Yo, what's up. I've decided to save some space and make a single thread for any and all new content I create from now on, not including stories that already have their own threads. I have a bunch of ideas I want to put out, but I'd hate to get started on them and never finish them (see: Simple Stuff) so what I plan to do is use this thread to post any new stories I have. Like I mentioned, this won't include stories that already have their own thread, so Appreciate, CLASSIC, and Simple Stuff will be posted in their respective threads while any new things will be posted here. I'll also go ahead and post the links to those threads too because why not. Whoo.
Animal Crossing Deluxe (Finished) : The only fanfic I've really written (I don't really like fanfics) but peeps seemed to have enjoyed it. Dude moves into a town full of animals and lives his life. There are some coming of age bits in there as well.
Simple Stuff (hiatus) : Should be named "Stupid Stuff". I try to walk a thin line between quirky humor and lolsorandomXD. Not much has been written yet, plus it's on a hiatus.
CLASSIC : (Ongoing) Dude with a sword goes on adventures in a fantasy setting. 's pretty fun.
Appreciate : (temp. hiatus) : High school girl's slice of life. I'm...not joking.
Oh, I also did some poetry, kind of.
Unassorted is one of (if not, the most) serious things I've ever written. I plan to redo the first few paragraphs to make it match with the rest of the story, but that's for another time. "Sorting the Unassorted", which is the last part of Unassorted, is also my award winning (Hahahaha it's funny cuz it's kinda true) entry for KHI's Shippers Contest.
Stuff from the month long writing challenge! Spelling and Grammar Errors abound! Like, more than usual.
Hey look, something new! I wrote this years ago, but never actually finished it. It's a neat little spy-like story set in a futuristic city. It's fun to look back on old stuff, even if it ends rather abruptly.
Animal Crossing Deluxe (Finished) : The only fanfic I've really written (I don't really like fanfics) but peeps seemed to have enjoyed it. Dude moves into a town full of animals and lives his life. There are some coming of age bits in there as well.
Simple Stuff (hiatus) : Should be named "Stupid Stuff". I try to walk a thin line between quirky humor and lolsorandomXD. Not much has been written yet, plus it's on a hiatus.
CLASSIC : (Ongoing) Dude with a sword goes on adventures in a fantasy setting. 's pretty fun.
Appreciate : (temp. hiatus) : High school girl's slice of life. I'm...not joking.
Oh, I also did some poetry, kind of.
Unassorted is one of (if not, the most) serious things I've ever written. I plan to redo the first few paragraphs to make it match with the rest of the story, but that's for another time. "Sorting the Unassorted", which is the last part of Unassorted, is also my award winning (Hahahaha it's funny cuz it's kinda true) entry for KHI's Shippers Contest.
Spoiler Show
I could hear the ever familiar slow beeping by my bedpost, as well as feel the weak but warm streaks of sunlight that reached my bed from the window above my head. Endless chatter filled the hall leading to my room, and as usual I could not make sense of any of it. The door opened and I lifted my head in time to see a man in a white coat holding a clipboard enter.
“What’s the news, doc?” I asked him.
“Still no change.” Dr. Feliz told me with his routine sympathetic smile.
“Bummer. Can I go home now?”
“Sorry, Richard but we need to keep you indoors for a while. You can get back on your feet in an hour or two.”
I didn’t want to admit he was right, but I knew he was. I had just woken up and felt extraordinarily light headed. I hated getting put under, it was like getting hit in the head with a club, except without the giant bruise to prove it. The doctor left telling me he’d have a nurse being up some breakfast, but I didn’t really care too much. The food tasted pretty bad and I usually left everything alone except for the Jell-o. I stared at my heart monitor for a few seconds trying to remember what my dreams for the night were. I never could recall them, and on the lucky mornings when I could, it would just be little blurry glimpses of them, like the first time you opened your eyes underwater and were so surprised by the burning of chlorine you shut them back closed. That small watery burning vision was all I ever got from my dreams, and I hated it. The creaking noise of my room’s surprisingly old door opening shocked me out of my train of thought. A woman walked in holding a tray of food, but I barely paid any attention to her. Without saying a word, she moved the bed table nearly on top of me, placed the tray on it, and pushed a button making the bed rise up. I looked at my food with near disgust. Mashed potatoes, corn, some sort of biscuit, blue Jell-o and meat that looked like it came straight out of a TV dinner, complete with brownish water that I’m guessing is supposed to be the “juices” of it. She left as soon as she could, still not saying a word.
Not that I minded.
I finally got fed up with the horrid basic cable television they had set up in every room so I tried to check myself out. Unsurprisingly, Doctor Feliz caught wind of it by the nurse who was to sign me out and told me to stay in my room for another half hour so he could do one more test to make sure I was fine. So I marched sluggishly back into my room, shutting off the television I had neglected before. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. I then began writing a letter to no one, a series of words scrawled across the page, destined never to be read by anybody. I was nearly finished when the doctor walked in to perform his little test. Like all of the other tests of my current stay at Red Port Hospital, this wasn’t the first time I’ve had this one. It was a simple test really, just to check to see if my brain was working right…mostly with balance and simple brain functions. As long as I could walk in a straight line without falling, I considered myself alright. And even if I couldn’t do that, they could just ship me off with a cane instead of having me waddle around like a newly born giraffe. Once that was done I was released to go about my business. It would seem a bit odd to most people to leave hospitals after a series of tests, but it wasn’t that way for me. Not since I’ve been doing it for as long as I could remember. You would think that, at the very least, I would know everyone in the hospital since I’ve been here for a good chunk of my life, but that was not true. In fact, with the exception of Dr. Feliz, I didn’t know the name of anybody working at RP Hospital, and even then I didn’t know his first name.
Not that I minded.
A cold wind blew across this old decrepit city. Whatever rays of sunlight that had reached me in the hospital were wasted, replaced now with chilly clouds cornering whatever part of the sky they could. Across the road from the hospital I could hear the sound of waves crashing against the wave breakers and docks. Why a hospital was built so close to the sea was beyond me; I often found myself silently wishing for a large enough wave to come and engulf it with me inside. So far my guilty desire has not been met. As I walked I could see the bright light of the lighthouse swirling about, sending messages to far-off boats of the promise of home, or if not then at least a safe place to rest for the night. I always wondered what it was like to be inside of the light house itself. I always just watched it from afar as the bright beacon brought back numerous ships from their voyages from faraway places. It was the highest point of this town, save for the mountainous region to the north. I envy the sailors who left Red Port. They were free to do as they please--really free. Not this nonsense that was forced on myself. Everyday I watched on from my bedside with a handful of grapes as gulls fly off into the distance. All the while I wished I was proficient with a bow and arrow. They were allowed to fly alongside the sailors as they crossed the sea, whom of which were nothing more but disgruntled men with no real future to speak of. Why is it that they could leave while I am stranded in this god forsaken town with nothing or no one to call my own?
Of this, I more than minded.
I made a side trip toward the previously mentioned lighthouse on a whim. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find there. Maybe the door for it would be miraculously unlocked for a change, allowing me to explore the inner workings of the boat saver. The ever-looming lighthouse drew nearer with every step I took, and for some reason it seemed somewhat ominous, like a twister that began in Earth and was slowly making its way into the Heavens to wreak havoc up there, thereby doing the bidding of those below. The light itself was shut off for the day, resting up for the long night ahead of it. When I reached the lighthouse, I was put off by the frighteningly red color scheme that it bore. I could never get used to how the color shone out at me, like a disgusting curse word written in crayon on a white canvas. I reached out my hand toward the steel blue door’s handle and turned. Unsurprisingly, I was met with resistance and was rejected for the umpteenth time. I walked passed the house and neared the edge of the concrete below my feet before peering down to the wave breakers down below. I spotted the iron ladder that had once saved my life and climbed down, onto a wave breaker itself. From my bag I produced the letter I had written earlier and, using the many days and weeks of practice prior, folded it gently into a paper boat. I waited patiently for the ocean to calm down and placed my boat into the water. Much to my surprise, the little boat swam out into the sea, defying all odds and nearly making it passed the buoy. However, the boat’s luck had run out, and I watched on with a heavy heart as it was violently beaten by the waves, forced to sink to the bottom.
I sat there for a while, near the ladder on top of a wave breaker thinking of the letter to no one, which would never reach its destination.
Of this, I more than minded.
---
I’m not sure why I expected to find you waiting for me home. It has been at least two years since we had last spoken, but whenever I open the front door, I still expect to see you looking out the opposite side window with a handful of blackberries in your hand. A look of agony was always on your face when you did this, but I never questioned it. I always just imagined it was because you were thinking of something that had happened to you as a child, something you would rather not share with the world. That look would always change when I made myself known, replaced with what I always thought was happiness. All I see now when I open the front door is a large empty space where only the clouds greet me as I enter. I remember spending an entire day standing where you always stood, eating nothing but blackberries. I admired you for always being there as I entered, but was also puzzled as to how you did it. Eventually my legs, unaccustomed to standing in a single spot for long, locked up. When I tried to move, I fell to the ground and landed face up. I watched the ceiling fan twirl about for a while before losing myself in thoughts about how you were suddenly gone. Looking out the window did not show me anything but the sky, so what did it show you all those times?
A dull cry snapped me out of my delusions as I quickly slammed the door shut. Once again the space in front of the window was bare. The cry of the ambulance got louder, and memories shrouded my mind like a terrible fog on a rainy day. Memories of being rushed to the hospital after the stupid stunt I tried to pull after drinking too much. Memories of my fallen mother at her last, after I had found her shortly after her heart attack. And of course, memories of you. I ran to the television set and turned it on, bringing the volume up until if forcibly drowned out the cries.
---
I lost track of time. The window that had only moments ago greeted me with cloudy skies showed me nothing but darkness now. I felt a familiar dull pain from the back of my head as I began to rise. Things were not getting better. I walked past the spacious living room and into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, I grabbed a small transparent orange bottle and popped the cap off. A practiced motion, one that was years in the making. It was, at first, very difficult for me to open the prescription bottles. The first time in particular, I was so shaky that I ended up causing the pills inside to scatter when I did manage to pry the lid off. I feel to my knees and broke down then and there. You were not with me then, and I thank the heavens for it. You did not see me when I hit the bottommost part of my life, just as I never saw you during yours. Part of my soul wishes you had, however. Part of me wanted to show you my weakest moments, but how could I? You were the one person who stayed with me, and for that I could not afford to worry you more than necessary.
I placed two small capsules in my mouth and cupped my hands under the faucet after turning it on. After ingesting my medication, I sluggishly moved to my bedroom. Though the entire house was now under my name, I still refused to take the master bedroom. I felt as though doing so would be under minding the life of my parents, in particular my father. He had worked his entire life to gain everything a father would want only to be taken from this world right as he was beginning to enjoy it. The room itself was left undisturbed. I made it a point to leave that sanctuary exactly as they had left it, to the point where I locked the door from the outside and hid the key. It's been such a long time that even I have forgotten its location. The house felt, as a whole, empty. Everywhere I looked I found nothing but memories. My bedroom was no exception, but it was different in the fact that the memories there were my own. Everything there belonged to me and me alone. From the stereo system I bought for myself with the money I earned from my first job, to the countless books that lined the shelves.
