Who is among us?

 The game Among Us has blown up recently.  It is a simple game with a deceiver mechanic.  The devs recently announced some lore for the game.  Apparently the impostor in the game is a parasitic shapeshifting invader.  With that in mind, here is a little tale from the view of one of the crewmates.

 

 

Personal Log, Employee #24601

File Code Number 8675309  

For distribution to next of kin only, not for corporate use.

Reviewed by Legal and approved for release.

Just another personal log from another cog in the interstellar corporate machine. Personally, this cog is getting kind of tired of being a part of this particular machine. Sure, the glamour of traveling to other planets and collecting samples and data for later research seemed very attractive. Once you do it though, the grunt work takes a lot of the shine out of it and you just see the dirt and broken machines. You would think a company that could afford to build ships capable of traveling other planets wouldn't let everything be built by the lowest bidder.  They even went cheap on our spacesuits.  Would adding arms instead of forcing is to stretch our the suit itself to perform tasks be that much of an effort?

If I have to reconnect one more set of wires I will snap someone's neck.  It's not just the wires either. I swear we had at least three alerts regarding a reactor meltdown on The Skeld during the return trip from our last mission. To a degree, I can understand needing to destroy meteorites in our path. But there might be fewer of those around if we weren't constantly drifting off course. The navigation computers would pick up a ton of drift every five minutes that we then had to re-calibrate and plot a new course.

I made the mistake of thinking things would be better when we got back to Mira HQ. I don't know why. Just as many broken wires there to fix and a reactor just as wonky. The company is so cheap they can't even install an automatic sprinkler system for the plants in the greenhouse. We have to get a watering can from storage and water them ourselves. A multibillion dollar corporation that reaches other planets and they can't even afford sprinklers. If not sprinklers, at least lights that don't go out every few minutes. Or an air filter that doesn't get clogged by simple leaves. Or a computer network that doesn't require me to walk from room to room downloading data and uploading it again.

The decontamination, at least, works consistently. And that is a bonus as often as we have to traverse it on the way to the lab. There is a fantastic view of the clouds while we sort samples from expeditions and reassemble harmonic crystals. Signs of real research being done at last.

Real research, like what I finally got to do when we reached Polus at last. Not a particularly exciting planet, just likes to shake us all up now and again. Nothing a little rerouting of a ground sensor can't fix. Appropriate for a planetary research base, there are two decontamination rooms to protect the samples we collect while they are being packed up. Can't forget all the temperature sensors to log data from. Such drastic differences between the air over the lava pit and off the cliff edge on the other side of the base.

Damnit, time to refuel the dropship engines again. Even with all this research happe.....glurp. Glooble. Herkar shlep.

Hungry. Must eat. Must spread. Must be more of us.......

END OF LOG.

Fun Words

A friend posted a picture on Facebook one day that featured a list of fun words to say.  I shared the picture on my own Facebook page with a promise to write a story featuring all the words.

For some reason, a court scene came to mind for this particular list of words.

“Your honor, I swear to you on my honor as a member of The Bar, that the events before you are nothing more than a simple misunderstanding that grew out of control. My client is innocent of any shenanigans. He simply wanted a sandwich from the best deli in town on the freshest pumpernickel in three counties. Not an unreasonable request but a strong desire we have all had at one point or another in our lives.”

With the screech of wood on wood, the lawyers pulls his chair back and sits down next to his client. The judge's gaze moves between him and the team of lawyers seated at the opposing table. Seated on her bench, this adjudicator could not bring herself to believe that a simple kerfuffle would require such a strong show of corporate force against a single patron.

With a nod to the legal show of force, the judge says, “You may now call your first witness. This is a simple case. If we don't lollygag and keep the malarkey to a minimum, then we can be done by lunch, dinner at the latest.”

The gaggle of lawyers look at one another then turn to focus on the man wearing the simplest suit among them. He rises, adjusts his coat, and steps around the table to address the judge. He speaks in a soft voice that carries throughout the courtroom so that nobody has to strain to hear him.

“Thank you your honor. We would like to call to the stand the manager of the deli, a Ms. Clarence Johnson.”

A bailiff calls out the door and then holds it open as a woman in a blue pantsuit strides in. She confidently walks up to the witness stand, sits down, and swears to tell the truth without a single pause. Her motions and speech full of confidence and pride.

The lawyer addresses the witness, “Ms. Johnson, can you please tell us what lead to the brouhaha that brings us here today?”

Ms. Johnson's eyes travel around the people in the courtroom, appearing to get the feel for her audience before she speaks. She glares at the single lawyer and his client and begins her testimony. Her voice is commanding and sharp enough that more than one person in the back cringes at her words.

“Your honor, it was a typical day at my business. I operate a deli downtown that is well known for its flavored meats and fresh breads. On the day in question the guy at the table over there entered my establishment appearing completely discombobulated and disheveled. The cashier working the front counter thought he appeared unsavory and requested I handle him before he reached the counter. Not wanting to put my employee through a potentially traumatic experience, I willingly stepped forward.

“The guy stumbled up to the counter and began to spout some gibberish. I calmly asked him what he wanted to order. He started getting louder and more belligerent. I maintained my composure and became flabbergasted when he started cursing at me and using profanities that were not appropriate for the environment of my family establishment. My confusion continued when he lunged at me and grabbed my blouse.

“It was at that point that I called to one of my employees in the back and asked them to contact the police. I then turned back to the guy and suggested he skedaddle before the officers arrived. He became erratic and started wildly gesticulating. He then proceeded to yell and scream at everyone in the dining area and wildly stomping towards the door. One of his feet caught a chair attached to the floor and fell. Before anyone could reach out to assist him up, the guy reached out to a promotional sign to pull himself to his feet. The frame was unable to hold his weight and it toppled on top of him as he fell a second time. He then stood up and lifted the frame from the floor. The sign was completely cattywampus in the frame. The guy staggered out the door before the police arrived.”

The charming corporate lawyer leans against the wall surrounding the witness stand. He looks out at the judge, his fellow legal team, the opposition, and the audience.

“Ms. Johnson, is that the last you heard from the gentleman that created such a disturbance in the deli?”

The witness shakes her head, causing the managed curls at the end of her bob haircut to bounce.

“No, not at all. About 18 days later I received a phone call from a law firm informing me that the deli was being sued for the medical costs incurred by the guy during the incident.”

The comfortably arrogant corporate lawyer struts back to his table and asks one final question with his back to the witness, as though asking it to the room at large. “What would paying those bill mean to the deli?”

Ms. Johnson sniffled slightly and pulled a convenient tissue from her sleeve cuff to dab at her eye. “The immediate costs would impact my plans for an expansion and damage investments in the employee retirement fund. If there were future medical payments required, it could eventually mean the shutdown of the deli itself.”

Another screech of wood on wood as the leader of the legal team sits down. “That is all I have for this witness.”

The judge looks from one lawyer to the Ms. Johnson and then to the single lawyer with his client. “Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?”

Without a sound, the solo lawyer stands up and adjusts his jacket. “Yes your honor, I do have some questions for this witness.”

He walks to the middle of the courtroom and stands with his hands cross in front of his waist. He turns his head slightly to look directly at Ms. Johnson. His eyes focusing into hers as he speaks. “You talked about the deli being your business, the employees being your employees, your plans for expansion. Do you own the Riverside Deli where this incident took place?”

From the opposing table one of the junior lawyers calls out. “Objection! The ownership of the deli has no relevance to this matter. It has no bearing on the circumstances of this case.”

The judge looks at the lawyer standing in the middle of the room before her. Without waiting for a question the lawyer responds. “The question has bearing on the validity of the witness's character and the accuracy of her statements about my client and the events that occurred.”

The judge nods, “I will give you some latitude but you must make it relevant quickly. Ms. Johnson, please answer the question.”

