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Window of Happiness

“You are certain?”

She stood there, face pressed against the glass window. The lights of the other life shone in her eyes.

“Yes”, she breathed. “That one.”

The stilled imaged showed a woman similar to her in face and form, if a bit more trim and taut. She had her arms around a man, smiling down fondly at a towhead toddler playing at her knee.

“That’s my life.” She turned to the technician. “This is the one.”

The technician nodded, typing a notation into the computer. “Very well, Mrs. Evans, the Life Replacement counselor will be in to meet with you shortly.”

“I don’t need a counselor,” she said to his retreating back, “ I … “ She turned and looked in the glass window again. “I want this.”

The door closed softly. She didn’t notice when it opened again.

“Mrs. Evan, I am Ms. Shaw, your LR counselor – please, sit down.”

The woman was matronly, short with steely gray hair and dark blue eyes. She gestured towards the corner chair.

Mrs. Evans turned. “I already know what you want to tell me.” She placed her hand possessively on the glass. “It doesn’t matter. That should be me, right there.”

The woman was firm, “It’s a legal issue Mrs. Evans. It must be discussed.”
Her mouth tightened, briefly.
“Sit.”

She waited for Mrs. Evans to get settled before she continued.

“I am sure that you think you know what the processes of Life Replacement are, but I would like you to tell me your interpretation of the procedure.”

Mrs. Evans opened her mouth then shrugged, looking behind her towards the glass window. “The only process that matters is I live that life, right there. With a husband that loves me, children that adore me, and a flourishing career as a…?”

Ms. Shaw looked at her notes. “An Art Conservationist.”

Mrs. Evans dimpled charmingly, “Well, I did dabble a bit in painting, and going to museums was a special treat when I could get away. Yes, that will do fine.”

“Right.” Ms. Shaw said, waiting. “And the rest?”

“I honestly don’t care.”

“Mrs. Evans.” She gestured tiredly towards the the glass.

“ Fine. What you implied, that this woman would take my place here in this “universe”, is irrelevant. I could not care less what happens to her. What is important, Ms. Shaw, is that I take her place.”

“Yes, you have made that abundantly clear.” Ms. Shaw said dryly. “Please sign here. Also, I am legally required to inform you that the Life Replacement process is a one time only process per customer and any and all grievances will not be heard nor recognized in any of the known parallel universes including any “mirrored” form of Life Replacement in said parallel worlds.”

Mrs. Evans grabbed the paper and signed it shakily. “Yes, yes – it’s a one way ticket.”
She threw the pen down and rushed to the glass window. ”I can’t believe this is really happening!”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Ms. Shaw inspected the signature and stood, gathering the files in her arms. “How long do you need?”

“How long do I need for what?”

Ms. Shaw sighed. “What week should I schedule the LR? It is customary for our clients to gather with loved ones and family members before the process begins. I understand you have three children, a husband and one living parent? Of course secrecy is of the utmost importance, but our clients usually fabricate a situation where they can – “

“Oh no,” Mrs. Evans gushed, “I want to go now, right now.”

Ms. Shaw blinked. She sat down and opened her files again.

“Your records indicates that you passed the pysch evaluation by a reasonable margin. No past trauma or history of depression…” She rubbed her eyes. “Mrs. Evans, this is not a pleasure jaunt. When you enter that window, you will never see your family, you will never see – “, she picked up a paper, “ Thomas age 13, Jeffrey, age 11, and Shawn age 6, again.”

“Yes,” she said delightedly, “ but they will have a new mommy, won’t they? And I’ll be able to raise this little cutie.” She stroked the glass affectionately, “ Isn’t he just adorable?”

Ms. Shaw shoulders stiffened. The silence was thick, interrupted by the occasional sounds of Mrs. Evans breathing roughly against the glass.

“Very well,” Ms. Shaw said softly.

She entered a series of keystrokes into the desk. “Mrs. Evans, I am not supposed to show you this, and I’m quite sure it will not matter, but – “

Mrs. Evans gave a cry of dismay as the still image was replaced by a selection of video clips. “No, I’ve already chosen, what are you doing!?”

“Just wait, Mrs. Evans.”

Some of the video clips faded to black while other’s highlighted a bright red. A few turned green. “Out of hundreds of your parallel selves the black clips are ones in which you died before your present age, about 29%.”

She clicked another button. “60% of the remaining lives are deemed undesirable for Life Replacement.” She looked at Mrs. Evans, “Meaning, their measurable Happiness Quota was worse then your current potential for Happiness.”

She went to Mrs. Evans. “Which means, Cheryl, that out of all alternate versions of Cheryl Evans, you are in the top 10% for your Happiness Quota. There is no reason to believe a Life Replacement will make you any happier then the available life paths in this dimension.”

Mrs. Evans glared at her, turning again to the window. “Put my new life back up.”

“Please, Mrs. Evans, listen – there is nothing about your life situation that should warrant such a drastic change!”

“Fuck that! Give me my life right now- I paid your fee.” She stepped closer. “ I paid your fee, Ms. Shaw. Now, I want it now.”

Ms. Shaw sighed. She put her palm to the window, said a word, and the glass slid open with a vacuum sealed pop. The picturesque still image returned and wavered slightly.

“Climb through,” she said wearily.

“That’s it, I just hop on in?” Mrs. Evans clapped excitedly.

“Yes, there is a mechanism that will trigger when you cross the threshold…it’s mostly symbolic”, she smiled tiredly.

“Wow! Here I go!”

The still image was replaced with a slightly rounder Cheryl Evans. A different leg dangled in the window.

“Here, let me help you Mrs. Rogers.” Ms. Shaw took her hand and helped her down, guiding her towards a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Cheryl Rogers looked around in wonder. “Am I… where I think I am?”

“Yes. I regret to inform you that your mirror self, a Cheryl Evans, has opted for Life Replacement. Please note that the contract, as stated in the United Dimensional Replacement Statue, is non negotiable and non refundable. Of course, if you chose not to continue with the life of Cheryl Evans that is up to you – but does not in any way affect the LR contract as is stands.”

Ms. Shaw looked away as Cheryl shuddered and began to cry. “Mrs. Rogers, I am so sorry for your loss. Please know I have the utmost sympathy for your situation.”

Mrs. Rogers nodded, and curled into a ball, her body shaking in great racking sobs. She reached blindly for Ms. Shaw’s hand and Ms. Shaw knelt to draw her into a tight embrace. “I am so sorry, Cheryl”, she whispered.

Mrs. Rogers squeezed back, tears streaming down her face, “Oh no – thank you! Thank you so much!” she whispered.

“I just – really, really hated my life! I can’t believe I have a fresh start – my God, things will be so much better here!”

She hugged Ms. Shaw again. “I am so happy, thank you,” she said cried breathlessly.

“Thank you so much!”

image credit: DeviantArt via pheelfresh

Civilization

They gave me one water skin and a hard roll filled with dried fruit; reckoning if I needed more I would have failed, anyway.

The mountain was not steep, at first. In the bright morning I passed a pleasant hour or two climbing the various broken trails dotted with romping sheep, chattering birds and later, stern-eyed mountain goats. The wildflowers gave the mountain side a vivid purple hue, a haze of heavenly beauty come to earth.
At midday I stopped to rest, sitting against a moss strewn outcropping of rocks overlooking my village.

Home. The patterns of life below seemed neigh undisturbed; indeed, I wondered if my absence created the slightest ripple. I sighed gently, my heart aching for the few comforts I left behind; my books, my work, little else.

Perhaps my spinsterhood, and my knowledge of herbal lore and my sympathy for the human heart had set me apart – a lonely life marked by brief periods of human companionship. A deep need filled only when I healed the body or soothed a hurting soul. And it was my gift for compassion that choose me.

