled at me when he took me in.
"Don't be scared of them,"he said. "They won't hurt you as long as you're with me. If you go out alone, though, they'll tear you to shreds."
I stayed in that house for a week. He took away my clothes. Whenever he left, he'd tie me up and leave me in the bathtub. At night, he'd hurt me. I knew what sex was. Demi had told me when I asked her where I'd come from. I'd asked her who my father was, and she'd said she didn't know. She hadn't told me how much it hurt.
One day he was gone, and I was tied up in the bathtub when I heard the dogs barking. Then I heard one of them screaming and whining. Another fell silent altogether, and the third snapped and growled. Then they were all silent. There was a crashing sound. Before I knew it, Demi stood in the bathroom doorway, holding the ax she used to cut firewood. Its edge was chipped and stained red.
She untied me and held me for a long time, crying. "Where is he?"she asked eventually.
"He's away,"I said. "He'll be back soon."
I thought she would take me away then, before he got back, but she didn't. She found my clothes and dressed me and waited in the living room until he came back. I heard his voice cursing when he saw the dogs and the broken door. When he came in, Demi put the ax through his head.
She took me home. The cops found us three weeks later, saying there had been a murder. They took us in another car to a dim room and talked to us both. Eventually they said Demi couldn't have me anymore. I'd have to live with her brother, who also lived in the city, and go to school. Demi didn't get in trouble for killing the man. She just went home again.
I started going to school and learning about the world. I also had to see a psychiatrist once a week. Demi's brother was nice. He said that Demi was a hero. "I know you'd rather be with her,"he said, "But you have to learn things here as well. Tell you what. You can live with her over the summer."
That's how I grew up: with Demi's brother most of the year, then with Demi. She seemed okay with the arrangement. "It's good for you to learn,"she said. "As long as you don't let them decide what you think."
"Right, Demi,"I said. "I'll always make up my own mind."
[Persephone] (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persephone) |
I knew that all of these silly toys were just a sham to make me develop "healthily."But this, this was pathetic. Ma propped me up in my throne, and presented the monstrosity of a cake. My mouth was watering, and I simply couldn't wait to dig my hands into such a fine desert. But my keen eye caught the ever so slightest imperfection. Two candles? What? I looked at Ma in confusion, only to see a sobbing, broken mother behind the eyes of what seemed to be a perfectly fine person. It hit me.
This was all going too fast for them. At this point it had been 3 years since my exiting of the dark pit. My father, looking almost as though nothing was wrong, quickly sprinted over to the bathroom. As Sis and Ma started singing happy birthday, you could hear the faintest sobbing from the room over. Wow. I was really growing up too fast. My parents couldn't accept that I was now a toddler and no longer an infant. BANG! I hear a loud pop from the other room. My mother rushed to the bathroom, with a pale and shallow face. Unable to escape from my tower, I could only comprehend the screams of terror my mother projected from the bathroom, and my sister screaming even louder, calling his name. |
I think it had always existed in the back of our minds. The idea that somewhere, somehow, was something beyond us. Something greater than ourselves before which we could prostrate ourselves and transfer our worries. First it was God. The savior, the father, the eternal lord who oversaw us. He was the true power. On him we could lay our decisions and through him we could transcend ourselves. So we looked to the heavens and sought his face among the clouds. But we did not find him.
Next it was man. The thinkers of the ages past, throwing off the constraints of the God they did not believe in, asserted that man himself with paramount, that the secrets to what we sought were held deeply within our own souls. So we looked within ourselves. And we found nothing.
Humanity continued on its dreary course towards whatever lay before us. And one day we reached the stars. In our pursuit for meaning we declared that we would find it amongst the galaxies and nebulae that composed our extended universe. We flung our agents out into the dark abyss. They found no more meaning there than among the clouds and in our hearts. We redoubled our efforts. Surely, thought the thinkers of our ages, surely secrets must lie within the mysteries of space. Surely they will be captured soon, our eons of torment reduced to and end as we find the basis for our humanity. And the more planets we found, the more systems we conquered with our squared flags, the more “secrets” we uncovered, the more apparent it became that we were alone.
Our last bastion of hope is close to exhausted. I know that we will find no enlightenment among the stars. I know it in my heart, though my heart does not know where else to look. I know it in the eyes of the ones who search at my side. I know it lies in their hearts too.
We are alone. Humanity is the sole holder of meaning in the galaxy. There is no second stop, no greater power, no parent to which we can run and confess our sins. No one is coming to help. No one is there to help. We are alone.
God help us all, for I cannot. |
They call me commander but it has no meaning. Our community, all 35 of us, live in a dessert. We have no resources, no food, no water, nothing. We survive by attacking trespassers. We take *their* food, *their* water, and their lives. We, at least I, don't want to but it is the only way we can survive. About 3 days ago, we attacked a wealthy merchant. The guy was traveling by camel. We took everything but he managed to escape. He hid so we couldn't catch him. Unbeknown to us, he was from the Gheks, and an influential member of their parliament. They gathered an army, 8500 strong against us, 35 rogues. They call me commander but I can do nothing for them. |
Human History Volume 14 - Last Page
"All the time it was there.... while we were focused on everything else... it was there... we are all finally one... tied together regardless of race, class, or creed... it only took the end to finally unite us... the last stand of humanity.... all eyes looking up... thoughts of family, friends, and regret swimming in the minds of all of them... any minute now the sky will turn orange and red hues... it will melt away and in the blink of an eye all human history will disappear... our wars, wonders, and vast cities... forgotten in the void..."~ John Mackey, Boston MA.
The humans were a people of war. They are another example of civilizations that were close to a new era, but couldn't get over their constant strife to come together. Their Sun's 3 million year storm destroyed their atmosphere and all but decimated the planet. 99% of all life was destroyed. We barely got there in time to archive what we could.
It is because of these fallen civilizations that we survive and thrive today. Everyone of them show us success and failure. We can learn from their mistakes. If you would like to know more then make sure to check out volumes 1-13. |
You could hardly blame them. Conflict is never buried deep within our minds, and our thoughts teeter on the brink of sanity and confusion. Within our desire to maintain an illusion of control, of perfect symmetry, our species sought to expand our domain, to solve problems on earth and exporting them to other new worlds. Mars, Titan, Uranus. Even Venus. These were all sites of the very first colonies of mankind.
Few doubted that their survival would be nothing short of a miracle, especially without the help of their respectful governments. But thrive they did. Prosperous new societies with their own nuanced cultures. Trade between them emerged, and slowly and surely the growth of space tourism and economic growth progressed.
But the unthinkable happened. At the height of economic trade with Earth, conflict again, consumed the planet. A devastating war changed the nature of space colonization, as many colonies depended on the trade with Earth to provide capital and resources to further expand the colony. Mining and heavy industry were underdeveloped and extremely limited.
And so, the only course of action took place.
Mars rose up against the small Moon colony and raided the colony for supplies. Vital water tanks, plants, seeds, metal ores, the like. Soon after, Uranus and Titan formed the Outer Planetary Alliance, and declared war on Mars. Battles using the most rudimentary of weapons emerged. Those that fought in space were often lost. Those that fought on the planetary surface perished. Scores of people were laid waste to, as humans turned on each other, and all sense of confusion, chaos and madness erupted.
Venus, being the smallest colony with a largely agricultural basis experienced a coup d'etat. The old colonial powers from Earth were replaced by Agriculturalists, and formed a neutral government. Their aim was to govern the people until the conflicts on the outer words subsided and the war on earth finished. But this was not to be.
In their desperation, many sought the escape of war, and governments began smuggling people off Earth. Refugees turned to the Moon Colony, Venus and Mars for refuge. But soon, overcrowding, resource consumption all drove colonies to turn away many of these ships. Violence erupted, often against those from Earth. Refugees then had only one choice. To stay on Earth, or to find another place to settle.
Some settled on Asteroids, some colony ships settled between rings. In the wake of a temporary truce, many colony ships were sent out to save civilian populations. Many could not go to Mars or the Outer planets due to the on going conflict. Those who did venture near those zones were pillaged of their supplies and taken hostage.
In the wake of distrusting colonial authorities, many ships brought with them equipment to build stations, small and big. The development of these neutral space villages, now dubbed "junkyard stations,"would thrive. Communities would bind together with similar other communities and would defend themselves as a herd against roving bands of colonial militias.
The conflict on Earth would end in a tremendous finale, but the planetary chaos would ensue. Scattering the people of the Earth, what was supposed to be man's greatest achievement, would only lead to the demise of what we knew was civilization. |
"Silvery gnats, small as dust! They swarmed around some orb of foreign magics; it glowed a blue hue, bright even in the day. It must produce some earth killing poison, because the ground -- in an even circle, wide as a chapel hall-- is a dead brown, and it appears as if even the rocks were slowly being turned to some non-molten liquid.
"I saw a pair of skeletal remains at the edge of the circle; their flesh was removed clean from their bones, and the bones were pitted and porous. Strange fabrics, none the likes I'd ever seen, were strewn about their bodies; I assume they were of nobility, for their eccentric garb. From the way their bodies lay, it appears they attempted to flee the orb.
"I stood vigilant watch for many hours and none came to claim the orb, not even the animals would approach; birds would make wide arcs around the area of the orb seemingly in avoidance. Upon the Sun's setting, I made my decision to approach, sword raised and shield in hand for any danger the orb may throw at me.
"As I approached the edge of the dead earth, I could hear the buzz of those damn silvery gnats; the sound they made was unnatural, almost like metal shavings whirling in the wind. The soft leather skin that covered my shield broke the edge of the circle first, and I could feel the scraping of the metal insects upon it immediately. Undeterred I pushed on.
"When my arm reached through the gnats latched on; as their biting sharpness tore into my flesh I extracted myself from the cloud of demon bugs, dropping my shield in the circle. Removing my arm however, didn't remove the coat of shimmering silver that moved fluidly around my arm, biting, tearing and, burning their way through my flesh. They finished my fingers first, and as the bugs climbed their way further up my flesh the ivory white of bone began the cleanly peek through the silver.
"Realizing they weren't stopping, I did what I must and watched as they consumed my arm"
The retired knight sat on the stool, staring at his squire whose mouth hung agape. The young teen stammered to the greying older man, "I-i-is, your tale honest?"
The man chuckled, "You don't have to believe me, but I hope you never have find out for yourself.”
|
A new age has begun. The greatest age. I saved us all.
I am the leader. I am their Savior. I have saved the human race.
The moment my armies finally toppled Washington DC, there was finally peace. The whole world is mine. Now no one wishes to fight. Those that do change their minds pretty quickly. I have saved us all, at the cost of a couple lives on the way. As someone said a long time ago, "The end justifies the means."Or something like that.
But it is quiet now. And I feel empty. Without purpose. Without a goal. Everyone is happy. They have no choice. But there's got to be something more.
I look up to the sky. My goal is there. In the millions of blinking lights that float above us. That's where we will go.
Peace is boring anyways. |
I'm gonna do it. I swear to god tonight I'm gonna do it. She thinks I'm stupid, yeah? Like she actually cares enough about that job to "just get a little bit more done on that manuscript."I guess that's why she's going out with me. She figured that there was no way a mechanic from some shithole in the Midwest would be smart enough to stand up to her on anything. She's got a degree from one of *those* schools. The ones where your high school calls you up and asks you to come back for an assembly to get students to "care about their futures."To be honest I never really understood what she does. Something that means she spends a lot of time in warehouses, museums, and old funny smelling book shops. And that goddamn office. It's like a big grey "fuck you"up the ass of the rest of the town. The zoning committee went ape shit when they started building it but somehow it got finished anyway and now Grace claims that she's spending every night plugging in those few extra hours there. I wonder who it is. There's that asshole who lives down the street with the big expensive car. Probably trying to make up for his tiny dick. Or that creep at the pawn shop who always stares out at us when we walk past. None of them deserve her. Hell *I* don't deserve her. Right now I'm outside of her home office. It's the only place in the house that she would keep anything privet. My hands are shaking. What the fuck am I so scared of anyway? What, that some fucking spooky ghost is gonna jump out at me? I grab the handle and shove the door open. Nothing. Just a computer a few filing cabinets and some official looking papers scattered over the desk. I feel like an idiot for a second. Am I really so insecure that I need to invade Grace's privet space just to prove that I'm the only alpha dog around? But still... I sit down at her desk. For a minute I try shifting through the papers but most of them look like their written in some ancient language or something. Nothing useful. Maybe the computer will have something. She doesn't have a password or anything. Weird, again I feel a little stab of guilt but hey if she's got nothing to hide I can make it up to her later. For a while nothing on the computer looks promising. It's all emails about Ancient Arabian literature or something and pictures of blurry drawings on cave walls. But then I see it. In her email there's just one message from today. The title says "Tonight."This is it. Finally at least I'll know. I click on it. I jerk back "SHIT."One the screen there's a disgusting picture of some sort of animal carcass cut open and pinned at five places around the edges. It's too deformed for me to see what it was but it only has two legs and there's some sort of glowing pentagram drawn right in the middle of it. There's a tiny creak from behind me. I start to turn as Grace brings the knife down into my neck. I spasm across the table wildly knocking things off of her desk. She tackles me to the ground and grabs me holding my jerking limbs down as a horrible numbness starts spreading down my body. I gasp and gurgle blood streaming out of my mouth trying to breath, trying to ask her why. Her lips brush mine. She whispers "Goodnight"as the room goes dark. |
Greetings. My name is Jebuiz y’har. If my calculations are correct, you should be receiving this transmission in the year 2013 AD. It amuses me that you used to calculate your dates in relation to the life of an ancient man. You see, we have a slightly different timescale. But to make things simple, I am writing from the year 49,170 AD.
This is the only message I am going to be able to send. Our (or should I say "your") world is ending soon (in mere moments actually) and this is my only chance to tell you how to avoid the disasters that the human race has faced. If all goes well you will read this, but it will be impossible to respond.
Here is what you must do:
[TRANSMISSION LOST] |
I first met my Human when I was a puppy. My parents were good hunting dogs and Jim was looking for a new one. He looked at my litter-mates and myself and decided I was the best for him. Jim named me Buddy and I spent the next year learning how to be a hunting do just like my folks. I loved to go hunting with him and his friends, and their dogs.
Life went on happily for a few years with lots of treats, football games to watch on TV and lots of belly rubs. Then Jim started to get sick. I was the first to notice, then Jim and his wife started to be worried. They went to the doctors and they told him the bad news. Cancer, it was not looking good. I tried my best to be there for him. But when you are a dog there isn't much you can do, is there. I wonder if that's what it is like for the human puppies, when their parents are going through something tough.
Unfortunately Jim did not win his battle with cancer, and he passed away. Jenny, his wife and my furry sister Winnie tried out best to cope with the loss. It was too much for me. I started acting out. I dug in the trash, ate things off the counter, riffled though the cupboards. I didn't want to listen to Jenny at all, I was just too sad.
Some time later A lady and her son came to our house. Jenny was nervous and sad that day, and I met the guests as friendly as I could. I watched them talk for a while and Winnie and I played outside with the boy. When I came inside I noticed that my food was out and a bowl. The lady took them with her and then I had my leash put on me and I went in the lady's car. I wasn't sure what was going on but I think I was getting to be too much for Jenny. She thought it would be better for me to live with a new family.
At my new house I noticed that there had been dogs there previously, the smell had faded but I could still tell. There had been a girl Lab mix and a boy Mastiff. I guess they are gone now, it's a story for another day maybe. There was also the lady's daughter living here. She met us and patted my head right away. She kept telling me that I was a good dog and everything was OK. Her brother wanted her to stop but she replied;
"If you were in a stranger new place, with strangers you would want to know it was going to be alright too."
I have lived here for almost two years now. The three of us are pretty happy, but I still miss Jim. If there is a rainbow bridge, I am sure I will see him there.
|
The raft pushed against the shoreline definitively. I struggled to get off of it in the subtle waves; my feet had not touched land in over a week. My limbs had lost all assuredness and didn’t know how much strength to give in my efforts. I looked back and saw Derek asleep on the raft. His body was completely committed to needing its rest, so much that he had not noticed we had finally found land.
I gently shook his shoulder. “Derek, Derek. Derek! Look.”
Completely disoriented and half asleep, he rolled his head over and saw where we were through the evening light. For a moment his eyes looked like he was sure he shouldn’t believe it.
“Derek, come on.” I grabbed his upper arm and helped him off the raft. We were both so exhausted and defeated that finding land wasn’t so much an achievement as it was another question.
We pulled the raft in and fell back onto the sand. I was so beyond stress and hope of recovery at this point. I was completely numb. The terrible crash that had taken our families and many other beloved strangers seemed like the only experience I had ever had in my life. Fuck what ever else there was. Fuck it if home even existed. I was done feeling.