Ms. Johnson's voice is still strong but some of the confidence is gone from her tone. “ I don't own the deli, but I do manage it on behalf of the Miltons. In order to do my job effectively I have to consider every part of that business as mine. Every dollar in and out as though it comes from my personal wallet. Every employee is a member of my own family. That is how I manage the deli in order to make it the best possible business it can be.”

The lawyer stands still as he ponders the answer to his question. After a handful of heartbeats he asks another. “Did you plan on leaving court today feeling like you have bamboozled everyone here?”

Ms. Johnson blinks and all self confidence leaves her face. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“Any manager that invests themselves that much into operating a business owned by someone else would have to be a total nincompoop to not be aware of security cameras and their recordings.”

“When the police arrived we tried to look at the security footage. Something had corrupted the data and the video files were unrecoverable.”

The lawyer uncrosses his hands and places them behind his back. “Yes, the original security surveillance system did seem to have some odd occasions of corrupted data. That is why the owners, George and Liza Milton, installed a new wireless surveillance system they could monitor and record from anywhere, including their home. The same home they were sitting in when they happened to hear their beloved deli mentioned on the police scanner they have in the living room.”

The lawyer raises his hand and signals to one of the bailiffs. A large screen is rolled in with a DVD player and other electronic devices hooked up. The single lawyer pulls a flash drive out of his pocket and inserts it into a port on the DVD player. “Your honor, I would like to enter the following video recording into evidence.”

The judge nods and the lawyer presses the buttons required to play the surveillance recording. Multiple views from multiple cameras appear on the screen. Overhead angles of the deli's cashier stations, dining room, kitchen area, and manager's office. The unmistakable figure of Ms. Johnson can be seen sitting in the manager's office doing something on her smartphone. There are a few people in the dining room with all three people placing orders and others lined up behind them. The lawyer pauses the video and addresses the judge.

“This is mere seconds before my client enters the establishment. Please keep in mind the testimony that Ms. Johnson just gave regarding the actions of my client and her responses.”

All color and confidence flows from the witness's face as the video restarts and everyone on the screen unfreezes. A single figure, dressed differently than he is in the courtroom but recognizable, enters the deli and walks towards the cashier. He calmly and quietly steps in line behind a woman with a bulbous bouffant and a child standing next to her. The mother was paying more attention to her phone than the child.

The child can be seen looking up at its inattentive mother, then to the cashiers busy assisting other customers, and finally at the man now standing at the end of the line. The child glances to check his mother's view one more time. In one fluid motion the child balls up a fist, turns, and lands a blow in the patiently waiting man's groin.

A cashier had looked up just as the blow is landed and the man doubles over. The child just giggles as the man moans. His breath is rough as he tries to get the attention of the mother who just brushes his hand away from her sleeve. The cashier asks the customer she had been helping and steps away from the register. She can be seen moving in and out of multiple camera views hurrying to the manager's office.

“Ms. Johnson, there has been an incident. You need to come up front immediately.”

A deep sigh can be heard as the manager's shoulders rise and fall sharply. Without pausing in what she was doing on her phone, Ms. Johnson can be heard on the recording. Her voice containing none of the peace and friendliness

“Seriously? Do I have to do everything? Can't you peons handle the simplest of problems? Must I do all the thinking and fixing of your little pissant problems?”

“Ma'am, a child has assaulted another customer. I can see what me may want if you would rather get some ice.”

Ms. Johnson can be seen putting her phone down in frustration on her desk and standing up aggressively. “You get the ice. I can't allow you to give away the whole place because of one little love tap. Get the ice and don't screw it up.”

Ms. Johnson can be seen moving through the camera views as she marches to the front of the deli. She can be seen moving through the door that separates the employee area from the section customers are free to roam in. She takes one look at the man still catching his breath and standing in a stooped posture. Her voice is full of contempt and arrogance as she speaks.

“What has happened here?”

The man's speech is breathy and full of pain. “That child punched me. Hit me in the family jewels. I just had a vasectomy and that region is very tender.”

On the recording the attacked man can be seen pointing to the inattentive mother and assaultive child. Ms. Johnson looks in the indicated direction. She practically runs to the mother that still hasn't looked away from her phone. Everyone in the courtroom is shocked as Ms. Johnson gives the mentally absent mother a hug. The people on the screen freeze again as the lawyer once again pauses the playback.

“Ms. Johnson, would you please inform the court who that woman is to you?”

The witness stammers for a second before replying in a quivering voice. “She, she is my sister.”

“Then the child that injured my client would be?”

“My niece.”

The lawyer winks at his client and smiles. “With that cleared up, why don't we let the recording continue?”

Motion returns to the screen once again. Ms. Johnson's excited voice comes over the speakers. “Sister, what brings you to my restaurant today? And how is little Julie this week? Growing like a weed still I see.”

The mother, without looking up from her phone, replies, “Hey there sister. I was doing some shopping when Julian wanted some lunch and we thought you could give us something from your little place here.”

A giggle bubbles from the direction of the young attacker. Ms. Johnson looks down as the little girl giggles again and points in the direction of the her human punching bag. The cashier had returned with a bag of ice that the man was holding gently against his groin. A tiny voice happily says, “That man is silly.”

Ms. Johnson pats her niece on the head affectionately. “And what did the silly man do?”

More giggles. “He made a funny sound when I hit him. He acted like the people in the silly videos.”

The child's mother finally looks down at her offspring. “Dearie, you know you aren't supposed to do things like that.”

Ms. Johnson takes in the whole scene. With a huff she puts her hands on her hips. “Don't worry about it. I'll handle him. Maybe a free side or something will fix him up.”

The lawyer freezes the screen one final time. He nods to the bailiff who rolls the monitor out of the courtroom. “Now Ms. Johnson, I say again, did you plan on leaving here feeling like you bamboozled all of us?”

Thank you for giving this little impulse write a read.  Please let me know what you think here on the blog or at my Facebook page.

Delivery

Life has been hectic lately.  Basically, this is a quick and dirty story about a sword that has been in my head for a long time.  It also mentions the legend of Orion.  The legend isn't accurate, but I like to think it's a good one.

I never thought my hobby and job would come together so completely. Who would have thought working for a small package handling service and a passion for ancient weapons would come together in one fantastic event?

I work for a small company that handles packages that can't be trusted to the major corporations. It's a small market and our customers are few, but very loyal. The boss likes to call us “Logistics and transportation specialists.” Really, we are just delivery boys and girls for the rich and elite. It is not unusual for me to have ancient paintings, some fancy device for the kitchen nobody really needs, and a case of first edition novels in the van while I cruise down one interstate or another. There are some days I spend my entire shift waiting around the office/warehouse for something to transport. Since I get paid the same either way, it doesn't matter to me if I actually have to work or not.

When I'm not on the road, I spend my free time sifting through legends and old tales looking for descriptions of weapons. I have a sketchbook full of notes and drawings of swords, bows, staves, hammers, and anything else that could be wielded. I don't bother with average weapons carried by every-day soldiers. Just specific items featured in legends or used by legendary heroes. I have three different variations of the flute used by the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Excalibur takes up nearly the back half of the book due to the varying accounts of its description, some more reliable than others.

One legend, because it is so rarely told, is the one of the hunter, Orion. Many people know of the constellation of the Hunter. Almost nobody knows why he is there. In the ancient days, he was a hero that traveled from village to village. Orion defended them from monsters and bandits and showed the villagers how to hunt large prey for their meals. He would then leave the village with no reward or prize of any kind. While the details of his description and actions vary, one thing is constant between all the stories. His sword. Every legend from every village spoke of the same sword. Because of the way the blade “blossomed” at the tip and Orion's efficiency in ending combat with it, it was frequently called the Omega Rose.