“You are the one who knows the heart of man, whether it be truth or deception, love or hatred, and for this, you are chosen to comfort our grieving god.”
This is what they told me, after being summoned from my home, the village elders, priest and lawmen emerging grimly from their cloistered room in the heart of the assembly house.

For in truth, our god was grieving, his sobs echoing in thunder and rain. At night, wailing winds pounded our homes and shelters until the very animals cowered in mournful fear.

Our sacrifices, offering of the best fruits and vegetables and livestock went unheard. Our silent prayers unheeded.

It was when they selected me that the winds stopped; it was deemed a rightful choice.

Still, my heart beat heavily as I neared the top of the mountain. The steepness caused me to cling closely to the rocks; yet I climbed steadily, wrapping my head and mouth against the growing cold, my mind blank against the task set before me.

How does one console a god?

It was well known that the door to the heavens rest upon this mountain, open only when the last sun’s rays touches the peak. To enter without censor is to forfeit one’s life, and at the last moment I hesitated, my hand trembling on the cusp of the highest peak.

I closed my eyes and prayed, my heart urging me forward, aching with the remembered sorrow of our god. And with grim resolve I reached for the top edge.

A hand clasped mine, bringing me up into a swathe of light.

“Welcome”, he said. And his eyes were full of love and grief.

Overcome, I knelt. The very ground of the heavens a soft bed of sweet smelling flowers. The day was unlike my own, the sun neither a source in the sky but everywhere, around and within, so the very tips of my fingers were infused with a golden hue.

“Please”, he said, taking my arm and raising me to my feet. “Come.”

He led me to a small building wrought with colored glass, the lights dancing a slow symphony upon his face. In the center sat a a golden pyre where a maiden lay in death’s stillness.

“My beloved”, he said simply.

I bowed my head, sharing a small part of his grief. We had wondered, our people, what had befallen our lady. It was said that she was the moon to his sun, keeping them both in harmony and love, and in turn our lands free and prosperous.

I turned to him as we left through the gardens and asked softly, “Take me to the place she held most dear.”

He inhaled deeply, setting his jaw harshly against the pain. “Here”, he pointed at a carved bench, gold- inlaid and overlooking a leisurely flowing stream.

I took his hand and sat us there, upon her favorite perch, where their lives held so much happiness. Serenity filled me and I bowed my head. “Tell me.” I said.

And he began to talk, hesitantly at first, then eagerly spinning the story of their long years of companionship, their deep love for each other, her laughter and life.

In the end, he trailed off, uncertain. “It is, unusual, for one of us to die so.” He looked out over the stream, ever flowing over the smooth stones. In the center was a small rift, jagged and deep. A whirlpool of chaos surrounded it, foaming waters spraying harshly against the water’s flow.

I looked again at the stream, and saw there patterns upon the water. Lives and deeds written in the ripples and currents, unerring paths, now diverted to the jagged darkness of the rift.

I gasped.

“And so, you see”, he said softly.

~~

We dined in a large hall, made of glass and light. Fruits and delicacies I had never imagined laid temptingly on the plate. But I could not eat.

His servants, conjured of flesh and metal, glided serenely about the hall, setting brief flashes of colored light for purposes unknown. I looked at him, my gift of compassion burning hotly within me.
“My lord,” I asked coming to kneel before him, “would that I could bring her back to you. But if that is not so, may this night be a small substitute of companionship for you.”

I felt his hand on my head, and trembled. This I would give to him, and more, if he so ask.

He stroked my hair and said, “Child, it is not so – I have no wish to impose on you. What you gave me… what you have given me was enough.” He sighed and raised me to sit beside him, in a chair made of flowers and sunlight. I knew in my heart it to be hers.

“We were once like you, long ago. But I am the last here, and I do not yet wish to leave my beloved to join my own kind.”

I shuddered briefly. “If our lord were to leave us, what would happen to our people?”

He gazed at the table, his face filled with pain and sorrow. “Time does not reckon the same here as in your lands. To you, you have been here scant few hours – to your people, you have been gone neigh hundreds of years.”

I racked back a sob, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “What, then, has happen to my people, do they still prosper?”

He looked at me, then; his eyes still filled with grief over his lover’s death. “I have not looked,” he said, simply.

~~

He walked me back to the stream and told me to kneel. He bent and touched the stream and it stilled, the currents unmoving and ragged in beauty.

“There,” he said, and pointed.

I peered closely at the frozen place; a small ripple, a vision came upon me, not unlike a bird taken flight, soaring over my village. “My home,” I said breathlessly.

“And so,” he nodded. “Watch.”

The vision changed, moving faster, like a hand upon a clock. I saw the village’s buildings grow and rise high, then fall from decay. I saw it become vast fields and then war grounds where people fought and died and fought anew. I saw another village, larger and made of metal and glass, rise up, growing above the clouds; then fall to fire and smoke and ash. And then I saw darkness and no more.

He tapped the stream with his hand, and current resumed, flowing happily.

He did not look at me as I knelt weeping, holding my arms tightly.

“I have been amiss in my duties, I know,” he said, softly.

I looked at him through scalding tears, “Is there no way to save my people?”

“I am sorry – the data has been written. If – ,” he sat on the flowered ground, holding his head in his hands, “if I were to simply reverse the timeline and undo all what has been done, the data would be corrupted and need to be deleted.” He turned to the stream, “And what you yet have – would vanish.”

I stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “My lord,” I said shakily,” my lord, what does this mean?”

He stared silently at the stream. I looked upon my lord and knew despair.

He looked at me then, grief turning to grim resolution. “There is a way.”

~~
He carried me to a room of white and laid me upon a bed of soft feathers. He bid me to close my eyes, but I refused.

What I saw in his heart, I did not like.

“My lord, what are you doing?”

He did not answer, but took a glass vial and thrust it into his arm. A thick liquid filled it and I saw it was his blood.

“My lord!”

“We were like you, once,” he murmured. “Pray, let us not have strayed too far.” and tipped it into a golden cup. “Drink.”

I looked at him, pleading – but his countenance was firm.

I drank.

My eyes welled as the burning in my mouth. It flowed outward, spreading to my limbs, hands, feet and finally my very head- aflame in agony. I screamed futilely, scratching my swollen throat. He grabbed my flailing hands gently and lowered to kiss my brow.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

~~
I woke to darkness.

My hands and feet felt heavy, cumbersome. My tongue was thick and coated and I breathed shallowly in the darkness.

“Lights”, I rasped, unthinking.

I blinked as the golden hue returned to the heavens. Outside, the stream was there, flowing murkily, a rusted brown instead of the clear white it had been before.

“Touch it.” said a voice behind me.

I turned, reaching, “My lord – “, and stopped.

“No, I am but a servant.” He bowed. He was both bull and man, with metal fittings clasped about his arms and chest. “ Your lord has gone to his people. I am to be your guide…”

I turned and looked, placing my hand upon the watered sludge; seeing still the patterns and lives not yet touched by death and darkness. Lives that fought on, despite of the darkness.

I am sorry.

I closed my eyes and said the words that came unbidden to my tongue.

“New Game.”

image credit: Cylonka via Deviant Art

Hollow

It was a small thing, really, to misplace an invitation. But when the error was discovered, it was with cries and horror as the party attendees witnessed the slighted sorcerer curse the Kingdom, it’s land and all it’s inhabitants.

He held out his arms and decried:

Listen all, to all the Kingdom
listen to your fate.
Heed me now,
all that scorned me
none shall escape.

Hunger and pain,
shall be your pillow.
Pestilence, your very bed.
You will all die alone, in anguish,
living despair and dread.

