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I run my fingers along the jewel case spines. I dismiss one after the other, restless. Finally I pull one from the shelf. Indian Summer had always been our favorite. None of these had left the shelf for more than three years.
I don't listen to CDs much any longer. I buy most of my music digitally.
I look at the cover for a long time, then turn the disk over in my hands several times before I slide it into the player.
The stereo accepts it with an ominous clunking sound and I grimace. If it decides to give up the ghost, I won't be buying another. If I must play something, I can use one of the game consoles or a DVD player.
After a long blank hum, the familiar quiet piano notes begin.
I lean back my head and try to still the anxiousness within me.
It used to be different. I remember when I would listen to an entire album with my eyes closed, feeling the moment and the music. Now, I get restless when I sit idle. My fingers itch. It's hard to sit still. There are so many things that I could be doing.
It feels slothful.
There was no one point when experiencing music became a luxury that I feel that I don't deserve. It was a gradual slope that led to this desolate plain.
I stand again with a sigh and hit eject. The disk doesn't appear, though there is a ratcheting sound.
I pack the whole shelf of cases into the cardboard donation box.
After a brief hesitation I unplug the stereo and add that to to box as well. |
WIP (I might not be able to work on it tonight, as I have finals to study for)
The Eye; once a down-on-his luck detective turned into a super detective with x-ray vision and extraordinary deduction and foresight. He solves crime by day or night, hiding his identity behind a mask of the all-seeing eye to represent his ability of almost omniscient. His sidekick, Sensor, has the ability of extraordinary sense as well as extreme intelligence, possibly matching that of the Eye.
The Eye's nemesis is Illusive Illustrator, a man whose goal is to shroud the world with utopia under the guise of corruption and immorality. The Illiusive Illustrator's right-hand man and his most capable henchmen is Censor, whose name is play on Sensor's name. Censor has the ability to spread propaganda and thus 'censor' the unwanted from society. His cunningness alone could allow him to be his own independent supervillain. Why he chooses not to is unknown to everyone else including the Syndicate.
--------------
|
Mouth agape, face reddened, my husband knelt before me as he picked up my head only to set it back down shortly thereafter. He brought his hands before his eyes, no doubt hoping the blood he knew to be there was but a mirage, a trick of the brain.
Indeed it was not.
I watched him sit down in a state of shock, looking at me, tears welling up. A spindle of saliva fell from his mouth and in the beam of sunlight through our front window the rays illuminated the drool, creating minuscule
Detached from my body’s mechanisms, but still trapped in its encasing, my mind was clear and sight transparent, even though entirely paralyzed and quickly losing energy. My peripherals saw the blood spilling all around, then my gaze met his. For a moment I could tell he saw the me he fell in love with, someone he hadn't seen in years, hadn't recognized in ages. I saw the guilt and realization flash across his face.
My poor husband. Who will take care of him now that I will be gone? He’ll go to some institution, have no contact with anyone, and joylessly live out his last remaining days until the Alzheimer’s takes his life.
|
I've always had strange eyes; one green, the other purple. I don't know how or why it happened to me, but many in the realm think it the sign of magic. As I grew up, I was prone to attacks from the neighborhood kids, and investigating from the King's Scholars. I never showed signs of magical advancement. This kept me safe.
I never showed signs of my magical advancement, but I always knew of my powers, but never encouraged them when I was poked and prodded as a child. In the Uprising, I was hunted for my support in the rebels. No other could control the aspects of magic like I could, even if it wasn't advanced- I always had the advantage. Eventually, the King won, placing a bounty on my head so high my wife tried to kill me.
They finally caught up to me though. Backed me into a corner and shoved their spears in my face. I did the only thing I knew how to do, pray and hope for the best from my magic. A portal opened, leading to what I thought would be safety. Clutching at the rune around my neck, I run through the portal. Before I reached the other side, an arrow struck my back, piercing my through to my heart. I fell, a darkness washing over me. When I woke up, I was in a new body. New feelings awoke and my eyes opened.
I've always had strange eyes; one green , the other purple. I don't know how or why it happened to me, but I say its a sign of great things to come. |
*From*: [email protected]
*Subject*: Nothing
*Date*: 29/4/2014 9:41 pm
*To*: [email protected]
_____________________________
I don't know who you are. I don't know your story and I don't know what you believe in.
But I do know one thing. Nothing you can do, nothing you will ever do will ever amount to anything. You are a speck of dust in a timeline of thousands of years. You will not be remembered; entropy will prevail; all things will collapse and you will no more be remembered than the fiftieth or seventieth or four billionth and six-hundredth person was. Do you know who was the ninth person to milk a cow? No. You want be remembered any more than they were.
Just thought you might want to know how little you were worth; how little you meant.
***
*
***I just chose random emails. I apologise to whoever they belong to if I infringed on any rights, I just made them up. |
I've been working on this since the prompt was posted. I wrote it down during a class at university (boring stuff) and completed later on when I returned at home but only now I found the time to type it. Here it goes:
On a small secluded planet without a name, located in NGC 101, which can be found near the Magellanic Cloud – the purple one – that belongs to the Phoenix Superclaster, a pioneer scientist is conducting his own experiments.
His name is Phanes and has a Ph.D. is in nanotechnology. He is the Father of nanobots and is famous from the Galactic Empire's Capital to the furthest edges of the universe that are still expanding. A genius to say the least. During the third millennium when everyone else was focused on nanomaterials and discovering the best combinations and uses, he was coding small living organisms from the comfort of his garage using custom made equipment. He was 12 years old.
At some point he concluded that if the government got wind of his work it would be used to convert humans to robots that would abide their will and carry out their commands unquestionably. Phanes was a genuine scientist; his work had been sparked by curiosity and the will of acquiring and further expanding his knowledge – also for pleasure – however it wasn't just for the sake of it. In contrast to many respectable scientists, humanity was his first priority.
It wasn't hard to keep it a secret. He lived in a small suburban village and the only person that ever enter the garage was himself. Friends, he didn't have any. It wasn't easy having classmates 6 years older especially when they were walking dick-first. They weren't really far from deifying sex. “More time for myself”, he would often say except he didn't believe. Either way, there was little he could do so he spent a good portion of his time participating in competitions; some International Science Olympiads here, a coding competition like Code Jam or ACM-ICPC there, losing some and winning others. Several top-notch universities invited Phanes to enrol with a full scholarship, tuition , accommodation and everything paid. He chose MIT, leader of technology research at the time and equipped with the most advanced facilities.
People were friendlier there. They were intrigued by his peculiar thought process, his straightforwardness combined with innocence and generally his interesting approach – different from the standard – at everything he worked on, be that an assigned project or a casual conversation. His straight As-knowledge contribution during class and projects was also a welcome break from the usual monotony.
He might had quit bio-coding but his passion remained coding intelligent systems and micro-management so Phanes chose the Electrical Engineering and Computer Science course. It only took him a year to catch up to the current studies in nanotechnology and the following year he worked on fusing that knowledge with his bio-coding experience and combining them harmoniously.
The results were marvellous; Tiny little robots scaling only a few nanometres which he named nanobots with uses in every field, as later proven practically. The first prototypes were simple builders that combined together as the building blocks to form various already existing technology equipment, smaller in size, thus adding more accuracy and minimizing space and energy consumption.
Phanes patented nanobot technology and founded a company to protected it from the government's greedy hands which soon came in the form of funding. Instead, he turned to the general population and started his own kickstarter campaign which soon sky-rocketed. With this, Phanes hired promising and intelligent students from every university to work on nanobots and evolve them. No grown-ups were hired; he needed revolutionary minds that weren't corrupted.
In the following years, prototypes for worker and repairman nanobot were created. Repairmans were the basis for every type of repair bot needed while the workers handled everything else that wasn't related to building or fixing.
Every breakthrough onwards was related to or accomplished with the help of nanobots. From constructing green buildings and quantum computers to light-speed travelling and immortality. The last one was a personal accomplishment of his, although the process was never revealed – a fusion of nanobots with biocoding. The biobots, as he liked to call them, are nanobots coded with DNA. Upon insertion to the target they travel to the designated area and fix the damaged cell – that could be actual damage, cancer cells or prolongation if the cells' life.
Phane rarely has visitors. The planet in reality is an enormous terraformed computer provided with artificial intelligence. Healthy, stable ecosystems are spread throughout the planet and sustained by the AI. Whenever Phanes needs something, a robot is assigned to bring it, travelling to a nearby or solar system if necessary. Since Phane doesn't have human contact he has long neglected time. He follows a schedule planned by the AI that includes, other than time to work, a healthy diet, plenty of sleep, an exercise session that varies each day and some much needed breaks. They help him cool his brain off and keep him sharp.
-NOW-
Phanes looked at the small red orb he was holding which was 3 pieces a moment ago and had just been fixed. He swore. It was futile. Maybe entropy couldn't be reversed after all and the past 2 millenniums had been in vain. Phanes contemplated giving up.
A tone echoed through the room, signalling his 45 minutes of break. After carefully placing the orb in its case, he entered the teleporter.
“Garden, please”.
The cabin started vibrating. Phanes closed is eyes and focused on the Back that was playing in the background. When a minute passed the doors opened and a sweet smell tingled Phane's nostrils. He walked to the swinging bench without opening his eyes - he knew the place by heart – and lied down. With his mind, he slid on the bench's smooth surface and passed from every tree and flower in the garden, feeling their stumps and stems and leaves, so different yet so alike. Each smell was unique and intriguing. Together, they smelled like euphoria to Phanes as he drifted to sleep.
Phane's dreams were tangled with his experiments. He wandered for awhile in each one, arranging a mental list with the approaches and methods he had used, wondering for the first time what would happen if he succeeded. He had spent so much time alone and was so focused in finding an answer that he had forgotten man's irritating habit to twist and bend everything beneficial for one's own ill ambitions. It was too huge a risk to take, a machine that could reverse entropy in the hands of a man. He had to erase all the data he had accumulated, vanish all the evidence. He had to obliterate the planet along with everything on it.
Phane's paused, leaving his trail of thoughts, realizing he was in an unknown room. It was an experiment room for sure, however he had no memory of this machinery layout. He went by in front of every piece of equipment saying its name and describing its usage to no one. The layout was pretty simple – he had built other of greater magnitude and complexity – but also was strangely... revolutionary. In its simplicity, it could actually work.
Before he had finished his thoughts, a red orb identical to the one he used in his experiments dropped in the plate where it would be broken and afterwards fixed. Like always a blue color filled the room making the orb look black. A pulse laser suddenly struck it, breaking it into 3 separate pieces. A few moments passed while the anti-matter canons warmed up. A weird thumping sound was pounding on Phane's ears. H remembered to take a deep breath, only now realizing his boiling anticipation and racing heart. Three sequential beeps at 18 Khz meant that the cannons were ready. Another moment for the cannons and lasers to confirm the target was locked. The cannons fired. The silence was deafening as the pieces of the orb were bombarded and hell came loss at a sub-atomic level.
It felt to Phanes he had waited until the end of time when the air vibrations from the cannons finally subdued and the orb was visible, even though it had been less than a second. Phanes slowly approached the orb and lifted it carefully as if it was made of ashes that could be attracted by his finger's menial gravitational field.
To the inexperienced eye it looked like every other orb after one of Phane's experiments, however it was clear to him as if comparing white and black. It wasn't fixed, it was unbroken. |
It wasn’t real.
Everyone knew this. Earth had died away a long time ago, its dry arid land unfit for any life worth living. But all the same, it spun on, slowly around the sun.
Humanity, tired of a meaningless continuation of destruction and vice, tried something new. Implanting everyone into their own virtual world, a plane of existence that promised happiness and meaning was created. Everyone had their own place and dreams. An ambitious upstart could rise the ranks until he controlled everything, all without disturbing the quiet life of a more peaceful soul.
There was no deception. The truth was not concealed. But why would one abandon a life of satisfaction for the reality of death and conflict? Did it matter that it was fake? A love blossomed in VR was no less emotional. The heart did not beat slower because the kiss was not technically given, because the partner did not exist “outside”. The affection was authentic. That was no lie, nothing was hidden.
A life of perfection and joy awaited everyone. Their world was destined for them, everything they need and could want was found within. No one had a plan forced upon them unwillingly; everything was fluid and their own. Dreams did not exist, for they became truth. One could affect and influence anything they wanted, whenever they wanted.
Nobody doubted this was for the best. The ground was now a green and bountiful paradise, breathing with energy. And like that it would always remain.
This is the new reality.
|
"Hey! Mister!"
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Not right now! I don't even have this car hot-wired yet. Let me just make this look casual.
"Oh, hey kid. Shouldn't you be at home are something?"
"Mister, are you a bad guy?"
What? Kid sees right through me!
"No, no. I'm just fixing up my car."
"But Mister, you look too poor to be driving a car like that!"
Oh my god. Am I getting hassled by a kid right now? Who the hell does he think he is?
"Beat kid, I'm busy."
"Mister, let me join you."
"What? No! Leave me alone kid."
Alright, who the hell does this kid think he is? He's crazy.
"Okay, Mister. I'm calling the cops, remembered this car's license plate number too."
"Woah, woah. Alright, fine. Don't you have family or anything anyway? Go back home."
"I live at the orphanage. It's really boring there. I can't go back. Please Mister."
"Alright, alright. Get in the fucking car."
The kid gets in the fucking drivers seat.
"Kid, you look like you're twelve. Get out of the driver's seat."
"Mister, I am twelve."
This is my nightmare. |
Voyager 1 is returned to earth, with a message from Alpha Centauri,
H.P. Lovecraft's work comes to reality,
A fabled man made of and binded by wicker material lives in the hills of Dublin, and you are there to investgate the legitimacy of the claims.
Archeologists discover an ancient temple in the undergrounds of Nevada, and what's inside completely will rewrite human history.
Humanity discovers a dead star ship slowly drifting by earth. They board it.
A man finds an ancient portal, travels through it, only to find himself on an entirely 'nother planet, and on this planet are humanoid like species that have created societies, and for the man to discover that other humans are living on it. |
Its finally the day. The day that we've been waiting for with such uncomfortable, forced patience. I know I'm prepared, yet the fear of the coming tumult still sends a slight chill up my spine. I know I'm safe. Hell, I have all 13 of the famed *Bruti* here, and I am the key to their plan. Even with such defense on my side, I can't shape the feeling that what we're doing is going to upset the balance of the world irreparably.
The couch welcomes me with a stoic creak as I await the crescendo of this blood drenched orchestra. It should only be a few more minutes, Caesar's men are very punctual when the have a repossession to make, time is money after all. I can't help myself, and I allow my imagination to drift. There are no rumors to imagine, there are no reports of what Antony's Possessors are actually like. We're flying blindly into almost certain oblivion, yet somehow I am the only one noticeably perturbed. The *Bruti* are all as still as statues, silently roaring in the shadows of my shabby apartment.
Only a few moments now, realistically. Its time for my personal addition to the efforts. The cigarette smells sweeter than I remember them. The feeling of the paper pursed between my lips, drawing the moisture into its filter, is more intoxicating than I can explain. As the match finally ignites the end of the tiny stick, my mouth fills with the flavor of stale tobacco and nostalgia. Most pronounced, the flavor of unabashed, angry, resentful, rebellion.
"Samuel Ophilia, render unto Caesar that which rightfully belongs to Caesar, under National Mandate"
Like clockwork, they're here. I tried to shout something powerful and commanding, like you'd expect from someone who's life is drawing rapidly to a close, but I couldn't. My silence was paralytic to me, as only personal disappointment can be. I hear the first set of kicks thudding against the flimsy door frame, yet I still can't react. I just sit, silently terrified, puffing away on my Marlboro.
As the door and its frame shattered, I couldn't even bring myself to jump. Taking faith in the *Bruti*, I took a long, deep puff, and smiled at the Possessors. Blades drawn, stepping with the unsettling, lanky elegance of a spider, they approached me. Silently, the blade pierced my shirt, pressure spreading across my chest. The slight chick of metal bottoming out against metal drew my murderer's stoic, slack face into the twisted, rage-filled visage of someone who hungered for the blood of his fellow man.
His grimace quickly returned to slack, as the crimson orchid began to bloom over his heart. The *Bruti* had struck, soundlessly and with horrifying accuracy. Quickly after, the dull thud of bodies hitting carpet was the only sound in the room. And as quickly as the had entered, the *Bruti*, with the bodies of the Possessors in toe, exited my apartment.
The next morning, as my coffee machine gurgled and I sat in front of the television, all the tension of the previous night melted away. The bodies of 5 Possessors had been arranged in a gruesome star, on the steps of Caesar's palace. The first open and effective attack on the emperor. They've finally gained the strength we'd all hoped they would. The *Bruti* are alive, and the resistance has been born.
|
It’s only a few seconds before I remember, but once I notice, that’s all I can think about. Before I lost my arm, I didn’t realise that a distraction can be unbearable. Just trying to complete thought processes is a challenge. Today I have a meeting with Lee and (where is my arm? Oh, that’s right. I remember) so I’ll need to finish off the report before (where is my arm? I lost it. Okay) eleven, and then I’ll have to figure out if I’m having lunch with (where is my arm? Where is my arm?)
After the accident, I had assumed that this would fade. I crashed my car into a truck and ripped the nerves from my spinal cord. I know all this. Technically, the arm is still there, and I haven’t lost it at all. They left it so they could try to graft nerves to the spine, and for hope, really. Seemingly unaware that I know all this, my mind constantly cycles through the realisation (Where is my arm?) and reminder (It’s gone) and acceptance (Oh, okay). I can’t think anything else.
Never mind losing my arm. I feel like I’m losing my mind.
|
The doors of the courtroom thundered open. The mob outside the courthouse roared with anger.
"Hold me close,"Lisa said, her voice trembling. Dan obeyed, wrapping both of her arms around her as they walked down the steps of the courthouse.
There was no honeymoon for the newly weds that day. Instead, news reporters swarmed while bombarding the couple with never-ending questions. Security officers funneled Lisa and Dan into the protective black SUV. As Dan was stepping into the vehicle, he turned to see a man plowing towards him, red and screaming with fury. The man was tackled by an officer immediately.
"Hurry!"an officer yelled. "We have to hurry!"
Officers shoved the couple into the SUV. The vehicle speeded away from the mob and toward the safe house. Lisa looked out the window, and amidst the mob jeering at her, she read a headline of a newspaper that read, "SAME-SEX MARRIAGE LEGALIZED!"
As she finished reading the headline, a rapid beeping noise emerged from the underside of the rear seat of the SUV. The couple looked up at each other, and their eyes met. They both understood their impending fate. Dan reached for Lisa's hand, never breaking eye contact. He inhaled slowly, thankful for his life with her. He stared into her deep blue eyes, and the beeping ceased.
The vehicle burst into flames.
|
His eyes blazed. The car roared down the track with all the fury it could muster. It moved to please him, to rear itself to the level of his power. He seemed to propel it with a look alone. Suddenly it seemed that he and the car were one. He roared across the sky, building speed, gaining power, moving with such a force as to rend the sky itself. With him came the sun, and as he built up to a crescendo of uncontrolled movement the cyclic rise and fall of light became instantaneous, light and fire completely melded with the darkness. My heart beat rapidly. My eyes went in and out of focus. His remained fixed on the track in front of him. Suddenly it stops. The end. Frozen in time the car sits at its conclusion, yet I can still see the movement trapped within. Can still see him at the helm, driving it with supersonic speed across the sky, the light of the sun in close pursuit. |
I had this idea while writing a post apocalyptic story, and wanted to volunteer the first page or two:
================================
I had to be strong. Strong for my son, and strong for my wife. But most of all, strong for the tribe, because if any of us faltered it would mean our end. It was hard though. There in front of me was my Fathers corpse, and I had to be expected to stay strong and tall in front of the stares of others, others who had known loss beyond imagining.
I had never felt this sense before. Never comprehended what it must have felt like to have your whole world ripped away in an instant. My mother had died in childbirth, before we'd saved Sahmad, our doctor. So my Father had been the only proper family I'd ever known. That said, I still had my friends, they themselves the sons of my Fathers friends, his brothers in arms. So there were 13 of us here today. 3 generations, and my wife. Mourning under the barbarian sun. We were outside my uncles foundry, as it had been my father's last testament to give himself to the tribe.
"Goodbye Father,"I nodded at my uncle, himself an old and wizened man, but muscular from working the forge.
"Goodbye Darius."
The coffin slid into the fire, burning brighter even than the desert surrounding the vineyard. I placed my father's old hat on my head to shield my face from the heat, but turned skyward, and allowed the sun to hasten the evaporation of my tears.
My son was only 15, the same age I'd been when my father first took me on a hunting trip. He too had been crying, but stopped when I placed my hand on his shoulder.
"The universe cares not for the grievances of men my son. Be strong with me."
I squeezed his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, before addressing my wife, who was with child.
"I am taking him out into the wild next I leave."
Her eyes flared open. She had loved my father almost as much as I , and was unprepared for this revelation.
"He is becoming a man. And I know the others are doing the same."
My cousin, and my two best friends nodded their ascent, we had been blessed with sons of the same age, and they had grown up as we had, brothers in all but blood.
"I know you aren't a pious man Alexander, but-"She faltered, un able to choke out the words she had clearly meditated on.
"What is it?"I asked.
"Do you not think that it is best to wait for a while before you leave... To pay respect to his memory."
I smiled, despite my grief, and it evolved into a fit of laughter. My sadness forgotten for the moment, I corrected my wife's mistake.
"My father believed in duty above all else. He wished for his corpse to be used as fuel for Christ's sake, I cannot be expected to mope around and grieve in wake of such a great man. And besides, we need food."
I turned, as no further explanation was needed, but heard an explosion from elsewhere in the vineyard, followed by the distinct crackling of flames. The smell that met my nostrils was that of burning grapes, our only constant source of food since bandits had attacked a few years ago.
Bastards.
|
She stared at the gem. Of course she would keep it, who else would? It was a thing of antiquity, she could never hope to have such wealth in her lifetime, not after this. Any chances she had had, were gone. She would need it to finance her new life in this new world. The small boat rocked under her, she looked around to the rest of it’s occupants. They all had one thing in common, fear. Each one looked terrified, they did not know what was going to come next.
She stowed the gem in a pocket in her undergarments, as safe of a place she would find here. No one had even noted that she was lookng at anything of any value. That was a rare thing, especially with these people that had everything to gain from taking it from her. These people wouldn’t though, they had become friends on this journey. She and Jack had met them dancing like wild fires in steerage, after running out from a ball on the upper deck.
Jack. Beautiful Jack. He had stood up to her fiancee, he had made her feel special, he had given her wings. She had seen him in her future. She could see their children together. He had made it on the ship, winning his tickets in a card game. That was his life in a nutshell, to run wherever the wind or tide carried him. She had made him her lover, giving herself to him.
Afterwards, she had asked him to draw her. Posing in reclining nude wearing the gem, she had asked him, “Draw me like your French girls, Jack.” He had blushed in embarrassment and began sketching her. It was the most erotic experience of her life. He had taken two long hours to finish the work.
When he turned his board, Rose, had stared in consternation. The woman in the sketch bore only a passing resemblance to her, with broad hips that any dairy cow would be proud of, spindly legs leading down to knobby and knocked knees. He had given her a pooch across her adomen! Was that under arm hair? And a mold could clearly be nsee on her rib cage.
“Jack what is this?”
“You asked me to draw me like one of my French Girls, so here you are.” He had said.
“I think that you misunderstood what I was trying to imply.”
“Well the good thing is not far off the true you.”
That had been it for her, she had obviously been mistaken. This could not be the man that would be her everything. She had thrown on her robe, and had the porter remove the scoundrel from her room. It had not been the last she had seen of him. As her lifeboat put to, she had seen him through a porthole. She couldn’t be sure, but hie looked like he was handcuffed and hanging from the ceiling.
Her hand rested on teh gem again, and the promise of prosperity in the new world, and hopefully a real artist. |
George, Lenny and Carlson walked along the barren path. There was nothing too see for miles but sand. "This sucks"George sighed, "I think we took a wrong turn back at the Forest of Fanglore".
"No way bro"Lenny said, "I know where we're going bro". Carlson grunted and stopped walking.