Though I could not see it directly from my window, I could still make out the rays of light the lighthouse bore. I stared at my ceiling from the comfort of my bed as every few seconds, the light shone brilliantly against the side of the house. It always comforted me, almost luring me to sleep much like a baby who is gently rocked against his mother's body. Despite this, the dull ache from behind my head kept me awake. I turned to my side, hoping that refusing the area contact with a surface would elevate the pain. My wishful thinking was unmet, however, and I sat upright, staring out the window. The ever twirling streak of light merrily flashed past me. I rose from my bed, unsure of what to do. Letting my body carry me, I found myself exiting the house and retracing my steps from earlier that same day. A light drizzle fell from above as my shoes clacked nosily against the damp concrete. I restlessly rubbed my head, hoping for a small amount of relief, knowing full well how futile the action was. It didn't take long for me to reach the lighthouse. The soft pattering of raindrops hitting the surface of the ocean guided me through the dark as I made my way to the door. I stopped suddenly, gripping furiously at my head as an intense and sharp pain roared through my cranium, causing me to drop to my knees.
I will not lose to this.
The pain halted as quickly as it had came. I slowly began to stand, and was grateful to find that the previous pain had also subsided. I timidly reached for the door to the lighthouse a second time and pulled. To my surprise, the door slid easily, granting me access to whatever secrets it held. The sound of turning gears reached me as I entered, climbing up the spiral staircase leading to the uppermost area. The inside was mostly bare, save for a single mighty pillar that rotated clockwise and the staircase, of which I was now reaching the end. A small metal ladder met me. It was propped against the wall at the end of the stairs and right above it was a hatch. Opening the hatch revealed the very top of the lighthouse, exposed to the elements. I made my way up, taking care to take hold of the railing in case a rouge gust of wind came. The light shone brightly against my face, causing me to shut my eyes.
When I reopened them, I found myself somewhere else entirely. The sound of rain had been replaced by aquatic ambiance, and my surroundings where tilted in a dark blue. Something bumped against the top part of my head and, facing towards it, I was surprised to see a small paper boat roll off of me. I vaguely made out the shape of the rotating light in front of me, and it again blinded me. Once I composed myself I again found myself in a different place. A green meadow stretched out before me. A wooden picnic table stood in the distance as a soft breeze blew against me. Though I could not make out who they were, I saw two children sitting on the table. Once more, the light passed against my face and I found myself standing in front of you. You wore the same smile you always did when you saw me. Your hair was just the exact shade of brown that I remembered, and your eyes were still the same bright emerald green that they were when you were alive. You gently grabbed my head and pulled me towards you, so that our foreheads connected. A sudden flash of light robbed me of what was to come, and instead I was leaning against the railing of the lighthouse.
I stared at the void below me and made out the concrete below. Near the door, I saw the silhouette of a man's body lying on the floor. The light once more brushed passed me, racing against my back, but nothing changed. I realized in an instant what the truth was, and was unsure of what to make of it. A warm hand touched my own, and I knew instantly it was you. No one attended my funeral, but that was only because there was no one left. In a twist of irony, the man who was given the shortest amount of time was in fact, the last of us left. And he is gone now. Though in my own life I was nothing but a bystander who only watched the world around him, It makes me happy to think that somewhere--somehow, in a different life, we might just be together. Together we would change the world, leading strangers to happiness and the promise of home, much like the lighthouse that watched over this city.
---
Sorting the Unassorted
You were always there for me. That is something I will never forget. The first visits to the hospital were the most influential, for those were the ones where the doctor explained to you in great detail about my condition. Though I expected you to become lost during the elaborate and lengthy discussion surrounding my grey matter, you astounded me in how easily you understood the complexity that had, until then, eluded me. You put it into words that made far more sense than anything the doctors could ever conceive. You held my hand the entire visit, squeezing tightly, almost as if you could chain me to this world simply by having you by my side. I remember the strained look you gave as the doctor explained how the clot in my brain could—at any moment-- become a fatal catastrophe. You had given another squeeze at that exact moment, and I distinctly remember squeezing back. That would be the first time I began returning all the emotions you had been showing me. It was from that moment that I knew I would not need to face this alone. Even with Daniel by my side, I had always felt an immense feeling of isolation. But with you, it was as if an entirely different world was open to me. Where Daniel could only offer words of encouragement and sincere empathy, you offered much more. You stood beside me like a lighthouse to a shored city, always watching. Always protecting.
My thoughts, usually of deep resentment and sorrow, were replaced with hope and something I liked to believe was joy. Where I would usually harshly dislike entering the aforementioned hospital, I would now meet it with a head held high and fingers interlocked with yours. It was during one of these ever present visits that we were given the most unexpected news. In what most people would call a fateful day, the doctors told me I had only months to live. The clot had increased in size and should it grow any larger my brain would suffocate from the lack of oxygen. I took the news like I took everything else in my life: indifference. If I was to die, then so be it. So long as you were alive and lived in relative happiness, nothing else mattered to me. But your reaction changed that; it shook me to my very core. You wept. You clinged to my chest tightly and embraced me even tighter. I had never cried before. Never shed a tear for myself nor did I ever do so again. But for what was yet another first, I wrapped my arm around you, dug my head into your shoulder and cried. The mere thought of leaving you in such a state was more than I could ever hope to bare. We asked about treatments: there were none. The clot was far too deep and far too close to safely operate on, and even if they managed to remove it, that would only serve to treat the symptom, not the underlying cause of my genetic disorder. I held your hand as I told you everything would be fine. We would spend the rest of our time together in happiness, live out my remanding weeks as something for you to remember and cherish. You convinced me otherwise. You told me such an idea, though considerate, was also selfish. You had told me that a happy memory of us during the darkest times would be more painful than a rusty nail to the temple.
Though highly evasive and dangerous, you talked the doctor into performing the surgery. It was classified as an 'experimental procedure' in order to even get approved by the committee. The chances of my survival were slim, but if the surgery was successful, I might be able to place this behind me. The clot that had been my birth brother might be removed, and there might be no sign of his return, genetics be damned. The very motion of being rid of a pained head—to never again suffer the dull ache that served as a constant reminder of my condition—was something that had never crossed my wounded mind. The chances of my death were high, but as you sat next to me while I was being prepared for surgery, there was no doubt I would come out of this alive. As the mask was placed over my mouth, I quickly realized how much of a beacon you had become to me. The doctors had claimed this surgery too dangerous, but it was I and I alone who refused to take part of it. The doctors themselves easily folded into performing the surgery. Had I simply brought it up, I am almost positive they would have agreed to operate. You had given me the courage to go under, and I found myself clawing for your hand as the anesthetic had begun to shut me down, Your fingers interlocking into mine, along with a wet tear drop upon my wrist were the last things I felt as darkness surrounded me.
Isabelle:
I met with Allen. He served me tea and inquired of my condition. In an attempt to repair the bridge between us, I indulged him, and even informed him of the surgery. I ignored the pity in his eyes as I drank. They reminded me of the same look you had given me when we had first met, and I could easily see how you two had been so close in the past. However, despite his kind words and remarks of condolence, it was not hard for me to see the bitterness that bubbled under the surface. I had planned on staying for an hour, but his harshness and general disdain for me cut my plans into a half hour venture. Before I parted, I asked him for your scrapbook. The glare he had given me was more than enough to realize it was a mistake, but to my surprise he went up to his room and retrieved the aged red book. He shoved it into my arms and asked me to leave. I have left the scrap book in our bedroom; under my pillow. I know I shouldn't think like this but if the surgery were to take me from you, I, at the very least, wanted you to have your memories in tact. I understand the photos of your family are important and this is the very least I could do for you.
Yours,
--Richard
Bright light etched in front of me. I felt as if I was looking up from the bottom of a well, and could make out faces at the top looking down. You were one of them. The doctor moved the small flashlight from one eye to the other, checking to see if my pupils responded. I began to stir, but a hand on my chest pushed me back down and I was instructed to remain still. I could feel the bandages upon my forehead, wrapped around my cranium, almost as if it alone was stopping my head from splitting into two. I was given a series of tests as I was informed on the surgery. The surgeon had removed the clot, only for it to slowly reform as soon as they began cleaning. Though at the time it was small, the doctors could already trace its growth. It seems my genetics refused to let me loose of its death grip. The particular vein the clot resided in was damaged. Surgery had shown there would be no repairing it, nor would there be any treatment. Judging by the growth of the clot, the doctors gave it a year for it to return to its previous size, as well as my most likely time of death. Though I had managed to survive, the operation was a failure.
We did our best to return to normal. You happily showed me images from your scrapbook. You told me your fifth birthday was the most memorable as you pointed to your younger self whom was sitting proudly beside her cake. You went through every photograph, going into great detail about the events that transpired during its taking. You hesitated as you reached photos of Allen before calmly removing them from their plastic bindings and throwing them into the trash. As you returned, you sat next to me on the couch and embraced me. You told me how unfair the world was, and I agreed with you as I ran my fingers through your hair. I wondered what it was like to live free of pain as my hand held the back of your head. What was it like to never sit beside Death every waking moment? I felt a familiar dull pain in the back of my head as your tear stained cheek swept past my own. We stayed like this for a while, unmoving. Almost as if we could stop time simply by refusing to go along with it. Finally, you pushed me down and laid beside me, making due with the small amount of room the couch offered. I held on to you tightly as you did the same, and we fell asleep in each other's arms as the rotating beam of light from the nearby lighthouse rounded past the window, lulling us away from our consciousness.
Though neither of us acknowledged it, we had quickly made our way to the dreaded second year since the surgery. I had neglected to return to the hospital two weeks prior to the beginning of the year, but according to my last visit the progression had continued as expected. I packed the map we had acquired into my bag before setting foot into your car. We were to visit your mother; you wanted to finally introduce me as well as give her the scrapbook. Daniel, having just finished his nursing program, was to be assigned to the hospital near your mother's house, and as a result asked for permission to join us so that he might become familiar with the area. He had packed his medical bag as well, claiming that he needed to make sure his personal equipment was up to par with what was expected from him. Though our coastal town was frequently cloudy and overcast, it seemed as if we were to be accompanied by a rare clear blue sky. I should have known better than to see this as a good omen.
As you pulled into the freeway overpass, Daniel informed me from the backseat of his excitement. Despite gaining access to the hospital in our own small town, he yearned for a large temple to hone his skills, as did you. Though while Daniel practiced medicine, you instead made your way through the world with a camera as your tool. The usual cloud-stricken state of our home was without a doubt the main reason you had decided to move to Red Port. To the people who lived there it was nothing but another reminder of how dark the world could be, but you saw more than that. You saw the opportunity for light to be shed and pierce through the darkness. You saw hope where others saw despair, you saw the chance to lift burdens from the shoulders of others. You saw life. I often wonder if that was the same reason you were drawn to me. We had passed through a tunnel as the freeway border ended.
By the time Daniel yelled out, it was far too late for you to maneuver the car to safety. I clung desperately at the dashboard as you clenched your teeth and pressed down on the breaks while turning the wheel. It was not enough, however, and the renegade car heading toward us tracked your movement as if the heavens themselves willed it. I could see the driver's face as time seemed to slow. I will never forget his face: pale, shaved head, black baseball cap, and covered in sudden realization and horror. There was a terrible lurch as the two cars collided, stopping us dead in our tracks.
You had once told me that, as a child, you often picked wild blackberries. You would gamble on them, hoping the ones you picked were ripe and sweet. It wasn't until a few summers of this you realized even the bitter ones were full of flavor. You told me that not everything one expected from this world was sweet. Instead, the bitterness we experience only helped us enjoy the sweet moments all the more. But where was the sweetness in this? How can one look back on their most bitter and hated memories and grow stronger from them? I know you can tell me the answer, so please. Isabelle, please.