I was called to the back warehouse to get a custom container and take it for a special delivery. The customer was paying extra to have the run made immediately instead of waiting for other items headed in the same direction. I walked into the warehouse and heard a very loud bang. Around a corner I see a new hire standing over a black case similar to a guitar case but longer laying on the ground. A narrow crack ran from one side of the case's top to the other. Because of the average value of the items we transport, any incident of damage to the outside of a package requires a call to the owner and an inspection of the contents for damages.

The customer had just left the office's parking lot so he was fine with turning around and coming back to inspect his package. He used a complicated key to unlock a retaining rod and opened the case. Nestled in custom cut padding was the finest and darkest blade I had ever seen. The metal was black with deeper black highlights weaving back and forth across the width. While the blade seemed to absorb all the light that struck it, the hilt and handle shined more than a spotlight. My eyes ran up and down the length of the blade a couple of times before my brain finally realized what I was seeing.

I glanced at the owner as he held the case open. My mouth was numb and dry as I tried to speak. “Is that... Could that really be...?”

Without looking away from his careful inspection of the sword, he replied. “Forged in a pit of Hell from a stone out of the heavens. Bane of every foe of the wielder. Not a weapon of mass destruction, but certainly a weapon massive death. Carried by Orion himself. It is indeed the Omega Rose.”

I blinked repeatedly as he spoke. A blade I had dreamed about numerous times was sitting in front of me. I was lightheaded and couldn't believe what was right there. “This has to be a replica. There's no way it could be the real thing.”

The owner only smiled. “If it's a replica, it's a very good one. I've had it my whole life. Had it weighed and the balance checked so I could make a practice sword that matched it. If I ever need to wield it again, I would be ready.”

I reached out towards the sword so I could prove to myself I wasn't imagining it. Before touching the smooth blade, I glanced at the owner and he simply nodded. The blade felt like nothing more than solid air. I slid my finger up and down the flat of the blade. I could feel the pressure of fingers on the metal, but there was no friction. I pulled my hand away and looked at my fingertips to make sure they were still real.

The owner slowly closed the case and replaced the retaining rod and lock. As everything clicked into place, I felt as though a bright part of my life was being shut away. “Everything looks fine. Honestly, the case is more to hide what the sword is than actually protect it. Anything that would damage that blade would probably leave massive piles of rubble behind anyway. Now, do I need to carry this to the truck or would you like to load it?”

“I....I'll take it for you. The destination should already be programmed into the truck's automatic GPS. Thank you for letting me carry this for you.” With that said, I grabbed the case by the handle and carried it to the loading door. Even though the blade of my dreams would be in a case a few feet behind me and not in my hands, this would still be the best three days of my life.

Are there any constellations you have wondered why they are the type of figures they are?

Technomancy

In many areas, high technology and magic use seem to be mutually exclusive.  The two contrast each other so much, rarely are the featured together.  There are some exceptions of course.  The Harry Dresden books by Jim Butcher is the first example to come to my mind.  However, this has magic as an underground ability that exists in the shadows of modern life.  In these books, technology fails to work around power magic.

What if this didn't have to be?  What if magic and technology could coexist?  Like any other tale of the modern world, this would include people trying to do wrong with their skills and abilities and others trying to find and stop the evildoers.

One of these days I will learn not to answer my phone when the caller ID tells me it is the local PD on the other end.  I have no problems with law enforcement and they don't have any problems with me.  It's the tremendous amount of work that always follows one of those calls and the torturous bureaucratic chain of hoops I have to leap through in order to get paid for that work.  I am grateful for the pay since my public service clients are just barely enough to cover my costs in a good month, but investigating and consulting for the Police is so much more involved than locating the occasional missing husband or lifting an ancient curse that may or may not have been placed on a household.

I get out of my own head as I get near the address Detective Anderson had given me.  It was impossible to pull up to the front door of the building through the array of Police cars parked up and down the block and the yellow Crime Scene tape strung across the sidewalk.  Instead, I park in an alley around the corner.  Getting out, I activate the alarm and wave my hand to activate the magical wards.  Like the alarm, the wards wouldn't stop anyone from stealing my car, but would notify me and any other magic user in the area if someone tried.  In that case, other little tricks and spells I had in place would help me track the thief and teach them a little lesson at the same time.  The additions I made weren't exactly factory approved and would void any warranty and insurance policies, but I fee; better with them in place.  With the car protected, I nod and turn towards the street and start walking to the officers guarding the yellow tape as though it is the most precious material in the world.

The officer sees me coming and makes sure I am aware he sees me.  When I get within a few steps, he tries to puff up but doesn't seem any more impressive.  He puts a hand out to stop me in my tracks.  "You will have to find a way around.  This is a crime scene and nobody is allowed to enter."

This guy must be new to the Force.  It doesn't take long for me to become known to any officer on the job for more than six months.  With the types of cases I get called for, none of them forget me after we have met.  I keep my hands behind my back and move my fingers in a familiar yet complicated sequence.  A mote of light nearly invisible in the bright sun of the day appears and floats behind me.  A quick mental command sends it quickly far above my head and over the officer in front of me.  Quicker than he could blink, the mote of light is behind him and in the building, seeking out the target I had sent it after.

I stop and stand before the officer with my hands behind my back.  I don't puff up like he did, but I know I can easily take care of myself if the need arises.  There is no need to look more impressive with the energies I have at my command.  "I won't be looking for another way around.  As a matter of fact, I will be walking past that tape and entering the building behind you in just a minute or two."

The officer is torn between confusion and confidence in his position.  He knows he shouldn't let anyone pass, but the authority in my words has him unsure about my identity as just a passing civilian.  Before his mind can settle itself, Detective Anderson comes up behind him and puts a hand on the officer's shoulder.  Despite its gruffness, his voice calmed the officer and his authority cleared up any confusion.  "Let her pass.  She is with me.  Also, learn her face, she will not be delayed any time she shows up at a crime scene."

The officer raises the crime scene tape above his head and gestures me through with a quick "Yes, sir."  I poorly hide my smile as I nod at him after ducking under the tape and walking towards the front door with the chubby detective.

Anderson shakes his head as we walk side by side.  "I keep telling you that you need to get yourself an official license.  Then we could avoid moments like this every time some rookie is on duty."

I no longer try to hide my smile and let it stretch across my face.  "We've done this enough times, you know I won't ever get a government-issued badge as PD Mage.  It would cause too many issues with my side projects.  I also don't like the idea of someone remotely watching every little spell I cast.  Besides, that rookie will remember me more now than if I had just flashed some fancy piece of metal."

Anderson's voice loses all of the authority it had when speaking to the officer.  "I know all of that.  I just want to avoid the need for you to use that damn little wisp thing.  It creeps me out every time it buzzes in and whispers your name in my ear.  Give me the shivers every single time."

I chuckle as another officer opens the doors in front of us and Detective Anderson and I enter a large lobby.  "It's a sprite, not a wisp.  You wouldn't want me to summon a wisp and send it in your direction, trust me."

Anderson doesn't appear to be relieved by my clarification.  "They are all creepy critters to me.  You can give me a detailed lesson later.  Right now, we need to discuss why you are here."

I look away from Anderson and take in the lobby around us.  My first impression was that we were in the front room of a classic theater.  It took me a moment to realize we were in a bank instead.  Velvet ropes on gold plated stands for herding customers to the counter in the middle of the space where tellers would normally be waiting.  A number of desks sit behind a short wall to one side.  A hallway extends to unknown recesses opposite the enclosed desks.  A single door sits in the wall behind the teller counter directly across from the front doors.  Two officers, one to each side, stand watching over the door.

"I'm guessing someone robbed the bank and you want me to help you figure out how."

"The how is fairly easy to figure out.  The bank's cameras caught the whole thing.  What we need your help with is the who."

"If the cameras caught everything, why do you even need my help at all."

"It's because of what the cameras saw that we need your help.  Just three figures walking through the lobby full of customers and past the open door to the vault.  There two of them stand and wait while the third one walks through the vault door."

"I'm still confused as to why you need me.  Cameras see the figures and a lobby full of people?  What is the mystery here?"