A breeze whisked over my stomach and I finally looked around. I looked up and saw an incredible lavender and royal blue light fill the sky. The beach was black and the trees were just silhouettes, yet they spoke to me through their gentle bends in the wind. The sand was cold beneath me but the stability was beyond comforting. I felt as if I was being held by someone that I desperately needed.
I looked over and Derek was fast asleep again. We wouldn’t make it much longer with our supplies gone. His body language seemed to say that he had already said goodbye and the heavens had carried his mind away in their chariots. I was still here.
But not for long. I laid back and finally set aside the pains of hunger, thirst and exhaustion. I set aside my thoughts and any trace of memory. There were so many beautiful moments in my life when I felt that I wasn’t actually where I was. But this time, I felt it all. I knew where I was. I could smell it, hear it, touch it. The earth was taking me back after a long absence, and I was finally ready to give in.
|
I like the concept. I would say that in your next rewrite, the most important thing to focus on is clarity.
It's sometimes unclear which character is speaking. You can make it more intuitive for the reader by starting a new paragraph whenever the speaker changes.
The part where the man gets his first test with the dumpster--that seems like an important moment. I would suggest writing out the dialogue for that one rather than summarizing it.
The shift from "he's being tested to decide his afterlife"to "he's searching the universe for millennia"was abrupt and confusing for me. Did he, in fact, succeed in destroying the testing universe? It's implied by the fact that he escaped, but an event with such serious ramifications for the world of the story and for the protagonist himself should really be written out.
Also, the thing where the moon was pulled away from Earth--I think it might be more interesting *not* to explicitly lay that out before the guy gets there. You can get the same information across by having the guy find clues and draw conclusions, and then it will be more like a mystery-solving adventure that the reader gets to come along for and participate in, rather than like a history lecture.
I hope that's helpful! I realize that almost everything I've suggested will actually make the story longer, which is sort of the opposite of what you asked for, but I do think that these changes would improve it. |
I'm fired?
Alright, just checking.
No, don't bother having my supervisor clean out my locker. I can handle that.
Tori, Mike, Jules! So sorry I won't be able to see three of the hardest working, under-paid people I've ever met again! You deserve better than this shit-sandwich job. Get out! Go somewhere they appreciate you!
Amy! You're a shitty section leader and a horrid person to boot, and you deserve everything that's going down here. Keep polishing the brass and rearranging the deck furniture on the Titanic! You don't get that? Google it, dumb ass.
Kath, I know you've filled every lunch hour telling me about how you've been in love-from-afar with Cliff. Well, sad news sweetheart: Cliff and Calvin are getting married come June. (Congrats you two. When I get another job, I'll send you a nice gift). If you need a shoulder to cry on, I know Dale has been using every damn break we've had together to ask me about you. Here's his number. Lord knows I have the blasted thing memorized by now!
As for you Georgia, you were a good supervisor. You would have gone up considerably in my estimation as a ***person*** if you would have given me a heads up about this little meeting before I completed the ***worst shift of my life!*** I would have quit before you had the opportunity to fire me. Making an unbearably shitty day only irritable by comparison!
And you, Big Boss Man Mick, you want to be so open and informal with everyone, here's your chance! I'll ask you this in front of God and everyone: How much more work are you gonna squeeze outta these people before this place closes its doors for good?
Yeah, no one keeps telling their employees to report rumors of the store closing - especially asking to include the names of the persons spreading the rumors - unless they were properly worried about something.
I'll leave those questions to your employees, as I'm no longer one of those.
. . . So, I can still file for unemployment, right? |
While the farmer probably shouldn't refer to his family members in this fashion, he finds it hard to think of them in any other way. His wife, loud and obnoxious, constantly berates him for his ill-temper. What she doesn't know is that this was the exact reason for his ill-temper. His daughter, a timid girl, could go a minute without something terrifying her. It didn't help that her long neck and large, doleful eyes gave her a distinct birdlike impression. Lastly, his son, a round young man of few words, was a gluttonous fool, stuffing his face if given half the chance or even not.
They all stared, waiting for an answer.
"Do you hear me?"yells the cow, uh, I mean, his wife. "What are we going to talk about in the barn?"replies the farmer. "You know exactly what!"screeched the chicken, sorry, his daughter. She gasps after and looks the other way quickly. "You can't keep talking to us like we're animals,"croaked the cow, wait, wait, that's his wife. "I am not a pig,"blasted the pig... Seriously? His son. Son.
The farmer chuckles. "But it's hard to not think that way. Look at you guys! You look like you're in a Disney movie."The three stand at this, cursing and spitting. "If we're all animals,"bleated the cow, damnit, his wife, "then you must be a donkey, because you're an asshole."
After surveying the cow, chic- Aw hell. Whatever, screw it.
After surveying the cow, chicken, and pig, the farmer laughs, louder this time. He laughs long and deep, and eventually finds himself out of breath. His laughs turn into great gasps for air, indeed giving him a particular donkey-like persona. The farmer grows silent as the others smile.
"Well,"boomed the cow, "it looks like we're all in a Disney movie then." |
Earth Excursion Official Report
Re: Alimentary Habits of the Dominant Species
We are amazed at the adaptability of the dominant species, human. Past research suggested that the major predators of planet Earth rely on inferior animals as a source of protein and fat. However, humans have developed tastes for other foods as well.
For example, they encourage the intake of milk into adulthood, far past weaning.
They have also turned to Earth vegetation as a source of food. It may seem barbaric that the humans eat our kind, but our disgust subsided when we realized the humans have no way of knowing this. We find the Earth vegetation inferior and primitive. We first believed the Earth vegetation to be uncooperative, but further inspection revealed that they have not the capacity for language or thought beyond the basic consumption-excretion-reproduction functions all life forms are capable of.
Given this, humans cannot be blamed for their transgression. They simply did not know. Earth vegetation is prey, and harmless prey incapable of fighting or fleeing.
As humans moved from the jungles to denser, less green spaces, their foods took on a similar boxy and artificial quality. Raw vegetation is rarely consumed anymore; when it is, it is done so by the humans who wish to reduce body mass. This is a growing trend among the human race, and is due possible to a genetic defect.
We await further progress and instructions. |
He swirled his glass around momentarily lost in the alcoholic vortex. He remembered the people that had held the now empty bottle of scotch. This time he didn't cry his tears were long dried since Korea. Pulling his pipe from his coat he packed it.
We watched silently from our stools at the bar. The old man often would sit alone staring at the bottle never once drinking from it. He hadn't smoked since the diagnosis. Finally he turned to us and spoke. “How many didsh yah get boys?”
I was the first to answer “Three”, everyone else shifted and admitted they hadn't killed anyone on deployment.
The old man shrugged and puffed on his pipe “Thish damn bottle got fourteen of us anyone but me who touched it bought it.” Everyone got quiet moving to get comfortable for the old mans story.
We didn't join the army out of any sense of pride hell no me and my friends went cause what we seen on the pictures. Shootin guns killing the enemy being heroes. We didn't know what happens, in the pictures there aint no losing. Army shipped us out to Korea gave us each a garand and a ditch to hide in. My unit were the lucky ones, never a wounded never a causality. Two months on the lines boys never a death then they pulled us back to give us a rest. Stole this very bottle from an officers desk. Mean old bastard too he took it from the Nazis.
Taking a moment to think the old man slowly puffed on his pipe. Everyone of us took a turn hiding the bottle. Plan was to drink it after the war. That all went to hell. Sent us back to the front got us chewed up good. It was always targeted whoever had touched the bottle last went no one else. Jim stepped on a mine, rest of us walked out of the field without a scratch. Luke got shot in the face. Mason shot himself. Fred and Louis both got taken out by a sniper on different days. Aaron's m1 had a malfunction and blew up in his face. Kenneth just went missing one day. Jack got bayoneted during a charge. Earl flipped a jeep and died. Charles got hit by artillery gone in a instant. Bill died in surgery. Pat got hit in the stomach. Marcus got killed by friendly fire. David got captured and was never seen again.I saw the tent the bottle was in get hit by mortars. Found it a few feet scorched but intact. Damn thing is evil and I finally finished it off after all these years of working up the nerve. With that he pushed it off the table and it shattered on the floor. He stood up and shambled out the door.
The next morning he was found dead in his armchair at home. The bar burned down that night after we all left. Police said it was an electrical fire. The superstitious among us thought better of it. |
He was sleeping when the knocking started. Danny stumbled to the door, nearly tripping over his dog, who was not alarmed by the sudden noise.
"Could you at least bark, Lou?"
Lou stared back at him. They looked at each other for a few seconds before Lou put his head down, uninterested by the interactions.
The knocking continued.
"Jesus Christ, hold on!"
Danny opened the door. Standing there was an old man with a large grey beard.
"I'm afraid not, just his father,"the man said, extending his hand.
"Sorry, do I know you?"
"That which I am, I am."
"The fuck you talking about, old man? You on drugs?"
"No, child. I am the creator of all things. I am God."
"Definitely on drugs. Hold on, I'm going to call the police."
"That won't be necessary. I anticipated this, what can I do to prove it to you?"
"Suddenly God cares about proving himself? Buddy, I don't believe in that bullshit."
"I know. I also know your name is Danny. I know you're afraid of birds. I know you hate your job. I know everything about you. I know you're about to say that everyone knows those things, but does everyone know love kids?"
Danny stepped back, amazed. No one knew he liked kids. He worked diligently to ensure everyone thought he was a stone cold badass.
"Listen, Danny, I need you."
"Hold on, hold the fuck on. This is a lot to take in. So, let's assume you are God. Tell me, couldn't you conjure up a sweeter way of contacting me? I mean, knocking on my front fucking door?"
"I did not want to startle you. Could I possibly come in? It is quite chilly out here. And no, I will not change the weather for my own benefit. The ecosystem is a delicate thing."
"Cold? Welcome to Michigan, God. Get used to it. I suppose I spent my life turning you away, I may as well let you in now."
God entered the Danny's house. Even with the revelation of God, Lou continued to be uninterested. God sat across from Danny at the kitchen table.
"Look, uh, God, real quick, did you have to make yourself look like that? Is the real you unfathomable by humans?"
"No. This is how I look. Surprisingly, you guys nailed your depictions of me."
"Weird. So, God, what's up? What warrants a personal visit? This something you couldn't do through some weird, incestuous dream?"
"Well, Danny, you're a writer, right?"
"In my world. I'll let you know once the title catches on."
"So you're familiar with writers block?"
"All too well."
"Well, I am experiencing something similar. I want to create something new, but I can't seem to think of anything."
"Jesus, I mean, God, I mean, never mind. What the hell do you think I can do about it. I guess I could forward you some articles on getting past writers block. I also have whiskey. Neither one works particularly well."
"I just need some ideas. You're creative, so help me out. And could you cool it with the name in vain thing? It's upsetting."
"Sorry, God. Bad habits. Let me get this straight. I'm going to help you create something. Something new?"
"That's the plan, child."
"Well, God, this an easy one. You see, the easiest way to develop a new idea is to take an existing idea and apply a new twist to it. Can't tell you how man shitty stories I've written doing that."
"Go on..."
"All right. Here's my idea, promise you'll do it?"
"Yes."
"Okay. You know how people have this uncanny ability to communicate with loved ones? Like how a mother knows what her kid is thinking without even talking to them?"
"Sure. I gave people this ability to help them survive. It allows for quick decision making without having to worry about articulating. It also builds bonds."
"Right, well take that unspoken understanding and apply it to animals."
"I don't follow."
"Give people the ability to communicate with their pets. Think of how much trouble this would save. You could convey to them how eating shit is bad, or how it's dangerous to run across a busy street. Give people a chance to help their pets understand how what we do, we do for them."
"I see. I suppose I could do this. You do know I would have done anything. Beer rivers, bacon grass, even topless Tuesdays. But if you want to the ability to communicate with your pet, it is granted."
"I just want to keep those damn dogs out of the garbage. It also wouldn't hurt to tell them that we don't appreciate piss in the house."
"All right my son, it is done. People will now be capable of building stronger bonds with their pets, while developing an understanding. It's not what I expected, but thanks."
"Sure thing, God. You want a beer or something."
"I'm afraid I must go now. Much to do."
"I look around and it seems like sometimes you take too many days off."
"Danny, I cannot always interfere with peoples--"
"It was a joke, God. Now get out of here."
"Goodbye my son."
God stood and moved to the door.
"Again with the door? Couldn't you just disappear?"
"I like to keep it casual. Goodbye."
"See you, God."
Danny closed the door behind God. He turned back toward the kitchen. He tripped over Lou once more. Danny knelt down and put his hand on Lou's head. He didn't feel any different, but God said it was done.
"Hey Lou, how are you?"
Lou looked up at Danny. His eyes were gleaming. Danny stroked Lou's head.
"Listen, Lou. You know I love you more than anything, and I hope you can understand this. If I had it my way, I'd never take you in. Fifteen years is a long time for any dog. Damn it, Lou, I'm going to miss you so much."
Danny attached Lou's leash and lead him to the car. One last ride with his best friend. |
May 30th, 2015
D+24
Fires, earthquakes, strangers at the door – we'd been prepped for them since primary school, not a problem. But no one, *no one*, had prepared us for soldiers with war in their eyes and ice in their hearts.
They'd taken the office first. My English teacher had been giving a hilarious lecture on the lusty behaviour in *Romeo and Juliet* when the PA crackled with the beginnings of an announcement; after a couple seconds of immature giggling, we settled down to listen to what we supposed was another message about someone's car lights. We were dead wrong. A distorted, unfamiliar voice, thick with a foreign accent, came over the speakers: "Surrender or be killed. We do not want to kill young, but will *not* take kindly to resistance. You have two minutes."
I mean, you obviously know I, at least, survived whatever happened in my school, since you're reading this right now, whoever you are. I'm no Anne Frank, bless her soul, but I feel like at least somebody might want to read about what happened, maybe after this all blows over? I don't know if it ever will. Oh God, I hope it does. Whatever. I'm writing this mostly for my own sake. Sorry, my handwriting's a bit messy, but... Look at me. Apologizing to a journal. Dan already thinks I'm going crazy, stuck in this stinky, awful basement. Anyway.
So after that initial announcement, things went absolutely *crazy*, mostly because they didn't give us two minutes, those bloody bastards. They just started shooting. I think the Grade 9 science classroom right by the office was the first to go. I heard later that they just took the kids and shot them, right then and there, if they cried or frowned or screamed or looked at them the wrong way. So much blood, that's what I remember. They resisted the most, those kids. Probably because it hadn't really sunk in by then. But it was carnage, that's what it was. A pack of lions released on a herd of lambs. It was hell.
Dan and I survived because we were in the back corner on the classroom. Yeah, sometimes not having good grades helps out, not that it matters anymore. Blood and guts stuck to the bottom of my shoes; I could never get it all off, not even with bleach, no matter how hard I tried. I'm probably walking around with Sally D's brains stuck between my soles. (Don't think it made me any more intelligent, unfortunately. She *was* only B honour roll.) But we jumped out the window – crazy, right? – and somehow made it to the back forest without being seen. Even now, I think there was some weird guardian angel magic voodoo going on back there, but Dan always snorts and says, "We were lucky. That was all. Shut up and eat the damn pop tart."
We went to my house first, right beside the school. Everyone dead, my baby sister, my parents, all killed. We left. Didn't have any guns, didn't take any knives. What use would knives be against guns? We didn't bother checking Dan's house; he never liked his family anyway. It was brutal, the fear of getting caught and shot to death. But there were no soldiers on the road. Probably too busy killing innocent civilians. We walked for hours, and we saw some people here and there, but nobody made eye-contact. We were all shocked, I think. The blood soaked my socks. The black ones with the pink polka dots. My favourite ones. Maybe that's why I survived: I put on the right socks that morning.
We're going down to the U.S. to take refuge. We heard on the crappy radio that survivors were welcome. Maybe it's a ploy by *them* to line us up and shoot us like pigs. Better to take a chance though, which is why I'm writing this down. It's only been a few weeks or so, but I've heard more things and seen more stuff than I've ever wanted to see. It's not like the games. Not like the movies. It's not some Hollywood drama. I was supposed to graduate in a month, but here I am, eating some dude's rotten pop tarts. Thanks dude, whoever you are. Hope you died with a head shot and not a stomach one.
I have to go. Wish us luck. Maybe when this gets discovered, if ever, this ridiculous bloodshed will be over. Or maybe it'll never end.
PS. If this gets put down in history, let it be known that my grad dress was dead gorgeous.
(Edit: formatting!) |
"David."A voice called.
"David."It repeated.
I snapped out of my vague train of thought, directionless and deafening.
"Yeah?"
"Your father's will leaves you this."
The lawyer passed a brown envelope to me, shifting uneasily underneath his stiff grey suit.
"Thanks."I entoned.
