Tag: story

  1. My Final Moments as God

    It is quiet and still now. I feel a great calm spread through me; a chill extending from my core in a gentle humming wave out to my finger tips. My breathing is deep and the only thing I can hear.


    The great expanse before me is a chalkboard. I can remember chalkboards covered in lines and symbols. It all seemed so exciting then: the discovery, the sense of progress. We were taking the universe and breaking it down to its basest forms, and then building it back up again. There were real answers, then. Solutions. Outcomes just waiting to be found, like childhood games of hide and seek.

    Her name was Jane, and she was my first friend. She lived a couple or so houses up the street. We used to play tag, insofar as only two children can play tag, and hide and seek. Hide and Seek. We weren't very good at it then, hiding behind the same tree every time. I'd come around the trunk and she'd squeal as though it was the most surprising and delightful thing in the world that I should find her there. Two feet from where we started, behind the only tree.


    She moved away when I was seven. She's probably out there somewhere right now, in the huge green and blue dot right in the center of my chalkboard. I hope that she is. I hope that, despite all odds, one of the photons hitting my eye from the middle of that vast green blob bounced off her. I'm sure it did. I can feel it.


    I feel a jostling as my blob rattles from side to side. I can't tell anymore if that's the calamity's doing or the air supply, but it appears to steady.

    I don't want to turn my head, but I would if I could, and I'm glad that I can't. I don't want to see them strapped next to me and still. Already cold. Together forever, I'm alone.


    The calamity shakes me again more roughly, but it does nothing to shake my calm. I am beyond the calamity, above it.

    Those of the green, when they spoke to me, warned me of the coming of the Calamity. They told me of His effects, and His way. They could do but talk, and so they were silenced.

    They put me here, in His path, but it was not their fault. They are forgiven.


    As He shakes me harder and harder I raise one mighty gloved hand and blot out the entirety of Southern America. I wave my second hand through the Atlantic and feel the water run through my fingers. I can feel the tides lapping against them, the ebb and flow of a sharp numbness. I grab a handful of soil and turn it over in my hand and can feel the sun beating down on me during a hot summer afternoon. The bright light shining through the sparse leaves on the trees warming me to my core as I turn and look towards its light. The earth in my hands a moist clay causing my hands to dampen as I squeeze it into my palm. I've never squeezed anything so hard as this.

    Summer gives way to a crisp fall evening, Halloween, which is always colder than you prepared for. I'm shivering in my costume as I look out into the night sky, look towards the stars, and the taste of a single juicy apple floods my mouth causing cold juice to run down my chin. I've never tasted anything so sweet as this.

    It's shaking me so hard now I can barely see and the chalk stars are drawing their lines along the blackboard carving out symbols and patterns I don't have time to understand but I wish I did. I've never been more alone than this and I'm shaking so hard I can't find the way to talk anymore and all I want to do is talk and listen and hear. I reach out to the green and want to stretch my hands all the way down and hold on to it to something to stop the shaking I want to be down there I don't want to be here I dont want to be here i dont want to be here

  2. Aging Magic

    I wake up flat on my back, my head still spinning. The air is so dry it stings my eyes just to open them, but I have to keep them open. He's still coming.

    The bodies all around me were destroyed in the last blast and the ones that came before. I'm thankful that they died quickly. I don't know why he's after me, but besides the fear they felt in their last moments, they didn't suffer. A pile of black soot shows where each life ended, and there's a lot of soot around. A gentle breeze moves through the library, lazily clearing away the tops of the tables; casually erasing the only memory of these people I have.

    Wait, where is he?

    "I see perhaps I've underestimated your development", he sneers coming into the room from the hole in the wall, "I took too long to find you."

    Raising his hand to his side, he cups his palm upwards as it begins to fill with the fire streaming from his fingertips. I can feel the hair on my body stand upright, and I pry my eyes away from his smirk and look for somewhere to hide.

    His power seems pretty great, but his form is sloppy. He takes a full few beats to wind up his maneuver and I see it coming from a mile away. I sprint towards the nearest bookshelf, timing in my mind how long I have before he finally releases this blast. I run out of time and have to clumsily dive behind the bookshelf just before a gout of smokeless flames consumes the place I'd been standing. It's directed up and over my head, like a flamethrower laser or something, obliterating books as it goes, leaving the shelf untouched. I don't really know how this stuff works.