"On the cameras the figures are nothing more than white blurs.  Almost like walking blobs of static.  None of the customers or employees saw anyone at all.  None of them could give any kind of description because they couldn't see anyone at all."

"So your perps used an invisibility spell or artifact.  The people here would be unable to see them and the visual distortion would be projected to the camera system.  Only a practiced Viewer here at the time would be able to see them.  Well, what about when they opened the vault door?  Did they leave any fingerprints or DNA or anything?"

Anderson waves the officers away as he opens the door to the vault room.  "That's just it, the suspect didn't open the vault door.  He or she walked THROUGH it while it was still closed and opened it for their accomplices from the inside.  This despite a mild electrical current being run through it and layers of wards on each side."

You take a good look at the oversized round metal door and skim over the protective runes engraved on it.  "That does complicate things a bit.  I understand now why you called me."

What would you do if you could control both magic and technology?  Would you do good or evil?  Would you help people or keep your abilities to yourself?

All Alone

One common thread through all of humanity is the occasional desire to be alone.  Even the heartiest of party animals desires a moment now and then to collect their thoughts.  For some people, this desire is much more powerful.  They avoid society at large except when absolutely necessary.  In this instance, the desire to be alone seems to become extremely dominant.

I've always felt a little lonely.  Even when in a group of people, I was still by myself.  Out at the club, I could be found in a quiet corner sipping on the one or two drinks I would order all night long.  If I attended an "intimate" party at a friend's apartment, most of my time would be spent looking out the nearest window or conversing with the resident cat.  At the few concerts I could be convinced to go to, everyone else would be standing up and singing their throats raw while I would be quietly sitting in my seat checking my social media feeds.  Honestly, most people didn't even notice my presence or absence in these situations.  I go more to avoid any awkward questions than out of any actual desire to party, dance at a club, or sing along with a band.

This weekend I took a chance to be truly alone with myself for a change.  I packed up some supplies, requested a week off from work, and headed up into the mountains for some camping.  Nobody for miles around.  No cell phone signal to interrupt my thoughts with calls or alerts.  No traffic rushing by outside my window.  Just me and my thoughts.  It was ideal until I woke up with a view different than the one I had fallen asleep with.

Plains roll out before me instead of the mountains.  Small flowers have replaced the old-growth forest.  The blue sky seems the same, just a different shade of blue than I'm used to.  A few puffy clouds drift near the horizons, not close or large enough for me to imagine any interesting forms out of their wispy shapes.

It takes me a minute to realize the complete lack of noise.  No chirping birds.  No insects buzzing by.  No animals growling as they rustle through the underbrush.  Even the wind seems to be particularly silent in the trees.

I have the feeling that I am so alone that even the Earth itself is ignoring me.  For once in my life, I am truly comfortable.  If only there was some way to tell exactly where I am and how I got here in the first place.  I'm less concerned with being able to get home than I am with getting back here to decompress later.

If you had one place to be completely by yourself, how often would you go there and how long would you stay?

Guard Duty

Aspects of this story have been plaguing my mind for about half of my life.  While this particular scene takes place deep underground, I have a specific physical location in mind.  There are still many aspects of the story itself still missing, but I believe I have one major character and a starting location all sorted out.

I sit here on my throne, at least that's what I consider it. It's truly little more than a stone that happens to be the right height for me to sit on comfortably and offer my aged back some support. On cold days, I am not above placing a couple layers of skins on the seat. Just to keep the cold stone from sapping too much of my strength, not out of a desire for padding. My time here is one of duty, comfort has no place when discharging a responsibility.

Here, I watch. Here, I observe the happenings around the world. Here I sit and see all that is to be seen and contemplate how I would go about solving the problems of society. There are many things I could do to solve those problems. Things I could move. People I could assist. Other people I could eliminate entirely. So many things I could do to solve all the problems there are and everyone alive would be better off afterwards. However, I am not permitted to do so until the time is right.

Such are my orders. Orders that were given to me at the same time as the powers I now possess. Powers that are granted by the very crystal that I now watch over. Powers that would forever solve humanity's problems, if the person wielding them didn't mind becoming the subject of adoration of hundreds of thousands of people and the hatred of millions more. Such is the reasoning of those that instructed him when he first accepted his post. Now, he just sits and watches the world go by without acknowledging his existence. Just as he likes it.

Not for the first time, I look around this place that has been my home for far too many lifetimes to count. It is a large underground chasm with more open space inside that many cathedrals. My chair sits on a 10 foot high ledge at one end of it. Along each side in front of me is two rows of statues. Four of them to each side, all facing towards each other. The statues are of humans wearing majestic hooded robes. From the area the robes pool around their feet to the top of their hoods is easily 20 feet. The faces on the statues all appear similar, but I have looked each of them over enough times to know the differences between the individuals. To a casual observer, the different figures would appear to be close cousins. After such a long time in the company of these stone-faced individuals, I know how unrelated they really are.

On the floor of the cavern, between the statues, is the only source of light I have had for my entire time here. It is a giant crystal that shines bright enough that I think the sun would seem pale in comparison, should I ever see it directly again. This crystal was created by the people that assigned me to sit here and watch. The same people that made the statues that stand in observance with me around the crystal. They imbued the crystal with its power and created it to continue to collect power over time. For generations I have sat here and watched it gather the light energy of life itself. I will continue to do so until the timing is right and the power is ready to be released, however many more generations that will take.

Adventure of Your Choice

One of my favorite series growing up was the Choose Your Own Adventure books.  Stories I could read over and over, taking different routes and reaching different endings each time.  I mentioned them before in relation to Wil Wheaton reading them live online.

For some reason, I recently got the idea to try and write a story in a similar style.  Obviously, some adaption had to be made for the digital method of choosing story options instead of simply turning pages.  I hope you enjoy it.

You are the First Officer of an exploratory space vessel. You stand and look over the bridge and see the other five officers working at their stations. The Captain sits in his raised chair next to your position. The bridge is relatively quiet as the large display screen shows a map of nearby solar systems and the status of various ship systems. All power levels, environmental systems, and faster-than-light engines are all showing green and functioning properly.

The peace is broken by the communications officer speaking up. “Sir, we have an incoming communication. It appears to be a distress signal from a colony ship en-route to Tau Ceti. A malfunction took out their FTL drive and some of their environmental systems.”

Captain Hogarth issues commands in a clipped tone. “Navigation, plot the colony ship's location and put it up on the main screen. Communications, reply that we are on our way and get their registry and the number of people aboard. Also, relay the signal to any other ships in the neighborhood. We don't enough space to transport an entire colony's population.”

You look down at the Captain as the two officers acknowledge and execute their orders. “Should I alert the Medical Bay that we will have injured incoming?”

“Let's wait and see how many people are hurt and whether their own medical facilities are functional first. No need to get the doctors and nurses all hot and bothered for nothing. We should notify the Marines that they will need to gear up to board in unknown conditions.”

You nod at him and glance at the navigational display as the colony ship appears on it. Even with the FTL drive at full power, it will take just over two hours to reach the same region as the stranded ship, then another hour running on the sublight engines to get close enough to dock.

If you use the ship's interior communications system to contact the Marine squad, click HERE.

If you take the lift down to the crew quarters and notify the Marine Lieutenant directly, click HERE.

This post was challenging on two fronts.  It was fun writing a story that takes many paths because I didn't need to decide which direction a story should take, I could let it take all the directions that came to mind.  The other challenge was creating the different pages for the different choices and linking them all properly.  In all honesty, I may do this again if people like the format.

Are there any other directions you would like to see the story go?  Comment below what you think.

Universal Power

There have been so many cosmic powers given to different types of characters.  Different versions of Captain Marvel have had stellar abilities.  Spider-Man briefly became Captain Universe.  The residents of Oa, founders of the Green Lantern Corps, have abilities that are practically god-like.  Many gods themselves have had heroic tales told about them.  The majority of these powers could be considered to be at the "galactic" level of cosmic powers.  What if a an average person were suddenly given "universal" level powers?