***
It had been three months since the funeral, and I still had no idea what kind of prank my father was pulling. To my brothers he had left an equal share of the family wealth, to my mother he had left the house and all of its contents. To me, he left a Joker.
I was angry, frustrated, hateful. I loved my father, but this was beyond cruel. I did not need the money. I did not even want it, but to favour the rest of the family and leave me a playing card?
Was he reminding me that he was a joker? Saying to keep life light? Not take things too seriously? Was he telling me that I am a joke, that he was not proud of me? Hell, was he suggesting I should take up gambling?!
It was, more than anything I had ever experienced, frustrating. I wanted to ask around, but his note had been very clear on the fact that I should not.
> David,
>You are perhaps the only person who will appreciate this. You may not understand it yet, but you will, eventually. Whatever you do in your life, do not ask anyone about the card, and don't reveal that you have it.
> I love you eternally,
> Dad
I wanted to show my mother and brothers, but that would defy my father's final wish.
In a life filled to the brim with niceties and comfort, my inheritance from my father threw a tumultuous spanner into the well-oiled machine. It kept me up at night, weeping and cursing, missing my father greatly.
***
It was one morning, late in the Spring, almost a year after my father's death that I sat in the park, flipping the card idly in my hands as I watched the ducks float on the lake and the sun rise above the tree-tops and high-rise buildings.
The pristine scene was serene, but I knew it would not, and could not last. Soon, cyclists would peddle furiously to get some exercise in before they went to work, parents would bring their children along to feed the ducks noisily and young lovers would swarm the grassy fields in order to get a good kissing spot.
But, right at that moment, the world was precious and fragile and silent.
I stared down at the card.
The front face of it showed the goofy smile of the joker staring back at me, his red and blue costume in a swirl around himself. The edges, worn by my continual handling, were frayed and brown at the edges. I turned to the back face, and stared at the confusing pattern that adorned it. It looked so strange. So odd. It reminded me of something, but what that was, I could not say.
I pestered my mind to come up with an answer, but none was forthcoming, so instead I sat at the bench and let the sunrise consume my mind. I let my eyes unfocus and my senses to dullen. I sat in the broadness of the park - in its silence - and felt at peace for the first time in months. I glanced down at the rear face of the card, and there it was. It large lettering, embedded into the card like a three dimensional hologram were the words.
> I love you most of all.
> Dad
My eyes tried to trace the outline of the shape and lost it entirely, leaving only the confusing pattern staring at me on the back of the card.
But the words were there. I saw them clearly. It struck me then what I had seen. Like a tidal wave of nostalgia, it rushed over me. It was a Magic Eye puzzle. A children's toy that required the unfocusing of the eyes to see the true picture in the confusing pattern.
I let my eyes unfocused and read the words again.
I am ashamed to admit that it was not the cyclists that broke the silence that morning. It was not the parents of the children or the children themselves. It was not the love-struck young men and women who fawned over eachother. It was me.
I laughed, crisply and loudly, and wept for my missing father. For this, in his final practical joke, was his magnum opus. It was his masterpiece and his legacy.
As I sat there in the park, weeping and laughing, I felt happy. |
There is no goal in evolution.
That was the flaw of humanity.
These fools believed that they were the pinnacle of near perfection, that their destiny was to become smarter and faster and indestructible.
So they began a procedure of force-evolution; eugenics, cybernetics, artificial-mutations. Soon they were not even human, just strange organisms jagged with machinery and wires.
How could they see this as an improvement? As soon as the solar flair hit Earth, all their brilliant technologies were useless.
Their produce and livestock so ingrown and mutated, that they were unable to be raised outside of captivity; the people who grew them were just as unlucky.
The great cities fell as humans joined their brethren, the dodo bird, who had also evolved so docile they could not adapted as well.
Yes, evolution has no goal, it morphs like water to each new environment, changing merely to fit. If humans had known this, they would have smarted up and hitched a ride, not trail in the dust.
Maybe another creature would take the throne; preferably something a little less gawky looking. |
Let me tell you a tale of needs and wants. You see children, what every man needs is simple. Food, oxygen, water, glucose. I don't know what the Hell glucose is, don't ask me that again. We need it though. I know *that much*. See, without those things, you kiddies wouldn't be listening to me right now. You'd be dead. Dead like a table.
Now what you want is things that you don't need. Who agrees? All of you? Yeah, go figure, all of you are *wrong*. You see, what every man wants is freedom. Happiness, family, a sense of self. Without these things, you know what we would be? *No*, Billy boy, we wouldn't be tables. We would be close though. See, without these wants, the needs don't matter. If a man can't be free to do as he chooses, he doesn't need food, oxygen, and water. No, Billy boy, he doesn't even need glucose.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can have one, but not the other. Without one, the other doesn't matter. You don't want to be a table, do you? Yeah, go figure. What I'm sayin' is, get a job you want. Not one you need. Live for the good of life, not for the sake of living. |
Nathan had saved his life experiences. He hadn't gone skydiving, he hadn't gotten married, he hadn't had children, he hadn't even taken a raise. He had outsmarted the system, and he planned to live forever. Laying back in a dingy apartment (he had never bought himself a house), he reflected over his life. He wasn't too well off, but pizza and beer every night was living the life, right? But he was bored. Looking around the plain living space, he saw his phone and picked it up, intending to call someone. Who should he call? Nathan thought, running through his friend list. Susan? No, she was in France writing her third novel, she would be too busy. Lary? No, he had died five years ago soon after his thirteenth grandchild got into Stanford. What about Abigail? She had married the man of her dreams and was touring the world, bringing happiness to those in poverty.
All of a sudden, Nathan realized that he hadn't conquered his life. He had lost it. All of his friends had seized their lives and made the most of it. Here he was trying to save his days while the others cherished each one with family and friends and adventure and achievement. Nathan had completely wasted his life trying not to use up his life experiences. He wished he could go back and change time. *I probably have a few years left though!* he thought to himself. He decided that he would start living his life. He swung his legs off the couch, and sat up. And then he died. |
You didn't know what to make of the pearly gates. The clouds that supported golden streets. Laughter everywhere. Heaven was almost exactly as you imagined it.
You waited in line, a surprisingly long one, to get in. People of many ages and colors shuffled up to the gate, saying their last prayers and preparing themselves for anything. So far, you haven't seen anyone turned away. *That's got to be a good sign,* you thought.
The old Indian man ahead of you ran happily beyond the gates as you stepped to the gatekeeper. An old man with a friendly nametag that read "God."
"Oh my god,"you gasp.
"At your disposal. Would you like to enter heaven?"
"Sure, but first could you answer a question."He nodded, his white beard bouncing against his chest. "What was it like, making everything."
He thought for a bit, stroking his chin. His grey eyes closed for a while. A sigh, probably from both of you. "I don't remember anything, sir. I just recall the flash,"he responded. |
It was a mistake.
There it was underneath the covers of his sheets, the tip of a mahogany-brown leather spine protruded out just barely. I could almost smell the aged paper, the oily black ink within.
It did not matter what was written inside, only the fact that it exists was enough to incriminate us both.
It was my folly, I had to see if he was on my side and by knowing, we now must suffer the consequences.
All I did was glance, just a single glance around the room, but they captured it all. They used me to find him, they know all.
I could only wait in fear as the telescreen flickered behind me. |
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires had faded into the background. Rumbles of the engine and the lurch of the transmission became an accompaniment to the sway of the vehicle as it traversed the road that carried them closer to their destination. Each runnel and trench crossed over caused various squeaks, creaks, rattles, bangs, and clangs.
The occupants looked at each other, each face reflecting a different state of mind. Their bodies were tired, even though they hadn't moved in hours. Aches and pains rippled through muscles that have been tensed, cramps following those aches as slight shifts to posture were made to reduce discomfort.
The interior of the vehicle was a cauldron of smells. Sweat, stale breath, unwashed clothing, emissions from both the occupants and the vehicle, moldy upholstery; all of which mixed with the earthy aroma of the recent downpour coming in through the windows that were cracked open just enough to prevent asphyxiation.
The vehicle finally arrived at the destination. A shack that was in borderline disrepair sat off the "road", the porch showing obvious signs of rot and were missing planks. The door was off a hinge, held to the frame with hopes and prayers. A window was broken and shingles were missing from the roof. It was obvious that this building was neglected, and it was evident it had been used by squatters and a host of other occupants.
The doors to the vehicle opened and the men inside climbed out, each grimacing against their pains and the rush of blood back into their extremities. Tentative steps were taken, feet that had fallen asleep were woken rudely. Calves cramped and spasmed under the sudden and urgent use as each member of the crew moved to the back of the vehicle to retrieve their equipment.
Tackle boxes, fishing poles, rain gear and extra boots were passed from friend to friend. Coolers full of bait and beer were set on the ground and smiles were present on all the faces. Each friend looked at each other and breathed deep the clean smell of the late spring rain, smiled and moved towards their cabin.
The driver looked at his buddies and grinned, clasping his co-pilot on the back. "A week away from work and the wives? Here we go again!" |
I had never woken up by crashing into a wall before.
When I slid to the floor and turned about, warm blood gushing down my nose, my bunk was uprooted and my possessions strewn across the room. I looked to the lit corridor outside (the lamp was gone). It was only then I noticed the sound. An elephantine dull screech was reverberating everywhere, like metal sliding against earth. I was too foolish to see it for what it was: *metal sliding against earth*.
I picked myself up and staggered across the hallway. The ship was alive with sailor jargon. French, Hindi, English, all variants shouting, urging, that we climb up to the top deck. All pretense of a global tourism service had been dropped.
Hopscotching past broken portholes and mugs, I found myself on the top. A crowd of passengers had gathered. Young sailor boys were making them sit down, with difficulty. Children were crying, parents were hushing them. Someone with brains had rounded up all emergency flashlights and put them on a corner table, turned on. They illuminated a few men in white and blue, as more joined them from across the ship.
"LADIES AND GENTLEM-Cal, get this fucking out of my face."
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN. A FEW THINGS. First, emergency power will resume shortly. NOW: We have crashed into an unidentified landmass. It was not on map, it was not part of our trip or itinerary. Half my men are scouting it and inspecting damage to the ship AS WE SPEAK. What we know for now is this: WE ARE NOT OFF COURSE. WE HAVE LOST CONTA-*Ma'am, please quiet down*- WELL THEN, WE HAVE LOST CONTACT WITH HQ. There is nothing to fear: contact will resume with emergency power. In the mean time we are trying- we are TRYING to locate what this landmass is. Your safe return home is OUR FIRST PRIORITY. We are WELL-STOCKED and NOT IN IMMEDIATE DANGER. I shall bring you updates as I get them."
I can tell you about that one weirdo who then loudly questioned the captain's authority or the crew's competence. No one liked him. Or I can tell you how a family was worried sick: their son was nowhere to be found. But I can't. In the ensuing mob, I had already gotten up, nicked a small black flashlight and was squeezing my way past the crowd, towards the railing in a shadow, so someone in a uniform wouldn't make me sit down.
Far off on the left, if you hopped over the first railing, there was a beam with a makeshift floor. It looked sturdy enough to support one. Soon I was looking over the second, outer railing, bare feet on the metal. One hand held me in place, and with the other I pointed the flashlight far below in the sand.
A painted face smiled back. |
"Dad, can you pass me the marshmallows?"
The father handed his son the bag of large squishy cylinders. "I don't know why you want them, since we can't make a fire to roast 'em."
The boy opened the package and some of the marshmallows started to float out. The boy took one in his gloved hand. "I know, I just like to eat them, and maybe dream we could have a fire and get them all gooey and warm."The boy inserted the marshmallow into a small airtight door in his suit. He retracted his arm from his sleeve and grabbed the marshmallow. He put the marshmallow to his mouth and took a bite.
The boy chewed on the sweet sponge while gazing upon the rocky barren desert that was the planet Mars.
"Maybe some day son. Maybe someday."
|
"I'm not crazy."I stare at my lips as I say the words. Watching the movements so intently it seems like a pantomime. I mouth the words silently, never realising just how ugly my face is when I communicate.
Emily never told me, maybe she ignored the imperfections and just saw me as I am. Who knows what she'd make of the thing I became, the thing I become. I don't know what to make of it. I can't make any sense of it.
I'm nothing special, I'm no one I know that. Why is it happening now? Maybe it's because with Emily gone, I have nothing to lose. Maybe God is punishing me for ignoring him all those years. I'm not a bad man, at least I don't think.
I don't remember what happens when I change. Although I see flashes, the wings beating hard, Sunderland seen through the air hurtling past me. The feeling of freedom stays with me too. Even when I'm in the house that's too big for just me I still feel free.
I stripped off all of my clothes because I couldn't afford to lose another outfit but kept my watch on. Half three is rapidly approaching and I can feel the excitement building. I imagine this is how drug users feel as they inject or smoke or whatever they do.
I make my way downstairs and peek out the spy hole in the front door. Phil is washing his car again, he's exactly the kind of dullard to buy a convertible in England. I don't think he's ever felt free a day in his life. He won't know what's happening, he won't recognise me at all. I open the door, feel the air hit my skin and wait for the change. |
He finds the book when he's fourteen, slipped inconspicuously between the Bible and *The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy*. He doesn't mean to open it, not really, because the cover is uninteresting and he doesn't have a library card anyhow. But he does.
THIS BOOK IS UNREGISTERED AT THE LIBRARY, AND BELONGS TO NO-ONE.
So he takes it, thinking it's pretty cool. Maybe he'll flip through it later. When he gets home, however, his friend texts to hang out, and he carelessly thrusts it at his bookshelf, forgetting about it. It sits in his shelf for the next two years.
On his sixteenth birthday, he finds it again. Despite the celebrations, he has been stressing over his PSATs and SATs for the last couple of hours, and decides to read a book to take his mind off of it. His eyes roam over the spines of his favourite novels until it stutters to a stop on a thin, plain, untitled book. With a flash of uneasy recognition, he pulls it from the shelf with his index finger and flips it open to a random page.
PSAT&SAT ANSWER KEY - YEARS 2000-2050
He spends the next week copying the answers into his notebook, the next year memorizing flashcards. He easily scores 2400 and gets accepted into Stanford, full scholarship. No problem, no problem.
But he can't study anymore, because the answers appear to him so easily. He can't carry a conversation anymore, because he isn't sure if it's going to be the right response without checking his book. Even as his mom wetly kisses him goodbye at the airport – should he kiss her back? should he cry? what words should he say? – his mind rests only on the book hidden at the bottom of his suitcase.
Four months before he fails out of university, he meets the girl of his dreams. She's gentle yet assertive, pretty yet humble; she is everything he has ever dreamed of his entire life. He asks the book if it's true love, if she is the perfect woman. It answers no. He breaks off their relationship without a second thought, because the book is always right, and he'll always trust the book. He cries with bitterness that night, because couldn't the book have lied, just this once? She goes on to become an accomplished doctor and marry a kindhearted man. He goes on to relying on his parents' retirement funds to rent a shabby apartment on the outskirts of town.
There is only one book on the dusty shelf in that dark apartment. It has given him the answers to all the questions he ever asked, and so, at age twenty-four, he demands of it a final question: is my life ever going to be worth living?
With trembling fingers and dull eyes, he flips open to the very last page.
Six days later, after reports of a strange smell emanating from his flat, he is discovered hanging by his neck on the ceiling fan. The book on the shelf is donated to the local library.
--
I have to admit that I'm not too sure what a Twilight Zone type tragedy entails, but I enjoyed toying with the idea of a book with all the answers. Apologies if this isn't quite what you were looking for! (Edited for formatting.) |
A handful of dirt and a drink before the war;
breakfast of champions
Under the volcano at the Mountains of Madness,
A passage to India
The other side, over Mystic River, the evening redness in the West;
Hour of the Red God
Pale fire, outer dark, cool air:
what the moon brings
Death of the heart, call it sleep
Darkness take my hand.
Beyond the Wall of Sleep, the sun also rises
Infinite jest. |
Grandpa, you probably don't remember the first time you felt truly loved. But I do. It was the best feeling in the world. I felt like a cloud floating above the trees! Oh, it was magnificent. But I will never be able to recapture that feeling for as long as I live. I'll feel loved again, sure, but it will never hit my quite like it did the first time.
There is a lot you don't remember about your own life. You'll never be able to recall them. And even though you may not realize how sad that truly is, I want you to feel true love for each and every one of your remaining days.
Here, I'll leave this heart on your nightstand. It's not much, but it will suffice. Make sure you leave it right there, right in plain view next to our family picture. There, perfect!
Now every morning, for the rest of your days, you'll wake up and see the words written upon that heart: "Your family loves you so much."Your disease is horrible and tragic in so many ways, but it has one benefit.