    I guess he figured I'd roll out and keep running. If I hadn't landed so weird I may have, and I may be dead right now. Maybe he overestimated me.

    Shit shit shit, he's coming and I'm stuck in this stupid... what is it in a library. An aisle? Row? I feel like there's a better word than that. Focus! I can hear him coming.

    I scramble to my feet amongst the piles of scattered books, and do a hunched kinda run thing out and into another... aisle, I guess. As I'm passing the shelves and looking back it seems really quiet. I dip down another row and I'm starting to get ner--

    Woah holy shit! A huge stroke of fire comes way too close to my face and, even though I pull back, the split-second of exposure was enough to hurt like crazy. I check my nose to make sure it's still there, and I hear a sound like someone exerting a great effort from somewhere beyond the shelves. Maybe he's getting tired?

    Nope. A floor-to-ceiling wall of flames pours down the row behind me and starts sweeping my way, while he sounds like he's lifting a truck. I have no choice but to run out of the aisle and back into the wide open common area; almost making it before I get a tinging sensation on my back and the force of the fire propels me forwards, slamming me onto and over a desk.

    I'm trying to catch my breath, and only sorta wondering why I'm not vaporized, and I can hear that he's also a little winded. And, if I'm judging his breath right, he's also a little frustrated that I didn't die already. That makes me a little happy. Bastard.

    I try to get to my feet, but my hip's hurting really badly, and something seems weird with my ankle. I lean on the table trying to act casually, but I don't think it's working. He knows he's got me. He takes one step towards me before a new voice calls out "Richard, don't" from the other side of the room.

    We both turn towards this voice and see a man standing in the door to the room. He's got shoulder length raven hair with a bit of a curl to it. He's wearing a vest thing over his muscle shirt, and from the looks of his arms, that didn't just happen to look good on him. In his hand is a cane, which would have made him seem more frail if he weren't holding it half-way up the shaft like a weapon.

    Wait, is the first guy Richard? That seems weird. From the magic, and the billowy clothing, I would have expected his name to be "Angnoth" or something. Richard. Ok.

    Richard speaks up. "Don't try and stop me Travis. If we don't kill this one it'll get stronger and may one day challenge the likes of us. It's surprisingly strong already. You know I'm right!"

    Travis? Ok. Also, I think I'm "it".

    "This isn't the way Richard. We shouldn't try to kill them, we just need to train them."

    "That isn't assured! An apprentice can kill their master."

    "Like you did, Richard? Most of us don't do that. You've just always been a little twisted."

    I feel a little awkward for sitting in on this. I can't really run, because my leg's all screwed up -- not to mention that I'm glued to the floor out of fear -- but it just feels like I'm listening in on a personal disagreement.

    The library is in ruins around us, and we're surrounded by the dead, but they're having a heated but relatively casual chat. About me, I think. The "it".

    Richard seems like he's caught his breath, and is getting frustrated at this argument. My hair stands up again.

    Half way through Travis' sentence Richard lets loose with an impromptu blast right in my direction. I don't have time to move this time, but I'm saved when a wall of air springs up and deflects the fire to my right. I look to see Travis holding the cane in my direction, wind blowing gently by him.

    Richard turns his attention on Travis, and fires 3 balls one after another out of alternating hands towards him. Travis uses his cane to easily deflect them before following up with a bolt of lightening straight up the middle towards Richard.

    I barely have time to see it, but Richard's already thrown up his hand in front of him and appears to have absorbed the hit, sliding back a little as he does.

    "I don't want to fight you Travis", he spits through gritted teeth.

    "That's not true, you just don't want to lose to me", Travis counters, throwing another blast towards Richard.

    Richard rolls to the side and hurls another huge blast of fire my way.

    I brace for impact, but I'm done for.

    I feel a little warmer, but not so warm as to be dead. Or even injured. I still hear fire. I open my eyes.

    Travis is standing up on a desk in front of me, fire breaking against him as it redirects away from me. Lightning flickers out from him in all directions, and I can see the sweat beading off his skin and sizzling like it were on a skillet.

    Time moves slowly as I watch awestruck while he stands against a glowing molten backdrop of fire; his clothing and hair billowing out like he were floating. He exhales slowly and adjusts his stance to better resist the fire. He turns his gaze back to me briefly and gives a small smile out one side of his mouth and a nod.

