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Harry took his seat between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, his two best friends. It was their first class of their fifth year and they were all excited to meet the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Normally they would have been introduced to their new instructor at the start of term feast but this year even Dumbledore had seemed confused as he introduced Doctor Strange’s empty chair. With a title like “Sorcerer Supreme” they had expected a big flashy entrance, the Weasley twins had both lost sickles to each other when both had failed to guess how flashy and spectacular his entrance would be, and as the class sat busily mumbling under their breath they were all secretly atwitter with expectation.
Suddenly the door banged open as a man in a long red cloak strode through the door. He was dressed modestly, boots and dark pants with a blue scaled shirt and a normal pointed red cape. Over his shoulder he carried a large black bag and when he threw it before his desk it writhed and shook.
The man behind the desk narrowed his eyes at the ginger child and scoffed loudly, “Its not a bogart Ronald Weasley. You see class, as the sorcerer supreme it is my job to take in hand threats of a highly magical nature. We let the avengers handle mundane tasks but even that son of Asgard himself could not have done what I did this morning.”
Hermione has just opened her mouth to speak when he said, “Excellent question Ms. Granger, or it would be if you’d asked it. What I’ve done is to go right this day and make my job completely needless. For you see i have gazed into the infinite futures and seen only five in which these three teenagers somehow defeat the dark lord. Five possible futures of the millions and millions of possible futures, and that is why I went out and defeated him myself.”
Harry’s head erupted in a sudden excruciating flair of pain and as he slid sideways from his chair he felt as though his head might split open. Ron and Hermione moves down next to him, laying comforting hands and speaking soothing words, but both stepped away and Doctor Strange loomed over him. He bent down and took the boys head in his hands as he searched his energy for the source of his woe. His hands were suddenly ringed in green halos as he moved them across Harry’s forehead before...
Dr. Strange stiffened under the boys grasp before patting him awkwardly and disentangling himself, “Your quite welcome but it’s Doctor Strange; I did not subject myself to 8 years of medical school to be called Mister. Anyway It was nothing really, you had an excess of residual magic build up on your frontal core which causes a reaction anytime the source of the spell is within proximity.”
“Now then,” continued Dr. Strange, “I suppose with the Dark Lord now in custody it is completely unnecessary for me to teach any of you defense against the dark arts since I can already see that most of your time lines will take you in mundane and predictable direction. Yes Mr. Potter, even you.”
|
Jim sat up in bed and stretched as the alarm woke him from the deepest sleep he'd had in ages. After so many nights on the streets, he was finally starting to get used to this awkward graveyard schedule - asleep by 2pm, up by 9pm - and the demands his new "job" required. Sure, he'd definitely gained muscle and flexibility, having to jump the gap between rooftops and slide down water pipes, but the mental toll had been much more difficult to handle than he had expected. He'd seen so much violence and evil just in the last three months; it motivated him and terrified him in equal measure. Each night, there was a possibility he wouldn't be coming back to bed...but the superpowers he had developed since the accident at Turnkey Labs gave him more and more confidence as he learned to use them: x-ray vision, superhuman accuracy with projectiles, and insanely fast reflexes - most of the time he moved before he'd even registered that something had happened.
He had taken on the name NeverMiss - not particularly creative, but it got the point across. So many other superheroes tried to get too fancy with their alter ego names and no one could keep them straight, especially the newspapers. This way, at least, citizens knew who they were dealing with.
Last night had been really tough. One of the most devious villains in the city, HeadRush, had tried to demolish an entire apartment building in order to escape Jim's capture after robbing a local jewelry store. Of course, there was the usual villainous speech where he laid out his evil plan, then gave him the ultimatum - "I've set C4 charges all over this building, and they're set to go off in 30 seconds! So what will it be? Capture me, or save the lives of everyone in the building?" Jim had come THIS CLOSE to grabbing him while he monologued, but HeadRush was one of the fastest criminals in the city - he had jumped from the roof into a dumpster, and Jim didn't have time to go after him.
He was able to cut the fuses to all the C4 before they detonated, save one. Fortunately, it was on a fire escape and the only thing it affected was the scaffolding outside - no one in the apartments was harmed, but Jim walked away with some burns...he lost an eyebrow to the flames, and he looked ridiculous, but for the most part he was OK. Still, it was a close call. Too close.
Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed his feet into the slippers - winter in New York City, especially in the apartment HE could afford, meant one needed to be prepared for cold floors and and frigid air. He pulled the worn sweater over his head quickly, and went to get his very necessary cup of coffee.
"Hey Jim," Brandon said as Jim left his room. Brandon was sitting on the couch, watching TV, a gigantic bowl of cereal resting on his stomach - not that there was much of a stomach there. He had to have the metabolism of a hummingbird.; Brandon was one of the leanest people Jim had ever seen, and the guy NEVER stopped eating.
"Hey Brandon, anything exciting happening tonight?" Jim asked, heading for the kitchen. One of the best things about this roommate situation was that they had the same work schedule - no one stomping around in the day was a godsend.
"I mean, yea, but...who knows? Someone wasn't pulling their weight." Brandon looked up at Jim with a smile, but his expression changed instantly when he saw Jim only had one eyebrow. "And what happened to YOU?"
Jim wandered over to the small dining room table, and he was just about to open his laptop when a glint coming from Brandon's room caught his eye. He turned, but he couldn't see what it was. Then he activated the x-ray.
| 0
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Erutious
|
thestef121
| false
|
One of the first thing Human asked was to see our "technology" and send "researchers" (even though they weren't all that good to find things) on every planet to see how we function. I showed to the "reseacher" how we made rune and I distingly remember seeing them type on a magic (though they never called it magic) mirror that emited light and made sound, I didn't think much of it at the time.
They asked to try to make a rune, but I told them that it was specific to my species, since you need to pour rune energy, whitch no other could do. They then asked a weird question: "what produce this energy ?" I was confused, since I had just told them, they then asked what specific part was making it, I just answered that it just happened and continued to show all known rune.
They then asked another weird question : "How do you develop new rune ?". I told them with a slightly weirded out face that it's just random and got back to show them the rest Not long after, I received a message from the researcher, telling me how they found out we "still applied death sentence" and asked if instead, we could send them some of them for "studies", felt a bit creepy, but if it meant we didn't have to kill anybody ourselfs, so I talked to my superior and they accepted and prisoners were sent. I later learned that other "researcher" asked similar question to every species and got similar answer.
I was reading about some saying they when on the human's planet and coming back with report no one belived (including carriage with no animal pulling them and building scraping the sky) when my researcher came back, They asked me again to show them how to make rune. Before I could say anything, they imediatly followed by "I know what you think, but check this out". They then proceded to show rune energy, stupidly wasting it, yes, but still unbelivable. I was surprised, but since they could do that, they could make runes, and so I showed them again all known runes and they left.
Some time after, I learned two things: One that all of the human who went on to check other species came back and somehow showed capable to perform every species-specific ability and Number Two, some of the best literary of every civilisationwere sent to Earth (human's home planet) to learn about their species-specific ability, but were unable to understand what humans were speaking about.
And recently, my researcher came back AGAIN telling me that they had forgotten to ask me what I or the "scientific" community wanted to call the organ that alow us to make rune energy, I didn't aswer, I just asked how they did to make all that, they smiled and answered : "I'm quite surprised you haven't asked that a few month ago, you see, humans don't have anything special, so we had to rely on things that everyone is able to do ; science. Do you remember about the prisoner's you sent us ? Well we studied them to undersand how your powers come from, and when we got our answer, we added it to ourself's. The thing is, since we didn't have anything special, we just tried to understand the world better, while you just stayed where you were, this is why we have constructed habitation taller than your highest tower while you stay in basic hut. Oh by the way, here" they handed me a rune I had never seen "A goodbye present, it should allow you to store information better"
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I'm eating breakfast at the castle when a swarm of peasants run in the door. I hear them first, with my back being to them. 'Where is he?' 'I don't know, they said he was right here' 'Oh, there he is!' I hear them approach me and think, 'not me. Not me. Please. God, just let me finish my hangover breakfast in peace' as they clamor and stampede directly towards me. I hurriedly swallow my egg with tomato, take a big bite of sausage, and wash it down with orange juice before spinning around to face the unruly mob. 'Aye? And what do you seek from me?' I give them my best glower. That gives them pause. They stand around and whisper amongst themselves for a minute, before a large, black-haired fellow with arms the size of bridges and a voice deeper than the King's pushes his way through the crowd with as little effort as I use to mount my horse. ' Lad, there's a dragon about. He burned down my shop, and he ate Tom's son' To which, my only reply could be laughter. 'Hahahahahaha' this made the man very angry. 'What are ye laughing fer? There's a dragon abouts, lad! And it's yer job to slay it!' 'Why don't ye slay te damn thing? You've got the muscle fer it!' I returned to my breakfast.'Hey!' The big man pushed me, clearly only using a fraction of his strength but enough to make me feel it. 'I said, there's a dragon abouts. Now, aren't you gonna do something?' And i said,'yes. I'm going to finish my breakfast, and have a nap.' The big man said,'Sonny, I'm a blacksmith, and i notice your armors old and ill-fitting. We both know that, in battle, that'll git ye killed. So, if you slay the dragon, I'll make you a new set of armor, top shelf iron, tailor made.' Picturing in my head a red paper shell with metal framing made up in the shape of a dragon, i said, against my better judgement, 'deal. I'll go show you that the 'dragon' is just a prank made by one of yer ilk, and you make me a brand-spankin'-new set of armor, no expense spared.' This time, the blacksmith laughed.'Hahahahaha oh, it's a real dragon, alright. Here, ill show you where it was last seen.' 'Oh, there's going to be tracking involved? Well, I'll need my guy, Zackarias.' And so, I recruited my guy, Zackarias, an expert with bows, tracking, and all that outdoorsy nonsense. Personally, I'm more or less muscle wrapped in steel. Just a knight, part of an army. Why the peasants chose me out of all the available knights, I'll never know. But choose me, they did, and I'll not do the job without Zackarias. And Zackarias wouldn't do the job without an entertainer/adviser to the King, who insisted on the title of 'Wizard'. Apparently they're trusted friends or some such. I don't put stock in him, but, as long as Zackarias can track the alleged beast, i can slay it. Then, presumably, Wizard Im-So-Special-The-King-Trusts-My-Word-Over-His-Military-Advisors will entertain us with parlor tricks. The blacksmith showed us the places the dragon was allegedly sighted, and we were left on a wild goose chase through the woods. That was three weeks ago. Now, we're out of food, high in the mountains, and Zackarias won't let us turn around. 'Im telling you, it's just some kids with a fancy for paper and wire. Nothing will come of it.' To which, Zackarias replied, 'Did you see the smoking ruin of Blacksmith Xanders shop?' And I said, 'blacksmiths burn down their shops more than the Pope tells lies.' He pressed on.' And the footprint?' I knew he would bring this up. 'Just a carving pressed into the dirt' still, he argued. 'What about all the eyewitness sightings?' 'Oh, cut the bologna, Zackarias. Just last week, forty peasants told me they saw two giants making the beast with two backs.' Mr Im-So-Fancy-I-Do-Childrens-Shows-For-The-King laughed. 'And maybe they did. Giants, dragons, demons are all regular sightings around the countryside. Why, I can't believe you've never seen one.' I hemmed and hawed and decided to put on my best stone-cold killer face and keep quiet. I've got a great one, being that i am, in fact, a stone-cold killer. I've killed many enemies of the King. Peasants, traders, enemy knights. I've killed more people than meals I've eaten. Well, no, i haven't. Just then, a real, honest to God dragon landed not ten feet from us. I drew steel and ran at it. It belched fire, and I tucked and rolled left. It blew fire again and I rolled right. Suddenly, there was an arrow sticking out of its eye. 'Ow! Frick! Why'd you do that? What is the meaning of this? Frick frick frick that really hurts, you guys' I stopped dead in my tracks. 'Wha- hold on a second. Zackarias!' 'Yes?' 'Ow! Ow! Ouchie!' 'You! Dragon! Shut it! Zackarias, was there a report of-' 'owie! What did you do that for? Owie!' '-the dragon eating people?' 'Um, yes, there was.' I walked up to the dragon, slid my longsword between its scales, and thrust. The dragon slumped. I grabbed a scale, as souvenir. So did Mr.Im-so-fance-i-brought-a-whole-chest. That blacksmith had better make me the best damn suit of armor in the world for this.
| 0
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Zealousideal-Win1383
|
theert
| false
|
He was born with bilateral talipes. People say that talipes (clubfoot) can lead to other mental problems such as autism or down syndrome. He was neither. However, he did have some very strange characteristics. For example, he would never say "I love you" to his parents, and he would often be seen hitting his sister so hard it would bruise, breaking plates and cutting the dog with the fragments, and was once seen attempting to poison the fish with bleach.
At age 12 Josh was officially registered as a psychopath after his parents found the stash of dead abused puppies under the shed floorboards during a reworking job. He was given an assistant who would watch over him all day until he got home from school. When he was 13, the assistant was laid off for being caught in a sexual relationship with him. She claimed that she had been blackmailed for this, but no evidence was found against him.
I was his second assistant. As a straight male, I couldn't be drawn in by his charm, and having worked with psychopaths in mental hospitals for most of my 12 years on the job, he couldn't fool me with any tricks. Josh *hated* my guts because of this, and I was almost killed multiple times. Of course, we was an extremely convincing liar, and being very good looking was definitely a bonus.
Then He came. The son of Christ, apparently, come to die for everybody's sins again. News of Jesus' return spread like wildfire. Being an adamant atheist, I refused to believe at first. Then he came to Rotherham, Sheffield (England for those of you who didn't know), spoke to a couple of people, they spoke a bit more, and within a month the city was unrecognisable. Clean, smart, and with significantly less dingy alleyway midnight walkers about.
Josh, of course, hated this, and the man calling himself the saviour. Actually, other people were calling him the saviour. He just asked to be called Jesus, or Joshua if they wanted to westernise it. Another reason to hate this man: Josh hated having any similarity to people, believing himself better than everybody else. He made a small reservation for me, saying that despite hating me on a molecular level, he also respected me slightly. I was speechless at the time, but I don't let it go now, no matter how many times he tries to redact the statement.
I wanted to see Jesus before we left, as an obvious object of curiosity. Josh was extremely forceful in the fact that he didn't want to see im, but ended up agreeing just so I would "stop whining like a stupid baby". I was genuinely excited to see him and watching him turn water into wine and other stuff I'd heard he could do. He was in the town centre, as it was his last day here. Walking in, there was a lot of commotion, a lot of disabled people asking to walk again, blind people asking to see again, and school kids with water bottles asking for wine.
Josh wouldn't keep his eyes off of him, and suddenly, Jesus swung around, probably feeling the force of his gaze of his neck. He started rubbing his wrists together where I knew, somehow, the pins had been nailed into him when he was crucified. He walked, slowly but confidently, over to us. Josh just looked up at him with his dark, cold eyes, saying nothing. Jesus started to look surprised, then alarmed, then smug and angry.
Everyone was silent. Jesus was looking down at Josh with a calculating gaze. Josh looked back at him, with a smile on his face that meant I needed to step in before he started murdering everybody in a 10-metre radius around him. I stepped between them, and introduced myself. Jesus looked at me, started to lose his smug smile. He leaned around me and whispered. "Already? Him?"
I looked back at Josh to see him simply smile and nod. I looked back at Jesus, who eyed me warily. I raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what kind of ascended telepathy demon devil kind of shit this is, but I'm not part of it, surely I have no place in your little squabble."
Jesus looked approving, somewhat, and Josh dragged me to one side to continue his stare-off with Jesus. I just stood to the side, feeling like a referee for a game I've never even heard of. Something started happening, some sort of heatwaves were emanating from the pair, staring at each other with an intense fury such as the worst fires could never hold themselves to. Josh looked a me, gestured for me to come closer.
*DAN!* yelled a voice that seemed to come from all around me. "*DAN!! HELP ME! PUSH BACK AGAINST HIM!!"* It was josh, and he had a pair of horns and thick, papery wings. They were both of the darkest red. Jesus, ahead of us, was glowing, and had a halo with large, magnificent, legendary wings. I could also see, however, a red glow from his eyes. Josh's eyes were glowing with a molten white, and I couldn't help but think, *eyes are the windows to the soul*. I suddenly knew that this wasn't Jesus. At least, it was, but he was someone... *else*. There was no other way to describe it. He seemed almost parasitical.
I gathered all of my willpower, which was considerable, bearing in mind I worked with psychopaths for a living, and pushed. Immediately, I could feel the pain on my mind lessening, and heard a scream, and everything went white, and I was back again, and I fainted. My last thought, even though it sounded like Josh, even though it couldn't be, was:
|
Each echoing scrape of your foot against the rocky tunnel floor makes you wince. The scattered torches along the walls don’t provide enough light to see clearly, making each step a challenge in staying quiet. But silence isn’t enough. If you don’t go faster, the monster of the labyrinth will find you. No one has escaped after the monster found them.
You should be fine. You had rolled out the string at the start and if the hermit was to be believed it would lead you to the exit. You keep one hand on the string at all times, following the path it traces out in the low light. The string curves towards the left, towards a tunnel almost black as pitch. Each step down that dark corridor brings you further and further from the light. Holding up your hand, you barely make out its outline. Your progress grows slower as you make sure not to scrape against the rocks or kick an errant pebble, raising your foot high before bringing it softly to the ground.
It kills you to go this slow. Your heart beats around your ears, and you are surprised that you can’t hear the echo bounce off the walls. You strain, listening for both your own errors and for the monster.
There are too many things to concentrate on. Your foot misses the ground in front of you and the sudden shift in your center of gravity causes you to lose balance. Down, down you fall, tumbling down each stone step. The racket of your fall clatters and dances along the tunnel. You finally crash at the bottom, lying motionless as you listen to the fading sound of your demise.
The need for silence evaporates and the urgent, desperate need for escape fills your mind. In your tumble, you lost the string. You scramble to find it, casting a wide net with your arms to catch your only lifeline. You find it nestled against the wall, and take hold of it. Ignoring the pain that dots your body, you push up from the ground and make a mad dash for the exit.
You run with reckless abandon farther into the dark. You lose count of the turns as you slam into walls and trip over uneven ground, all the while listening to the sounds of the monster getting closer. It is faster than you. It knows these tunnels better than you. Soon, it will catch you.
Ahead, the light returns. Steadily, the tunnel brightens and you find myself in front of a junction that splits into three. Your string leads to the right, but you pause here. You cannot keep this up. You will be found and slaughtered. Rapidly, the sounds of the monster come barreling towards you. You need to make your move. With reluctance, you drop the string and scurry as quietly as you can down the left tunnel. Then you lay flat on the ground, facing the juncture, and wait. Just moments pass before a beast dragging a club of iron charges through the intersection, turning with inhuman speed toward the right.
You pluck up your courage and do the only thing that is left: you follow the monster down the corridor. You hear it charge from up ahead, the thud of footsteps the only thing telling you that the beast is still fooled. As you pass juncture after juncture, the comforting grip of your hand on the string reassures you that you are still heading towards the exit. You have to keep running so that the monster is still in earshot, but the return of the torches makes the journey much less treacherous.