The King and Queen, hearing the deathly terms of the curse, begged a private conference with the sorcerer. For the love of their Kingdom, they pleaded, offering all they own.

The sorcerer, already regretting his hastiness, agreed. But, as to the nature of the spell, the curse could not be broken – only reshaped in direction… not purpose.

And so it came to pass that the strong King and Queen, out of deep love for their subjects and kingdom, accepted the curse on their persons. As the living embodiment of the Kingdom, the curse was set upon them and they retreated to the outer limits of their land, with neither man nor beast aware that they yet live.

The sorcerer gave them this final warning:

“For as long as no living soul knows that you are the true King and Queen, the curse will reside with you. If, but the smallest whisper reaches the ears of the lowliest peasant, the curse will rebound and your Kingdom will suffer.”

The sorcerer, moved by the sacrifice of the Royal pair, did not tell the King and Queen the fate that awaited them – thinking it a small kindness.

“The curse is dire – may their end be swift,” he thought sadly.

The Queen and King wandered for weeks until their supplies grew thin. They traded their fine clothes with a passing caravan, and headed into a nearby village for work.

They were met with suspicion and scorn as the curse worked it’s way on them, causing the couple to be perceived as thieves and malcontents. Village after village drove them out. Desperate and weak with hunger, they begged in the village squares to work for scraps.

Eventually, a farmer offered them a lowly job as dung collectors. They gratefully accepted. A small boy watched suspiciously over them during the day, striking them with his staff when they slowed. At night they slept in the rotted corner of a barn, huddled together for warmth and companionship, too exhausted to speak.

The queen took ill, and the king went looking for the medicine woman to help her. A man crept into the barn and tried to take advantage of the queen, but the king arrived and they fled deep into the forest.

Fearing for his wife’s safety in the villages, the king fashioned crude traps and bows and arrows and began to hunt for their food. The queen gathered common berries, nuts and roots. At night, they slept holding each other in the hollow of a giant oak, their hands intertwined and their heads resting one upon the other.

When the queen’s belly began to swell they set out for the uncharted center of the dark forest, far from human habitation.

The king and queen built a small shelter in the branches of a large oak tree. They prepared for the baby, and the coming winter, as best they could and worked from daybreak to deep into the night.

They never mentioned the curse, but it weighed heavily on their hearts. Any heir to the Kingdom would share their fate.

Well into the pregnancy a bad fall injured the king and he was unable to hunt. The food they had diligently stored began to dwindle, and the king and queen grew thin, the queen’s rounded belly overshadowing their every thought.

At night, the king held his wife, his arms encircling her tenderly. He whispered, gently, “Can we sacrifice one love to save another?”

And so it was decided.

After the pains of labor, they welcomed their daughter into the world with tearful joy. They built a basket out of hollow oak and lined it with pine and the softest of fur. They carved intricate designs into the wood and at the very bottom they etched her name. Ella. The queen, deathly weaken by hunger and exhaustion, kissed her daughter tenderly. She whispered her daughter’s name one last time and sang:

O’ precious one
born of love
gone from mother’s arms.

Keep my faith
guide of love
safe from cursed harm.

In grief the king took the infant to nearest village, laying her on the doorstep of the wealthiest house. As the door opened the king sang softly from the shadows:

On this night
orphaned twice,
cursed never more.

Renounced by blood
cast adrift
by fate’s rough shore.

And he left, struggling through the dark forest to return to his wife’s final resting place. After many hours his will left him, and he had not the strength to reach his wife. The king laid his head upon the fallen trunk of an oak, and wept.

The sorcerer came upon the king in the forest and was ashamed. He said softly, “The curse has ended. In anguish and despair, you died alone. For love of your people, you sacrificed your flesh, your blood and your life.”

The sorcerer took a lock of hair from the King and the Queen, and spelled them into golden acorns, planting them closely together in the royal gardens. He sent out runners through the Kingdom, telling the villages far and wide of their King’s and their Queen’s selfless acts.

The oak trees grew swiftly, their great branches soon intertwining until it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. At night it seemed the towering trees leaned into each other, their clasped branches swaying gently in the wind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years later it came to pass that the Kingdoms new princess, Cinderella, found herself nestled in under the swaying branches of the intertwined trees and at last, found peace.

Image Credit: Jejen via Deviant Art

When the Day was Done

I woke to the sound of my heart pumping slowly.

I felt my lungs take a couple of ragged breaths. My eyelids, sticky with blood and crust, were swollen shut.

I was laying on my side, my hands bound behind me. I felt the cold dirt floor scratch roughly against my cheek.

I laughed briefly, coughed, and laughed again.

I was alive!

I heard him move. He grabbed my long hair, pulling me up towards him.

“You laugh?”

I didn’t respond, moving my fingers behind me one by one. Only a few seemed broken.

I heard him breathing hard as he studied me. I waited, patiently.

He snorted and threw me down in disgust. My head bounced against something fleshy and rotting.

I gave quick thanks I couldn’t see.

I heard him, again. He paced in front of me. Then around me.

“You should see yourself.”

He stopped. I turned my head to his sounds.

He said again, louder. “You should see yourself.”

“You are pathetic.”

“You are weak.”

I shook my head, gave a short, raspy laugh.

He growled.

His footsteps came closer.

I tried shakily to stand. I was able to kneel with one leg, hunching over as my broken ribs slicing into my lungs.

“When you look at me…”

I coughed again, and felt something wet and thick slide loose.

I paused, feeling him loom over me. I smiled softly. “When you look at me you are blind.“

He hissed.

I felt a sharp blow against my head. I fell, hard.

Weakly, I managed to sit up again. I turned and spit out blood and pieces of my own flesh.

Soon.

I heard him gather his tools.

I shivered. Very very soon.

I felt something sharp glide against the contours of my face. Thick rivers of blood trailed down my cheeks.

“You have lasted longer then all my other playthings, “ he whispered. He ran his finger along the slit in my cheek. “I am so glad I found you.”

I laughed.

I laughed and laughed and laughed as I felt the sun set.

My body trembled joyously, fleshly wounds healing quickly.

I slid easily from my bindings and stood.

I turned to him, face sharpened to deathly beauty, glistening fangs protruding from my opened mouth.

He stood, frozen. An innocent looking thing, downy cheeks and cherub face. He held a cross and a wooden stake in a rigid hand. His clothes were stained with layers of gore.

I willed him to come closer and embraced him, holding his head tenderly against me.

My tongue slipped out and greedily licked the blood from his face.

I took his hand in mine. “Watch,” I whispered into his ear.

I opened his mind, showing him some of the things I had done to his kind. All the fun I would do to him.

So much time, now that the day was done.

I broke his wrists, gently.

He screamed out wildly against my bosom, fighting against me, shaking with fear and pain and rage and the promise of so much more pain.

I laughed delightedly, and held him closer, patting his soft golden hair.

He trembled.

I blew out the lights and grinned in the darkness.

I nuzzled his ear, my fangs trailing his cheek.

“Now, you see me.”

Img Credit: kiles85 via Deviant Art

The Wager

“Did you do a Google search?”

“Of course I googled it! I did every search I could think of – I got nothing.”

Silence.

“Shit. It’s almost 5’o’clock.”

“I know.”

“He’s gonna be here any second!”

“I know, Jerry, let me think!”

He started tapping the sill of the window, a nervous habit that drives me crazy.

“Okay, look.” I turned around and grabbed him from the window. “Jerry… Jerry! Chill, okay? Just go look in the kitchen and see if he’s here.”

His eyes widened. “How would he have gotten in here without us knowing?”

