The Old Sea And The Man

Even if there had been light this far underground, the water, if it was indeed water, was inky black, ripples moving through it disquietingly as he stared at it.

His filter was long useless, and he'd used the last purification tablet two days ago.

He needed to survive, he was so close to finding... He couldn't remember what he was looking for, but he knew he'd remember once he found it. But to find it he needed water.

This was water.

Slowly, he dipped his hand in, and drank.

He found what he was looking for.

And it found him.

The Text

Stories have power.

I think most people understand that, on some level. Most people will agree that the myths baked into a society help shape those inside it, be they moral tales or 'accurate history'.

But more importantly than those are the narratives we believe the world runs on. The way we talk about events, how we frame what occurs, these are more powerful, since how we see these is how we react and thus how they develop.

But most importantly of all are the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. Everyone's a hero to themselves.

Edit yourself.

Trust The Process

The swordwoman dumped a handful of scalps onto the desk.

"You had a problem with some orcs?"

I recoiled in horror.

"No! What made you think that?"

She paused, and pulled out a crumpled poster from a pouch on her belt. I looked it over.

"Yeah, this seal of the Sheriff over the reward offered is a fake, this is a forgery. Sorry."

The Swordwoman grumbled and stomped out of the jailhouse. The Sheriff then wandered in from the back.

"Who was that?"

"Oh, my husband dropping off more orc scalps. Can you go fetch our reward while I process?"

Minute Hand

It was a fusion reactor plate, forged in a neutron star forge along with a thousand other ones. But thanks to a minute impurity, it was slightly weak.

This led to it being the one that failed, and causes the battlecraft to suffer a containment leak and crash on the planet.

This led to a resource of tech for the natives to harvest several thousand years later, the drive plate being forged into a crown.

This led to the race, in several thousand more years, that saved the galaxy.

Which led to my coming here to add in an impurity...

Color Wheel

Blue, pink, green.

Those were the colors of her hair, when I first met her.

Black, white, red.

Those were the colors of a newspaper, when she told her lame joke.

Yellow, pink, orange.

Those were the colors of the prizes, when I got my eye in on our first date.

Red, black, silver.

Those were the colors of her elegant dress, when she proposed to me.

White, blue, pink.

Those were the colors of her wedding dress, when she bought it.

White, red, black.

Those were the colors of it when I got to the scene of the accident.

Viral Vira

Like a lot of viral stuff, it's hard to explain why it took off like it did. It was just an account on a video sharing network that posted a ten minute video each day of a moderately attractive youngish woman going about her life, as taken from security cameras. This video was her making meatballs while listening to a podcast, this one her watching cat videos, this one her taking a nap. I guess the mundane nature of this relaxed people, until it was discovered the woman didn't know about any of this.

That's when it really got popular.

Over

How long can you sit by and let someone be wrong? There's a guy in the next row of seats over who is loudly telling someone over the phone a bunch of stupid bullshit. I'm not going to bother trying to detail the extent of his wrongness, but suffice to say it's typical internet crap about how people loving each other is going to end the world. And I'm really getting tired of listening to it, and at some point I'm gonna have to do something, aren't I?

I should, shouldn't I? At least before he gets off?

Too late.

Red Card

As soon as I opened my apartment door, Lilith strode in and threw herself onto my couch. She never was one for niceties.

"Are you aware of the concept of marriage to secure citizenship?"

I coughed.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Why? You're not getting deported, are you? Surely Canadians are safe?"

For the first time that I could recall, she looked unsure of herself.

"Not exactly... Look, it's complicated, I need your help to stay here, do you trust me?

I nodded, and she waved her hands in an odd pattern, before she suddenly grew wings and her skin turned red, and I was suddenly seeing a lot more of said skin than I had been a minute ago. Her voice was raspy, as if it was somehow on fire.

"Slave, answer me."

"Slave? Lilith, what the hell?"

The only reason her confusion wasn't clear on her face was the fear already there.

"No no no, that had to work, he'll be aware of this in a moment, the only ways that wouldn't work would be anti-spell magic or if you already loved me...

Oh, well, that's convenient."

I don't remember the following meeting, but the thank you I'll never forget.

Humanity's Strength

The Elder Races Council was deep into the second day of discussion of the application of Humanity to join the Greater Alliance. No other application discussion had lasted longer than a few hours prior.