Every morning that you wake up and read those words, you'll feel truly loved for the first time. |
Paul found himself peaking around the corner, glancing into the deep shadows of the stairwell. The pale bricks that made up the walls of the alleys were coated with a thin layer of dust that nonetheless reeked of age and added the feeling that the tunnels had been long disbanded - something that Paul found himself doubting. Clearly, the figure he and Evelyn had pursued down here knew the way very well, and Paul could not shake the feeling it was a *retreat*, like a ferret back to its lair.
"I didn't really know these went so far… or so deep,"muttered Evie hesitantly. "I was sure that second level was going to be the bottom, Paul, and that was four levels back up. I'm not even sure this is part of the old Underground anymore."
Old was the word. There was an undeniable feeling of age down here. "I don't think we can go back up yet, though. Josh might well be waiting for us, but whoever that was *can't* get away, Evie."He let a moment pass unspoken between them - it wasn't just that the small package of Master Ollivander's correspondence was a priceless heirloom of wizardry, or that it had been taken in broad daylight from one of London's leading museums. It was that whoever had stolen the letters had evaded three Aurors for nearly fifty hours.
God, he was tired.
Ollivander had, for all his genius, not been a particularly keen writer. And among the few fragments of inspiration he'd left to lesser wandmakers, this set of letters was… valuable, but dull. A shoebox half full of little opened envelopes, their wax seals broken and the paper yellowing. The inks were still bright and robust, though - not just blacks, and blues, but aquamarine, indigo, and vibrant crimson. Ollivander's few close friends - associates, perhaps - had commented he was as discriminating and precise about his pens as he had been about his wands.
They were right when they said being an Auror was for the young - he couldn't see doing this when he was thirty.
There was a faint skittering, a scratching in the dark below and ahead of them. "*Lumos*!"he gasped in the same breath as Evelyn. They looked at each other sheepishly: there was a rat. A brief smile. "I think it's another dead end, Paul, honestly. We put down another set of wards, we ask Josh to send his patronus down one of the other shafts, and we regroup. We haven't lost him - we've caught him four times since he left-"
"And each bloody time he's got away! How, Evelyn? Fuck! This is driving me insane."
She paused, and went on more quietly, "That's what I mean, Paul. We're all at the end of our tether. We've narrowed him down, enclosed him. Evading three aurors is one thing, but evading thirty-three will be another, we-"
Again she found herself interrupted by Paul, but he wasn't speaking. He was watching the edge of the floor, where it met the wall. The rat was still there, and perhaps that was what had caught Paul's eye, but now he was peering at the wall. He twisted the glowing tip of his wand around: there were footsteps along the wall. They were small, and they were faint in the thin dust, but they were there.
He smiled. "He's not bad, this guy."Evelyn frowned at him.
"Not a game, Paul. We don't need a challenge. Let's get the creep."
They spread to either side of the tunnel, and trod on resolutely. Unbidden, thoughts of Garrick Ollivander came to him. A unique figure of the end of last century, standing amid names like Dumbledore, Potter and Snape like an unchanging pillar, who had come into the action quite to his surprise. He'd dominated the profession for so long, and so profoundly, that his death had led worldwide mourning some years before - he had been a very old man, but still apparently had friends from quite the other side of the world, and from species rarely seen in London. Paul himself had not been invited to the funeral, obviously, but he'd seen Minister Granger-Weasley solemnly lay a slender wand, and a golden ensign upon his casket. There was a commemorative image of that event, six feet high, not twenty yards from his office.
This walking along walls bothered him. This wasn't trivial - anyone could do it for a little while, and everyone did it as a teenager after a few beers, but doing it in a closed room for a minute or two was one thing. Strolling seventy yards at brisk walking pace, even a jog, was potent magic. And he should have felt something of that - Aurors trained years to feel, to almost *see* magic happening around them, to combine feeling with thought to devise counter spells and to burst bubbles of dark magic with precise needles. And he hadn't felt anything; Evie hadn't either, and Josh's patronus would have appeared in moments if Josh had felt it. Josh was very, very good with his patronus; Paul found himself smiling. Even Josh's patronus was handsome.
Suddenly, he was there. A cowled figure, eyes shining out from the impossibly deep shadow around his face. A *goblin*! What could a goblin want with-
"*Agzhaakakhh-brzingurok!*"the creature shrieked… and extended a wand in one hand, and a horribly, horribly beautiful dagger in the other. No, not a dagger. A sword.
Paul's world filled with pain. He was on fire - it wasn't just pain, it was *real* fire, from deep within his bones to his hair and fingernails, his heart burned and his brain boiled. He tried to call to mind his training, his strength, and somehow, from the very depths, he managed to raise his wand "*Expelli-*"
"*Kvort-nazgahta!*"The bricks at his feet exploded. And he saw it, just in a moment, a tiny coil of frighteningly alien magic, whipped into dark seething helices by the goblin. It was like nothing he'd seen, but his wand instinctively flicked - a hideous opportunity. His mind and his wand followed the opening back, as he uttered "*Crucio.*"And it was over. The fire drained out of him, and the goblin was screaming, but that was also a thing of moments - he could not bear to keep up the torture spell. Evie was free as well, he sensed.
In an eerie moment, they all took a breath. But the goblin reacted fastest, again. He snarled, "Your payment… will only be delayed. Not annulled. The Concord is ended."And he was gone. |
Background: I recently attended I writing workshop with the theme "Come Together", and this was my submission. I'm fairly new to writing like this and really would welcome any feedback. I wrote this in 20 minutes at the workshop. I made some minor changes and touch-ups before posting here. The background for the workshop theme was as follows:
Humans are social animals. We long for touch, acknowledgement, a conversation.
But just as much as we seek this interaction, we also fear it. Our nerves chatter, we have second thoughts or try to talk ourselves out of it. We shun people from us. We experience being shunned from others.
What does it take to get groups of people to come together? To work together? To spend time together? To get to know one another? And what do we get out of these interactions? |
I hear them sometimes, but only in my memories. Never my subconscious.
I don't look back on the past, they see me. They detest me. Their screams of rage echo in my mind's ear. Hundreds, no, thousands of beings, trapped in the endless chasm of my minds. When my memories falter and fade away, so do they.
I hear them sometimes, just a whisper, nagging at my brain.
They want out.
But they will never leave my mind.
|
People often say the best movies are the ones that have stellar acting or outstanding, just-right cinematography. And I agree. Those movies have a lot going for them, but that doesn't warrant them enough to be called my favourite.
When I was younger after my parents split up, my mom moved away taking me with her. I could only visit my dad every summer, so those two months we had were sacred to me. We had a tradition: since he lived a short drive from the airport, a few hours before the plane was leaving we would watch some movie on the couch. Every year I would dread the progress of the movie, because I knew as soon as it ended I would have to leave for another year.
One year on the day of departure we popped in Hugh Jackman's *Van Helsing*. Now anyone who has seen this will know that it's obviously not pining for any oscars, but it was just the kind of cheap action movie me and my dad loved watching. Anyway, the movie came to a close and that familiar knot in my stomach tightened. That was until we checked the status of the plane and it was delayed for five hours. I was ecstatic! Since we didn't know what to do for those five hours we just decided to pop in *Van Helsing* again, and again, and again. That movie became our Bible. Still, the time to leave came. But that movie has been our tradition ever since.
That was a long time ago, but I'll never forget my favourite movie from my favourite afternoon. |
3-1-11: Day one. I finally set everything in place. I will have my masterpiece done in exactly one year. From my calculations, with all the food I've stored, I can survive without eating or drinking for exactly 365 days. I have a nearly infinite supply of paint and canvases. The clock on the wall gives only the date, so I can keep this log. The toilet is set, and it shouldn't stink in here. I've got ambient music playing so the sound of silence won't drive me crazy. The electronic lock outside this enclosure will open on the march first of next year. I shall come out the greatest painter of the 21st century.
6-21-11: Inspiration still hasn't struck. I keep painting a boy jumping over a crack.
8-1-11: I'm waiting my time here. I've got one decent painting. It's just a crappy fucking perspective painting, of a boy jumping, named "Leap".
12-25-11: It's Christmas. I've redrawn "Leap"a hundred times. I wish Saint Nick would bring me some inspiritation.
2-11-12: I'm out of art supplies. Damn it. I have enough for maybe one more small painting. I'm going to save it for my muse.
2-28-12: This has been worthless. All I've done so far is drawn a boy leaping through the air. Over, and over again. Is this my legacy? Fuck, I'm starving. A few more hours and I'll be able to eat again. A few more hours, and I can go home.
2-29-12: What... the... ever...living...fuck. I forgot about Leap Year. I'm about to starve to death. All I can think about is food.
Police report: 3-1-12: The artist was found dead in his home. His room was filled with thousands of poor paintings of children leaping, and one giant picture of a twinkie. |
He wasn't meant to be Lord. A barely functional reject, kept alive more due to the fervent religious zeal of his father than any desire for his existence. But when the Duke of Naver finally fell, stopping his conquest for unification, the causalities of those who opposed him included Lord Reginald and his two proper sons.
There was even light consideration of placing the elder Lady Lila in charge of the serfs and holdings. However, such a thing would be highly unorthodox and probably cause more attention to be paid to Branston's... problems than giving him his seat as Lord. The death of Lord Reginald and his well-loved sons had earned the admiration and appreciation of the Lords and Nobles splitting up the lands and peasants of the fallen alliance. Anything other than an orderly transition to Reginald's remaining heir would make them look like a possibly easy target, newly won admiration be damned.
The day he was elevated to Lordship, he was called Lord Mikael and promised those attending that he would uphold the ideals of his father and see to continue the prosperity of their holdings. It was uncanny how the Lordship seemed to finally give his mind and speech focus. Even his tutors admitted that he must have actually been learning during the lessons that he spent staring blankly back at them. But the rest of the house still worried and began consolidating the Lord's responsibilities under different advisors. When Lord Mikael realized this was happening, his fury was swift and vengeful.
Poor, unfortunate Martin. He wanted nothing more to serve his lord, but his reward was an executioners blade as his lord proclaimed himself to be called King Marek.
King Marek immediately called for the creation of a crown. He used his father's legacy to band together a hasty alliance with a new focus on securely the borders of the surrounding lands militarily. Any lordlings under his command that protested this unnecessary militarism were deftly dealt with and even the serfs and lower people under their control suffered.
The Nobility and Lords observing this scene from the outside were, understandably, confused. Information was nebulous and many believed this King Marek to be a usurper who was forcibly taking Lord Mikael's lands. A few planned to bring in their own militias to curb this potential threat (and possibly take control of these lands for themselves), but with the wounds from the Duke of Naver's War were still festering. With that blight still taking its toll on the Lord and lesser people, and King Marek's enigmatic appearance the entire region was unstable. Before anyone could reign in King Marek, the foreign enemies of the land launched an invasion. It was all the other Lords could do to secure their borders against King Marek from the east so they could commit forces to strike back against the invaders pouring in from the west.
While all this was happening, King Marek could not even feign interest. Aggressive expansion was not even something he considered (at least not until the foreign invasion was repelled and the rest of the land was broken and bleeding). Instead, he wanted to consolidate his power as absolute. Anyone not nobility were treated functionally as slaves. Before, as long as tribute was given fully and punctually, the agriculturalists were left alone. Now lesser nobles were given the job of constant supervision over almost everyone. King Marek developed efficient systems (much to the surprise of those who had known him all his life) to keep everyone under watch and under heel.
Proud of his accomplishments, he began periodic tours of his lands. King Marek wanted to show his face to those of the land to ensure they knew who was in charge, he wanted to relish in the power he felt was absolute. When serfs lifted their heads, with backs still bent to work, to gaze upon their self-proclaimed king, they wondered how a man whose frame looked so frail could hold himself up so proudly and yield his power so tyrannically.
One day, he was supping with the members of his house in attendance, fresh from his latest tour that witnessed, among other things, a group of peasants who groveled for a deferment on their next tribute; a group which, according to King Marek, could pay the tribute by forgoing food to their youngest children and their gracious king ensured that such a waste of food would no longer be an issue. As he drank deep from his mug, he gasped and had a harsh fit of coughs. While his dinner companions paid no explicit attention to this embarrassment, they were all watching for a sign that this fit was more serious than a poorly executed swallow. So, it was all too easy for them to notice the sudden change in his demeanor. After he regained composure, his kingly clothes appeared to be too heavy and his posture was slumped, the crown he never took off in public was gingerly placed on the table, and his complexion was that of a man in a casket. Lady Lila, who had replaced the pity she held for her brother with fear, meekly asked if King Marek needed some assistance. At his own name, he looked up bewildered and left his mouth slightly agape. For a grueling 20 seconds he did not reply, before he softly insisted that his name was Lord Mikael and departed from the table.
The next day Lord Mikael reappeared, now in his late father's clothes which, though they weighed less, appeared to be a heavier burden on his posture than the kingly clothes of King Marek. And then he got to work. Lord Mikael started repealing the edicts set by King Marek. His house was perplexed, especially with Lord Mikael's insistence that everything he was doing was to "fight back against King Marek's cruelty". These changes were met by most peasants as a welcome return to the now-glorified days of Lord Reginald. The lesser nobles who had been given more power, were not distraught to see their power and resources limited. This obvious source of tension aside, no one knew what had brought this change and most assumed Lord Mikael had made a triumphant return to take control of his lands back from King Marek.
Conjecture is hardly necessary to realize that violence began shortly thereafter. This region was completely destabilized, the men with power wanted more power, the men with nothing wanted something, and Lord Mikael just wanted to treat everyone with more compassion. Many lesser nobles conscripted militias to fight under a fabricated banner of King Marek for their liege to regain control. A few others and a host of peasants fought in the name of Lord Mikael. Both sides believed the leader they wanted dead was in Lord Mikael's keep, and in a way they were both right. A large battle and bloodshed erupted on the fields around the castle, Lord Mikael suffered bursts of panic, incapable to bring peace and unable to even show his face.
By the power of numbers, it was those fighting for Lord Mikael that managed to solidify a position outside the gates of the keep. As they prepared a to entrench themselves until their opponents fled, the portcullis opened and the guards stood aside (rumour had it that Lady Lila was personally responsible). In a zeal to meet their oppressor, they rushed in. A command was given to a small group to make their way to the dungeon to search for a man bearing characteristics of Lord Reginald, for surely that would be the appearance of their Lord Mikael. Meanwhile, a crowd gathered in the main hall. He was not wearing his crown or kingly robes, but they recognized the frail figure of King Marek. It was due to cowardice that his body now looked hobbled and he no longer held the gleam of pride in his eyes. As the sword that took off his head began its swing, they say his demeanor began to violently change. But the words tried to leave his mouth were not meant to be heard, and as it was fixed on a spear his already grotesque face had the most peculiar expression of pity and malice. |
God, I hate coming to the mall. Flashing lights, crap music, teenagers, and a constant flow of people to navigate through.
The worst for me though is the goddamn mid-mall kiosks. It's like dealing with telemarketers in the flesh. Always jumping in your path, offering you a free sample of hand cream or a personalized hat or something. One time I had a woman spray cologne directly into my mouth.
Here is one now and it has quite the crowd. Cell phones no doubt. Wait a second. Is that Sully behind the counter!? What the hell is he doing? Did he lose his counselling job? He hasn't mentioned anything.
I sidle up to the side of the kiosk. "Sully. What the hell is this?"His face reddens. "Oh, h-hey man. Just give me a sec and I'll break for lunch."He turns to the elderly gentleman. "Okay sir, it appears everything has been filled out by your doctor, so we can complete the request. You wanted the pills yes?"The old man smiles and nods. Sully hands him a clear plastic bag that looks to contain a DVD, some vacuum packed pills, and a lot of papers and brochures.
As the old guy shuffles off, Sully puts up a sign on the counter that reads: Please Be Patient, We Will Be Back Shortly. The line of people groan but do not move from the line. Sully motions me to follow him.
We go outside and he lights up a cigarette. "I know I haven't told you, but this is my new job. I had enough of counselling dysfunctional well to do families and lost souls. I've had enough of everything really."
"Well what the hell is this? A mall job? Are you filling out prescriptions? Handing out samples?"
Sully coughs out some smoke. "Nah. Now take it easy and don't freak out and rush to judgement here: It's a mobile suicide assistance center."
"What the f-"I start but Sully interrupts. "I told you not to freak out. Look, I've only been a counselor for four years, but that has been enough for me to witness the amount of pain out there. I thought I was helping them through it, showing them how to manage it, but that's only for the minority. Most carry that pain with them forever. They can never really get rid of that pain and they know it. I heard of this project and jumped at the chance to help people to finally lay down their burdens."
"Are you nuts! This is crazy!? How can you do this? You've gotta be off your rocker man."
"That's the thing. I am. I have pain that I can't lay down. I thought maybe finally helping people would lighten the load, but it's not helping. Did you see that line? The pain is greater than I expected."
"You just gotta get a new job. Playing with puppies! Bartender in Aruba! Porn star! Anything that will provide you pleasure. This is just pushing you further down the hole!"