I avoided answering and turned back to the computer. “It’s a trick of his,” I mumbled. “He likes to show up in unexpected places.”

The clock on my computer reached 5:00pm and froze.

I felt Jerry inhale shakily.

“Alright, fudge this shiat! I’m outta here.” He grabbed his backpack. “Peace and Love”, he blustered. His heavy boots thumped as he ran out of the apartment.

I watched him go – a pale, chubby, curly head kid with glasses and a over-sized yellow and blue stripped sweater. I put my head in my hands and waited for it.

Jerry stumbled back inside. His face was bloodless and drenched with sweat.

“It’s gone,” he said.

He sat down heavily, the pillowed couch enveloping him until the tops of his knees were almost level with his face.

“What’s gone?” I whispered. Real dread came over me as I saw his hands shaking. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

I already knew, but I needed to see it.

“Everything.”

“Everybody?”

“It’s nothing out there, man. I walk out the door, take three steps and it just, ends. A wall of white nothing that goes on forever. There’s no other buildings, no trees, no sky.”

He starts crying softly. “Christ, there’s no sky.”

“No people?”

“No one, man. It’s fuckin’ empty. A fuckin’ void out there! There’s us and there’s nothing – that’s it.”

I closed my eyes. “So, we really lost.”

“Of course we lost! If we had won, we would not be in fuckin’ purgatory.”

I look at him sharply. “We are not in purgatory. Stop being stupid.”

Jerry started crying again. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sweater “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. One hundred years of servitude, really? Who even makes that sort of bet?”

I sat down next to him, my feet barely touching the ground. I couldn’t believe we lost. This crap doesn’t happen in real life.

One hundred years.

I shuddered. The guy had even warned me I was taking the bet too lightly.

“Yeah, I suck.” I agreed morosely.

We stared at the TV silently. Every channel was the same image – a missing persons report with Jerry and I highlighted in the photos.

“Fuck.” I said softly.

“I can’t believe we lost.”

We sat there and waited for the winner, a Mr. Rumpelstiltskin, to collect his payment.

“One hundred years, ” I said in disbelief as a gnarled hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me towards the white endless nothing.

Image credit: Wandelfalke via Deviant Art

Always and Forever

Oct 17, 2021 4:43pm

You used to say I was the strongest person you knew. That I had the strength and patience of a Russian Tiger. That it would take a hell of a lot for me to just break down.

Oh, if you could see me now – hurling through space in a windowless box little larger then the size of our closet.

Tell the children mommy loves them. And I am so sorry.

Will they ever forgive us?

I love you so much.

Oct 21, 2021 11:53am

So here I am, still in pieces. It took four days for the energy panels to recharge. I guess that was about four months you didn’t hear from me.

I’m so sorry.

I took the time to go over the manuals on the computer again. A lot of it is simply over my head. Most of it is in that high level science jargon that I teased you about over dinner, with the complicated, self important names for everything. I look at it, and I think of you and my children, and it’s not so funny anymore.

I’ve listened to some of the recordings you gave me. I keep playing the ones where the children are laughing. Remember when they found our cat sleeping in the pile of leaves in the backyard. And when the baby ran and grabbed for the cat, it jumped five feet in the air, the leaves flying up with her. And the baby laughed and laughed and laughed while the leaves rained down all around her.

I can’t believe that was two weeks ago.

I’ll never see my baby again. I won’t be able to hold her, or sing her songs, or smile and nod while she tells me a long story in her babble talk. I won’t be there to see my son grow into a man.

I’ve left my son. I’ve left my daughter. I’ve left you.

Is it worth it, John?

November 1st, 2021 8:37pm

It took even longer for the panels to recharge. I must be pretty far from the sun, I wonder if I’m out of our solar system yet?

The navigational and systems computer was locked and the password was not any of the ones listed in the manual. I’m guessing Meredith changed it before she was hurt. It’s just like her to be so protective about information security, and then get herself shot preening in another goddamn parade.

I’m sorry.

I transmitted my lack of passwords to WISA. Hopefully, I’ll get a response before the end of my mission, hehe.

Not that it matters too much, since I’m only here to push a button. A button. I’m missing my children growing up to push a GODDAMN BUTTON!

I spend a good part of my days staring hatefully at that button.

I’m going to end on a positive note. My energy allocation for the personal correspondence is almost ended. It will probably be a year or so before the next one reaches you.

I love you so much. But… I want you to think about remarrying, (there, I said it). The children need a mother and you need a partner.

I recorded a couple of songs for the baby. Be sure to tell her mommy loves her.

November 27, 2021 4:35am

I received a message from WISA today. Which means the sons of bitches must of sent it out before I left.

They told me – they told me that they had made a “miscalculation”. That the return trip will not take three months. The return trip will take two years.

Did you know about this? Is this why you looked at me, right before I went in this box. When you took my hand and you looked at me like I was already a ghost, like I was already a hundred years gone and unreachable, a foreshadow of spirit and time.

But, John, I was standing right there. Why didn’t you tell me?

“It’s for our children’s children”, you said about this project. “Seeding a new world that will replace this dying one is our only chance for survival.”

And then Meredith was shot and you went quiet for days.

You came to me and said it was a great sacrifice. A role only I could fill in such short a time. That we had only days to decide before the window was closed for good.

Our world needed hope and I was her. The great hope. The button pusher.

I have to believe you didn’t know.

But you designed this mission, John. How could you not of known?

December 2nd, 2021 12:02am

I got your message. The message you sent the minute this box left the atmosphere. You ask for forgiveness. You say words like “panicked” and “optimal replacement” and “only viable hope”.

But I just see your eyes when you let me go. When you say, “I’ll see you in a few years” and you lie to me. Your last words to me are lies.

And now, the only true words I hear from you are this: 221 years to get home.

December 8th, 2021 3:58pm

Happy Birthday Sweetheart!

I know, I’ve must of missed quite a few birthdays, but to me, this is your second birthday! I love you soo much. I’ve sent a recording of me singing your favorite silly songs. I bet you’re a big girl by now, and I’m so proud of you. You are so special, and I will love you for ever and ever and ever.

Love Always and Forever,
Mommy

December 24th, 2021 10:57pm

Dear John,
How many Christmases did I miss? I hope in each one, you remember you sent your wife out alone, with no home to return to. With no family to love her.

Do the children remember me? Or am I a ghost to them, too?

Carina

January 26th, 2022 1:06 am

John,

There’s something wrong with the ship. I heard a sharp noise, and a loud wrenching sound. The energy panels are charging half as well as they did before. I checked the systems computer and it seems we have slowed down.

From what I can guess, for you it’s been about eight years since I left. I don’t even know if I should be writing to you anymore, perhaps you’ve remarried, or just… moved on.

I want you to know, I forgive you. I know why you did this. I know I was the last chance, the only one who was familiar with the ship and was small enough to fit in this coffin for so long.

John, I forgive you.

I hope this new world we find is worth it. I really do.

Give the children my love.

Carina

February 3rd, 2022 6:14pm

Do you remember the time we went for a walk in the park, and Jeffrey was convinced he saw a buffalo up on the hill. It was when he was reading all those Cowboy John books. And you grabbed him by the hand and snuck up the hill on your bellies, trying to surprise the buffalo. And Jeffrey kept giggling at the mud on your nose and the wild nature British accent you were talking in. Remember how you crawled the last bit on your hands and knees, with Jeffry on your back, riding you like a horse. And you pretended to get scared, and galloped away, down the hill, your feet and hands barely keeping with your momentum. And Jeffrey laughed and whooped and began whipping your tush with this branch he somehow gotten ahold of.

Oh John, the look on your face.

That is my happy memory for today. I just wanted to share it you.

All my love to Cara and Jeffrey.