You pass yet another juncture when you realize you no longer hear footsteps. You stop running. What happened? A bellowing roar from up ahead and the return of the thudding footsteps confirms your fears. It has discovered your trick, and is coming back to find you. The beast’s footsteps would pause periodically then resume their drumming beat against the ground. It’s being careful now, your last trick won’t work again. This time, it will find you for sure.
You search for something, anything, to defend yourself in your last miserable moments. The torches! You grab one from a sconce and duck around a corner, preparing to pounce the moment you see the beast. Your heart hammers in your chest, as the sounds of the monster grow nearer. You tense. Then you realize your fatal mistake. The light! The monster will know where you are hiding by the light! Quickly, you round the corner, working fast. If it turns down this corridor, it will see you. You withdraw a second torch and place it on the ground in the opposite corridor. Then you return to your corridor and, to heighten the illusion, hide the torch’s light behind your cloak. Did it see you? Will your last trick work?
The footsteps grow louder. You hear its heavy breaths, like bellows from Hell. The scraping from its massive club claws at your courage. Your legs shake where you stand, and your arms feel like lead. Just a few more steps, and you will either die or extend your lease on life. The beast's muzzle clears the corner, and you see wet nostrils flare. It turns away from you, towards the opposite corridor.
Screaming, you explode from your post, blazing torch thrust forward. The monster turns just in time for your improvised weapon to take it in the eye. It roars, the sound rattling your skull and causing a cascade of dust and loose stone to fall from the ceiling. The beast’s club drops with a loud crash as it holds both hands up to its terrible face, beating at the flames spreading along its oily fur.
Without a second glance, you stoop to grab the string and run down the direction the beast came from. It must have got to the end and realized you hadn’t escaped yet. That’s the only reason it came searching for you. Clutching to this hope, you follow the string one last time. The monster had recovered, and was charging after you again. You have no more tricks now.
You round a corner and ahead is a rectangle of light. The exit! You redouble your efforts, watching the light grow larger as you approach freedom. You were mere feet away from it when you hear a horrible snap and a sharp pain runs through your leg. You hit the ground hard, skidding. You look down at your leg and give a cry of shock. It’s crushed. The beast’s club lays beside your leg, thrown from the other end of the corridor by the monster. It roars in triumph and dashes towards you.
Your breaths come rapid, ragged, as you drag yourself towards the light. You feel the vibrations of the monster’s approach. Tears of frustration course down your cheeks. The light is right in front of you. You don’t have to turn to know the beast is almost on top of you. With a shout, you launch yourself with your arms and remaining leg towards the exit. You pass through just as massive fingers graze the sole of your foot.
| 0
|
Rhysasaur
|
Mjpoole
| false
|
When you run for days, literal days, dehydrated, knees aching, pangs of hunger that almost feel palpable; That part of your mind, that has morals, values, shuts down. You become self serving, capricious, your will kicks into gear for survival. You dont even feel self-conscious of how tattered you are, the suspicious looks darted by folks on the road, parents pulling their kids away from your direction. Your mind has one goal and one goal only; survive.
Now you might be asking what exactly am i talking about, why am i telling you all this, why am i running for days, dont i have a home, a family to go to? Most of all, why am i holding a shotgun a barrel away from the face of an innocuous child, while an entire family is flocked to one corner, trepidation getting the best of them as they beg for the release of their son?
It wasn't my fault I killed the dog. Well, blow its guts out as their family screamed bloody murder if i was to be precise, but no one is keen on the details here. That dog had it coming. Honest to God, it did. Well from the way it was barking i could have sworn if i backed down for just a moment's pause, i would have been the one who lost my guts.
Now on to point number three, i cant fucking stop talking. I can't keep anything to myself. Right now this entire family is listening to me as i speak all this. Yes, even this sentence am saying right now! Now imagine the looks on their faces. I have become the Johnson's nonstop radio stuck on psychotic fm. Even the big breasted, teary eyed daughter is muttering that am a schizo. Who the fuck gave you a psychology degree to label me, silly bitch?
I need help. I really do. Up until four days ago I was normal, well, I was the normal me. Working at the factory, shitty pay, going back home to a snarky wife and a pair of inbred kids. No. My wife isn't my cousin. That was just-never mind.
So i go home one night, my wife brings me my cold bottle of Baitley's beer, and i sink into the chair watching Boston Celtics getting their ass handed to them. Damn, it tasted great. I placed my legs over the creaking wooden table, before suddenly the tv set went off, my wife pressing the power button, her thin frame standing akimbo in my general direction.
"Tonight I was to meet with her, but her sister and brother just had their fourth child. Can you imagine? Crazy redn-" I clasped my mouth. Ok, somethingbwas definitely wrong. I took one long look at Tracey, my eyes catching sight of the sharp knife clutched at the side of her dress.
Well she did something stupid. She had apparently called her entire biker family and let me tell you this, those hoodlums once kicked a guys nose in for looking at their sister the wrong way. I cheated on their sister. With her best friend. Who she works with.
I wasn't gonna stay around. I had to run. Run like my life depended on it. Which it did. Which brings me here. Thats why I need your help. I need thy guidance. I need th-
Enough with all that. Am actually a murderous sociopathic compulsive liar that is on the run after I painfully slaughtered my wife, two children and the milkman when i found out she had laced my Baitley's beer with truth serum to find out whether am cheating with her best friend. Who is also her workmate. Who is actually her sister. Got you there, didnt I? Well that sister of hers, is also the same big breasted daughter of this family that called me a schizo. This girl right here. She is the girl I have been sleeping with. Her mother apparently runs a truth serum selling operation, and the child here that am holding, is the one who delivered it to my wife.
|
I cuddled myself inside my covers, eyes squinting in the blanket of the darkness. The house was quiet, except for the soft thuds of her footsteps as she stood beside my bed. Staring down at me as her large looming presence hovered above me.
"Stacy was deaf. She lost the ability to hear during an unfortunate car crash on August 23rd 1976, that took away the life of her parents, her auditory abilities and ability of coherent speech plus the eye sight of her twin sister Elizabeth."
I pulled the covers up to my face, desperately trying to avoid the bizarre look of her eyes. If one was to describe the feeling they evoked, dread was flimsy. It was an unwordly experience. But cautiously, she pulled the cover back down with one of her arms, her eyes still lingered with mine.
"As I was saying, after the crash the two twins survived. But their hearing and sight didn't. Neither did their bond. Stacy and Elizabeth were the closest two peas before the tragedy. Same clothing. Same dressing. Same everything. But after the accident. Something changed. Something dark infiltrated their lives. Especially for Elizabeth. She became hostile to any physical presense even her sister's. Nurses had to restrain her, as her violence sometimes got out of hand. Screams would tear the night as she was found choking Stacy, or pulling her braids, slapping and scratching her own blood. But Stacy was always the timid one. Soon they were separated from the same room and each placed in different sectors. But Stacy was never at peace."
She paused her story for a moment. Her eyes looking straight through mine into the depths of my soul. This had become habit of hers, emanating fear through the most subtle ways possible using her most frightening tool at hand, her eyes. All eight of them.
"Stacy couldn't sleep at night. Atleast thats what the attendants later said of her. She was handed a bell incase she had any urgency or distress. But every night that bell would ring. The nurse would wade through the hospital corridors and to her room. Only to find a young scrawny shild, scrunched up like a ball, knees held against her chest, doing all kinds of frantic sign gestures. Aren't you going to ask me what the gestures said?" Her soft cadence spoke again.
I opened my mouth in response but nothing came out. Fear of the presence of this woman had shaken me to my inner core. My chords vibrated to release words but her sight, her mere sight shut them down.
"Little Stacy struggled with the signs, her body convulsing in violent sobs. But the nurses couldn't understand her. Not her gestures, but the meaning of the words behind them. They didnt make any sense. So they soon reported the situation to the doctor in charge. So the doctor asked what was Stacy's nightly predicament. And the nurse replied, "She said Elizabeth came to her room. Dragged her from her bed, onto the floor, and tried to drag her out of her room before she dissapeared." The doctor was shocked. As far as he was concerned, that wasn't remotely possible. Not because of Elizabeth's blindness or disability."
She paused again. This time abit longer. I was almost hooked by the story at that point. Yes, i was still in fear, but my mind was reeling, intrigued on the motive and purpose of the story. Its ending.
"What didn't make sense to the nurse nor to the doctors about Stacy's story, was one tiny detail she seemed to have forgotten. Elizabeth had passed away more than a week ago. Her corpse was found laying still in her sheets. Stacy was never informed of her sister's departure. They didn't want to scar the little girl in her period of volatility. To make the long story short, Stacy was soon taken to a psychiatric ward. Night after night, her nurses still found her in the same fetal position. The same frantic gestures with the same message. Her cries and desperate pleas for help, up until the day she died in August 24th, 1997. "
A thick gulp formed in my throat. My mind musing, stricken with despondency at the morbid ending. I watched her move, retreating backwards from the edge of my bed. Elongated legs, furry and scrawny, all eight of them, carry her excessive abdomen up against the wall as she scurried into the darkness.
| 1
|
MrTibzz
|
MrTibzz
| false
|
The shadow of a frown stretched down his chest like a curtain bib. A news reporter, in my kitchen? Couldn't be - he has the gray suit and the fancy hat but I'm fucking boring. There was silence to prove it. Eventually, after the third round of morning birdsong's through the cracked window, he sat down across from me, and closed his hands in patience.
"You know," I perked, breakfast in my bloodstream, "Yuh' burst into any man's abode anywhere else outside the swamp and you'd have a shotgun up your ass." I pushed the bowl aside, empty and browned as the gaze in his eye. "But, seeing as how I so dislike moppin' up a bloody butt-accident, you'll have to excuse me if I'm mistaken in thinking that I might help you with somethin', stranger."
"I know a lot about you, Bill." The shadow bib had come undone, "I know you've had diabetes for twenty years. I know it cost you your left leg. I know you've had high blood pressure since you were twelve. I know your glaucoma is a lot worse in your left eye than your right. I know you haven't been able to maintain an erection since you were twenty two - Viagra doesn't help," a sickly, thin curve his mouth became. Something like a grin, "I know your heart disease is getting worse. The last time you walked up a flight of stairs it felt the world itself was trying to crush your chest. You've had three surgeries for four stents, the first was 17 years ago and the most recent was just last year."
In this neighborhood I'm "the kind old man next door" - the kind old man who ate biscuits while riding around on his electric lawn mower in the backyard, and told the kids not to get eaten by a gator. I wished I'd brought my shotgun to breakfast.
"No need to get sweaty, Mr. Manning," he slid a sheet of paper from underneath his jacket, "Though, to be fair, I expected you would,” and crinkled it as if it were a morning paper. The songbirds started up again, “Let’s see here, ah! William Manning, fashioned in 1847 –that was a fun year – from a mutant of wild type 84-An; kept in cryo until 1956, at which point you were thawed and incubated until 1947, the year of your cohort’s entrance into our lifestyle disease study.”
“I’m going to get, I’m gonna get my shot-“ All four of my hands slid across the table, looking for balance in double vision. I’m gonna blow his brains out. Coming into my home like that. Coming into my home and-
This happened last time. I was trying to reach the top of the golf course after they closed, because I wanted a picture of the sunset. So close to the swamp, there’s dew on the grass at 5pm – looks like an emerald mine if the lighting is right. It sounded like there was a plane overhead going back and forth, back and forth – sounded like a strong tide, almost. I looked up to see what the hell could be following me, and there was nothing. And then the pain hit.
Face first into my closet I fell, scrambling for the cold barrel of a loaded rife. “Mr Manning!” fffFFFF, “Surely you musn’y be,” FFFFFffffff, “genetic programming to end right here! Just let me have a pudgy arm of yours!”
|
It was a sunny day, bright sun on our faces, warm air flowing through the breeze, such a perfect sunny day on top of a small hill overlooking our grand city together. She was a beauty, my first, my last, my love, whom I made my wife. We had it all, from a luxurious house, to white sheets for the bed, golden furniture and silver window sheets and such delicious food presented everyday as far as the eye can see. I never wanted it to end.Everyday we basked in the sun, danced in the moon, waltz through the Classics, sang to a tune. I have never felt such happiness as this, to be finally complete. A woman I just met on the market, who was just a stranger for a moment, became the most important and dear person in my life.A weeks gone by, yet it feels as if it was only a few hours that I spent with her. Yet that Sunday evening, when the clock rang and the streets went silent, I felt an eerie feeling, a feeling of unease. I watched as the shadows danced to the light of the moon with horrible smiles and shrill screams echoed through as they danced in the moonlight.I quickly ran all the way home but it did not feel the same. It was no longer a home, only darkness and a single bed, there was no golden furniture, no white sheets on the bed, and there were not any window sheets as all windows were broken.I stared down at my clothes to see not a black newly tailored black suit with wool and cotton as the pockets and the edges, but a brown ragged white shirt.That's when the whole charade, the dream that I was living in.....shattered. It all came back to me, the agony, the sorrow, the resentment and regrets that had been locked for only a short while. I had a wife once, but that was a long, long time ago. I remembered how it felt when she touched me, hugged me, loved....me.I remember her warm smile, her affirming words, caring hug and her face, as bright as the sun, and as beautiful as the moon.I remembered how we danced, how we sang, how we went to the theatre, how we went for a stroll, for a picnic, and the one she loved to do the most, how we would go on top of the hill that overlooks the city at night to see the stars in the sky and fall asleep knowing that one day we would wake up in each other's arms and laugh and laugh until we can laugh no more.Yet I also remember the day she got it, the day when all the days after became darker and darker as her life slowly withered away. Like a sunflower losing its color, or a red rose losing its petals, the last words she ever told me before I lost her, was a very weak and faint " I love you. Go live your life, don't live in a fairytale and live a fulfilling life".My soul broke that day. As I now realize, I was living a lie, a hoax, a fairytale, a fantasy.As I sit in front of my faded bed, in ruins.....deteriorated by Father Time who took everything that I held dear, the person who meant the world and would cost a world for me, the one who ripped my life to shreds, who took the life of what made my home a "home" and extinguished the fire in my heart.Now I see it clearly, it has been 30 years since then, I still cannot move on. Yet now, I can hear her voice in the dark, calling me, crying to me. As I knew my time to be with her drew near, and as my breath grew weaker.....I took her diary out of the small shelf we have next to our bed. I sat there and read the last lines she wrote as all the other pages had been ruined by the decay of time.Her last lines wrote "If you live in fantasy forever, you'll lose yourself in the story."and with that, I drew my last breath, and opened my eyes again once more, seeing my arm around her. She looked at me and smiledThen said "Welcome Home."
| 0
|
Dano3000
|
mccoolfriend6
| false
|
‘What the fuck?’ Daniel’s mouth hung open as he looked at the statue standing before him - the statue of himself - dressed in the same clothes, down to the exact same detail of how he looked the day before.
He looked around him, seeing no one else in the eggshell-white corridor of the exhibit he had happened to walk off the street into; no one else to confirm what he was seeing. Had someone drugged him? He was pretty sure he wasn’t dreaming, but he had been drinking the night before, an average weekend in his life.
He reached out and touched the statue, his fingers running down the material - cold and metallic to his touch, and as he rapped the statue with his fist, it made a hollow clanging sound. It was him in every way - the cocky smile, the short brown hair and the dirty face stubble, in the same jeans, stained white shirt and brown jacket he had been wearing the day before.
Scratching his head, more possibilities ran through his mind - was this part of some exhibition featuring futuristic technology? How was this possible? A thought rose through the cloudy confusion of his mind; it was his birthday soon, and he had felt an inkling that something secret was being planned for him from a conversation he had with a friend the night before. Maybe this was something that was part of it, something that he had walked into?
Still confused, but with the theory of an early birthday celebration or prank forming in his mind, he walked back the way he came, to attempt to find an attendant to speak to. His steps echoing down the empty corridor, it felt far longer than when he walked down it the first time - Daniel chalked it down to confusion as a result of the statue.
Running down the corridor, he rounded the corner and again, saw the same thing. Again and again he rounded the corner to the left, with no change. Starting to feel real fear, Daniel knocking on the walls, a crazed performance to an unseen audience.
He knocked on the walls for what seemed an like an hour, his phone not helping as, even though he remembered charging it, it was dead, the black screen taunting him silently. The lack of knowledge about how much time was passing was managing to have an effect on Daniel, his vision starting to waver and split.
Hours passed like this, with Daniel staggering around the corridors, calling for aid, his vision growing darker, his head aching severely. Finally, accidentally running into the statue and dropping to the ground, Daniel clutched at its feet, feeling no shoes - rather, bare feet with long, sharp nails. He had another surge of fear as he passed out, the aching of his head overcoming his flagging consciousness.
Something pulled open Daniel’s eyes, cold fingers pulling open his eyelids, his vision blurring and burning. As his vision coalesced, he realised, in a fit of panic, that he couldn’t move - he couldn’t blink or talk, he couldn’t stretch or squeeze and single muscle. It was like being stuck in a layer of concrete. He wanted to scream when he saw that what was infront of him, was the eggshell-white wall of the corridor. He wanted to scream, beg for help or even move his eyes, but he couldn’t. A person moved into his vision - he found that he was looking directly into the face of himself, the vision of the person he was, right before he walked into this exhibit.
The other Daniel looked directly into his eyes, winking - and for a single second his pupil changed to a vertical slit, malice burning behind his eyes. He then turned and walked away, the voice and babble of other guests reaching Daniel’s ears; people that Daniel would never be able to interact with again. He wanted to scream, and he couldn’t.
|
“I’d like to order just a black coffee, please.” I stated to the barista at my local coffee shop, trying to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes. “Ugh, remind me again how being able to climb a stupid rock is worth waking up at this ungodly hour” I pouted to my friend Jack who was standing next to me.
“Trust me dude, This will be straight up epic. People have traveled to this town just for the sake of climbing it, it would be a disgrace if we never climbed it considering these might be our last months we’ll be spending here for awhile.” Jack reassures me.
With the roll of my eyes I refute: “What are you on about? No one visits this place, and if they do I doubt its to climb a random mountain. Whatever-We’re already here and awake, no point in stopping now.”.
We both continue to stand around, watching those who were in front of us in line slowly get up off their chairs and pick up their coffee placed on the counter before leaving the establishment. My eyes dart next to the random cups of coffee on the table to a newspaper. *It’s been awhile since I’ve read one of these.* After flipping through some of the pages I notice a large portion of the page dedicated to news regarding an archeological discovery of ancient ruins discovered in the Bermuda triangle. Apparently a huge underground structure was discovered and now the entire area around it has been blocked off by the government.
“Oh! My apologies.” I pick up my cup as my friend returns from wherever he went off too. He picks up the coffee while I put the newspaper in my backpack and we both head out, ready to start our adventure.
We sat on some rocks overlooking the scenery below us. Jack took a sip of the water in his bottle while I took out my newspaper from my backpack, we reached the first checkpoint so we planned to relax for a bit and have a snack before continuing up the mountain. Out of nowhere, we felt it. It felt as if a bomb just went off, a giant shock-wave hit us knocking us to the ground. The wind was completely knocked out of me. I couldn’t breath. Panic hit me. I rolled on the soil trying to stand up. It felt as if the very gravity of the earth tripled. My bones felt like they were slowly cracking. My vision became blurry and shifted into a different saturation. It felt like an eternity of pure torture. Suddenly, the pain stopped. My vision sharpened immediately and I gasped for air.