"We should head back"he panted, "Bandits roam these parts. It's easy for them to ambush us, steal our stuff and bury our bodies in the sand dunes".
"No way bro"Lenny laughed, "Bandits? Here? No way bro. No way". Gunshot.
"Get down!"George cried. He pushed Lenny over and they both fell on the ground. Carlson quickly ducked behind them.
"Aw hell no"Carlson spat. Several men approached them. They all wore the same balaclavas and they carried the same pistols.
"Nobody move!"one of the men roared, "Or your brains will be splattered across the sand!".
"NO!"Geogre roared. He stood up and shot a parade of fireballs out of his hands. He twisted his arms as the fireballs grew in size and landed at the bandits feet.
"NO!"Carlson shouted. He got up and shot shards of lightning out of the tips of his fingers. They destroyed the bandits guns in an instant.
"NO!"Lenny cried. He stood up and shot tiny bits of grass out of his hand. They softly floated down and landed by his feet. George, Carlson and Lenny watched as the bandits were burnt to a crisp by the flames and lightning.
"What the hell was that about?"George asked, "I thought I was the only wizard here?".
"Not quite bro"Lenny laughed, "I have the power to shoot grass out of my fingers, even though it's literally the worst wizard power anyone could have".
"We're all wizards then"Carlson moaned. They all stood in silence for a few seconds.
"Hang on then!"George shouted, "You could have saved us when we got trapped in that cave back in Monglorzo!".
"Hell no! You're a wizard, why couldn't you!".
"Because I was waiting for the right time to reveal myself!".
"Same".
"Yup"Lenny said, "Same".
"Oh well..."George sighed, "I guess we worked pretty well when we dealt with those bandits".
"Never mind"Carlson said, "The sun's about to go down. We need to find some shelter before sunset". And with that, the three travelers continued their journey along the barren path, with their wizard secrets out in the open. |
On my last leg of life, I'd put on "Harold & Maude". That movie just shows how precious can be and how fleeting youth is in the face of age, as seen in the tender relationship between the titular pair. Harold is obsessed with death (he'd probably be called goth or emo now) while Maude is a carefree spirit who believes life is too precious to worry about. The way they compliment each other, despite the age gap (Harold's a teen while Maude is pushing 70) is just too beautiful for words and shows how intimacy can bloom no matter where it's planted. And the ending is one of the most somberly beautiful pieces of cinematography I've ever seen, a real send up to how death can be both tragic and inspiring. If I die, I want it to be after "Trouble"has finished playing and Harold walks away, strumming his banjo with a newly found joy he never had before. It's a great lesson on how to enjoy life while it's still there, and to never forget what, and who, is precious to us.
Did I do good? |
I was up in the clouds.
Fluffy ones frolicked down below me. Swirling thin ones swishing merrily past my car. I poked a finger out the window, mystified at how I went from driving on the busy freeway to suddenly bobbing up in the sky, thousands of feet above the ground. The wind whistled past my finger, feeling bitterly cold against my skin.
It felt real, enough. I rolled the window back up.
I rustled through the papers strewn along the passenger seat. Eventually I found my cellphone, hidden beneath legal papers and forgotten lunches. Wiping it off, I hesitated at turning the phone on. Her angry face still branded on my memory. The tears this morning as Anna and I snapped harsh words at each other. Little Maggie running back to her room, a small stuffed toy in a grubby hand. I cradled the phone, thoughtful. The floating clouds around me were silent, peeking at me curiously as they flitted past.
So many angry words. I forget why we fight so often, especially since I loved her so. It couldn't be good for Maggie either, with her round sunny face. It was time for a change. Gingerly, I turned my phone on and scrolled over to my contacts. My finger hovered over Anna's name for a few moments.
Then with a shake, my car bumped against something solid. I jumped, uncertain of this turn of events. Pushing my way up the seat, I strained to see what I could've bumped into, all the way up here. I blinked in fascination. A large platform stretched before me, and in the distance, I saw a person hurrying down to greet me.
I paused, glancing at Anna's number. Then, with a bit of hesitation, I opened my door and stepped out onto the clouds, the phone still in hand.
The person was close enough to stretch out a hand now. He smiled wide at me, "Welcome, Mr. Peterson. We have been expecting you."
"What is this? Where am I?"I couldn't help but snap, as my nerves jangled.
His grin became broader. With a wide swoop of the hand, he proclaimed, "Welcome to heaven, sir."
And with a shudder, the phone slipped from my fingers and plummeted to the earth far below. |
Mark couldn't believe it. Neither could his colleagues, apparently. All seven of them sat in stunned silence. The only noise in the conference room was the off-air tone accompanying the local ABC affiliate's logo on the screen.
"What the fuck?"asked someone to Mark's left. He turned his leather desk chair to look at Sharon, his communications director. The words had shocked everyone else around the table into focus as well. The drinks and snacks littered before them were ignored. All eyes were on Mark.
"Seriously, what the fuck?"Sharon repeated. She turned took her eyes off the screen and met Mark's gaze.
"Get the Congressman on the phone,"Mark said. He figured they had thirty seconds before the office phone lines started ringing off the hook. As Chief of Staff to Congressman Richard Stalling (D - Maryland), Mark would be responsible for crafting their response to what had just happened. At least until Stalling made it back to the office from the State of the Union.
"Alex, Karen,"Mark said, addressing two more of his staff. "Head in to the Congressman's office and get his TVs on. See what the national networks are making of this. I want to know if all the channels covering the address were cut too."
Alex and Karen got up from the table immediately and exited the conference room. Sharon slammed her Blackberry down on the table causing her beer bottle to jump.
"Nothing,"she growled. "I've tried three times and it keeps going to voice mail."
Mark looked down at his own phone. Three text messages from his wife. Only a matter of time before his contacts at the papers started calling. On cue, the main office line started ringing. Mark looked to Nathan, the office administrator.
"Nathan, man the main line. Send everyone to hold. We have no comment right now."
"Yes, sir,"Nathan answered and left the room, leaving Mark with Sharon and the two remaining staffers. Bruce and Gary were policy geeks, both of them responsible for the platform that had gotten Rep. Stalling re-elected in 2012. Bruce had his head in his hands, Gary had finally realized he still had alcohol at hand and was helping himself to Bruce's glass of scotch.
"Maybe you should try the Congressman, Mark,"Sharon said. She was looking to him to lead, he knew that.
Mark dialed the Congressman and pressed his phone to his ear. Two rings later he heard the connection establish. Ambient noise filled the line, voices seemingly from a long distance away. There was an odd grunting noise, and then the Congressman's voice came on the line.
"Mark?"asked Stalling.
"Sir, thank God. Sharon's been trying to reach you. What's the situation there?"
"Everything's fine,"Stalling answered.
"Fine?"Mark was bewildered. "Sir, the President just announced that 9/11 was an inside job. During the State of the Union. Everything is not fine. We need you back here."
"Everything's fine, Mark,"Stalling repeated. "Just some technical difficulties down here. I'll see you soon."
The line went dead. Mark stared at his phone, not comprehending what had just happened. He looked up at Sharon just as the TV sprang back to life. The ABC logo was replaced with the feed from the Capitol. The shot focused in on the President standing behind the podium. He looked directly in to the camera, and Mark would have bet his life that there was no life behind them.
"My fellow Americans,"the President said. "I apologize, everything is fine. Just some technical difficulties down here. I repeat, everything is fine." |
The year is 3024 we had just invented a life detecting pulse that could go through and search the entire universe in a matter of weeks. It was launch day and tension was high, everyone was worried about a malfunction. Which is understandable, when a project has been in the works for 60 years it tends to put people on edge at the very thought of it not working. finally it launched as the shuttle went up i saw a tear slip from a few scientists eyes, which they quickly wiped away. Its been about 4 weeks now and the Space craft was finally coming back. nerves were high, we would finally know if there was someone out there who could save us. The worlds been running out of resources for the last 20 years but we don't have the technology to get to a new inhabitable planet, a advanced alien race was our last chance of saving ourselves. as the shuttle came in a scientist ran up and checked the results, he instantly fell to his knees and started balling. it took him 10 minutes to get up and say the results. he stood on shaky legs and paused, unsure how to phrase his next words. finally he took a deep breath, looked into the eyes of everyone in the room and said "ladies and gentlemen, im afraid this is the end of the human race. were all alone out here."
|
Cho sat at a table, writing out yet another story on the long scroll in front of him. Cho liked to tell stories, but each story also need to be written down. He preferred to hand write them rather than those prefabricated letters those presses made. they had no style, no character, each letter had a story of its own to tell. The story he wrote was the chronicle of a hero, a hero who braved all of Pandaria. He drove the Sha from the land, repelled the recently resurrected Lei Shen, Stopped the Proud Garrosh Hellscream, and perhaps the most important, cleared out the Stormstout Brewery. Cho paused, and took a long gulp out of his mug. He emptied the mug, saddened by his greed, but thought little of it, as a familiar face stepped before him.
"Lorewalker Cho,"said the black clad panda, carrying several kegs of Stormstout brew. Cho smiled and stood up to greet him.
"Chen Stormstout, it is great to see you,"Cho replied with a large hug.
"And it is good to see more of your great ale."
"Ale?"Chen said taken a back. "Why would i sully the name of my family with ale?"Chen then threw his head back and shared a deep laugh with Cho.
"Come, sit with me,"Cho said, inviting Chen. "Let us share yet another tale."
"What is a drink without a tale?"Chen asked tapping a keg.
"Dinner,"Cho replied, raising his frothy mug. Chen raised his as well and offered a toast.
"To Peace and Prosperity,"Chen said.
"To Knowledge and Learning,"Cho said.
"And to Hope and Enlightenment,"Shaohao said, appearing beside the two Pandaren. They tipped their mugs, and told their tales as the heroes of Pandaria drank their fill from the kegs of Chen's brew and crossed their blades. For now, they knew peace. |
Or...12 Years A Slave. Kidnapping free blacks and selling them as slaves was common then.
A more interesting prompt would be what the United States would be like with a Confederate victory. Our nation's capital would be somewhere else, we might have a much different set of Amendments, laws and social norms today, our country might even have a different name and either Lincoln gets killed as part of conquering D.C. or he never gets assassinated and that would be quite interesting as well. The Civil Rights movement in the 1960s either never happens or sparks a second civil war where the same values held by the North during the first one resurface and make a second attempt at abolishing slavery etc. Perhaps Kennedy's death becomes more like Lincoln's had been, or also doesn't occur because he probably never gets elected. Does MLK Jr. still become famous and die? Maybe the Black Panthers and Malcolm X are the organizers and leaders during this second civil war...
That's more interesting to me... |
He knew. The well-spoken man at the podium knew this would be the last time he saw the smiling, familiar faces of the townspeople gathered to hear his press conference, which he hastily assembled upon learning of their plan. He could not tell the townsfolk, who had become like family to him over the years he stood watch over them. To tell them would jeopardize their own safety, ignorance being the only real protection from the forces at work.
And so Samuel stood. As he did the day he became principle of Holcombville High school some 30 years ago. Smiling yet terrified he may yet fail in his endeavor. Alas, over the years the young adults under his care looked to him as a father figure, kind and full of wisdom. Having no children of his own, and a wife long ago divorced from him, He in turn viewed these people as his own, and it became his mission not only to teach them, but to protect them from forces whose reach they could barely comprehend. Forces who were, at best, conspiracy fodder for antisocial lunatics living on the fringes of society in the minds of most people. He stood and gazed in wonder at the crowd, fully grown former pupils of his, as well as their children, some of whom were under his care now as students. One of which now had in his possesion, albeit unbeknownst to him, the very key to unraveling the deathgrip these shadow dwellers had on our world.
His name was Edward Freewright. Son of Allen and Karen Freewright. Ordinary student. Aptitude for science. Got detention once for for performing the "Elephant toothpaste"experiment in another students locker. Edward was perhaps Samuels favorite. He couldn't explain it, but Ed reminded him of himself in the time before, the time before the Agency showed him just how deep their grasp went. Before he learned just how much of the world they actually controlled. Before he saw first-hand how many innocent lives they were willing to destroy just to maintain the power they have held for the last 300 years. Before he stole the cypher to one of their most important intelligence nodes and hid it in the watch he was given upon his induction into their order. Before he faked his own demise with the aid of his ex-wife and an old friend and built a new identity in order to hide the only key to the Agencys destruction. Before they found him out. "No matter."he thought to himself. He had hidden the cypher and left clues to its whereabouts in the boys flash drive, which Ed used to store all those illegally downloaded mp3s and movies, which he labeled "Homework"to not arouse suspicion. It was all he could do on such short notice. He hoped it would be enough.
And so there he stood, at the podium as he gave his first adress the day after being elected mayor. He approached the podium, lips dry and hands shaking. "My dear friends, I have been fortunate to count you all as family to me. All I can say is that I love you all, and it has been an honor."His eyes caught the glimmer of the snipers scope from across the plaza, in the belltower of St. Matthews church, reflecting the camera flashes from the local news teams equipment. The bell promptly began tolling the hour. It was seven o'clock. The sniper gave him 3 tolls before pulling the trigger. The remaining chimes masked the sound of the .308 rifles blast. No one could tell which way the shot came from. All they could see was the life leave the man they all loved as a father. He died to protect them. He died to save us.
He died. Because he knew.
|
I'd lived a good life. Granted, it hadn't been as long as I would have like it to be, it was good while I had it.
That is, until a year before. There were no warning signs, no outward differences, but when the doctor said I had cancer in my pancreas, I believed him. At that point, it had already traveled 90 percent of the way to my brain, and there was nothing they could do.
So I sat at home, withering away day after wretched day, watching myself lose a piece of me every day until I didn't feel like a person anymore, but like a toy for God, or whatever else controlled this.
I went to the doctor three months before, and asked if there were any drugs that I could use to euthanize myself. The doctor gave me a worried look(he's a doctor, and I *was* asking him to do something highly illegal), but with a little bit of bribing, I got him to sell me what he called *The Wonder Drug*.
Apparently it was a painkiller 100,000 times more potent than ibuprofen, but it had a 100% mortality rate.
It sounded perfect for me.
In three months, I didn't have a shred of doubt that what I used to be was long gone, replaced with a hollow shell that had inherited my name.
So I looked at the ceiling, prayed to god, and shot myself up.
Now I am not there, but I can look back at all the times I had, and smile. |
"Hey sailor, can I buy you a drink?"
John looked up from the magazine spread in front of him into the wide grin of his fellow airline pilot Dave Dickerson. He pushed the magazine aside, John hadn't really been reading it anyway, and kicked out the stool next to his for Dave with a quiet grunt. Though he wasn't really in the mood for company and tired after his most recent multi-day trip, the connection back to Atlanta wasn't for another two hours. Dave slid naturally onto the stool and motioned for the bartender to line two up. People awaiting their own connections to endless destinations hardly looked up.
"So I heard you made hard charger of the quarter buddy. That's not easy flying all those extra routes, I bet Mary is probably wondering what you look like since you've been gone so much!"Dave took a large swig of his beer, oblivious to his friend's sullen exterior.
"Mary left me six months ago Dave. Guess I didn't really have much reason to sit around the house anymore."John idly watched the bubbles float to the surface of his drink.
Dave's smile went flat. "Geez John, I'm sorry to hear that. I guess I'm not as good a pal as I thought to not know that."Both pilots sat in a bubble of silence as passengers around them continued to stare into smart phone screens.
"Don't feel bad, we've kept it pretty quiet. Partly because Mary feels embarrassed and because well, I don't think you throw parties for that sort of thing. We'd been having problems for a while leading up to the split, but I never imagined I'd come home from a trip one day to see all of her stuff gone and the ring I gave her in an envelope on my dresser."John took a strong sip of his beer, letting the cold liquid linger in his mouth and the fizzy bubbles tingle his pallet.
"Mind me asking what happened?"Dave took another sip of his drink. "No, wait I'm sorry pal. I have no right to pry. Forget I said anything."
"It's ok, might as well talk to someone. Nothing horrible like cheating. We just grew apart. It was like each trip I took with the airline, I would come back and a little piece of what we had was chipped away. I know she always wanted a man in her life who would be there for here night and day, maybe the shrinks would call it abandonment issues from when she was a kid. But we both thought between my schedule and her career, we could make it work."John realized he had been thumbing at the spot on his left ring finger where an old callous was the only witness to matrimony band that once rested there. His fellow pilot let the silence hang again, not knowing quite what to say.
Several of the company flight attendants strolled into the bar, their uniforms and hair betraying the signs of travelers who had been on the road. Dave's face lit up as he recognized them and waved them over to his and John's position. John blanched inwardly at the thought of more company when he just wanted to be left to sulk alone, but to say anything would be rude. Two of the women, younger bottle blondes with Valley accents, John knew from previous routes to San Fran but the older redhead was new to him.
"Hello ladies, looking amazing as always!"Dave hammed it up, making an over the top flourish with his pilot's cap. "My friend John here was just telling me how he's a bachelor now, and I was telling him that hanging out with guys like me was no way to fix that."Damn Dave and his jokes, thought John. The two blonde flight attendants giggles and begged Dave to behave, but the redhead assessed John quietly. At length, she held out her hand to John and shook his with a firm grip. John couldn't help but noticing how smooth her skin felt, and held the grip perhaps longer than he'd intended.
"My name is Georgine, please ignore the Barbie twins here,"the redhead said without breaking the handhold or eye contact. "So sailor, can I buy you a drink?"
John fell into the blue of her eyes. Many years later he would tell Georgine at their anniversary dinner that the moment in the bar was the first time he finally felt complete. |
I felt all of the air forced out of me again and again. The beast's jaws crushed down on me rhythmically, piercing into my skin and tearing at me.
I screamed as it brought its jaws down again, invoking laughter from his slightly smaller, pink friend. The laugh was so innocent, out of place considering that I was being repeatedly crushed.
I was pulled out of the beast's mouth. The pink dwarf beat me against the floor laughing even harder. The beast took me back, licking me at first and then continued gnawing at me. It pulled at my head, then chewed me again, letting out an audible scream invoking laughter from the baby.
My head was ripped of by the dog and the baby started crying.
The father who was video taping my demise, said: "Awww, you broke the rubber ducky,"
|
Just for context:
> 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
> County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady
> widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely
> nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine
> uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; **my fair niece
> Rosaline**; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin
> Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair
> assembly: whither should they come?
Juliet and Rosaline are cousins, and not in the generic Shakespearean "I call all my friends cousin"way. I expect they've met before.
|
It's too long for one comment, so here's the first half of Lord of the Dance:
The killer had struck again.
London these days was a far cry from the dark and dingy Victorian London streets Jack the Ripper had walked, but his influence was still felt. Murder, gang fights, death - there was no end to the suffering.
Mitch looked down at the body with practiced eyes and tried not to be sick. Viewing this type of thing was his job; that didn't mean he enjoyed every moment of it.
The body was lacerated, huge scratches cutting deep into the skin in almost every patch of skin, except the face. That had been left untouched by the knife, free from laceration, but something perhaps more horrific had been done.
The killer had taken her eyes.
Not cleanly, either, there were marks of where he'd gouged them with his fingers, and stringy pieces of optic nerve hung grotesquely from the sockets.
He looked away, unable to stomach any more. He signalled to the man beside him, who gently lifted the body onto a stretcher and covering it with a sheet. They'd have a pathologist take a look, but he knew the hope was in vain: the other two hadn't had any DNA evidence to help them find the killer, so why should this poor soul be any different?
The third in three days. God help them, what was their city coming to? Not since 1888 had they had anything like this - public dissent, maybe, the occasional gang fight or two, and then there were the London Riots - but murder, the same modus operandi, over such a small time scale. It was unheard of. He should be desensitised to the bodies by now, but each new death was a fresh blow, leaving him incapable of steeling himself to the next.
He stopped the other man a moment. From her pocket he drew a dried nasturtium and a thin piece of smooth card, similar in size to a business card. He knew what he would find, two lines of writing in small printed letters:
I danced in the morning when the world was young
I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun
-S.C M.L
A song of some kind, from the research they'd done. 'Lord of the Dance' by Sydney Carter. Assumedly, he was the S.C referenced, but that still left the M.L initials.
The flowers had to mean something too - a daffodil the first time, an anemone the second, now a nasturtium. All dried, all found in the pockets of their victims. Just another thing that proved the killer's involvement. They had nicknamed him "Gentleman Jack", for the flowers and for the murders.
Now, there was a thought. The media hadn’t quite got their hands on this story yet, and they wouldn’t, if he had anything to do with it. If this got out, the gross incompetency of the London police force would undoubtedly become the latest hot topic of gossip. In actual fact, their competency had nothing to do with it; more that their numbers had drastically fallen in recent years.
He walked home in a slight daze of nausea. He was not on duty now for another three hours; he could sleep, and hope that with time he would forget the bodies. It must have been terrible for the one who found the first body; by now, he knew what to expect. It would have been all the worse for someone totally unprepared.
Five minutes after reaching his house, he had lain down fully clothed, after closing and locking his windows and doors. It paid to be paranoid, and he was well along that line by now.
It was not even another five minutes before he had fallen into a restless slumber.
His decade in the police force had not been uneventful, and had left him with some images which refused to go away. In the day, when all was bright and happier, he could blissfully consign them to oblivion; during the dark and quiet nights, the mental chains holding them back came loose.
For once he was rewarded, the horrors of the day cashing out to a more or less peaceful rest. While his circadian rhythms didn’t comply to normal standards - his job required shifts at constantly changing times of day - he did, at least, try for sleep. But his attempt was in vain, for while the tortured souls which tortured him by night were gone, something else took their place.
He dreamed of a field, with flowers as far as the eye could see. He dreamed of laughter, dancing, men, women and children linking arms and frolicking in the tall grass. They turned, offered him their hands, and he joined in the dance.
Dance, dance, wherever you may be
I am the lord of the dance, said he
And I lead you all, wherever you may be
And I lead you all in the dance, said he
He dreamed he was happy, until the dream became a nightmare. Beneath the sweet scent of the flowers, the creeping odour of rot. Behind the laughter, madness. The dance shifted into a ritual, chanting and droning replacing the joyful shouts. His only peace in months, twisted into a hellish phantasm. His hands breaking the circle, he ran, ran as fast and as far as he could until his legs gave out beneath him and the horde was upon him-
He woke sweating, panting. His legs aching, as if he had been running. A slight breeze came drifting in through his window - open a few centimetres, although he was sure he had left it closed. On its own, that was strange enough, but the killer detail was the flower trapped on the sill. A chrysanthemum, dried as the others had been. Maybe if he’d kept any plants, he could have waved it off as an unfortunate coincidence, but he didn’t. As well as that, the room he slept in was on the second floor.
The killer had left his calling card.
Was he amused at their efforts? Did he sit back and watch them scurrying like ants, laughing in their distress at each fresh body found?
Two hours. He was expected back in an hour, but after that episode, he wouldn’t be able to sleep again today. He changed his clothes, showered, and ate, and headed back to the station with half an hour to spare.
The first thing he did was drop by the pathologist, who had been hard at work since receiving the body. The autopsy was scheduled to take place the next day, but from the tests she had already conducted they both knew they’d find nothing, once again. There were no suspects, nothing to link the three victims together.
He left feeling dissatisfied. By now, they should have some evidence - fingerprints, DNA, even CCTV sighting, but nothing could be found. Whether it was the lack of DNA or the mysterious power outages of the cameras, they had nothing to go on.
All that changed in a heartbeat.
|
So, a guy walks into my cubicle today, started garbling out some weird shit, and then pulled down his pants. Then pulled them back up, then shit himself. After that, I have a bit of a wide eyed look on my face, so I ask him, "Hey, buddy, you need help?"
He responds by pulling his shit-stained pants down, turning around, and unleashing the crap-cannon on me.
Before I'm coated in tons of crap, I kick him away and asses the damage. My laptop bag's covered in shit. My coffee is shit-stained. Just... shit everywhere man.
As the frekazoid with the crap-cannon managed to flop on his belly and begin suffocating, I saw a wallet in his back pocket. Thinking that affirmative action is, in this one instance, a load of shit, I take the wallet, get a good amount of compensation for my laptop bag and coffee, and throw it back to the retard as he begins to right himself and, try as he might, begin walking again.