Carina


March 16th, 2022 3:06am

Happy Birthday, Jeffrey!

My little man. You are so precious, with the greatest adventurous spirit and a fine sense of humor. Do you remember the joke book you carried everywhere we went? You were so proud when you realized you could make people laugh. You would memorize riddles and jokes and tell it to every person who looked your way. My little charmer, you always had a crowd.

I wrote you another story, it’s about a bird who swims home.

I love you, Always and Forever

love,
Mom

April 22nd, 2022 4:52pm

John,
I see the new world. And it is beautiful! Pushing “The Button”, now!

Carina

April 23rd, 2022 3:23am

John,

I can’t take another two years alone in this box. I can’t bear the thought of laying there, day after day, while my children, and my children’s children, grow old and die.

There is no reason to go back.

I found the other button – the one that allows for release. The one I saw you add to the schematic the day before I left.

Remember John, I forgive you. And I do love you.

Give all my love to our children.

Always and Forever,

Carina

Image Credit Kayjensen via Deviant Art

No Place
I remember two loud sounds. BOOM, BOOM. Then searing light and brief, flaying pain.

Then I was here.

If a place could have no value, no structure, no features – does it exist?

We called it Noplace. And by we I mean the millions of others who were here with me, around me, through me, in me.

And by “called” I mean we agreed without speaking. A general consensus of the few minds who were not too busy screaming in dislocated horror.

Though I must admit I had a turn or two of screaming myself.

When he/she/it, (for redundancy sake let’s call it Sheit), when Sheit appeared it was a shock to the senses… such as they were. Sheit’s skin was green, and we could perceive it was green – it did not shift back and forth along the color spectrum like everything and no thing in this place seemed to do. This Noplace, I mean.

It’s eyes were blue and large, segmented into 50 or so rectangular irises. It’s mouth was upturned and protruding. It’s nostrils elongated and taking up a good portion of it’s face.

There was no body to speak of.

A few million more minds began to scream.

Sheit did not seemed too bothered. It’s many eyes rolled independently.

“Players,” it said.

I felt it look at me. Meaning, one moment I was looking at it, and the next I was looking at me looking at it.

“You are not broken”, it asked.

“Soon”, I responded shrilly.

“Sheit, that’s a play on one of your negative words. A curse?”

To that I realized it was beneficial to think nothing but the Thought that it was beneficial to think nothing.

Sheit chuckled. “Clever. You are still useful.”

*******************************

I woke in a ditch. It was filthy and filled with refuse. There was a layer dirt and slime encrusted on my hands and fingernails. I kissed the back of my hands.

“I have a body again.”

I paused.

“I can speak out loud!”

I laughed maniacally for a while, then passed out.

When I woke, it was dark and Sheit was hovering by the side of the ditch.

“Player 8778C. Welcome home!”

I climbed out shakily. I looked up at the moon, grateful to see it again. My mind decided to ignore all stimuli but this sky.

“Player 8778C, please respond.”

I realized it had been repeating this for some time. I looked at it. “What.”

Sheit smiled. “Excellent. Not all of the players made the transition to level C smoothly.”

“Right”, I said and tried to look at my moon again. It didn’t hold the same enrapturing pull.

I sighed.

“Do you want tell me what is happening” I asked, totally without conviction.

“Good!” It clapped it’s hands together.

When did it get hands, I thought idly, and I realized it’s body was a literal stick figure, such as a child would make out of dark chalk, and I felt my mind squeezing into a tight little defensive ball and I decided maybe passing out was the correct thing to do in this situation.

“That’s two”, Sheit said sternly when I woke. “You will not get a third time out.”

“Umph”. I said, sitting up. It was daylight, and the persistent scent of burning finally moved forward in my brain’s long list of Important Things to be Analyzed. There was decaying rubble everywhere, and the skyline was a menacing orange.

“Oh”, I said softly.

“Yes, your team lost this round horribly. However, the opposing mechanics had a small penalty in their last play, and the rules allowed me to recoup some of the original players.”

I avoided looking at him. “Right.”

“Also, your team is under new management. Your original adviser had to step away for a bit so I’m filling in. Just call me Coach Sheit!” He chuckled.

“So…” I faltered, not knowing where to start. I squinted around. As far as I could see, nothing was taller then two stones piled together.

“Everyone is dead?”

He grinned. “Mostly everyone is out of play, but through a series of loopholes I was able to revive ten thousand players for this continent. One hundred thousand worldwide. I can work with those numbers!”

I looked down, my hands were trembling wildly. “I don’t think I can handle this,” I said softly.

“Nonsense, you are one of our strongest players. Have you noticed you have already begun to think of me as an “He”, instead of “It”? Your flexible little mind is frantically reprocessing and rewiring to adapt to this new input.” He sighed wistfully. “That’s why humans make some of the best players.”

He touched my head with his stick finger. I felt wet coldness, thick as fluid, force itself down my throat. Like a reverse vomit.

He nodded, many eyes rolling.

My flexible little mind just gave up, entirely.

I stared up at him, mouth slightly agape, gasping for air like a fish. The fluid reached capacity, engulfing the inside of my skull and something… popped.

I blinked.

“Well”, he said, “I’ve got to get going. There are a couple of revisions to the original playbook I must oversee.”

I nodded. “Of course. Ha ha! Back to the drawing board! ”

“Great analogy, Player 8778C! I’m sure you will make your team proud!”

His stick figure body disappeared. His eyes gained about 30 new companions.

“Remember the rules: Play hard, and Survive!”

“Of course!” I said brightly, waving goodbye. Such a nice man with those beautiful blue eyes. I wondered if I should have offered him a sandwich, he was so terribly thin. Wow, did he blather on about a game of some sort. Boys and their games!

I looked around, grateful for surviving this horrible disaster and eager to start anew.

“We got to get this right this time”, I murmured.

My gut urged me to head north. And so I did.

Image Credit: Gilad via Deviant Art

Pressed Opened

I was cold all the time. When I slept, it was with my back in the corner, my legs tucked under me. I woke often to the furious shaking of my body.

It took me three days to learn how to build a fire. Sickly and small, I fed it the thin blue twigs I found on the forest floor.

At night, snuffling creatures would snarl and bump at the door and I would scream nonsensically, howling and growling with a garden spade in my hand.

In the daylight I would forage. Nothing was familiar but I learned the bitter yellow berries were safe to eat while the red nuts that smelled like cinnamon made me sick with fever and swelling. The small purple berry on the pink-leafed bush was a hallucinogen of sort and I hoarded those jealously.

I set traps daily. The last of my twine was used to set snares against the trees. I dug holes and placed sharpened sticks in them, hoping the bits I remembered from camping and TV would coalesce into a meal.

My brain was on autopilot. I refused to think of what happened to my family. My mind skittered around how my little gardening shed and I ended in the middle of nowhere. I refused to look at the two blue moons hanging in the sky.

When I caught my first animal, one of the snuffling beast that mis-stepped and fallen into the pit next to my house, I killed it with a rock and roasted it’s haunches over the small green fire.

I took one bite and vomited violently.

In the morning, I gathered my small collection of berries into a knapsack fashioned out of my gardening apron, filled my watering can and plugged it with a sponge, and set off in the direction of the flashing blue lights I saw every night.

It was dark before I got close and I stumbled out of the woods into a clearing. There was a man waiting in the center. He was big, ripped with muscles that threatened to bulge out of his armored uniform. His skin was red with mottled gray. His eyes were a single slit of blue flashing light.

My thoughts screamed and left and I stood there dumbly abandoned.

He strode over and gripped my head with his taloned hand.

YOU ARE LAST.