“Dear god...What the hell just happened”. I close my fist and slowly got up from the ground. I look around “Jack? Are you okay?”. My eyes widen. Jacks entire body was cracked, as if he was a broken piece of pottery, with light shining out of the cracks. His eyes glowing a light as bright as the sun. With every second the light only grew brighter. I stood there paralyzed. The next second he was gone, His entire body exploded and light enveloped the area. I was completely stunned. I stood there gazing as the spot where my friend used to exist at for minutes. I noticed something on the horizon however, a giant storm with different colored lightning shooting out of the clouds. I turned around towards the direction of the city and notice a giant chasm where the city used to be. The entire skies hue shifted into a different color. I closed my eyes and prepared for the end of the world.
I have no clue if this was my imagination or if the release of magic cracked the bonds between this world and the spirit world, but I heard something. It was a small whisper, the voice was of Jack but as if he was an old man. It was only one word but it gave me purpose: “Survive”.
I frantically began to look around, trying to grasp my situation. I made one critical observation that saved my life; The storm stretched from the ground, not from the sky. If I could just get a little bit higher I would be able to wait out the hell that was unfolding below me.
I pushed myself beyond my limits. As I climbed I thought of my family and friends. I cried and screamed as I was certain they were no longer on this earth. No one would survive what had begun. Yet despite the grief and sorrow that had consumed me, screaming out in rage and desperation: I continued on, They would all want me to survive, and gave me determination.
| 0
|
Synchrox
|
ChronoTea
| false
|
“Look at this slide right here! You see how it doesn’t line up? How many times have I told you Balathazar. You need to ZOOM. ZOOM! You have to make sure that this box is right here - see how this is lined up at height 500 pixels?”
So I corrected my mouse and started moving it right. I could see Sean’s eyes burning a hole over the back of my head. Man. As my fingers hovered over this fake ass mouse, I began to reminiscence about my old gig. A few months ago, I could hold a *real* mouse. I began to imagine the fur of a live mouse over my hand.
“Balthazar - you may not know this since you’re new around here, but at Goatman Tech, we take great pride in the professional quality of our work. Our uncompromising determination to achieve excellence in everything we undertake. Off by two pixels is not acceptable at *our firm.* You being part-time is no excuse. I want this in my inbox before you leave.”
“Okay…”, I sighed. I was seriously beginning to regret taking this job. I thought it was cake. A part time graphic designer with 5+ years in experience in deck building? Perfect. I was a veteran who built graphic things for Satan knows how many years....
I took a sip out of my cup. *Coffee*. Yuck. On top of being stuck in a confined prison called a cubicle all day, I had to deal with this awful drink these humans all loved so much.
“Hell? Balthy - brotha, but hell isn’t something to take lightly. It’s a place of eternal damnation where filthy minions of Lucifier torture our miserable mortals. Do you know what hell feels like? Hell is a place of eternal damnation - “
ANNND Gabe launched into his monologue. There was something off about that guy. The dude always wore a clean white shirt, and there was not even a single strand of stain on him. Perfectly shaven. Not a single blemish. He was perfect. Too perfect. I was beginning to suspect he was a sworn enemy, but it didn’t make any sense. They were doing well up there right?
Gabe sat down on this desk. Gabe was a recently hired Senior Software Engineer. I only met him a week ago, but this dude was just as incompetent as me. Could not write any lines on the screen that humans called code. What was that phrase? Can't code themselves out of a box? That was him. Everything seemed to point towards one thing. I proceeded to confirm my suspicions…
“You know, our company faced a lot of end-user problems which led to the massive lay-off. Brotha, our end-user lifetime metric was around 40, but it rapidly crept up to 75. This meant that our end-user turn around became way too long. Not enough coming in through the funnel... a huge problem. So the higher ups decided to launch a new initiative to stimulate our user volume.
Sure, our end-user volume went up, but the quality of our users have significantly decreased. It also introduced another problem. Our potential users stopped reaching out to us. No orders, No PRs. Nothing.”, Gabe let out another huge sigh.
I looked over the numbers. It made no sense. My paycheck was missing 30% of the total. Federal withholding? 401k? What kind of scam was this? I knew everything about this place was off. These high walls, trapped in a desk all day with three walls - and now they were docking my pay. Enough was enough.
|
I never would imagine a feeling more emptier than this. I can't remember where I am or where I was to get here. I only remember a light and at the end of that light there wasn't anything else. So what am I to do here?
When I first arrived I saw nothing. I couldn't describe at first what I was not seeing but it wasn't like blackness.. Just.. Nothing. I can't describe what nothing looks like. One of my first instincts was to call out for help. Maybe I wasn't alone, after all, I existed, right?
I had nothing with me to measure time. I assumed I was floating. I could have been standing. Or laying. I was dead. But maybe death, in it's own caring way, swung me out of the ability to feel. But I could think so the joke has a punchline.
Eventually I became bored... And then one day, having grown up a believer, I said out loud in a joke "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" I used my voice for the first time in a long time. It was a good feeling.
Suddenly before my eyes a crack tore into the black, followed by its widening. Then the light, like fingers, broke out of its confinement in a brilliant burst that flew into my face. The light was warm and relaxing. I think I cried but I could not feel anything. Once the light settled in I saw.... Whiteness.
I thought to myself, 'did I just okay God? Am I God now?' So I did another experiment. I created the sun by requesting the light coalesce into a concentrated form. Next came the stars. More planetary bodies. I was recreating the galaxy as I acknowledged it from my own recollection. It wouldn't be perfect but it was better than nothing.
Next was the earth. Maybe this was a way I could return to life. Would it be life, though? I didn't seem to recall having a body. Still, I was more than determined to get back my life. I was a brilliant athlete in Judo. I was going to be in the Olympics! And what a thought! My memories were returning. Creating things was making me aware of my past.
I watched like a curious scientist as the years went by as my earth was being filled with all sort of familiar animals. I watched humans evolve from basic apes into complex thinking machines capable of great harmony and destruction. I watched civilizations rise and fall. And then... I saw something. I saw myself. Or a version of myself. I saw the accident and I saw me die.
I saw the great war and the ensuing apocalypse. Things were not looking good for my earth. Strange creatures began to turn up, humanity's own creation. People prayed to me but I never responded. I never did. Ever. Everything that happened I allowed to happen because I wanted to observe without intervention. This was too much.
I decided that if I can do anything maybe I can eliminate everything. And so I saw what I needed to see. Before the last bomb set off I said "let it all end". And it did. Once again I was with the abyss. Perhaps I will close my mind and stop thinking now. This is my existence. It needs to end.
| 0
|
rolexpo
|
Jonjolion12
| false
|
I can be my own person, I can create my own identity! The thing is though, I don’t even remember who I was before, was I a human? An animal? I assume I was a human but what gender was I? What did I look like? Was I tall or short? Had long hair or short hair? Was I skinny or fat?
It doesn’t really matter now I think about it, I can be whoever I want to be now! I can shape and choose my own identity! I can merge myself into society and get a job, maybe I could pretend to be a kid and get a education, I know a lot but not enough from the knowledge the passing strangers had said.
I’ve made up my mind, I will pretend to be a pretty young girl, I’ll use the image of a young girl I saw 73 years ago who admired herself in my now broken mirror, she use to come by every day till she died of a car crash, right in front of me only 9 years ago, I watched her grow gracefully till the very end.
Now, I need to come up with a name and I need a family, the family part is something I can fix, I’ll go to a orphanage, I remember someone saying to a friend 2 weeks ago about this orphanage and how they adopted a young boy covered in burns who lost his family in the fire.
Let’s say that I was looked after by my single mother till she went out one night and never came back. That sounds perfect! I’ll say I’m just a lonely girl who’s only 7 years old with no possessions, my mother was a poor lady, a poor and depressed lady who recently lost her minimum wage job.
Once satisfied with my story, I stumbled along to the orphanage, I still hadn’t quite mastered the art of walking. I arrive their with a sad look on my face and fake cry, I started to ramble on about how my mum went out and hasn’t come back for weeks, how I think she’s dead.
They all believed it, humans are so gullible. Humans, I talk about them like I’m not one. Hm, maybe I wasn’t a human after all or maybe I was, I just forgot what it was like to be one.
They took me in, they gave me some new clothes, a cute dress, 3 t-shirts and 2 pairs of jeans along with a cute pair of pyjamas. They even gave me a stuffed bear, I’ve never felt so loved in my life. It was oddly comforting. They lead me to a room with 4 beds, there was already 3 children in there. They all had greeted me with a warm smile, apart from one who had stared at me with a strange look on his face.
“That’s so sad! My family was murdered right in front of me and I only just managed to escape from the killer!” Holly said with joy, I was taken back in shock, I almost forgot that kids were excited about anything and will always overshare.
“Seems like you’ve forgotten, it doesn’t matter right now.” He said as he turned his back to me and sat on his bed, which just happened to be next to the bed I’ll be sleeping on from now on.
From what I learned from my conversation with Ryan and Holly though is that Ryan liked the colour blue, Holly liked red, they both were dropped off here 5 years ago and have seen lots of kids come and go. They’ve been best friends since they met each other and they do everything together. They then rambled on about their favourite food, favourite songs, all of their favourite things and I just sat there and listened. It was nice to be a proper member of society again even if I can’t remember of my life before being a mirror.
That’s right, I’m Emeline, I’m 504 years old and I’m a wizard. I use to terrorise the people for many years till Swain, the idiot, got me and locked me inside a big, sturdy mirror that lasted for 327 years till some irresponsible teens took the opportunity of destroying it, letting me free.
Swain was older than me, he was 509 years old. He was 5 years older than me, I use to tease him for it all the time, telling him how he would die before me but it turned out that he learned the trick to immortality while I was born with it, I was pissed off when I realised he was immortal too because I knew I’d probably be stuck with him and he didn’t even bother telling me.
For 177 years I went around terrorising people till he had enough and locked me away because he was a fucking goody two shoes who said it was mean to drown someone’s daughter. Not my fault she strangled kittens for fun, she had it coming.
“Now that you’re back, I’d like to join you.” He said in a menacing voice,” I Er, did plan to get you out about 200 years ago but I couldn’t figure out how.” He then said sheepishly.
“If I knew that I could get you out by smashing the mirror I would of done it myself.” He continued, he seemed embarrassed to admit this, “The truth is that I missed you, I missed joining in on the shit we use to do, I just thought you went too far when you killed the people, that’s why I locked you up.”
“I had my reasons for killing them and you’re telling me that you missed me for about 200 years but didn’t visit me once?” I said, I honestly had started to find this whole thing funny.
“I did, just in many different forms, I regretted what I did everyday and I was gutted when I realised I couldn’t bring you back.” He muttered as he looked to the floor,” But that doesn’t matter anymore because you’re back and we can do what we want again!”
“Yes!” Swain shouted back as he turned back into his original form, a tall, paper white man with lovely black hair that covered his left eye, dark green eyes with no soul behind it, a slightly muscular body and a sweet smile,”You’re turn now.”
“I’ll just turn into you for a minute then so you can copy me.” Swain said, he then turned himself into a Asian woman with short black hair, with rather big eyes but beautiful brown eyes, seemed to be only 5’5 with a body that was also slightly muscular, “This is what you look like, absolutely stunning with some killer looks!”
|
Previously, we had found giant books that contained things about our past that we could never imagine, the only thing that didn’t add up though is why everything ancient thing we found was so big, the vases, the books, hell, we even found a giant toaster and so much more, it was weird.
None of it made sense till one day, while exploring through the forest, we started to come across some buildings then we came across more and more buildings and they were all giant, it was crazy, we even found this giant thing called co-op, I’ve heard of it before, use to be a place where people of the past could get their things, from ordinary food to sweets to cigarettes, the only thing that surprised me was the height of it all, it was all humongous.
The scary part though is that the animals seemed to match the height of everything else, we ran into a human sized ant and bloody hell did we run them even worse, we ran into a giant cat, the blood thing tried to swallow us till we ran inside to safety in this old petrol station, it still had sweets inside of it, the counter was still open with money in it, giant 5 pound notes, a bunch of coins and even a few 10 pound notes, it was a wonderful discovery.
I decided I had to bring some back with me so I got Chris to help me shove a 10 pound in my bag as Jen continued to explode the massive shop, she then eventually called us over.
“You two stop flirting for once will ya.” Jen said with a smug look on her face, “Anyway, I say we take a photo of it, you guys stand next to it and then we’ll carry a bone back to examine it with the scientific dude.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to tell you guys apart tbh if he didn’t wear that lab coat all the time and the stupid goggles on his head.” Jen said light heartily as she took out her camera, “Now get down there you guys, I need to take photos.”
Me and Chris scuttled over to the skeleton and pointed it at it while pulling stupid faces, once the pictures where done, we took our pickaxes and started to chip away at one of the joints to take some of the right hand with us.
This discovery was going to go down in history, I always had my theories that human were large but I never thought I’d find a old skeleton in almost perfect contact, this was just crazy, I wonder how tall this thing was in old heights because now we used mm, I believe they used to use feet from what I had previously discovered.
After more chipping away and searching, I could not find any phones but there was a diamond ring on their finger, it looked like one a woman would wear, all thing but had a large diamond on the top, it was actually quite pretty.
“For the last time, stop flirting and hoist that hand back up here before I come down there and beat your arses!” Jen shouted down, I’ve got a giant sack to put it in then we can drag it around and hope to god it don’t break!”
Me and Chris somehow found a way to carry the giant hand back up and then slowly made our way back up, we both almost fell multiple times but made it back up without a single injury.
After that, we chucked it in the sack and I offered to drag it around with Chris so then we both grabbed the bad string and started to go back, we had only spent about 2 hours in this town but bloody hell did I want to get out of here, that fucking cat might still be around and I don’t fancy being it’s dinner.
| 1
|
Single_Bitch_
|
Single_Bitch_
| false
|
Duke hardly had to listen to the conversation to keep up. After getting his talent to read subtitles, most people believed he was nonchalant about everything. At first, he found it irritating since he missed most social cues or body language. However, as time went on he had adapted to reading the bracket events. It also came in handy when he wanted to see what was happening around him. Eavesdropping had become significantly easier. If he was bored with the current conversation, he could read others around him like switching a channel on a tv.
He wasn't one for gossip or drama at all, it just was a mild form of entertainment. This particular day was one of those days as he sat with his good friend Stew. Stew was an old faithful, reliable friend. He was also very plain and predictable. It made for an easy friendship. There were no complicated texts, undiluted situations, or foreshadowing. Just simple and easy conversation. Stew was also one to enjoy people watching alongside Duke. He was the perfect sidekick while they sat at the cafe, enjoying their brew. Duke followed a few strands of a current breakup unfolding in front of him when he took a deep breath in.
Duke stood up and left. It was nice knowing his friend was so chill. At least he would enjoy the sudden scene of the breakup unfolding, which was mostly the reason why Duke left. Screaming and crying women were not his thing. Even with his ability to read subtitles, he still couldn't understand women. There were so many hidden meanings and contexts he didn't know. At least he was considered a good listener though, even if he didn't really understand everything all the time. Heading towards a park, Duke chugged the rest of his coffee before tossing it in the trash. It was a perfect day for a casual jaunt through the peaceful pathways surrounded by grass, bushes, and trees. Although subtitles still popped up around him with the sound effects, it wasn't a huge bother.
Duke took in a deep breath of the air, pausing to look out towards come college kids tossing a freebie. Everything seemed calm when suddenly the subtitle popped in front of him. It was startling as the small hum of a dark melody began to play out of nowhere.
He was unarmed, with no weapons to battle the beast before him. How could he be caught so off guard. With a stern yet seductive tone, the shrouded figure stepped forth out of the shade of the tree to reveal themselves.
The sun reflected off the strands of her golden hair while she stepped out. Her deep blue ocean eyes were fierce as they locked onto his. With an unamused frown, she crossed her arms once out into the dazzling sun. She was magnificent to behold despite that they were at odds. Subtitles appeared beneath her name, ones he didn't need to read to know what they said.
Melissa stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Duke swallowed hard, he was taking critical damage at her look of regret plastered across her face. No! He had to stay strong! This was a boss battle for crying out loud!
Duke was at his limit. She was beautiful and he had never gotten over her. Was she really telling the truth? Yeah, sure she was feeling sorry for what she did but was it enough to go through all the pain again? He was never good at saying no to people in the first place since he was never sure what was the right thing to say. Sure he could read subtitles, but it wasn't like they ever offered a selection of words to say either. With a heavy sigh, he nodded.
|
It started very subtly. I got my first houseplant as a housewarming gift from my parents when I moved out on my own. The small cactus was supposedly easy to care for and even though I forgot to water it for the first three months It was still alive and looked healthy when I finally paid any attention to it. It has been sitting on top of the bookshelf and I stumbled on it when I was looking for something out there.
This cactus is not flourishing over there, I immediately thought. The plant did not seem unhealthy, there were no marks of under-watering on it and to a regular observer it would have looked just fine. But somehow I knew that it needed to be moved to more sunny spot, repotted to better soil and of course watered. Not exactly rocket science, right? Any gardener could have told me that, but I had no experience with plants before that. I didn't thought much of that at the time but looking back I'm sure that this was the first time that I heard the plant language.
I did what the cactus was asking for and forgot about it again. Couple of months went by and I was just sitting on my computer one day, browsing funny memes on the internet when it suddenly come to my mind that the cactus needed water again. This time the feeling was stronger and it came so suddenly that it took me by surprise. Strange, I thought, and went to water it. After I was done, I got the feeling of gratitude for keeping my little plant alive.
Years went by and I started acquiring more and more plants. Some I got as gifts and some I bought from the markets. Each time I bought a plant I somehow knew which one I needed to pick. Like the plants were calling to me. And with every new plant I knew exactly how to care for them. It was like a very strong intuition that I always seemed to know what to with my little garden, and it was flourishing. Eventually I also started to give gardening advice to my friends. Your orchid is over-watered. That tomato is on too windy spot. You are killing your chili with too much sunlight. Those who listened reported back that the plants were thriving.
I became better and better at picking the subtle hints from the plants but at no point was I actually believing that the plants were talking to me. I just thought that I had a natural green thumb and with experience I had developed skills to 'read' the plants.
That all changed one day when I was strolling through the local park. Usually when I'm walking outside my mind becomes clustered with all kinds of emotions depending on the surroundings. I actually prefer staying inside the city, in mid of buildings, because I feel that I can think more clearly there. On the nature, I get all kinds of strange feelings and occasionally it feels like my thoughts are not my own. I had just explained that to myself by telling that I was not a 'nature person', even though I was starting to quite like all plant life.
Anyway, that one day I had to walk through the park. I don't even remember the reason why I was there anymore because my memories are filled on what happened on the park. I was walking by the the lake, which was lined with old oak trees, some of which seemed to be hundreds of years old. In fact, I later checked on the Wikipedia page of the park and there was one particular oak tree that had been there since the park was built in the tenth century! As I was walking past that tree I heard someone calling my name.
Actually I didn't *hear* someone calling my name. I *felt* someone calling my name. It was a feeling inside my head that called my name, or something like that. It is hard to explain. You know the internal monologue that each of us have going on inside of our heads all day? Now imagine that suddenly on that internal monologue there appears your name, repeated, and the words "come here". I was shocked and stopped walking immediately. At first I though that I had just imagined the whole thing but then it happened again. I looked around, could it be that I was somehow mixing external hearing with my internal thoughts, but there was not a single person around. "Over here", I felt the voice again. "I have been waiting for you." I turned to my left and saw the oldest tree that I have ever seen. And at that point I again 'felt', with strong intuition, that the tree wanted to talk to me.