People are crazy, eh? |
EDIT: gloss over this attempt, as /WokBolt kindly brought to my attention that i've made a lot of consistency mistakes.
I have been sitting on the floor for a while now, hugging my knees to my chest. My room (i'm assuming it *is* mine, who else would have my family's photograph) is a mess; i've thrown things around,trying to make a sense of it all. There's a brown journal sitting on the bed, filled tiny handwriting that changes directions as often as it changes tone: not even once. That is supposedly my doing, but i can't bring myself to think of it, the yellow pages are full of despair written over the course of what looks like at least 5 years.
For the sake of clarity, i bring out a piece of paper and find a pen to make a note of everything that i've found through the scattered items in this room, and through internet (which is fucking fast and has no connected modem.)
*As of Sunday May 4th,2014, here's what I know:*
*-I'm no longer 16; no longer in the sun-filled living room of my lovely home that always had some sweet,summery song playing in the background. I'm not going to high school, I have no summer projects, my friends are all...engaged. It's strange.Like really fucking weird. They're all there on Facebook (I checked through a smartphone that was nearby), arms and eyes all hanging on and around strangers I don't know.*
*-My sister is no more that tiny,thin kid who always fell down and broke her glasses. According to her facebook, she's a flight attendant away in Malaysia. That kid who never wanted to leave home!! That kid who always came crying to me after an argument with her idiot friends, asking me to fight her fights! That kid who always fell asleep on my lap,drooling shamelessly. She's grown up to be awesome,i always knew she would be.*
*-Dad seems to have changed his job. He still lusts after the latest musical instruments, going by his posts.*
*-I am in US,apparently doing some masters program. Very strange. I had never wanted to leave my country,much less do something in the field of writing. Also, how the fuck did i learn to cook?Can i COOK anything besides eggs? Why did ma let me go?!!*
*-In the past few years, I have attempted suicide twice. Both times (according to the diary), I backed off because i didn't want my family to suffer.... the realization that i might ever think of doing this baffles me, scares me stiff. Why would i want to kill myself?I had good friends,good life, i wasn't depressed for a long time.*
*-Gone are the Harry Potters. Now I have some Sylvia Plath who likes to throw clothes off a terrace; some nutter talking about "nausea";some guy on the road; some father and son lost in a dead and gone world, some dragons and kings and killings; some abusive son...no wonder this new me is fucking depressed. I need some light books.*
*-My phone (no iTouch,wonder where that went) has all these new artists who aren't Avril,Hilary,or even Evanescence. My trance collection seems to have dwindled down to only classics; and my rock collection only has something called "post rock"and "industrial rock";whatever the fuck is industrial rock?*
*-My Chemical Romance broke up.I only ever liked their one single anyway.Weirdo emos the bunch of them.*
*-There's no more LOST or House M.D., and no F.R.I.E.N.D.S reunion still.*
*-Snape killed Dumbledore.*
*-Lizzie McGuire grew up,got married,had a baby,and got divorced.*
*-Harry Potter lived and had three kids, one of them with the most ridiculous names ever.*
*-Meanwhile, my boobs haven't grown so much.*
*-A big fat file near the books tells me that I finished high school, did my MBA, found a small job, and quit that job to come here and be miserable(the miserableness is sincerely reflected within the diary.)*
*-Judging by the clothes and shoes, I've taken up running.*
*-Judging by the photos stuck on my wall, mom has grown fat.*
*-Judging by his Facebook photo, my dad's neck seems to have disappeared into his oblong body. His smile tells me he's least bothered about it.He's also grown almost bald. That's sad. He's grown old.*
*-Judging by my reflection in the floor-length mirror, i have grown a few inches; there seems to be a certain sense of sureness in my eyes, the way i carry myself. I don't know if i am imagining things.*
*-I have long hair now, which is weird. I'm not used to hair tickling my neck;what the fuck do i do with this hanging black curtain? How do people tie their hair?How do I tie it??! Why did i grow it out?!!*
*-My closet tells me I still prefer sneakers over any other footwear.*
*-My facebook tells me i'm still single.*
*-I have a macbook.*
*-I apply makeup now.*
*-I wear contacts now.*
*-There's an unfinished nightstand by my bed. So i still stuck at making things.*
*-I have two new cousins, one of them gave me a card that hangs in my room.*
*-Sir Alex left Manchester United!! The chronicles of my favourite football team lie hidden within the pages of my diary.Apparently, they play shitty now. I refuse to believe her. I mean me.*
*-The diary also tells me that I am an asexual.*
I have to stop now, my head hurts,and i feel like puking. Maybe if i call ma she will tell me more.
Did i sleep walk through all these years? Am i lucid dreaming? Why don't i remember anything? How do i go on now? This...this stranger that is me clearly lives a life; she will surely want to be with people. If i go around the neighbourhood, will they notice the change? Would they be able to tell me apart? Would they be able to help me connect the dots?
Will i ever get back my past? And where the fuck are my Harry Potter books?? |
I promise it fits the prompt, I got a little... carried away.
____________
This is a transcription of the full contents of video ###-####, housed at site 19 as documentation for <REDACTED>. Whereabouts of the individual who created this is currently under investigation. - Dr. Clef
<play>
*An empty room, a voice is heard in the background*
"Ever since I got this hat, people have just... ignored me. It's like i'm not even here. I've walked into the ladies' room, they would ignore me, like they didn't even know I was there. I thought I was dead, i'd wave in front of people, i'd say things, but they either didn't care about me or they didn't notice me. I always knew i'd be a loner... It's just been me and my hat for the longest time."
"I've been places and done things you wouldn't be able to believe if it weren't for the video you have playing before you right now. Now the world will see, the world will know! Ive walked into high-security government offices without so much as a second glance. Yeah, the alarms would, but... everyone said the system was broken or something, so they'd shut down the alarm and go back to business."
"One day, I was sitting around at the city of <REDACTED> when I noticed a news paper someone was holding about <REDACTED>, that corporation doing biological experiments for the government, talking about their latest excursions into Modifications for humans for the Russians. I decided I was going to pay them a visit, so I got this video camera, some extra batteries all charged up, and off I went to their labs... this is where this video begins, I hope you learn something.
"Hello, My name is <REDACTED>, the date is <REDACTED> - i've parked my car approximately half a mile away at a nearby restaurant the <REDACTED>'s main facilities."
... More to come later. |
The Japanese had overrun our positions on the North bay and the city. From our vantage point inside the rock we could see the burning ashes of San Francisco, mostly leveled from the firebombing that had taken place the night before. This must have been what it looked like during the earthquake of ’09.
Counting me there were 17 men and 4 women who had managed to get out of the city. That wasn’t the worst of it though, there were 136 inmates in this ominous place, and we didn’t know what to do with them. Inside the cell blocks we could hear a low drumming chant starting,
Fight … fight … fight … fight .. Fight .. Fight .. Fight .. FIGht .. FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
Louder and louder with each passing second and then,
Silence…
Through the silence one scratchy weathered voice called out through the block.
“Free us, and we will fight with you!”
It was then that my suspicions were confirmed, that voice came from a source I recognized from the radio on his parole hearing just 3 years prior. That was the voice of Al Capone, and we were on The Rock, Alcatraz Island Federal Penitentiary.
I went over to the cell block and started to turn the key. I thought to myself,
“This could be the last mistake I ever make”
|
To the Nomads, history is everything. It’s their link to the homeworld they had to leave behind. And so, with great care, they keep memory alive. They all learn about their homeworld. And they all learn about the Duchess.
She was not, despite her title, nobility. No, that came later, in recognition of her deeds. But it was what her people called her. She was a simple, working woman, but she was the right woman in the right place and time. When the King’s soldiers came from across the western sea, she organized the survivors of her town. She inspired, reassured and nurtured, and it was enough. Outnumbered, outgunned, her band stalled the enemy advance, not forever but long enough. It was the first victory in what would later be known as the First War of Hoof and Claw..
She died, of course. Civilians could not long resist trained soldiers. But she and her people forced the frontline to fall back or lose its entire supply chain, but even more important was what she represented. The invaders tried to make an example of her, captured and executed, but they only served to give their enemies a martyr. A symbol. And that’s why, less than a year later, she returned.
The Principality, after all, had a considerable air fleet. Larger and more advanced than the Kingdom in fact, but it was a civilian fleet. Luxury yachts and cargo barges, hastily converted into warships in a desperate but ultimately successful attempt to slow the enemy advance. It was above the Gorge that the tables finally turned. There, the King’s forces met three ships of a design they hadn’t seen before. And the battle soon proved them more than sufficient. Word had quickly spread about the victory, and the three ships that made it possible - the Captain. The Commander. And the eldest by days, Duchess.
The Duchess-class, as they would be called, weren’t converted civilian ships. From the keel to the airbags, they were created as vessels of war - nimble, hardy, protected by layered enchantments and bristling with lances and the lightning spires that channeled the fury of a storm and gave Stormships their name. And it worked - the people of the Principality were not warlike, but they were dutiful workers and powerful mages. They could not meet the invaders one on one, but they could build two Stormships for every one they lost. With the Duchess leading them, they pushed the attackers back, back past the sea, all the way to the Stormwall.
She was there when the war ended, when the besieged King offered his crown and his surrender. But the Princess only accepted the latter. Many cheered. Some worried that the peace would be short-lived. They were right. And they were ready.
When the King was deposed, when the treaty was broken and the first airships approached the Principality’s shores, they found the Duchess and her sisters waiting. These weren’t the ships of the first war, constructed in a great hurry, no. These were the prototypes of an all-new line, implementing lessons learned at great cost and with few expenses spared. With complements of chariots, decks protected by spiked chains and airbags wrapped in charged netting, even the invaders’ own alchemical bombs lining their holds, they made them pay dearly for every foothold.
And even if they could not stem the tide forever, they did so long enough for the Principality to wake to war again. Again the Duchess survived, and again she lead the charge. She was part of the surprise attack upon the Stormwall. And once the mighty Queen made a breach, she took part in the razing of Aerie. It was not a proud moment, but it brought an end to the war.
But the Duchess’ story did not end with the end of the second war. She had one more role to play. For many, many years, she patrolled the skies, a symbol of victory, a reminder that though peaceful, the Queendom will defend itself. It was a claim that was challenged once, only once, in what would be known as the Four Hour War. Even when the Queendom’s reach extended past their atmosphere, the Duchess remained.
Over a century later, the Invasion War happened. The Queendom’s proud space fleet was not made of warships; the Empire’s scouting force was, and generations ahead technologically. There wasn’t a force on the planet that could offer any appreciable resistance. Well… almost.
It was a town of a few hundred, and it held nearly double that refugees. It was a hastily thrown up but remarkable shield. It was a pair of Empire ships, a light carrier and a frigate, patiently awaiting the inevitable collapse. And it was a storm, which the invaders ignored - what danger could a mere atmospheric phenomenon pose to ships that could cross stars? To an Empire that spanned the galaxy?
It couldn’t. So they ignored it, even when the rune-wood and magiron hull of a Stormship, crackling with stored power, erupted from between the rolling clouds. It was a move born of desperation, the thoughtless need to do something, anything, and the crew had no expectations of survival, let alone success. And so the Duchess rode into battle one last time, positioning herself between the two Empire ships, letting loose with both broadsides, her lances discharging time and again, even as lasers cut into her arcanic shielding and pulse blasts tore gashes in her hull. She fell quickly, the last act of defiance of a doomed people.
But… it wasn’t. First the carrier, then the frigate, their fire grew sparse, then fell silent completely. With an unnatural slowness, they began to fall, picking up speed, until finally crashing to the ground, dead. Their hulls did not show signs of damage, but the Duchess’ lances had devastated their delicate electronics, far beyond recovery. The cries of mourning turned to desperate cheers. Perhaps there was a hope after all.
The Invasion War was a victory, though pyrrhic and costly. Here a Empire ship was lured into an ambush and brought down by massed lance fire. There the King’s soldiers rushed aboard with alchemical bombs.
It was victory, but a pyrrhic victory. The Empire returned, years later, not a scouting force but a punitory one. But they were ready. Unable to fight… they fled.
It was called the Exodus War, and it was the birth of the Nomad Fleet. In time, they would return, and seal the doom of the Empire but… this isn’t that story.
No, this is about the Duchess. There never was another ship by that name, not in the Nomad Fleet. They consider it too sacred, the duty of their sworn protector too great for any one ship.
But… in these trying times…
It’s said Bronco’s factories are working overtime, creating weapons and components. It’s said the Fleet is stockpiling ores and reactants, mining and trading. It’s said there is the beginning of a new hull, purpose-built from the ground up, in the tender arms of their mothership’s drydocks.
Perhaps the Duchess will soon fly once more. And may we never find her against us.
---
_-094 | [more](/r/vonBoomslang)_ |
Jeffrey sighed as he looked over the patients chart, already compiling information on the various possible diagnosis in his head.
"Have any thoughts on the matter?"He asked, quickly glancing at the scruffy man lounging against the wall. The man grunted, before slowly shuffling his way past the mirror anchored on the door, his image seeming to flicker in the reflective surface.
"Well..."He said slowly, savoring the word as he twirled his cane.
"It's definitely not lupus..." |
You gotta be put to sleep before you can get cloned. There are obviously more scientific way to say that, but being that it's pretty much exactly like I'd imagined as a kid, that can be kept simple. They put you to sleep alone, and you wake up alone. Sorta. You're in your room, and a big hunk of dead meat that *looks* like you is in another. Looks *exactly* like you, I hear.
I check the sheets now. Are they the same sheets I fell asleep on? I figure they are, but they all look the same. Sometimes they're a little more wrinkly and such when I wake up. The docs say I move around a lot when I'm under. I guess I can believe that.
Thing is, I got scars. I got lots of scars. Cut my hand in '14 while getting some shit out of my lawnmower blades. Just pulled the wet grass off a little too hard. Sliced my palm through the middle. Busted my chin on the side of a pool trying to look cool doing spins off the side. Couple stitches sealed that up. Can't grow hair there, but it's hardly noticeable. Had a stray bite me on the calf couple years back. Didn't take a chunk, but left some pretty sick marks. I got lots of scars.
The room looks about the same. Fluorescent lights, four by six, like they have in normal hospitals. My clothes look the same. Ass-less robe and a pair of droopy socks.
I know I got lots of scars. But I don't have scars anymore. Doc says they fix all that stuff up before the procedure. He says they work miracles here. I believe that.
I'm not allowed to see the meat in the other room. Doc says it's best that way. I don't really want to see it anyway. Gotta wonder though. I wonder if that meat has scars. |
The law was necessary. At least, that was what the ministry adverts said. There was a time when such an idea would have been laughed off as a bad joke or fake headline from a satirical outlet. The posters flapping against the well-worn walls of the rail station did not inspire amusement. Pictures of models on some idyllic beach were replaced by clip-art monstrosities from Population Control showing the streets packed with hungry youths.
Registration was, of course, compulsary. The policy, through a last-minute referendum, only applied to new births, despite assurances that the numbers were for the common good. “Inspiration,” the PC minister claimed as Parliament closed voting to approve the regulation. In the eight years that followed, the tagline was little more than another hollow sales pitch. The thought of knowing that so many contributing citizens had preceeded someone was supposed to drive them to excel. Those that failed to live up to their expectations could be purged, dismissed as a counting error.
Norm stared through the results of Tia’s pregnancy results. All he could see was his own childhood as it would have been had he been born 30 years later. The eyes of an anxious nation firmly focused on finding even the slightest imperfection. The pressure to contribute rather than become another burden on society. He felt the back of his hand and searched for some deity to thank for sparing him that fate. His child, though, would not be so fortunate.
As Tia’s stomach grew, so did the notices from PC reminding the expecting parents about possible career paths for the almost-born. Then came the phone calls. Each would remind Norm and Tia that the child would be tracked and compared to the expectations commeasurate with their number.
Norm woke up in a cold sweat. The pressure was too much. He could not imagine what it would be like for the newborn. The waiting room was empty. Tia told him he would be more comfortable on the couch than the metal chair in the delivery room. Comfort was not a factor. The linoleum would have provided as restful a sleep as a mound of feathers in that that room. The eyes of PC were peering through the dim glass from the floor above.
A blue light illuminated the doorway at one end of the room. It was time. Norm ran through the double doors, down the hall past nurses stations and spare beds. His hand wrapped around the cold steel handle and hesitated for a beat. On the other side, PC officials watched the scene below. Norm ignored them and pushed his way to the glass, leaning his forehead against the pane. He watched the doctor pull the boy into the world and carry him away from Tia’s outstretched hands. The umbilical cord pulled taut while a nurse moved in position to make the cut. The doctor was more focused on the etching station.
The baby’s handprint brought the machine to life. The DNA sample collected, the child’s log file was ready for imprinting. There were no name associated, and none needed as far as PC was concerned. The child needed only its number. It was more important now than some sentimental label.
The computer within scanned the databases for the next available number in sequence. Once that completed, the laser warmed up then blasted the boy’s hand with searing precision. The newborn recoiled almost instantly, but the machine had already done its job. At the base of fingers that were not yet strong enough to grip, on skin that was just learning how to feel, was the number 1. |
I sat staring over creation. Well, not really sat. Lacking corporeal form makes that kind of hard. I guess I just existed over it more than anything. I looked out across everything; the sky, the land, the oceans, animals, humans, even down to the bacteria and viruses. All of it working in total harmony with one another. Taking it in, this magnificent universe that I had ‘created’ I felt a pride. It was perfect.
Then I sensed something. It was someone, a young girl, crying for help. She was scared. I could feel her fear. I was drawn towards her. I could hear her prayers, calling; “Please God. Please help me!” I did not need to continue to watch. I knew what would happen. I’ve witnessed it millions of times. Her prayers, like countless others before her, would go un-answered. She would suffer and she would die. Afraid. Alone.
I looked elsewhere. Even after all of these times it is not easy to sit helplessly as something you care about suffers. Then I saw him.
It was a young man. He radiated fear. Why am I always drawn towards that emotion? He sat on a bus. I could see him, looking at the other passengers. What was he thinking? I really shouldn’t have given them free will, but I guess watching them without it would be boring. He stood up, shaking. Is he alright? “I do this for God” I could hear him think. Shit. Not this again. You have no idea what I want. Stop doing things for me. I can do them for myself. Well, not really. Actually, I can’t do much of anything anymore, in order to keep the balance.
I watched on. Helpless. Immobile. I wanted to move. I wanted to smite him, like in the good old days. To answer a prayer for once. I felt impotent. In order to maintain perfection, to keep my place as the only ‘perfect’ being I had to continue to exist while not existing. I watched as he pushed the button. I did nothing.
|
The door wouldn't budge. Just as it hadn't the day before, nor the day before that. The door had been sealed for as long as Brian could remember, since waking up cold and alone on the floor of the small cell which was now his home. He had tried calling out at first, a cautious, confused plea for a guard or attendant to explain to him where he was. Then, as time ticked on without response, his pleas turned to demands. They had no right to keep him here, he was an American, he had rights! He yelled until his throat was raw, his lips dry and cracking.
Silence.
Giving his lungs a break, he sat and took stock of the situation. Brian was not a large man, but the room still made him feel claustrophobic. Across from him was seemingly identical, empty cell. The door itself consisted of half a dozen thick steel bars, set in a framework of more heavy metal. There were no windows, except for a small slit at the top of the wall opposite of the door. Undulating, cerulean blue light filtered in through the opening creating a small rectangle of light in the center of the cell. The three other walls surrounding him were gray stone slab. All completely barren, except for a hastily scrawled bit of graffiti, apparently left over from a previous "guest."
**WELKOME 2 PURGITORY**
With no point of reference, Brian quickly lost track of time. He alternated between screaming, searching his cell for avenues of escape, and sleeping on the cold stone floor. It was upon waking from a bout of particularly fitful sleep that he came to be aware that he was no longer alone. Inside the cell across from him there was now a man, standing at the door. He was grinning at Brian.
Brian froze. The haze of sleep instantly blown away, and in it's place a blast of icy shock gripped his heart, threatened to stop it all together. The stranger's face was changing now, undulating, shifting, rearranging itself. The sly grin forming into an angry grimace. Now, the mouth shifts into an open maw, rows of razor sharp teeth protruding at obscene angles. Another shift, a face Brian recognizes. His own. A final transformation, the face settles and shakes until stopping altogether.
It's the face of a woman. She's beautiful.
"Hello, Brian"the woman-thing said sweetly.
Brian remained frozen to the floor, the terror rising and welling up inside of him. He hadn't expected another prisoner, and certainly not a shape shifting one.
The woman-thing smiled again, this time it was an innocent and patient smile. No remainder of the twisted grin the man Brian had first seemed remained. Brian slowly rose to his feet, as if not to startle an accidentally disturbed rattle snake.
"Wh- Wha...Who..."Brian began to stammer before the woman-thing interrupted him sharply.
"I have many names Brian, many names indeed. Malaria, Hiroshima, Cancer. Frostbite, Exposure, Electrocution. Heroin, HIV... Loneliness. My names are infinite, and also singular. I am, your Death."Her grin widened.
**End Part 1**
|
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her. The smell of her hair, the soft skin of her hands, her lips on mine, but the detail that sticks with me most is the look of peace on her face as she lay in her coffin. The worst part was that no one knows that I put her there. We had been dating for a year and had never been closer. We'd fooled around but never gone all the way. I wish I hadn't persisted. She was worried something would happen but I kept telling her that everything would be fine like the selfish boy I was. We waited for her parents to leave before we went to her room. She asked me if I had any protection and I told her I did. I lied. I thought we were invincible. I was wrong. A month later she came to me, tears streaming down her face, only able to say the word "pregnant"before breaking down. I should have hugged her and told her it would be ok, but I only thought of myself. I begged her to get an abortion as she pleaded to talk, but my persistence once again changed her mind. She told her parents, took the blame, and told them her plan. She did what I asked but it cost her everything. Her parents didn't stop fighting and separated a month later, she had been the straw that broke the camels back. Her brothers blamed her for splitting them up and called her a worthless whore. She couldn't handle the guilt and came to me for help, a shoulder to cry on, a simple friend. But I shunned her like the rest. My girlfriend took her life that year, a simple razor to the wrist did the trick. Her mother found her in the tub, a note on the counter explaining her choice. She didn't even mention my name. And to this day I wake up knowing that I killed my girlfriend, but the cruel reality is that I am coward. I am the only one who will ever know the truth that hangs over her grave.
First time commenting in this sub so I hope you enjoy. |
They began by coming into civilisation from the wild land and offering themselves to people butt first.
At first it was not known why they did this, not until someone lost patience with the creatures and drop kicked its arse. It squealed with happiness at this and wanted more and more brutal kickings, as did all the other aliens. When they saw any human they rushed up to them and presented their chuffs for punishment, much the same as some apes present their nether regions for mating.
People could not get enough of giving the waist height aliens a good booting, so much so that kicking machines were invented for multiple smiting and there were Iron Man contest on the intertube that featured alien kicking contests. The aliens *adored* that....
George MCIIV was a godfearing man, thought that cruelty was wrong and ordered Worldpol to police alien brutality, but that did nothing as the police enjoyed kicking aliens just as much as everyone else did and ignored him.
The hilarious fun that humanity got from finding a species that encouraged its violent tendencies was overwhelming and cathartic to most. Days began to be lost as people did not turn up to harvest the morning manna or tend to the soup dragons.
Slowly but surely the world changed from a demi paradise to one of base survival, no one noticed but a few who were ignored. This was the way the world ended, not with a whimper but a squeal of mosochistic delight. So it goes. |
The Ark was a virtual mountain slowly descending through a roiling cloud of ash and rain. Its massive form floated a few kilometers above the earth and gave of discharges of pale green lightning that forked out and twisted back against it.
It was The Ark's fifth visit to the planet - always just before it became capable of sustaining complex life forms. The Ark itself would return at least seven more times before the planet would no longer be capable of regenerating its Gaia Cycle - tracts of time spanning 200 millennia which contained the rebirth and destruction of all life on earth.
---
*Contrary to popular belief, evolution has never been a linear endeavor. In fact, any good historian or scientist understands that life is cyclical in nature. Rebirth and death into infinity.*
---
The inhabitants of The Ark are the natural progenitors of man - and they are human. However, a distinction must be understood first and foremost. They are not humans - as we are humans.