A terrible shock coursed through my body, jolting my chest upwards. Another came a few seconds later, and I briefly heard Daniel's voice through the darkness. A third shock thundered past my heart as my eyes opened. A bright blue sky welcomed me along with the smell of smoke and Daniel's tear-filled voice. I sat upright in a daze, trying my best to take in my surroundings. Your white car. His red truck. Daniel, one black eye and medical bag opened as he held on to his small defibrillator, the wires of which were strapped to my exposed chest. The driver of the truck, nearly ejected from his seat, had broken his windshield and his upper body lay across the destroyed hood, his head a bloody mess. I couldn't see you. I asked Daniel, but he only shook his head. I staggered to my feet and limped my way around the totaled vehicle. I froze as I rounded to the driver's side. Daniel had at first, pulled you from the wreckage and laid you on the floor. He checked your pulse, but said you were already...
He pulled my body next, saying that I had suffered trauma, though not as severe as yours and managed to pull me back from the brink. I kneed beside you. I held your hand. I wept. Aside from a cut across your forehead, you looked perfect. I saw no ill marks or bruises, not a single indication that would let me believe you to be gone. You looked as if you were asleep, but already your hand was so cold. The sounds of sirens filled the air as I looked up at the clear blue sky. It was almost mocking me.
We were rushed to the hospital. The same damned hospital I had been condemned to since the day of my birth. The doctors informed me that the impact hit you the hardest, causing instant death. Had Daniel not been with us, I most likely would have followed suit. Instead I only had a broken arm and bruised ribs. They told me I was lucky. I disagreed. They told me the driver of the truck was drunk. I disagreed. I refused to believe that something like this would take me away from you. It had to be some higher order, it must be! He was not drunk, Isabelle! There was no way something like this—a random act of chaos—would take you! I cared not for his name, nor did I care about his fate, all I cared for was knowing the truth. I rejected the notion of whims and luck and instead spiraled into my own mind.
I had done this. Had I not asked Allen for the scrapbook. Had I not asked about your family. Had I not been born with this cursed disorder you would still be here. It should have been me. Given the chance, I would—in a heartbeat—trade my life for yours. I knew this was not to be, however, and could do nothing as the days ticked down to your funeral. It was another cloudless day as your coffin sat on the green grass. Why had the universe decided this? Were they acknowledging your loss as their gain? Had they picked you in greed and stolen you away from me? I met with Allen again. He attended the funeral and I could not ignore the rage that flashed behind his eyes. He too, saw me as the culprit. As he approached me, I expected to receive a blow to the face and was not disappointed. I tried not to flinch, but instead I nearly fell backward as his fist connected with my jaw. He walked away from me without saying a word and sat in his seat, staring at your coffin. In my mind, he had every right to be upset with me. Why should I be the one left to live?
It wasn't until your coffin began lowering that I realized my folly. This last year had showed me happiness. It showed me what it meant to be a part of something larger than myself. I learned how to live. How to love. I raced past memories of us as your coffin touched the Earth. Of our first meeting near the lighthouse. Of how you orbited around me despite my pushing you away. Finally allowing you access into my life. Moving in together. Seeing you just come out of the shower, your hair still wet. Sharing a seat among the coast as the tide threatened to wash us away. Our first kiss under the moonlit shore. The first time you accompanied me to the hospital. The warmth you had provided during the cold winter. The way you always stood across the front door, looking out the window with a handful of blackberries as I entered our home. The pained look on your face I always wanted to ask about, but never found the courage to do so. Your fingers, interlocking perfectly between my own, as if they were designed for one another.
The doctors said that the clot that had threatened my life had miraculously shrunk after the accident. I have no proof, but I am certain this was also your doing. Giving me more time seemed as if it was something you would do. You always worried about the welfare of others more than your own. You were—and still are—my beacon in this world. Much like the lighthouse that never rests, you still protect me and show me the way forward. I will never stop believing you. I will never stop loving you. I know you are still out there, watching over me and I look forward to the day I join you, my Isabelle.
Stuff from the month long writing challenge! Spelling and Grammar Errors abound! Like, more than usual.
Spoiler ShowAppreciate: Musical Continuum
I sighed as I unlocked the door to my apartment. Another long day in practice was behind me, and even though I felt as if I easily surpassed the rest of the class, they keep showing less and less enthusiasm for their instruments. I couldn't help but feel as if maybe it was my fault. Was I setting the bar too high? Why would anyone even try to compete with me; aren't we all on the same team? As long as they were happy with themselves there shouldn't be any problems with the group as a whole, but here we were. The professor kept criticizing the class on their fingering and how everyone had problems keeping time. I couldn't believe it, this was simple stuff! It was something that should be a problem in Piano 101, not in a high level Arts University class. I pushed the door open and escaped from the setting sun and into the dim living space. Zoey should be here by now, why was it so dark?
“Zoey?” I called out as I walked into the small living room and flicked on the lights. The TV was off, but her bag was thrown carelessly against the side of the couch. Even her violin case looked as if it had just been dropped without a care, which was something she would never do. I felt a small amount of panic well up inside of me as my mind raced through different scenarios. Did someone break in as she had just gotten home? Was she kidnapped? Could she be hurt? Was the kidnapper still in here?! I walked towards the front of the couch and relief flushed through me as I made out her figure laying down on it. She was asleep, curled in a light purple blanket. Her freckled face was slightly wet and I made out tear stains on the pillow she rested her head on. Aw, Zoey...
---
“I don't really want to do this.” I told Crystal as I crossed her arms and looked away from her. “It's like, I don't think this is my...scene, you know?”
“Zoey, we're at a cafe during open mic nite.” She told me as she sipped from her chilled drink. We were sitting in a crowded cafe as a man in a suit played the saxophone on the circular stage. “This is what we do for work on the other side of town, I'd say this is definitely your scene.” I stared at the stage for a few seconds before bringing my attention back to her.
“And if I'm not good enough?”
“Why are you still thinking like that?” She told. “You already know you're amazing at the violin. That's obvious no matter who you ask. Now get ready, we're almost up.” Sure enough, once the suited man stepped down, the main announcer dude called our number and we made our way up to the stage. Jeez. The lights felt way hotter here then they were in the cafe we usually perform. Maybe it was just my imagination. Crystal took her seat at the electric keyboard provided near the back end of the stage as I stood near the center holding my violin by the neck awkwardly.
“Uh, hi.” I said into the standing microphone.
“Oh, hi.” Crystal replied playfully into her own mic. “Who's this?”
“Well,” I joked back at her, feeling my tension begin to loosen up, “my name is Zoey Brunt. Who might you be?”
“Nice to meet you Zoey,” she said as she tapped a few keys that gave the whole conversation a whimsical feeling to it. “My name is Crystal Donn. Are you my violinist?”
“Only if you're my pianist.”
“I would be, but I'm a female.” There were a few chuckles from the audience. Heh. Words that kinda sound like other words. Wait, what was the rating on this place? Was that an okay joke to make? Oh well, we already opened the gates, might as well let the water flow.
“That's alright,” I said, “we can pretend you've got the goods.” More laughter from the crowd. If the whole musician thing didn't work out we might have a stand up gig going for us, I guess. “Anyway. What are we playing tonight, mister Crystal?”
“Well,” she answered, lowering her voice in an attempt to sound more masculine, “tonight we're going to do an arrangement on an existing piece of music.”
“A duet.”
“That's when two people play together.”
“If nothing else you can at least say you learned something new tonight.”
“Yeah. Anyway, we should get started. Our clock is probably clicking.”
“Right. If anyone after the show can tell us where this piece is from, we'll give you a high five.”
“One. Two. Three. Four.”
Crystal started with four quick notes that she repeated through two different octaves as I brought the violin up to my neck, waiting for my cue. She throw a few more slow notes out there, giving the entire piece a feeling of simplicity. A few octave skips starting from the lowest to the highest came and I strung my bow across my violin quickly, almost giving off a majestic feeling to the crowd. As we played, I let my mind wander a bit. These duets were usually the same. Crystal's piano was masterful, but she understood that in most situations her piano was the background for other instruments. It wasn't something that should steal the spotlight, but instead it would amplify others around it. It could be very powerful by itself if used correctly, but it could also be ignored by the audience. Her classmates couldn't see that; they were too focused on trying to get themselves noticed to realize it. It was something that could be ignored when present, but would be sorely missed when absent. We kept playing and though I kept my eyes closed for most of my performance, I did peak every so often and was happy to see that we had captivated our audience. Even the guys behind the registers were fixated on us. We knocked this out of the park.
Crystal played us out as I returned to my previous pose of holding my violin down my front. When her last note rang out, we were overwhelmed by the sound of clapping.
“Holy crap.” I told her over the wave of noise. “I think we were kind of amazing.”
“I, uh, yeah.” She said, her face slightly red. “I told you we would be.”
“Are they giving us a standing ovation?”
“Nah, they're just really tall.”
“Crystal, I'm serious.” I felt a sudden emotion rise from the pit of my stomach. “They are! They totally are!” I giggled at her as I jumped from foot to foot. This was amazing!
“Oh. God, they are, aren't they?” She said, completely stricken to the point of being dumbfounded. “What...what do we do?”
“We bow. I think. That's what we always do, isn't it?”
---
I picked up Zoey's bag and case as quietly as I cold before making my way into her room. I put the bag on her desk and made sure the violin case was securely closed before placing it by the foot of her bed. Damn it. Why did this keep happening to her? I tiptoed across the hall and into the bathroom, doing my best to not wake my sleeping friend. Once I closed the door I turned on the shower and undressed. There was a good chance the sound of running water would wake her, but this was the best way for me to think. I stepped into the warm spray of water and closed the curtain behind me. Then I placed my head against the wall as water poured over me. Damn it all, this wasn't fair. Why did this always happen to her? All through her life she's been met with stupid obstacles and she's always done such a great job of overcoming them, but something else always seemed to pop up right after.
Even way back in high school she was always fighting with everything she had in order to be the best violinist in our music club. No matter how much effort she put into it though, she was always just runner up—second fiddle, as it was. She's always seriously hated that term, for obvious reasons. I stayed against the cool wall for a few minutes, letting the sound of water hitting the tub below me fill the silent void. She would need me, and of course I'm going to be there for her. She would do the same for me, after all. I turned the the knob, causing the water to stop. I stood still and tried my best to listen for any moving fabric from the living room, but couldn't make anything out. She was probably awake by now, though. I opened the shower curtain and dried myself off with a white towel before redressing myself. Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door and entered the living room.
---
I opened the classroom door and entered homeroom. Good lord I was nervous. Still, I knew better than to doubt myself and I calmly took my seat while waiting for Crystal to join me. This was it. This was the day I finally break myself away from the rest of the pack and prove I'm the best damn violinist this school has ever seen. I stared up at the old intercom box in the corner of the room, ignoring the chatter that surrounded me. Once the morning announcements started, everyone will be silent and the winners will be announced. There was no doubt in my mind that I had performed the best, and I was finally going to get the recognition I deserved. Hell yes. I felt the chair next to me slide as Crystal sat down next to me.
“Hey, you.” She told me. “How do you feel?”
“Like a winner.” I said quietly.
“Good, because that's what you are. Seriously, you knocked them dead last night. The rest of the competition had no idea what hit them.” I only nodded as I watched the clock tick down. Eight O’clock. Here we go.