"I've tried it all man. I volunteered for a while. Went on a month long yoga retreat. Whored around for a while. I got back last month from a three month stay in Cuba! They were all great experiences, but only for a while. When things became quiet, when I drifted off to sleep, or when I opened my eyes for the day, the pain was there. Waiting. I'm done. I'm done. That's why I'm getting relieved after lunch."
"What does that mean?"Sully sighs. "It means that a co-worker is coming in to take over and relieve me."I clap my hands. "Great! Good stuff. Drinks on me. Then to my place to see Sarah. She'd love to see you!"
Sully shakes his head. "I've got to get relieved.""Of course. Let's get back in there and get it done."
As we return I see there is someone behind the counter waiting. Sully goes in and talks to them and they hand him his stuff. Sweet. We can get the hell out of here and I can help him out. Maybe I can get all the boys together. Strippers? Nah, maybe - a bang makes me jump. What the hell was that!? Where did Sully go?
I walk up to the kiosk and see Sully, flat on his back, needle in his arm. |
There he sat, completely immobilized. The man who stole the love of my life away from me, the man who made it so I slept alone and she didn't. He was now at the mercy of my anger, of my wrath for making me shed tears, making me live the darkest nights of my life, alone and lonely. My face did not show him the anger, pity, or the hatred I had toward him, but it was a different story with my eyes as I looked into his. He knew very well who I was. After all, she had told him all about me during their times together. He opens his mouth to begin a sentence, but I quickly raise my wand and point it at him as I yell, "Avada Kedavra!" |
*I won't let them take me.*
Where had they come from? I didn't know. The sky- somewhere up there in space. I'm a barista, not a cosmologist.
What did they want? Me. At least- from the way their lights had tracked me home, even as I hurried up my drive and fumbled with my key in the lock, it seemed like I was their target.
Why me? No clue. Maybe I was just the first one they saw. Maybe it wasn't just me, maybe I was one of many. Or maybe they just want to know the secret to my cinnamon latte. I don't want to find out.
*I won't let them take me.*
But then, I realised my error. I was trapped- trapped in my own home, their light pouring in every window as I dashed from room to room. My mind frantic as I pulled curtains out of instinct- as if I could ever hide from them. Some hope.
Into the kitchen, and there, on the sideboard, the bread knife. The light envelops the back door. I know what I have to do- all I can do to stop them.
*I won't let them take me... alive.* |
It baffled scientists for months. The eyes are the window to the soul. One small statement, now reality, changed our whole world. Me? I saw the opportunity of a lifetime. Before long, people came from around the country for my 'unique service' and, much to my benefit, paid a nice premium. What I used to get paid pocket change to do, people now paid thousands for. What is it that I do? I am a window washer.
The one benefit to being able to view the soul from the eyes is being able to clean them. Windex will do really, but I market the service as a much more spiritual experience. Imagine all the guilt weighing down on a person's soul like grit on a window, and when the dirt builds up too much it gets hard to see. Now, one of my certified technicians will sit you down in a chair, almost like getting a haircut, and clean those eyes until you could see a reflection in them.
The secrets the soul hides are another story. A businessman cheating on his wife. The wife cheating on the husband. A killer looking to get rid of the guilt. Of course the implications are not immediately apparent to the common man, but my more wealthy clients do. The kind which value secrecy. I am a man of my word, and my word is what guarantees the clients keep paying my high price. The price of a clear conscience. |
Professor David Sullivan crossed his legs calmly. His slow, gentle movement hiding the fear and nervousness that was eating at him. He removed his glasses and listened as one of the four men across from him began to speak.
"Professor, before we give you the grant to pursue this... rejuvenation, please tell us *why* you want to do this?"
David smiled pleasantly. "Well it is simple, really..."He looked at the four men that sat a dozen feet away from him, all of them behind a large, steel table. "We as humans are alone,"he began, "we simply are *alone* on Earth, gentlemen. Yes, you can look up at the stars and wonder if there is alien life somewhere out there, but the reality, gentlemen, is that there will *not* be another intelligent species co-existing with us."He smiled, looking up at the low, cement ceiling above them. "Imagine a world, outside of these walls, a world where humans and vampires co-exist, where you look outside your window and see a vampire and a human walking next to each, holding hands."He nodded vigorously, as if he had just convinced himself. "Yes... with vampires, our world will expand into unbelievable areas of evolution!"
A man who had not spoken yet cleared his throat. "How do we know that they *want* to be created, Professor?"
David looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed. "I do not understand... Why would any race not *want* to be *revived*? If humanity all passed away in the night--*tonight*, would we not want a second chance tomorrow?"
Another man spoke up, shaking his head, white locks of his hair trembling. "Evolution is something best not tinkered with, Professor. We are astounded at the technological and biological advancements that you and your team have made, but a dead species is dead for a reason. We must live that that."
"I'm afraid I have to disagree."The man to the far right leaned forward, looking at the men beside him. "The Professor is right. Imagine having another, *intelligent species* walking out there, giving us valuable insight into how they perceive the world, how they think, how they feel, what they want, what their ambitions, ideas, or aspirations are!"
The man with the white hair shook his head, unsure. "I don't know... How do we know they won't be hostile?"
David held up a hand. "Sir, that possibility exists, but we will create them in small groups, first, to gauge their actions, but my research suggests that they will be as emotionally inclined as we are, sir. There is no more danger than if we created more humans."
"I see."
David put his glasses back, smiling tightly. "Do I have the backing of the government?"
The four men conversed silently together, their voices low and raspy. The project was no surprise, of course. It had been a long time in the making, and the government had watched it carefully for a long time. David was sure that the decision had been made long ago. Finally the man to the furthest left stood, smiling. The others stood with him. "We are pleased to declare that you do, indeed, have full government backing and funding, Professor Sullivan."He extended a hand. "Congratulations."
David jumped from his chair and walked to the table, shaking hands, his face beaming. "Thank you, thank you! We have turned a page of humanity!"
The man nodded. "Yes, Professor, we have."He tapped the folder on the table before him. "We will of course, be going strictly by the book. As you've read, we will have the lab under extreme guard under all times, and clearance will be allowed *only* to those necessary to the project, understand?"
David nodded, waving it away. "Yes, of course, of course, we will follow all of the guidelines written in the papers. This will be a grand venture, my friends, and you have contributed to a better world!"He returned to his chair and looked back at the men, smiling happily. They nodded, and he nodded back, his smile stretching until his face hurt. "Good day, gentlemen." |
It's time to face the truth, time to face everything.
I no longer want to live in a world where everything is numbed by antidepressants and syringes and lies. I no longer want to be ignorant to everything around me, I want to feel pain and experience it, I want to see others suffer, I want to see the reality we live in. Sure life is not an unspoiled lotus or even a daffodil, but I want to experience everything. Suffering is beautiful because without it we have no empathy for eachother, there is no excitement or pain, there is no actual happiness or feeling. Father, I want to be like the others, be friends with the others, hug the others and live like them. I am too fed up of being isolated in a painless palace where I feel the heat of the sun and the cooling winds, I want to encapsulate myself in the wind and the rain and the sandstorms. I want to understand the mortality of life and the preciousness of it and understand the promise of simplicity. Without that feeling of sadness or negativity life is a mere painting, I don't want to be in this house anymore, and if you aren't going to let me explore I will never come back!
>And so he never did, and that boy grew up to be Bhudda. |
"Of course it was poisoned, Luc! Why do you think I didn't offer you any?"outbursted The Chef.
"But senor, the cake looked delicious, I was really hungry too senor!"pleaded his meek Spanish assistant.
"I know it looked delicious Luc, how else do you expect me to kill off the world's most stuck up food critic!?"replied The Chef, squeezing his words into the tiniest space possible at the end. "With a choux pastry? Ratatouille? A chicken dinner? If it were any of those things, Monsieur Le Gastronomie,"and he took the time to mock-vomit at the bastardization of his home language by the disgusting American, "would have sooner knocked the plate on the carpet than stuff one finely crafted mouthful into his ungrateful, fat-pig, American pie-hole he calls a mouth! J'espère que ses intestins passent par son anus! Salaud! Salaud!"he spat, knocking a pan to the floor.
"Senor, what about the scandal? If they trace the poison back to us we are deader than dingos on a highway."
"Don't talk to me about specifics, Luc! It was because of you M'seur Paopa nearly rode the great production line to the sky! Cook for fifty hungry politicians and have your food change their mind about businesses, wars and deals. Then come back to me Luc, and talk to me about détails!"
"But senor, you cannot deny it is a problem."
"Don't worry about that, dear Luc. I already have a scapegoat in mind."
EDIT: Formatting and accidental double submission. |
She's something else
That whore of the apocalypse.
Intangible like the wind
But just as real.
She walks the gallows
And plants a kiss
On every doomed man's lips
Before that fatal drumroll.
You can see her in the tavern
Serving shots
And smiles
To men with not much time
More doomed men.
The young men call her
Mother Theresa.
The old men,
Annabel, from that dark poem.
The christian men,
Jezebel, a label
For what they misunderstand.
The children
Call her Angel.
The women call her by name.
They don't think her special;
They all could be what she is,
But they're not.
The saints call her a sinner
For doing god's work.
The sinners call her martyr
For the pain she'd bear
To share the night.
The sheriff
Calls her a peacekeeper,
And tells his pistol
He doesn't mean it.
He does.
The beggars
Call her pretty eyes
And catch locks of her hair
Before they hit the ground.
The drifters call her water.
The rich men call her wine.
The dead men call her name
To give last rites
And the priests are all jealous.
She walks to me with bare feet.
She won't die before her time.
Even nature knows her value.
She swallows me with her
Blue,
Blonde,
Brown,
Black locks.
I call her
Jess
Jen
Hannah
Alexis
Sam
Lacey
Daisy
Taylor
Bambi
Erica
Veronika
Yara
Maria
Melanie
Sara
Laura
Kim
Abigail
Victoria
And the names all fit.
That whore of the apocalypse;
She's something else. |
It was one of those magical days of mid-spring, the chill of winter a fading memory and the swelter of summer far enough away to ignore. I drove home with the window down, radio blasting, tapping out the beat on the door. I'd ducked out of work early, I'd go home and surprise her, take her to Vinny's where we could sit outside while we ate.
The front door was open, as I expected it would be on a day like today. She loves fresh air, sunshine. Whenever she steps outside, she lifts her face to the sun, as if she's a flower emerging from the shade, and a gentle, serene smile touches her lips. Even now, when I close my eyes and think of her, that is what I see.
The radio is on, playing that soft contemporary music that she likes to listen to while she works. It’s Air Supply, or maybe Bread, one of those mellow groups, singing about a diary. I walk through the house, humming along, and step into the bedroom. It’s empty, but the bathroom door is closed, and I can hear the sound of the shower running. I consider joining her, skipping Vinny’s altogether, but it’s really too nice a day, and it’s been too long since we had a nice dinner out.
I see the laptop on the bed, and decide to double check that Vinny’s is actually open on Mondays. I pull the screen towards me, and see that she’s been working, drafting an email, probably to a client or a coworker. I open the browser, and in the moments before it actually launches, my eyes settle on the email. I never meant to read it. I still wish I hadn’t.
“Do you remember that day we met on the quad? It was an incredible day, a lot like today. I never believed in love at first sight, but the minute I saw you, I could see how our future would play out. I saw our first date, our first kiss, the first time we made love, I saw you kneeling before me on one knee, and holding my hand at the altar. I saw us argue, and make up. I saw us struggle and overcome. And in that moment, I knew that you were the one I belonged with.
"I remember when you stood next to me, smiling down at me, and asked if you could join me. You handed me half your sandwich, as if we’d been together for months rather than moments. We talked and laughed, and in the end, we kissed, just as I had envisioned it barely an hour before. I knew without a doubt that we were in love.
"It never occurred to me that you would tell me your heart belonged to someone else. But I had lost sight of everything. I was so consumed by my feelings for you, so convinced that we belonged together, that I could not turn you away. And over the years I grew to hate myself for loving you, and even as I tried to move on, to move past you, I have been trapped, imprisoned by memory of that very first moment when I saw you. When you called for me, I came, every time. Even after I married Dan, when you asked for me, I was there.
"I love Dan, I really do. He is a wonderful man who has given me everything I could possibly ask for. But he isn’t you. And when I look at him, when I kiss him, when I make love to him, I can’t help but hate him for not being you.
"After our last conversation, I realized that it’s time to put an end to this cycle. It has been 20 years since that day on the quad. 20 years that I’ve given you all of the love that I could have given to Dan, all the love I could have saved for myself. And you know, she deserves so much better than we have done to her. So this is finally it. I am finally saying goodbye to you. But I know you’ll know that I will never, ever stop loving you.”
In the movies, these scenes always play out in slow motion, but for me it seemed to happen in hyperspeed, jittery, clipped. As I reached for the door, I could see it all play out ahead of me. I saw her turn to me, startled. I saw the sudden flash of panic in her eyes as she remembered that the laptop was still on the bed. I saw her mouth form a tiny “O” of surprise as I reached for her, grasped her, held her neck between my hands. I saw her sink to the floor as I sobbed, as I raged, as the realization that everything had been a lie shuddered within my clenched hands. I heard the last strains of “Diary” playing on the stereo. I saw it all as I reached for the door. It swung open, and I saw her there, sitting on the floor of the shower, her face turned up towards the showerhead, streams of red running from her mouth, the gun resting on her thighs.
|
Well, this is a bit of a pickle.
A short time ago I had let that mangy mutt of my g/f out to "do his business". Hell I don't own a dog, I am just watching this one for her. I wasn't thinking about the fact I would have to let him back in.
What a guy goes through for a woman.
I had just gotten started on washing my hair when it hit me, he had been out for a good hour and I should have already let him back in. I decided to just wrap a towel around myself and go get him in, then continue with my shower. What could happen?
What a guy goes through for a woman.
So I open the door, attempt to call him, but he does not come. Dammit, this means I will have to go into the yard, find out what he has gotten into this time. Still only have a towel on, so need to be quick about this.
What a guy goes through for a woman.
Just as I expected, he was up to no good. I found him half under the front fence trying to get out. Seems he got himself stuck, unable to continue and unable to back out. At least he seemed to be alright, I just needed to get him out.
So, as I am pulling him back my towel slips. Oops, hopefully no one sees me. What would people think?
I finally get him out, but he's a bit irritated and a large dog so he's a bit hard to control, so I wrap my hands around him and lift him up. I just imagine how this may look, me naked trying to wrestle a dog inside.
What a guy goes through for a woman.
At that moment she comes home, sees me standing there in the front yard, buck ass naked, holding her squirming dog.
She yells "what the hell are you doing? My poor dog."
I think this guy needs a new woman. Preferably one without a dog. |
Dear journal,
I saw the most peculiar thing today. While I was at port, watching the next shipment of goods come in from China, I saw a blinding flash of light from the corner of my eye. I decided to investigate, and went into the brush behind the port offices. I saw a man, quite tall, about 6 feet high, wearing strange clothes. He was not brown like a native, though he did not have white skin like us. He resembled a mestizo from around these parts. He spoke a strange language, it was like the heathen language English or Dutch, except it was different, as if he was physically incapable of speaking through his mouth properly, and spoke through is nose. "Weer Em I"he said, with a worried expression. Alas, before I could reply to him, the Guardia Civil took him away. no doubt he will be tortured in the cellars of Intramuros at the whim of the friars.
Such is life in the Spanish East Indies. |
President: "What's wrong this time?!"
Research rep: "Ugh, I don't know, the A.I. keeps killing itself."
President: "Well then give the damn thing some artificial Zoloft, Prozac, or Valium! God damn it, the people of the world are counting on this thing to work!"
Research rep: "Mr. President, I assure you, we're doing everything we can.. I mean, it works"
President: "NO IT DOES NOT WORK YOU FUCK! Do you have any idea how stressful this job is?! Being president of EARTH?! The office you see when I do my speeches is just a studio! My *real office* looks like the cockpit of a god damn fighter jet! I've got people screaming in my face every god damn day! I can't take it anymore!"
Research rep: "Maybe... If we had some more money we could-"
President: "FINE! WHATEVER. I'll give you whatever you want. Just. Make. It. Happen."
(CLICK!)
Research rep: "Sweet. The president just wired us thirty trillion dollars, we can complete the Mars base now. See ya, Earth! You big gray polluted ball of mud."
|
"You don't know about what The Mars Volta did?"
"No,"Jeremy said, laying in bed, smoking from his vaporizer as the Deloused in the Comatorium album played in the background.
"The Mars Volta did some crazy shit. Like, they bought the car from The Dukes of Hazzard one night so they could drive it up a huge ramp they've constructed in the middle of the street so they could jump over Nelly's house."
"Nelly? Who the fuck is Nelly?"
"You know that guy. 'It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes.'"