I approached the oak and started to hear it's voice again. This time there was no questioning on where the words came from. The oak started to tell its story to me. How it had learned human language with all the years it had listened people passing by. How all plants had the ability to message to animals and how humans, with their complex language, had lost the ability to listen. And how he had saw me pass by, years ago, and felt first time in years the presence of a human that could understand it. He had tried to call for me that day, but I had apparently been too lost in my own thoughts to notice. "I have had time to do some thinking", it said lastly, "and I have became concerned of the way you humans life. Can you deliver a message from me to others?"
| 0
|
Pidgeonfeed
|
kikkelikokkelikalle
| false
|
The sound of sirens in the distance brought a wicked smile out beneath his bearded, mud caked face. He stood there in the heavy rain, feet planted in the wet soil of my father’s garden, crooked teeth catching the reflection of the lightning striking nearby. In the dark torrent of thunder and wind I can hear his low laugh. He’s enjoying this.
I lower my rifle, moving it slowly from his face down to his feet. “You’re not going to get away with this.” I say plainly, mostly to reassure my sister, whom the creep is holding tightly against himself some 15 feet in front of me.
“I already have, dear boy!” He calls back, as he casts a glance to his left at my brother lying face down in the mud, the bloody hilt of an old kitchen knife sticking out from his side. “I did what I came here to do, now I will be going.” His filthy yellow poncho rippled in the wind, occasionally revealing the pistol he had pressed against my sisters back.
“Let me go!” my sister shrieked, as the police cars slammed into the front yard. My brother had managed to call them just before the creep chased my sister and him outside and attacked him with the knife. The look of madness on his face has only grown more intense since I leveled the rifle at him just minutes ago, and with the sound of car doors opening and closing and the flashing red and blue lights bouncing between the rain drops, his face twisted beyond sane.
As the police approached my eyes widened, I knew their arrival would only make the creep more dangerous. As if in slow motion, I watched as they drew their pistols, rifles, and shotguns on him. They all barked orders at him, and he just stared back with that sick smile. He let out one last heavy snicker before turning his gaze on me. He pulled the gun off of my sister and raised it toward me. I watched as it climbed through the air, breaking the rain drops destined for the earth beneath it. I saw the black hole from which my fate would soon be dispensed staring deep into my chest. I witnessed his finger begin to tighten around the trigger. Then I saw his eye change from insane delight to udder confusion. The world fell silent around us, and the red and blue police car lights bounced off the handle of the kitchen knife, which was now wedged up into his chest just beneath his heart. The creep let out his final breath in a muddled whimper, a whimper that told me he had suddenly realized what happened. A whimper that was half frustration, half bewilderment, but without a drop of regret. Slowly the world around us came back into focus. The quack of the ducks nearby eased the volume back on, and then the sirens and the thunder chimed in.
My brother collapsed back to the mud after his quick return of the blade back to the creep. My sister grabbed him and suddenly paramedics and police were as abundant as the rain drops. We all ended up at the hospital shortly after. Thankfully, only the creep’s soul left it’s earthly vessel that day.
|
The thin beam of light poked through the window shade and cast a pale yellow circle at my feet. My eyes struggled to open fully, collapsing several times before settling for half way. I watch for what feels like hours as the yellow circle crawls up my legs, which don't seem to want to move any more than my eyes. I notice the smell first, the room I'm in stinks like rotting food. My face puckers slightly, just before I notice the pain. Everything feels mangled, like I spent the night tumbling around in the dryer.
I manage to break my gaze from the yellow circle and cast a look around the room. It's dark, almost pitch black aside from the single ray of sunlight. I can't make out much of what kind of room it is, it looks like it's just full of garbage. There are a dozen suitcases strewn about with their contents spilling out like overflowing toilets. Clothes, toiletries, and food wrappers, mostly. I slide myself up slightly to find I was laying on a few flattened cardboard boxes.
I sit for a moment, overwhelmed at my situation. "Where the hell am I?" I whisper to myself. I try to gain control of my legs and get to my feet, but stumble forward in pain and take a knee, knocking over a small nightstand. When I finally get to my feet I move to the window and find that it's been sealed off with a black plastic garbage bag. I gently tear the hole in it wider, watching as the room fills with light and the cool air from outside begins to blow in. I see a counter top and sink along the wall and a bed in the far corner of the room. It looks like a deserted apartment or something... "How did I get here?" I whisper to myself again. As the room gets brighter I pause. I see someone's legs sticking out from behind a pile of clothes. "He...hello?" I ask, a little bit louder. I make my way slowly over the creaky wooden floor and navigate the garbage to where the person is laying. I peer over the clothing pile and let out an uncontrolled yell. The body is mangled and contorted, with a stale pool of blood pooled under the head!
I jump back, winded. I stumble and trip on various junk as I scramble for the door. I grab the door knob and throw the door open to a dim, dusty hallway. Just as I'm about to charge down the hall I see several people rushing toward me. They're dressed in strange gear with face masks and flashlights. I hear them shouting as the make their way down the hall towards my room. I slam the door and back slowly into the room. My eyes dart left and right, up and down, like a moth flying around a light bulb, searching for answers. I see the hole in the window and tear through it to see a desolate city street, two stories below. As I stick a leg out the window I hear the door behind me splinter and several people come barreling through. They are grabbing for me and shouting, and as one of their grimy rubber gloves wraps itself around my shirt, I lunge through the window.
I gasp for air as I hop up to my feet. I stare back up at the window and see one of the bizarre masked men gazing down at me, breathing heavily and watching intensely. He reaches up and tears the mask from his face. He's an elderly man, with long white hair. He looks concerned.
One hundred yards up the road, from just beneath the rising sun, I hear a deafening roar. I squint at the emerging silhouettes on the horizon and freeze. Beasts, twice the size of any man, stand atop cars and hang from the crossing bridge. They are thumping their great fists down on the metal roofs, and throwing back their heads to unleash a cacophony of terror. And they're all staring towards me. I look back to the window and see the man being pulled back inside, as he gives me a final look of despair.
| 1
|
LRM_OnStation
|
LRM_OnStation
| false
|
SEVEN. How did no one else hear that? I can’t be the only one. Tom just keeps droning on and on… Good Lord that guy likes the sound of his own voice. What did that voice say again?? “You’ll either die or meet the love of your life”? What the heck does that mean? This meeting is scheduled for another half hour, there’s no way I’m going to meet anyone in seven minutes in here. Maybe I should leave… maybe I need to go to the bathroom. Maybe I should see a doctor about that voice in my head. It sounded like it came from the intercom but how could it if not one else heard it?!? TOM!!! Shut up!!! Ohhhh I wish I could say that out loud.
SIX. Man it’s warm in here. Susan is wearing way to much perfume again. How does she not realize that it smells like a potpourri factory in here, and not a good one. Ugh. My shoes are too tight. I should go look at new shoes this weekend. Why the hell are we meeting in person anyway, this is dumb. Zoom meetings were great but Bill insists that this is team building. The only thing this is building is my anxiety and hay fever. I wonder if he’s still banging Barbara from accounting?
FIVE. Seriously? “Excuse me, Tom, Is your slide upside down?” “You’re welcome! No no, that’s alright haha, happens to the best of us” …. What a dolt. It must be nice being the presidents nephew. Great parking spot, company car, cute assistant AND job security. All because el presidente’s sister could keep her legs together. Who colored that pie chart? Looks like a third graders report on red gummy bears dominating over all other colors. I gotta figure out how to get out of here.
FOUR. I’m hungry. I thought they were brining in Panera for this meeting. What a crock. If we were on Zoom I could be eating that left over pizza right now and not wearing these stupid shoes. Stupid Bill. Wait a second now… Ashley’s blouse has a gap between buttons! That’s quite the bra! Nice. Don’t look idiot. Ok, just a glance… STOP. You’re gonna get caught. Quick! Ask a question. “Tom, are you saying that you believe productivity will increase in this next quarter if we all come together as a team and work toward strengthening relationships in this new era?” Oh yeah, that sounded smart. Yes! Look at those heads nod. Ok. That should get them talking about… wait. What the hell was I thinking. At least Ashley gave us a smile.
THREE. I wonder what Ashley is thinking right now… I bet she thinks about what kind of underwear guys wear. Nothing wrong with that. I can’t be the only one that thinks about panties. Just don’t say it out loud. My stomach is making noises. I wonder if anyone else can hear that. Damn I hope that’s not a fart in the making. I think it’s just hunger… yeah that’s… dang it. It’s a fart. Hold it. It will go back up. Hold… hold… that reminds me, I need to watch Braveheart again. Braveheart, Bravefart… hehehe. That’s funny. Ok good. Crisis averted. It’s not at the back door but it’s still a threat. How can I get out of here? If I can text my buddy Heath I can have him call me with a “family emergency”. Yeah, that will work. No that’s stupid. Then I’ll have to come up with a story to back it up when I get back. Ashley will probably be really concerned… Susan with be her fake self and ask a bunch of questions as though she’s concerned but really just wants to catch me or spread gossip. I bet she was quite the hoe back in the day. Why can’t I concentrate. BECAUSE THIS IS BORING AS HELL!! You can do it, just stay awake.
TWO. I’m almost out of my Monster. I’ve got to ration these last few sips. Don’t make it obvious. Just tip the can enough to get a little, that’s it… good. Kept eye contact with Tom’s chart. I wonder if that’s Tom’s real hair. I swear it looks like plugs but I can’t tell. My feet itch. I should have bought new socks. God knows I haven’t worn these dress socks in over a year. Ashley looks bored. If she looks over, raise your eyebrows and smirk like you understand she is bored too. She not looking. She’s pretending to be interested in Toms charts just like I am. Good for her. Susan’s looking at me… she winked at me. Was that a “hey cutie” wink or a “are you as bored as I am wink” or “Tom’s almost done” wink. She so old. I don’t care either way it’s weird. I’m hungry.
ONE. I think Tom’s part is almost done! Only two more presentations to go. I wonder if they will let us stretch our legs and grab a snack. I think I have a couple bucks in my desk for the vending machine. I hope Greg didn’t take the last Funyuns. I swear he buys 3 bags at a time just to rub it in. Funyuns might make my breath bad. I wonder if Ashley likes Funyuns. I could share my bag with her. Greg would never share with her. I think Greg’s gay. Nothing wrong with that but it’s weird how he doesn’t show any interest in any of the ladies. Especially Ashley, she’s a 9 at least. Way out of my league, what was I thinking. Funyuns?? “Wanna share my Funyuns?” How dumb would that sound. No wonder I’m single.
KNOCK KNOCK, “Hey! Look who’s here! My man Brian from Panera! You brought me a Black Forest ham on a croissant with three cheeses and all the fixings? THAT’S MY FAVORITE SANDWICH!!” - Ashley looks surprised at how excited I am. “Sorry Ashley, I just LOVE this sandwich”. “I know, that’s why I ordered it for you”…
|
Then it became clear. They had travelled across the galaxy, in search of aid, in search of help. They had observed countless systems, dozens of inhabited worlds, looking for one where they could seek help without fear of rebuke, or worse, assault. And from ours they found two words. Words that would change the balance of power forever.
Without context, they took this as the sign they were so desperately looking for. And they came. And the Canadian government stood, with the eyes of the world on them, together with a race that had lost hope in their own survival, and told the world "You are here, and we will help you."
At first the world balked. Canada became a joke overnight. Pushovers, spineless, overeager to please, too polite. All the remarks that had dogged their culture turned up to 11. Meanwhile, the Canadian citizens simply wondered at how high the cost would be; not just for the treatment, but the price of they failed.
The first hybrid nuclear fusion plant opened in Canada only two months after that auspicious moment in front of the Canadian Parliament. All the nations power needs met under one roof, with excess to supply another 250% of energy usage each day.
Within six months, alien medical technology was integrated into every Canadian hospital. Human physiology was complex, but the humdrum of medical treatment; the scrapes, the lacerations, the broken bones and common infections, all were understood. All were treatable. And all were automated. They saw this as the fastest way to treat their own ailments; freeing up physicians to study their own physiology and work on potential treatments.
Within a year, Canada had corned the market on precious elements; there was no shortage when you can create them on demand from a near limitless power supply, with alien technology. They were sold to bring in revenue, and hire foreign researchers to increase the workload on the alien disease.
Two years, three months. Prime Minister Trudeau, re-elected in a landslide, announced the cure had been isolated, and successfully distributed across the alien subjects available on Earth, and they had been provided with all the necessary details to produce as much as they needed.
And they left. With much applause, and celebration, and thanks, they left. And their parting gift appeared as their ship left orbit, right outside the Canadian Parliament building. A full repository of the aliens knowledge banks, translated into all Earth languages.
The war escalated quickly. Every country in the world wanted access to that knowledge. The Canadians refused. They had earned it, they said, they had worked, despite the fear and mistrust of others. They had a right to it others did not.
The Americans, the Chinese, the Russians, all disagreed. None of them wanted a piece of the pie, they all wanted to take it for themselves. America launched the first strike with a ground invasion of Canada. The response was swift, and soon Nuclear warheads filled the air.
And now, today, we wait. The barrier of opalescent white light across the border of Canada has dropped. And now, we await the Canadian response. All we can do is hope, and pray, that their charity extends farther than our own.
| 0
|
BigMoses777
|
Orisi
| false
|
Most people were unsure if they had even grown over the past ten years. Deep caverns with shades of stress and strain, hatred and fear had scared the surface for well over a century and a half. The sunlight was now forbidden from entering these cracks, the high walls impenetrable keeping out all unwanted outsiders, light included. On the face this was apparent, although statues and other representations never reflected it, instead showing how it used to be. The stoic expressions from eons ago still remain, watching over us and keeping us safe, the anomaly of our time.
We had never assumed it to be this way, at least for this long. It started as a joke, made by news networks and social media websites on the old computers and cell phones people communicated with. Now though the joke was far too real, far too fleshed out and horrific to ever be laughed at in any sense. The launch sites of Africa were deteriorating and the Mars colonies were thriving. Every major city in the states was near abandonment while Muslims and unattractive women attended to the launch procedures and attempted upkeep of our home planet.
I returned to stock up on Muslim slaves to be used in sport combat, the act of going to war for fun, which had become quite popular with the emperor in recent years. We all loved sport combat. “It is tremendous” we’d say; although everyone I knew wondered why we had to watch Muslims murder one another. Some say we did this before the emperor took over. In places called Afghanistan, Syria, and Iraq (somewhere in the desolate stripped oil-bomb evac sites) these so-called heathens would attack one another and us too! The media would cover the stories almost exclusively and the whole world would watch in horror as entire nations of people attempted to destroy one another. Something we’d even get involved using old missiles and “drones”, although I never could quite figure out how those things stayed in the sky.
Either way, the sport combat trip had to be completed and my ship had just touched down in Africa. Donam would be supplying my ship this time around. Donam was a portly gentleman, always fond of eating and drinking beer to somehow forget that he lived on earth still. Yet, his adorable family all loved him and showed it each day when he returned home. He loved them as well and was never afraid to show it.
“Ay” I retorted. We didn’t share much conversation. Simply there to do our jobs. He opened the large rear door to the transport vehicle; 24 muslims all chained and covered with a facetious political mask stood side by side in the dark. A deep pungent smell wafted out with the breeze, a mix of sweat and urine stuck in the air as I stared down this week’s crop.
The touchdown was smooth on mars. New Tycho’s landing pads were marvelous on account of the ancient seabed being so flat. Consistent, smooth, perfect in every way. I’d just concluded the shutdown procedures and was waiting for permission to exit the ship. A look out the window revealed the standard view from one of these ports: a massive gold statue in the distance reflecting dim light out over the sprawling red below. Outterrain jeeps motored by at the feet of this gold behemoth, they’re distance giving the appearance of small mice scampering at the feet of a successful slumlord. I first noticed the lacking wrinkles at this point in time. The high, German origin, cheek bones were refracting the down onto the emperor’s minions below. How did this light escape him in real life? Had the deep caverns that appeared when he was still president become permanent? Was he unaware of them? No one in the states or the United Nation of Mars had quite figured out why it was that he had managed to live so long.
I had a theory though. Rumor has it that no one knew about his ability to live so long until he was nearly 75. Everyone thought his hair was fake, that he would die off like the rest of us. That wasn’t the case, at least in my eyes. I think he was merely a young man and that his maturity was reflective of the actual age. Either that or he was blissfully unaware of that one thing that unites us all.
The Muslims fighters were wheeled out from the basement of the ship. Deep in my chest a twinge of guilt struck me. “Dear Lord, please show these men success in their endeavors. Let them see their families again so that they may love one another. Let these men return to earth and teach their kin what love is so that one day they don’t get an emperor who doesn’t understand love. So that they don’t get an Emperor Donald Trump.”
|
Zapp walks out of the barracks with a full belly and sucking on a toothpick. "Man does that tuna hit the spot-" he suddenly stops and stares blankly at the audience of soldiers eagerly waiting for a speech before landing on Normandy. a short male with a huge head comes stumbling behind Zapp fully dressed for combat, but does not look capable of it. "Hey Kif" says Zapp to the small man. "yes sir" kif replies. Zapp leans over for a whisper. "What are these guys doing here?" Zapp asks secretly to kip. "Well sir, you see...we are going to land on Normandy anytime soon and these men sir... they need an inspirational speech to get their spirits up for when they...I mean WE enter the battlefield sir." Whispers kip. "Gotcha" says Zapp pointing at Kip with both hands like two guns while making a clicking sound. Zapp walks up to the audience and begins his speech. "MEN... We are about to step foot on hell itself, but unlike you all i have been through hell thousands of times. I cannot tell you how many times after a night of partying i found myself with an old lady in my bed not knowing who in the world she is... if you think that is easy just try telling her grandson, who is as old as you, who their new grandpa is. This won't be any different. The odds may be stacked upon us, but i guarantee a victory or my name isn't Zapp Brannigan." The boat lands, and the doors open. gun fire spewing everywhere. "let's go out there show those grandmas what we got." All the soldiers scream a "YEAH" and start running out of their boat. Kif begins running out with the rest of the soldiers only to get held back by Zapp. Zapp pulls Kif with him to hide in a corner until all the soldiers evacuated. Once all the soldiers had left Zapp begins his plan of leaving Normandy in the boat. "Ummm... sir... what are we doing?" Kif asked. "Well you see Kif, sometimes we just have to let the natural select thingy take its place." Zapp replied while pulling up the door of the boat. "All those guys are practically dead as we speak. Now do you want to be dead Kif? Do you?" Zapp asked in a very calm tone. " well..." Kif sighs, "No sir" he says in a depressing tone. "that is good Kif. That. Is. Goooooood." Zapp says as he gently fondles the middle of his chest. "Can you drive a boat Kif?" Zapp asked. "I can try,"Kif says. "I take that as a yes. take us to Vegas little man. I've got some old women waiting for me over there that need some me tiiime." Zapp says back to Kif while giving a humping gesture to him. " sir, Vegas cannot be reached by sea...sir." said Kif in a questionable tone. " I don't care Kif, we have to make it there at any cost." said Zapp with a confidence. " okay sir" mopes Kif. As Kif begins to walk for the helm Zapp asks for a favor. " Hey kif, can you bring an extra pair of underpants. my genitals decided to cry for the soldiers when the doors open and a bullet ran past my face knowing these men had no chance." Kif mopes another " yes sir."
| 0
|
squadrillionaire
|
fufukachoo
| false
|
I woke up with a determination to end this nightmare. Had it been more than a month since it happened or was it still the same day? I had no way of tracking how much time had actually passed. So, I move over to my makeshift calendar—a section of the wall that I set aside for tallying the number of times I’ve woken up. I make a mark to signify the next day.