YOU LEADER TO THE HUMANS, THEY CALLED YOU…

He hesitates, the flashing lights of his eyes briefly still.

THEY CALLED YOU, LEADER. PRESIDENT?

I close my eyes. What of my people? I dare myself to hope…

He grips my head tighter and shakes me.

UNDERSTAND ME HUMAN, I WILL SAY THIS ONCE.

YOUR LIFE IS NO MORE. YOUR HUMANS ARE DEAD. YOUR PLANET IS A BURNING ROCK.

I felt his hands squeeze harder. Sharp pain. I felt something crack and shift.

YOU ARE TROPHY. SOUVENIR.

He let go and I fell limply to the ground. My head struck something and I heard it distantly.

Faintly, I heard a snort of disgust as he walked away.

I felt my head shift back, the pain fading. Mounting horror rose to bile in my chest as my skull began healing – the fragmented pieces knitting together. My mind shifted back to the days I went without food and water, the freezing temperatures that I somehow survived.

He began to laugh.

NOW YOU UNDERSTAND.

He picked me up with a clawed finger and flung me over his shoulder. He headed back towards the garden shed.

TROPHY WILL NOT BREAK.

Image Credit: Ex3me via DeviantArt

A Study of Judgement

Mr. Jenson ate lunch at his usual spot by the window in De’Lass Cafe. He had a turkey sandwich on dry wheat bread, a small bowl of fruit and a pickle. He read the local newspaper and watched rain trickle down the smudged glass panes and thought generally about nothing.

He didn’t look when the bell announced another patron.

“Is this seat taken?”

Mr. Jenson looked up slowly, his lips pursed in preemptive annoyance.

“Yes”, he said.

The man was dressed in a yellow track suit. He had cornrowed hair, gold chain and sunglasses with yellow rims. He pointed at the vacant chair.

“It looks empty.”

“I’m expecting someone.”

The man in the yellow track suit smiled. His two front teeth were gold.

“Good,” he said. He swaggered over to an empty booth and sat down heavily. He leaned against the wall, letting his boots hang off the side and fished out a toothpick. He sucked on it noisily.

Mr. Jenson went back to his paper. He thought about nothing in particular.

The bell chimed again.

“Is this seat taken?”

The woman was stunning. She had long blond hair curled slightly at the tips. She had beautiful eyes, a wide smile and wore a flattering if practical blue skirt and jacket.

“Would you mind if I sat here for a while?”

Mr. Jenson blinked.

“I’m terribly sorry, but this seat is taken. There’s a nice table available over there if it’s the window you’d like.”

The woman stared at him, a soft smile started playing at the edge of her lips.

“Thank you, I’ll do that.”

Mr. Jenson nodded. He looked out the window. “I am expecting someone.”

The man in yellow and the woman stood next to him.

“Who?” They asked in unison.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Jenson said softly.

The woman leaned over and whispered, “Perhaps your company waits to be invited.”

Mr. Jenson turned slowly to look at her. The air was dense; the cafe empty of sound. When he spoke, the words pounded hard against his heart.

“Join me, then”, he said.

The two sat in the chair. Except there wasn’t two, there was one. Then there were many and they all smiled, enough smiles to fill the room from floor to ceiling and he closed his eyes and Breathed.

He thought about nothing.

“Ahh,” they said. And then there was only one. He sat in his chair, balding, of short stature and wearing a tweed jacket and a goatee. His irises were the fluidic color of soap bubbles.

“Hello Mr. Jenson.”

Mr. Jenson nodded, once.

“Let’s get down to business, yes? You do not know who I am. You do not know what I am. Yes? I will tell you this, I am many thing to many beings, but today I am one thing to one person and that person is you. Please look at me Mr. Jenson.”

Mr. Jenson looked at him.

“Do you see my eyes? I keep them that way so you will not delude yourself into thinking this is mundane. This is not normal. What is happening to you is not explainable.”

He shifted and he held up a box.

“Mr. Jenson, I come to you with a gift.”

“No, thank you” Mr. Jenson said quietly. He looked out the window, the rain was coming down very hard now.

“No one chosen wants the gift. This is an attribute of a person chosen. But it is a gift, Mr. Jenson. That is indisputable.”

“And if I do not accept?”

“I am truly sorry, but the gift has been given. You can choose to do nothing with the gift. You can choose to do everything with the gift. Do you understand, Mr. Jenson?”

Mr. Jenson looked down. He held the gift in his hands.

“Do you know why you were chosen, Mr. Jenson. You are neither hot nor cold. You are not proud nor happy nor sorrowful. You do not fight injustice, yet you do not relish the pain of others. In short, you are lukewarm, Mr. Jenson. You, and others before you, are born to be a litmus for humanity.”

“Yes, I see you understand. You have felt this calling but did not know how to answer.”

He tapped the box. “Ring, ring, Mr. Jenson.”

The man sighed and placed his finger on the glass of the window. The street traffic had slowed to a halt; horns blared against a car stalled in the intersection.

“You all are like poorly raised children, and I never understood the nature of your appeal; but I am only a single cell in the bloodstream of life, carried along in my faithful duties.”

He nodded towards the box. “Do open it.”

Mr. Jenson lifted the lid.

It was a butterfly, alive, pinned in four corners to a small styrofoam block.

“Do you understand Mr. Jenson?”

His hands trembled slightly. “No.”

“I believe you do, Mr. Jenson. But I will explain it anyway. You have heard of the chaos theory butterfly, yes? It is the theory where the actions of an insignificant creature can have worldwide consequences.”

He touched the rim of the box. “You are that insignificant creature, Mr. Jenson.”

The butterfly struggled briefly, a horror of minute squeaks pressing against the styrofoam.

Mr. Jenson breathed. “ I am to be pinned, trapped like this poor creature?”

“There will be agents at play to aid you, Mr. Jenson. If it is intelligence you wish, you will find a way to increase it. If it is wealth, you will acquire it. Companionship, love, power, status… for you, all doors will open.”

“It is a gift. Anything you so desire here”, he touched his heart, “or here”, he touched his forehead. “Your will, your choices, will be a reckoning force. Nothing you do will be inconsequential, ever again.”

Mr. Jenson held his gift in his cupped hands. His lips were dry and cracked. He watched the butterfly struggle.

“Consider it a study of judgement.”

“So all of humanity is to be judged by the choices of one man? What happens if I choose wrong?”

“You are not the first to be so tested, Mr. Jenson.”

Mr. Jenson did not seem to hear. He was enraptured by the struggling of the butterfly and the slow snick, snick noise it made against the styrofoam.

The man stood. “And now I must take my leave. Do finish your pickle, Mr. Jenson.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside the cafe, the man in yellow and the woman with the wide smile talked to the man with the soap bubble eyes.

“What do you think of this one?”

“It is possible he will pass. But it worries me…” he looked up towards the glass window where Mr. Jenson could still be seen staring into his hands.

“It worries me because usually the good ones unpinned the butterfly by now.”

Image Credit: DozProject via Deviant Art

United Harmony – Part I

I poured another drink for the guy with four eyes and a sharp beaked mouth. My bar was in the middle of nowhere on a nothing planet but it always managed to stay full. Might’ve been my exotic drinks, but I suspect it was more because of my allergic reaction to the law – they make my trigger finger itch.
Speaking of the devil, two silver robotics stomped into my bar. They were the avian kind, two spindly feet attached to a wide round base. They looked like big, metal ducks – with gun turrets for beaks.
“Siri”, I hissed to the air, “why didn’t you notify me?” My gun on my hip whirred to life, “I told her to warn you but she said you would overreact. And I said, hey, sometimes one got to issue a little preemptive action, you know what I mean? And she said, this would be a good opportunity for you to learn restraint.” I slapped my gun to silent mode and glared at one of my bar’s cameras.
“I’m going to update you as soon as this is over, enough with this nostalgia tech shit.”