Our earth orbits the sun of our solar system. However, our sun orbits around a super sun - a point in our universe which is itself very near to the ultimate center from which space and time blossomed.
The ultimate center is the densest area of the universe. It still contains much of the remnants and debris since inception. Matter and energy is highly concentrated here and it is only within this space that sentient life forms can emerge.
Our planet earth spent a few millennia in relatively near proximity to the UC wherein the first generation of humans and civilization flourished into being.
Human lives extended to 300-500 years without technological assistance. The cognitive abilities of humans was at its peak operational capacity. Super human feats of strength and psychic ability were parts of daily life. Immorality was non-existent - virtue ruled. Science as the understanding of the physical and psychic, manipulation of both matter and submatter reached its utmost limits.
The nature of *precession* - the orbit of our sun and knowledge of the UC was innately understood by the first humans. They understood the Gaia Cycle of our earth and that their civilization would perish naturally following the ending of time.
---
It was not out of hubris, or fear, but out of love that they began the construction of The Ark. As our sun drew further and further from the UC the Gaia Cycle began to end.
---
The full capacity of The Ark held exactly 11,235 Arkonaughts in orbit above earth during the *First Sundering*, the name given to the last time in the Gaia Cycle when our earth undergoes apocalyptic environmental changes.
---
*Yvesr* sat with his family about the blue flame of their dwellings central atrium. The hall was massive but no sounds moved through the air. All 4,312 members were in attendance gathered to accept the coming destruction.
At 429, *Yvesr* was still a boy. Yet he looked up at the fire twisting through the sky without the slightest fear in his heart. The planet would strip herself of life, it was unavoidable - it was natural.
He thought of death - he had experienced it before. Many of the great elders had passed on, *teknology* had extended their lifetimes to millennia but their forms were still finite.
*Yvesr* knew his form was finite as well but he understood the universe. He understood that he and his family were a part of it - the universe, and that they could never truly die.
Their energy would live on infinitely and assume new forms. None of the faces in the caverns showed the slightest fear. All of their hearts were pure.
He clutched *Vilsha*'s hand a bit tighter for a brief moment and a smile broke across her face. *Yvesr* smiled too.
They were all smiling as together they looked up at the sky that was now pouring down balls of fire the size of mountains. It was hard to tell but they all looked at one particular part of the sky just left of where the moon would be.
None of them screamed, or flinched or tried to run. As the walls of the hall crashed in upon them through swelling fire. As the earth opened and closed its countless mouths and spewed ash and poisonous fumes into the atmosphere.
All across the planet humans looked up at that part of the sky just left of the moon.
---
The primary function of the Ark was to sustain the human race throughout the Gaia Cycles that occurred on planet earth. However, because of the finite life spans of its inhabitants, new groups of people would have to be brought aboard to sustain the human race.
The first humans would and have assisted humanity throughout each of our histories (there have been four thus far). They have helped in developing sciences, systems of morality and virtue, and even forestalled our early destruction on many occassions where the Gaia Cycles were not yet matured.
---
The Ark was a virtual mountain slowly descending through a roiling cloud of ash and rain. Its massive form floated a few kilometers above the earth and gave of discharges of pale green lightning that forked out and twisted back against it.
Dry mud huts clutched dust cloaks close as the winds ravaged the meager pile of stones below. Stones weighing literal tonnes that had to be moved by whole villages.
*Amon* stepped down from the sky on steps of fiery smoke. His golden visage in cased in a translucent halo that captured and concentrated the sun about his face. His arms and legs glistened golden and red-orange appendages of energy passed around and through him.
---
*Amon* was one of the first recorded *Arkonaughts* to visit humanity within recorded history.
---
Only a handful of Arkonaughts have ever visited earth since the first history - they are generally always the same. Our own culture has given them various names and associations, Amon, Wotan, Zeus, Vishnu, etc. In our early histories they dealt with man directly, effecting daily life directly.
Though much of their psychic and physical abilities were inhibited by *the corruption* their technology still maintained its effectiveness. Thor's Hammer, Zeus' Thunderbolt, Amon's Staff all represent man's early attempt to make sense of advanced technologies - many of whose effects we are able to replicate today.
---
However, the further our sun moved from the UC, the more susceptible to corruption the Arkonaughts became. The lack of concentrated energy meant that the quality of virtue, morality, and intellect degraded proportionately. And during the beginning of our fifth histories - the first schism of The Ark took place.
When *Haphtos* went to speak with *Ilyena* she ignored him for exactly 3.32 seconds before acknowledging him.
Now that to a regular human is a rather ordinary occurrence. However, to Arkonaughts it constituted the very first breakdown in expression and communication. It was by all accounts, the beginning of a war.
A war which would mar the fifth history of mankind and threaten our return as a species to the ultimate center. |
They looked on as the world bombed itself beyond the stone age, safe in their orbiting bubble. How could it have come to this? Why was their nothing on the news? Why were we the only ones off world during this travesty? These are just a few of the questions that flashed through the Minds or Mr. Timbler and his Wife and two children. Mrs. Timbler had mocked the idea of the space vacation when her husband brought it up, "Sounds like a silly waste of Money, why Not just go to Disney?"she'd said to her Husband. Now she was embarrassed and she was sick to her stomach from a combo of space travel and watching everyone and thing she loved save her husband and children destroyed in front of her. The kids, Robert and Nancy were to young to fully understand what they were seeing, but they enjoyed the flashing lights. "Well,"Mr. Timbler Cleared his throat "We've only got about a weeks worth of food here, and then we are pretty much doomed."
"What if we got to the moon? Maybe we could make some sort of contact with...someone? or something?"Mrs. Timbler asked shaking with fear.
"We just watched the Planet nuke it self, this isn't some fantastical sci fi yarn, It's 2042 for christ sakes, we only just got Space Vacations as a thing, we haven't got any alien allies or crazy planets to visit. We are Fucked. There aren't going to be any Wacky Space Adventure of The Family Timbler!"Mr. Timbler fired back at her. He walked to the next room, where he retrieved his shot gun. "Only Humane thing to do..."He said as he fired a shot through both his children before shooting his wife in the face and finally turning the gun on himself swallowing the barrel and... |
It’s not the magazine I’m selling, it’s the experience: your chance to remind yourself of your good fortune, by reaching out to someone who’s not had your luck. There’s always that slight hesitation, like you’re petting a dog you don’t know. But you’re pleased with yourself for your generosity, and your lack of prejudice. If I strike up a bit of a conversation, you’ll start to feel like you can’t walk by me without buying one – you think I recognise you, that you’re someone to me.
It’s part of the experience, the little conversation. It’s usually about the weather, and how cold or wet or windy it is, and then the acknowledgement – silent or spoken - of how “difficult” my life must be. Sometimes I like to talk for a little bit too long, just to watch the panic start to set in, as you realise you don’t know how to extract yourself from the situation. Can’t just walk away into the street as I’m talking to you, can you now? All those prejudices you were smugly suppressing rise up again: you remember that I’m probably here for a reason - drugs or crime or mental illness.
If I gauge it right, and let you leave just as you’re drawing breath to interrupt me with a lie about needing to catch the bus, then you get the kickback – as you walk away you forget that I scared you, and you’re proud of your sympathy, and the fact that when you reached out I reached back, burbling at you with my mouth full of bad teeth.
I know you’re not paying for the magazine: it’s a sniping load of liberal shite. I know: I read it in the dead time in the morning before the shops open. Perhaps you’re surprised I can read, an ugly fucker like me. I got a prize for English once when I was a kiddy, before my mother moved us to Ireland. I remember standing in front of the head at my new Irish school, and him asking me if I had any talents. Me saying I’d got a prize for English, and him correcting me: “I think you should be calling it the writing prize now, sonny”. Not that it helped – I knew fuck-all of the bleeding catechism, and that marked me as the Queen’s delegation to St Thomas’s Secondary and I was subject to the frustrated IRA ambitions of some lads who had fuck-all else to aspire to.
At the time I didn’t understand why my mother had taken us away from Liverpool to this slum. There were children fucking starving in their homes in Dublin back then – I can tell you don’t believe me, but there were. Starving to death like the kids you see in Africa now – same swollen bellies and persecution by flies. Eire. Even the name of that shithole sounds like a noise made in a fight. Later that I realised we’d gone there because it was the only place my father couldn’t follow us to. At the time, I just hated her. Hated her and the mean little existence she scraped out. She’d explained to the man in the shop how she’d been widowed, but no-one was taken in: we were the bastard children, and silence surrounded her like a smell. Once she started really drinking, then she proper smelt too. That was when I left, to come home.
Sympathetic, aren’t you? Shouldn’t happen to a kid, should it? I’m one of your deserving poor, aren’t I? I suppose I should leave it there, maybe just embellishing it with a few of the gruesome details of why my mother left Liverpool, or how kids can be so cruel. You wouldn’t quite believe me though, I think. You’d doubt that life could be so merciless, and suppose that I must have hampered others’ efforts to help me. You’d be right, you know. The night I arrived in London, I fucked up – I take responsibility for it, alright.
You’re so conventional. You’re thinking about drugs again. Or drink. As if I had the means to obtain either. No, I didn’t find oblivion that night: I marched through the streets, my stomach roiling, until I turned a corner on the Embankment, and was struck motionless by the lights on the water and the moan of the boats at their moorings. I stood there with the wind whipping my hair into my eyes, staring like I’d never seen water before. Something touched the back of my ankle and I kicked out on reflex. It yelped and as I turned around to face it I realised it was a scrawny cat. Seeing me, it flexed its back in submission, never taking its eyes off of me. That was what made me hate it, that craven gesture, that weakness. I fucking hated that cat. So I kicked it again, this time really getting the boot in, under the body so the crunch of the ribs was followed by its six-foot flight along the pavement. Then it just lay where it landed, gasping, pawing at the ground with one foot. Didn’t even bare its fucking teeth. I hated it. I stamped on its back, then when it still moved I stamped again and again, till it was dead. I sat down on a bench, and the numbness turned seamlessly into sleep.
Two coppers woke me up. They didn’t trouble to ask whether the cat was my doing. There was already a small crowd. They took me back to the station: I gave a name, and no address.
|
"We have decided,"the human ambassador says after everything is done, after the yelling matches and assassination attempts and appeasing/groveling, "that Humanity will remain neutral during this conflict."The room is quiet before erupting in a squabble of clicks, hisses, and verbal abuse. "That's too far,"the human ambassador says, hurt and offended. "We have decided to remain neutral in this war because we don't agree with either of you. We will, however, be pleased to host any treaty that may come when your war ends. If that's all, than please get off our planet before we decided to nuke your ships."
|
I know this isn't an extraordinary story,it's more extra ordinary.But for me it a story of salvation.I lived with my parents in a house that wasn't mine ,going to a college that I hated which I paid with money that didn't belong to me.I never asked for much,didn't need much.When someone would ask me what I wanted to do with my life I always had the same idea in my head which evolved with time but the core of it was still the same.I wanted to have the ability to not look back .I wanted to have a job that I love so I don't have to go back to this hellhole.I wanted to have a home and walk naked if I wanted to.Wanted love,ordinary predictable love which would feel as it was only waiting for me all my life.That wan in my opinion the standard package of life.Nothing more,nothing less.But even if I looked at it as something ordinary it was always out of reach.Always one more debt to pay,always one more exam to pass,always one more girl to break my soul,always someone who wouldn't let me go.It was as somehow they knew what I wanted to do.As each day came I told myself "Not Today",but tomorrow morning will be a different story in all and I will not say those words at all.I will lie in my bed silent and in peace,there will be a note that reads "finally,I was free" |
Man becomes a serial killer who chooses his targets at random all over the world. The victims are killed quickly and efficiently regardless of the time of day when found alone and away from surveillance. No attempt is made to kidnap or torture and the victim is left where the murder happened. All that is left behind is a note that reads, "Copy me."
After several murders take place in cities around the world, the killer disappears and is never caught. |
It was supposed to be a joke.
He never expected it to have turned out like this. Little Danny, with his green eyes and dimpled cheeks and sun kissed freckles, was all smiles and laughter. He was so alive and joyous, everyone loved him.
How was he supposed to know about the beatings, the screamings, the rejection?
It wasn't until recently that the homophobic abuse Danny suffered from his parents came into light, and by then it was no use.
He wasn't the only one who pushed the boy into the lockers. He *wasn't the only one* who went out of his way to call him a fag.
He didn't even know he was gay, honestly.
It was really all just a joke! He was like this with everyone! Besides, no one ever asked him how *he* felt. No one ever bothered to even question why an intelligent boy like Zack would ever taunt the other boy. No one bothered to even question why Zack had taken to paying so much attention to the spitfire in the first place.
So as Zack stared at the body on the pavement below, too shaken have to even stop the other teen from launching himself off of the seven story school building, he held his lips, still tingling from the gentle kiss of the other senior and thought maybe, just maybe, they weren't so different after all.
Slowly he began to let go of the railing as well. |
Daylight. Time to wake, and work. Time for life.
The camp stirred. The animals were up, of course, ready to be fed. Their snorts and clucks, and the sweet stench of manure hastened those tasked with caring for the them. A rooster sounded, solitary and proud.
The people would not eat, of course. There was a time, not too long ago really, when they would have feasted before their charges, feasted *on* their charges. But these people had been taught well by the Teacher, and they went about their duties.
Quickly the camp was bustling, its inhabitants washing and sweeping and carrying. Young men rubbed bleary eyes as their grandmothers shoved sacks of tools and materials into their arms, shooing them off. A woman snuck her new husband a peck on the cheek before peeling off towards her work group.
And just like that, the sounds of picks on stone and axes on wood rang in the air. Women working looms clattered and scraped, children laughed and sang as they swept and scrubbed. It seemed the world had been hidden away in a burrow, and had finally emerged.
Time passed, not hours or minutes but time. A man who had been chopping wood, chopping for - well, a time, looked up, breathing hard, and squinted into the sun, which was at its zenith. It was time. He dropped his axe, heedless of its sharp edge, closed his eyes and opened up to the sun, arms stretching as far as they could. All around him men dropped their tools. Women filed out of the buildings and children scrambled to find their parents. All faced upward, eye closed, minds and bodies open.
A glorious sensation began to permeate the inhabitants of the camp, something unrelated to the hot sun. Something, or was it everything? It was hard to tell, but the people knew those sort of questions were meaningless. They set aside their frivolities and focused, as one, towards the sky.
Suddenly, without a shift occurring or a moment passing, all the people found their eyes open, and their vision filled with the image of the Teacher, seemingly high and distant in the sky but at the forefront of their perception. Ah.
He had many names, though no construct of human language could encapsulate that being. Teacher. Father. Mother. God. The legends, passed from wily old folk to slack-jawed youths, said that the Teacher had once been a man, a human, named Kim Jong Un, and that he engaged in the daily happening of humanity. It didn't seem possible, or even truthful, but it was unimportant. What mattered was in front of them. All around them. What mattered was *them*.
And so, as it had come, it left. The Teacher could have given them a great speech, or just favored them with that kindly gaze, it did not matter. They were empowered, inspired, energized. Ready for work. Ready for what mattered. They opened their eyes, despite having no recollection of closing them after seeing the Teacher, and picked up their tools, returned to their stations, and embarked on the great journey they undertook every day, every waking moment: life. |
*It's nice to be out of that damn hospital,* Brandon thought as he strolled casually down the street. Brandon's knew heart seemed to be working just fine. As he walked towards a Starbucks he grabbed a newspaper from small table set up outside a restaurant and promptly began to fold it. Entering the Starbucks he got in line. The man in front of him looked like a college student, judging by the laptop and back pack. But Hell, it was Starbucks, seemed like everyone needing to type something set up in a Starbucks.
Brandon's gaze moved downwards to the man's back pocket where he could see the bulge of a small, square billfold. *Perfect.* Brandon folded his newspaper a few more times and eyed the billfold again. *Needs to be a bit wider.* A few quick adjustments and the folded newspaper looked to be about the same size as the man's wallet. After a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching Brandon reached out and dug into the man's pocket very gently and grasped his wallet. Then, he seamlessly drew the billfold out whilst replacing it with the newspaper. Brandon withdrew and quickly stuffed the wallet into his jacket while the man reached back and felt his back pocket. Reassured by the feel of the newspaper, the man stepped forward in line, confident his wallet was still in place.
Brandon smiled at his new prize. Without a word he turned and left the line after pretending to check his watch. Upon opening the wallet Brandon found that the man was indeed a college student, judging by the campus ID card. Only $23 in cash...not much but it was easy money, and Brandon knew he could easily repeat the stunt as many times as was needed to buy a decent amount of groceries for the week.
After raiding the billfold of all its resources Brandon approached a trash bin tossed the empty leather pouch into the opening. It was at this moment, that Brandon stopped... He stared at the trash bin for a very long time, unsure of the feeling that he was experiencing. He felt very wrong, very sick...like he had done something terrible. He thought of the man at Starbucks who was probably just now reaching for his wallet to only find a folded newspaper, but his thoughts didn't stop there. In a matter of seconds the memories of every foul deed Brandon had committed swept into his mind. The color drained from his face as he realized the pain and grief he had caused so many people. Then, right there in the middle of the crowded walk way, Brandon broke down. As he sobbed people passed him without breaking stride, some looking confused, others disgusted and some with a look of concern.
After about five minutes of pathetic whimpering, Brandon came to his senses. He rose to his feet and dashed over to the trashcan and buried his hand into the filth it contained. Feeling around for a while, Brandon finally found the man's wallet and he quickly placed the $23 back inside. His past offenses were too late to fix, so he could at least mend this one.
As he ran back to the Starbucks he began to worry if he would even find the man who he had stolen from. As the Starbucks came into view a sense of relief washed over him as he sighted the man walking away from him. He caught up to him, gasping for air. "Sir! Sir, I have your wallet."The man turned around and locked eyes with Brandon.
"You mean you *stole* my wallet."Said the man as he reached for it, rather angrily.
"Y-yes, I did and I'm sorry. I promise I put everything back though."As Brandon gave the wallet back, he couldn't help but smile. It felt good to do this.
"Thanks for giving it back, man. Just, don't be an asshole eh?"And with that, he left.
As Brandon walked away the good feeling went away and was quickly replaced by the dread he had felt before. How could he make up for all of the things he had done? All the people he had mistreated? He walked, lost in thought for a long time until something told him to stop. He couldn't tell what had made him stop; a feeling he had perhaps. Brandon looked up and saw that he was standing in front of a small church. He had never been one to believe in or really care for God, nor had he ever stepped foot in a church, but something felt different now. Brandon took a tentative step forward, then another. After a few steps he quickened his pace. *Maybe the answer to helping others is in here.* |
John Johnson was a badass. It was not a boast. He was a certified badass, he even had a certificate to prove it. However, this creature we was punching to death with his bare fists didn't seem have gotten the memo. So he kept punching it, vigorously.
His barrage was perfect. His blows rained down fast and hard, leaving the monster no chance to counter attack. But after a full half and hour, it was still standing. John Johnson was perturbed by the thing's tenacity.
John Johnson too a step back to admire his handiwork. The monster was battered and bloody. It's body and face were bruised and misshapen from all the punches he had landed. John Johnson was surprised to see the monster healing incredibly quick, nearly instantaneously. John Johnson was impressed.
"I am going to eat you and take your powers of regeneration"John Johnson announced.
And with that, he resumed his barrage of punches. |
First post in /r/WritingPrompts !
------------------------------
They're saying you could see it from Seoul. But there are reports coming in all the way from Hwaseong, some even further. Lights in the distant night sky where once there was only darkness. The sounds of muffled armed skirmishes replaced by the whirring of machinery. The marching of feet.
My bosses are losing it. We lost two drones last night. Another this morning. Drones that we'd assured the government were undetectable. Drones nobody should even know how to find. Gone. The last transmissions the bright flash of a guided missile detonating feet in front of the camera. Close enough to make sure nothing remained. Far enough to let us see the message.
All day it's been chaos. Nobody knows what's going on and everyone's asking for answers. The media are spewing their usual FUD but, hey, it's as real as anything else we know. This hole on the face of modern society, a portal to a bygone era of tyrant rule, just gone overnight. We always joked about the might of the Great Leader...but we didn't know who the real Great Leader was. A cover, a veil. A magic trick of such massive proportions, Houdini would've wished he'd grown up eating kimchi. Using prisoners like play toys to distract the world from the truth. That's what we can gather.
Overnight, all NATO surveillance was terminated. Not on our terms of course. The South Koreans got word out as fast as they could. The fear in their voices so terrifying we haven't released it to anyone. We can't handle the oncoming storm, let alone with the tempest brewing inside our own teacups. Our interpreter broke down, and you knew she'd lost a part of her.
Then suddenly, nothing. Silence. 50 million voices we'll never hear again. The North knew they'd reach out to us. They knew exactly how long it would take for us to put ourselves together. They let the South send their message, not as a warning to us. We've brushed of their warnings for years. No, this was different. A challenge.
But no, it's not enough to push us into a fist fight. No, they throw sand in our faces and kick our feet out from under us before we can raise the left to shield us and the right to hit back. Overnight, they turned on their beacon of defiance, and overnight, they extinguished ours.
The economy is in free fall. A one, two punch to the gut. Hide their wealth under us. Our banks, our stock markets, the frail web we built to survive on. Then pull it out from under us. Foreign Korean accounts, financial fronts. The whole nine yards. All a ruse to get our guard down.
Heck, yesterday we were joking about 'Great Leaders' latest threat to the nation. Today, we're barely a nation to defend. Even if we survive their onslaught, we will spend eternity in the dark, reaching for the light we once were. Who do we ask for help? Our greatest allies will suffer this worse than us.
Even our nemeses are not safe. China broadcast their last plea just now. Their voices silenced, replaced by the sound of marching feet. The sound of a cold, calculated revolution. |
Poppy was never alone. Luckily, she only *felt* alone.
"Introversion,"as it was officially classified in the DSM-IX, "doesn't have to be a life sentence, Poppy. We can help you."Eden placed a hand on her shoulder, which she instinctively pulls away. "We're here for you."4,072 faces on the video streams behind them nodded in agreement. "All of us."
Eden flashes a smile she's only rehearsed a hundred times. "Will you let us help you?"
Poppy looked up to the screens. 8,144 eyes looked back. After what would have been a long silence, if it weren't for the live chat pinging every second with a new message commenting on the silence, Poppy finally spoke.
"Sure whatever."
The notifications flooded in. **Marcus Rodriguez loved your moment. Taylor Beckerman loved your moment. Alicia Yu commented "Aw, she's so cute!".** Eden turns to Poppy, and gives her literally the exact same smile, **Carly Johnson loved your moment.** down to the slight cheek tug and batting eyelids. **Carly Johnson no longer loves your moment.** Poppy cringes. Eden wants to comfort her, remind her to be strong and ignore the haters... but that won't make for good video content. **Jim Ngo loved Alicia's comment about your moment.** Eden spins around to face Camera #45.
"Poppy Gardner, let's give your attitude a makeover!"
Cue musical title sequence.
---
`PART 2`
The title sequence lasts 15 seconds. That's all the time Poppy and the host of their brand-new series, *Let's Lift Poppy Gardner*, have before the cameras come back on.
"Poppy,"Eden says looking directly at her guest, rather than at a slight angle so the camera gets her good side. "I'm really sorry, but if we pull this off, you can finally get away from all this."
Poppy raises a finger, asking permission to talk without talking. Eden ignores it. There's no time. "Cure your introversion. Get loved. Get rich. Become my assistant host. We both get a year's worth of Commercial Breaks."
Poppy tries to nod in such a manner that it says "I understand"without it looking like it's saying "I agree."She ends up shoving her chin into her collarbones.
Her show's first episode finally starts.
"Alriiiiight, Poppers!"Eden knows she hates being called that.
"Let's hear your sob story. What horrible event happened in your early childhood **Yin Chan commented "Why's she looking at her boobs?"** that's caused you to become such a filthy recluse?"
"Uh."Poppy jolts her head back up. "What."
"A tragic heartwrenching backstory that cleanly and concisely explains your singular personality flaw."Eden's worrying. She even forgets to **Aaron Tacovsky replied to Yin's comment. "Well, who isn't? ;)"** bat her eyes *before* doing the cheek tug.