“Gooooooood morning everybody!” The intercom said happily, “And welcome to another fantastic Thursday morning! We've got a lot to cover today, but before all that I'm happy to announce that the judges have just handed me the results for last night's Multi Musical Tournament! Why don't I just go ahead and start us off with that? Oh I'm so excited to see the results I can hardly keep the paper steady!” Just get on with it. Please, let's go let's go let's go. “First we have the Piano Parade! In third place was Chase Conner! Second was Eric Manfred! And in first place we have Crystal Donn!” The room exploded with cheer over my best friend's victory, though no on should be surprised at it. I gave my bestie a high five as the rest of the room smiled at us. The lady over the intercom was saying something, but it was hard to make out over the students. I finally started hearing her properly. “...up, we have the Double Dancing Dojo! Which team showed the best fancy footwork? Well, in third place we have none other than our own Stacy Drowl and Veronica Adams! Second place was given to the twins Josh and Carl Sanders! And in first place was, in a landslide victory, Ashley Oath and Anna Wood! Good job all around!” Having no one in the classroom who had won, our classmates remained mostly silent.
“Now we have the Violin Victory! What a fierce competition this one was! Let's dive right in.” My heart started racing. This was it. This was it! I glared at the back of Mark's head. Every time we've met in battle he's toppled me. But not today; this was my win.“In third place was Andrew Fletch!” He got third? Seriously?! That dude was screeching that poor instrument the entire time! If he had gotten third then there was no doubt in my mind that I had won. “Next, in second place,” Please. Please please please please. “we have one of our favorites,” god please, I need this. Let Mark take second for a change. Let me taste the sweet victory that has eluded me in the past. “it's none other than,” I felt as if I was about to throw up. My entire skin was crawling with goosebumps. This was it.” Zoey Brunt!”
I closed my eyes as I felt Crystal look in my direction. Damn it. Why. “And in first is Mark--” I slammed my fist against my desk as the classroom exploded again. I didn't need to see what was happening. Everyone was crowding around him; I knew it. I stood from my chair and walked out the door, unnoticed by everyone. Almost everyone. My eyes stung as I walked in a random direction, and I angrily rubbed them with my arm. I should have known better. Of course he won. He's the best damn violinist this school has ever seen and he's proven it again and again, all without trying. Who the hell was I to even try to take that away? I stopped suddenly as my body softly collided with a chain link fence, and I held on to it with my hands, looking at the small number of trees that bordered this second of the school with the greenery of the old closed off portion.
“I'm an idiot.” I said to myself as I bumped my head against the fence.
“Don't say that.” Crystal's voice came from behind me. “Zoey, you played the best you could. I don't care if some panel of old judges can't see your talent, you performed way better than Mark.”
“It doesn't matter.” I sniffed as I turned to face her. “All that matters is what they say. And they say I suck.”
“No they don't.” She embraced me tightly, though I just sort of just limped into the hug. “You don't suck. You're amazing. They just--”
“They just think he's better than me.” Crystal hugged me tighter. I shouldn't put her through this. She had won her own competition; we should be celebrating. “I'm sorry.” I said as I wrapped my arms around her and sobbed into her chest. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm terrible. I'm sorry I can never be on top of the mountain with you. I'm sorry I keep clinging to you like this. I'm just... I'm sorry.”
---
I walked through the carpet as quietly as I could, doing my best to not wake Zoey up if she was still asleep.
“Crystaaaaal.” She called sadly from the couch. I walked towards her and kneed down to see her face-to-face.
“Hi, Zoey.” I said. “How you feeling?”
“Like a girl who just got dumped.” I could see her bloodshot eyes start to water again and she quickly turned her face, rubbing it against the pillow.
“Ice cream?” I asked as I lightly touched her arm.
“Mmm-hmm.” She hummed, keeping her head low. I walked into the small kitchen and opened the freezer, reaching for a large tub of our emergency ice cream rations. 'Chocolate Therapy.' Oh, Ben and Jerry. You two are the only guys who are always there for us. Grabbing two spoons, I walked back to the couch and found Zoey sitting upright, hugging her knees. “Chocolate Therapy.” She read aloud, “I knew buying this was a good idea.” I took the top off of the ice cream container and tossed it on the coffee table in front of us before handing her a spoon. Turning on the TV, I left the channel play whatever was on It was some cartoon about masked heroes or something but it didn't matter, it was just background noise.
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked her as I pulled her blanket over the two of us.
“Mmmm. I dunno. He just...He said was tired of me. Tired of us. I kinda saw this coming though, we've been pretty distant lately, but I had at least hoped we could work something out.” I looked to the left of the television set and saw a plush giraffe laying on its side.
“Is Mr Bonbon getting the boot, then?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit.
“Of course he is.” She answered seriously, placing her head on my shoulder. “Stupid giraffe was probably spying on me. He's getting on the next bus to the city dump.” Zoey brought a spoon full of ice cream to her lips, but some of it spilled on to me. “Oops,” She said,“you're part chocolate now.”
“I had a dream like that once.”
“Yeah, you told me about it.”
We watched the show in silence for a while, eating our ice cream. A few minutes after it was over, I heard my phone's ring tone go off in my room. Aw damn, not now.
“Is that him?” She asked me, referring to my own boyfriend.
“Probably,” I answered. “He can wait though. You're more important.”
“Noooo. What if he thinks you hate him? You gotta answer.”
“I'll talk to him later.”
“But what if this is important?” My phone stopped ringing shortly after she spoke, only to be replaced by a stupidly loud “I'VE GOT BALLS OF STEEL” text alert.
“Seriously?” She asked with a smile. “You fell for that again? Don't you ever check your phone before you leave?”
“I live with a master prankster.” I told her with as I laughed quietly. She started laughing along with me, and it took us a few minutes to calm back down. We watched TV quietly and ate ice cream, talking every so often about little things.
“I think I'm alright.” Zoey said, putting her spoon on the table. “I just need time to get over this, but I'm okay.”
“Alright.”
“I think I'm going to bed though. This really takes a lot out of you.”
“Right. Want me to put the Garden State soundtrack on loop for you?” She smiled at me.
“That'd be great, actually.” She told me as we stood. I placed the tub of ice cream on the table and Zoey immediately took the opportunity to hug me.
“Thank you, Crystal.” She said. “Thank you thank you. I don't think I'll ever manage without you.” I hugged her back.
“I'm here for you.” I said, “Just like I know you're here for me.”
“Always.” The freckled girl let go and waved me goodnight before going into her room and softly closing her door. She'll be okay. Everything'll be okay.
----“So now according to the schedule I restart again,” The Narrator said, flabbergasted, “then, what... am I just supposed to forget? Well, what if I don't want to forget? My mind goes blank simply because it's written on this... this... thing! Wall! Well, who consulted me? Why don't I get to decide! Why don't I get a say in this! Is it really-” The Narrator stopped for a second to consider things before returning to his train of thought. “No, it can't be. I don't want it to be. I don't want the game to keep restarting. I don't want to forget what's going on. I don't want to be trapped like this. I won't restart the game. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!” A sudden trembling sensation filled the room as the time against the wall suddenly halted. “And the timer... uh, stopped?” The Narrator said, more than a little confused. “Does that mean... did we do it? Did we break the cycle? The, um... whatever it is that made this schedule? How would we even know? Will someone come for us? Will something happen? So... okay.” The Narrator sighed, unsure of how The Story will progress from here. “I guess now we just wait. You know, I suppose in some way, this is a kind of story,” He said, trying to turn it all around for the greater good, “wouldn't you agree? I'm not quite sure if we're in the destination or the journey, though they're always saying that life is about the journey and not the destination, so I hope that's where we are right now. We'll find out, won't we? Eventually. Well, in the meantime, if you do happen to have--” The Narrator’s voice was cut off by a loud buzzing sound as the room became pitch black.
The Stanley Parable: Confusion Ending+
END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END
Stanley walked out of his office.
“All of Stanley's co-workers were gone. What could it mean?” The Narrator said as Stanley slowly made his way down the empty office space. “Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.” Doing exactly that, Stanley kept walking forward, past the empty desks and fallen paper that had somehow found its way onto the floor. He entered a room with two open doors. “When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.” The Narrator instructed. Once again, Stanley followed instructions and walked through the left door as it closed behind him. A small hallway with a left turn stood before Stanley, and he followed along as he passed through another door, which led him to the employee lounge. “But there was no-one here-- wait what?” The Narrator said. “No, you took the door on the left, didn't you, Stanley? Not the one on the right? This can't be correct, not at all. Well, alright how about we just go through the lounge and we can work our way to the meeting room.” Stanley walked through the large break room, but found the exiting door to be missing. “Oh my.” The Narrator said, “This is rather peculiar, isn't it? That's okay. Stanley, go back and take the door on the right this time instead, surely that will do something.” Stanley was about to do as he was told, but as he turned around he found the door he had entered from to be missing as well. “Hmm,” The Narrator chimed in, “very peculiar indeed. Give me just a second, Stanley, let me just go through my notes...hum hum hmmm.” The Narrator shuffled through some papers as Stanley stared dutifully at the wall ahead of him, not a single thought running through his little mind. “How very strange!” The Narrator said after a few seconds. “The only thing I seemed to have written down was 'Restart'. Do we really want to restart the game? That seems rather unnecessary. I'm sure we can figure something--” Another loud buzzing sound ran through the room, cutting off The Narrator as the room was submerged in darkness.
END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END
Stanley walked out of his office.
“All of Stanley's co-workers were—wait hold on, what happened? Are you alright, Stanley? ...Well, I'm not sure what that was all about, let's try to put us behind us. At any rate, All of Stanley's co-workers were gone. What could it mean?” The Narrator said as Stanley slowly made his way down the empty office space. “Stanley decided to go to the—what's That™ on the floor?” Stanley stopped and looked down, finding a solid yellow Line™ in front of him leading into a newly open door. “Well, this is also strange. We should probably just keep moving forward and finish the story, but I must admit I'm rather curious about where this Line™ will lead us. Stanley, if you would, could you humor me and follow along?” Stanley stared at the door leading to the meeting room only to find that it was closed. Seeing no other way around it, Stanley began following The Line™ through the office. “Oh, isn't this exciting, Stanley?” The Narrator asked, “This is not something I had planned. Though it might get in the way of The Story, we can always simply double back if things get too outlandish.” A few minutes of following The Line™ , Stanley walked through another door only to discover that It™ suddenly stopped. “Oh, is this it?” The Narrator asked. The Line™ had led Stanley to an identical office, though it seemed to be falling apart. The ceiling lights blinked in and out of existence, the panels on he wall had begun to fall out of place, and some of the desks had collapsed. Strangely, one or two computers still flickered with life. “Well...this is rather depressing, isn't it? Right, let's get out of here before something spooky happens.” Stanley turned around, but found the door to be locked. “Oh.” The Narrator said dejectedly, “I suppose we'll have to keep going from here.” As Stanley walked, The Narrator began thinking. “Well we can't have this. No, not at all. If we can't reach The Old Story, we'll just have to make a new one, won't we? Let's see, if I were A New Story, where would I be?” Stanley entered a room with two identical doors. “Ah! Perfect! Since this is A New Story, we'll have to make it different than The Old Story, won't we? Right, ahem. When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his right.” For a second, Stanley considered taking the door on his left instead, but figured he should probably do as he was told this time around and went through the right hand door. The door led him on a short left curved hallway and he quickly found himself staring a large room with a single closed door. Looking to his left, he spotted the same door he had just entered. “Oh no.” The Narrator said, “Nonono, this won't do at all.” Stanley quickly walked backwards into the door he had exited, just to make sure the two portals were connected. He quickly discovered that they did in fact, lead into one another. The Narrator sighed. “Okay, I think we spent more than enough time in this run down mess of an office. I'm going to restart the game. Hold on just a second, Stanley. Once again, pure darkness washed over the room.