Siri was silent. One of the ducks turned neatly and waddled nimbly towards the bar. The other one continued scanning my customers, who had all managed to activate their personal disruptive shields.

God, I love my customers.

“Fuckin’ Daffy”, I muttered as it tried to scan my retinas. My mirrored contacts gave it trouble and it activated it’s speech processors.

“Identification?” it demanded.

“Shvis de no mikal denali?”

There was a pause. “Law abiding citizen of the United Harmony of Worlds, please identify yourself?”

“Shvis de no mikal denali?” I said again.

It paused again, then settled down on it’s haunches. It zeroed it’s gun turret on my forehead and began asking my name in each of the 346 UH world’s officially recognized languages. I patted my gun steady and managed to look blank. Most of my customers had left, the ones too drunk or vaguely suicidal still hanging around. And Buddy, my spiny ball-shaped waiter.

Ten minutes into it’s questioning, it paused again. It split it’s head in half and a trans-communicator unfolded. I always wondered why they didn’t come out to the duck’s ass. I would’ve programmed it that way – one of the many reasons why the UH and I are not quite on speaking terms.

The screen turned on and my old boss Shengi, a orange striped Cretical, waved furiously into the camera. On second thought, it probably wasn’t a wave as his claws were out and he was snarling.

“You’re wasting my fuckin’ time, Nika”, he growled.

Fur on the top of his head had already began to tuft and fall out layering his desk. His office was a bitch to clean.

“Calm down, kittycat. If I had known these bots were from you I would’ve just blown them up on the doorstep.” I smiled sweetly, grabbing a rag to clean the bar. The metal duck whirred into action and followed me, keeping the gun aimed a my head.

I sighed at the general downward direction this day had gone.

Holding my hand in front of the screen I said, “You have ten seconds to tell me what you want before I dismantle your flock.”

“9, 8, 7…”

“Wait, wait! We have a job offer for you”

“No.”, I said and made a complicated hand gesture. The bird in front of me powered down, lowering it’s head abruptly. The turret cracked against the bar and fell off.

I snickered a bit. The second bird stomped over and swung it’s monitor over.
“Will you stop that”, Shengi screamed exasperatedly. “Those things ain’t cheap you know!”
He calmed himself with visible effort and brushed a fresh layer of fur off his desk.

“The job is not from us. The job is from a very rich, very influential client who would not take no for an answer. It’s a little illegal, highly dangerous with a very good risk of getting caught.”

I snorted, grabbing dirty glasses for Buddy’s to take to the back.
“I can see why you’re not in the marketing department.”

He leaned forward, “I’m telling you this so you won’t underestimate the job. And so you will understand why the job pays so much.”

I paused despite myself. Shrugging nonchalantly, I went around the bar and began straightening the mismatched tables and chairs. “So, how much does it pay.”

He told me.

I told myself to close my mouth. I could buy 50 bars with that much money. Shit, I could franchise and have a chain of them on every first class world in the UH.

I refused to say anything until the room was done. I poked a drunken patron awake and nodded towards the door. My mind was racing with questions but I settled on two.

“How many people did you offer this job to before me.” He opened his mouth.

“No Bullshit, Shengi, or I’ll skip.”

He muttered something. I walked to the screen.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Five people were hired. Two are dead. Two missing presumed dead. One quit, was declared clinically insane and subsequently shot in a boating accident. He’s dead”, he added unnecessarily.”

I blinked, turning it over.

“Okay, next question. What are the chances of my succeeding in this mission. Logically.” The Cretical were a master race of logistics, probability and instinct that could predict the success rate of many missions within a 2.5% variance. It was their prestigious tempers that keep them out of the upper echelons of first world society.

He stared at me with slitted eyes. “You know you weren’t my first choice with your, unorthodox, methods.” He flicked a claw and started lightly scratching on his desk. “The client is also concerned with your apparent inability to be discreet.”

I looked up, slightly offended. “I can be discreet.”

“ You made lawbotic officers moonwalk in the middle of a UH world presidential debate.” There were deep rivets in his desk now. He sighed heavily and retracted his claws.

“Nevertheless, even with your proclivity towards mischief, you are now the logistically the front runner with”, he paused, “34% chance of successfully completing the mission. 25% chance of completing it without dying.”

I nodded. The chance of a little excitement and a lot of money warming my smile. Like old times.

“One in four, I’ve had worse odds.” It’ll be nice to see a world where indoor plumbing wasn’t optional again.

“I’ll accept.”

I took out my mirrored lenses and let the scanners complete the contract in my UH file. If I reneged, not only would I lose the money but I could be legally hunted down by any smooge with a gun.

Shengi grunted. “Good. You will have a third of the fee deposited into your account shortly. Instructions will be transmitted via the usual channels in three hours.”

“Noted”, I turned away, already planning who I would have babysit the bar for me.

“Oh and Nika”, the Cretical purred, “our client required a certain, insurance, that you would be well motivated in completing your directives as assigned.”

The remaining robotic began to whir, it’s self destruct armed and activated.

“You may find that your little gestures will not work on this bot. I suggest you gather your clientele and run quickly, my dear.”

I looked around, the bar had already emptied, even Buddy. The bot quacked a ten second countdown and I looked around frantically at all the expensive booze I had collected over the last two years.

“Oh hell naw!”, I said as I leaped over the bar’s counter. I gripped the bar tightly.

“Siri, ativate the counter’s defensive shield.”

Silence.

“Siri!”, I screamed.

“Now?”, she asked.

“Yes, goddammit, now, Siri! Activate defensive shield right damn now!”

The world exploded. Pieces of wood and plastic disintegrated into dust. Charred lines of metal sagged under the flames.

I watched two years of hard work burn to nothing around me.

“Siri.”

“Yes, Nika.”

“You were fucking with me, huh?”

“A little, Nika.”

“Hmm, remind me to format you when I get back.”

“If you get back, Nika. If.”

Image credit: Melaniumom via DeviantArt

To Measure it Empty – part 1

The Arms master thrust the pitcher into the side of my head. “Take this, boy”, he gruffed. He was big and hairy, with sweat leaving sticky trails down his sides and chest.

“I’m not a boy”, I said, ducking his cuff to the other side of my head. He glared at me with little piggy eyes.
“You’re boy unless I say otherwise, boy.”

Someone behind me dragged me to the gear side of the room and begin outfitting me with my suit. The suit was laughably small, a miniaturized, glossy version of the ones I’d seen actors playing war heroes wear.

I held it. It weighed less than my shoes.
“What is this, a toy”, I asked in pure disbelief.

“It’s enough for your scrawny ass”, someone called out .Most of the bigger kids laughed along, the younger ones looked like they were too busy trying not to puke.
I grabbed my defensive suit, prepackaged in blister plastic for christ’s sake, and headed to an unoccupied corner spot.

“What’s a matter, don’t want anybody to see that scrawny butt of yours?” I scanned the room and found the source, a grinning freckled boy – small, skinny and not more then 10 lbs on me.
I stood, waiting for the inevitable second part of his taunt.

He came closer.

“Or maybe you really are a boy, at least on the bottom part.” He tried to leer at me, his 105-lb body and oversized front teeth making it look patently ridiculous. I’d had blind lepers leer at me better then that.

I nodded and sighed, bored with it already, and laid my new gear carefully on the floor in front of me. The room was silent as I began to take off my kev lined vest, metal cuffs and ankle shods. I unwrapped my bladed necklace and snapped it to attention. I slid that in the cracked tile of the floor. Then I removed my shirt, pants and boots, listening to the gathering silence as the crowd took in my scars and most importantly my neon red tattoo. I rotated slowly so everyone could see the exploding sun etched into my back.