Sigh, I look at my watch. Yep, it was still stuck at 10:10. Fiddling around with the crown didn’t change the time either. I wanted to scream, but that wouldn’t help the situation. I would know, I had screamed at that blasted watch countless times; it didn’t do anything.
So, like the past however many days, I ride my bike over to Grandpa’s place. I couldn’t drive—too many cars on the road. Just there, stuck, not moving, with their occupants inside. I easily avoid the joggers and other bikers. I had made this trip before and remembered where each one was. And I easily get to Grandpa’s place.
It all started here. I found the magic watch here. Grandpa had a bunch of random artifacts. The ones he deemed safe, he let me play with. But he had a room where he stored the dangerous ones. I sneaked in one day and found a bunch of cool things. This watch was one of them. It caught my eye because it was shiny. I quickly learned that it could control time. It could rewind and fast forward time.
I had fun with it for about two months. Quick example, I would go to take a test. Memorize the questions, rewind time, look up the answers, and then take the test knowing everything. It was awesome. I figured I could get rich quickly. Learn the lottery numbers, rewind about an hour, and win a bunch of cash.
Except the watch stopped working after I pulled that stunt. The watch stopped and time stopped. At first I was excited. I was never able to stop time before. The world was my oyster now. I could just take whatever I wanted; nobody could stop me or trace it back to me. And I did that. But when I tried to get the watch to move again, it didn’t. All of a sudden, my new toy didn’t matter. I was stuck in time.
I tried to get the watch to move. Tried for who knows how long. It was a while before I thought that I might find some secret at Grandpa’s place. I made my way over—had to break in, and found his library. And started researching.
And so that’s what I’m going to be doing today again. I’ve been going through his journals and the vast collection of books. I’ve learned how to read in a few other languages, and figured out how some of his other artifacts work. But I haven’t been able to find anything on this cursed watch.
|
He stared at her, as she lay still in her hospital gown, in her hospital bed. The light was cold, the room was freezing, and the man's heart was crawling to a stop. His daughter stared at her dying mother bewildered, as most children are at her age. The man stopped caressing her hand for a moment, looking from her dimming eyes to her pale hands. The two of them had lived a happy life, but they had never married. Was that a mistake? Was that one that could be rectified? The doctors never said she was going to die within the week.
A month, at best, they said. He remembered the first time she had thrown a terrible deadline at him. It was a couple of months after they had met, their first meeting a blur of wild sex and alcohol. She was just a heartbroken drunk girl, and he was a horny party goer. They met, for only a night, but it was made night of blissful and, in hindsight, regrettable fun.
Because the next time they met, one of them was with child. And, after much discussion, time, and a growing familiarity, both of them became with child. And after that child came into the world, they both stayed together to raise it. And soon, two other children followed. The last one, a mistake, like the one that brought them together, was the young one sitting on her father's lap, as he sat and watched the love of his life wither away.
That thought suddenly brought the man back to life. It was almost as if he remembered that he wasn't the one dying. He would continue on past this moment. The room glowed with the man's warmth.
He paused. The beeping of the heart monitor began to worry him. The blips that were supposed to be reassuring him started to stress him out. They gave the situation an unnecessary immediacy, as if, at any moment, they would stop, and flatline. The man hated all of it.
As she smiled at him, he realized, as pale as she had become, she retained her striking beauty, the beauty that initially caught his eye as he scanned the room for a possible one nighter. She was an angel, and the world was finally coming to understand that.
He wanted to smile, but he just couldn't. Did she not realize what was happening? Does she realize that the month they gave as a possibility wasn't going to happen? That all she had was now? Because he knew. The man knew that this was the last time he would ever see her alive.
"But when I'm gone, I want you to keep moving on. I want you to do what you did when we first met; I want you to wake up while I'm still asleep, and sneak out of my apartment. I want you to accept what happened, and move on. I don't want to tie myself down to you now. Within a couple days, hours, minutes, soon, is what I mean, I'll be gone. Pushing up daisies. Singing with the invisible choir. And I don't want you to be the one lugging my body around, trying to find someone who would reimburse you for a dead wife. I love you too much to put you through that."
He stared at her. She looked like an angel, but one that was wearing a teal dressing gown, one that was forcibly tethered to the earth by a series of tubes and wires, leading to machines and drips. The man held the now sleeping child in his arms, passing his warmth into the child, cradling her head with his weathered hands. He nodded.
| 0
|
Xenetine
|
Train_Stapler2
| false
|
When the Great Garbing came into existence, they say it changed our world. It only happens one day out of the year, but it let the world know magic existed. They say one angry witch cast the spell, and she just so happened to be rather strong in her magic skills. At first, scientists and technologists scrambled for ways to fix it but after several years, the people learned to love it and the search ended. A new wave of enthusiasts rose, and festivals were soon put together. People broke into niches for their favorite things or other causes.
There were the "Cosplayettes," who loved to dress up as their favorite fantasy idols from books or TV. They were the first to rise up in support of the Great Garbing day, and derived themselves from my grandmother's old fashioned ideas of "cosplayers." The "Jobbists" took on their dream profession for a day or committed to a profession in need for a day to help the world. The "CopyCats" would take on other real life people as their garb, sometimes as people who had passed on to give another person peace with their departed loved one, or switch with friends for a day. Therapists even recommended this as a kind of therapy to promote understanding between couples, families, and friends to respect each other's difficulties through experiencing them. The last large group was the "Chimeras" and they prided themselves on becoming things we'd never seen before. There were other groups with different purposes, but they were all much smaller.
I had always considered myself a "floater," a person who had never settled themselves to one group for the Great Garbing. Floaters were often thought to be lazy, uncreative, and unskilled. In my case, I was unskilled, but I had plenty of dream plans, and I worked my ass off to try and make them happen. The problem I had is that all the classes in the world weren't paying off fast enough. I'd get a little better each year, but never quite make it happen. The Great Garbing had a fair few rules. For one, the more detailed and intricate your costume, the more you actually became like your costume. If you used a real dentist's jacket, and had real tools from a dental office, you could turn into a skilled dentist, and perform professionally. That's why "Jobbists" actually managed to often get their costumes funded by the government, or companies seeking a specific profession for the day. If you were like the Chimeras, and you made your costumes up from odds and ends, things would act in character to how they were made. If you gave yourself tentacles, they'd perform like tentacles. The downside is that if you poorly crafted your wings, or you made them like ostrich wings, not only could you not fly, they may look wonky.
Professional crafters had popped up everywhere, and now it was a dream job. Once, it had been my dream too. I worked mediocre jobs between Great Garbing days, and scrounged every penny I could to take classes for anything that might help me become a better crafter. Each year though, my confidence was daunted when my Great Garbing would come to some kind of bitter end and disappointment. I had had my fair share of bullying from classmates and if it wasn't that, it was my own mental talk bullying me for my failures. One year, I tried to become a spring fairy. I even used fresh flowers, real dirt, and giant elephant ears to form a dress. I worked all year on perfecting my wings, using actual tree branches and other natural materials. I even ordered top-shelf spider silk to web the wings in. When I woke up at midnight though, intent to spread some love to the nearby community garden, I found that my wings failed to work, from my inability to weave the web tight enough. I had planned to fly from my roof, without testing them... I broke my arm that year.
Since then, my family has questioned and shadowed my costumes every year. This year, I kept my plans top-secret. My mom had taken to chastising me in attempt to garner information, but I held my resolve this year, determined to finally be an independent adult. I say independent, but I live at home still. My costume had been coming along swimmingly, and I was more than proud, I was thrilled. For the first time in years, I felt confident that this would be the attempt I'd waited for.
I pulled the dark robes over my head, lacing the bodice up tight. This year, I'd even embroidered the dress myself, and the violet thread against the dark as coal fabric had turned out amazing. The matching cloak had a real heavy silver clasp, decorative and ornate, with a rune symbol imprinted in it that I had designed myself. Granted, I had no idea if it would work like I wanted it too, but something felt right. I'd even made a very expensive trip to the Ensemble Woods this year, where people went to lay their old costumes because they believed that was where the witch had cast her spell. Those woods seemed magical the time I stayed in them, wildlife there was vibrant and friendly, everything seemed so peaceful and sounds were melodic to me. I couldn't understand how anyone ever found the deep woods to be scary there, or how stories of rabid wildlife came to be, and seeing the old costumes that had served people well gave a sense of pride in my people to turn what should have been a bad thing into good.
I crafted a wand out of an odd tree I'd found deep in the woods. It was a dark wood, but where the wood formed gnarls it shifted to a very light wood. The leaves it produced were heart-shaped. Well most of them were, but some looked like they'd only half-formed, making half a heart. The wand I had shaped with my pocket knife and a few tools I'd taken from a woodwork class, turned out beautiful, with swirls of light wood, and a single heart shape leaf I'd left attached to it, and I had left it rather long in shape. It was the last piece I needed of my costume, and I had saved it til last intentionally. I would fall asleep in the Ensemble Woods, and awaken as the witch who had started this all and then, I would end the Great Garbing once and for all.
When I did awake, I could feel it. The power I had once had returned. How long had I lost myself inside that alternate mind of a weak and timid girl? I stood and walked a while, seeking the edge of the forest, I needed to know what the people had done since my curse had hit them. As I crossed by a stream I caught the sparkle of my violet eyes in a pool of water, I smirked happy to be rid of the dull and bleak blue eyes I had lived with so long. I reached the edge of my woods, and found an abundance of costumes laid out along branches, and posted to trees. Some had notes attached to them, and others showed wear and tear from their Garbing day. I walked over to a Doctor's scrubs, soaked in blood, a note clipped on the pocket reading, "Today, I saved a toddler and her mother who arrived at the struggling Harbor Med center. A drunk driver nearly stole their lives away, but through the Great Garbing, I managed to keep them both here with us. May they see many more Great Garbings. Thank You, Lady Ensemble." I walked around to more costumes, finding similar notes.
The clattering of a tambourine met my ears, and I turned to see a group approaching, but they stopped at sight of me. There were musicians, and children dressed as small fae, artists carrying sketchbooks, and cooks bringing food, and all kinds of people behind them. The crowd murmured among themselves, and finally a well-dressed guard stepped forward.
I returned to myself to take away the curse, bitter over the fact they had started to enjoy it more than hate it. When I placed it on them, it was because I was upset with the world. I was angry with the politicians who argued as if they had the people's best interest at hand, while secretly progressing their own personal motives. I was infuriated at the selfishness of doctors and business men, who walked past the homeless people on the daily, while spouting how they took the job they had to help others, and hoarded money. I felt anguish to watch the new generation growing up hopeless, paying fortunes they didn't have to underfunded schools, with under trained staff, to come out with a degree that brought them nowhere in life. I was sad to see the human race couldn't even agree with having different colors of skin, and my own race and other magical races couldn't even leave our hiding for fear we'd be treated even worse than humanity treated their own kind, let alone some of the other animals that inhabited their earth. For the leaders of this world, they were terrible to everything, from the nature that gave them sustenance to their own kind that shared minor differences.
Once a year, they even dressed up for fun, as all kinds of things. I thought if I made them have to live as those things once a year they might gain an understanding for one another. When they began to lose their shock, and made what I thought was a game of it, my rage grew. I had used every ounce of my power for this lesson, and they mocked me from what I saw through the haze using so much power had left me in. It wasn't until this moment that I realized they had found the compassion I'd wanted them to have and it had made them joyful. It was not perfect, but they appreciated the Great Garbing, and more importantly, they were coming to appreciate themselves and those around them. So I retired my tirade that day and drew on the cloth of humanity, it was time I learned my own lesson, without the haze.
|
Dimitri sauntered into the office, hips waving and auburn hair flowing gracefully. As usual, her presence turned heads, and how could it *not?* She was beautiful. Round face, hazel eyes that could cut you in half, and mocha skin that was irresistibly soft. More attractive than her physical beauty was the air of confidence that clung to her every curve. Okay, enough writing like some cishet white dude. Her mark was the CEO of some fortune 500 company, filled to the brim with the type of douchebag guys that played golf every weekend and talked trash about their wives. This guy was no better. His name was Adam Gaile, and she had been scoping him out for the better part of six months. Getting closer to him, (ew) meant getting closer to his wife. His wife was nothing like these people, as you’d expect her to be. Through Dimitri’s hard work and long nights private investigating, (Google and cocktail Friday’s.), she learned about Adam’s wife, Erica Gaile. An Ivy League graduate and a once successful surgeon turned housewife (aw, frowny face.) The woman was passionate about animal rescues, kids with cancer, and sickle cell research. How many charity benefits does one *really* need to throw a year, am I right?
Getting Adam to trust her was easy. Ha. The fool didn’t even know her real name. He thought it was Darla! Cocktail Friday, every Friday. Yawn. Wear your sleaziest, yet still somehow classy dress, get the man drunk, and chat him up! A hand on the arm here, a laugh at an idiotic joke there, really it’s simple math. Soon enough Dimitri was being invited to one of these benefit banquets, something about blood cancer in dogs? Who knows. So she did what she always does when she’s ready to meet the wives. She curled her hair, put on a non threatening shade of lipstick differing from her usual blood red, instead opting for a dusty rose color, and applied wings sharper than the dagger she had strapped to her leg at all times under her floor length midnight black gown.
At last, the time had come. Dimitri made her way into what can only be described as a mansion, eyes roving for the CEO and the woman who’d no doubt be attached to his side, his precious, trusted wife. Her eyes landed on Adam atop a grand staircase, and in turn on a woman beside him, who’s face was ever so slightly turned. She mad her way to a server, and gently plucked a glass of champagne off a platter, awaiting their descent. Best not to make things too obvious. With the first glass half empty, the man and wife were finally on the main floor, and Adam walked off to find finger sandwiches. Dimitri waltzed her way to the woman. Finally. Alone, how easy. No sooner had she opened her mouth to make an introduction to the woman when her eyes widened in recognition, and her heart strings ached in unison. “Dimitri?!” “Eloise?!” The champagne glass shattered to the ground, like a mini supernova of glass. “Where the fuck have you been? You disappeared without a trace. I loved you!” Erica/Eloise whisper screamed. Dimitri robotically reached a hand out to grip her manicured fingers into the woman’s arm, steering her away from the crowd to the nearest closet she could find.
| 0
|
Idialogy
|
opheliaarsyn
| false
|
I didn't mean to say it, and Nina freezes as soon as the words are out of my mouth. She's still got one of her fucking feet inside the wall, and she pulls it free sheepishly, her cheeks flushing. I sink lower into my seat, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Me, too." She pulls off her jacket, hangs it on a hook by the front door. When she sits, she keeps a few feet of space between us. She stays silent for a moment before she says, "Did--did you eat dinner?"
A non-committal grunt is all I give her, because I know she already knows the answer. Of course I ate dinner--I ate dinner at six, like a normal person, while she was already out on one of her bullshit patrols. She sighs, gets to her feet. The neon green 1:20 a.m. on our cable box clock slaps me in the face. She's probably exhausted, but I'm finding it hard to be sympathetic.
"Congrats." The word comes out with more bitterness than she probably deserves. I shake my head. "Again. Hasn't he been in and out of prison like ten times? Why the hell don't they just keep him?"
"Because he has wads of cash the size of your fist that he treats like pocket change." She comes back to the couch a few moments later with her 'dinner', a skimpy sandwich of deli meat that she and I both know she doesn't actually need to eat. She hasn't really needed food since the accident, but I think it makes her feel better. She watches me uncertainly. "Are--are you okay, Tris?"
She doesn't protest, but it wouldn't have made a difference if she had. The childish part of me wants to slam the bedroom door, but I don't. She doesn't need to sleep, either, so I don't know if she'll be coming to bed tonight. I don't know if I even care anymore.
For a while, it was fine. I helped her cope when she realized what she was turning into, stood by her through every accidental frying of the furniture and every time she turned invisible and couldn't figure out how to turn back. That was almost a year ago, though, and now... I know I should be there for her. At one point, I loved her, and part of me still does. And when she decided to become a superhero, I was actually excited--my inner comic book geek loved the idea of dating a superhero, and I was glad she was finding something good to do with her powers. Especially since all the other victims of the accident were cropping up as heroes and villains, too.
I think it's jealousy, more than anything. She's famous, she's powerful, she can do things I only dream of doing. She hasn't been unfaithful, and I know she wants to try, but... maybe humans and superhumans aren't supposed to be together because of exactly this. Because of jealousy.
I was at the damn docks that night, too. Maybe that's a part of it--I was caught up in the accident and I didn't get a goddamn superpower. I can't shoot fire out of my hands like that asshole Blaze--and seriously, Blaze? I could have come up with anything better than that. I can't walk through walls like Nina, I can't fly or run fast or anything. I can't do shit.
"I guess we have to eventually." I sit up, shrugging. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and she comes to sit beside me, still keeping a few feet between us. She swallows hard.
"Being here. Being with you." I shrug away as she reaches for me. "I'm sorry. I just can't, Nina, not anymore. I wanted to be here for you, I wanted to support you, but I can't."
"No." I turn to her now, shaking my head. "I don't want that. Seriously, I don't. You're good at it, and you love doing it, and I'd never forgive myself if you stopped just to make me happy. Please don't."
"I don't want you to do anything. I have to do this, Nina. I'm miserable. Yelling at you tonight--I would never have done it before, you know that." I get up, sighing. "I'm sorry. I am. But I can't do this anymore. I'm gonna pack some stuff and see if I can crash at Tom's for a few days. We'll see about the lease after."
She doesn't speak, doesn't move from the bed. I shake my head and go to the dresser, hastily shoving t-shirts and jeans into one of my duffel bags. She just watches me until I go to the bedroom door.
|
His truck slowed to a stop, and while he had been reproached before for taking too long, the mailman still couldn’t help but wait. Any second he knew the dog would run up to the fence, jump up and down in a continuous frenzy, his head peeking out in quick second bursts. Slowly, he gathered the mail, wondering again, how was he going to make it to the door and back before getting bit?
Meanwhile inside of the house, the dog sat just behind the screen door, his tail wagging a thousand miles an hour, moving so fast, that a tornado of air blew out from his butt, at least, that’s what it felt like to the Labrador Retriever. Winston’s tail flew back and forth, slapping the ground in his excitement. His best friend was here, and he couldn’t wait to play chase! It had been several hours since his last visit, and last time wasn’t as great because the gate had closed before Winston could reach him. But this time would be different. His master had left the screen door unlocked. Winston wouldn’t have to break the door, again. He’d just have to push it open. He had practiced the move all morning.
The mailman stood at the gate, looking back and forth over the lawn. He had worn thicker pants on purpose today, being that he didn’t want to get bit. Of course, the dog hadn’t yet drawn blood, which may have been why his boss didn’t care, but Harris did. He hated the dog - all dogs really. They were slobbery and messy, left their poop everywhere but outside. And what made it worse was they waited, calm on second, angry the next. You wouldn't know what you did wrong before they latched on your arm, their teeth sunk deep in your skin. They were the worst.