There was just so much history to wade through, every race could find an example of positive (in their eyes) actions and beliefs in their past, as well as negatives. Humanity was this huge, sprawling mass of dozens of cultures, all intertwined.

Which was why their application was eventually rejected. If Humanity couldn't agree on what Humanity was, without a winning culture, they couldn't be handled.

Meeting Her Hammer

Almost every morning she would climb onto the platform she'd built on her roof, and practice with what I later learned was a 'meteor hammer'. It was two weights on a chain, and she would spin and twirl it around for 15 minutes daily. Just long enough for my coffee and breakfast, as I sat in my upper floor flat opposite and watched.

It was always beautiful, I admired her skill and the way she handled it, but I didn't notice how she began to tailor the performance to entice me until she got desperate and threw it at me.

The Clockwork Man

The Clockwork Man does not think, like you or I do. He lacks the ability to do so. He merely repeats what he has been programmed to do, with adjustments as required. The Clockwork Man is a feat of engineering, do not misunderstand me, but you cannot expect him to be able to grasp complex concepts, to appreciate art, to truly love.

He simply cannot do so. You may be able to approximate such feelings with more programming, but true enlightenment is impossible. Just accept this, my dear, and forget this damn silly notion that you can love an accountant.

Drunken Master Thoughts

Obviously, if I drank enough to lose control of basic motor skills, I'd be useless in a fight.

But likewise, being as sober as a judge wasn't going to help either, as I needed the flexibility, the relaxation, and to be frank, the anaesthetic qualities of the alcohol flowing through my veins.

There was some wiggle room, a half bottle of brandy either side where I could fight and be of some limited use, but the sweet spot was one I had to keep a very close eye on.

Attacking mid-hangover is still a massive cheap shot though, you bastard.

The Most Amazing Girl

Every day I told her how amazing and wonderful she was. That she was the most incredible girl on Earth.

At first, she found it charming, then endearing, then just part of who I was. But eventually she insisted to know why I kept having to repeat it.

I tried to stall, but eventually I had to confess that i needed her to be amazing, as if she was amazing and loved me, I had to be special too.

She showed me why that was a bad attitude to have and helped me through it, since she really was amazing.

Delayed Thanks

On one level, I should have been nothing but grateful once the superspace communication relay came online. I was able to communicate with my wife in almost real time, despite the millions of miles between us. But as I always said when we talked, those thirty second delays always felt like an eternity, as I would wait, staring at her, for my message to get to her then hers back to me. But now, I suppose I really am grateful, as I had an extra thirty seconds with her before her ship blew up and I lost the connection forever.

Death's Lie

I didn't see the truck, not until it was far too late.

As I died, a figure formed before me, smoke gathering into a hood, bone hands tightly gripping a scythe as it prepared to swing.

"Seriously? Scythe wielding skeleton? Come on..."

The scythe dipped.

"I try to appear how one expects. You'd prefer the busty female version from your comic books?"

I shook what was the equivalent of my head.

"How about what you actually are? I don't appreciate lies, regardless of the reason."

The figure paused, and then became everything and nothing, simultaneously. Shocked me to, you know.

Chain Of Power

It was a gold chain, a few dozen links, a few diamonds embedded in some links, others with empty settings where, presumably, diamonds once sat. Pry the remaining jewels out, melt down the gold, it'd be worth a few months rent, you'd say.

But it was worth more, wars had been fought over it, since whoever held it ruled the land, it was priceless.

Should it have been so, though? How much is that control worth, is power really such an important thing?

And, more importantly, the gold and the jewels were fake, so its value is even more questionable.

Mandarin

It looked like a guitar, just more rounded. I picked up the orange colored instrument and plucked at it a few times as the owner of the store wandered over.

"Antique that. One of the few western instruments found in China from before the revolution. Owned by a high ranking bureaucrat, he was apparently quite fixated on his youth, he'd play this to remind himself of-"

I placed the instrument down slowly.

"Are you honestly expecting me to believe this is a maudlin Mandarin's mandolin?"

"Almost there. Note the color, sweeter than orange, smaller too."

I walked out in disgust.

Deleting Her

"Next!"

The next customer walked in and sat down. The sadness was clear on his face, I'd seen it dozens of times before, but the policy was clear, I had to ask.

"So what can we help you forget today?"

"My wi... My ex-wife."

"Ah, a common issue. So were you after a memory deletion or the emotional drain?"

He shuffled in his seat.

"Actually I was wanting to delete her from existence. You do that here too, right?"