I know everything.  The bindings between electrons of different atoms are a breeze to calculate.  The secrets of gravity are but a plaything to me now.  I can also see everything.  I can tell what Heisenberg postulated was impossible.  I can watch as as galaxies collide and planets collide into rubble.  I can see life forming in the deepest recesses and intelligence developing in the light.  I can see how time flows and know how truly easy it is to move back and forth in the stream.  Normally, a person might be surprised to suddenly having the knowledge of everything that is and ever was.  I was comforted by one more thing I knew.  In addition to waking up knowing everything there is to know in all of existence, I also know why I've been given this knowledge.  I have been tasked with saving the universe.

Every few eons, as measured by our traditional meager human methods of tracking time, two great powers rise in the universe.  One is bent on manipulating every fiber of every type of energy for its own benefit.  If someone or something will not comply, it is destroyed without any further thought.  The other power prefers to let all life and existence continue on without any influence at all.  When the two powers rise, they come together and have a contest to determine which one shall maintain control of all existence for the next few eons.

Since the powers cannot influence the universe with their combat, the powers each select a handful of lifeforms and imbue them with the knowledge and abilities required to combat those selected by the other side.  Knowledge nearly as expansive as the powers themselves posses.  Awareness beyond that which any human scientist could ever even dream of.  Enhanced strength and the ability to survive in the vacuum of space.  Imagine The Incredible Hulk, Superman, Mister Terrific, and Sherlock Holmes all rolled into one powerful superhero.  Then multiply that by about a quadrillion and you might get close to a small inkling of what I've been given.

With the entire universe being at stake, a simple game of darts or one-on-one isn't going to be sufficient.  Instead something akin to an intergalactic obstacle course is established.  Tasks are assigned that require a combination of the newly gifted abilities and some of the organic intuition and creativity that is required in the short life of a mortal being.  Imagine a puzzle style video game where one level is altering atoms to create an element with specific magnetic and conductive properties and the next is is positioning planets and moons in a solar system in order to achieve balanced orbits around the central star.  Unfortunately, getting a Game Over means more than just having to load the last save point.

Even with all my new knowledge, I have no clue how long this competition is going to take.  I also don't know which team I'm on.  Should I help or hinder any fellow competitors I come across?  How can I tell if we are on the same or opposing sides?  Given what I know of the powers that are in competition, is this even a contest I want to win?

If you had the power to do anything, absolutely anything, how would you use it?  Would you achieve some personal goal or do something for the betterment of humanity?

Journalist's Journal

The government is always releasing information and reports.  So many people review these pages, it's doubtful any part of the original writing is left when it reaches the public view.  What if there was an ongoing event that the public was clamoring to hear about?  Who would write about what was happening?  I couldn't help but wonder how someone would record their thoughts about what was going on outside of the reports they knew would be seen and edited by government officials.

I have decided to keep this journal because more of the story needs to be told than is in the public record. Recent events have filled headlines across the country for weeks. Rampant violence in city streets. The central neighborhoods of small towns razed to the ground. It seemed to happen all over the country at once. Within a matter of weeks, Governors from nearly every state were dispatching their National Guard troops and requesting help from the Military.

The Federal Government sent troops to aid the local agencies. The President, in an attempt to improve her public image, hired a number of civilian writers to embed with the troops in the streets. My entire responsibility was to write down what I saw so it could be reported from a civilian point of view instead of some government mouthpiece. The idea was to appear more transparent than many previous administrations. Since everything I write is filtered through the high muckety mucks before it is released to the public, their activities are as transparent as a brick wall.

One part of the official statements that I have an issue with is the comments that the incidents are being contained. How can you contain something without knowing what is causing it? I was filing a report in the communications tent when I overheard an officer on the radio. Some scientists at a lab had failed, again, to locate the exact cause of the change in people. I'm not a doctor so I didn't completely understand everything that was said, but I did manage to catch a few words. Neurons, degradation, and adrenaline all stuck in my head as important to the conversation. It took longer than normal for me to process and flag my report. I intentionally delayed things so I could hear more of the conversation than I should have. While I didn't understand everything, I was able to determine that nobody had any kind of control over the situation.

Yesterday was my first encounter with people influenced by whatever is happening. I know none of this will make it to the public, but I have to record it anyway. I was put with eight soldiers to patrol an abandoned neighborhood. All of them were armed with machine guns, I was equipped with only my pen and a notepad. An APC carted us and a few other soldiers into the town. Our assigned patrol was the closest to the camp that is our headquarters, so we were the first group to unload. Once the APC was a couple of blocks away, everyone's attitude relaxed considerably. We weren't on an official military patrol, we were a bunch of friends chatting and strolling down the street. Jokes were passed around and cigarettes were lit. Everyone with a gun had it hanging loose with the safeties on. Nobody was ready for any kind of action. That's why we were all struck so hard by the ambush.

I don't know if the pack had planned the attack or we happened to walk into them as we rounded a corner. Either way, two of the soldiers were severely injured before we fought back. I dropped to the ground and kept my eyes open to see as much as I could. It was my first time to see what we were really up against. My first chance to see what the reports I had been writing and filing were truly about. My first view of what all of this was about.

As the attackers came at us, my first impression was one of a group of sweaty bodybuilders. Muscles rippled over muscles. Pecs flexing and pressing through tank tops and t-shirts. Calve and thighs busting the seams of tiny shorts. Skin stretched almost to the breaking point. Meaty hands swinging at the helmeted heads of the soldiers. Inhuman roars came from the attackers' mouths as they charged at us. These beasts were the embodiment of everything dark in the human soul wrapped in a bulky flesh. This is what the government says it has control over. The soldier that had his arm ripped off by one of the attackers might disagree with that. Fortunately, we managed to kill all of the animals before any one of our group was killed. It was a long walk back to the rendezvous point with the APC. The soldiers were all quiet, except for the occasional groan from the man with the shattered thigh bone that was leaning on my shoulder as we moved through the streets. A pair of medics treated the most severely injured soldiers on the way back to headquarters. Once there, I was given a packet of data from the other patrols to integrate into my report. I put the raw information in with some of the impressions I got from the attack I saw with my own eyes. I knew that not all of what I had to say would make it to the public. However, I added a few things that probably wouldn't make it past the censors just in case.

Weeks went by and I wasn't sent out on any more patrols. I was able to speak with soldiers as they came back. Many of them were injured. From what they told me, they had been attacked like the group I had been with. It did seem like fewer and fewer soldiers were coming back injured. There was no way for me to be able to tell if it was because there were fewer attackers or the soldiers were just more aware. Either way, word around the camp was that we would be moving along before too long. I was having lunch with a particularly lovely female soldier when she mentioned the duration of her orders. Apparently, their mission here was to eliminate all of the “infected subjects” before moving on to the next town and do it again. Lather, rinse, kill, repeat. With me as the happy writer telling everyone what was happening in the best light possible.

Would you want to know the truth behind an ongoing tragedy or are you fine with knowing only what someone else wants you to know?

Waking the Dead

I recently saw a picture of a unique headstone.  The epitaph engraved in the stone got the gears in my mind whirring.  While I haven't done a zombie story before, I thought I might give one a try.  Sort of.

There was no way of knowing anything like this would happen.  Although, looking back, it should have been kind of obvious.  I had gone in for my annual employee-mandated physical.  The doctor declared me alive and fit enough to continue working.  All of my vital signs were good and the tests they ran on my blood all came back just fine.