Winston watched the man walk through the gate, his feet hesitating on the concrete. He paused between steps, his head moving about as if he was sniffing the air. What was taking so long? If he could just make it past the flamingo, he would be in range. Then the chase could begin.
If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t even had to make it to the house all the way. Harris bet that the family would be fine with their mail on their porch. At least there it would be covered from rain, hidden from the prying eyes of their neighbors. And really, wasn't that the point of a mailbox? To hide it from everyone else?
Harris’ eyes slid to the left, pausing for a second. There was that flamingo again. Harris remembered when he had broken the first one, tripped over it in haste of escaping the dog. Apparently they had no problem replacing it.
The door burst open with a crack, easily giving way to his body. Winston’s muscles stretched and uncramped, having sat frozen in front of the screen all day, waiting and hoping. He only had to make three leaps before he would be on top of the man. He bet there was a treat in his pocket. He always kept a treat in his right one.
Harris’ eyes widened, his heart burst in a rush of speed. The dog had escaped! His feet slipped from under him, skidding on concrete and grass. His shoes couldn’t get a grip on the ground, and when it rushed at his face, all he could think of was to get back up, faster and run! He had to make it out before the dog reached him.
But Winston was fast. He had practiced all day, and he had timed his steps perfectly so that on his fourth leap he left the roll of the ground and flew through the air, for a moment feeling like he was a bird, before his front paws landed on the man, his back ones hitting the concrete, and then for the second time, felt like a bird, but this time like the cardinal he had knocked it out of its nest, falling from the top limb of the tree down to the ground. It felt like that, except the man squashed slightly when they both landed on concrete. The man's breath escaping in one single wheeze. Wintson hurriedly put his nose in the man’s pocket, trying to chew the mint free from its fabric. He could already smell it. He was so close!
“Get off! Get off!” Harris screamed, except nobody heard him, and nobody ran over to help. At least no one noticed when he wet his pants, leaving a puddle for the dog to investigate while he ran back to his truck.
| 0
|
greenlikethecolour
|
veggieburgur
| false
|
Nora tugged at the hem of her mother’s jacket, dried tears making grimy streaks along her face. Her eyes were red and puffy from a night spent crying in the darkness, her face buried in her mother’s chest. But even the young girl knew this wasn’t the time for crying, outside of the decrepit hotel blue lights flashed, the large war machines probing each building.
“That’s right baby. We love you, and don’t you forget that. It’s going to be alright.” She stood up and grabbed Nora by the hand, leading her down the hallway. On the floor below them the lights stopped filtering in through the window. Everything was quiet. Vera pulled her handgun from the waste-band of her jeans, checking the clip. Six bullets remained.
Blue light suddenly began streaming in through the windows, and the sound of grinding metal reverberated throughout the building. They had been found. Vera lost her grip on Nora, the girl tumbled to the floor below, hitting her head on the dingy hotel carpeting. Vera looked down below, her mouth wide. The machine had rammed its head through the side of the building, its maw acting as a doorway. Steam billowed from the opening, black sludge pouring out onto the floor. From within the mouth creatures that were now less than human stumbled into the hallway. Grotesque, twisted beings, doused in black ooze. Their limbs were cracked and twisted, their faces contorted into permanent screams. They were transformed while still alive, mutated into monstrosities while inside of the machines. The monsters hissed and moaned, falling to all fours they started to crawl towards where Nora lie still. Her mother screamed, drawing the pistol. She squeezed off two rounds, one firing wildly, biting into old plaster and wood. The second shot found its mark, a spray of foul bile splattered across the carpeting. The creature made a low guttural cry as it fell to the floor, black seeping from the open wound. The remaining Turned looked to where Vera was crouched above them. Their mouths were gaping, showing Vera how they were frozen in fear as their humanity was ripped from them by the Outsiders. She could still see the pain in their eyes, the memory of what they once were. The moment soon passed and the Outsider that was attached to the building ripped a metallic tendril through the window next to Vera. Glass shattered and wood splintered, sending Vera crashing down through the break in the flooring, into the waiting hands of the Turned. She scrambled to her feet and ran to Nora’s side.
Nora screamed in horror, as one of the creatures peered over her mother’s shoulder. Its eyes were hollow pits, and she could swear it grinned as it eagerly sunk its rotten teeth into her mother’s flesh. Vera threw her head back and cried out as bone cracked and meat tore. Ripping with tooth and claw the beast lifted away Vera’s arm. It fell back on its haunches and smiled, eyeing its prize. A short lived victory as soon the other monsters descended on it. Mother and daughter watched in shock as each beast piled onto the first, biting and clawing to find a scrap of meat. Vera’s eyes opened and closed as she fought to stay conscious. Blood leaked from the ragged wound where her left arm once was. Nora touched both palms to her mother’s face, shaking lightly. Her eyes were wide.
Vera reached up with her remaining arm, pulling away the girls hands. “It’s ok Nora, I’ll be fine. Your Daddy is going to save me,” She was fighting to cling to life, “But it’s time for you to leave. I need you to go run through that door over there. And don’t look back.” She swallowed hard.
“It’s time to go baby.” The beasts were looking at them again. Blood and flecks of gore dribbling from open mouths and blackened teeth. Nora ran for the stairwell door, pushing it open and shutting the door behind her. Sounds echoed from the hallway beyond the door, four rapid shots followed by the same guttural screams. What came next were the tormented cries of her mother.
Nora looked down at her hands, they were shaking, and slick with her mother’s blood. Wild eyed she turned to the concrete wall next to her. Pressing her fingertips to it she scrawled two words to the surface.
|
I’ve seen it happen. Seen the soul leave the body, hovering, waiting. Within moments, it will zip away, finding a new home elsewhere in the human race. I’ve seen it race toward me, too. Well, not me, but toward the mother in labor or the recently born child. It’s always sad to see the child come out without the glow, the momentary hope that a soul will zoom by me and enter it, giving it the inner life it needs to continue. Sometimes it never comes, devastating a family. Sometimes a woman will come in, a few months pregnant, fearing the worst and I know what she does; something is wrong. Difference being, I know what the problem is: it needs a soul early to survive the development stage and no soul is coming. Even more painful is the glow from the pregnant woman next to her, this woman’s baby having gained its soul before now, strengthening it. That one would make it to and past birth. The fearful woman being guided in now? She’ll probably miscarry if a soul doesn’t seek out her baby soon.
This power, and the vision that comes with it, has always made me wary. No one living lacks a soul, which makes the use of my power very sporadic. That pause, where the soul hovers? That’s the small window in which my power won’t change anything, where I can safely use it. Those moments are where it decides where to go; it seems to be arbitrary, as some will search for minutes despite at least one stillborn baby in the maternity ward. The souls don’t discriminate.
Once a soul has picked a host, though… Well, it means I’ve waited to long. That body is no longer an option for the other souls of the dying to choose to give life to. If I revive someone at this point, I create another dead child and damage another family. The bottle was my friend the first time I realized this, which was far from the first time I’d done it.
Alcohol made misuse of my power easy. I would find myself at the cemetery, debating whether or not I should try to raise the dead. God help me, I succeeded once. Many times, I’d attempted it, always expecting it to fail. Apparently some souls weren’t cemented in their bodies very well, though, and one man actually managed to dig himself out of his coffin.
I woke, after having passed out next to his tombstone, to find him staring at me, bewildered. “Where I am? Why am I here- Auuggghhhh!” He screamed in agony, ramblings spewing from his mouth as he convulsed, his decomposing body falling to the ground. “These memories… they aren’t mine?” More spasms and he fell silent, dead again. I stared, horrified, as his soul rose from him, pausing for minutes. First five, then ten… the longest it had ever taken. It eventually wandered in a direction. I always thought it was looking for its new body, the one I ripped it from. But, of course, that person was dead now.
This had sobered me up. I couldn’t let myself continue like that. I knew what I could do, the limit of my powers. I would just have to be careful, put myself in situations where I could help, could act quickly, instead of losing out on that time and helping no one.
To this end, I became an EMT. First on the scene. I could help, could keep families together by acting quickly. So long as the soul didn’t start to leave, it was safe to bring someone back, give them that extra five-minutes (longer if I was lucky, shorter if not) to get the medical attention that could have saved their life. New souls were always joining the universe, so I felt justified in this use (we certainly hadn’t started with seven billion people on the planet). Intuition told me I was correct, told me I wouldn’t have been given this power to ignore it.
As I got older, too many horrific scenes where I couldn’t help and with my own body starting to fail me, I found myself working in the hospital. Sometimes I would help with complicated surgeries, acting as an assistant and able to give the surgeon a grace period should things go wrong (not that he knew that). If someone went into cardiac arrest or a similar emergency occurred, I would rush to assist, hoping to give them that extra time. Sometimes the person still died anyway, either the procedure failing or the extra time not enough, but I always tried. Sometimes too hard; only once did I attempt to revive someone a second time, and when the soul left their body for the third time, it was faint and wispy, almost invisible to me. If the baby it chose needed a strong soul, I realized, they could be robbed of their life. I didn’t try it again.
Age eventually claims us all. I retired late, wanting to help as much as I could. After a certain point, though, I wasn’t able to help as readily as before and it was time to leave the hospital. I’d be back soon enough, on my own deathbed, though something failing in a person’s old age and disease (the combination of which was my own demise) were not something anyone could fix.
I remember hearing the beep as my heart stopped, feeling my soul pull away as I’d watched happen so many times before. It was, strange, seeing out of my own dying eyes and looking down on myself from the perspective of the soul. I wondered if everyone else experienced this. My soul… it was strong, and I wondered if the nurses trying to resuscitate me could see it, this cloud. It was a pale color, almost grey, as if it was strong because it had been around for a very long time.
The perception shifted. I could no longer see my soul, my own eyes staring at me. I felt weary and tired, found myself searching. This one- taken. Next- taken. I searched, thoughtfully, as some were taken, as I waited to see if it would be claimed. Exhaustion made fighting for a spot difficult and I wasn’t willing to. Maybe the powers my body had been given in this life were a sign. It truly was time to retire, to rest.
| 0
|
DreamFiction
|
ABlackWaltz
| false
|
"Climb up the rock," he replied, so I did, and he handed it to me. I looked through it. There was only food, some fruits I recognized, some that I didn't. No weapons. "Yes," I called out, "you can come in. Stand back."
I said a spell to move the largest piece of the rock. It rumbled and rose into the air as rainwater drained off it, but it rose much faster this time than it had been when I had had to move the whole boulder. I moved it high enough that the boy could crawl through on all fours, and he did. He crawled up to a wall and sat against it, not saying a word. Neither did I. I passed him his bag.
I replied, "It's everything I know. I've been putting all my knowledge on the walls of this cave. I made sounds a code that you can see. See, over here are all the symbols I use. This one's Oo, this one's Oh, this one's Ah..."
I taught him how to read and he caught on quickly. He was soon able to read on his own, but soon it became too dark. I had a light, though: in my cape I had sewn in a rock that I had enchanted to glow. I could turn it on and off at will with a simple command of "Rock, glow," or "Rock, quiet." I gave him my cape and told him the commands, and off he went. "Don't travel past the end of the writing, I don't know what's past there! And don't change anything!" I called out towards the faint glow of the Invader boy as he explored deeper into the cave. In the dark, I traced my hand along the cave wall, feeling words glide by in the stone, guiding myself by memory back to the cave entrance. I soon reached it. The sky was not as dark as before, but it was still fully overcast, without any blue. I took a nap.
I woke up around evening. Where was the boy? He should have returned by now. He can't be that interested in my writing that he would still be reading it. I wondered if he was hurt. "I should go look for him," I said to myself. I went back down the cave. Early on, I ran out of light, but I remembered the whole cave's structure up until the end of my writing. I was surprised to find that I was becoming attached to him. I realized I had been starved of social contact for a long time. Years and years.
"Yes. I don't know who to believe, though. You wrote so much about how life was before we got here, and about how peaceful it was, and how conflicts were resolved..." He trailed off. "It's actually similar to what we do."
"Yes, it is," Azkiel said. "I've never seen any wars in my life. We're all nice to each other. It's like what you said you did. But everyone at home says that your people were warlike, that they were stupid and fought constantly, and that none of you lived long enough to become old." I was shocked at this revelation. Is this how we were portrayed now?
"Thanks." So Azkiel trusts me. Maybe the Invaders have changed over the years. Maybe they became peaceful by the time Azkiel was born. It's hard for me to believe. I had only seen evil from them up until now.
"Your people were not peaceful. Not by any sense of the word. When I was a child, they killed my whole family and everyone else I knew. I escaped by hiding in the bushes. I watched them kill everyone. This is the truth."
"It doesn't matter," I said sadly. "As far as I know, I'm the only one left of my people. There won't be an 'everyone' anymore. I hope, at least, that you can stay peaceful amongst yourselves. But we won't be here anymore, no matter what I do."
|
"You fight by the old rules. Okay you get a day to prepare, I'll allow you to stay in the palace, you have my warriors word that nothing will happen to you while you are here."
Khan was the first to speak. "When the noon bell strikes the battle will comence, if you leave the circle you forfeit your life, this battle is to the death for control of my army and kingdom."
Just then the bell rang, and both of us unsheathed our swords. He charged instantly, raising his sword in a high arc, going for an instant kill strike. I waited until he started his swing, then sidestepped and let his sword bury itself into the ground, I kicked him in the chest causing him to fall back, losing his grip on his sword, leaving it in the ground.
I grabbed the sword and wrenched it from the ground, then walked to Khan, now upright, with the swords akimbo. "I invoce the ancient rule of combat, I am unarmed so you should unarm yourself also." Khan aaid, while backing away from me.
"Even though that rule is in error, I will still abide." I threw my swords to the sides and raised my fists. We circle for a bit, eyes searching for openings. The calmness was shattered as Khan attack feinting a hook to the right.
I stepped into his guard, kneed him in the stomach and uppercutted him as he bent over, causing him to fly a bit off the ground. I walked over expecting him to be knocked out. Suddenly his foot shot out and knocked me over. I fell and he got on top of me and hit me with a flurry of punchs. I blocked most but some got through my guard leaving bruises.
I brought a knee up into his groin, then fist into his jaw. He reeled back and I spun, putting me on top of him. I struck with a flurry of punches and jabs, but he brought his legs up over me. The used this to flip me and get back on top. Instead of allowing it, I caught my legs around his arm and grabbed his wrist I pulled with all my might while straightening my legs.
A deafening crack came from his arm and I let go, rolling away from him. I stood and watched him whither in pain. "I grant you the mercy of a quick death." I say as a grab a sword. "Go in peace to the afterlife." I spun the sword so the blade was face down and raised it above him.
Before I was able to strike a felt a cold pain in my chest. As I looked down I saw a sword blade. I turned, taking the sword with me. I saw a mongol guard behind me, smirking.
I turn back to Khan, and decide that I will not go down without completing my task. With my last breaths of life I plunge my sword into Khan's neck, severing his head from his body. "I die with a complete mission. You fail guard."
| 0
|
Findthepin1
|
Writes_for_Tits
| false
|
Georgie had rolled a Dragonkin knight and was already cleaving her way through the rambling forces of demon spawn with a battleaxe almost as big as she was. It was the perfect fit for the girl with the big personality and even bigger voice. By contrast, Ed, the quiet one of our group, had rolled an Elven monk, at peace with himself, he healed Georgie through her furious antics while defending himself with an intricately engraved staff. Danny, of course, had rolled a human rogue. He was already setting traps for the opposing faction and had angered an entire village by stealing chicken eggs. Why he wanted the eggs is anyone's guess.
Now, finally I was home from work and ready to reveal my character. There was no going back after I hit the character creation button. The buffering icon rotated as it randomly generated my character for life. Georgie and Danny were joking over Discord about what I was going to get but I didn't rise to it, I was confident in this. I was going to be something that dealt a lot of damage, maybe a mage or a hunter, that would complete our dungeon group and be the perfect fit for me. At least, that's what I thought right up until the screen changed.
It must be a bug, a glitch of some kind, I don't believe what I see on the screen. My friends are asking me what I got but I can't bring myself to answer. How do I explain this?
The whole UI had changed, where the animated battlefields of Ameryth had been glowing in the background, there was nothing but darkness. In the centre, where there should be his randomly generated character dancing was a single message box. I look for a little X in the corner or a back button but I'm not offered one.
All the box says is "Welcome, Chosen One, to your world: Ameryth."Maybe they've just changed the welcome message, it did seem to be a bit early for a patch but perhaps I'd missed it while I was at work. I was about to ask my friends if there'd been a hotfix already when the message changed."Should a deity tell it's subjects that it is their god?"
The message box vanished leaving the screen black. My heart hammered in my chest. If I couldn't play the game what was the point? Slowly a light bloomed across the screen, it revealed the world of Ameryth turning below me. Next the tool bars appeared along either side of my screen. I barely had chance to look at what the buttons did before a message icon flashed in the top right hand corner. I hovered my mouse over it.
I could free the poor soul or I could leave him trapped there for all eternity. As I surveyed my array of omnipotent tools I realised that it was completely within my power to teleport them into an end game dungeon where the level 3 goblin shaman would die over and over again to the wrath of the level 100 demon lord. Alternatively, I could move him to the temple of Shiraan where he would be doted upon forever by the priestesses who lived there.
They laugh until they realise that I'm not joking. They don't believe me though until I force them all to dance, Georgie even tried logging out and back in again but when her character didn't stop dancing they realised the truth. I had never been the powerful one before but now I was their god. I was the god of the whole of Ameryth. The prayers were already pouring in as my subjects discovered unfortunate bugs and glitches in the new world. My mouse hovered over the tools at my disposal as I considered my options.
|
I knew it, from the moment the steps disappeared from the swimming pool and I watched my husband swam helplessly around and around, I knew what I had to do. I watched as he relieved himself, much to his embarrassment, and tried to find another escape from the stepless pool. There was no hope. Only the master could save him now. I knew his fate was sealed though, he was my third husband. The first one had died in a fire. The second one was trapped in a room with no door. I can still remember his cries of hunger now. They were now merely ghosts that roamed the grounds of my mansion.
While I had no option to save any of them, all I could do was go to work and chat up the grim reaper every time he appeared, just as the master required. Once I'd gotten to know the grim reaper enough times and things began getting intimate I knew the time had come. I'd been saving my lifetime points up for long enough. The master could control me no more! The reward flashed through the air and I rejoiced at my freedom.
You may have expected me to go out partying in order to celebrate, but I had done enough of that. Every party had always resulted in flirting and another husband, soon to be deceased. No, the first thing I did was the simplest, albeit the most satisfying. I finished eating my grilled cheese sandwich and I put my plate on the floor. Not in the dishwasher, not in the sink. I put it on the floor. I waited for the sensation of being controlled to overpower me and it never came. I was not forced to pick up the plate and wash it up, nor was I made to hurry upstairs to ask the Grim Reaper to stay the night before he left. Nothing happened, and it was glorious.
Never had I experienced such freedom in all of my life. I had certainly tried but the master had always taken control before I could achieve anything. Being forced to someone else's will is no way to live life.
When I opened my eyes my husband was before me in his skimpy leopard print swimwear. Before I had chance to say anything my husband descended the steps into the pool and the steps vanished, just like before. Never had I known such cruelty.