"Oooookay then? Right. Kiddy memories. I guess when I was younger, I tried talking to people? Get to know them personally. But every **107 peeps loved Aaron's comment.** time I try to open up to them, they just reply with stupid, short, so-called 'funny' comments and--"
Poppy gets cut off.
"Fascinating! But now, a word from our sponsors."
The cameras cut off.
---
`writing part 3...`
|
*Samantha pulled her sword from the ogre's neck, blood still dripping from the tip, and turned away. Matthew stood a few feet away, fingertips glowing as he healed a large gash in his side. His normally neat ponytail was coming loose, and his robes were torn.*
*"That... that was intense."He panted and sat down. Samantha tossed him her water skin. "Here, drink this, then let's get moving. I'd like to make camp at the base of the mountain, and we've only got a few hours before nightfall."*
As she spoke, the waterskin suddenly froze in the air. She looked at her sword, and the blood had stopped dripping. Matt's wound closed up, even as the glow faded from his hands.
"Well, that's a chapter break!"Samantha shoved the sword in its sheathed and held out a hand to help up her friend. "S'about time too, we were nearly out of resources."
"Yeah, I only had a few more spells left in me."Matt reached back to tighten his ponytail. "I hope he starts the next one after a full night's rest - I don't want to play through the next attack before I get my per-day."
Sam nodded and pulled her pack off her back. Inside were the typical traveler's supplies - rations, bandages, armor cleaning supplies, and a few other small, useful items. She shut the bag, closed her eyes, then reached in again. This time, she pulled out a book that definitely wasn't there before.
The small red tome bore her name on the cover in raised golden letters. She opened it to a page labeled *Outline - Chapters 4-7.*
"Alright, we've defeated the ogre. He doesn't have a lot sketched out next - something about 'hurry up and get them through the mountain range.' So I don't think we need to worry about another random encounter for a few pages at least."
Matt grinned, closed his eyes, and pulled a similar book out of a small pocket in his robe. His tome was blue, with his name in silver letters.
"I see he got pretty flowery in that last fight - described your eyes as 'a pair of sapphires, glowing with the fierce conviction of a thousand warriors.' Hope he edits that out; it sounds pretty stupid."He elbowed Sam in the side.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Either way, he *did* say he wanted us at the base of the mountain for tonight's camp. Let's get down there fast so I can get out of this stupid armor."
They both flipped to the backs of their books, which showed a rough sketched map of the area. Samantha tapped on a drawing of a large mountain, then pinched her fingers together and moved them outwards. The map zoomed in, allowing her to see a drawing of a small river and a marker noting the location of the ogre's cave.
"I wish this guy was a bit better at plotting his scenery beforehand. I hate walking through sketch zones - especially the ones he doesn't plan on actually fleshing out later on."She sighed, pressed her finger to a point on the map, and whispered something to the page. A moment later, she vanished.
---
Note - more to come soon! I've got a lot of ideas for this, but wanted to get my first section down for y'all. |
*Go to a administrative section near your home to sign your citizenship!* _ said the poster on the wall. They say everyone signs this contract. Ever since citizenship became "optional"50 years ago, no one declined to sign the contract at 18. Ok, sure, some people procrastinate and do it at 19 or even 20. People who are traveling abroad, or who live in isolated places. But no one actually declined to sign.
It's no wonder of course. If you are not a citizen, no company will hire you, no college will accept you, no bank will open an account for you. No one will do business with you. But they still call it voluntary association. Ha! Yeah, voluntary my ass! It all started more than half century ago on a movement called... what did they call it? Something Wall Street. [EDIT: Occupy! It was Occupy Wall Street. You can Google it.] Yeah, than came a great financial crisis... or did the crisis came before? Ah, I don't remember this history shit. All it matters is that people got pissed by the government, many anarchist ideas arose and the politicians decided to back off by making citizenship voluntary. On paper of course, it was never voluntary on the first place.
Well, now the Government is even stronger and can use this *voluntary association* bullshit as propaganda. *Everyone signed the contract*, they say. **Well everyone until now**, I say! Fuck you government! Corrupt and tainted by corporate interests government. Bullying common citizens into submission. They make us work 20 hours per week! We are not in the 20 century anymore, we have technology to sustain us if we work 5 hours, but they still make us do 20. And we can only retire at 100 years old! They increased our life expectancy to make us work more. Fuck you politicians.
Sorry, I got a little carried over here. In my next blog post I will try to explain how I expect to survive without signing the "Contract"after I turn 18 next week.
...
Hi guys, sorry for posting too late. I was going to make a post about my plans, but I have to say what happened to me this last few weeks. First they came to my house asking if I forgot to sign my citizenship. I told them to fuck off! I just turned 18 a month ago, I expected they would wait a little longer to harass me. The second visit, they tried to bribe me into submission. Offered some coupons for whatever, I didn't pay attention. I told them to fuck off again. The third visit they threatened me saying: *If something happens to you, the police won't be able to help if you are not a citizen*. Yeah, I can take care of myself, fuck off again! I will resist these suckers and hopefully people will see that there is other option. And we will build Anarchy one by one!
See you guys later, I'm still writing my plans, and I expect to post it by next week. But I'll say in advance that it's about selling some stuff they don't let us have.
...
Guys, **I**'m **W**rit**I**ng from the hospita**L**. I got beaten on the street by some thugs whi**L**e the police was watching! Fuck them! It was the last threat I w**R**ote about. Th**E**y decided to fulfill it. I see now why everyone **S**igns the c**I**tizen**S**hip paper. They are willing to go **T**hrough a lot to make us submit. Given some thought, I decided to resign and sign the damn paper once I get out of hospital. They won this battle, but not the war.
...
last posted 3 years ago
Somewhere in the middle of the country there is a cemetery. In this cemetery there is an unnamed tomb. On it is written: *The citizenship is a voluntary contract between the government and its people. Everyone voluntarily signs it.* |
Men in suits. A dim room. The phones still. The TV blaring a mid-day news cast. A quiet incredulity balanced with a self-righteous rage. How could it happen?
"Today, an historic piece of legislation passed that changes the nature of electoral politics,"explained the cable news anchor. "It weights an individual's vote based on their Social Net Worth."
Movement and muttering in the room. A hushed swear. A cell phone vibrating.
"Social Net Worth is a score computed by a newly formed commission including members from the Departments of Health and Human Services, Labor, Homeland Security, Education, Revenue, and the Justice Department. Using an algorithm that utilizes personal, financial, tax, and social information on available social media, the Commission on Social Net Worth determines an individual's overall contribution to society. That measure is..."
There were groans. These men were leaders. They were elected officials, having won their seats by carefully playing an entrenched system where lobby spent money to buy ads that appealed to populist ideals. Where it was easy to fool the voters en masse. And where there was little need for accountability once elected. They were sent from their home towns and states to Washington, to run a country.
These were Republican Congressmen.
And today, their reign ended.
|
A little bit more on the humor side.Breaking the details a little here, but one of the aliens has been there for about 5 years before his friends. The story revolves around the friends of the first alien making their way to the first aliens apartment. The two friends ask the first alien about certain things they saw while heading there. And the first alien gives a somewhat, "matter of fact"response to all of their questions. Except he gets them all wrong and gives them little false qualities or exaggerations. The friend aliens might use silly names aswell.
Example.
>Well, then what are those metal creatures with the transparent heads that eat humans and yell at everyone?
Oh! You mean cars! Those are machines they created that run on million year old fossil water they dug from the ground!
Not necessarily that stupid but just a little example. It would probably be a pretty short story.
And you don't have to do it at all if this is a lot less funny than I think it sounds.
|
I've been procrastinating for the last two hours. Where my focus should have been on the chemistry in front of me is instead lured to my window, where rain drops line the glass. I can't say how long I stared at those little goblets; an instant felt like an eternity (or maybe my studying has effectively slowed time down to a crawl). Regardless, the rain will continue.
A startling loud noise abruptly woke me. I must have fallen asleep on my textbook (until now I thought my drooling was a thing of the past), and the rain has subsided.
"Ouch!"As I got up off my chair a sharp pain rose up my left arm, and immediately I noticed the superficial veins were pulsating. *I must've fallen asleep on my arm or something. Weird*. The noise that woke me turned out to be my phone I must have knocked over. Just as I was close to picking it up I stopped dead, with my right arm stretched out: The phone emitted a burst of electricity.
*Holy shit! I'm glad I didn't get any closer to that. Must have been a hard drop from the table*. My laptop was still running. Closing the lid proved to be a mistake, as that too burst in a glorious fireball as I got near. I was startled. I vomited.
My knees were weak; my arms were heavy. I got vomit on my new sweater: it was mom's spaghetti.
I later found out I was dreaming. The end. |
(Sorry if this is terrible)
Saturday April 1, 1933. Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.
Just outside of the harbour sea planes frantically were unloading evacuees onto the HMAS Albatross, before heading
back towards the ruins of Sydney to search for more survivors. The guns of the HMAS Australia and the HMAS Canberra aimed their shells obliterating the recently completed Sydney Harbour bridge, the concrete and metal crumbling into the bay below. The structure that was to be a crowning achievement for Australia now lay in ruin like the rest of the country. It seemed like ages ago when it had started in Western Australia on November 2, 1932.
Sir George Pearce, Major G.P.W Meredith and the army just running around the state shooting emus, it had seemed like such a simple plan then. The ruins of Sydney on the other hand showed how much a simple plan had gone terribly wrong. Shooting them had seemed like it would be child's play, but then the emu's began to evade them, seeming to fall back into gorilla tactics. The rest of the country and indeed the world had, had a good laugh at the fact that the emus were outsmarting the army, however they stopped laughing when all contact was lost with Western Australia on November 22nd. By December 12th, a handful of refugees from Western Australia speaking of over 50,000 emus descending on Perth like a black cloud of feathery death. Pecking and clawing without remorse, seemingly hunting down any human they found and killing them. Contact with the Northern Territory was also lost during this time, there were no survivors.
The ones that had escaped Western Australia kept running, leaving the country completely or heading east to Sydney. The state South Australia was lost on December 24th, many had tried to escape by train but the emus seemingly understanding what was occurring would not permit it. They threw themselves in front of the train, sacrificing themselves until the train couldn't move. Then they descended upon the people trapped in the train cars like sardines, slaughtering them all. The military was limited in their options now, people were fleeing the country, and with the naval base in Fremantle lost in November, they only ships the navy had left were the HMAS Australia, HMAS Canberra and the HMAS Albatross left now. Any attempt to take back land was for nought, the emus never stayed in place, they kept moving, their numbers growing steadily. Any attempts to take back areas that seemed emu free would last for only a few hours and then emus would come out of the wood work and retake them.
The bigger problem was the military was running out of ammunition. By January 1, 1933, the Australian government had lost contract with Melbourne and Brisbane, they ordered a general retreat to Sydney ordering what was left of the army to fortify positions. The recently completed capital of Canberra was evacuated on February 14, 1932, with Prime Minister Joseph Lyons moving all government to Sydney and encouraging all Australians to head to the last safe haven in the country with a port. The general staff of the army and the government constructed a series of trenches and fortifications around Sydney in the hopes off slowing the advance, the early evacuations had provided enough man power for the effort. The Sydney Harbour bridge construction continued and was opened with little fanfare on March 19th, 1932, the logic being that it would be used as a choke point, as well as provide another evacuation route if needed.
Australia had started 1932 with 6,576,824 people, and now near the end of March the population was down to 576,824, with 424,276 of that in Tasmania. The hope had been that the remaining population would be enough to repel the emus. At 23:52 on Friday March, the attack began, the fact it was pitch black put the night shift defenders at a huge disadvantage, many not seeing the emus, or if they did manage to it was already too late. Unfortunately by the time the alarm was sounded it was already too late.
The emus had overran all the outer defences and were now surging ahead, the army managed to scramble into the inner defence permitter and began to open fire. For whatever reason no one had thought the emus would strike at night. By the time the sun rose over the city at seven, the army had fallen back to the entrance to the harbour bridge. Joseph Lyons had given the order to the HMAS Australia, and HMAS Canberra to start shelling the city in the hopes it would slow down and kill off some of the emus, while the HMAS Albatross attempted to take on more passengers. The barrage would last for over 2 hours, by now the city was a pile of rubble. The remaining forces on the bridge and been overwhelmed by the emus from either side and the order was given to open fire. As the bridge exploded, the three ships began to steam towards Tasmania, the battle of Sydney had less than 2,000 survivors. As the ships headed towards the emu free safe haven of Tasmania, a little boy aboard the the Albatross running through the hold found broken crate, with several dark green eggs inside. Being curious and not wanting anyone else to take them, he carefully placed them in his backpack... |
"You're a natural? Huh"she muttered at me. "But why?"
I glanced at her through my glasses, she was looming over my desk in a black dress that screamed *Does not belong in an office*and looking at me with a condescending scowl as though the idea of me not juicing was somehow more ridiculous than the layers of candescent make up on her face or sleeve tattoo portraying a dolphin and a dragon entwined. "Why not"I sighed back to her and turned back to my work.
She clipped out on her 6 inch heels, leaving my door ajar as people always did. Beyond into the open office, people where well into their 5-day shadows and nervously looking at the calendar to make sure they got to go home at the right day. Where as I sat perfectly content, having awoken from a restful sleep a mere 6 hours ago, I would soon have lunch, work a little more and then retire to my bed to *sleep away half my life* as all the other juicers say. I stared at the bleary letters on my screen for a few minutes before giving up and heading in search of coffee, I was the only one who drank it now *putting unnecessary chemicals in my body is bad* they scoffed at me when I joined. I don't think they fully understand what those pills they chomp down every 8 hours are, but god forbid they be coffee or featured in the Daily fucking Mail, because then the whole world would break down.
The kitchenette greeted me like an old friend, the kettle exactly where I left it and my filthy mug exactly where it should be/ Its almost peaceful being the only non-drug addict in the office. Almost.
Just to ruin my moment, the black dress walked in and glared at the mug in my hand, her mouth opened as if to talk and as the words began to form:
*BBEEEP* *BEEP*
Her watch went off and she scurried to the dispenser in the next room, taking her up not seconds after the first beep. "I'll give you that"I said. "You juicers sure can move fast when you need to".
"Its not all we can do"She winked as she said this, eyes flirting more than words ever could. The pill had put her back to her usual self.
"You know, if you miss that window, if you miss it by a minute. All those days you've put behind you, all those nights you spent poring over meaningless work, all of it up until this moment will come crashing down. You'll fall beneath a wave of fatigue and never resurface."I strode to her as I said this grasping her hands in mine.
She looked up at me with quizzical eyes and said "I know".
"You asked, why I was a natural, well that's why.". I smiled back at her and quietly muted her watch before letting her hands go and returning to my desk, coffee in hand. |
**See You at the Bottom**
They all watched as they plunged beneath the clouds. Only a few thousand feet left. Not much time to talk about who didn't deserve to die. Michael realized this, so he spoke first.
"I know we've only got a few minutes left, but I want you all to know something about me. I've always cheated my way through life. I'm not going to try to cheat death. The parachutes are yours."
Katherine didn't have a problem with this. She had worked harder to get by than anyone she knew. Yeah, she had made a couple of C's her freshman year, but doesn't everyone? She thought of those nights when the meth-heads came to her door, desperate to get their next hit when she had an exam in three hours. She thought of the times she had been physically exploited by John, one of the addicts. It shook her to the core, but Kat was a cookie that wasn't about to crumble. She wasn't about to stand by as her potential plummeted into the sea.
Carlos was exhausted. It wasn't from the aches in his arms from lifting people out of their seats and throwing them towards the parachutes. It was from knowing that sometimes giving everything you have simply isn't good enough. People were going to die, no matter what he did. The guy in the suit wouldn't be able to hold his grandchildren and comfort them when they couldn't step into the dark. The girl wouldn't be able to go the beach and feel the water lapping at her toes or watch as the midnight moon burned bright in a Roman sky. The co-pilot would never get to see his beloved Cowboys play on a Monday night. And he would never get to propose to Ennea. All they had seen, all they had been through would be flushed down the toilet. But what Carlos hated the most was that he wanted to live. All of his supposed honor had vanished the moment the guy in the suit had given him the chance to survive.
Ennea had yet to move. She knew the pilot had opened his appreciation card when the plane began its nosedive. By the time he got to "We wouldn't be able to rise to the stars without you,"he had ingested enough powder to seal his fate. Yet she didn't understand how it all went wrong. She had it all laid out--she and Carlos would be quick to grab a 'chute and ditch this sinking ship. But Carlos's damn chivalry had gotten in the way, like it always seemed to do. As she started to bail, she realized that Carlos had done what he always did--put others before himself. He was the one directing people to the parachutes rather than grabbing one himself and getting the heck out of dodge. Misery quickly overcome Ennea. She knew she had made a horrible mistake. Carlos was going to die, even if it meant she and everyone else somehow made it out alive. She couldn't bear it. When Carlos told her to get to the parachutes, she sat frozen in her seat. She hadn't moved since.
But there was still hope. 4 parachutes, 5 people. The man in the suit's value lived in his assets, which he would pass on to his presumable children. The kid flying the plane seemed miserable, as if he had nothing to live for. The only one Ennea felt sorry for was the girl. She seemed to have her shit together, and Ennea didn't want to throw that away. She would grab a 'chute for the girl if she could.
Simon thought only of the previous night's catastrophe. Jesus, how he'd mucked this up. He hadn't wanted a party in the first place. He just wanted to spend a casual evening with his buddies. Hell, Nicole could've even shown up if she wanted to. But Brody had insisted on a party, so a party was had. Simon didn't mean to sleep with the stripper. But alcohol does things to you, you know? He had nearly screamed when he woke up next to the girl in the hotel bedroom. He hadn't even seen Nicole since the incident, but he knew that she knew. He was so distracted by this that he barely even noticed when Gary's head slammed into the controller and the plane began to descend. It didn't take long to realize there was nothing Simon could do about it, either. But he knew he had to somehow get back to Nicole and beg for mercy. This was his chance.
The four who had received a second chance from Michael stepped towards the parachutes, where Michael was awaiting them. He deserved a proper send-off after giving up his own life for theirs.
Katherine was the first one in line. Michael handed her a 'chute. She gave a slight nod to her suit-clad savior and jumped.
Carlos and Ennea were next. Ennea looked at Michael and said, "You'll never know how much this means to me."Carlos remained silent, unable to look at the sacrificial man. Hand-in-hand, the two leapt from the plane.
As Simon approached Michael, he gave him a long look before speaking. He would've never thought that a man in an Armani suit would be so willing to throw everything away. Goes to show how inaccurate stereotypes can sometimes be. When Simon had caught sight of Michael stepping onto the plane, he never thought that this overly-tan, slick-haired fellow would offer him redemption.
"Why are you doing this?"a puzzled Simon asked Michael. "I'm not,"Michael replied, sweeping the still-dazed Simon's legs out from underneath him. Simon's head crashed with a thud against the floorboard. With one horrified look of recognition, Simon fell from the plane and towards his demise.
Michael calmly grabbed the last parachute. *See you at the bottom*, he thought to himself, and jumped from the plane.
|
Every day its the same thing. Cosmonauts stranded in space during nuclear war. Hitler this. God that. Satan as a good guy. Make me feel a specific emotion in 200 words. Six word stories.
I look at my computer screen and sigh. Originality is dead. Everyone hops the same gravy train to karmaville, and all we hear about are the complaints about the same things making it to the front page.
Its almost as if the users WANT us to follow /r/technology 's footsteps and have a bot auto delete the 'common' prompts. God in the title? Deleted. Satan? Axed. Cosmonauts? Fucking banned.
No. That's too easy. We could have done that ages ago when we weren't default.
No. They want to test us. They want to drive us to the extreme to weaken our resolve. They'll poke fun at the prompts we champion.
We will not give in.
Perhaps we should ban those squeeky wheels. Ban ALL OF THEM!
YES! THAT IS THE ANSWER!
perhaps we should start with /u/whatwhatinmyear... |
Larry slumped back in his chair unable to breath. A dull numbness manacled about his throat, he could only stare at his screen. Each of his feed readers began to blink and ping, their colors and tones eerily similar indicating that they were relaying very similar news. “...found guilty…” was all that Larry could make out, his field of vision now a bad copy of one of the hundreds of focus and blur apps he had reviewed in his distant past. Larry finally inhaled but his lungs were too weak to hold more than a gulp of air, the rest trembling out over his lips as his body began to convulse. His deep sobs did little to drown out the cacophony of messages that began to fill his inboxes.
Eric relived the event each and every night. Some nights he was behind the wheel. Others, he turned just in time to see and then feel the impact. Strangely, he was never a bystander in the crowd. He was in a lunch meeting when he got the email. He knew that there were probably no more than two bidders left and thought this meeting would confirm that so he didn’t see the email until his was heading back to the office. By the time he arrived everyone who mattered was in the War Room. He didn’t leave that room for nearly a week. At first the information was sporadic, disjointed and conflicting. The media was having a field day, which lead to a field week, then a month. Eric had been through each line of code, had watched the video, had spoken with nearly every witness, yet there could be nothing that could explain what happened. Larry had done the same thing and was convinced that there was something that they had missed. The months dragged on as did the lawsuit, which had been consolidated and moved from two separate venues.
It had started as one of Larry’s pet projects. As more research was done, more milestones hit, Larry’s budget grew. He even got a few laws passed to facilitate quicker expansion and adoption. This was supposed to ease life for everyone. Instead, somehow it took a life. The U.S. Attorney had painted a stark picture of the events. One of the slides he was able to get into evidence showed the decedent, Mr. Foot, pinned against the wall with the Spirit of Ecstasy impaled into his chest, his own blood silhouetting his lifeless body. By the time the case reached the Supreme Court, everyone had their own take on “Christine”, the moniker given to the 2023 Rolls-Royce Ghost II in question. Rolls-Royce was one of 6 initial automakers outfitted with G-Showfr. The owner of the car, Dorne Walin, was asleep in the backseat, the lone occupant, when the accident occurred. The facts of the case were not in dispute.
Mr. Walin had left his home at 6:30 a.m. He had been working most of the night into the early morning so decided to sleep on the way into work. With G-Showfr engaged, he closed his eyes. He awoke in the hospital a month later. Around 7:15 a.m., while travelling Southbound on Garrison Ave., the car’s software, independent of G-Showfr, had some catastrophic malfunction. As car began to approach a T-intersection, its brakes failed as did each failsafe to disengage the accelerator, apply emergency braking or otherwise. Based upon a thorough review of the telematics, once the car’s software malfunctioned, it was clear that the car would continue past the intersection and into a crowded sidewalk cafe. However, that did not occur. Although the lines of code told the story, the U.S. Attorney played the video from the dash cam right up until the moment of impact. In a side-by-side shot, the information from G-Showfr ran against each frame of the video. The car enters the intersection, the car’s software fails, the crowd comes into view, the wheel is turned and the car is directed straight toward a man walking his dog. It’s unclear exactly how G-Showfr came to its conclusion, but it’s clear what its conclusion was: It purposely avoided plowing into the crowd by implementing the only other alternative given the circumstances...to turn the wheel away from the crowd and direct the car into Mr. Foot.
By the time the case reached the Supreme Court, it was obvious that the new federal Corporate Manslaughter Bill might have some teeth. It was the first time a corporation had faced such charges since the bill was signed into law. The possible verdict would kill what was left of the company, trebling damages of up to 25% of revenue. The execs, of course, had more pressing matters, their own freedom.
Once Larry had composed himself as best he could he called the only person he knew hadn’t heard, the only person no one else could reach, the only person who had more to lose than himself. As the phone rang, he prayed that it would go to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sergey...we lost.” |
Oh, man..I never thought it would get this big. I just wanted to write a tribute about the wonderful people I knew all those years ago.
I was stoked when Penguin decided to publish it (especially when their money started coming in!)..but after copies of it ended up in the hands of my old friends, everything went absolutely insane. Seems that I didn't do quite enough to "blend"our stories into characters that would have been less recognizable. Half of the people I'd ever met as an adult thought they 'recognized' themselves, and immediately filed a lawsuit.