The company paid for a catered lunch for everyone.  It was largely a bribe to make sure we all showed up for our physicals.  It was also a chance for the company to have a captive audience while someone read off all the announcements they wanted to make us aware of.  Of course, hardly anyone paid any attention.  We had already received these important announcements in emails, through notices in the break room, and in our weekly meetings with our supervisors.  Everyone just kept on eating and talking to each other while some poor soul droned on about safety initiatives and corporate goals achieved.  In more than 15 years with the company, I can gladly say I don't think I ever heard a single word that was said by the announcer at these lunches.

This year something new finally happened.  The corporate speaker said the doctor's office that had just finished with us had a request to make.  A young and attractive nurse walked up to the stage at the front of the conference room where the lunch had been served.  She said that a research lab had recently been approved to test a new flu vaccine on humans.  Since all of our basic health statistics was now on file, the doctor was offering $200 to anyone that wanted to be a test subject for this vaccine.  I figured I would go for it.  I just had to get a small needle in my arm and I would have plenty of money for beer at the bar without my wife complaining about me dipping into our grocery fund.  Why not, what could go wrong?

For the first few days, everything was fine.  I didn't feel any different.  Just my normal self with the normal aches and pains of a normal life.  Until the day I woke up in the morning with pain in my toes.  It almost felt like my toenails were trying to slice into my toes themselves.  At the same time, my toe bones were trying to press themselves out from the inside.  Fortunately, this lasted less than two minutes.  At first, I figured it was just a cramp or something.

Over the next couple of weeks, the pain spread from my toes and up through my body.  It was enough to wake me up each morning, but didn't last long enough to have any impact on my day.  My wife kept urging me to go see our doctor.  As long as I could keep working and hanging out at the bar after my shift, I wasn't going to bother.  What harm could a little bit of pain do anyway?

My wife finally got her way and I went to see a doctor when the pain reached the top of my legs.  For about three minutes I just laid in bed.  I probably could have moved my legs, but I didn't want to because of the sheer amount of pain coming from them.  Every muscle was irritated by the skin around it and the bones underneath it.  The bones were being squeezed and compressed by my muscles.  My skin seemed to be outraged by everything and wanted to let me know about it.

Even though I had called my family doctor, not the corporate one that did my physical, right away, his first appointment wasn't until three that afternoon.  Just like all the other days, the pain had faded shortly after I woke up.  There was nothing for my doctor to detect.  He still gave me a full examination to be sure.

A few days after that, I woke up with pain from my shoulders down. I carefully rolled over to look for support from my wife.  She wasn't there.  She had called the doctor before I would wake up.  He was coming into my room as I laid there, curled up in the fetal position.  Every part of my chest screamed in agony at me.  The doctor did as much of an examination as he could with me in a tight little ball.  He did manage to draw some blood despite my immobility.  After a few moments, like every other day, the pain faded and I was able to continue with my day.

The day after that was the most painful morning of my life, literally.  Every part of my body was screaming in pain.  My hair trapped between my head and the pillow was quivering in agony.  My earlobes burned with the sound of my very heartbeat.  My eyes burned as though I was staring at the sun, even with them closed.  I would have screamed but my lungs hurt too much to expel the air necessary.

My wife called an ambulance and our doctor.  She came into the bedroom in a worrying fit as I was about to pass out from the pain.  I barely managed to roll over and look at her.  As my mind started to retreat into darkness to escape the extreme agony, I managed a slight grin and whispered to her, "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

Unfortunately, the ambulance didn't arrive before my escape into the darkness became a complete retreat.  They declared me dead.  A funeral was held a couple of weeks later.  I can only guess it was a beautiful ceremony since I wasn't exactly in a position to see it myself.  Per our agreement before we were married, my wife had my final words to her engraved on my headstone.  It is probably one of the more unique phrases in that particular cemetery.  It is much more memorable than the typical "Beloved son and father." or "Loved by all."

I have no way of knowing how long I was in the coffin.  I just know that I was suddenly awake and aware.  None of the progressively expanding pain that had plagued me near the end of my life.  Just a sudden sense of being awake and in darkness.  A lot of darkness.

I felt above me and pushed against the lid of my coffin without realizing I was in one.  I sat up and looked around.  I should have been in a panic and freaking out about waking up in a coffin above the ground of a cemetery.  I was a little surprised at how calm I was feeling about it all.  I realized two things at about the same time.  First was that my body was oddly intact for someone that was in a coffin.  The second was that I couldn't tell if it was early morning or late afternoon since both horizons glowed as though the sun was just out of view.  Apparently something very interesting had just happened.

Zombies have been the mindless villains of so many stories, why not have one as a hero?  On a side note, is there a unique phrase or quote you want on your headstone?

Night Walkers

Finishing up NaNoWriMo and entering the holiday season ended up being more of a one-two punch than expected this year.  I managed to achieve the 50,000 word goal for November, but there is still a lot of story to tell.  With this in mind, I needed to clear a little space in my head after my daily walks brought me by a nearly abandoned church.  The crooked bell and weather-worn walls lit a spark in my head that grew as I considered what teh building may be used for and why.

The irony of the situation is not lost on me. Here I am. The son of a preacher, excommunicated from his father's religion for a multitude of sins, cowering in a church. I am huddled in a corner of the fellowship hall seeking a night of safety and sanctuary. All I want is a night of peaceful rest without fear. Without having to worry about what is going to kill me before the sun rises in the morning. Is that really too much to ask? These days, it seems so.

Nobody knows exactly when the beasts first appeared or where they came from. Some say they are a failed experiment from Area 51. Others say they have been here since humanity was young, just lurking in the shadows until the time was right. Still others say the beasts are the result of people consuming too many GMO foods and artificial flavorings. Regardless of where they came from, these damn vampires have gotten completely out of control.

None of the books or movies had it right. At least, not as far as this reality is concerned. These vampires didn't live in remote castles kidnapping beautiful women to add to their harem. They don't have secret societies that work with governments to rule the world. They most certainly don't sparkle in the sunlight. Forget about Holy ground. Cemeteries don't even slow these vampires down and churches are just as good for hiding in as any other building with doors and solid walls.

Sunlight is another thing they books and movies got wrong. These vampires don't burn to ash when walking around in the daylight. They will sunburn faster than a nerdy redhead on a Bahama beach, but it's not as lethal as the stories used to say. Crosses are completely useless and garlic only makes their breath smell bad. Honestly, since these suckers eat the flesh and meat of living people, the garlic might actually make their breath smell better. Finally, wooden stakes. Driving one through a vampire's heart is definitely lethal, but only because it would kill any complex living being. If you wanted to, you could use a metal stake, a plastic one, or even a long bone sharpened enough. The hard part was finding the heart. I nearly died five times before out they have their heart more to the right side and behind other organs in their chest, as opposed to human's anyway. Fortunately, stabbing them enough times in the chest is still lethal, if you can survive the fight long enough.

While the old information about vampires and their weaknesses may have been wrong, there is one thing that is correct. Their appetite. A single vampire will attack with its claws and teeth, going for the throat first. If successful, the beast will drink up as much of the blood as it can while its victim thrashes around. Once the blood stops flowing, the vampire will begin eating into the flesh and muscle. It is easy enough to fight off a single vampire's attack. Maybe even possible to survive two or three. It's the packs of five or six, or more, that are impossible to survive. That many teeth and claws all attacking at once make a person into a gory mess rather quickly.

The sun set a couple of hours ago. While the vampires can survive the daylight, their sensitivity tends to cause them to move at night. Entire packs will leave whatever cave or house they have sheltered in and roam around in the pale moonlight. Despite the number of walls between me and the outside and the lack of windows in this hall, I'm pretty sure I can hear a small pack moving around right now. It may only be a figment of my imagination, but it is enough for the hairs on my neck to stand on end as I tuck myself further into the corner.

So, here I sit. A man that had been kicked out of a church for drinking, doing drugs, frequenting brothels, and busted in a child pornography ring, hiding in a church from legendary monsters that don't fit the legends. A member of the species once considered the very top of the food chain trying to avoid being eaten by horrid, ravaging monsters by cowering in a peaceful house of worship. All I want is to wake up from a good night's sleep.