    He pushes his hands forward like he were moving a box, and the sound of the room shifts from a gentle roar to the sound of a rocket taking off. He continues to bring his hands out and together and the fire follows along, closing back towards Richard like a huge beach umbrella.

    As the stream gets towards its tightest, the fire takes on a high-pitched tone like a jet engine, and just maybe the sound of a human scream. Then it instantly goes quiet.

    I clear my throat to make sure I haven't gone deaf, and Travis looks back at me. He smiles a big smile and jumps down off the table.

    "Come with me," he says, "I have much to teach you"

    I hate this place. It doesn't seem right for him to be here. When I think about him, I always see him wandering through some cave, or in his lab; a rich wooden room with deep warm colours and just the right amount of clutter. He'd be draped over the edge of some chair smiling widely and discussing a strange topic. This place, with its sterile walls and bright white floors and sensitive pastel accents just doesn't feel right.

    A voice comes over the intercom telling one of the staff that they're wanted on some extension or another. He's propped up in bed, like always. His thinning hair, always more grey than I think, seems damp just from the effort of living. He's rambling on about the same story he tells every time I'm here. He's already told it 3 times this visit.

    He stops talking mid-sentence and I turn to see why and find him just staring at the wall blankly, as though he forgot that he was talking while he was talking. A fire starts in the pit of my stomach and I have to fight to keep my cool. I hate this thing that's sitting in front of me. It barely even looks like him anymore, it doesn't sound like him, it doesn't smell like him. This disgusting frail creature I keep visiting doesn't even know who I am half the time! If I never came again, what would change? Would he even know? He used to be powerful, controlling the raw elements themselves with a casual wave and a smile. This thing has trouble getting up for a piss.

    I stand up and pace the room a bit to keep from strangling him to death. I'm not sure it wouldn't be the best thing for him.

    I'm leaning by the wall when he notices I've moved and looks towards me.

    "Where's Natalie got to? Is she coming back soon?"

    Oh God, this doesn't get any easier. I can feel my throat start to clench and my lips tighten. He was there when she died, and the first time he asked me this it shocked me. Now it just makes me sad. I've tried reminding him of the truth before, but he just gets really confused and hurt every time, like it was the first time he's heard of it.

    "Yeah, she's just in the other room getting some materials. She'll be back in a bit", I barely manage to push out.

    "Oh good. You two really make a great team."

    It's too much. I have to turn away and cover my eyes for a minute or two while I try to keep quiet. He doesn't seem to have noticed, and is looking calmly out the window. Good.

    "Did I ever tell you about the time when I defended Rio from a powerful sorcerer, who was trying to use blood magic to infect the population?"

    "Yes" I say, but it doesn't matter. He starts in anyway. The strange thing in, this isn't even his story. This is something I did during one of the periods where we were apart, and only told him about later. He's mixed up a few other stories we took part in together, and parts of my story, and constructed this rambling nonsense version.

    I'm getting frustrated again just listening to it, and I get up and get my coat to leave. I don't even know why I come here. There's nothing left for me here.

    As I'm walking to the door I hear him say, in a voice more like the one I remember, "Do you remember the time we fought Richard in the library"

    "Yes, I do", I reply heading out the door.

    "That was the day we met. I think that was the best day of my life."

    I pause, turning back.

    "Mine too"

  3. Succubus

    He awakes with a start, but no dreams sit in his recollection. Looking to his left he is struck by the beauty that is his wife: the curve of her figure, the contrast between the colour of her perfect skin against the rumpled sheets, her long hair flowing around her head. His bladder, realizing he's awake, interrupts his thoughts with sudden alarm. Perhaps this is why he awoke.

    It's cold outside the blankets, but his bladder insists it's important he leave the warmth and comfort for the cold tiles, lest he make the sheets a little warmer. It's still dark outside, but his eyes are accustomed to the dark and he finds his way to the bathroom with no trouble. Once inside he flicks on the light switch instinctively and immediately regrets it. The bright lights dazzle him and in the surprise he almost forgets his purpose for being here. Upset and groggy he closes the door behind him and shudders as a breeze kisses his skin, stealing even more warmth as it travels over him.

    Shielding his eyes from the light, he notices his bathroom window is open. He curses to himself, and his absent mindedness, and slides the window down. In his half-conscious state he tries to close the latch on the window for longer then he would care to admit before remembering the latch on this window hadn't worked since the Christmas party. He curses James again and turns to his toilet.