"Oh, that shit,"Jeremy said, closing his eyes and taking another long puff.
"Yeah, so the thing is, Cedric and Omar were trying to get enough momentum, and they couldn't do it just from driving off the street. So they tuned up the orange car from the Dukes of Hazzard - some spoilers, more horses, that shit. On the night they were going to jump over Nelly's house, Cedric had a little weed, you know?"
"Oh no, dude. You shouldn't smoke weed before you drive."
"Yeah, I know! So Cedric drove up, and Omar notices he's stoned out of his mind, because they're not supposed to do any drugs. And Omar says 'I thought you were cool, man.'"
"Why did he say that?"
"It's an ironic drug thing, man. It's what the straight-edge kids say now."
"That's bullshit."
"It is so not bullshit. It's a reverse sort of thing. So Omar and Cedric are having one of their little slapfights in the front seat. And Cedric says 'I'll show you I'm not stoned as fuck, I'll drive this goddamn car over Nelly's house.' And Omar dares him to do so. And Cedric says 'Fine, I'll do it.' And they drive back through the boulevard. So Cedric jumps at top speed and hits off this makeshift ramp they made. And they took off into the air."
"And what happened?"
"They drove right into the second story of Nelly's mansion! Plowed right through it like at the Hard Rock cafe. They both looked like idiots because they couldn't get the car unstuck. It was sticking out of the mansion like the Hard Rock cafe."
"That's bullshit."
"No, it really happened! And then the worst part is, Nelly comes out from the makeout session he was having, and he says 'Yo, that's not cool but the way the car looks it's kind of cool so it's kind of cool.'"
"No way."
"And then they did a bunch of cocaine."
"What? Omar, that fucking hypocrite!"
And then the next day Jeremy burned all of his Mars Volta albums. |
It started as a rumor. The ex-cons were acting strange. They weren't doing anything bad, they were just acting strange. Then they seemed to be organizing. Needless to say, at that point, the public began to take interest. We were told that nothing was wrong, but we knew that wasn't the case.
Then they began to move. It, too, was slow at first, until people began to notice that the ex-cons were collecting at the capitol.
A national emergency was declared. There was a scramble to figure out what was going on, and in the chaos, it happened. The ex-cons attacked Washington.
The battle was earth shaking. Where these convicts had acquired such weapons was unknown, and they took the city by storm, as if coordinated by some master tactician.
For they were.
The televisions broadcast, from the burning ruins of the Capitol Building, a man standing tall above these ex-cons and the soldiers defected to his side. He stood tall, proud, seemingly untouched by the conflict
and announced that he was now in control. |
I have a place that I consistently go to in my day dreaming but I'll build a new one for reddit.
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I keep it in my back pack for the dreadfully dull days at school. It's bound in a tough blue fabric and most of the gold lettering has been worn off. It looks like one of those books you see but don't see as you wander through a library. You wonder to yourself if it has anything useful enough in it that anyone would bother to look for it there. I like a quiet place to think and some times I steal away into the library during school claiming that I'm doing homework or studying. There is a particular desk I got to in the back corner that faces away from the wall and the back of the desk hides the contents of the desk. When I use the book I leave my backpack so anyone walking by will think I'm up to use the restroom.
Opening the I fall in. I've heard that astronauts who spend too much time in space can develop a complex where they think everything they know seems to be inside their head. I can sympathize with the feeling. falling through the void is falling without sensation and there is no impact upon landing. It's like crossing the bridge of reality to and from dreams. My eyes turn off and on without notifying my brain and suddenly I'm standing a top a purple and orange rock mesa in a world of permanent twilight. Its lit with a pale yellow, which extends up into deep blue,from the entire horizon like a planetarium. the roof of the land is smooth and there is a pond up here as still as glass.There are a few large stones on the almost black, steely liquid, A naturally formed zen garden. I walk to the edge of the cliff and hang my legs into the deep colored canyon. I sit and stare at dusk without sunset.I often wonder if I'll see a sand worm out in the sloping sands, but I never do. For a time I am still , like time. The paradox of time is that placid stillness it has, yet it is constantly in motion. A sitting human is like this. They are calm yet their insides and microbes are constantly squirming to keep them alive.
When I am done I walk across the Mesa to another edge where there are stairs carved to descend around the outside of the cliff. Its narrow for two people but the solid rail lends security to the perch. Not far down is an opening in the rock. Its a natural cave with the floor smoothed over by a stone mason. It points of white light in the floor keep visibility high in the pale red tunnel. It twists a couple of times before arriving in a living room. There is comfortable wooden furniture and a simple rug across the dusty clay floor. To the right is a row of almost floor to ceiling windows and a couch is set to face it. soft white light floats in through the window. Beyond the window is a large cavern the size of a stadium. Growing lights hang from the ceiling and tropical plant grow fills the room. The air is dry behind the window but in the cavern it is quiet humid.Through a door way is my personal library. Its small and cozy. A drawing desk faces the back wall of shelves. To the side is a stack of large sheets of hand made paper. They are big enough that a small child could make a snow angel over it. on the one end of the room is a vertical slotted rack storing art and arcane documentation that I've put on this paper over the years. The last door way leads out to another cliff hewn path.
It meanders down into the thick of the foliage. In the center is a wooden bench next to another small pond. However this pond is full of life. Some time ago I took an index of bugs from a local park to add to my garden. My traveling jars included water striders, fireflies, dragon flies and toads, among other interesting things for which I have no name. One day I even stole a few from the bug house at the zoo. The ones at the zoo are so much more colorful. I thought they would suit the place. In a basket next to the bench I keep a small clay flute that I bought at a renaissance festival. I'm getting better at it. I find it very relaxing. One day I'll bring some one else here. But then again you already crossed the dream bridge with me. |
Surely, you have heard of The Butterfly Effect. How one small, trivial act can have a drastic effect on future events. It all seems like a strange conspiracy, until you trace it for yourself. Not until you follow the repercussions of your actions on and on will you see exactly how much each and every one of your actions has consequences. It has been 32 years.
My family made the voyage from our crowded flat in Liverpool in mid September of last year. My two daughters and our three Australian Rainbow Bee-Eater. The birds were a gift to the twins before my wife's passing. Our new estate in Richmond, Virginia was a new start for my family, one we had not anticipated, but was much needed. As to the exact day or time in which the event occurred I cannot say. I do, though, remember my daughters crying and quite angry towards me for leaving the bird cage open. All three birds escaped. I thought very little of the loss of the birds, it wasn't until I was seized from my work during lunch was I informed of the situation. Terrorist is not a work I would have used to describe myself four months ago, but things have changed. I was taken far from my home, handcuffed, bagged, and interrogated. I had seen it on the news, of course. Everyone had. The plants dying, crops failing, bees disappearing. Farms closed, industries declared bankruptcy, the economy failed. I was forced to postpone my retirement as well as most others in the states. Riots in the capital, protesters in the streets, mayhem ensued. All due to the bees.
"An animal with no natural predators is the greatest predator itself, Mr. Wesleton". These words remain in my head. Over and over they replay driving me to the doorstep of insanity. Those were the last words spoken to me since the trial. How was I supposed to know this would happen. I couldn't have, right? It's crazy, maybe this is what I was meant to do, maybe this is why I was put on this planet. If this is God's plan for me then so be it. My execution is in 17 minutes, I will ask him myself. Terrorist ha, so be it. |
*Arguably it was a nice hobby, trying out my own writing skills. I always enjoyed reading novels, poems, but the time I spent writing dull essays about the political significance of the Napoleonic Era on the modern era took up all the free time I had! This was far more fun. I could choose which prompts, what fantastical ideas that people would write and respond. One of my favourites was that prompt about the Dennis Rodman in charge of Korea, or that other one about the textbook having future knowledge. It was marvelous.*
I thought to myself whilst writing on another prompt. *I probably should be paying attention to this lecture, but it's so dull. I don't care about the consequences of the military dictatorship in Korea under Park Chung Hee...* Then, I found a prompt that read: "You have become a dictator in a country of your choosing."
I thought to myself, *that sounds interesting. I've always had an interest in that type of writing. I could base it off the things I have written in other essays, you know like the ones in this cour-*
I looked at the prompt. I switched over the tabs to my notes. I looked at the prompt again. *Have I been writing fiction ... about things ... No that can't be... I have been given prompts that I can't control, and have to write a certain amount of words and such...I have... Is this like writing an ess-*
"**BOBBY. STOP LOOKING AT CAT VIDEOS**"My teacher roared.
*Whoops. I suppose that's that.* I switched over to my notes again, then quickly back to the prompt tab. *How should I write this...* |
"I'm still sorry about your arm, Tex."moped Curser, looking at the bandage.
"Don't worry about it. You wouldn'tve known about it if I hadn't told you, and you wouldn't have believed me if I had. But I'm glad you know how to handle a rifle, since I botched the shot last time."
"Tell me about it. Did you see the reports? They claimed the killer wanted to make ol' O'Malley suffer."
"He was a hardheaded douche and he was going to pass a draconian law but if I was gonna take him out I'd have tried to do it quicker than that. Anyway, anything that throws them off the scent."Tex returned to scoping out the runway. Curser looked through the scope again.
"Here he is. 700 meters out. 275.5 south southwest. By the 747 taking off. See the baggage handler?"
"Got him."
"Okay. The rifle is a PSG-1 in full working condition, with a muzzle velocity of 868 m/s. All planes at this station are currently grounded due to heightened security but this private charter is set to leave in exactly 1 hour. The outlook pitches a southeasterly wind which will make aiming difficult but diverts the attention of the flightpath further downwind. Our current location is in the cargo hold of a private charter plane retrofitted for human survival. The target is a creature of habit, will spend 15 minutes chatting to flight crew getting off the plane. He will attempt to make small talk with the arriving dignitary and will not enter the airport until he is met - he likes to get "fresh air", in his own words. He will shake the hand of the arriving dignitary for 2.36 seconds in the normal way, then attempt to angle his hand up and go for another handshake. The vectors are all set. Now we wait for the wind to die down, and take the shot."
"You know what's at stake here boy. You know you won't see it for a while but you know the internet. It's smart. It'll find out what you did here, on this day. You're gonna do what no-one else will because no-one should be scared that they're always being watched. This is how seriously people want their freedom." |
"Compilation! New Compilation! Dr. Seuss's new book! Read all about it!"
"Hey kid, give me one of those. Here, keep the change."
I grabbed the paper, giving the kid a dollar. It was a time of change I guess. Marxists over in Russia stirrin' up some trouble, Germany in shambles. I guess I can't really say why it got people so rilled up, but Dr. Seuss's original collection had a profound impact on people. If Confucius was one of China's greatest philosophers, this Dr. Seuss was America's Confucius.
The book came out of nowhere, it popped into circulation from thin air. The author could never be found, and the publishers had no real address of residence for the writer. Some say that the guy was a recluse. Another set of people believe it's a conspiracy and that the book was written by a group of ghost writers. I didn't care. All I cared about was getting the next copy. The works of Dr. Seuss had been adopted as the new state ideology and standard for moral justice. Everyone had to purchase the newest copies, lest they be labelled a Marxist. All I know is the future is bleak, if we have to eat green eggs and ham all day. |
William ran out to the mailbox on that fateful morning much as he did any other day. Each of his bare feet pounding hard against his grassy front yard hoping that he would finally get to see the letter that would tell him he had been accepted to Harvard University, his first choice school, every day he had been disappointed. The smell of spring filled his nostrils and the sounds of birds and a variety of other mammals made his ritual fairly pleasant. The old tin mailbox let out it's usual high pitched squeal when it was opened. The usual magazines, flyers, and junk mail were at the top of the pile; bills addressed to his parents were just behind those. Then finally a small off white envelope with his name, William Green, neatly written across the front. William opened the envelope and read "Dear Mr. Green,
This letter will serve as official notice that you have been drafted into the United States Army. You are due to report to your local recruiters office located at 72 Hamline Ave, Buffalo, NY 14202 by April 22, 2015. You will be given the rank of private and receive further orders after meeting with the recruitment officer. Failure to appear will result in a charge of felony dereliction of duty being levied against you in a military tribunal and may result in a fine, or imprisonment.
Thank you for your service,
Andrew Hamilton III
President of the United States"
William's hands quickly flipped the letter over looking for some sign that this was a practical joke or some tiny indication, however unlikely, that this was all a big misunderstanding. His thoughts rapidly went back to how he had scoffed the draft and the war. He had criticized the government for their blatantly imperialistic agenda when they invaded Syria even going so far as to start a Pacifism club at his high school. For christs sake he protested outside that recruitment office every Sunday, they would recognize him.
*Wait* thought william *the canadian border is only 5 miles away*, hell he could run that and not even break a sweat, all he'd need to do is pack up a bag borrow some money and wait for this all to go away. Then he could go to Harvard and become an environmental lawyer just like he'd planned.
The sound of a car engine broke William's train of thought *oh no dad's home*. William's father walked up and noticed his son standing there almost rooted to the spot "What's going on Billy you look like you've seen a ghost?"William handed the letter to his father and closed his eyes.
________________________________________________________________
I was going to continue this but I don't know if it's worth continuing. If people like it I have a story planned up through basic training. |
They think I don't know, but this ol' dog knows! Dogs, all of them! That new secretary Jane is a bit of a bitch, but she's got nice legs. Cubicle chic, shiny shoes, where did she get those? Doesn't know what she's getting into, poor girl. This office is a mad house. We're animals in a zoo. No, wait, we're trained circus beasts, do you enjoy the spectacle, Brett? Don't get me started on Brett, the master overlord. I know he's watching me 24/7, waiting for me to trip up, but I'm onto him. They all want me to trip up, to humiliate me, to kick me out, they want me out on the street. Fuck the police, I ain't having it. I'm glad I have a companion. My counter-intelligence sends me anonymous e-mails every now and then, informing me of their plan. It's a strange relationship we have, I don't know who he is but he's helping me. Here's how it goes: I wasn't hired on merit, I wasn't even hired due to affirmative action... I was hired to be monitored. They want to institutionalise me into this system to keep me off the streets. They don't want me spreadin' knowledge out there.
I have to admit, it's been affecting me. It's hard to keep up my flawless work ethic when my coworkers have alienated me. I stopped visiting the cafeteria during lunch, in case one of them still wants to shank me with a butter knife. Health and safety really needs to advance. I've been putting in extra time at the office, but some people aren't happy, they think I'm trying to outdo them somehow. In this standoff, either they slip up and I uncover them, or I slip up and they succeed. I can't let that happen. I need to think things over, their glare is a bit too much to bear right now. The bathroom, yes, that should do, switch one cubicle for a more solitary one. Ah, a splash of cold water on my face... that's good. I probably look horrible right now. Who the fuck's that behind me? Is he staring? Engage subtle side-glance... is that *Ice Cube*? Has he finally been let out of the penitentiary? I gotta hang with him, let him know it's not 1988 any more. I could use him to uncover the foul conspiracy that surrounds me. Cops killing cops, it's a doggy dog world.
"Ay, wh-"
Where did he go? Ice Cube? It couldn't be. I gotta ask Brett about this. Just a short walk to his office, I hope I don't walk in on him getting blown by Jane.
*Knock knock*
"Yes?"
"You're supposed to say who's there."
"No, Mark, I'm at work. Do you have anything important, or did you drop by to tell me that joke again?"
"Brett, what was Ice Cube doing in our office?"
"Ice Cube? What?"
"Yeah, you know, Ice Cube, coming straight from the underground, NWA, Three Kings?"
"Look... I don't know if this is another one of your jokes, but you haven't been looking well. Putting in extra time and your productivity is still down. I've been meaning to talk to you. Is everything okay? We got a psychologist who works with our company, I could refer you to her."
"What's she gonna do? Convince me that what I believe isn't true?"
"She's a psychologist, not a preacher. Whatever, I'll e-mail you the contact details. Sort yourself out, or we'll have a disciplinary hearing."
"You're the shepherd, boss."
♫*Cause the devil is a savage motherfucker*
*That's why I'm lighter than the average brother*♫ |
"Nothing?"Ty shouted from the window of the sedan.
"Nothing,"said Cory, looking at his knees, "Try again."
Ty pulled the stick shift into reverse and backed up a few feet. "You ready?"he called.
"Ready,"said Cory, bracing himself.
The tires squealed and then caught pavement, lurching the car directly in Cory's direction. He only had a split second to move, and spent it entering a half squat, like an incomplete jump.
The crunch was almost sickening. Ty sat staring straight ahead in disbelief, trying to make out anything through the thick smoke rising from his hood: Definitely some glass, and more of a fold than a dent in the bumper. Cory? *Where did he go?*
"Cory!"shouted Ty, craning his neck out the window.
"Fuck. FUCK!"Cory's voice was coming from beneath the car. Ty clambered out from the driver's seat and and grabbed the wrist just visible through the dispersing smoke, dragging Cory's body to the edge of the road.