Did that sound like the front doors opening to anyone else?

Have you ever spent time in an abandoned building?  What kind of place was it and what did you do there?

In The Mind

As much as we may wish, or even need, it to be so, not everything in life is bright and shiny.  There are many dark aspects of the human psyche and condition.  People that wish harm on others and have no fear regarding the consequences of their actions.  They treat others as mere objects because that is their view of existence.  For some reason, the urge to write about the views from the inner mind of a psychopath has risen in me.  I have started a file of notes and a few sentences to clear the clutter from my own mind.

I sit here watching all of these figures passing me by. Going here and there on their usual daily tasks. A man in jeans and a torn shirt yammering away on his phone. A woman in a pantsuit walking quickly in the direction of the business district. A couple strolling hand-in-hand as they enter the coffee shop. A father pushing twins in a double stroller towards the park, glancing between his watch and the sidewalk in front of him. So many going from place to place, living their tiny lives. All of them beneath me. All of them merely fodder for me to use or not as I see fit. Soon I will be choosing which of them live and which will die.

I need to find someone of a type I haven't experienced before. I need to continue expanding my knowledge of the human condition. In order to do that, I need a broader variety of humans on which to perform my tests. I have a good idea on how much pain most people can withstand before passing out. Maybe I should find myself a more athletic type of person. Perhaps the additional muscle tone and cardiovascular fitness may extend their endurance. It is also possible their conditioning has increased the sensitivity of their nervous system, causing them to succumb to the pain more quickly. I do think a number of athletic subjects will be required to test this theory. It will take a number of months to determine if there is any difference between someone that is simply fit and a bulkier bodybuilder type of physique when it comes to pain tolerance.

 Of course, the additional bulk may make disposing of the wastes after my tests are done more difficult. I will keep this in mind as I choose the methods of introducing the pain and how it is administered to the subject's body.  My usual disposal sites still had some room left.  However, I may have to do something to minimize the bulk of the waste in order to keep the sites tucked away.  If my waste sites are eventually discovered, there is nothing in them that would lead any investigators to me.  I just really don't like having to find new places to dispose of the trash after my experiments are done.

I've never tried a mystery or thriller story before.  If I develop this further, I may have each chapter alternate between the killer's point of view and a narrative about the police investigation.

Off The Wall

Nursery rhymes have been around as long as parents have been putting children to bed.  The stories of Mother Goose and the Brothers Grimm to send the little ones off to dreamland.  For the most part, unchanged for generations upon generations.

When I put my sons to bed, I tell them these classic tales.  With a little twist of my own.  The other night I did this very thing with Humpty Dumpty.  This time, he was pushed.  Sort of.

Once upon a time there was a kind and intelligent accountant.  He had a round face and figure.  Some would call his shape a dumpty one.  With his pale complexion, many people thought of him as closely resembling an egg.  This didn't prevent many of them from trying to get him to crack under the pressure of keeping their complicated accounts and transactions straight.

What none of his clients or friends realized, was a secret he kept tucked away in his inner core.  He guarded it like a mother hen guards her young.  He only practiced his dream hobby in the darkness of his basement.  Nobody else could see him.  Nobody else could hear him.  This is how he practiced his dream.  This is where he would rap.  His used his hip-gyrating moves and beat to give himself a nickname, Humpty.

His outer existence as a quiet accountant and his hidden life as a rapper remained utterly separate.  Until he had a few too many free samples as a citywide Oktoberfest beer party.  With such small amounts from each brewer served in the tiny cup, he didn't realize how much he had consumed until he was standing unsteadily on the wall next to the main stage.  A microphone in his hand and every eye of the festival on him.  With all the liquid courage in him, Humpty Dumpty decided to make his private hobby public.

Humpty laid down his best rhymes.  He whipped out his best moves.  He let the beats flow like water over Niagara Falls. Everyone at the party watched him in stunned silence.  Finally, as Humpty was catching his breath for a moment, someone else climbed onto the wall.  It took Humpty a minute to recognize the face of the infamously famous King of Hip-Hop.  At the base of the wall we his entourage.  His friends were affectionately called The King's Men, while his bodyguards were called The King's Horses.  Humpty now faced the most elite crew in the country.  It was at that moment The King challenged Humpty to a rap battle.

Words flew back and forth.  Each contestant stepped closer to the other as their rhymes collided over the heads of everyone in the crowd.  Subtle comments and outrageous insults slashed into the ego of each one of them.  The audience cheered when one side or the other dropped a line that cut particularly deep.  They booed and hissed when a verbal attack was so weak it was shrugged off with a grimace.

The competitors finally met in the middle of the wall face-to-face.  Humpty threw some words that hit The King directly.  The King struck back so fiercely that Humpty was physically knocked back.  The King kept flinging phrases that forced Humpty to step further and further back.  The King unleashed one final rhyme that literally knocked Humpty off of his feet.  Humpty fell from the wall.

He landed in a heap on the ground.  His arms bent in an unnatural angle.  His legs bent in ways no human should be capable of bending any of their appendages.  The King's Horses and Men rushed to offer some First Aid.  Unfortunately, none of them knew anything about anatomy or treating wounds.  They were unable to help Humpty with any of his broken bones.  All of them tried, but none of them was able to assist.  Finally, an EMT crew arrived and loaded Humpty Dumpty on a stretcher.

After months of healing and time spent rehabilitating, Humpty went back to work at his accounting firm.  His rap equipment left collecting dust in the basement.  He now spent too much time handling the accounts and transactions for the one and only King of Hip-Hop.  He let the numbers flow and the balances rhyme on the sheets.  He was finally happy with the combination of his public face and formerly private hobby.

I have always wondered one thing about the Humpty Dumpty nursery tale.  Who ever said Humpty was an egg in the first place?

Demons Rising

For an eternity, I've been meaning to write the story about a world in which Demons are hunted and contained.  Ideas for this story crop up at random moments.  During work.  While eating dinner.  Laying down for a quiet evening.  Driving down the highway.  Rarely at a time I have the tools at hand to put words on the page.  Now I think it's time to try to advance the tale a little further.

It's been a decade since the first hole to Hell opened in the farmer's field.  Other portals have appeared in other locations.  All of them on the ground, but not all of them in areas as open as the first.  School children celebrated as their school fell into a chasm, then ran in fear as beasts began to emerge.  City traffic, an entire freeway, had to be diverted when a support for an overpass fell below the surface of the Earth.

In all, 182 gaping portals opened between the Earth and whatever world the Demons came from.  13 gigantic chasms in various locations around the world with 13 smaller holes around each one.  From constant monitoring it was revealed that size did matter.  Smaller demonic imps and figures crawled from the smaller holes, while titanic, horrific, monstrous beasts erupted from the larger holes.

Over the decade that passed, many technologies were lost.  The Demons tore down cell towers in their rampages.  Power plants were irreparably damaged.  Corporate headquarters fell to the ground as the office buildings that housed them were toppled by demonic claws and extreme strength.  Humanity was pushed back nearly to the Iron Age of civilization.

However, at the same time a new "technology" was developed.  It was discovered by accident that the Demons were susceptible to certain minerals placed in a specific lattice structure.  Crystals.  The Demons could be fought and trapped in crystals.  In this aspect, size didn't matter.  A demon of any size could be captured in a crystal small enough to fit in the palm of a person's hand.  All that was required was someone brave and strong enough to get close enough to a Demon to touch them with the crystal.  This was easily accomplished where the smaller imps were concerned.  Trapping one of the larger Demons was much more difficult.  This is how the Hunters came to be.

What do you think a side effect of approaching the Demons could be?  Should the Hunters have extra abilities or just be gutsier than an average person?  Comment and let me know.