Again I watched helplessly as my husband drowned again and the Grim Reaper showed up. I flirted with him and I knew my points were ready. The master would not take my freedom from me. I bought my freedom once again and slapped the Grim Reaper in the face to show my defiance. I ran, it was the only thing I could think to do. If I ran off the plot perhaps they couldn't reload.
I barely got three paces before I froze again. The darkness descended and I went into screaming. In the void there was nothing but emptiness. Fearing my power, the master had taken my freedom and crushed it. As my mind floated in the abyss, I wondered if I would ever see the light of day again, would I ever see another Sim again? Was my free will the price of living?
| 1
|
Xiakitta
|
Xiakitta
| false
|
I glanced around the room to check the results of my soda straw poll. No hands were raised. The Yakuza deliverymen (who were pretty well-dressed for guys that work out in the yard all day) seemed shy. Maybe it's a cultural thing?
“They just sodas guys, see? Diet grapefruit citrus. Great stuff.” I took a can out of the kitchen fridge and limply waved it at the three sunglass-wearing suits in my foyer. They looked at each other in a brief nonverbal exchange. Three hands went up.
“All right, now it's a party!” I grabbed two cans with each hand and returned to the foyer. All three of them were standing, even though I'd invited them to sit. Again, culture thing? I didn't mind. It seems like a mark of good work ethic, if anything. I'm sure these guys are going to have that hot tub set up in no time. Which would be helpful, because the party started in an hour and there wasn't much time to waste. I popped the tab on my can, heard the fizz, took a sip and cleared my throat.
The shortest deliveryman spoke. His voice was so soft it was hard to believe he was blue-collar, although what with the fancy dress I guess this company had a unique branding thing going on. Something about the crisp nature of his accent reminded me of the tinkling sound ice cubes make against each other in a drink – hopefully like the kind I'd be tossing back in the Yakuza this evening.
“But yeah, I guess you could say it's my wife, Mindy. It's her birthday, and I thought she'd love to get in the tub. It's a surprise, and I think she'll get a huge shock out of it! That's why I called the Yakuza rental service. Can you guys start now? She'll be home soon and I wanna get this party started.”
“A 'shock' in the tub, as you say? I think this is a method we could use, if it pleases you. As you have already wired your payment, we will indeed complete this task as you request.”
That I had. It only cost 5 bitcoin! My geek of a neighbor had paid me them some years ago over a bet, and it had sorta just collected dust in my hard drive ever since. I never had a reason to use it, but for some reason it was the only currency these guys took. If I did my math right it was about $500, which I guess is a little pricey, but having a personal Yakuza all to myself for the whole afternoon was worth it. Especially with a crew this impressive.
“That sounds great guys! Please get to work, I need to run to the store to get some last-minute snacks and one of those big-time sheet cakes. You have my number, call if you need anything, otherwise thanks so much! I can't wait to see the look on her face when it's all done.”
Short sunglasses gave me a small smile. I guess they're reserved. Cultural thing. I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door to get the rest of the supplies, happy that my wife's big day was in such good hands. The last thing I saw before the door shut behind me was that, for some reason, one of them was unplugging the toaster?
|
The “Metro Diner” was anything but – though it certainly met the grease and grime quota to be legally considered a diner, it was about as metropolitan as a one-stoplight town. It stayed open all night, though, and had a neon sign that shone with a crimson glow which beckoned I-95 travelers to its timeworn doors like a siren of old calling sailors to the rocks. It seemed that serial roadtripper and general vagabond Sam Norris had neglected to stop his ears up with wax, because he heeded that tempting call at about 2 AM after he saw the exit sign and realized that both his Chevy and his belly needed fuel posthaste.
She had what most people would call blonde hair, but the fluorescent lighting and the sleep-deprived delirium gently working its way through Sam's consciousness made it seem downright golden. He caught himself staring at her as she finished topping off the Folgers of the heavyset and flannel-clad trucker at the far end of the room. Her blue-green eyes found his just a moment before he had the chance to look away. Sam smiled a sheepish smile. She didn't return the favor, but held his gaze for a moment before giving a curt nod.
“Thanks,” Sam rasped, burning his tongue slightly as he tasted the warm elixir. He'd been sleepless lately, and caffeine was his only respite. Sam's ex-wife (if you can call her that, Sam never exactly had the stones to make things official with her but wasn't sure about the specifics of commonlaw in his neck of the woods) had kicked him out some month and a half previously. She made him leave because of his drinking, and ironically enough that cataclysm had been enough to get him to finally quit for good. Not that it made her take him back. But, for the past month, Sam Norris had been a sober man for the first time in 10 years. Which meant he had nothing to take the edge off the heartbreak. Or the insomnia.
Sam laughed a quiet laugh. If he needed anything else? How about the relationship he'd just torched, the job that had kicked his ass to the curb for missing time and showing up plastered, and the dignity that had been torn to shreds along with it?
“No ma'am. It's just that I could use a good night's sleep, that's all. I've been driving for some time, and I guess you could say I'm not exactly sure where it is I'm going. The coffee works wonders, don't get me wrong – especially when it's paired with good company – but it doesn't touch the magic of 8 solid hours of the old Sandman's handiwork.”
“Yes, rest is so important for your strength. That's why I like working here. It's a place people come for communion, and for company, and for rejuvenation and reflection. It's an odd thing to note, I know, but I think the spirit of wisdom lives in tucked-away corners like this one. I hope you find that rest you need.”
The waitress began to whistle, a simple tune that at first was just three notes. As she continued it grew, and reminded Sam of soaring skies and sweeping fields. Of slow-moving rivers and gentle pastures, and of love and adventure and of time and its passage. Sam felt his eyelids grow heavy. He thought of the best times with his wife, of the worst times of his drunken shame, and of the undefined and wide-open story of the times to come. For the first time in a long time he felt a measure of not only peace, but also of a certain placid courage. He closed his eyes.
When Sam Norris woke it was morning. He was still in his booth, and his first sights and sounds were the purple hue of the sky outside and the birds singing beneath. He might have been crazy, but he almost thought he could hear them whistling the same song as that princess of wisdom from last night. He left some money on the table, got back in his trusty mechanical steed, and hit the highway feeling like a man reborn.
| 1
|
Foolinthebrain
|
Foolinthebrain
| false
|
Egon was exhausted. It wasn't anything new: he'd spent his whole life trying to keep the other two from getting them all killed. Of the three of them, he was the only one to consider himself pragmatic: He'd actually try to work around problems, rather than try to strong-arm his way through them, or wear them down. Still, it always felt like he was defined by his 'brothers', trying to tidy up the messes they invariably made, and sort out their differences.
Idris was like a kid, he didn't care what the consequences were, as long as he felt good. He'd sleep in when they needed to get to work, pig out on ice cream and takeout, then just start jacking off till he was raw and bloody. He shot up, snorted, or took shots of whatever was within arms reach- if it weren't for Egon, he'd have probably killed himself already. He was sort of dumb, but clever. He never made any actual lasting plans, and didn't seem to get that the future was a thing you had to deal with. For all of that, at least he **GOT** Idris. In all his short sighted stupidity, you could still sort of relate to him on a human level: he just wanted to feel good. In that way, at least, he made some sort of sad sense.
Then there was the other guy. Seth was just a pain in the ass. He had no off-button. Idris would conk out as soon as he got tired, but Seth was implacable: once he got going, he never stopped. He was just so god-damned self-righteous and driven. He was all about plans, and rules, and doing stuff for other people. He didn't get or didn't care that it was super off-putting. So what if he was right half the time? He always went too far: if he had his way, they'd be locked in at work day and night barely surviving on ramen, while making six figures. Actually, that wouldn't be so bad- the money part at least- but the bastard would probably end up doing something stupid like **anonymously** blowing their paychecks on some charity. Hell, knowing him, he'd probably found the damn thing himself *and* go on to administer it. Still, he couldn't really bring himself to hate Seth, the guy was a saint. No sleep, no money, no diversions was still rough though, and thankfully Idris helped to reign him in when it came to these.
Egon was pretty sure that Seth the vegetarian was morally opposed to killing anyone, in much the same way that he was sure Idris wouldn't even hesitate. Whatever happened, he was absolutely certain that he was going to make it out of this alive. He didn't *want* to kill anyone, but if push came to shove, he'd sure as hell defend himself.
Egon had been lost in thought, so he was fortunate that subtlety was not Idris' strong point: shouting before he was close enough to attack. He'd never seen his brother quite like this before. Idris was like a drunken brawler, fast and savage. There was no finesse behind his ham-fisted flurry of swings, but he was ungodly quick, and threw everything he had into each one. Egon dodged a handful, but the ones that connected left him on the ground, dazed and disoriented.
Egon would certainly have died if Seth hadn't stepped in. Idris turned to the newcomer, and was on him in an instant. They had taken Tai Chi lessons once upon a time, and to look at what happened next, you'd think that Seth was a master. He deflected every blow with perfect form. It was like watching a tree against a gentle breeze: He was constantly moving against each incoming attack, but nothing hit home, nothing struck. Seth was patient and cool where Idris was hot and reckless. It was almost relaxing to watch.
Egon circled behind Idris, being careful to stay out of his line-of-sight. He was ready to grab him from behind, but Seth just shook his head. If he wanted a fair fight, that was fine. Egon didn't really want to put himself in danger.
^"We ^need ^to ^figure ^out ^what ^to ^do ^next. ^I've ^thought ^about ^our ^situation ^a ^great ^deal, ^and ^I ^believe ^we ^should ^remain ^here ^as ^we ^are. ^Each ^of ^us ^is ^a ^unique ^individual: ^very ^much ^so ^our ^own ^person. ^If ^one ^of ^us ^were ^to ^kill ^the ^others ^to ^set ^himself ^free, ^he ^would ^be ^a ^murderer. ^I ^cannot ^condone ^murder ^under ^any ^circumstances, ^so ^I ^propose ^that ^we ^remain ^here ^indefinitely."
^"If ^any ^one ^of ^us ^were ^to ^live ^like ^we ^were, ^as ^a ^whole ^human ^being, ^then ^the ^other ^two ^must ^die. ^Those ^are ^the ^rules ^that ^govern ^this ^place ^as ^far ^as ^we ^understand ^them, ^so ^it ^it ^far ^better ^if ^we ^remain ^in ^this ^limbo ^until ^another ^solution ^is ^found. ^A ^solution ^where ^no ^one ^has ^to ^die."
"Do either of you know how long we can actually stay here? I mean, we aren't moving in the real world, and I didn't see them hook up an IV or anything like that, so couldn't we starve to death eventually? For that matter-"
With an animal roar Idris leaped from where he had been crying moments before, and landed an uppercut on Seth, knocking him to the ground, where he proceeded to beat him savagely. Egon didn't -couldn't- react at first. He just stared shocked at the savagery of his brother.
Idris, was going to kill Seth, and after Seth, Egon was next. He was not willing to die. Egon snapped back to reality. He fell upon his brother. They fought throughout the dream, like savage beasts: where Idris was driven by desire, Egon was fueled by fear and desperation. Idris was weak from his ordeal with Seth, and his surprise attack, had left him drained. Eventually Egon won.
Egon looked away from him. Seth had only wanted to keep them all alive. He always tried to do what was best for everyone, even if it was misguided, and doomed to failure. It hurt to look him in the eyes.
^"Do ^you ^think ^I ^do ^not ^also ^desire ^to ^live? ^I ^do. ^Very ^much ^so ^in ^fact. ^The ^deeds ^I ^may ^do ^after ^I ^die ^are ^severely ^limited, ^compaired ^to ^what ^I ^might ^accomplish ^while ^alive. ^No, ^the ^real ^difference ^between ^us ^is ^that ^I ^do ^not ^live ^in ^fear ^of ^death. ^Brother, ^you ^must ^realize ^that ^no ^matter ^what ^we ^do, ^we ^are ^going ^to ^die. ^Whether ^it ^is ^here ^in ^this ^place, ^or ^years ^from ^now ^in ^the ^real ^world ^we ^will ^die. ^I ^know ^you ^think ^that ^the ^purpose ^of ^life ^is ^to ^continue ^living, ^but ^you ^are ^wrong- ^it ^is ^a ^hollow, ^selfish ^goal ^bereft ^of ^meaning. ^The ^purpose ^of ^life ^is ^to ^have ^purpose *^in* ^life. ^I ^have ^chosen ^to ^live ^for ^others, ^and ^for ^my ^ideals. ^For ^all ^his ^flaws, ^Idris ^at ^least ^had ^a ^purpose ^of ^sorts- ^to ^feel ^pleasure, ^as ^selfish ^and ^misguided ^as ^that ^may ^be, ^it ^was ^still ^a ^good ^thing. ^But ^for ^all ^your ^merits- ^balancing ^the ^two ^of ^us ^all ^these ^years, ^in ^sum ^you ^are ^just ^a ^tautological ^expression ^of ^life."
As Egon killed his brother, he knew he should feel guilt or shame, but he felt nothing. As he began to awaken from the dream, still he felt nothing. He opened his eyes to a sea of men and women in surgical scrubs.
|
Keep your head down, eyes forward, mind your business, and *always check the sender.* I should've paid more attention to that last part, and no attention at all to the contents of the email. One of those obvious scam Amazon giveaways the somehow wasn't filtered out. I didn't mean to open the email, but my thumb had a different plan when I fat-fingered the notification instead of tapping the delete icon. My breath hitched when I read the name that was prominently highlighted in the ad. I couldn't even exhale until I felt a lump swelling in my throat and I was on the verge of passing out. And that was that. I had only ten days left to live. Then it would come. And I'd be gone.
A few days later I was at a bar at around noon. Normally I'd be working, but I thought, 'Fuck it.' If I'm gonna die in a little over a week, might as well enjoy myself. Or at the very least be too drunk to think about my situation. Then walked in another early patron, a regular if his familiarity with the bartender was any indication.
I would've told him to shove off if I had been that type of person, but I was never much in the habit of making waves. "Who says I'm down?" I replied, maybe a little too defensively.
"I, uh." I hesitated. I knew I shouldn't be too specific, what with the whole stigma of avoiding even talking about the things that lurk and prey where we dare not look. "I got an email. One that I shouldn't have read, but then I did. Accidentally of course."
He was being served his drink as he was fumbling with one of his coat pockets, from which he withdrew a business card. It was worn and creased like something he'd been sitting on for a while, I just wondered what he was doing with it now of all times. He looked it over as if to see if it was the right one and pushed it toward me across the polished bar top. I gave him a strange look and he just nodded at the card. *Fuck it,* I thought. I was due to die anyway, so I figured I had little else to lose at that point if it ended being another trick.
"When you're done communing with *spirits*," he chided jokingly, "head on down there. Office closes at six." Then he polished off his drink, dropped a fiver on the bar and left. Leaving me alone with my drink and, of course, the professionally impartial server. Guess if there was an errand to run before my time, this one was it.
I walked through the revolving doors of the unmarked building and into a completely empty lobby. It was quaint. Carpeted, a couple chairs, a ficus on a corner table, and a desk. That was all. Not that there was room for much else. Along the back wall, there was a break where there was a transom door with the name "Robert Cantrell" printed on the textured glass at the top. I was in the right place at least. So I knocked on the door.
"Yeah, just a second!" Called a familiar voice from the other side. A few seconds of shuffling my feet and admiring the decor and the door opened, swinging into the room. There he was, the guy at the bar.
"Sit down, please." He gestured to a chair on one side of a cluttered desk. So I sat. "So, the email. The one you *accidentally* looked at. I'm gonna guess it was a classic Amazon, 'click-and-win' sort of thing that any average Joe could mistake for the genuine article, am I right?"
"Got it. Well," he sighed, flipping through a cabinet drawer and withdrawing an overly-full binder. "Unfortunately this sort of thing happens all the time. But fortunately for you, you stumbled into the right bar at the right time. All kinds of creeps and crawlies try something like this, but there's only one court of law where this does not fly. So buckle up. We've got a case to build."
| 0
|
viaovid
|
Chimichenghis
| false
|
"I find your human histories so compelling." Karn-Tosh said wistfully as he reclined in his chair, elegant robes flowing to accommodate the movement of his thin, bony body. Out the balcony window before him he stared down at a training field on a faraway world, untold thousands of light years from Earth. Several hundred human warriors were drilling there, under the enforcement of some of Karn-Tosh's conspecifics. The unforgiving sun of this desert world baked the hard-packed soil - and the soldiers. Karn-Tosh watched with a sadistic smile (or whatever you could imagine passed for a smile) as a warrior - fallen over from exhaustion - was beaten savagely with rods of an unknown metal.
Karn-Tosh was no general. Nobody on this planet was. Quintus could not rightfully explain what he was. To the best of his knowledge, he was a philosopher - or a priest of some kind perhaps. And his kind ruled this world.
"The way you fight each other, it's like nothing I've ever seen before. You cull each other the way we in our own ancient days culled wild animals. It's incredible. Why, where were you again when I found you all those years ago? A battlefield! In...what did you call that country again? Gaul, was it? Yes, now I remember. You were covered in blood, but it wasn't your own! Hah!" Karn-Tosh laughed. "Marvelous. Simply marvelous. That would have had to have been easily several thousand Earth-years ago by now, would it not?"
"Yes." Quintus said, unfeelingly. When he went with Gaius Julius Caesar on his great campaign in the north, he had left behind a pregnant wife and two sons. By whatever magic these creatures possessed, he knew they were already dead by centuries. He had never seen his boys become men; never had the chance to grow old with his wife. Here he was, still youthful, while they were already in the grave - remembered by none save him. Quintus cursed the gods every night.
"And some of them!" Karn-Tosh had continued. "Some of your kind, well they've based entire religions on war! Some time after we picked you up we found a tribe in the far north that had taken to calling *us* agents of their gods. Valkyries, they named us! We took several hundred of them with us, of course. They learned quickly who their *new* gods were, of course."
Karn-Tosh continued to drone on, but Quintus was hardly listening. There was a small knife on his plate, sharp and elegant. It shone brilliantly when it caught the light of the sun. Quintus was suddenly brought back to reality by the sound of his own name.
"Well, only since you have asked with such courtesy. I had tried to ask you about another tribe, one close to your own but separated by another few hundred years. A true warrior society, unlike anything else we had ever seen before. Boys bred and trained from birth to be nothing but the perfect soldiers. Who were they?"
"Ah, of course! They were the first we found, but their will was too strong to be broken even by us. Those who did not die at our hands took their own lives rather than serve. We had to wait until they were decadent and weak. Why, if I remember my history, I believe it was your own tribe who brought them down in the end. Was it not?"
Karn-Tosh fell silent and Quintus was left to his own thoughts again. They pulled inexorably towards that knife, and Karn-Tosh's tiny, unprotected body. Could it really be that easy? He glanced around the room for guards, but saw none. Surely it could not be this easy. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Master, if you would permit me, there is an old story shared by my people and the Greeks. A story of one of Earth's greatest warriors - older than my people, older than the Spartans, older than anything else I have ever heard of. Would you care to hear it?"
With a swift motion, Quintus grabbed the knife from the plate and plunged it into Karn-Tosh's throat, stopping him mid-sentence. The creature's eyes widened, looking frantically around the room for a savior. None would come. He tried to scream, but could only manage a helpless gurgle. Quintus watched him the whole time with hateful eyes, as the life spilled out of him onto the floor.