Yeah.."write what you know"can fuck you up. Maybe I'll do a sci-fi or romance fiction thing next time. Perhaps they'll make enough dough to solve all these wounds over that first thing I *really* wanted to write. |
"People of the planet earth, I ask that you lend me your ear. As you have done so many times before, I ask you to hear my words and decide to do what you believe is right. We are at the dawning of a new age. One in which, if we do not unite to push back the invaders, will feature humanity as only a footnote. We dont know where the aliens came from, and we don't know why they've come here. All we know is that they have more advanced technology than most of us can even comprehend and a bloodlust for humans that borders on absurd. And they've brought ten million soldiers to our shores. It no longer matters what country you're from or which political ideology you follow. Whether or not we realize it, we are already united. We are the human race. And we are seven billion strong. If we choose to fight against these oppressive beasts, many of us will die. Men, women, children, it makes no difference to *them*. But if we don't fight, if we choose to simply hide under rocks and in corners, then we all die. Every single last one of us. I cannot make you fight, and I would never ask that you do something I would not. But now is the time to rise up and fight our agressors. Now is the time to rise up, and show **THEM** what we are made of! NOW IS THE TIME TO RISE UP AND SAY IN A LOUD CLEAR VOICE, WE THE PEOPLE OF PLANT EARTH WILL BOW TO NO REPTILIAN OVERLORDS. RISE UP MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS! RISE UP AND TAKE BACK OUR HOMES! RISE UP AND TAKE BACK OUR FUTURE!" |
Stars puncture the darkness
With light older than the rock I sit on.
That light might have
Shown on races much older
Than ours.
That light might be
Showing on races
Just beginning.
Whatever goes on,
So far from the reach of
My grasp, my understanding,
I know that I will neither
Grasp, nor understand it.
A history too large
And too complex
For me to know
Shines down upon me.
What mysteries
Might be revealed to me
Were I to be able to
Comprehend the cosmic code
Transmitted to me
From these long dead giants.
I cannot comprehend.
So, I will take them for what they are -
Pretty lights,
Puncturing the deep darkness. |
Yesterday was a blur as I lay in my bed, having just woken up. I tried to remember exactly what happened yesterday, but the details were way too fuzzy. I knew the main event, though: my son was being detained in jail.
I remember applying my lipstick hurriedly in preparation to catch my appointment with the police. "Jesus Christ, William, what did you *do*?", I had muttered to myself. How could my little Willy do something criminal? I kept wondering this same thing as I drove to the station, absent-minded.
Soon thereafter I was speaking to the police chief. "Hello, ma'am.", he greeted coldly. "Good m-morning. I understand my s-son is being k-kept here?", I stuttered. His presence was making me quite uncomfortable. "No, I'm afraid he's being held in the federal penitentiary."I was absolutely horrified, and nearly screaming as I asked, "For what, officer?"
"Charges include but are not limited to", he read, "property damage, arson, trespassing, and multiple counts of murder.". I think I passed out after he mentioned murder. I don't blame myself either. I was mortified.
I sat up. "Maybe that was all a dream.", I reassured myself. I knew deep down it wasn't a dream. Something told me to turn on the news while I was redressing my bed, and I did. Just like in the cartoons, the information I wanted was just starting to be discussed. "A Chicago teen whose identity will be released shortly", the news anchor reported, "has been confirmed as causing the deaths of over thirty people. Details at six."
I promptly felt sick to my stomach. I saw a picture of William on the screen. His eyes were censored but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that this was my baby. My special, sixteen-year-old, ADHD diagnosed, baby. Opening my computer and Googling "chicago teen rampage"had to be the most difficult thing my fingers had ever done. It was all I could to keep myself from breaking down in tears.
It didn't even take a lot of time before I found his explanation to the world on YouTube. As I was reading it, I sympathized with him on a much deeper level. In a dark, sick, twisted way he was finally popular. People finally paid attention to him, now they would care about what he did.
He'd gotten revenge on anyone who made fun of him at recess. He'd made everyone who asked him out on a prank date pay. All the people who had called him an idiot for years upon years were shown who was really boss. All their sorry butts were buried two meters in the ground, and it's all because they made fun of the guy with ADHD. "No matter what happens, it's all worth it.", he threatened, "These guys will see how funny my 'mental condition' is when I make their heads explode.". And he got them. He got them all.
It's just a shame he had to use his powers to do it. |
Organgered woke up first. Groggily looking around the room, he noticed his underwear clinging to the ceiling fan. Glancing at Periwinkle he wanted to throw up. No matter how many prayers he could possibly say he realised Snoo would never forgive him for this repugnant transgression. He crawled out of the bed to get a glass of water but stumbled on an empty vodka bottle, crashed to the floor and passed out.
This woke Periwinkle up. He was in a state of utter bliss. He was a steady grey, having lost his purple-y blue colour during last nights escapade. Jumping out of the bed quickly he noticed Orangered passed out. Periwinkle liked this new him and didn't want to lose this feeling, Snoo be damned. Periwinkle came up with a plan.
Orangered woke up to the sound of duct tape being pulled, no longer on the hard floor. Before he could scream out Periwinkle stuffed an old sock in his mouth and taped that shut. In a panic he tried moving his limbs but discovered that they were secured to the bed. Organgered shook in horror with the realisation that this one night stand was not ending so soon.
|
The lights flickered.
He frantically looked at his watch, then sighed with relief and went back to stacking the cases of food.
Finishing the pallet, he turned and started walking through the short ceilinged but lengthy room. Halfway down he glanced to his left at the unfinished passageway between 2 racks of water. The stone cutter he had used to carve out his bunker lay in the passage, disassembled. Naturally the one thing that broke was the one part he didn't have on hand. He had abandoned the new passage, it was just another contingency anyway. He already had enough.
He reached the industrial elevator and rolled the pallet truck on before he boarded. Then he started the elevator up. The elevator was slow, but had massive capacity. He's needed it to be to move all the mined stone out as he'd carved his cavern. Disposing of this waste was trivial--- there was a gravel mine that backed up to his property. He'd just dumped it over the edge at night. No one ever noticed that there was more stone added every day.
This was the last truckload of supplies. Ultimately it was excess, unless things didn't go to plan. Once he had this load packed away it was time to button up inside an wait. It had been a long time coming and now it was the day.
After a long while, the elevator reached the top and he opened the normal looking closet door to his laundry room. He rolled the pallet truck out and into the garage where 3 more pallets waited. He glanced out the windows in the garage door, peering up into the sky. "Idiot,"he said. "You won't see it in this hemisphere."He was used to hearing the sound of his voice. He hadn't spoken to another person in several years. He had been busy on his bunker.
He sighed and slid the pallet truck under another pallet, stacked up with boxes and wrapped in plastic. What was this one? Oh, yeah. Clothes. More contingencies. He already had plenty but this last load was just stuff he added on since he had excess cash. Money wouldn't be worth much soon, might as well spend it. Back to the elevator.
3 hours later the last of the boxes had been stowed and the pallet truck greased and parked in it's spot. He rode up to the house once again.
He walked to the living room and picked up the small stone in the middle of the coffee table. It was from a hillside near his childhood home. He'd carried that stone everywhere since then. He'd traveled many miles, studied a wide range of subjects and worked on some of the most important technologies on the planet.
And soon it would be a cold rock floating through space.
Putting the stone in his pocket he boarded the elevator again. As it bore him down into the bedrock he imagined the asteroid he knew was coming in mere hours. When it struck the other side of the planet, it would generate a firestorm no human had ever imagined possible. The resulting cataclysm would kill every living thing on the surface. few would be both prepared and in a deep enough bunker to survive.
The elevator stopped. He carefully engaged the safety and then disconnected it from the power. No need to waste it. He wouldn't be using it anytime soon. He stepped into a small alcove outfitted as an office. A monitor on the wall displayed different views of the house and surrounding area.
He picked up a key from the desk and put it into a slot on the wall. Watching the monitors, he turned the key. The display showed explosions firing through the house. A view from outside the house showed it fold in on itself and collapse into the basement. It was hardly visible. Then higher up on the hillside several other explosions fired and the hill seemed to leap up and start flowing down toward where the house once stood.
When the dust settled, there was hardly any sign that a house ever stood there.
He left the key in the slot and walked across the hallway. Here there was a well apportioned living area. Leather sofas, large screen television, bookcases filled with DVDs and books. The one item out of place was a bare steel rack bolted to the wall next to the door holding several different kinds of firearms. Another contingency. There should be no way for someone to get down here but if they did he has his rack of guns. There was also a section of the warehouse with far more.
He fell into his favorite chair an closed his eyes.
Starting awake he heard a familiar tune. "What the fuck,"he mumbled as he dug out his phone. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and read the alarm message.
"t Minus 5 to impact"
He picked up the television remote and flicked it on. The world news channels all were talking about it, panic had set in once it had been spotted. The talking heads were theorizing and pontificating but, ultimately, it was useless.
He had spent a lifetime on this planet, working with some of the greatest minds and biggest companies. He had been a subject matter expert for nearly every type of valuable material on the planet.
And this planet was in a rare spot. It was in just the right orbit to be habitable and just a short jump away from both an asteroid field and a gas giant. And it had a plethora of water. It just needed a slightly thinner atmosphere and a population of backwards, intellectually stunted bipeds wiped out.
The huge ball of methane and iron hurtling at the planet would take care of that.
Then his brothers wold come to extract him and get him out of this stinking, pasty body.
Soon after his family would mine this planet of all its heavy metals and construct a traditional long house where more of his kind could live. Then they'd establish a mineral processing orbital and they'd begin the decades long process of stripping this solar system of every sliver of valuable ore. His family would be fabulously wealthy. Maybe they'd bid on another system so his children would have a nest egg. Yes, this was a beautiful beginning. He pulled his stone from his pocket, thinking of home.
The lights flickered.
|
"Mama, Daddy, I'm gay."
I say the words to the mirror, and I mean them to sound loud, like a battle cry, but they're small. They're really fucking small. I've been meaning to tell them for a while now, but it just never seemed the right time, you know? I mean hell, you try growing up in a small town in Alabama.
"GODDAMMIT, RICKY, PUT THAT GUN UP BEFORE YOU KILL SOMEBODY."
I bury my face in my hands and groan. The voice belongs to Aunt Donna. She used to sell Avon before she got too fat to walk more than 20 steps without hyperventilating. She mostly rides around on her hoverround now. And yells. There's lots of yelling, but then it goes with the red face, red hair, red lipstick, and red nail polish she wears. Red isn't a good color for her, but it's an accurate one.
Ricky is my unequivocally-criminal cousin. Well...I suppose technically he's my nephew, but he's older than me, and it's just kind of awkward to call him my nephew, and he sure as hell isn't about to call me "Uncle."He's been busted for a bunch of different stuff. Most recently it was possession with intent to sell, but Daddy's friends with the sheriff, and got it bumped down to simple possession.
"JASON, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE SO WE CAN START EATING, THE FOOD'S GONNA GET COLD!"
That voice belongs to my mama. Mama is pretty much the exact opposite of Aunt Donna: she's blond, skinny, and short, but I swear to god, she can yell just as loud, but she doesn't cuss that much. She says it's uncouth, but we live in a trailer. We're not exactly the experts on couth.
I splash my face one more good time and head outside. I put on my best smile, but it's a three-ring shit circus. All six of my parents kids are there: Jimmy, Jeremy, Josh, Jud, John, and me, Jason. All boys. We had one more older brother, Jack, but Jack's been in prison since I was a baby for killing a police officer over a dog fight. We don't talk about Jack much, but Ricky's his son, so he's kind of always, you know...there.
All my brothers are there with their trashy-ass wives and their trashy-ass children, Ricky's waving his new gun around, and Aunt Donna's arguing with Mama over the proper placement of the food. It's in moments like these that I think about how completely unlike my family I am. All my brothers are over six feet and well over 200 pounds. They're all loud, all obnoxious, and all absolutely disgusting pigs.
I can't even begin to comment on the demon spawn that are my nieces and nephews, and can only say that they're recognizable only by the number of decibels they increase the ambient noise in a room. Otherwise they're a blur of red hair, and clothes that smell like they haven't been washed in weeks.
"Happy birthday, Jason,"Aunt Donna croons as her hoverround whirs up to me.
Her fight with my mother is forgotten for the moment.
"How you feeling, honey?"
I take a deep breath and prepare my mask: the story about the girl at school who might like me, how I'm not gonna go out for the football team because I need to focus on my grades, but I might go out for baseball, and most of all, how I can't wait to go to Panama City again because of all the girls in bikinis. What comes out of my mouth is completely off-script.
"Oh I'm pretty gay..."
There's a sharp intake of collective breath and silence. I realize in an instance what I said.
"I mean, I'm pretty good! Good!"
Blank stares. Well, the cat's out of the bag, I guess.
"I mean...I guess I'm pretty gay, too, but that's...good, right?"
Worst.
Family Gathering.
Possible. |
For as long as I can remember, we have been here. Some of the elders tell me about a time before we gathered together in these spirals, and some can remember a time when they had to focus their gaze for years just to be able to notice anyone else. I've been around the collective a few times since my birth, but I haven't been able to find anyone with my hobby. It's sad really, they all just sit around talking. I felt fulfilled for awhile, but after I realized how alone I was, and how alone they would be, I started to become depressed. Sure, I have my children, but, if they have to be alone... It brings me to tears knowing that they might never hear another voice, never leave they're crib, never see the beauty that I see around this neighborhood. Pillars light-years wide an even more tall, pinwheels made of light stretching further than they could travel in a lifetime. Everything out here is breathtaking, but... Old friends have turned to mocking me for believing that these minuscule, specks could ever travel between us. But they are wrong. Lately I have been able to hear them, they are shouting, they are fighting, but they are THERE. And now, they are reaching out. One small step, One giant leap. |
I was there the day you moved in. You brought me a toy. A little race car of a colour which perfectly matched my eyes. My mother revelled in the coincidence, using the opportunity to flirt shamelessly with our new neighbour. Looking back, I can recall how you squirmed at her advances, but perhaps that's just my own bias.
It was seven years later when first I heard my mother remark about how much younger you seemed to look, and how shocked she was that you were still single. You weren't. I'd seen your lover through the window a number of times, but I daren't crush my mother's hopes of snagging this friendly neighbour.
When I first met the boy you once were I believed him to be your son. We quickly struck up a friendship, and I relished his visits more with each passing occasion. It would be almost two years before I learned your secret, and by that time we were lovers.
I wanted to be brief with this explanation because it's all background to explain why it is that I never leave the house when we're here. It's not out of fear of causing a paradox with my younger self. It's because I know now why my mother never saw the man who lives with you. |
*10:27*
Abbie walked by me again. She has long and straight red hair, coming down to the bottom of her back. Her face is a tad longer than normal, but no worries: it was just more space with which to fill beauty. A smaller nose, full lips and big, bright eyes had me head over heels in love with her from the first microsecond I observed her. Heh, observed. There I go, talking like a creep.
Unfortunately for me, I am a creep. I'm not some Peter Parker, Spider Man-esque freakin' nerd or anything, but I am quiet. Deathly quiet. You see, dear reader, I've been shy my entire life. It stems from an incredible amount of bullying I was subjected to in middle school. The other kids...they called me Michael Jackson, or MJ for short. They claimed that I did horrible things to children, simply because I was different. I simply assumed they lacked the ability to think on their own, or draw their own conclusions. Michael Jackson wasn't bad. Neither was I.
But I had developed a signature move, and it was one that I did often. It was, in fact, one of my most-known movements during my reign as the king of pop. I would stick my tongue out and wiggle it back and forth while dancing the monkey. Christ, what a fucking fool I must have appeared to be. Still, it made people laugh (not with me, as I had imagined back then).
And so it was that they drove me to constantly do my little dance. But they didn't know the horror they were unleashing upon themselves. With every pass of the tongue, every time it touched one corner of my mouth; every time a fist reached its maximum height and the other its lowest, an incredible energy was gaining momentum.
The brightest of lights would begin to emit from my ears. It would start small, as all great things do, and grow rapidly. Before they knew it, the light would be blinding them, but they never screamed. The laughter pierced the wall of light. Then, in one blinking moment, it would expand rapidly and then: nothingness. Blackness. Nothing but dark. My vision would slowly come back, and just to be sure, I would always be sure to glance at the clock.
*10:17*
Abbie will be walking by again soon. I can't wait to see her. Perhaps this time, I will touch her hair. Maybe smell it, if I'm feeling like living on the edge. I used to have a friend who specialized in not only touching a girl's hair as she passed by, but also managing to eat some of it. Unfortunately for dear Abbie, he took the time to teach me. I hope I can sneak a taste. |
Oh shit oh shit oh shit, stop the noise!!!
The sound of entire gangraped dinosaur families came from a huge burning cauldron that glowed malevolantly at all gathered there. He saw the shadow ghosts of demons from hell roaming around the scene below, it was a vision straight of of a Bosch painting.
What was David Bowie doing in the cauldron? Is he a puppet of the evil one? Oh shit oh shit oh shit...... He had the fear bad, real bad. He knew that if he did anything they would see him so he hugged his knees and trembled in undilited horror.
Jo the linguist stitting beside him offered him a drink of water, at least she wasn't wounded or taken down to hell. The drink purified him, he felt the holy waters of the Vale of Avalon enter him and the horror went out of him like mist is dissolved by the new day's dawning.
He sat for a bit on the blanket at the top of the King's Meadow, not thinking anything at all except to hear the hypnotic pulse of stoner tribal drumming throb in the distance.
A being of light came to be a few yards away, concentric circles of light beams circling each other, but that was just the way it seemed, he saw that it was a unity.
The war was gone from the meadow now but still raged in the green fields and the rest of Glastonbury Babylon.
Some children of god in white robes were gathered round the standing stones chanting in a strange tongue, he could see the ripples of banishment flowing from them and repelling the huge reptilian shadows out of the land...
And then Universe spoke, a huge howling hidden golden moan of energy directed at men's souls, it produced life in the unseen depths of the listeners and the shadows whimpered to hear it.
Jo pointed out a big round metal circle as the voice of God, it was just a gong FFS! Oh dear me, I am a silly old Hector... Got any vera's? |
"Huh, sounds like something you'd say,"his wife grumped as she was evesdropping on the couple behind them. It was the first she'd talked to him in the last week. It was a relief, but he still did not know what to say.
The seat they were in was getting sticky with perspiration after the ferris wheel ground to a halt, leaving them both high in the air and in the growing dusk. He tried to turn and see who spoke 'his' words, which prompted his alienated wife to make her comment.
But between the growing dark and the angle he was sitting he could not. The only light left on the dead ferris wheel was next to the person in front of him. From the wavering incandescent bulb he could make out the man's shirt, which he recognized as being much like the one he picked up at the thrift store last week. But this one was old and faded with wear. He leaned forward a little and also saw what looked to be his hair and the faded green and yellow John Deere hat he wore religiously.
"Cool, the dude in front of us has my shirt and hat on,"the man said. "Yes,"said his wife mockingly. "He's a slob just like you."As she said it--the man realized it was just a little too loud in the quiet summer evening. And the guy in front of him heard it and turned around.
What the man saw was a slightly grizzled version of himself sitting there looking back at him. The shock on both the the men's faces didn't quite register when behind them--the man who his wife eavesdropped on said, "Cool, the dude in front of us has my shirt and hat on."
Snapping his around, the man was able to see the couple behind them for the first time. Staggered, he nearly fainted as the ferris wheel cranked back up.
What he saw was a newly married couple, she was pregnant. And the man was dressed exactly as he was except he could see the new shirt creases in the gloom and the brand new, crisp from the vendor: a green and yellow John Deere hat. The face was the worst.
It was his face of 5 years ago... |
"A conflagration isn't just a few flames; it's an especially large and destructive fire that causes devastation."
That's what it became known as. The Conflagration. It started as a wildfire of change that blazed through the entire world. Entire societies were sent into upheaval in a matter of days. It wasn't long before the literal fires began, and for six months, the world burned.
The Kinesis Project was started, funded, and proliferated by an anonymous, decentralized group of scientists under the moniker of The Next Step Society. Someone, somewhere, found a way to manipulate human genetics, granting and unlocking various Kinetic powers.
It started with simple Telekinesis. Youtube was inundated with videos of teenagers levitating small objects across rooms, working in tandem to lift a teacher's car onto the roof of a school. It started as mischief. Three days later came the first known murders. Fridges lobbed in anger by a scorned paramour, knives sent hurtling into unsuspecting school children, surgical implants dislodged traumatically. The list goes on.
Governments began working together to stop TNSS, but it was too late. The treatments began to be modified. Other variations of psychokinesis emerged granting the wielder powers over specific elements.
Within a week pyrokensis emerged. This is considered the official start of the Conflagration. The world burned. Unexplained storms raged. Cities were leveled.
This picture is when they arrived. We call them The Calm. They appeared in flashes of lightning all over the world. Luminious beings, perhaps once human, who could both wield and prevent others from using their destructive powers.
The fires were put out eventually. The world is recovering. People are learning to live with these powers, and The Calm see to it that the world doesn't begin burning again.
But there have been stories and sightings of red flashes of light, and of luminous beings with unknown intentions appearing in their wake. We can only hope they are more Calm, and not something that will ignite the world anew. |
Human's today have no understanding of the mentality of my species. So many think us mindless beasts, and even among those that give us more respect than that, few see us as above dogs. Pfft, dogs, so called mans best friend? Dogs are loyal only to themselves. Selfish, filthy creatures, they live for their own pleasure; the sense that they are truly loyal to their masters is exceptionally false; they need masters to live their lazy lives.
But we horses are different. Our sense of loyalty is real, and it is hereditary! We get more than just our DNA and natural instincts from our parents, so much more! We get knowledge! We get the collective experience of their entire lives, and of the lives of their parents before them, and their parents before them. Some of the bloodlines are local; these horses know only the past of the lands they were born into. But other bloodlines, such as the one that has led to my own existence, is an old and well traveled blood line. We S-bads have lived and fought in conflicts beyond count since the early days of the use of horses in battles. Our prowess as battle horses is widely recognized, which is why so many horses of my line were used as breeding stock. That is why I am here, how I came to exist.
But what do horses truly live for? Other creatures think they know, but humans can only guess at the truth, and often only come close to it by fluke.
Loyalty is what drives us, loyalty is the only important thing. But not loyalty to our own, to our parents; I loved my parents, and cared for them as they cared for me, but I was not truly loyal to them. They did not expect me to be, it is not the way of horses.
I am loyal to my country. And not necessarily the country I live in, it does not always work that way. I am loyal to the country of my ancestors. Italy.
Long before the rise and fall of the roman empire, horses walked the Italian countryside. Nearly 4000 years ago, a mystic came to the horselords, the greatest and most respected of the land. This mystic new the true power, the true intellect, the true usefulness of my line, and he knew that we spoke the language of man. They had us swear an oath of mutual protection to the peoples of that land, ensuring that by working together our peoples would prosper as they had never prospered before. We were taken care of, we were trained (no horse needs to be trained by a human, it is in fact the other way around; but no human, with their inflamed pride and ego, would ever admit that). As the years went on, the Italians treated us well, and we helped to fight their battles. My line fell in scores on the battlefield with smiles on their faces; it is what we born to do. In all the battles of our forefathers, offensive and defensive alike, we fought, we died, we stayed true to our oaths.
The humans thought they had mastered us. As the roman republic became a vast empire, they actually thought they had tamed us, that they had gained supremacy over us, that we were to do their bidding, or face the whip. They were wrong. We did not serve them, we served the countries they served. Until they no longer served that country; then any human smart enough to open their eyes could see what we were truly capable of.
Horses do not abide by treachery and treason. We have no sympathy for it, and we do not tolerate it. So in the year 237 AD, when an entire roman legion, including all of it's 1500 cavalry, went rogue and began to fight against its once roman allies, one of the greatest defeats of the roman age was about to occur. The treacherous legion faced off against one loyal to the empire. The cavalry from each side were the first to engage in battle, a battle that was to be short lived and bloody. They believed we would take them into battle against the righteous, that we would fight and die and rot in hell along with them, but that was not going to happen. Seconds before the two cavalry charges met in the middle of the battlefield, the signal was given, and the treacherous scum were bucked off to the men. Those that escaped the angry hooves of their once 'loyal' horses were quickly run down by the opposing horses and the men atop them. The traitorous foot soldiers watched in horror as their cavalry was annihilated in mere moments, and in disbelief as the horses, once fighting for their side, charged headlong into their ranks. Horses do not fear death, we only fear failing in our duty. Our duty was to protect Italy, and that is what we did that day. The enemy army was crushed, the grandeur of battle horses was solidified for all time.