A Dark Beginning

A story that has been stuck in my head for a long time takes place in a world that is battling and capturing demons.  Demons that cause chaos and confusion by possessing people and influencing them for their own foul intentions.  I have posted about this story idea before, although I haven't really worked out much of the tale itself.

Here, today, I have worked on something that could possibly be the emergence of the world in which the story takes place.

The legend had been passed on for generations. Fathers had told it to their children at bed time. Bards had entertained taverns full of drunks with songs based on the tale. Scribes had copied endless books whose pages were filled with the words of the legend. Everyone knew the story of the legend, even if they didn't always agree on the details. The legend continued to live on far longer than anyone that had taken place in the event that inspired it. Still, the story continued to be told and passed from generation to generation.

Like many great stories, big and small, this legend began in a tavern after a few drinks. A group of companions from a distant land had stopped for a hot meal and good night's rest. How many in the group and where they came from varied from telling to telling. They were just finishing their dinner and contemplating climbing the stairs to their rooms when a local farmer burst through the door. His hair was singed and his clothing had oddly shaped burn marks on it. He was coated in sweat despite the cool night air. He uttered one single word before collapsing on the floor. This word remained the same, regardless of who was speaking the legend.

“Hellfire!”

The waitress, who was also the farmer's wife, dropped her tray of tankards and hurried to his limp form on the floor. With patience and a calm that was exceptional at the time, she checked him for injuries and began belting out demands. She ordered a handful of regular customers to their home to check on her children. Two others she sent to the village apothecary for specific herbs to treat her husband's burns.

This wasn't the season for travelers so there were a number of empty rooms in the inn above the tavern. With a look at the building's owner standing behind the bar, the waitress nods upward. Her eyes pleading as her lips contain the fearful screams and mournful groans she wants to release. He gives a nod of acknowledgment. She grabs the hand of the largest man in the tavern and asks him to help her move the unconscious form of her beloved husband. The two of them carefully transport the farmer upstairs to an empty room and lay him down on the bed. There, the wife continues her treatments as the medicines she requested arrive.

The men sent to the farm return to the tavern s the wife finishes her ministrations and collapses in a nearby chair. She waits patiently and watches for any changes in his condition as the rest of the story unfolds in the large room beneath her. The different versions of the legend vary in regards to the exact words used to describe what the group found at the farm. However, they all agree on the general conditions at the farm.

The farmer's plow lay on its side, charred and broken. All that remained of the plow horse was the back half of a smoking skeleton and the foul smell of burned flesh in the air. The front half of the animal had vanished down a deep chasm that dropped far below the turned soil. The pit had opened in front of the farmer as he prepared his land for the planting of his crops.

The walls of the pit glowed with shifting and moving reds and oranges. As though they were made of living flames. The bottom of the pit couldn't be seen. Just more menacing light the further down one looked. One of the villagers tossed a rock into the pit in order to listen for it to hit bottom and gauge its depth. There was no answering crack of stone on stone. Instead, a bestial roar echoed up and caused the villagers to all leap back from the edge of the pit. All of this was relayed by the breathless folks that had been tasked with investigating the farm. Their words mingling as the tale moved from mouth to mouth.

Days passed. The farmer remained in a deep slumber despite his wife's nursing. He neither improved nor weakened. His burns were slow to heal, but showed no signs of infection. The hole in the field was being watched over constantly. There were only two changes in the field. A cloud of smoke began to emerge from the depths of the pit. Over time the smoke thickened and darkened. What, at first, was faint white wisps evolved into a thick column of black so dark it seemed to suck in all the light around. The smoke could be seen at night. Its darkness being so much deeper than a moonless sky.

The other change was a matter of sound. The initial roar that sounded after the rock was tossed in started a reaction. Numerous guttural growls and grumbling roars followed. As the days wore on, the number of voices and volume of each increased. Mixed in with the beastly sounds were occasional words and phrases. Nobody, not even the village scholar, was able to interpret the language being spoken.

At midnight of the 6^th day, something finally happened. A hand the size of a cart wheel with sharp ebony claws and rippling skin slammed down on the rim of the pit. A second clawed hand quickly appeared next to it. A roar louder than any heard before accompanied the emergence from the smoke of a head that could only be described as demonic. As the rest of the beast's body rose from the cavernous pit, numerous impish figures quickly scampered to the surface around the large figure. The imps chittered to each other as the demon rose to a height more than the largest house in the village. The beast stretched and took in its surroundings.

According to the legends, the injured farmer's eyes opened the same instant the hand slammed against the ground. His wife had been checking his bandages when she saw his eyelids flutter open. She would always insist that the eyes of the man she had fallen in love with were different in that moment. They seemed to glow with a light that defied the darkness outside. A pure light, of the clearest white. A clarity that she never knew could exist.

He sat up, the light from his eyes giving his face a faint glow. Once more, all the tellings of the legend agree on what words he spoke. “The war has begun.”

Where things go from here and how I introduce the rest of the inhabitants of this world will wait until another time.

Just Go Away

Reality has been particularly insistent lately.  My time to write and work out ideas has been at a minimum.  Reddit has been a periodic escape and source for stories.  This is one writing prompt that caught my eye and sparked a creative fire.

I had been given many pieces of advice. Different methods and techniques for taking care of my problem. No two of them the same, but many of them similar. Simple words for an issue that was anything but simple. Not a single one of them actually worth my time to try them. Partially because none of those offering advice had truly had the experiences I had. None of them had been experiencing my difficulties for as long as I had, despite each of them pretending to be “experts.”

It all started when I was quite young. My parents both came from money. They were constantly going to charity events, visiting other towns and countries for holiday. I saw my nannies and tutors more than my parents. It was only during my late teen years that I learned the term “trophy child” and how well it applied to me. I had everything a kid could want, except other kids to play with. I had every expensive toy and all of the latest electronic equipment. It was all mine. I didn't have anyone to share any of it with, even if I wanted to.

Then one day Edward appeared. Not Eddie or Ed. It was always to be Edward. He would help me decide what to play with in the mornings after breakfast and early lessons. The two of us would high-five when achieving an accomplishment in one of my video games. We ohhed and ahhhed when we found my father's hidden stash of naked women magazines. Edward helped me fill the silence of the large, empty house when my parents were away and I had outgrown the need for nannies. He knew all my secrets and I had all of his stored away. We were inseparable. He was my best friend and the only person that would listen to me.

He was the only kid I knew from the day he appeared until I was in my late teens. I was at home working on a project with my science tutor when the call came in. My parents were returning from a ski trip in Aspen. A freak weather front knocked their plane out of the sky. I was now a very rich orphan.

Edward was standing behind my chair, supporting me during their funeral. He helped me fill the silence of the He sat patiently in the waiting room while I attended a seemingly endless string of appointments with counselors trying to help me. He comforted me as I hurled endlessly in the toilet after getting into my parents' liquor cabinet. Edward and I discussed it first and we both realized they couldn't punish me for breaking their rules any more.

The two of us kept each other going until I had to start interacting with other people in the outside world. I was nearly 25 before I decided to seek out more people. My tutors had all completed their contracts. The nannies were long gone. Without my parents, there was only Edward and me. Two people were not enough to make a life.

I hit a few nightclubs. I went to a number of youth centers. Indoor rock climbing, miniature golfing, movie release parties. Over time, I started to form a core group of friends. Some of them had known each other their entire lives, but this was all new to me. Edward had started to tell me that this was a mistake. With more than one person, he was correct. For the most part, socializing had improved my life.

There was only one thing I had to do. It was finally time. I had to remove Edward from my life. With friends now, they were doing all of the things that Edward used to do with me. He no longer had a role. It was now the time to take everyone's advice, even if I had to choose my own method to do it.

I stood up and looked Edward right in the eyes. In my strongest voice I said these simple words to him, “You don't exist. Go away.”

With that, Edward was a memory. Just a past figment of my imagination.

Who was your childhood imaginary friend?  Did they just fade out one day or were you forced to banish them?