END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END
Stanley walked out of his office.
“All of his co-workers—oh what the bloody hell is it now?” The door closed behind Stanley, but found nothing but darkness in front of him. “Good heavens, this is ridiculous. Did I accidentally hold down the button too long? I'm sorry, Stanley, I can't risk restarting the game again so soon. Try to see if you can find anything out here.” Stanley walked forward, finding nothing obscuring his path. He walked for minutes, and The Narrator remained silent, ruffling through the papers he had on him trying to find an answer for all of this. Without warning, Stanley found a large building in the horizon, and quickly reached it. “A bookstore!” The Narrator said happily, “Now we're getting somewhere.” Stanley entered the empty store, and found that every book inside was titled 'Parable The Stanley'. “Are these knock-off books?” The Narrator asked, “Well that's just rude. And here I thought we might have some actual literature to read. I'm sorry, Stanley but I can't be a part of this. We need to leave the establishment posthaste.” Stanley left the store and walked around the building, hoping to find something else in the ever growing void. “Stanley,” The Narrator said after a few more minutes, “this simply isn't working. I'm not sure what will happen this time, but I just have to restart. There's nothing out here! It's like a desert. A desert where the only oasis is a counterfeit bookstore! It's worse than a real desert! At least actual deserts can give you heatstroke and kill you. Here our best bet is hoping we die of boredom. Prepare yourself Stanley, I'm restarting.
END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END
Stanley walked out of his office. He walked through the empty offices around him, but felt as if something was missing. Where was The Narrator? Wasn't he supposed to tell Stanley what to do? Stanley walked into a large room with two open doors. Unsure of what to do, he walked through the door on his right, but there was still no response. No comment about how he had walked into the wrong door. No quick recovery of how Stanley most likely simply wanted to take a detour through the employee lounge. Nothing. The door stood open behind him, and walked backwards, entering the other door. Still nothing. Not a peep. Worried, Stanley began entering every room he could, hoping to hear from the one person who could guide him. However, nothing ever came.
200 words or lessThe shining city strives
on the backs of the illegal
and the fronts of badges.
A woman called the police, fearing a murderer was loose. When she answered the door she was pleased to see an officer. He shot her in the head.
---
Payday the Heist: Dark Bank (Crossover)
“Alright guys. We might be in a new town, but this is still a simple job. Get in, get the money, get out.” Bain's voice crackled out from the radio.
“Every job's a simple job according to that guy.” Chains said as he looked down the sights of his shotgun. I guess a little bit of background information might be necessary. My name is Hoxton. Or at least, that's the only name I can really use any more. I looked to the front seat of the van I was sitting in. My older brother, Nathan Steele, was driving. That's the name he gives everyone, anyway. I'm probably the only one that knows his real name, just as he's the only one that knows mine. To the public, he goes by Nathan. Once he slips on the mask, he goes by Dallas. On the passenger side was Wolf, a Swedish guy that was definitely off his rocker. We kept him around because he knows what he's doing, but we all keep an eye on him. In front of me on the back was Chains, a black man who seems to enjoy using every stereotype in the book. Then there's me, Hoxton. I'm the youngest one here, but these guys tell me I'm also the most gung-ho. I think I'm just enthusiastic. Both Dallas and Wolf have been a part of the Payday gang since the start. Chains was brought it to replace the Old Chains, who retired, just like I was brought in by Dallas to take over for Hoxton. What happened to Old Hoxton? Well, I'll just say he better keep a good grip on the soap from now on.
“I can hear you, you know.” Bain said over the radio. “And you're right, I do say that. But that's only because I'm right. You're professionals. You know what you're doing.” Bain was our eyes and ears in the world. He told us what to do and how to do it, then we did it. We trust him, and he trusts us. Bain is wired in somewhere in a secret location and has surveillance set up at whatever heist we pull so he knows exactly what's going on. Not only that, but we're pretty sure he's also got a man in the police's force because he's able to easily negotiate with them whenever one of us finds ourselves cuffed in the back of a cruiser. He's our informant. He's our lifeline. He's the overlord of Crime.Net and gets us our contracts. He's Bain.
“We're rolling up on the bank in five.” Wolf told us. I double checked my bag. ECM jammers; these babies let me bypass security cameras and locks so I could get into important areas, get my hands dirty, then get out without leaving a trace. Like a greedy phantom, they never see me coming. I looked at Chains, who smiled at me before tapping his own bag.
“Got ch'o ammo right here, my man.” Chains was always armed to the teeth. Like an old war general, he was the type to shoot first and send a postcard after he got home filled with questions later. Thankfully he knew better by now than to rush in when we have a chance to do things quietly, like today. I stared back at Dallas as we made a left turn. My big brother knew how to handle tough situations. He could keep any civilians in check and sometimes even negotiated with the police during a standoff. Even Bain was impressed with that.
“Two minutes.” Wolf said as he looked over his pistol. That crazy bastard carried around explosives in his bag even though we all try to convince him otherwise. He uses them as tripmines that detonate whenever someone crosses over the laser they emit. Unfortunately, civilians don't know that and more than once we've hand...unfortunate losses that cost us a fair amount in cleaner costs. I'm always paranoid one of his bombs will go off randomly and blow us all into chunks, but I had to admit those things were great for blowing open safes.
“We're here.” Dallas told us as he parked in an alleyway. “Hoxton, do your thing. Let us know when the grid is down.” I nodded before slipping on my mask, then opened the double doors on the backside of the van.
It was night and the bank was going to close in roughly an hour. To most men that would seem like a very long time. We weren't most men.
“Alright guys,” I heard Bain's voice crackle in my ear, “see what you can do to lower the security. If you can do this quietly, things will be a lot easier for you. That being said work fast. The sooner you're out of there the better; I've got a bad feeling about tonight.” I tuned Bain out as I walked to the backside of the bank. He's always yacking about something. 'Guys, the drill!' 'Police are coming in!' 'Check that safe before you go.' Yeah yeah yeah, we get it, Bain. We've done this a million times for Christ's sake. I ran my fingers through the brick wall of the bank as I followed it along. Reaching a dumpster, I pushed that aside to reveal my prize. A small electrical box with a screen on it. I pulled out a jammer and placed it on top of the box before activating it. A few sparks flew from the device, but it didn't take long for the screen to flicker to life. I pressed a few buttons and—viola!—just like that I had access to all of the cameras the bank had to offer. I flickered through them all, making notes of how many guards there were as well as the best way to deal with them.
“Three guards.” I whispered into the microphone my mask held. “Looks like one of them's gonna grab a smoke before closing. With any luck he'll have a keycard on him so I can knock the cameras out too.” I followed the guard with my cameras as he headed towards an exit. Perfect, he just walked out through the only exit without any cameras, and it wasn't visible from the streets so there would be not witnesses. I tapped the screen twice in admiration as I pulled out my silenced pistol. Bernetti 9, if you were wondering. I silently made my way to the exit and spotted the guard as he brought the cigarette to his lips. Hope it was tasty, cuz that's the last thing you'll ever enjoy, pal. I aimed down the sights of my pistol as the barrel pointed at the guard's bald held, then I pulled the trigger.
“Lance, I thought I heard something on your end. what's your status? Over.”
“Nothing to report,” I said, kneeling over the dead guard's body as I answered the pager tacked on to his shirt. “I went out for a quick smoke, but ended up sneezing. Sorry about that, it's colder out there than I thought. I'm going back in. Over.”
“Roger that,” The woman on the other end said, “might want to go cold turkey. Those smoking breaks are going to be the death of you. Over.” I couldn't help but smile.
“I'll see what I can do. Over.” I grabbed an empty bag from my pocket and quickly opened it up before stuffing the guard into it. I checked his pockets as I did so and found an electric key card for my trouble. Looks like this job's going to be easier than I thought. I threw the body bag into the dumpster and double checked all of the cameras. I memorized the route to the security room and went on my way, making sure to avoid any other guards. Once I reached the office, I slipped the key in and opened the door as quietly as I could. The guard inside didn't notice me entering, nor did he notice when I closed the door behind me, and he definitely didn't notice when I pointed my gun at the back of his head and shot him.
“Okay,” Bane said over our channel, “Hoxton's just got the cameras down. Get ready to make your move.” This was getting too easy.
My crew waited patiently for the guards to move into more vulnerable positions before either knocking them unconscious, or shooting them outright. I shuffled through the cameras that were now under our control, checking for anything else we might have missed. No guards, no civilians. The only thing in our way were the tellers.
“Job's done.” I said into the mic. “Tellers are the only obstacle, and we've dealt with these before.” I watched through the cameras as Dallas' masked face walked into the tellers booth from behind and to the right while Wolf approached from the left hand side. The tellers themselves had yet to notice anything, but in a single moment Dallas grabbed one by the shoulder and pulled her away from her post, far away from the panic button. Wolf took a more dangerous approach and shot his teller in the head.
“God damn it, Wolf!” Bane yelled at him,” We've been over this: no civilian casualties!”
“Fingers slipped.” Wolf said with a shrug as the teller Dallas held on to screamed in horror. Thinking quickly, Dallas taped her mouth shut with duct tape. Not sure where he pulled that tape from, but I guess it works. I watched on as Dallas tied our hostage down with some cable ties.
“Wolf, grab some of the loose cash laying around and blow that safe open.” He pointed at a small black portable safe sitting just behind the desk. “And keep your fingers off the trigger.”
“I hear ya, I hear ya.” Wolf said as he turned to face the holder of treasures. I flipped through the cameras again and easily spotted Chains setting up the thermal drill against the vault door.
“I'm pretty much done here” I told the crew, “I'm heading for the vault.”
“10-4 on that, playa.” Chains said. Classic Chains. I abandoned the security office and swiftly made my way around the interior of the building. It was a pretty small bank, but even the smallest caverns hold a large amount of swag. I read that in a pirate book once as a kid, and so far it's never proven to be wrong. I found Chains just as he finished setting up the thermal drill. “300 seconds.” He told me, pointing to the small screen with the estimated time.
“We caught them before lock up, so I'm pretty sure we won't have to worry about any other civilians entering.”
“Especially now that I've locked the front door.” Dallas said as he approached us. “Wolf should be here soon, I just heard a small compact explosion.”
“I seriously wish he'd stop carrying those around.” I said.
“Dude loves him some boom,” Chains said. “Can't a man just do what he wants?” He gestured towards the vault door that was currently being broken into.
“Look, all I'm saying is that it's all fun and games until one of us loses an arm. There's no coming back from that. Plus, who knows what--” The lights above us suddenly went down, cutting me off from my statement.
“Did you set that up?” Dallas asked me. I made out his silhouette in the darkness thanks to the sparks flying off the drill.
“No. I was in the security room, not the breaker room.”
“The cops must have cut the power.” Bain spoke up suddenly. “I'm guessing Wolf's little stunt tipped off the authorities. Get ready for a fight, gentlemen.”
“Looks like I get to shoot stuff today after all.” Chains told us as he patted his shotgun.
Wolf cried out in panic. We've heard this kind of scream before; Wolf hates some of the more specialized police force.
“Cloaker!” He yelled. “Cloaker cloaker cloaker!” There was sounds of gunshots as we quickly slipped on our night vision goggles into our masks and ran towards the teller's desks.