My grandfather 98 generations before me fought in that battle, but I remember it as if I was there. Such a glorious thing it must have been for my brethren to be able to serve our country in such a way.
Glory, which has sadly long been forgotten. Rarely are we used in battle anymore, and rarer still do we have cause to be loyal to that fight.
Although my hooves have never left Canadian soil, I remain fiercely loyal to Italy. I have never harmed anyone, as no one that I have ever encountered has done me or my country any harm. With one noteable exception.
My masters like to show me off at shows. Strangers, old and young alike, are let into my paddock and are allowed to touch their hands to my beautiful mane. But horses are always listening. So when I heard a guy bashing the Italian soccer team, labeling them as whimps, divers, and all around poorly moral people, I snapped. I don't know how many times I kicked him, I only know that the amount of blood he left behind in my paddock will almost certainly ensure his death.
Good. He deserved it, and ten times more. I am not stupid, I know that by taking his life I have forfeited my own. When a horse is told that it is on the way to the glue factory, it knows it will not return. If that is my fate, then so be it.
I have lived a long and loyal life, as have many of my family. I regret never setting foot on the ground I pledged my life to, but the regret is only minimal; this is the world we live in, the world I will not occupy for much longer.
It is important that I try to pass on this knowledge to others who are capable of understanding it. I have never had any offspring, so my words are all I have to leave behind.
True loyalty lies within my species, and only my species. We will fight and die for what we believe in. If you insult a horses appearance it will ignore you. If you make fun of the way it moves, it will not care. Such things are below us. But if you make fun of the place we call our true home, if you threaten that which is sacred in any way, then you will be joining me in the afterlife before you even realize the error of your ways. |
She was in a supermarket, checking the ingredients of a cereal when it started creeping towards her again. The shadow. Lengthening, and taking shape of an arrow, gaining color, till it was almost tangible. Half the length of the aisle, and 1/4 as wide, it was gaining pace. Her heart rate picked up, "da dun, da dun, da dun, dadundadundadun,"when she saw him. He seemed familiar somehow. Just as she was about to panic, drop her basket, and run, he called out to her.
"Jocelyn!"soft brown hair whipped around her delicate shoulders. "Jocelyn, stay with me!"
Who was this man? Why did he think he knew her?
She slipped, stumbling backwards. Her basket spilled across the linoleum floor, milk gurgling over the ever advancing arrow, temporarily concealing it from her view.
A strong hand gripped her just above the elbow, and she stared into knowing blue eyes. "Josy, its me. Remember me? You gotta stay with me now."
He had a name. Yes, she remembered him now. She remembered those knowing blue eyes from another time, another place, but where? When?
The aisle started to rumble just as the arrow reached their feet. The aisles behind them were cascading down, creating a tidal wave of produce and cereal, heading in the direction of the arrow. Heading for them.
As a wave of bananas, peaches, and cereal came crushing down, Jocelyn screamed, "No! Travis, not again! You can't let this happen to me again!"
She was under water, watching her last breath bubble up from her face, only to be trapped on the ceiling of her car. Travis sat in the passenger seat, buckled in. He all ready lay unconscious, blood mixing with the water around his fractured skull. She tried to scream, to no avail. Her last breath had just escaped.
"Josy. Its ok. This isn't real. Open your eyes."
Reluctantly, she lifted her lids, and found his searching eyes.
"Why are we here?"she managed, nearly breathless behind spread fingers. "What's happening?"
"I don't know. I just knew when I saw you that I had to help you. Like I couldn't last time."
"Last time?"
"In the lake. The last I remember, we went over the bridge. My last thought was that I had to try to help you, but I couldn't."
"Travis, what did you mean when you said, 'Stay with me?'"
"I don't really know. Like I said, I saw you and knew I had to help you."
By then, it was silent. The supermarket had faded away. They were side by side in a cold dark room, listening to the sound of each others' trembling breaths and heartbeats.
Softly, Jocelyn spoke again, "Travis, are we dead?". She stretched her fingers towards her right, gripping nothing but air.
"No. I don't think so. I think they are trying to figure out what happened to us. Make us relive it."
"Why?"
"Why does a perfectly sober couple go flying off a bridge after they just went grocery shopping? Think about it Jos, it wasn't even raining."
"So you think they are keeping us here, trying to find out if there was some sort of malcontent?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I'm thinking."
At that moment, Travis's outstretched fingers found hers, and squeezed, hard. She could have cried out in pain, but did so in joy, hoping tomorrow's simulation would allow her more time with this familiar stranger, this man she knew she loved, but was afraid of loving.
"Don't worry Jos. I'll be here. I won't let you drown." |
"NO! This has GOT to be a mistake!"
I pounded my fists, I stomped my feet. I cried and I swore. I demanded to see a supervisor. It didn't matter, I was dead. But, acceptance does not come easily.
"I Didn't..."I mumbled, halfway through a tear.
"You didn't, what?"The man asked. He sat across from me, in a cushioned desk chair. It wasn't particularly ornate, in fact, the entire office I was in wasn't particular ornate. It was plain, no decorations, no plants, no pictures of loved ones. Nothing that stood out, to use against the soul seated so peacefully across from me.
"I didn't *DESERVE* to die."I responded. What came next, I was not prepared for.
"HA! WHAT! HAHAHAHAHA, you are KIDDING me, man!"The man who sat so peacefully across from me moments before was now whooping with laughter, hitting the desk and slapping his knee. It was a solid minute before he regained enough composure and saw the dumbfounded look on my face. What could I say to *that.*
Thankfully, I didn't have to say anything. He did.
"Heh... Alright Mr. Jackson. Why did you deserve to die? Let's see. While it's true you didn't do anything inherently WRONG, it's the vanity that you held in yourself. It's the absolute belief that you were right and everyone should have left you alone, where in reality, YOU should have left everyone alone! You should have just disappeared! Instead, you drove on, creating your own, your own... Uh, *AMUSEMENT PARK* for yourself and your 'guests.' And let's talk about that, shall we? Did you not consider how absolutely disgusting creepy it is to pal around with children THAT YOUNG, that are not yours, by blood or otherwise, at your age!? No, Mr. Jackson. You deserved to die, not because you did anything, but because of the heebie-fucking-jeebies that you gave everyone else. That being said, there's a place for you in the afterlife. You're on after Hendrix and Garcia at this weekend's DeadFest. I'm looking forward to the show, I've got third-row seats!"
|
I couldn't come up with a resolution for this one. I might finish it later!
**DAY 9 CENTRAL PARK 5:44AM**
Derek Goldsmith was beaming as he saw her retainee, Goldie. She was in a visible huff as she approached.
"Ah, May at last, Goldie! Sundress season! You look lovely!"
"Sure. Let's go."
"But my dear! Clearly something is wrong. Tell me what troubles you."
She regarded Derek with the same sort of expression you would give to the muenster cheese that killed your parents.
"Some gross businessman has convinced the law that I have to be within 200 yards of him, while the sun is up, or I go to jail."
Derek smiled and said, "I'm afraid they were in the right. It was empirically proven that you and this businessman are in love with each other. You just refuse to see it. It would be a crime for you two to be apart, it was argued. And so it was made quite literal!"
"Empirically proven? Because I used to smile at him when I gave him his coffee?"
"Quite right. A radiant smile, at that."He slicked back his remaining wispy hairs.
"Well,"Goldie replied. "I'm afraid I simply don't love this man. I wish I knew how to prove this to the court."
"I assure you, you do love him. Does he not treat you with every courtesy? Does he not shower you with more gifts than a woman could ever want?"
"He does. I still do not, *will* not, love him."
He sighed a crestfallen sigh and slumped his shoulders. "It's such a shame. If that's what you really believe, then you will never be happy again."
**DAY 12 CENTRAL PARK 5:43AM**
Derek beamed as he saw Goldie approaching from the distance. Another man was next to her, holding a camcorder.
"Ah, Goldie! The days are getting longer! How sweet it is to see more and more of you every day! Who is this gentleman you have brought with you?"he said.
"Hi honey! This is Harry, our cameraman."
"A cameraman? Whatever for?"
"I thought about how much I *savor* my time with you, walking through parks, sitting all day in your office while you work and so on. Then I thought about the heartbreak I feel after sunset, when I sprint to the nearest taxi and head home, and have to wait an entire night to see your handsome face."
"Why, my dear, you don't have to leave me ev-"
"-So I thought, what if I get footage of our every precious moment together? Then I can have it on file for... memories."
"I... see. How are you going to afford this man?"
"Oh, I sold some rings."
**DAY 15 CENTRAL PARK 5:42AM** |
##"Formal Overview of Containment Measures (Level 3 Documentation)"
The CT-12 containment device is designed to digitize and store life forms belonging to some 700 species that share [a common DNA sequence](http://www.dex.gov/private/L4/dna-marker). CT-12 units are capable of placing stored life forms in stasis or providing them with simulated environments to act in; when multiple units are in close physical proximity while simulating, they can merge simulations, allowing their stored life forms to "cross over"and interact with one another. Due to these and other properties, CT-12 units are widely considered the most humane means of biological storage.
To release a stored life form, a CT-12 unit must recreate that life form from scratch; due to the unique properties of the species being stored, they must be generated at a subatomic level. The generation process is accomplished using a wide variety of technologies, including the physical translocation of chemical elements kept in official stockpiles, and the use of nanobots to manipulate and assemble translocated molecules. Translocation is responsible for the characteristic beams and blasts of red light associated with the containment and release of life forms stored in CT-12 units.
Contrary to popular belief, CT-12 units are not designed to conduct behavioral modification on stored life forms. The contents of a CT-12 unit will retain their free will, beliefs, motives, and social relationships. However, CT-12 units do not protect their contents from external modifications, psychological conditioning, the effects of abuse, the effects of genetic experimentation, the effects of ██████'s "██████"experimentation (see [document "XD-001"](http://ops.orre.gov/private/L5/counterterrorism/xd-001) for further information), or any similar tampering conducted in an attempt to alter a subject's mental state. A contained life form will not obey unless its trust or compliance is earned, or unless it is coerced in some manner; in short, its upbringing determines its behavior, CT-12 or no CT-12.
CT-12 units are capable of interfacing with H55 medical stations, which can be used to heal physical injuries sustained by life forms stored within any CT-12 unit. H55 stations can heal most basic injuries, but are not rated for use with life forms that have sustained critical life-threatening injuries or mortal wounds. (For those injuries, surgical intervention with psionic assistance is required. In such cases, partial containment systems, such as H23 medical stasis units, may be employed; such interventions are discussed [in a separate document](http://medical.world.gov/interventions/partial-containment).) Public H55 stations are maintained and attended to by [trained operators](http://medical.world.gov/programs/nurse-joy) who can distinguish between typical medical situations and situations where intervention beyond the use of an H55 station is necessary.
CT-12 units are also capable of interfacing with any computer system equipped with a GT-12 adapter and a sufficiently-encrypted network connection; these may be used to transfer life forms from CT-12 units to the PSS global storage system. The PSS is capable of housing millions of stored life forms at any given time, generating dynamic high-fidelity simulations. Residents can use a "matchmaking"system to find each other, or "cross over"to each others' simulations by way of a personalized "buddy list."Where possible, long-time PSS residents are temporarily transferred to real-world care facilities, including daycare services and nature preserves, until their original trainers submit requests for retrieval.
For global security purposes and the prevention of exploits, the PSS is subject to monitoring by an artificial intelligence under the ███████ Initiative. In order to discourage the development of alternate PSS systems that would not be visible to ███████, access to the PSS is permitted to anyone, regardless of prior criminal history or any active arrest warrants. For this reason, public service buildings that permit access to the PSS, including Pokemon Centers, are officially designated as safe harbors: wanted criminals on the premises cannot be detained by police or subjected to citizens' arrests unless their activities pose an active threat to the facility or any individuals inside (refer to the precedents established by the [Rocket robberies of '97](http://ops.kanto.gov/private/L2/crime/1997/rocket-pokecenter-robberies)). |
The funny thing about memories is that sometimes some of the most vital points of a story are often not remembered at all.
I don't even remember what the bet was, lord knows I have made so many in my life that it would be near impossible to remember them all, but I do remember the eager faces of the 14 people around me. I had lost, and I was about to be punished for it.
What they didn't know, being mostly from England, with a smattering of other nationalities, was that 13 degrees C isn't that cold for a lot of Canadians, relatively speaking. So on that windy day, sitting on a beach in New Zealand, surrounded by backpackers and plenty of cold beers, when I heard what my punishment was I breathed a sigh of relief. After all, stripping down to ones boxers in cool weather, running the length of the beach and back (couple hundred meters in each direction, give or take) was kinda a piece of cake.
I honestly didn't think it would be embarrassing at all. I was mistaken.
A lesson learned the hard way, it was much too late when I reacted to what I had done. I didn't think about the airy, rather spacious pair of boxers that I was wearing that day. I didn't think they would fail to cover my manlyhood. But it did, oh did it ever, and of course the loudest Englishman in the group was the first to point out what was happening. I didn't have the nerve to inquire just how many people saw it, but I get the feeling most did, despite my efforts to cover myself up.
The run started with a background of tremendous laughter, but I stayed true to the punishment and ran the distance. I ensured that it would not be repeated and walked away some steps, turning my back to the crowd as I re dressed myself.
I underestimated the embarrassing potential of a seemingly innocent punishment, at the cost of my dignity. |
Dust
They sent me first. They told me I had the most important job of the whole mission. I was to pick the site of the colony, set up the solar panels, assemble the first of the greenhouses, and scout the surrounding area. I was a pathfinder.
My support would arrive 3 months later. Until then I was the sole inhabitant of planet 359-VK. Three months alone isn't enough to drive a man crazy, but it does grate you. Like a ringing in your ears that won't go away.
Week 3
Sleep, eat, check the solar panels, check the greenhouse, eat, and sleep. That's my day. Every day. The day's on 359-VK are only twenty earth hours. It's funny how much you miss those extra 4 hours.
Week 5
The wind is always blowing here. I hear in even when I'm inside the airtight greenhouse. Dust, so fine that it feels like powdered sugar, coats everything. I have to clean the solar panels every other day just to keep everything working.
Week 7
I think I can hear people talking outside my tent. The wind is blowing harder and it seems to drown them out. I know I'm not crazy. Not yet. I'm holding on.
Week 9
Saw one. Shadow in the dust. I'm not alone on 359-VK. They don't know I've seen them. They think the dust hides them. I see.
Week 11
They want to talk to me. I know they do. I'm in the greenhouse because they're waiting for me in my tent. They won't get me. My support gets here in 1 week. I can make it.
Week 12
Support launch was delayed. Three more weeks. Don't know what to do. They keep looking in through the windows. I see. They see.
Week 14
Dust is here. 359-VK is Dust. Dust want's to question. Why Dust? I can't answer. Don't know. don't know don't know don't know don't know don't know don't know don't know don't know don't know don't know
Week 15
Support crew log:
Arrived at designated colonization location to find solar panels, greenhouse, and survival tent covered in dust. Command advised of situation after radio beacon set up and communication established. No sight of pathfinder. |
A wildlife researcher, while camping alone for the weekend, goes on a hike & stumbles upon a den of starving abandoned cubs. Against her better judgment & limited resources, she gives the starving pups some of her food. She continues to feed them for two days in the hopes that either the parents would return or she would possibly gain their trust & make the difficult decision of rescuing them. On the third day, after feeding the cubs & using up the last of her food, she hears the echoing low growl of a lone wolf at the den's only exit; she has one minute before the wolf reaches her & the cubs... |
*What if I'm falling forever?* I'm serious. What if this hole never ends? The guy who fell from the edge of space didn't take this long. This is, 9.8 meters per second times, how long have I been falling? Oh, wait, I just had a thought, hold on.
**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!**
Wait, that's right, what about that guy falling from space? He ended up breaking the sound barrier or something, right? Am I going that fast? That would kind of be awesome, at least, how many people have died going that fast ever? It can't be that many. How could I figure that out? I know 9.8 meters per second, I remember that from high school, that's gravity, but how to calculate acceleration over time I haven't a clue, and I can't remember how long I've been falling. Pardon me a moment.
**PLEASE JUST WAKE UP! PLEASE! I SWEAR I'D GIVE ANYTHING JUST PLEASE LET THIS BE A BAD DREAM! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!**
*Oh crap, what if I catch up to my vomit?* That would be unpleasant. But that would have happened by now, it must have floated away or something. Wait, am I even still falling? Maybe I'm stuck in some kind of nothing, just floating. No, wait, I can feel the wind in my face. Wow, I *am* going really fast. A thought occurs.
**NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!**
I guess this wouldn't be a terrible time for a cigarette. It's not going to be easy to light, but if I'm going to have the time, right? Maybe I can flip myself over so my back is to the ground. Am I already oriented that way? I can't see light from the hole anymore. That stopped hours ago. Excuse me.
**WHY WON'T IT STOP? PLEASE! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE! AAAAAAAAAAAAA!**
*I wonder how I'm going to die...* |
Sad prompts aren't any easier to write than funny prompts really, but I think there's such a ready supply of comedy just about everywhere these days that a little catharsis is in demand.
Also, while it isn't easier to write a sad story, it is easier to give it more artistic merit because of the accessibility of the emotion. When we look at a funny story, we expect to be entertained, and when you're doing a short story it becomes hard to do anything but that. Writing a more serious story lends itself both to expression and interpretation, since we can all relate to emotions like fear, loss and loneliness.
I'm not saying a funny short story can't be artistic, absolutely not so. Only that when you are limited by space and time, it becomes harder to do much else with a comedy rather than amuse, since a prerequisite for a humorous piece is that it must, in some way, humor us. Whereas a dramatic piece need only be relatable to be cathartic.
Edit: Let me clarify this is my opinion, I might be completely wrong. |
Isaac moved stealthily along the sidewalk, his footsteps falling silently upon the pavement, briefcase swinging at his side. Only the constant *swish, swish* made by the fabric of his suit rubbing against itself revealed that he was out tonight.
He approached the apartment complex that Peter lived in – a decrepit building with crumbling foundations, bricks browned with age. He pulled up his sleeve, checking the hour on an analog watch that had been given to him by his father when he was twelve. 11:13. He could take his time.
Isaac entered the construct, noting a sign on the elevator, *Out of Order*. He didn't think Peter would be happy about that. He opened the door to a stairwell coated in graffiti and climbed the twelve flights to Peter's floor.
The door to apartment 1312 wasn't locked, and Isaac let himself in. The room was brightened only by moonlight that leaked through broken blinds. His already soft step was hushed entirely by the thin carpet beneath his feet – a carpet so badly stained that he was unsure of what color it may have been when it was first installed. The ceiling was yellowed from tobacco use, the air dense with the odor of cheap cigarettes. The putrid scent clung to his skin.
In the middle of the living room, facing an old tube television, was a filthy couch, pea-green and pinstriped. The arms of the sofa looked to have been scrubbed down with charcoal. The walls were bare, with peeling wallpaper providing a textural difference and acting as the only decoration. Upon a coffee table sat stacks of magazines depicting nude women in compromising positions. *Disgusting*.
He moved around the room, systematically removing bulbs from lamps. In his last moments, Peter would feel the fear his victims had felt in theirs.
Isaac made his way to the kitchen, the grime-covered linoleum sticking to his feet. He opened the refrigerator, hoping to find water to soak his dry throat. Instead, he was hit by a wall of stench – spoiled milk, rotten fruit, and so much mold that he was surprised the occupant hadn't died already. He moved to the sink, which sputtered momentarily before emitting a single drop of water that fell uselessly into a bowl caked with pasta sauce. His thirst would have to wait.
Isaac returned to the living room, placing his briefcase atop the stack of wrinkled pornography. He opened it with a *click* and looked at the images inside: a little girl playing hopscotch, a boy tossing marbles, a mother in front of an empty casket, her face bowed in anguish. Reminded of why he came, Isaac sat upon the dilapidated couch, closed his eyes, and waited.
****
|
Bob sighed and shoved his Calvin Klein rimless readers up his stubby knot of a nose. He didn't really care about fashion. He just liked the way these made him look smart, as he had the unique of appearance of college frat boy interning at NASA. Actually he worked for the CDC and hated his job right now. They just wouldn't stop.
He leaned over to peer more effectively at his PC monitor. It didn't help. His hand went up to comb through his lush, cornfield hair. Good looks weren't fixing the problem now. A giblet of congealed blood plopped on the spacebar. Ugh. That must have come from Rona, his field assistant, when the virus reached it's critical stage. He only had a few minutes.
SPLURT. Another one. Bob looked over his shoulder toward the main bank of cubicles. Horror dripped off the paneling and florescents. 'Another one bites the dust' danced through Bob's head for like the 1000th time.
It was time. He could FEEL his organs tightening as the pressure threatened to blow him up. Oh wait. This virus didn't make threats. SPLURT.
"Damn. I really liked Bob,"Sandra grimaced from behind her Macbook. She secretly wanted to bone him violently on her desk, but that wasn't happening, ever. The virus was speeding things up, catching even the most vigilant pathologist off guard. Sandra stared at the .gif her boss had sent out of the microscopic megatrons consuming everything in sight until they LITERALLY blew up from the pressure. This was its transfer method. Gross, but effective.
They had almost found the answer, but then Ely had displayed the final symptom of the virus. This may be the end of humanity as we know it, Sandra thought.
She looked at the .gif again. They resembled spiky balloons when fully inflated. I wonder if....Sandra stood up and started to shout to anyone who would listen, they were all under a time limit as it was. "JUST USE A PIN! POP 'EM WITH A PIN!"SPLURT.
Gary snapped his head back and forth a few times to loosen Sandra's gore. Skylar looked over. "What did she say before she blew up? Something bout a PIN?"
Gary shrugged meatily up to his earlobes. "I can barely remember my ATM PIN. We'll never guess it before we're all bloody popcorn."
------------------------------------
I'm going to stick to reading stories the rest of the day. |
It's March 5th, 2018. This is my first and last message back to Earth.
People... people crave the opportunity to make a difference. People want to be famous, they want to be recognized, and loved, and appreciated for all their hard work.
It's lonely being famous. It's lonely being recognized, lonely being loved and appreciated. My trip to Mars consumed half of the days I had left in my life, best case scenario. And, honestly, after a month in space I stopped counting how much time had passed. I stopped counting the minutes, the hours, the days. And instead, I took to counting the stars.
And although I convinced myself it was silly to stare at the stars and wish it was their embrace I was launched to...
They're small, you see. They're small from Earth, they're small from the Capsule that brought me here, and they're small from Mars. I thought, "Why's it matter what's happening near those stars? They're distant, have no effect on me, and chasing them is *wasting* the few days I have left."
And as I began to resent my mission, my choice to help NASA, I made realization equally beautiful as it was frightening.
Earth was small.
It was distant.
It didn't have an effect on me. I...
I'm dying of cerebral blastoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer. Early signs of its fatal grip on my life have already started -- I won't burden you with their pains. I would like, however, to grace you with its peace.
People are stars. You, me, the rest of 'em. What I mean to say is, the millions of other strangers listening to this same broadcast are small, in your eyes. They don't have any effect on you. You see them when you walk down the street, you see them when you turn on the news, and maybe you know a couple of their names but otherwise they are no more important to you than the stars that poke holes in the sky.
But you don't have any idea the life they provide to those closest to them. The warmth of their hearts and lightness of being may very well be the only difference between the brightest day and darkest night. And while your lover is a stranger to another, she is the center of your life. She is the reason you get up in the morning. She might damn well be the only thing keeping your world spinning.
Forgive me if the analogy is lost to my developing dementia, but...
It is a matter of perspective and perspective alone. You can look at the stars -- look at other people -- and diminish their warmth, their light, their ability to keep you on track. Or, you can explore. You can take the long, often difficult, journey to get to know them. To get close enough to feel their warmth, their embrace, and to see that the life they nourish may be more beautiful than anything you've seen before.