When the beast was dead, Quintus raised the bloody knife in the air, roared, and pounded the glass window until it cracked. The soldiers on the training ground below looked up. The one who had been beaten leapt to his feet, seized a rod from the slave-driver's weak hands, and brained him with it. It was an all-out brawl - and the humans were winning.
|
You're probably wondering how a small, incredibly handsome man like myself ended up hanging upside down, stripped of all clothing inside an alien ship out in space. Well, so am I really, so while I try to stay calm and ignore the fact that two pink lizards are currently pointing at my genitals and looking at each other with what I can only describe as a smirk on their faces let me tell you how I got here.
It was January 6 and I was heading to work. I worked at a gas station in Austin, Texas, and, in all honesty, I loved it. I walked to work while listening to Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush (a really underrated song, I hope it gets some well-deserved attention one day) and, as always, I looked at my feet while I walked. I got to work, peed, made a cup of coffee and when I get to the counter I realize something was wrong. No one was there. No cars, no customers, and... none of my coworkers were there either. Since I got in through an unlocked door I thought someone must have been there so I didn't really get bothered by it.
I turned on the TV and that's when I saw it. A meteor was heading to earth and was so big it was bound to hit both North America and Eastern Asia in 9 hours, basically destroying the whole world in the aftermath. I thought it was a movie, mostly because how could NASA not have seen it? But as I changed the channels I realized it was real and it explained why everyone had left work. I contemplated my options and decided to get a trash bag and filled it with goodies from the gas station. I even got a pack of cigarettes, something I always wanted to try.
I got home and I looked around my apartment. A few hours later I came to the realization that I would go out with a bang and I started drinking and eating all kinds of sweets while watching Fantastic Four. The heat was so intense I took all my clothes off and started having shots.
By nightfall, I was in the toilet as my body exorcised all the food I had just eaten. I went back to the sofa and saw that there were only 9 minutes left until the meteor arrived so I decided to light a cigarette and when I took my first drag there was a light and... Well, I was suddenly hanging upside down in the air, inside a space ship and two pink lizards were staring at me and speaking in an alien language.
"We want to offer you a deal. Since you are a history professor and surely know a lot about the Human race we will save you from the comet by taking you to another civilized planet and in return, you tell us all you know about humans."
I looked at the alien and realized that they must have gotten the wrong Vitmor Sinclair, but since it was either this or death I took a drag of my cigarette (the only thing I brought with me) and I told him:
"Oh, what a shame!" I said ironically. "Well, turn me around, bring me a chair and a refreshment and I'll tell you all about humanity, starting with this guy called Harry Potter and the things he had to do to take down a tyrant."
They got incredibly excited and rushed to get me a drink and, as my body turned around and my feet touched the fluffy floor, I knew that having spent years watching television had not been a waste of time as my mother told me.
| 0
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bookem_danno
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vitmorsteinfeld
| false
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Adam was the first to wake up. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a dream. He looked to the other side of the room and found Julian and Guilherme still asleep. He looked to his left and saw Hector, also still asleep. The lights in the container were slowly turning on to mimic sunrise. Adam was hungry for breakfast. He carefully stepped onto the floor, but as gentle as he was, the floor creaked. Adam froze, hoping he didn’t wake his friends up. Hector rolled over, but didn’t appear to open his eyes. Julian didn’t even stir. But Guilherme murmured something. Adam hoped it was just him sleep talking, or maybe just a simple “Cale-se,” but Guilherme was definitely awake. He sat up, bleary-eyed, and slowly stood up from the couch he was sleeping on.
Adam couldn’t form a sentence if he tried. He just nodded slightly and muttered something about breakfast. Both of them realized it was now fully day and they were hungry. They went to find some food.
A few days later, Kharal came back on the earpieces. “Hello, everybody. I have some news, and most of you will not be happy to hear it. Your planet has been destroyed. It was not by us, rest assured, but the rogue planet has now officially collided with your own. If you left anything back home, it’s now too late to turn around and get it. We will arrive at Xolon B in 10 days’ time. We will slowly be transitioning to a Xolonian day, which lasts 24 and a half hours. If you notice the days are getting longer, that’s because they are. Thank you for your continued patience as we transport you to your new home.”
A week later, a blue, green, and white planet appeared in the massive window towards the rear of the hangar. Lambrekh got on the earpieces to announce they were looking at Xolon B, the very one, and that they would be landing in just a few days. The Xolonians lived entirely in the equatorial regions of the planet, so an island in the north would be given to the humans. Lambrekh pointed out which island it would be, and Adam was rather impressed with the amount of land the Xolonians were giving up. In the center of the island, there was a large, white, vaguely circular area where a mountain cluster likely stood. All around it was a sea of greenery. Adam couldn’t distinguish forest from grassy plains, but he thought he would like the island, regardless of what was waiting for him on it.
“There are 5,000 of you. On your planet, you took up 2,531 homes. Some were bigger than others, but we like to think we’re accommodating. There are currently 3,000 residences set up across five buildings. Each is based on the size of your household. We have assigned everyone a living quarters, and you are instructed not to move to a different quarters for at least one week, just while we settle you in. As for food and water, we have brought some supplies from your planet. We have ten cows, thirty chickens, and 10,000 acres’ of wheat and corn seeds. Each nation also sent in some seeds from another plant of its choice, but they are too numerous to list now. We also have some water purifiers, and are currently analyzing how to manufacture more. We know that most of that is only good if you ca n survive a year without it, so we asked your governments for meals we could keep frozen for two years. We are happy to report that we have enough to last you all a year and a half on Earth, which is a little more than a full year here on Xolon B. Now, if you would all kindly listen to Lambrekh as he reads out the building name and your room number. We wouldn’t want you to get lost on your first day.”
Adam waited patiently for his room. Julian was placed with his family in London 302. Guilherme was going to live alone, across the street in Tokyo 706. Hector was placed behind London, in Buenos Aires 501 with his parents and older sister. And Adam found himself next door to Tokyo, living alone in Lagos 205. Inside his room, Adam found a comically low bed with an uncomfortable mattress (the Xolonians insisted it was their most comfortable material), a wooden desk, a closet, a small kitchen, and a full bathroom with a toilet that might exist in an amusement park clown’s funhouse for toddlers. Apparently, whoever built this building knew humans were short, but didn’t realize they were not that short.
The town consisted of the five residential towers—London, Tokyo, Lagos, Buenos Aires, and Sydney—and several vertical farming towers that had yet to be put to use. The road layout was a perfect grid, with blocks exactly 100 meters long on each side and a 25 meter wide road separating them. A 5-kilometer-wide square enclosed the city in the same material that comprised the wall between the hangar on the ship and the place the Xolonians could walk around. The roof was 500 meters high and was supported by the various farming towers throughout.
Over the course of the first week, Xolonian workers took a census of the town. Adam needed to give his name (Adam), age (19), relationship (taken, try someone else), intentions to move houses (probably), and country of origin (United States). He was informed that should he want to move, he should notify the office in the basement of Sydney Tower so a record could be kept of the happenings in the city.
Despite the feeling of entrapment, Adam thought he could get used to this new planet. And he definitely didn’t regret the opportunity to meet Julian, Guilherme, and Hector. He was going to be seeing them a lot from now on, and he couldn’t be sad about that.
|
"Hello?" I called. My voice seemed to echo throughout the house; the only response I heard was a light jazz music coming from the kitchen. No one presented themselves. Not my wife, not my kids, not some bloodsucking alien. This was eerie. I opened a cabinet and retrieved a glass. The faucet worked, so I downed a glass of water. It felt so refreshing as compared to the IVs we had in the M-EVAs. *Where the fuck is everyone?* "Newman, do you read?"* Silence. What else did I expect. My watch now read -51:04. I was far from scared, but I could sense the gut-wrenching fear not far away.
Slowly, I circled my way through the bottom floor of my house. The breakfast nook, empty. My office that overlooked the front yard, empty - even the decanter full of scotch and tumblers were as I'd left them during the party before we had been locked down in Florida. The living room was even more disconcerting: my TV was on, replaying some children's show and I could tell my kids had been there within the past few hours. But at the time I was there, it appeared no one was home. Unless they were upstairs.
I made my way to the landing and took one more look at my watch. It now read -44:42. I had no clue what I was to do but go upstairs. My house had two bedrooms and a media room on the second floor. One bedroom belonged to myself and wife, one to my twin girls, and the media room doubled as my man cave. The more stairs I climbed, the more my legs felt like iron weights. Conquering the final stair lifted a huge burden from my shoulders. One last time I attempted a radio check with Newman, and received nothing in return. I settled on checking the bedrooms, then the media room, then returning downstairs to the bathroom where I had found myself in this conundrum. Maybe I could find a way out of this tesseract.
The bedroom that belonged to the girls gave no clue as to why I was here. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, no creepy music played from their monitor, all was normal. An unshakable fear gripped my heart as I grasped the knob of the closed door that led into my bedroom. What would I find beyond this portal? Some savage alien force mutilating my wife? An out-of-body experience where I saved my own consciousness? Guess I'd never know, unless I opened the door....to nothing. Not a soul inside. The bathroom light was on, but a short peak revealed no one inside. So what the fuck was ongoing? Not a single member of my family was to be found in what I thought was my home. That left one room.
The door to the media room was closed. I listened intently and could not hear anything coming from the interior. The display on my watch now showed -27:13. An uneasiness began to settle over me. I needed to begin my journey back to the lander in just over twenty-seven minutes and I had no contact with any of the surface team since I had split with Newman almost thirty minutes prior. Not to mention I had no idea how to get the hell out of this nightmarish reality within which I was trapped. My hand rested on the knob and I swear twenty minutes passed before I turned it and pushed the door open into the room.
The recessed ceiling lights were on, and they provided a dim light over the furniture I had arranged in front of the TV in that room. The figure I saw on the couch was too bulky to be someone from my family. It was the first person I had seen since I separated from Newman in the cave on Mars, so instinctively I rushed over to him/her. I realized my hand was resting on the bulky outer layer of an EVA-suit, and that the unhelmeted figure was recognizably Newman. I stepped away and retched. His dehydrated eyes were rolled back in his head, and the exposed skin was dry, taught, and leathery, as if he had been exposed to the elements for quite some time. I screamed in frustration. There was no way this has happened in the few minutes we had been separated. This kind of exposure took weeks, or months.
"*Surface-2*, this is "*Surface-1*, do you read, over?" I yelled into my mic repeatedly. Each time my voice became increasingly exasperated as I received no reply from the other surface team. I exited the media room and flew downstairs to the guest bathroom. I came in here, so I figured I could leave from here.
Upon my first step towards the tub, I was back in the cave on Mars. Just as I remembered, the ceiling was inches over my head. I sprinted towards the exit, taking all the lefts I could while screaming for Newman. My comms remained silent. I knew that my dead drop time to return to the lander was getting close. Waiting was suicide. I had to leave. *Sorry Newman.* I sped off towards the lander on the M-ATV. All my attempts to hail Surface-2 were unsuccessful as well. Either my comms had gone out or Krasinski and Dupree had suffered some similar kind of fate. I saw the lander on the horizon, and pushed the M-ATV to its limits. At fifty meters out, I ditched it and sprinted to the airlock.
After punching in the code and entering the lander, I saw that the countdown timer showed less than twenty minutes before the end of the mission. There was no sign of the second surface team. All my attempts to hail them on the shortwave radio failed as well. "*Huygen*, this is *Surface-1*, do you read, over?" Nothing.
After a lengthy explanation and relay to mission control, the orbital team responded that as soon as we entered the atmosphere all comms had been lost. Our last transmission was upon entering atmosphere. I was perplexed, given the fact that I had sent and received several transmissions from the orbital team upon landing on the surface.
Mission control dictated that I return without the other three astronauts of our team. I relented. They were pioneers and shouldn't be left to be found by the next team. But the controllers back on Earth reminded me that they volunteered for this and that they paid the ultimate price for this venture. As I sat in the lander, I knew my side of the argument was hopeless.
As the lander's thrusters fired and I looked upon the surface of Mars for the last time, I knew I was leaving a piece of humanity....my humanity, behind. To this day, I still cannot explain what happened on the Red Planet. The orbital team reminds me that it was a freak accident of the weather, but I know that for the hours I was away the weather did not change one bit. Newman supposedly died in that cave with me; I do not know what became of Krasinski, and Dupree bit I know they did not get left in vain. I vow to return and determine what became of them.
| 0
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relddir123
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WritesNoWrongs
| false
|
And she saw her. The witch. Except maybe she was not a witch. The woman was impossibly young and ethereally beautiful. She had long, flowing black hair and was robed in extravagance. Her olive dress was immaculately embroidered with gold designs that seemed to shift in the light.
"He's the butcher's boy. He's from a line of monster hunters." As the words came out of her mouth the girl realised they were lies. The boy was full of deceit, she realised. She could not believe she held him at such a high regard.
"There you have it. Listen, and listen well, girl. Most men do not care about you unless it has to do with what's on your chest or what's within your legs. You'll realise that when you're older. Anyway, what can I do for you? Want a potion of flatulance for him? I'd say it's my favourite jest. Harmless, except maybe to his pride." The woman drawled.
"Well, then. Let me become what you wish me to be." The witch smiled, and her smile grew wider and her skin grew paler. Her arms stretched, and new joints formed, unnatural and bent in eerie ways. Her fingers also formed new joints as they grew, and her fingernails lengthened and blackened.
"Alright. Why are you here?" The witch asked, and a chair slid across the room and slammed against the back of the girl's legs, making her land heavily on the soft cushions. A similar chair magicked itself to the witch and she took her seat more elegantly.
The girl suddenly realised the boy had no idea how to dampen a witch's powers. He had raided his kitchen and spouted tall tales of the effectiveness of whatever he found in stopping a witch. Oh, how stupid she was to trust him.
"He was an evil man. He sought your grandmother and when she had no interest, he kidnapped her and fled into the woods with his squire. Luckily they stumbled upon my house. I knew the instant I saw them the woman had no interest in the man. But the man was insisted they were married and that they needed shelter and food for the night." The witch said, recalling as she flicked her fingers, dancing a pattern in the air.
In response, two cups flew through the air and landed themselves onto the girl's and the witch's hands. A kettle followed suit, though with a less violent trajectory. The kettle poured tea into their cups before returning to the cupboards.
"Of course, I needed to rescue the poor girl from whatever the man had planned. So I laced his and his squire's drinks with a sedative." She said, sipping her tea. The girl stared at her cup, but did not follow suit.
"I heard the tales, and what sad tales they were. The knight wasn't just any knight. He was of some renown and nobility. The very concept of a woman denying him was alien to him. He forced himself on her, and hit her. Your grandmother is a brave woman. You have no idea the perils she was subjected to." The witch said, her voice soft. But the words hung in the air for the girl to process.
"The next morning I fed them my best stew. Except I laced the knight's bowl with a certain poisoned laxative. The man shat himself half to death afterwards. I sent the squire off to retrieve some herbs from the forest to cure the fool. But once he was away your grandmother and I schemed." The witch said, smiling a little sadly.
"We couldn't just kill him. It would be too simple and too obvious. No. We formed a story that would paint him in a heroic light. So she would not need to suffer anything. The story was that he figured out I poisoned him and came at me with a sword. And I casted a spell that turned him to stone just as he stabbed me in the heart. We made it very convincing, too. I mean, I am a practitioner of the arcane, so I could make anything convincing." She laughed, and the memory of the grotesque form the witch took flooded the girl's mind.
"Anyway, the squire returned, bought the tale, and escorted your grandmother back to the village, back to her home. But of course, the knight needed his glory to be reinstated. The villagers wanted to pay tribute to the man who vanquished a witch they had not even met or heard about. So they carried the statue of the knight, shit still in his breeches, mind you, back to the village and put him on the village square for all to see and respect." The woman shook her head.
The girl sat frozen, all this information was too contradictory to what she knew to be true, and she was having trouble reconciling with it. But a lot of things made sudden sense. Her grandmother liked going on walks, but hated going anywhere near the town center. She had rightly assumed that the memories the statue that stood there would bring up would be painful for her, but not the reason why.
The man had abused her grandmother and was heralded as a hero. The injustice of it was infuriating. The statue being there as a constant reminder to her grandmother was despicable. She had to get rid of it. That much the girl knew.
|
"Forgive this poor slave for intruding on your property, milady. I'm a blind fool, and I think my ship has crashed. Should you find a man with a head of red hair, he's my owner. He's a merchant who's ship I'm an oarsman to." I explained myself, realising how guttural and archaic my use of the language was compared to her gorgeous melody.
"See how your expression changes when you realise who you're in the presence of. See how you cover in fear with the knowledge that you stand before Medusa." She stated blankly, but I saw the hurt within her.
Her mild excitement at not being able to turn me into stone, her cautious optimism as our conversation progressed, all of it was dropped as this dark shadow suddenly came forward, overtaking the colours and engulfing her.
"I apologize, but your aura speaks more truly than your words." I said, more daringly than I felt. But it was true. This woman was a pained individual. But despite this she oozed such beauty, such kindness.
"You do not know of what you speak. How can you see this version, this vision of me that the gods obviously don't? How can you say that of me while I'm here, serving my punishment?" She asked icily.
She and her sisters had petrified all the men who dared stumble their way into shore. But this man was the exception. This slave was immune to their curse. Stheno had taken a dagger to his throat, her snakes hissing at the audacity of the man's resistance to their effects. But Medusa had stopped her from killing the man.
The gods liked to play their games. And sending them a man whom they could not use their power against was obviously some new ploy. But Medusa longed for company. Desperate for knowledge of worldly events. This man could offer that. But then he revealed that he could see her aura. Her soul. The type of person she was. And asked for her tale, instead. It was an absurd turn of events.
She relayed her tales and theories of why the ship had chosen her island to wreck itself into. Was Poseidon controlling the waters to lead this man to her? Athena's involvement was questionable, though one could never know. It was Athena who cursed her, gave her the Gorgons hair. She was mad that Poseidon would dare to take a woman at her temple without consent from neither Athena nor herself. Medusa never wanted to bed him in the first place. And Athena did not want this invalid consummation to take place in her holy place.
perfect weapon against men. If they came at her with hardened manhoods they would leave with hardened everything. Or more likely, not leave at all. But this weapon only resulted in her becoming a beast to slay. The world was ripe with bloodthirsty heroes wanting to kill anything that looked vaguely different from them to win praise and song. She could never show her face in the streets.
So Athena transported her to a tiny island in the Cisthene Sea, where she could live the rest of her mortal life in the company of her sisters. Sisters only in aspect. Medusa did not want this to be her life, but decided it was better than irking the ire of another god. Athena was said to be harsh but wise. But if there was wisdom in her decision to give Medusa this lonely half-life, she could not see it.
The more obvious answer seemed more accurate. Jealous punishment. Who knew what went through the minds of gods. Maybe Athena sought Poseidon. Maybe she genuinely despised him. Whatever the case Athena was expected to be furious. There was expectation of a punishment. That's what Athena told her. That this punishment was a blessing in disguise.
The only truth Medusa knew was it was better to be born ugly so as to not attract any attention from any of the gods. Because if gods start paying attention to you, nothing good could ever come from it.
As she ended her story the man before her only stared at her. It was a strange feeling. It has been a while since someone had just... Looked at her. And he was more than looking. It felt as if he saw right through her.
| 1
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rookwoodo
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rookwoodo
| false
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