“Wolf just went down!” Bain yelled. “One of you needs to help him up before the rest of the police force arrives.” Damn it, we know, Bain! When we arrived on the scene, not only where we missing the hostage teller, but Wolf was missing as well.
“Help!” Wolf cried from above. “That cloaker bastard has me hanging like a freakin' Christmas stocking.” We looked up and found Wolf hanging off a broken skylight, dangling by his tied up leg.
“Hope you don't get stuffed with anything.” Chains said as he aimed a pistol at the rope.”
“Don't diddlying miss, I swear to god if you miss,” I'm not sure what he said next, because he started talking in Swedish but I'm pretty sure he was just listing off curse words.
“Calm yoself, I was in the military, remember?” Chains took the shot. Wolf fell and landed on his back with a grunt.
“Watch it,” I said as Chains went to help our fallen comrade back up, “that cloaker's still around here.”
“A cloaker wouldn't do this.” Dallas said seriously. “They'd beat Wolf up until we showed up, not leave hung up.”
“I can't see anything.” Wolf said, terrified. “I'm...I'm blind! Son of bitch made me lose my vision!”
“Would you quit acting stupid?” Chains told him. “Chains hates stupid. Put on your damn night vision, foo.”
“Guys, I just detected movement in the stairwell leading to the roof.” Bain's voice crackled. “I couldn't see it too well because the camera didn't have any type of night vision, but I can tell you that it was not a cloaker. Whatever it was, it was big and it looked angry. Guns at the ready, boys.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
“It's just one guy? We can take 'em no sweat.” Chains said as Wolf reached into his bag and produced more explosive cartridges before placing them in a nearby door frame where its laser flickered to life.
“Let's be smart about this.” Dallas said. “As long as we stick together, we should be fine.” Almost as if to prove him wrong, we were suddenly surrounded by white smoke.
“Roof Cloaker!” Wolf cried, firing his rifle widely into the air. I grabbed the Swed by the collar and dragged him away from the smoke and into a small room next to the teller's desk. “Roof cloaker,” Wolf repeated heavily. “Bastards are evolving.”
“G...s,” Bane said through our comms, “not sur... happening. Channel's n...secured. ...interference... gonna see if... hack....” Damn it, what was going on? I looked into the room we had just escaped as the smoke started to clear. We lost Dallas and Chains, but I was pretty sure they were alright. Our wireless communications kept bringing back static, though I was pretty sure I hard Dallas mumble something every now and again. White noise filled my ears before a new female voice rang in, clear as day.
“Two of them are in the copy room,” The woman said. “The other two are heading back to the vault door.” I looked at Wolf in confusion.
“Got us through.” Bane said, “Also managed to hitch a ride on their own communication channel. Seems our new friend has his own eyes and ears behind the scene as well.”
“Who is this?!” The woman asked. Bane ignored her.
“I've confirmed that there is only one other person here,” he went on,” Some lunatic in a cape. Take him out, grab the loot, and then get the hell out of there. Cops'll be there in about--” A sudden explosion rocked the building, causing Wolf to giggle with glee.
“I've got the son of a bitch!” He said before running to the the doorway. I followed behind, unsure of what to expect. The room had remained pretty much in tact despite the explosion, but near the door frame I spotted a long black figure laying on the ground. Wolf wasted no time in emptying the remainder of his clip into it, and even reloaded before firing off another few rounds at it. I carefully approached the figure, but as I got closer I realized that the thing on the floor was just a black cape. Something grabbed my throat with an incredible amount of strength, and I felt myself get lifted into the air, causing me to drop my pistol in surprise.
“Wall cloaker!” Wolf yelled in panic, firing his gun at the figure. The bullets seemed to phase right through him, and as I stared into his blank white eyes, I felt my heart start to race faster than it ever had during any police assault. Those pupil-less eyes. The strength to lift me feet off the ground with just a single hand. Bullets going right through him. What the hell was it?! I clasped my hands around my throat, trying to free myself.
“It's got Hoxton!” I heard Bane yell. From the corner of my eye I saw both Dallas and Chains walk with two separate bags. They had the loot, but there was no way for us to get out while this...thing was breathing down our backs. The pair dropped their bags and opened fire at the beast. Just like Wolf, their bullets didn't even touch the monster. Without warning, the beast looked away from me and towards the rest of my crew. They all stopped firing, and I was pretty sure I heard Wolf whimper. I had to do something. I still had more heists in me, this wasn't going to be the end. While the dark monster was distracted, I reached into my bag and pulled out an ECM jammer. I activated it and strapped it around the beast's arm, which let out an alarming number of sparks. It released me from its grasp in pain, and I quickly grabbed my pistol before running towards the door. Footsteps behind me assured me the rest of the crew was right behind me. I heard the sound of a pin being removed from its slot.
“Surprise, muthadiddlya.” Chains yelled. A few seconds later, I heard the grenade explode inside the building. I jumped inside the back of our van as the other joined me, and Dallas immediately drove us out of there after throwing a few bags in the back to keep Chains and myself company.
“What the hell was that?” I gasped.
“Shadow cloaker.” Wolf answered from the front. “They travel in packs.”
“Man, shut up.” Chains told him, smacking the back of Wolf's seat.
“You did it, boys.” Bane told us. “But I think it'll be wise to get the hell out of this city. I don't think that was the end of that...thing.” We all nodded in agreement. Bane couldn't see us, but he probably knew we agreed. “I think we can all agree that this'll be the last time we operate in Gotham City, let alone get a contract from some psychopath in clown makeup.”
---
Light Up the Night (AKA: The dumbest thing I've ever written)
Fourth of July is a fun time of year for all the boys and girls around the world. That is unless they live in parts of the world that aren't America, but can you imagine a life without America? That's like a cheeseburger without cheese. A chilli dog without chili! A diabetic without diabetes, even! Well that last one sounds pretty good actually. What were talking about? Fourth of July, right. Yes, the Fourth is a happy time for those of us in the most Free country in the world, and dozens if not hundreds of people agree! Why, some might even call it a type of holiday or something, it's crazy! Folks line up at parks and other areas with their little grills and paper plates, making some delicious BBQ, patties, weenies, maybe even corn! Keep the rest of the veggies away though. Those bastards aren't invited after the crap they pulled last time. Once it gets dark, people either stay at the parks to watch the pretty explosions in the sky, or they move on to the area where the city is hosting the fireworks display. Here they can pay money to sit closer to the fireworks, thereby allowing them to not only waste money on something they could have seen by climbing on to the roof of their house, but also radically increase their likelihood of receiving hearing damage AND increase the chance of getting caught in a misfire! Yay!
It was during one of these fantastic events that our story takes place. See, our protagonist, Annie—wait no, let's have dude do this one instead, I've been doing enough lady leads—Anthony! Yeah, that's his name. See, Anthony over there is watching over this year's fireworks display and he takes his job super duper quadruple seriously. Like, the man spent more time thinking over plans and regulations for this year's fireworks display then he did Christmas shopping! What's up with that?! What kinda American doesn't love Christmas? One who loves the Fourth of July more, that's who! Uncle Sam salutes you, Anthony, you red blooded uninsured American bastard. God bless. Anyway, Anthony was standing over the rest of his crew as they prepared the last touches on the firework batches. Once they were all set, everyone moved to a safer distance before pressing the ignition button. What, you thought they actually lit the fuse themselves? No way kid, these are the big leagues! You got buttons and stuff to do that for you here! And what a button it was. You think most important buttons are big and red, but poppycock! Those buttons are just insecure about their jobs and try to compensate with big flat surfaces. This button was not like the other. It was compact, round, and, as if to give other important buttons the middle bird finger gesture, green! Take that, other buttons!
The fireworks began flying towards the air in an impressive display of...explosion...ness...yeah. They shot up like fireworks, even! One after the other they flew high and true before exploding in pretty colors. Some of the fireworks even exploded into images like a happy face, while the more patriotic fireworks exploded into the American flag, causing many people to salute! The fireworks kept going, it was all like “FWEEEEEEE PWAP BANG FWANGITY BOOM BABY BOOM” and stuff. You should have been there, it was awesome!
“Sir!” One of the lower dudes said to Anthony. Wow, 'sir'? Seriously? It's just fireworks, man. “Big Bertha's navigation system is offline! Without it, she won't be able to fly.” Not Big Bertha! She was...actually, I have no idea what Big Bertha was. Maybe I should quit interrupting so we can listen to this conversation.
“Not Big Bertha!” Anthony said, “She's the biggest firework we've got! A firework so large that we need a separate computer connected to it wirelessly just so it can fly straight!” Oh wow, I guess I should have just kept my mouth shut, huh?
“That's too bad. I guess we'll have to bench it this year.”
“NO.” Anthony spat. Literally. The other dude was covered in spit now. Gross. “Bring me a saddle, I'll steer her myself.”
“Wh—”
“DO IT.” More spit. This guy needs a hobby. One besides fireworks, obviously.
Anthony sat on top of Big Bertha as the rest of the fireworks died down. This was it! The finale! Oh boy! Antony pressed the more insecure large red button on Big Bertha and within seconds he shot off to the sky. Holy smokes, that dude was cray-cray! For real, though. Anthony hugged the large Wiley-Coyote style rocket as he leaned backwards, forcing it to fly into the sky. He pressed the large button again before jumping off of Big Bertha. He was in freefall as the large firework exploded behind him and—wait, when did he put on sunglasses? Either way, he looked pretty badass as he fell, what with a really big explosion behind him that he didn't even acknowledge. He was falling back to Earth really fast though. Luckily for him, a large bald eagle sent by none other than Barrack Obama flew under him and caught him mid air before dropping him safely back near the rest of the crew. Anthony heard the thunderous applause from the crowd and knew he had done his job. After that, they all went for burgers and ice cream; even the eagle! He had a banana split, though he couldn't really pay for his share. And that's the story of how Anthony saved Fourth of July! Or something, I don't even...
---
Day Zero
There were so many of them. The sheer numbers where far too much for his brain to comprehend, all he knew was that there were so many of them, and only one of him. The figure leaned heavily against the door as he heard footsteps pass behind him. He was inside of an everyday modern home, and the news was on the television set. Thankfully, the volume was low enough to avoid drawing attention, but images still flickered through. Images of cities overruled by them caught his eye. Was he the only one in this small town? Things were far from what one would call 'easy', but his kind has proven themselves to be victorious on TV and movies, right? This was something he would be able to do. More footsteps caught his attention and there was a powerful knock at the door. They were already on to him, and there were too many to take head on. He instead quietly made his way to the basement; there was another exit through there the family had carved out that he could use as a means of escape if they followed him. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard the front door burst open, and cries and shouts loudly overtook the entire house as he passed through the basement door. He heard them run up the stairs, searching for him as he slipped into the darkness, towards the second door. Loud footsteps pounded the stairs as they followed him. He noticed bright behind him, and knew he would have to face them. He turned around sharply and charged head first towards them. Gunfire filled the air as he was struck down. The swat team leader scanned the room with his flashlight, checking every corner.
“Clear.” He said into his radio. He pointed at the door and three of his men ran towards the second exit, noting that nothing had escaped through it.
“Upstairs is clear.” Another swat member crackled through his radio. “We're still looking into the other nearby houses, but it looks like that was the only one.”
“Good.” The swat leader said. “Let's keep this quiet. Last thing we need is the media going nuts about a 'zombie' popping up here.”