    As he's relieving the pressure on his bladder, his eyes begin to move around the room. He notices the lonely way his shampoo and soap sit in one corner of his otherwise empty, but quite sizable shower. He notices the towel which he's left on the floor, again, and makes an easily forgotten mental note to pick that up when he's done. The toothbrush in the toothbrush cup by the sink, bearing the worn name of his dentist. He makes another easily forgotten midnight note to make a new appointment with his dentist; this toothbrush is looking worn.

    He finishes what he was doing and flushes the toilet, again out of instinct, curses to himself, and hopes he didn't wake his wife. As he turns towards the door he is startled to find his wife standing in the bathroom beside him, and in his half-slumber almost slips and falls.

    "You were going to come back to bed without washing your hands, weren't you?", she asks with a playful tone.

    "What? No, I was just", he stalls here for a moment while his tired brain tries to come up with some reason for him to walk towards the door without stopping at the sink, "just going to hang up this towel."

    He weakly smiles as he bends down and puts the towel on the hooks on the back of the door. In his mind he thinks he may have gotten away with this one, but that's only because he's firing at half power. She, on the other hand, seems to be fully awake.

    "Oh, my mistake. Thank you for hanging up the towel, 20 hours after throwing it on the ground."

    "Better late than never." he says, and chuckles to himself in a way that implies he felt that was a more clever reply then it actually was.

    As he's washing his hands in the sink he looks up into the mirror and sees his wife staring at him, not his reflection, in a weird manner. He can't really put his finger on what the adjective should be. He knows he knows it, but in this state his recall just isn't working right. She looks at him... blank. A shiver rushes through his body, and then a warmth follows it, and he turns off the taps. He makes sure, as he passes his wife to the door, to make grand movements of drying his hands on the newly hung towel with a smug look on his face. She looks at him with one eyebrow cocked and a smile of her own and says "Yes, I get it, it's a good thing the towel has been hung. I'm very proud." and she pats him on the arm as she opens the door. At her touch his skin tingles and he feels another wave of warmth and sleepiness wash over him.

    Upon stumbling back into the bedroom, now mostly blind again in the dark, he finds his wife waiting for him in the middle of the room. The only light in the room comes from the moon off the snow outside the window, and it's a light she looks very good in. She wraps her arms around his neck as he approaches and breathes warm breath on his ear. Pulling her in closer to himself, he can feel the shape of her against him, and the warmth of her. He never wants to let her go, lest he be cold again. Something in the back of his mind, as it's waking up, seems to be saying something -- like a dull hum -- but he ignores it for now. At this point she whispers something softly into his ear. It was probably something seductive, but he couldn't make out the words. He can never make out the words. They're not really important, everything he needed was in the tone. Actually, everything he needed was right here in the warm woman pressed against him; words are unnecessary.

    He moves his face down to kiss her neck where it meets her shoulder and notices something glisten off the floor.

    "What the heck is that?" he says and momentarily forgets the beautiful woman he had in his clutches and moves to inspect the floor.

    "Honey," his wife seductively mock-whines, "you can clean the floor later. I'll forgive you."

    Touching the ground it seems to be a small pool of water with bits of snow still unmelted in it. The cold shocks him, and helps shake him out of his stupor a little. A leak in the ceiling, he thinks, and curses under his breath. He gazes up at the roof, but can't see any wet patches up there. Looking back at the floor he sees that there are other wet patches around, roughly in a line between the bathroom and the bed. Weird, he thinks. As he's inspecting this line, and trying to come up with some sensible explanation, he notices his wife's feet -- which are along the same path -- are soaked as well, and look ice cold. The back of his mind is spinning faster and faster now, but things still aren't clicking into place.

    He stands up and catches the reflection of his wife in the window, and she's looking at him in the same way she was in the bathroom. His skin tingles again. He looks over the entirety of her reflection and he feels the fog in his mind start to recede. Wheels begin to click. Her image doesn't change, but his perception of it does. He notices the length of her fingers, and fingernails. The length of her jaw. His stomach begins to churn, and his skin begins to crawl, as a terrible wave of dread passes over him. He feels immediately nauseous and out of breath. He realizes with a new wave of clarity, and terror, that he doesn't have a wife. He never has. He lives alone here. His eyes dart to her face again as her tongue, if you can call it that, passes over her lips and fierce teeth. He finds the adjective to describe the way she's been looking at him.

    She looks at him hungrily.