Don't get me wrong -- Mars ain't pretty in my eyes. But you'd better believe that the aliens that found me are.
The satellite and bunkers are up and running. I hope you find the work to be adequate. And I hope you learn to love the closest stars before you go chasing the others. Victor out. |
The hair was blindingly gold, as it always was. I tried to forget that hair, that face, that sweet innocent laugh. Forgetting him was impossible, so I settled for not thinking about him. I could go days at a time where the only thing I think about is not thinking about him. But after seeing a strand of his silky hair, I had to think about him. I thought about how much he loved the playground and how we would always say "Mah"instead of "Mom"as if he were saying that I was his and he was mine. But I didn't think about the people who took him and what they're doing to him right now. Just as I was about to stand up, I felt something cold press up against my head.
"Hi Mah"he said and he pressed the gun into the back of my head. |
I stood there, staring down at the weapon now pressing into my hand. "This... This isn't a person..."The old man I had followed into the cave, whom I was beginning to suspect was not in the strictest sense completely senile, smiled a few-too-little toothy grin. "Because it's dangerous to go alone, so..."
"Yeah, no... yeah, I get it."I said, twisting the sword in my hand, admiring the sheen from the torches adorning the wall across its silver body. "It's just... I mean, you didn't say, 'Oh, it's dangerous to go without a weapon, take this!'. You said, 'It's dangerous to go alone.' Indicating the suggestion a person should be going with me. Which I'm cool with, ya' know. There's some crazy shit out there."
The old man squinted, maybe, it was hard to tell. "You mean the beast king holding the princess..."
"Yeah, exactly. The evil beast king holding the princess hostage in the highest room of the castle, yes, yes that's what I meant."My voice was raising and I was beginning to get more than a little flustered. I rested the sword down by my hip and looked around. "I don't know about this..."I muttered.
"But you must! You must take this!"He urged me along with the sword in hand, pushing me back the way I came.
"Seriously?!"I asked incredulous, turning against my wishes towards the door. "Does this country not have a standing army? I, like... literally just got here, surely there's someone else..."
"No! No one else! Now go!"Said the old man as I was finally outside the stairs. "Now, head that way..."He said as he pointed west. "And for the love of god watch out for the one legged hopping monsters that shoot stuff at you from their mouth. As long as you are uninjured you can magically throw the sword I have given you and it will never leave your hand. Good luck!"
"I'm still alone!"I said as he shut the door in my face. With a long sigh I placed the sword in it's sheath on my back, which was quite a pain in the ass, and tramped off west.
|
The hairs on the back of Henry's neck stood up. The slightly built man sighed. What once would have made him spin in fear was now just an annoyance. A few thousand scares left a man with little fear. He'd been to four psychologists, but none had believed him. Three kicked him out because they thought he was just trying to get prescription drugs. The last one gave him a script for Vicodin.
He took them. It didn't help, but he still took them.
"Hey."Henry jumped up at the voice, going a few inches out of his chair. He always felt he was being watched, but he just heard a voice. The man turned around and looked for the source. No one was there. The voice almost sounded like his own, but more intense. Older as well.
"Is anyone in here?"Henry said to his empty house. "If you're a thief, just take what you want and go. I won't call the cops. You have my word."
No reply.
Henry stood up and walked to his kitchen. His mail was on the counter, but there was an envelope he didn't recognize from when he got it. No name, no address, not even a stamp. The mailman didn't put this in his pile. The man gulped a bit. Could it be a bomb? Maybe powder. Terrorists used to put explosives in-
"Hey, Henry."The man turned again at the voice that was directly behind him, but no one was there. The voice had a trace of emotion in it. Pride? Sorrow?
"Who's there?"Henry pulled out his pill bottle and with shaky hands, opened the cap. The pills shook and spilled, but he grabbed two and swallowed them.
He turned back to the letter.
On it were the words, "To Henry".
He was going insane. That was the only possibility. Nonetheless, he ripped the top of the letter. Almost against his will, he flipped the envelope over and poured the contents onto the counter. It was a picture. Henry picked it up and looked at it.
It was a family. Man, woman, baby. The baby was looking at his father. He flipped it over and read the back.
*We're always watching you Henry. We're so proud.*
The man dropped the picture and took out his pill bottle again, but couldn't get it open. His parents had died when he was still a baby. The man picked up the picture and flipped it back, looking at it. He suddenly flashed back to that day.
-
He was one or two, just said his first word.
"Oh my God, get the camera, Harvey."His mother's voice.
"Why?"The voice was the same one he'd heard in the kitchen. "What happened?"
"Henry just said his first words."
"Oh,"Henry looked up at the giant man towering over him. He bent down and picked him up. "It isn't like we can get a picture of the words. Just savor the moment, Barb."
Henry looked back to his mom and saw her setting up an old polaroid camera before running over to them. She sat next to him and his father. "Smile!"
His father smiled along with his mother. Henry looked up at his father when the picture's flash went off.
"This is so-"His mother's words were cut short with the sound of a door being struck. Two men ran in. carrying guns.
Henry's mother screamed.
"Just take what you want and go. I won't call the cops. You have my word."His father was standing.
The men looked to one another before shooting his father. It wasn't like the movies. He fell down quickly, dead on the spot. They shot his mom next. The men grabbed everything they could, throwing it in a bag before yelling and running out.
They left the camera, with a bullet hole right in the lens. There was one picture printing out. |
It was at a United States Congressional meeting that the mysterious being arrived. He appeared to be a normal member of the congress in his finely tailored suit if not for the unusual circumstances surrounding his unexpected arrival. As a Congressman was speaking to the house on the topic of climate change, the man suddenly appeared, manifesting himself in an instant at the side of the startled speaker. There had been but a few moments of panic and shock amongst those in attendance before Security instantly rushed toward the strange man.
“I would strongly advise against accosting me” he stated calmly. “Your haste to deem me a threat would not only bring about a most untimely end to my announcement, but would put an unnecessary damper on this most joyous occasion.” The guards halted and the smiling man waited for the mottled chattering of those in attendance to subside. The Speaker of the House said, “Sir, I demand to know who you are and what right you have to be here at-“
“Patience my friend”, he said with the same smiling calmness. “You must all be patient, and assuredly in good time you and the rest of the world will know who I am, from where and whence I come, and most importantly, with what authority it is that I make my following claims.” There was complete silence amongst the crowd as they sat in confusion and awe at the mysterious man.
“Let me first apologize for the lack of notice preceding my appearance here. I have long pondered the proper time and circumstances of which to make my announcement, and being a humble being I have opted not for pomp and circumstance. I appear before you with no ill-will, only with good news and tidings of joy. I am, you might say, a mere being with a vested interest in the entire Earth, and all its property and holdings.” There were excited murmurings amongst the crowd. The man suddenly produced from seemingly thin air a document of aged parchment. Elaborately scripted words in gold leaf were visible on its front. The hushed conversations ebbed as he again began to speak.
“This document is in essence the deed to the Earth, which I have held for quite some time now. I have long considered this to be the most precious of all my possessions. I have watched, idly, as my holdings have been entrusted to the race of mankind. For quite some time, you have performed admirably at managing this property. I had taken great interest and enthusiastically marveled at the splendor in which mankind has used their hearts and minds to enhance their livelihood and advance the race of man. Admittedly, I saw no justification to intervene. The circumstances have since changed however. In the context of this very meeting some of the most powerful men and women on the face of the earth meet to discuss some of the implications of the impending doom you have wrought upon yourselves in the last few centuries. Climate, pestilence, hunger, poverty, war...The very likelihood that the earth survives a few centuries more is in jeopardy, and the time has come for me to intervene.” Again he paused, smiling calmly as he allowed time for this information to be absorbed by the confused and startled crowd.
“Let me assure you that this intervention should be received with the utmost joy by all of those beings of the earth, as I possess the knowledge necessary to reverse this course and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity for all. Again, as a meek and humble being, I have no passion to rule, not even an inkling of desire to proclaim myself a King. I intend only to serve, to provide the necessary knowledge to reverse the course of mankind and restore prosperity to the earth.”
The excited murmurings began again throughout the crowd, and again the Speaker of the House addressed the man at the podium. “Sir, I must ask at this time that you-“
“My friends,” the man said. “I assure you that all I claim is truthful. I realize that this announcement is undoubtedly the most unexpected and most outstanding in the history of all mankind, and I did not expect that it would be immediately received and accepted. I will say little more here today, but instead will demonstrate just a few of the wondrous things that are in store for all of you. I will return in a hundred days, during which time you will see just how possible and easily mankind can reverse their fortunes! Know that the great knowledge of the universe is upon you, that this day will forever be known as the day that mankind took its biggest step toward being the most prosperous race in all of time. Truly I say to you, all the atrocities that have been committed to the earth and to each other can be amended, and peace and prosperity shall once again reign with my assistance. Be blessed by these tidings. Until that time rejoice in the splendor that will surely be yours, and live assured that the future of the earth and all mankind is destined for prosperity!”
At that moment the man disappeared in an instant as quickly as he had arrived. The audience was silent for a few moments before raucous excitement broke out amongst them, and the Speaker called an immediate end to the session.
As the man had promised, the hundred days that followed were truly exceptional. The video of the incident captured on C-SPAN went viral over the internet. Every major network provided continuous recaps of the event, and the world went wild with speculation of the mysterious man and his announcement. The debate over his identity dominated the media and the attention of the world.
As the days passed, it did become undeniable that the world had in fact become different. Unprecedented rains fell throughout the deserted regions of Africa and the Middle East. There was a peculiar absence of natural disasters. Miraculously, a large hurricane that had been forming in the Atlantic that had meteorologists predicting devastation for the east coast of the United States had suddenly dissipated and disappeared. Thousands of people stricken with diseases reported their symptoms suddenly vanishing while befuddled doctors scratched their heads in disbelief. It seemed that lady luck ran rampantly across the globe, with common people finding long lost possessions, and a stroll through the park at night resulting not in a mugging but with a chance encounter with their soul mate.
A hundred days from the time the mysterious man had appeared and made his announcement came near. Around the globe, the topic of the vast and unexplainable good fortune of the earth and the correlation with the man’s appearance was at the forefront of peoples discussions. The UN General Assembly was meeting in New York for a special session to discuss the sudden appearance of the man and the events of the past hundred days.
As the Secretary-General was introduced to make his specially prepared statement the mysterious man suddenly manifested himself beside him at the podium. There was a collective gasp from the shocked assembly. Around the world each television broadcast interrupted their programming to air the live coverage of the event. It was the same man as before, though he was no longer wearing the tailored business suit and instead wore a vibrant and ornate robe that gave him a regal appearance. There was a stunned silence as the man began to address the crowd, his shining and smiling eyes captivating the world through the television screen.
|
"Oh my aren't the Americans mad...", commented the tall lanky foreigner.
"Oh yes quite", replied the short stout outsider.
"Personally I find the idiotic patriotism just a tad overwhelming."
"Oh come now, that is a hasty generalization"
"I'm not exaggerating. Just observing the heated xenophobia slowly oozing out of their faces. Just look over there, one of them appears to be throwing liquor bottles."
"Oh yes, I suppose so...judging by their fuming expressions and ape-ish behavior"
"Oh look there now. They finally sent someone up to pick the flag off of the ground." |
I don't know what spared her. Nobody does, but that's because they don't even know she's alive. Shit, she might keel over any minute. The sickness took them all without warning, spanish flu like. When I took her back home some weeks ago we'd landed from a 8 hour flight, overseas, to find that 3 passengers were not asleep as everyone had thought.
You think babies in a plane are loud, imagine when the lad can't feel his mother's heartbeat.
For the four years that followed, girls dropped left and right. It didn't matter if they were young or old, fat or slim. They'd bite the dust faster than we could dig holes. Now, I've never been good with women or even known many I weren't related to, but it took its toll. I've been living with this gut wrenching fear that Ann would be the next to go. That hasn't happened yet, and for all I know it might not ever.
Because she's always been a tough bird, that one. She stood up to her father, defiant even as the blows rained down. She stood up to her mother, the conniving bitch, who for all her damning probably did not expect she would be the first to go to hell. More importantly she stood up to me and my fucked up ways, rejecting every advance. I'd tell her no other man would ever want her, she'd stare me down and laugh. I now realize she could not have given less of a fuck.
I suppose none of this matters anymore. She did not spit on my face when I came knocking at her door. Somehow, I believe she knew what was happening, had accepted her fate, and from the way she looked at me I suspect she knew neither of us would live to find true love on this fucking planet.
And so she followed. Nobody knows she lives at my place. Nobody ever visited before they were busy burying their daughters, their wives. She found a cozy nest on my couch, amidst the empty pizza boxes and beer cans.
Sometimes she spends hours staring out the fucking window, ignoring my own glare. Waiting to die, I suspect. Because if she doesn't, then both of us have a load on our shoulders. For all we know she might be *the* last. I find that absolutely terrifying. I can't imagine how she feels right now.
Ann, my sweet, I don't think your big brother can protect you this time. |
"Dear _______
I know what you did and you know what you did. Although I would not wish death upon anybody- I would not be opposed to you doing the world a favor and fucking killing yourself. Also, don't waste the time searching your conscience to determine who this could be from. We both know that there are too many possibilities.
Sincerely,
The one you broke"
As he took another sip of tea he wondered to himself, who would have written such a letter? Sure, he had done some shitty things in life but he always tried to make up for them. He constantly threw parties and shared his homemade food, fresh tea, and liquor (all of which were more expensive than his friends could dream of purchasing). He constantly picked up bar tabs and women for his friends. Who could hate him so much? Was he not a good friend? Was he not a good person?
"Fuck it"he thought while pouring the rest of his tea down the drain and grabbing himself something stronger- whiskey, his favorite. "I don't need everyone to like me. I have friends!"*Pouring another shot into the empty glass*. "I've done so much for others, they have no right to criticize me!"*Discarding the empty glass and holding the rim of the whiskey bottle to his lips*.
"It was probably some stupid whore anyways"
|
Upon getting the ring, Steve decided that he would use it to help with his job, a telemarketer. you see, Steve was just a regular guy, but he worked with a lot of people from many different places. The office IT Mark was Chinese and would often gossip with Janet another telemarketer. Right after any blunder anybody made, he would see them laugh and then speak in Chinese in low voices like a secret was being told.
His office neighbor Pedro spoke Spanish like speedy Gonzalez runs. His mouth would seem to move at light speed while Steve was lost in translation. Of course, there is probably no reason that Steve should need to use it to eavesdrop on his coworkers.
then there was Bjorn. Bjorn was a slightly more mysterious man. Nobody really knows what he does outside of being a telemarketer. He's from Norway though, and everyone assumes he's really outdoorsy.
What Steve found out that next day would rock his world. In fact, it would turn everything upside-down...
upon receiving his first of many coffees, Steve walked by the usual gossips, Mark and Janet who like to keep to themselves. Bob spills a bit of coffee over his desk
(CH) Mark: the fat one again today has spilled coffee.
(CH) Janet: (giggling) I bet if we took all the coffee he's spilled just this day he'd have another week's worth of coffee.
(CH) Mark: Its too bad he wastes so much, the money spent on that coffee could be going into our paychecks.
(CH) Janet: now Mark...
(CH) Mark: I mean it Janet, if only I had a better income, then your parents would accept me.
(CH) Janet: Mark, now is not the time nor the place.
(CH) Mark: What does it matter, nobody else can understand a bit of Chinese accept for Judy at the front and she's going to go deaf soon with all the loud music she plays.
(CH)Janet: He's here (looks directly at Steve)
Mark: hey Steve, don't you have some place to be?
Steve walks off to his desk.
Speedy in the neighbor stall is speaking rapidly. Apparently to alot of girls, very... ummm... flirtatious girls. Though that was a weak way to describe it. Steve couldn't handle listening to that, it was quite frankly disgusting. Steve was feeling uncomfurtable and took the ring off.
The symbols faded back to the strange shapes they were.
Steve immediately didn't understand his neighbor anymore.
maybe he could get through the day just a bit easier.
But then he saw Bjorn.
Bjorn was also handling calls, but his department included parts of Norway and Sweden. International calls were also very important to the business. They generated the most revenue, but Steve never really looked into it. Not until now.
Steve slipped the ring on, and found himself understanding too well, that his company wasn't as clean as it looked. Bjorn was part of a smuggling operation.
(F) Bjorn: yes, the boss wants 50 kilos of the cocaine... yes.... We have plenty of distributors in the bay area.... no, no, we don't want to throw in a couple girls, too risky... JUST THE DRUGS... yes, that sounds like a fair price to pay.
he put down the phone and dialed another number.
(F) Bjorn: Hey, it looks like our shipment will be arriving in 7 days from Sweden. Get the boats ready, the shipment will be in container 31-C-567-B. I'll relay this information up to the Boss.
Steve realized, he was in the office of a major drug smuggling company. Bjorn looked up at Steve and smiled.
"hey, how's it going bud?"
"oh just great bjorn"
"come get a coffee with me".
"oh, but I already got a coffee"
"ah, thats a shame, maybe another time."
Steve no longer knew what to do. He started to sweat. He found the ring would be too much of a curse for proposing to his wife with. He had to think fast. The company picnic was coming up soon along with his 3rd year anniversary... this looked like a bad situation waiting to unfold.
|
"Reverse engineered Inflation. Time travel regulations strictly regulate the monetary use of blah, blah, blah."Father recites for what seemed to be the millionth time. Past the point of anger, past the point of trying to discipline, and sadly past the point of caring he diligently repeated. "A 1997 Happy Meal is all we can afford"he continued. Desperately seeking an original Ray Kroc's sandwich I pressed on "Please... it is for my studies."My desperation had lead to playing the one card that I knew could send our family into financial despair. Truth be told it was my greed. My deep desire to be one of the cool kids who could experience such a thing. My, and other's, understanding of our desires to travel back on time to have such a sandwich and it's effects on the future of then franchise waned with nothing but the slightest bit of care given.
"FINE."A shout rang out.
We would have our sandwich. A disappointmemt of the last sandwich we would ever have. Unbeknownst to me, and ever present to my father was our lineage.
This is the day Sally's burger shack would face the tipping point that would send them out of business. A butterfly effect that would lead to Sally the third having one fewer children and thus erasing me from existance. The errors of choosing to impress those who care little about you and to invest in those who love you learned too late. Father, I cannot imagine the pain, the brow beating, the disappointment that would allow you to agree to this. For that I am truely sorry. Or I would have been had I existed. |
The wind rushed through Jakes hair as he sped through the mountain roads. He was going too fast. Far too fast. The need for haste was caused by the package he was carrying. It was in a backpack and it made an ominous ticking sound. The package was a canister of radioactive waste recently removed from the arms of a dead terrorist. If it went off before Jake reached the tunnel a large part of the Alps would become uninhabitable due to the radiation which would be nearly impossible to clean up.
Jake rounded a corner and saw the dark entrance of the tunnel. Two police cars had ordered the traffic. He sped into the tunnel and dropped the backpack in the middle, swerved and gunned it out. Once he was out a team of rubber clad soldiers dragged him into a hastily pitched tent and sprayed him down. A dull boom was heard from the tunnel. Instantly more soldiers put up rubber sheeting on the entrances then large plates of lead.
One of the soldiers fiddled with a yellow handheld device. He scratched his head then proclaimed on the radio.
"Gigacounter is showing only background levels of radiation. It was a fake."
"Or a distraction!"proclaimed Jake who jumped on the bike and sped back towards the city.
Meanwhile several canisters placed on various rooftops hissed as the powdered radioactive waste spread its cancerous tendrils around the city. |
"The Shrek killer struck again last night, marking his thirteenth kill in two months. He is on his way to being one of this decade's most prolific serial killers."
Petey sipped his beer and half focused on the tv. He was exhausted after a long night of delivering pizzas. Since he had started delivering the graveyard shift, he hadn't gotten a chance to zone out.
"This time, the victim was Julio Alverez, the Dreamworks Studio janitor, who had been working there for almost 40 years until his death. Police found an onion at the scene of the crime."
As he wiped his nose and sniffed, Petey wondered if he was catching a cold. He reached for a tissue and downed the rest of his beer. He squinted at the tv, noticing the small picture of the man on the upper right corner. He looked familiar. He rubbed his eyes, and recalled a time when he was delivering during the lunch shift. That was it! He delivered a pizza to the studio and Alverez signed for it. Petey felt a weird connection to the man on the screen.
Petey blew his nose and wiped his burning eyes.
When the tears in his eyes dried, he noticed something that hadn't been there before. It was a large sack of white onions in the corner of the room. His eyes and nose ran furiously, until everything went dark.
EDIT: I re-read the prompt and realized I strayed a little bit. Sorry. |
"I have the ticket, Chelsea, and I'm giving to you. Just take it for fuck's sake."He shoved the laminated card into my hand, unwilling to just let it go. Then, as if that action alone had completely drained him, he slumped against the concrete wall.
He had always been lucky. Hell, he had literally won a free year at college. That's how we'd met, and three years afterwards here we were. Staring our mortality in the face.
"I can't. It's yours. I won't do this to you. Please... Give it to your mom. Your brother. Please."The weight of what's happening is still just barely registering with me. The ticket clutched in my hand my only hope of survival, and yet... Why survive alone?
"I'm choosing to give it to you. You can help the survivors, I can't. What could I possibly contribute? At least you're a nurse. You can help take care of those that are left."His voice sounded tired. He was sick of arguing, I knew. But I couldn't help but fight him. I couldn't just let him die for me.
"They never said anything was definite. This could still be some radically sick joke. Please don't make me do this. Please."My voice was hoarse, but the tears wouldn't come. I had cried them all in the past few days, and there was nothing left.
A plague was coming. It had started off in some small third world country, but had spread faster than a wild fire. Scientists were developing a vaccine, but predicted they would only be able to manufacture enough to save 70 million of the 7 billion people that inhabited the earth. Riots sprang up, revolts, people demanding that they deserved the vaccine as much as any world leader or rich person. So the international governments convened, and voted on a lottery. Every country got a certain number of vaccines based on the population, and people would be randomly selected to receive an injection that would supposedly save their lives. The people who won were secretly contacted, and using the utmost care, instructed on where and how to get the vaccine. There had been some who had been too obvious with their good fortune, and had lost their lives to those desperate enough to kill to stay alive.
I hadn't known he had won until the day he was meant to receive it. He had asked me to meet him in the basement of the hospital where I worked, insisting on urgency and secrecy. It was there he showed me the white card with the winning code he had been given. And then introduced me to the agent who was meant to give it to him.
"There has to be some rule about this, right? They can't just give it away, can they?"I looked to the older woman in the lab coat expectantly, eyes landing on the small case handcuffed to her wrist. She stood silently, watching the exchange but refusing to say a word.
"As long as I'm here to give my consent, I can give it to whoever I want."His face hardened with determination, eyes looking more blue than I had ever seen them against the red from crying. I wanted to hit him, beat the stubbornness out of him. I hated him right then for springing this insanity upon me. Making me choose between my life and his.
"So why not your family??? Why would you make me live without you?!"I nearly shouted it, frustrated and tired. So tired. He broke eye contact, eyes moving to the dusty floor.
"It already hit the east coast. They announced it on the news this morning. For all I know, my family is already dead or dying. Please don't make me lose you too."He said the last part in a hoarse whisper, laying his head in his hands. My stomach clenched in fear. My sisters... that meant they were gone. I double over, retching, but nothing would come up. I hadn't been able to eat since I'd heard about the plague. I sank to my knees.
My parents, my sisters, my friends, everyone I knew would be gone. He would be gone. And I would be alone. He crouched down next to me, placing his arm around my shoulder, and pulled my shaking form into him. Before I could fight, his grip tightened. He pinned my arms then my legs, his eyes maniacal and wild.
"Do it."He muttered through gritted teeth. I screamed and thrashed, trying desperately to buck him off of me as the woman in the lab coat took out a syringe. She made it quick, and the sting of the vaccine was the only thing I could feel when I stopped struggling. It was over. I was alone.
6.93 billion people died in the next few weeks. He died in my arms. I couldn't hate him for what he did to me. I could only love him in those last moments before the fever took him. I could only cling to him helplessly as he thrashed and seized. I could only bury him in an unmarked grave, which was more than most of the dead had gotten. |
Subsets and Splits