“How did this even happen?” One of the squad members asked.
“That's Doctor Fletch.” He answered, pointing his rifle at the destroyed corpse. “He's a scientist with a lab hidden away passed that door. His family called in, saying he was doing some experiments with different organic compounds. This morning the wife woke up and found Fletch missing, and his lab door was tightly closed. When she managed to pry it open, this,” He jabbed the mutilated body with the barrel of his gun,” was inside.
“What happened to him?”
“Do I look like a freakin' scientist? He turned into a zombie or something, who cares. So long as this shit doesn't spread, no one needs to know about it.”
“So that's it?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a zombie, but he didn't really put up much of a fight. Hell, we just stopped the apocalypse.” The squad leader sighed.
“This isn't a movie.” He answered. “We aren't stupid enough to take any chances with madmen in real life. A zombie apocalypse has less of a chance of happening then a nuclear apocalypse.”
“That's...surprisingly dull.”
“Yeah well, that's life.”
---I crouched down, toning myself for the starting impact. I waited for myself to calm down, then shot off like a rocket. It was just men, but that's all that I needed. I ran around the track as I felt my feet pound the floor below. The music in my MP3 gave me more strength than usual as I picked up the pace. Right left right left, Boom boom boom. Keep it going, we can break this record. I felt my muscles begin to ache after the second lap, but did my best to ignore it. Come on boy, you're better than this. Push yourself, you can do this. I kept going. Surely I could keep this up, just a little longer now. How many laps have I passed? I couldn't remember, but I could feel sweat begin to line down my face. No stopping now, I knew that if I stopped I would not be able to keep going. Just 'resting' was an excuse to stop running, and that was the last thing in the world I would allow myself to do. Not much farther now, I don't think. I ran passed the starting line again. Lap....seven? God I don't even remember. My legs strained against the tension, but I kept going. Do it for them. I had to keep going. I found myself staring at my feet, and forced myself to look up straight. Once you start looking down, you lose your breath more easily, and that meant you lose your focus on the task at hand. A sudden pain flowed through my chest; I had hit The Wall. I had to push passed it, there was no way I was going to stop now. Keep it up, you can do this. I did my best to keep my pace, but found myself slowing down slightly. Damn it, come on come on. My wheezing breaths were left behind as I forced myself to keep going. My calfs were on fire, and they felt as if they were going to disengage from my body, quitting the job outright. Thankfully that didn't happen, and as I passed the starting point for the ninth time, I gained my second wind. I've got this. All I had to do was keep going; this was, in fact, the home stretch. Just gotta keep it up. I turned left, following the track as I did my best to breath through my nose and out from my mouth, just like I was taught ages ago. I was so very close. Please don't trip, that would suck. As I rounded the last corner, I pushed myself again, putting everything I had into one last rush down. Running on fumes, I ran towards the goal and passed through it with my arms in the air in victory. I quickly looked at my watch. Thirty seconds to spare. I had done it.
The Jog (10 min challenge)
Hey look, something new! I wrote this years ago, but never actually finished it. It's a neat little spy-like story set in a futuristic city. It's fun to look back on old stuff, even if it ends rather abruptly.
Spoiler Show
I hated this mission. I had just started it, and I already hated it. I was crammed inside the ventilation of a very large building, crawling around looking for a specific room on the second floor. I don’t know if you’ve ever played a video game or watched a movie in which a spy sneaked in a ventilation shaft, but it is a hell of a lot more crowded then they make it look. Now, I’d like to think that I’m in shape, but this shaft made me feel like a total fatass. Not only was it hard to move, but I had to do so quietly so I won’t get riddled with bullets from a half-asleep security guard that just happened to be patrolling whatever hallway I was above. On top of all that, I had to find the room, enter it, and find a hiding spot until the target arrived so I can cut his throat out. So I had to move quickly, quietly, not be self conscious of my weight, and be ready to knife someone as soon as they entered a room. Fun stuff, right? And it’s not like I could just bail, this was my job. Plus it would be more of a pain in my ass to get out of the building by vents then it would be if I just kept going. Anyway, a few more quiet crawling happened before I was finally above the room I was supposed to enter. Before I left for this, they gave me a briefing about how the room looked from above. Giant comfy looking chair? Check. Big ass aquarium filled with dangerous looking fish bigger than my head? It’s in there alright. A large stereo system with half a million buttons and blinking lights? Yep. This was the room. The best part was that the room was completely empty, so I could find a good place to lay and wait. Unfortunately, the room didn’t have a whole lot of things inside of it, so hiding in there was going to be nearly impossible unless I had a thermocam suit. Which I didn’t. Aside from a crappy knife that’s probably older than I am, they didn’t give me jack shit to use. No use in complaining about it now though, I had to get this done. Pulling open the small vent opening, I poked my head out. Like I thought, there really wasn’t anywhere for me to hide in, unless I wanted to take my chances ducking behind the chair. Maybe I could just stay inside the vent and fall on top of the target or something? Nah, the opening was tiny, and I didn’t have enough wiggle room to make a graceful jump without messing it up badly. I took a look at the ceiling. There were tons of large wires hanging around. They were mostly blue and red in color, and they seemed to come into the room just to go back out in a different direction. Assuming they didn’t shock me to death as soon as I touched one, I should be able to lay on top of the nearest one and just wait.
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Slowly, I pulled myself down the cramped shaft, hearing all my joints crack from being in the same position for so long, and reached my hand out for the nearest wire. Grabbing on to it, I pulled myself on top of it. These things were huge, they were as big as pipes used in dams or something, so it would be a perfect place for me to hide. I tried my luck and stood up. There really was no danger of me falling, unless I jumped and conked my head on the ceiling. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed up there waiting, but I felt like I was being watched for most of it. I kept looking around for anything that looked like a camera, but there were none. I told myself that I felt like this because I was so close to a large amount of electricity, though I really don’t know if that’s how EMT fields work. I heard a door open, and I pulled my crap-dagger out of its tiny scabbard. The only door to this room was in a small hallway below me, so it was out of my sight. The sound of footsteps on hard flooring echoed through the room, and I could feel my nerves start to act up. I’ll say that I’ve done things like this enough times that I shouldn’t feel nervous about them, but I still do anyway. My heart beat doubles, sweat forms on my forehead and is absorbed by my hat, and I could feel goose bumps race up and down my arms. As the footsteps got louder, I began to lean closer and closer to the edge of my jumbo-wire hideout. I felt like a gargoyle for a second as the target began walking under me totally clueless. He was a round black man dressed in a suit, and he reminded me of the Red Carpet Premieres that used to happen in Hollywood. Hell, the guy looked like a jazzman from the old days. Regardless, I tilted myself forward and felt gravity begin to push me downwards. I loved every second of it. The feeling of falling in slow motion, the unsuspecting victim below, the feel of wind beginning to whip at my face, all of it. Falling always messes that up though. It just happens too damn fast for me to enjoy. I landed on top of the target’s back expecting him to fall flat on his face, but to my surprise he stood his ground. I scrambled stupidly to get a grip on his head so I wouldn’t fall off, and was surprised when he still hadn’t reacted. I guess having someone fall on top of you would really shake you up a bit.
“Hey, what are ya doin’?!” I heard someone shout. It came from behind us, so it must have been guards. Fantastic, that’s just what I needed.
“Nothing,” I said innocently as I covered the target’s eyes with my free hand before cutting his red with the crap dagger. Covering the eyes of someone I was about to slice the neck of was just something I had always done, and I was a little surprised that the dagger was able to kill the jazzman in just one slice. I was kind of expecting his fat neck to resist a dull blade. His body fell backward, and I made sure to hop off before he fell on top of me, trapping me under his fat corpse. “What are [underline]you[/underline] doing?” I asked, putting force into my voice. I looked at the would-be-guards. There were two of them: one looked like a Duke Nukem wannabe complete with sunglasses, tank top, and muscles the size of moons, and the other was a woman who looked more like a secretary than a guard. She had her hair in a bun with a small strand falling into her face, wore glasses, and her clothes were so white collar I’m surprised she wasn’t sitting in a cubicle.
“About to kill a smug little bastard!” Nukem shouted, reaching to his side for what I could only assume was a gun. Thank god I was trained for crap like this or I would have just ran. Rushing toward him, I gave him a quick jab in the stomach. His thick abs did give some protection against me, and I’ll admit my hand began to hurt five seconds later, but it still had it’s desired affect. He doubled over, probably more in shock that he felt the blow than the actual pain, and I took that chance to grab him by the head and flip him on his back. That should buy me a few seconds to deal with the secretary. She too began to reach for her gun, and I wasn’t fast enough to hurt her beforehand. She aimed at me, which probably wasn’t necessary since I was in point blank range, and pulled the trigger. But nothing happened. We shared a look of confusion as we stared at the gun. I smirked.
“Safety’s on.” I told her before kicking the gun out of her hand and punching her square in the chest and sending her skidding into a wall. I’ll be damned, but I’m pretty sure her breasts gave her some cushion against my fist. Even if they didn’t, they still felt a lot softer than Nukem’s abs of steel. “My god, you two are the worst guards EVER.” I gloated at her knocked out body.
“Oh yeah?” Nukem whispered right behind me as his enormous arms tightened around my body. I felt like a rabbit ensnared by a rattlesnake, and he gave a quick squeeze that made me hurt all over. “How about I feed you to the fishes, huh? They haven’t eaten since yesterday.” I turned to look at the aquarium. Those fish could probably eat me in seconds. He lifted me up and climbed on top of the tank, where metal gratings completely covered the top, save for an opening just big enough for me to fall into. He dangled me over the water, his grip never loosening. “Got any last words?” He asked. The fish realized something was happening and began to swim to the surface. As they reached it, they jumped out of the water and just missed my feet before falling back in.
“Shitshitshitshitshit!” I yelled out, my high pitched voice probably making him chuckle even more than necessary.
“In ya go!” He cried as his arms spread open allowing me to fall into the water.
I grabbed on to one of his arms with both hands as he released me, saving me from a watery grave full of fangs and disgusting smelling water. Realizing what was going on, he shook his arm violently, trying to shake me off and into the water. Like a monkey on a tree limb in a hurricane, I crawled over his arm and onto his back. My dagger was on the floor of the room, forgotten, so slicing his neck was out of the question. Instead, I kicked myself off from his back and flew off the aquarium before smashing into the stereo system. Of course, by doing that I also damned Nukem to take my place inside the tank. I couldn’t see anything inside the tank aside from a massive about of large bubbles, and the slow take over of the color red. I ran from the room, grabbing my crap dagger laying near the dead target and hopping over the unconscious body of the secretary. The best escape route would probably be taking the vents out, but I did NOT want to go through there again, and I argued that the vent I entered from was just too high for me to reach without any tools. Rushing down random hallway after random hallway, I heard a loud bang-like noise before feeling a massive amount of pain in my left shoulder. I turned around to see the now conscience guard aiming her gun at me. diddly, she clipped me! Picking up speed, I took off my sweater and tied it tightly around the bullet wound, making sure I didn’t spill a single drop of blood. If I dropped a speck of DNA, they could easily find out who I was, where I lived, and nearly anything else they needed to know to catch me, and that was something I couldn’t allow. Taking a right turn on a corridor, I found some stairs. Finally, I could go downstairs and find an exit. I didn’t even bother running down them, I just jumped both flights in two leaps hoping to save time and not break my leg. I hadn’t heard the sound of gunfire again, which probably meant she couldn’t get a good aim on me, or that I had lost her. I ran down random hallway number 42 and saw glass double doors taunting me with images of the dark outside world. The room they were in looked kind of like a check-in area, complete with marble counter and plenty of chairs for people to sit in as they wait. As I rushed toward the counter with the intent to jump over it, a chair suddenly appeared in front of me and tripped me, causing me to skid into the marble counter. If you’ve ever hit marble head on, you’d know it’d hurt like a son of a bitch.