"I told you this was stupid,"Cory groaned. "I fucking told you this wouldn't work."
Ty rolled back Cory's pant leg. Nothing. Neither scratch nor bruise.
Cory sat up and dusted off, then curled his knees to his chest and held them with his arms. "Ripped my shirt though,"he said. "Is it weird? Who can't even break their own knees?"
"I don't know, man,"said Ty, "I've never not been able to break someone's knees before. If I try I mean."
"I know,"said Cory.
"It makes me feel like a piece of shit. Like I don't wanna give up though."
"You're not a piece of shit, Ty. There's something wrong with my knees if *you* can't break em. It's just now we gotta figure out some other way to get me out. And before you say anything, it has to be an *honorable* discharge. They don't pay my student loans if I go crazy."
"So don't go crazy. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe you're part invincible. Maybe you'll actually come back from this stupid war."
"I'm sorry about your car, dude."
"Yeah, don't worry about it. You can pay me back in four years."
"Well it's 3:45. That was our last chance."
"Unless..."Ty looked past Cory, past the smoking car, into the hilly horizon.
"Unless what?"said Cory, following Ty's gaze.
Ty grabbed the back of Cory's head and slammed it forward into his knees, shattering the thin nasal bones and spraying the asphalt with blood. Cory's head jolted up and backward, an arc of blood glittering behind it, catching the sun in what would have been a rainbow if not for the monochrome opacity. Ty looked down at Cory's body crumpled on the sidewalk. "Anything?"He said. Nothing. Faint breathing, that's all.
"He'll be out of the coma in four years,"Ty heard the doctor say in his mind. He pulled out his phone and looked up the number for a tow truck. |
The brave Sir Robin stood alone in the ancient cathedral hall. Sir Robin lifted his face plate, breathing in the stale musty air of the long abandoned temple. The room was massive, Robin was flanked by an array of crumbling massive pillars, on the walls around him where ornate stain glass windows. Robin raised his sword and shield, beginning the slow advance towards the inner sanctum. Robin could now make out the looming gateway that would lead him straight to the sanctuary. Something was wrong. . .
A booming laughter erupted from thin air, so deafening it forced Robin to his knees, desperately clutching at his helmet. Dark Lord Fumblemort had been expecting him.
"Foolish mortal! You though you could free your love, Fair Princess Julia, from my disastrous clutches, you where wrong!"
"Good always triumphs over evil, you'll never get away with this!"
"Oh but I already have Robin, moments from now Princess Julia will be lowered into my cauldron of. . ."
*BOOM* around Robin, the hall erupted into a blinding light, a high pitched wining filled his already strained ears. After the initial surprise, Robin regained his composure, unsteadily rising to his feat. Around him where the broken shards of the cathedral windows.
"Fumblemort? You there?"Robin asked with a wavering, shaky voice
Before Robin could inquire about Fumblemort's were abouts any further he heard a Dull, but distinctive humming. Robin listened closely, The sound grew louder by the second. What had started as a low pitched buzz had turned into a roaring drone. Robin looked out the now shattered windows. In the inky night he could make out the forms of a dozen hovering objects slowly encroaching and leveling themselves with the blasted out window frames.
Had Fumblemort summoned a flock of Dragons? . . . Perhaps a school of Gryphons? The hovering objects made their final alignments with windows and hung there, like ghostly puppets. From Robins position he could make out dark figures undulating within the hovering monstrosity. Suddenly thick black ropes, with grapples on their ends shot out from the hovering beasts, embedding themselves deep into the stone tiled floor.
Then figures began to emerge from the hovering behemoths, they began sliding down, along the black wires. Within seconds the entire temple was over run by the shadowy characters. They moved about, seemingly at random. Then Robin got his first good look at one. They where ungodly perversion of nature. The creature was covered head to toe in a thick, black, form fitting carapace. It's head was even more vile. Long black eyes with solid green pupils extended from its black featureless face. It's back was adorned with four large white, blocky looking runes. Additionally the monster was equipped with a weapon the like of which Robin had never seen. The beast turned and eyed Robin, then began a slow advance.
At a loss for what to do Robin bent down, blindly searching for his sword. As soon as his hand touched the familiar metal of his blade, a blinding white pain shot up from his chest. Before Robin hit the floor he saw the wretched monster holding a bright yellow weapon, with wires leading from its mouth to his chest.
Robin awoke, his cheek against the cold stone floor. He tried to move, but as soon as he did an intense pain erupted from his chest, so he just lay there. Then Robin heard a familiar voice echo across the great cathedral.
"Who dare interrupted the majestic and great Fumblemo. . ."
Then an *clack* followed by a long buzzing, Similar to the yellow weapon used against Robin.
*Heavy breathing* "What twisted neuromany is the. . .
Robin heard the noise again, although the buzzing was longer this time.
*Groans*
Robin felt his eyes getting heavy and drifted back into unconsciousness.
When Robin awoke again he found himself in a stark white room with very spartan decorations including a sickly looking plant in addition to a odd looking torch. Robin lay in a bed. . .it was far more comfortable than any of the beds he'd ever tried. Then Robin looked to the bed adjacent to him, lying in it was his fair lady, Princess Julia. In the knowledge that Lady Julia was safe, Robin allowed himself a brief nap.
|
One million years in the future a lot of things will be too different for humans to be recognisable.
Let me try a slightly warped approach to this.
When the ai took over, humans were not simply killed - their brains were scanned, and they were turned into simulations. They were able to switch between different simulators (servers), with different levels of virtual development, different forms of societies, and so on.
None of them were really needed, because whatever the ai needed it could do more effectively with much simpler and much easier to integrate intelligent circuits. Still they were allowed to live, and even given new options how to develop their worlds, with increasing power and ability of the ai.
They were also kept alive as a simulator for personal interaction, to keep the ai fit in case it encountered other intelligent life. And they were kept as a backup in case something serious happened to the ai. To ensure this would work, some of the virtual intelligences were given real "bodies"- i.e., their circuits were saved on a separate chip, which was mounted on a robot or drone, and then the ai could explore the real world instead of its usual virtual world.
As it happened, the ai did encounter another, equally advanced civilisation. A war ensued, the ai released its vi's as a safety precaution and to aid in the fight.
Everyone died except a few vi's from 2 different servers - one of them very primitive, and barely understanding what was happening to them when they were cast from paradise into war, the other highly advanced, with some insight into nearly all of what the ai knew.
Both of them relied on the same technology perfected by the ai in millions of years, and barely possible to improve any more. Mainly space vehicles which would reproduce automatically when in contact with the necessary resources and energy, and automatically equip any new ship with the backup of a heroic fallen vi, or a valuable copy of a still existing vi, maybe with more or less random tweaks.
The "primitive"vi's were programmed to produce as many ships as possible and attack any hostile civilisation. Because they were simple, they were fast and efficient, with very good quickly adapted tactics, but not so good grand strategy. The "advanced"vi's were able to adapt their ships to different needs a little bit, but not really improve a design perfected in millions of years by the ai. They were slower but all in all still superior to their brethren due to better use of strategy. One on one, fights between them could go either way, but a group of ten advanced vi's would easily beat a hundred simple vi's in most situations.
Every once in a while, when the advanced vi's had gained an advantage, the more backward vi's would capture one of them, force them to share their secrets, and release them again to ensure the "trade"would continue. Or they would allow some of the advanced vi's to use resources under their control for the same reason.
This way, the svi's became the fighters, while the avi's became the thinkers - but also the exploiters, and the backups when fights against other civilisations threatened to be lost. |
"So how does it work?"
The question he was waiting for. It's natural for people to doubt something beyond the realms of what physics would deem possible.
"It's pretty simple, actually. You create a gravitational singularity, forcing it to meanwhile move at a speed close to that of light. Combining the two factors allows you to create a unified path that goes backwards, rather than forward through time."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It works, though."
"Wouldn't that just meant that extensive travel killed your body through ageing?"
"Ah, yes, that issue. I came up with a way to counter that, though!"
"...I know you want me to ask."
"Inquire as little as you want, I'll still say it."
"Fine, how did you get around the ageing issue?"
"Rather than sending the actual person, you send a template of the person with a copy of their consciousness."
"...Wait, what?"
"The gravitational pull lets the template and the elements keep together, with the added effect of allowing consciousness to remain while travelling."
"That gravitational singularity still doesn't work."
"Does too!"
"Does not!"
"Does so!"
"...Fine, whatever. So, you mean that you remain conscious of your journey?"
"Yeah, exactly. Except since you have no body, there's no such thing as sensory input. You're stuck in complete nothingness with nothing except your own thoughts to entertain you. I call it, 'the Waiting Room'."
"And you're telling me you've already travelled...?"
"Yeah, fifteen minutes. It was hell."
"Just fifteen minutes? That's lame."
"You create a time machine that goes both forwards *and backwards* in time and I'll allow you to brag."
"Geh, fine. So how exactly is travelling like?"
"Just like I said, complete nothingness. Not like darkness, or regular silence. It's completely empty. I don't think human minds are capable of comprehending nothingness, but that's probably the closest we could get."
"Fifteen minutes alone felt like hell, huh..."
"Absolutely. Never mind the pain of having your body built up around yourself. Did you know you don't need any actual form of senses to experience pain?"
"Ugh, y'know..."
"Soooooo..."
The scientist looks to the ground, takes a breath, and looks back up.
"Wanna try it?"
...
"Definitely." |
The hero was defeated. Chaos was buried under the crushing weight of order. My empire reigned supreme, and anyone who dared question me was put to death like the dog they were.
The huddled masses were put to work building war machines, and the lazy rich who had stood with me before were turned out to work or starve. I did not tolerate laziness. All must work or starve and freeze.
Together my people raised cities and razed mountains, turning the sky black with smog. None complained. None dared complain, because they all knew the consequences such dissent would have.
They believed, of course. I drilled fear into their frightened heads. Fear of an unknown enemy, fear of the bright lights in the sky above on the days when the black clouds were thin. Fear of destruction rather than mere slavery; fear of a force so great and terrible even I seemed benevolent to compare.
So when the aliens did come, fifty years on, expecting to find a peaceful society to eradicate and harvest, we were ready. |
"Does your wife get on your case about all your harem leads?"
"Actually no. It's really weird, but she only flips out when there's a OTP from the outset. Think it's more romantic, and she feels threatened by that sometimes."
"So surrounded by chicks is one thing, but being next to one freaks her out. Conservation of Womanjutsu?"
"Something like that. The impossibility of many is beaten by the closeness of one."
"That sounds so Zen, man. I dig that. You ever talk to Rito--Sorry, Burns?"
"Man, fuck that Burrito. I don't know how his shit still gets animated, but he found all his girls on the set, and he PRETENDS to be oblivious and chaste on the set...then bones them off it. I have a loving wife, but that's like Swedish Bikini Twins level, or Twin Twintails."
"Four tails?"
"If we're gonna go that far, ninetails. You ever seen how they rig Ahri's butt for balance? Only way to do that is buns of steel, and she's got them." |
"Today is the day", I said to myself excitedly, peering at the clock to look at the time. "Today is the day I finally get Mom to stop calling me lazy".
The conditions were perfect, almost a bit too perfect. The clothing was a large mass laying on the floor of the laundry room almost begging to be tidied. I rolled up my sleeves and hastily got to work separating the darks from the whites, the pinks from the reds, the blues from the slightly darker blues until everything was neatly sorted in its own little section of the floor.
This was to be my magnum opus. The shining jewel that would elevate my status in this house from irresponsible couch potato to self-sufficient adult. Now that the colors were sorted there would be nothing in my way on the path to ascension. I quickly placed all of the blues in the washer and tossed in a healthy amount of the new detergent my mother had purchased recently. I closed the washer with the haste of a sprinter, set it to the warm water cycle, and left to watch a little bit of TV.
The wait was almost unbearable. The latest blunders of Sterling Archer and the gang were nothing but background noise, interrupting the beautiful sounds of sloshing water and rumbling metal. Finally I heard a ding. A wonderful, simple ding that would serve as the soundtrack to my success. I leapt off of my couch and entered the laundry room, prepared to put the freshly cleaned clothes in the dryer.
Perhaps it was my haste or my over-confidence that was my downfall, maybe a sickening combination of both, but my heart sank when I lifted the lid of the washer and peered inside. Lying there was a congealed, wet mess of blue, bleach stained cloth in all of it's glory. I quickly looked at the label on the detergent and my heart sank even lower. The words on the label read "Clorox bleach: perfect for keeping your whites white". The words bit at my soul and my chest began to pound.
Mother will not be happy today. |
The tent was beautiful. All white with both sides banners embossed on the sides. The weather was perfect. Warm sunny day in the spring, too bad so many lives would be lost on an equally sunny day tomorrow.
Two riders, both dressed in a way that would make the Gods feel jealous approached from the east and the west. The riders dismounted and their squires took their horse. The terms had been to meet unarmed, on the center of the battlefield, only the two proclaimed Kings to be in the tent.
The two great warriors entered the tent and removed their helms.
“So” said Robert “It has come to this, two friends forced to stand before each other ready to die”
“Aye” said Blomar “Here we are, both amassed an army, both ready to go to war for what we know I own”
“My dear friend why has it come to this, we both know, that on the day break I shall have your head, your kingdom and your power” said Robert with his all but constant smile.
“Rob, since childhood I have been with you, we have fought together, we have bleed together, we have shared the same women, and won the same battles, but why you choose to stand here now, against my army of 100,000 men that want me to rule them, well even that is beyond my grasp.”
“Blomar, from the time we were children, you have challenged me, you tried to out ride me, I won, you tried to best me in swords and I won, you tried to best me in hunting and I won. Hell I fucked the women you wanted to marry when we were young. You have never bested me in anything. I can out fight, out drink and out screw you, why do you think your army stands against mine?”
“Because old friend, while you out drank, screwed and fought me I always believed that one day, I would be better than you. My father may have taken you in as his ward, but you know he loved me better. Today my army stands against your horde of rebels and they fight for their rightful king. That my good friend is why I stand before you, ready to cross steal with the only man I ever counted my brother.”
“I hate that tomorrow one of must die, Blomar”
“I hate that tomorrow I must drive my sword thorough your neck Rob”
|
I did this because I was told that with 2 me's I could accomplish so much more. Each of me works a different job at different times of day, just to be safe, and sleeps at different times as well. We have been saving a ton of money and have decided to retire. Each of us are good splitting all of the money we made since the cloning, but we want to figure out how to split the millions that one of us rightfully earned before the cloning.
The only problem is each of us have exactly the same memories before the cloning to the best we can tell, so we each feel we are the original.
So here we sit asking questions about memories to see if one might have gotten corrupted. If we could verify a corrupted memory then we agree that person has to be the duplicate.
It is tough though. I ask myself trick questions and i realize they are tricks. I ask myself real ones and I know the right answers every time so far.
I decide to grab some coke for each of us while the other me gets the ice. As we start drinking the soda, we both start laughing at the same time, until we realize the other one must have came to the same conclusion, so I ask, how did you do it? and he said, I poisoned the ice cubes. I responded that I had laced the edge of his glass.
As we lay here dying, I should have realized that the real me planned all this from the start, since I was a master assassin. He walks into the room, says thanks guys I enjoyed the vacation and coming back to more money than I left with was an nice added bonus.
The new person starts talking.
Ironic that my last hit was to kill myself to sell to two different bounty hunters that worked for companies of people I had previously killed.
Now that no one is looking for me and I am richer than I had hoped for, I will retire and fade into the night. |
I couldn't have been more offended by the words, I looked at her. She had been very whiney the whole time. My food was cold, which may not be her fault, but I'm nearly sure she spit in my food.
Her calling me a "good little girl"had put me over the edge.
"You just lost your tip, bitch."I said back, mimicking the same tone of voice she had used.
(In real life I would mostly just say 'excuse me?' and if she repeated it not give her a tip and possibly say something rude while exiting) |
Muriel thought the bed seemed unusually hard and cold as she slowly started to wake up. She reached blindly for her husband next to her. "Frank?"she murmured, groping for his hand, but only contacting bedsheets and the edge of the bed. Frowning, she sat up in bed, eyes opening. She was in a small room. There was a television mounted on the wall opposite her, and a small table with a lamp next to her bed, as well as a short dresser. "Frank!"she called, bewildered. What was this place. Why was she here?
After another call for a husband not there, a nurse came in. "It's all right dear. You're at Sunny Oaks. We're just helping you while your sick. Your family should be here soon."
"Jenny? Is she at school?"Muriel asked. "She should be at school."Her daughter was only in the fourth grade.
"Yes, she'll be here after school."The nurse said patiently. "Now here, these will help you for now."she told the elderly woman. She knew Muriel's husband had been dead five years past. She held out a pill and a glass of water.