“Shit, she’s an Edger.” A circle of space widened around me.

I picked up my blade, wrapping it around my arm till it kissed my skin tightly.

“My name is Serrated, and today,” I locked eyes with the freckled boy, “today with me to lead most of you will not die.” I looked at them all and smiled, the blood running rivulets down my arm. “Who’s ready to win!”

Cinder Girl

Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl named Cindy who was locked in a dark and barren attic. Her father, stepsisters and stepmother lived below, in comfort and style. It was not unusual for them to be away all night in revelry.

Occasionally, Cindy would find a way to unlock her door. She would tiptoe downstairs and stuff herself full of candy and sweets. After gobbling down all the wine she would try to set fire to her family.

For this reason the members of the household took the precaution of having a pail of fine sand in each room. Also, a bag of pepper by the bed to throw if they woke to the spectre of drunken Cindy armed with murderous intent and a spitting cat. Situation were not usually that dire, the sleeping persons having ample time to notice Cindy’s loud drunken slurs of “I gonna kills you all” followed by the arrhythmic striking of the family’s emergency flint.

Father would have well enough in hand and covertly replace the fire-starters with stale toast. He would then have the cat meow most piteously to simulate wails of her family burning to death. Cindy would fall directly to sleep, a queer half smile on her smeared face.

Eventually, Father grew quite tired of poking the cat every fortnight or so, (indeed the cat scratched him most heinously around the eyes and throat), and he told the family he was going into town to pick up new canning jar for his pipe.

After Father went missing, it was up to the siblings and the stepmother to take care of dear Cindy. In short time Tasia began stealing pipe cleaners and clotted cream from neighboring houses, while Cella became the town whore. This worried their mother and she decided it was high time for her daughters to be married off. When Cindy became aware of the scheme, she promptly sprung into action by tying messages to the tails of squirrels. Most of the squirrels died horrible deaths as the messages were attached to smoldering firecrackers. However, enough of the incinerates did not ignite for some to eventually make it into the village square.

When the townspeople learned there was a beautiful maiden trapped by her wicked family, they grabbed pitchfork and hoe and set off to make quarrel. The stepmother, having been forewarned of their visit, rushed upstairs to don and decorate the petite blond, embellishing her hair and clothing with whimsical blue flowers. Deftly avoiding Cindy’s snapping teeth, she smeared one finger of soot on her porcelain curve of her cheek. For final effect she released a lock golden hair to flow gently down her shoulder and sent her hurriedly and not so gently down the attic stairs.

When the mob arrived all was shocked to find the visiting Prince among one of it’s members. The Prince gave a long, eloquent speech about loneliness, crumpets and parties, (#richpeoplesproblems), gave a head nod of recognition to Cella, and swept Cindy away to his faraway castle to be his loving mistress.

For years after, the town was all atwitter with the spectacle of a Prince finding his lady love in their humble village.

And if one looked closely from space, you could still see the bared patch of land and forest where the great castle once stood.

The Conversation
“So, we’re immortal now.”

“Yep”, he said, eyes glued to his video game.

“We’re never gonna die, or get sick or nothin’”, I said as I stood slightly in front of my boyfriend with my arms crossed.

He angled his head around me. “Yeah, dude. It was all over the news. I get it.”

“Ahhh!”, he exclaimed. The sound of bass filled explosions erupted behind me.

“Babe, will ya move, I just got fragged by that idiot Carl. We’re on the same team!”

I sighed and scooted slightly to the left. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“About what?” He jammed a pretzel absentmindedly in his mouth, holding the controller with one hand. His cursing became inarticulate with chewing.

“Brad, this is important”, I said in my best I’m-serious-pay-attention tone.

He sighed and paused the game. “What?”

I glared at him, making him wait in silence. After a couple of seconds I went over to him. “We have the rest of our lives, which is forever, to do amazing things. What would you like to do?”

He kinda shrugged, his eyes already sliding towards the TV.

“No, you’re not understanding. We can travel the world, climb mountains… we could go deep sea diving or fly in an hot air balloon… whatever we want to do because we will live forever!”

Silence.

“Babe”, he said, picking up the controller. “We could’ve done that anyway. Besides, I only got like, $30 bucks in my bank account.”

The sounds of explosions filled the room again.

I watched the little men shooting each other. I heard idiot Carl giggling over the headset.

“Yeah,” I said as I slid back on the couch.

I sighed.

“Brad… hand me a pretzel, will ya?”

Death fell everywhere.

Whenever the silence started getting to me, I rode my bike as far as I could everyday and holed up at night, aiming for parks.

When I found survivors it was sudden. A group of partially hidden people sat around a fire, swaying to the rhythm of a slow humming song led by a man wearing nothing but stringed acorns.

“Welcome sister”, a voice behind me whispered.

The group at the fire turned silently.

“Welcome to the New Age”, they singsonged.

“Those that past have died for their sins of eating our fellow animals.”

“Those that remain will start a new cycle of love and rebirth, living in peace and harmony with all animal-kind”

“Hippies!”, I cried as I turned and ran.

“God save us from Hippies!”

Close Silence

Fourteen people went into the room. The walls were white and bare. Seven white chairs faced seven black chairs with a small gray table in the middle.

The people were instructed not to talk.

A large clock above the door ticked away the minutes. After ten minutes the people began to fidget, some coughing lightly. A man in a brown suit adjusted and readjusted his tie. Thirty minutes. One man began to snore softly. Two people began nodding their heads drowsily. Another yawned widely.

“When are we going to get started”, whispered a gentleman. The door opened and the man was led from the room. The snoring gentleman was awakened and also ushered out.

They were instructed again not to talk.

They avoided eye contact, some zoning out. Three hours in a woman in a long blue skirt began rocking side to side, her tapping legs crossed at the ankle. She stood up abruptly and left the room.

Thirty minutes later the lights in the room dimmed slightly. There were soft groans as the remaining people struggled to stay awake.

Some time later, an attendant came in. She wore a white robe and surgical mask. Her feet were bare. She went to the far end of the room and touched a section of the wall. The wall slid back to reveal a urinal, toilet and sink. She left.

The people in the room looked stricken, disbelief. After a few hand gestures the women formed a silent wall around one of the toilets. They took turns, their faces red in embarrassment at the loud sounds of their piss. The men turned their heads discretely away.

When everyone had been relieved, the attendant returned. She closed the wall. Warm wet towels were distributed. Food was served.

The attended nodded gently and left.

After a while the participants were shown how to unfold the chairs into cots. The lavatory walls were opened again. They closed. The lights were dimmed to darkness. They were instructed to sleep.

A man cried out in his sleep. He was removed.

When the participants woke, the clock was also gone. The room was dimly lit.

They were instructed not to talk.

The lavatory walls opened at irregular intervals during the day.

The food was served through a slot in the door.

They were instructed not to talk.

They were given clean robes to wear.

The lights were dimmed.

The silence grew. It filled the room until they could fill it on their skin.

They slept.

They ate.

They were instructed not to talk.

They slept.

They pissed.

They ate.

The men’s beards grew long.

They ate.

They slept.

They pissed.

Silence grew deeper. A tangible presence pressing against their throats.

Why are we still here, a man yelled. The group turned and stared. His mouth had not moved. The man looked around in a frantic shock. His mouth opened without sound, gaping like a landed fish.

The door opened. A man in white came in. He had short cropped hair, dark eyes and a wide nose. He had no mouth.

He held up his hand.

You are learning to Speak, he said to them.