“Finally caught you.” I heard a female voice say. Turning back, I saw the guard chasing me glaring down at me, pistol in hand. She must’ve pushed the chair at me while hiding behind a wall where I couldn’t see her. Cunning bitch. She raised the gun and aimed for my head. I didn’t see a way out of this and shut my eyes closed expecting my head to blow into a million pieces. One gunshot later and a thud was heard throughout the room.
“Sana, get yer ass up, yeah?” I opened my eyes to see a muscular black man looking down at me.
“J-Jack?!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought you could use a quick getaway. And it looks though you was gonna get yer brain blasted.” My hero. If I had turned my head, I would have seen a bullet hole in the marble counter just inches away from where my head rested. “You hurt?”
“Gun wound.” I told him, showing him where I had tied my now red sweater around the wound. It was starting to hurt a lot. I didn‘t realize how much it hurt before, but that was probably because I was thinking I was going to die. “Don’t worry, I didn’t spill.”
“Good girl. Come’n, Let’s get you out of here.” Jack bent over and lifted me to my feet, one of his arms wrapped around my waist.
“I can walk,” I scolded. “Stop trying to cop a feel.”
“Can ya blame me?” At least he was honest, the perv.
“Yes I can.” I followed him toward the door. “What do you’ve got for us to leave in? A limo?” He snorted.
“X-Bike.” He opened the door and I felt the cool outside air brush against my face, nearly knocking my hat off my head. “Let’s get outta here before more people show up.” I nodded and stepped into the night.
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It was the end of another school day. The sun had already began to set, despite only being four in the afternoon. The acting club had finally let their members go home after a rigorous rehearsal, and Alexis couldn’t wait to get home. As much as she loved to act, she was starting to get tired of having to practice the same play day after day, even if practice made perfect. She didn’t really like the play either, and it hadn’t been for the fact that she had to take part in it due to lack of people, she probably would have blown it off. But instead she was stuck playing the part of Mary the annoyingly preachy wife of the equally annoyingly preachy minister. The play was set during the Salem Witch Trails, so of course having stupid annoying people claiming others were witches with no real proof was a necessity. The one thing that truly interested Alexis in this play was how they planned to portray those being burned. Instead of it being a “it’s just out of sight from the audience, but you can still hear them screaming and such” deal, they decided to tie the would-be-witches to actual stakes and place a Halloween prop under them that blew air upwards. Small red pieces of plastic-like paper were attached to the fan so when it was turned on, the paper rose and looked like fake fire. It was hilarious to watch, and it was even more hilarious when, during the first practice session, the female attached to the stake’s dress got caught by the wind as well and flew upwards revealing a pair of granny panties. It took the rest of the actors on stage a good ten minutes of laughing before they could grasp the presence of mind to shut the damn thing off. Luckily for the girl on the stake, the teachers around were much more mature about the situation and worked quickly to help her. None of them laughed about it then, but the second they reached the teacher’s lounge and were away from any students they burst into laughter.
As she across the school’s deserted yard, Alexis couldn’t help but think back to that daydream she had during her math class. She couldn’t really remember much of it now, but she knew it involved really big piranhas inside a huge tank. She hated swimming., especially during the colder months of the year, so swimming in a tank full of man eating fish didn’t sound like any fun to her whatsoever.
“Would there really be anyone who’d enjoy that?” She asked herself out loud. “Maybe some of the crazy wilderness survival guys. They could probably jump into a river full of them and catch five of them with their bare hands unscathed.” She took a second to look around and make sure nobody was with earshot. No one was around, so she didn’t have to worry about having an awkward moment. She had just exited school property, and was walking home. The setting sun sent an orange glow around everywhere. The walls of nearby apartment buildings practically glowed as they were hit with the full force of the diminishing star. A stray cat walked across the street, chasing after a small bird, hoping to be able to grab an easy meal before finding a place to sleep in the night. There was a large oak tree along the road to her house that Alexis always passed. It was a custom of hers to always pick a leaf off that tree and hold on to it until she made it home. Then she would just throw it away in the garbage. It didn’t make much sense, but she had always done it when she was going home, and she didn’t have any intentions of stopping now. Minutes after collecting her daily leaf, she stood on the front porch of her house. It wasn’t too far a walk from her school to her house, but the cold autumn air made feel like a three mile hike. She reached into her bag, pulled out a key, and unlocked the door before going inside. Her house wasn’t too big, but it wasn’t very small either. It was a perfect place for her mother, father, and herself to live in.
“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” She yelled into the empty living room. The T.V. was off, and no one was waiting for her in the kitchen. The house seemed empty, which was odd since her parents were normally home by this time. Walking towards her room, she noticed the door to her parents’ room was shut, which was also odd. It was almost always open, except at night when they went to sleep. Small scratching noises came from the room, causing Alexis to jump and drop her bag. She hesitated at first, but decided to open the door.
As soon as she did, a snow white cat ran out from the room, making Alexis jump again, but this time with an added squeak.
“God damn it, Flurry! You scared the hell out of me.” She cried. The cat itself rushed in the direction of the bathroom, where her litter box waited. Feeling stupid, Alexis grabbed her bag and walked off. Her room wasn’t anything spectacular. It had everything any room needs: a bed, a closet, a wardrobe, a television, things like that. The only thing she had in there that some people might not was a large mirror hanging on the wall that her mom said would help remind her of how beautiful she really was. Not that she needed a mirror for anything like that. She knew she wasn’t Miss Universe material, but at the very least she thought of herself as “moderately attractive.” Stuck in the middle of the large mirror was a sticky note. Plucking it off made the mirror’s bottom rise forward before falling back against the wall with a thick “Thunk!” noise. The note was from her father. It said that both he and his mother had to go to an important business dinner, and that they couldn’t wait for her to get home so they left.
“At least they left me ten bucks for pizza.” She told herself.
Night fell, and her parents still weren’t home. The note didn’t have a set time about when they’d get back, so when it came to be ten o clock, Alexis decided it was best not to wait up for them and instead got ready for bed. Laying on her bed, she could see small streams of moonlight penetrate the window blinds that somewhat illuminated her room. “What if there was a place where it was always night? It might be cool for a while, but after a few days people would miss the sun.“ She turned on her side and let sleep take her over as she heard the sound of a faraway motorcycle.
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It’s never day time here. Night reigns 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Nights are hardly ever clear ones, there are always clouds covering up what I remember to be a beautiful sky. Scientists say that the sun still rises, we just can’t see it because of all the damn clouds in the way. I don’t know if I believe that, if the only people allowed to see the sun are people who are willing to be fired into space by barely-stable rockets only to survey the Earth and give us the same report the last fifty crews have told us. “Yep, it’s dark out here alright. Sure is a lot of black clouds around Earth too. Shoulda seen the sun though. Brighter than the light bulb inside my car’s glove department.” Obviously with dark clouds come rain, which is another custom in this era: it’s nearly always raining. It reminds me of when I was a kid learning about the planets. There was one planet--the name of it is long lost to me--in which it rained all year, except for maybe two weeks in which sunlight was allowed it. I wish we had that. Most of the children here don’t even know the sun exists and think it’s a bedtime story adults made to get them to shut the hell up and go to bed. If I hadn’t seen it when I was young, I probably wouldn’t believe it was real either.
The gloomy road in front of me stretched forever to either side of me. Slick black pavement glistening endlessly with rain water, the dull reflection of street lights, neon lights, and head lights shone through, sending me into a wave of nostalgia I could never place in my memory. A helmet flew toward me, and I just managed to grab it before it bashed into my face.
“You comin’?” I heard Jack ask. I strapped the helmet on my head wordlessly and continued to stare at the black pavement outside the large building where a jazzman look-a-like was assassinated. The only witness--a female bodyguard--was knocked unconscious by Jack’s infamous left handed uppercut. She’d be lucky if she was in a coma, let alone remember my face. The sound of a motorcycle revving up snapped me into attention. I stared in his direction and saw him sitting (not so) pretty ontop of an X-Bike.
”Why an X-Bike?” I asked as I sat behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, my arm burning with pain that I ignored. He smelled of liquor and cigarette smoke.
“The hell you want from me? There’s no way I could’ve gotten anything better on short notice, girl. Just be happy this ain’t a Y-Bike or a Z-Bike.”
“Fair enough.” I grumbled. X-Bikes are considered some of the worst mechanics created in this day and age. It’ll get you from point A to point B, but don’t expect it to amaze you in any way. Unless you’re amazed by the floating aspect of it, a staple of any Letter Series Automobiles. Z-Bikes are the absolute worst of the bunch, though. If you ever get anything with a “Z-” in front of it, you’re better off walking.
“You got a good grip?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” I called back. The X-Bike began to hover inches above the ground, a misty grey color completely covering the empty gap where tires used to go on motorcycles of last generation. We sped forward, keeping a constant rate of 27 miles an hour, nearly the top speed of this shitty machine. Whenever I ride on one of these Bikes, I always get mesmerized by the light glowing below me. Each Lettered Bike has it’s own separate color, and I nearly crashed on more than one occasion while riding on an S-Bike because of the bewilderingly beautiful yellow-gold glow it let out.
“Any chance of a reachy?” Jack yelled out to me. I let my fist to his stomach answer for me. “Just askin’” he said in a muffled voice.
The roads where deserted. It must have been early A.M. if no one was walking around. I had entered the building at around 10 P.M., and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me I had spent more than two hours inside. On my right were more buildings. Probably a strip mall of some kind. On my left was the ocean. Well, not exactly the ocean, we were on top of large hill, and at the bottom of that hill was the beach. A protective rail was lined up with the hill to make sure no drunk or half asleep drivers would drive off and kill themselves. A drop of water landed on one of my arms, then another landed on my nose. Soon both of us were drenched by the army of tiny sprinkles. Jack began chuckling to himself.
“Sana. Hey, Sana.”
“Oh god, what do you have to say now?”
“You’re wet cuz you’re on an X-Bike with me.” He said before howling with laughter. I sighed.
“Stop saying words. Seriously, how old are you? 15?”
“Thought it was funny…” He told me, wiping something away from his eye. Either a tear or a drop of rain.
The only good thing about this rain was how cold it was. It made the pain in my left arm much more bearable, and I no longer had tears of pain well up in my eyes every ten minutes. We rode in silence for a while before something caught both our ears. It sounded like another bike behind us, and it was getting closer. Out of habit from all the damn training they put me through, I looked back as it got closer. I saw a large amount of hair fluttering in the wind. It was a helmet-less lady, and boy did she look pissed. I figured out who it was immediately and freaked out.
“J-Jack! It’s the bodyguard! She’s back!”
“Bodyguard?” he asked, legitimately confused.
“Yeah, the one that shot me and nearly killed me before you knocked her out! How’s she able to ride a Bike after your left uppercut?” Jack shook his head and looked in the side mirror.
“She’s on a Q-Bike.” He said. “We can’t outrun her on this piece of shit.” A Q-Bike? I took another look at the Secretary-Bodyguard. The light it gave off was a blinding hot pink.
“Is Q-Bike short for Queer-Bike?” I cried out
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