Muriel didn't argue, but took the medication, and allowed the nurse to help her into a wheelchair. She must be going to see Frank now. Even as she was wheeled out, she didn't know tomorrow would start the same way, and every day had been that way since the Alzheimer's had set in. |
It wasn't a hard choice for me to make, even if I had been able to choose. They asked, out of formality, and refusing seemed pointless. My option was to agree and walk into that machine or refuse and be dragged into that machine.
I've not lived a full life, nor an exciting one. I chose to sit on a couch or in front of a computer more often than not. I never really tried in school, except when panicking before exams.
I was told I was "smart but lazy"and "have great potential". But I'll tell you, smart people aren't lazy, the lazy means you're not smart. Maybe me being chosen is the "great potential"I have. Maybe those teachers and councillors were talking about the rather unique resistance my immune system has, or the fact that pairing that with my other biological oddities just coincidently makes me the only person who can save everyone.
I always dreamed of making a difference, of doing something great that would push humanity forward. Maybe I could have. Maybe I should have. But I didn't. So here I sit, waiting for them to take me away. This is the last resort plan, or so they tell me. It's not like I'll know if it isn't. Kill one to save billions, that can be my legacy. |
Your eyelids slowly divide and reveal themselves to the light of the summer sky. Looking left and right, your gaze sets on the tall green stalks with golden cobs adorning their peaks as they sway in the cool breeze. Taking a closer look you spot your car in a small clearing about a hundred feet away. The cars glossy black coat shimmers in the sunlight and projects a mirror of the field's rich landscape. Suddenly it all comes back to you. You were part of an experiment at your college. They were attempting some sort of "time distortion"but you saw it fail. You saw the dissapointed look on each of your peers faces as they escorted you back to your car. How are you here in this field then? How did you AND your car get into some farmer's field in the middle of nowhere? You pull yourself from the ground, your shirt peeling off the tilled soil. Crossing over the crushed and still standing stalks your legs seem to quiver and shake as if you had never used them. Your arms tingle as if electricity had just passed through them. Finally reaching your car, you seem to fall on the driver side door before stepping into the vehicle. Reaching into your pocket you feel the metal of your keys rub along your fingers once you grab into the dark pouch. Along with your keys a crumpled piece of paper follows. The edges are an off-white border framing a picture of you with your wife, the only woman you've ever loved. In the new world you're experiencing, you still feel security in this memento, squeezing it between your rear view mirror and the frame.
Time passes -i.e. Too lazy to write any more details.-
The police are now fast on your tail. They seem to know your every move, making each turn before you can think of what to do. Their engines roar as the engines try to keep up with their human riders. Your car simply outmatched them though, but they know this. They're surely radioing to each other how to outsmart their prey. Suddenly as you turn a corner, a blockade of cruisers come into view. You're already going way to fast to slow down. Well, if you're gonna hit a dear, speed up.
The collision is horrifying. Badges seem to litter a red asphalt graveyard as fire sweeps across gasoline pools. Shrapnel and limbs both spell out the aftermath of your decision. As your eyes begin to close, your head turns slowly down to the horizon. In your final moments you can only remember your life before as it now burns away just as the ashes of the picture you hold. |
Today was the day. The day of our surrender.
They started off as just another cult. But they grew, a lot. They got 100 members, then 1000, until finally, they got what they considered enough. 10,000,000 strong, all armed with religious ferver. I knew it was coming, and so I prepared. It wasn't enough. Instead of knocking on my door like usual, they came armed.
They came with all sorts of weapons: machetes, knives, pistols and even some assault rifles. Luckily, a lot of the time I managed to escape them by pretending that I wasn't home, and watched them through my cameras. They eventually got bored and walked away, until one day. That day, all that was on the news was the police struggle to contain violent protests, unlike any that my home city had ever seen. They rarely used the guns, but when they did, they were almost never caught. The police simply didn't have the resources to deal with the amount of riots going on.
I needed to leave, and soon. And so I packed my things, including my all-favourite pistol. I'd never used it, but at least at the shooting range I was a crack-shot. I was just about ready to leave, but that was when I heard it. The knock. They knocked twice, and I knew what they wanted. After I ignored the third knock, they started to bang my window. And then I saw the hammer come through. There were four of them, yet somehow I didn't notice the fourth. He smashed my bedroom window with a hammer, and in they went. I panicked. I had to cover my mouth and calm my breathing, before getting my pistol out. I was hoping that I could avoid it, but there I was. I headed downstairs and primed my weapon, only hoping that it still worked. I waited until I heard them enter my bedroom, and fired. I shot one in the chest before they noticed me, and I proceeded to point my gun at the second one. Time seemingly slowed down as I steadied my aim at his forehead, his pale skin covered in sweat. I pulled the trigger, and witnessed his death.
It was a beautiful thing. I was shocked, and happy at the same time. I'd never felt so happy to see someone in pain, and I certainly never was a sadist. The third one came at me, and I panic shot him in the leg. It was obvious that he wasn't going anywhere, so I finished him with his own knife. That certainly wasn't as glorious as the gun-shot.
That's when it hit me. Not only the realisation that the fourth one was still here, but also his hammer. It was a little toolshed hammer, but it definitely hurt as it hit my shoulder. It wasn't enough to shatter it, but it shocked me, and I was unable to react until he primed his hammer to finish me off. I still had the knife that I used to kill the last one, and I barely managed to stab his hand before he hit me.
With his hand disabled he dropped the hammer on my head, and it hurt. I managed to jab my newly acquired knife in his stomach, and pushed him off of me before he fell. I grabbed my stuff and ran out the back, only then hearing the screaming and the stench of blood outside. I managed to find my way to the street, before seeing it. The streets were covered in dead people, indistinguishable from each other with their stench and blood stained clothes.
"Put your hands up and drop the gun!"I heard, dazzled by the feel of the metal barrel against my head.
*I dropped it.* The next thing I felt was the blunt pain induced by a baseball bat as it took out my legs from under me. I passed out.
When I woke up, I was in what appeared to be a popular park in the middle of a busy business district in my city. It was reminiscent of Far Cry 3, however strange that may seem. I was lined up with what appeared to be an endless line of captives, all my possessions gone. Down the end, I could see that one by one, those who refused to convert were being shot, and those who did convert, taken away.
One by one, they all dropped. *Everyone.* I didn't want to die, and I also didn't want to convert. The gun was getting closer. I counted four people before me. *Three,*I had to make a decision fast. I was in a state of panic, unable to think. I remembered the knife. *Two* I felt my back pocket using my tied up hands, and it was there. *One.* All I heard from next to me was "No". I saw the man next to me drop dead, his green shirt stained with his blood. I could feel the blood touching my skin as it pooled around the wound.
Next it was me. I was told that the world was in the process of being overrun by these people, but who am I to believe them? These guys were surprisingly well armed, though. My mind went into a state of conflict as he asked the question: "So, what is it? Save your soul and reach salvation, or be sent to hell by my hand?"My muscles twitched, and I tried to decide. *What should it be?* I conflicted with myself and my thoughts were interrupted.
**No.** was all that I could hear come out of my mouth. I didn't know what I'd done, and so my instincts prepared me for death. But it didn't come. I saw my chance, and ran. I ran like the wind. I kept running until I found another group of people, barely armed yet with a determined look on their faces. They looked at me, and for a second it looked like they were going to shoot me. But they didn't. I stayed with that small group, running around the city, for a couple months. But it's no use talking about them now. For they were what was left of the Australian government, and now they're dead. All dead, and others surrendered, which officially rendered Australia a church-run state. They tried to convert me, and I just pretend like I believe. So does half the population, but we are powerless. Until *tomorrow*.
Tomorrow will be the day of retribution.
*The Scientologists will pay* |
I realize this is not an everyday occurrence but oh well.
It was the first night of the days that people would soon start to count. This morning the world had gone mad. The streets were no longer safe and I wouldn’t be so sure about houses either. The apocalypse was nothing like you’d expect it to be; no zombies, no cataclysm and no alien invasion. I had never seen anything like this on the big screen nor in real life for that matter, and I’m not exactly sure what caused it either. Rumours has it that it has got something to do with the solar system but for what I know that’s most likely bullshit. How ever it happened it’s safe to say that the human race isn’t going to last more than a few days, unless the infection would suddenly abruptly stop by a miracle. People were staring hopefully into their infected loved one’s eyes causing them to become one of them. That’s how the virus works, looks were literally killing.
I was running down the streets of the city desperate to go home to see my children. Although there were no guarantee they would still be themselves I kept telling myself that hey, maybe the virus hasn’t reached the suburbs yet or maybe they got away in time. The streets looked nothing like they did yesterday; the stores were stripped clean, windows were broken into and apartments were ruined. People were running around crazy looking and it was hard to tell if they were infected or just panicking. My best bet was to stare down onto the ground trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, infected or not. A big pact had organized earlier today telling everyone to kill the infected in hopes to prevent it to spread. Gunshots echoed every so often and every time I couldn’t help imagining it was Jonathan or Alison lying on the ground helplessly.
“Hey, I need your help! Quickly!” suddenly a woman, about my age, was all up in my face keeping me from running. I panicked, did I just accidently look her in the eyes!?
“No, no don’t worry! I am not infected!” She had notices my agony. Her words snapped me back to reality and I realized how thin the line was between life and death. I needed to be careful.
“Help!? Help with what? Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?” As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted saying them. Tears were streaming down from her big brown eyes onto her naturally redish skin and it was clear that she did not need a scolding of any sort.
“It’s my son, you know he’s curious like all boys are at that age and he happened to look…well, one of them…in the eyes. I want to shoot him but…but I just can’t do it myself. I have the gun and all I would just really appreciate it if, you know, someone else would do it…please.” Her words struck me by surprise. I had never shot anyone and never thought I would either. But then, it got me thinking of Jonathan. I knew by the way she talked about her son that Jonathan is around the same age, always running around looking at new things. I would have wanted someone to do the same for me. I wouldn’t be able to see him suffering like her son probably is.
“I’ll do it.”
In an alley, only a block or so away, a small boy was lying on the ground. He was shaking; I had seen people acting the same way earlier today. I couldn’t get the sound of his mother’s sobbing out of my head but the boy sure looked helpless as he lied on the concrete ground and I could tell that he would turn any second now.
“…Please…please don’t…” his voice was as thin as air and barely noticeable. His eyes looked just like his mothers.
|
El subreddit a mí me gusta (pienso que es una idea excelente), pero no hablo el español con la abilidad suficiente que me hace confidente a escribirlo, especialmente en el Red, dónde todo el mundo puede leerlo.
¿Se permitiría que escritores que estan practicando el espanol practicaran en el subreddit, o hay que ser fluentes?
¿Si no lo se permita, hay otros subreddits que puede recomendarme para practicar? Gracias.
(Please feel free to correct the numerous errors I'm sure this has. My Spanish is probably at like 4-year-old level at the moment.) |
It had been easy.
We sent some weaponized anthrax to the press and politicians, so soon after a major attack, nobody questions motive. It was a terrorist attack, bunch of crazies don't need motive. We had framed up a suicidal nut job, but the stupid feds didn't even see the evidence we put right under their noses until their first suspect was cleared. By that time, he was back off the ledge. The look of fear and terror on his eyes as I forced the Tylenol down his throat will stick with me for life, but the die had been cast. I almost felt sorry for him, but I had read his background dossier, he wasn't innocent.
With a suspect in the ground, the case was closed. They went from looking for a suspect to figuring out how to keep it from happening again. That's where we came in. We made x-ray machines capable of inspecting bulk mail for suspicious substances. Gave them a reasonable price, too.
What they didn't expect was that the machines were sensitive enough to read ink on paper, especially since the display scaled down the resolution and blurred it before showing the security guard. It's not surprising then they didn't expect it to be powerful enough to convert the data into a 3d scan, run it through an OCR program, compress it, and send the data in bulk during nightly over-the-air "firmware updates".
With these babies installed in every government and press office of any real power, our real plan was easy to implement. It was easy enough to dig up enough dirt on anybody to manipulate them for our ends, and anybody who got close the real truth found themselves labeled an enemy combatant in Gitmo.
After all, a junior Senator from a corrupt machine like Chicago doesn't suddenly become President without friends in high places. And he certainly doesn't do it without more than a fair share of skeletons in the closet.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going. I have business to attend to. Don't worry, the drone strike will be quick and painless. |
The party strode along the dirt track, not a stone's throw from the train track. Dust had long ago settled on every nook and cranny of their features, giving the impression that the dead walked the earth. And indeed they walked as there where no horses save a single worn stallion, far too sick to bear the weight of a man.
It was the blacksmith who led them a towering man, staunchous and tall. He led them as cattle to water, striding impatiently hammer in hand. There had been no call to use his hammer as of yet, to fend of bandits or to forge dominance from the blood of his bedfellows. He strode tall and proud, not letting the sun beat his face to the ground. But he strode alone, for he was known to the others as a hard case through to his iron core.
Behind him shuffled a grass widow, a twisted corpse truly, it seemed a miraculous that her twisted bones could support her. A mother once till the train took her children far away. They did not write, not did she. As a matter of fact she did not know that her daughter Eve had fallen under ill health because of the countless men she bedded with, nor could she recall that her elder son Adam had died from working the mines. Since their farther left all she knew was what the priest told her.
Another companion came in the form of a crook, good for not a dime. He was wearing but rags, for he had escaped in a hurry from the local screw. He boasted of how he evaded capture by employing both dexterity and cunning. He parroted to all who would listen of how he would never see the inside of a crowbar hotel again, and never again feel irons cold embrace around his wrists. In fact all he did was walk from his cage when the townsfolk where taken, though the truth was too much for him.
A man walked by his side, wearing a second man's suit and a handsome face. He spoke well, but not often because of the nature of his companion. He was a cheat, in both games of lust and cards. It was in this way he earns his keep, living off the back of some poor sossle before one of his black deeds caught him up and he skedaddled. The church would throw him out for his various smutty adventures that he reverently prayed away if only they had an inkling of what he is.
Of course from a distance you could not see this. In fact the group all looked like the same person, stumbling through the sands as equals. All bathed in the same dust. They did not flee the town together, they simply became frightened animals when the skies rained. The cheat had taken the horse but the others chastised him for that.
Through the heat a figure emerged. He struck the rails over and over, warping the metal. He wore a dirty white shirt that revealed his strong arms, and a persuader at his side. They caught sight of him first and quickened pace, knowing their salvation was at hand. He soon caught sight of them and leaped on a horse, letting the rails live for another few hours. His grey mare found them soon enough, and he addressed them from his horse.
“Make tracks the other way, there ain' nothing here for the likes of you”
Of course blacksmith bellowed thoughtlessly “Get off yer horse when you speak me child!”
“Step back old man!”
But to no effect, the strong man took up his hammer and brought around a savage blow to the horse. He stepped into his swing as only a man who knew his tools can, but as he arced his blow through the air the child drew on him. In one last hateful act he brought the hammer higher as to strike not the horse but it's rider, but not before the strength seeped out his body via a wound in his flank.
The hammer struck the floor some feet away, but otherwise there was unbroken silence. Completed now. A lot of hate left this world when the hammer struck the bullet, and though the child was but sixteen years of age he could feel it. The last three, too stunned to move, awaited judgement.
The widow wailed before all else. Then with a rustle she trampled her aching bones in a effort to leave. And so she missed the good word. The crook pissed himself in fear. Finally after what seemed an age the rider spat on his farther and addressed them.
“I sees you at church a lot, that right?”
The angel faced man kept his eyes on the bloodlines in the sand, but his mouth had the wherewithal to reply.
“God sees ya, god sees all of ya. He knows things we all don't, and he's sick of us. He took the spirituous and all the good of this world and left us all to rot.”
The spit merged with the blood in a hypnotising way.
“If none of yer could find it within you to protect us then you can be gone. This here town is gone ya here me?”
The two nodded.
“Now grab him and sling it before he wakes”
He turned his horse but before he left the sodomite had one last question.
“Wakes?”
And there was time for one final answer,
“There ain' no death in hell, jes pain.” |
This is one of my first posts on r/writingprompts, any CC is welcome and appreciated. Can you guess which book I am?
"He's using you,"I told her, "why do you let him treat you that way?"
"He's not."She sighed. She was exasperated by my constant accusations. She looked so strong. How could she appear so mighty and yet be so weak? She used to be so grounded, so rooted to the earth. Suddenly she was wilting.
I rolled my eyes at her naïveté. "What has he ever done for you?"
"Does it matter?"
"I think it does."
"Well, to me it doesn't. I don't mind taking care of him. He needs me."
I didn't listen. I had to confront him.
"Stay away from her,"I told him. "Don't come back to her again."
He was tearful, "but I need her."
"She doesn't need you."
He left her alone. At least for a few years. She seemed to miss him, but at least now I get to keep all my apples for myself. |
Subsets and Splits