I sighed, and shook my head.

"I'll have to put a bigger sign up. This is MemChange.

HisChange is next door."

No Discounts

Every few weeks, another foolhardy attempt is made to storm Death Castle. Sometimes it's just the one religious zealot who is sure their faith and associated magic will protect them, other times it's a large group of all sorts of warriors. They all come into my farm near the base of Mount Chaos and I sell them what I can while warning them of all the traps and dangers in the castle and surrounding mountain area.

Good thing they are there and still working though. Otherwise I'd have a lot less income since Queen Mayhema died few years back now.

What I Want During My Mood

What do I want here?

Obviously I want this to end, I'd like to be well, but that's not about to happen immediately, or any time soon.

I don't want sympathy or pity, I know damn well there's people in much worse shape than me, this is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

And that extends to any attempt to give me a solution or cure. If it was a simple fix, I'd have fixed it by now.

So what do I want? The world to pause for a while. But since that's impossible, uh...

Some nachos maybe? Please?

Balance

Balance.

I was created from chaos, from the world in pain as it burned. I was made to try to bring balance back.

At first it was easy, put out the fires, end the suffering, and I could sleep. But as the voices grew louder, more and more hate would spread and consume so many lives, it became harder and harder to sleep, as I needed more and more energy and time to regain the balance.

But worse was the flip side, as hate subsided, all that love...

I had to end them all at that point.

Balance, after all.

Threat Alert Black

GS Clone #48 ran into room with his weapon drawn, expecting he would have to use it, given the threat level. Instead he found an empty room.

Maybe the alert was wrong? Maybe it wasn't meant to be this high, maybe... Wait, there's a body behind the-

GS Clone #49 was more cautious, reviewing the holofootage first before entering the supposedly empty room, just seeing the flash of metal-

GS Clone #50 instigated Emergency Protocol CM3, and once GS Clones #51 and #52 were printed, they entered the room, and finally captured GS Prime and returned him to the booth.

The Five Feasts

There were five types of feast you'd have in your life.

The first you wouldn't remember, as it was for your birth. Your mother would be fed well, and all guests would bring one long lasting item for the family.

The annual winterend feast was simple enough to understand, whatever food was left was consumed before the new season.

The feast to decide a new leader was loud, chaotic, and effective.

The feast to ask to marry was quiet, intimate, and often without result.

The final feast, people would come, celebrate your life, then take a food item from you.

Not Mine

It was the party held for my nineteenth birthday, although I wouldn't say it was my party, I hadn't wanted it.

The drink I held in my hand was rum and coke, although I wouldn't say it was my drink, it had been shoved in my hand.

The girl who held my attention was talking to Chloe, although I wouldn't say Chloe was my friend, she just hung around my place most days.

The moment that hung as Chloe introduced Rosemary to the birthday boy and then left us alone, that awkward silence was all mine.

And hers.

Ours, really.

Big Numbers

Four screens, sixteen cameras, three shifts, eight hours each.

All day, every day. Every ten seconds, they all switch. Every ten seconds, four more views of the same room.

Automation would be coming in four to six months, a computer checking every feed every microsecond. It had been coming in four to six months for four to six years.

But today, there was just two eyeballs watching the four screens, as usual. And there was one path, one possible way to get in and out without being seen.

Which only needed one person to use to speed up the automation.

Power Gauntlet

The gauntlet was the only part of the First Queen's armor to survive the Battle of All Hope. It quickly gained power as a symbol of rebellion and defiance against the Dark Ruler. The symbol of the Underground, it became the symbol of the Second Empire, images woven into battle flags, the gauntlet the last item new rulers took during coronation. The power the Gauntlet had to inspire, to rally, to symbolize all that was good, was immense.

But it took many generations before someone asked how it survived that battle and began the path to unlocking its actual power.

Anyone Helping Someone

She was drawn to him, his hunched over figure outlined against the flickering streetlights bringing her close while driving everyone else away.

"Are you ok?"

He raised his head.

"The hell you care?"

She sat down next to him on the curbside.

"I'm just someone who wants to help, and you look like you need some."

"You must be new around here, if you approach strange men like this. You don't know who I am!"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! I could be anyone!"

"You're someone. That's enough."

He tried to think, then just collapsed into her arms.

The Context Of Bob

Their language had a limited number of phonetic elements, and a finite limit to the length of a word. Therefore, context and inflection were essential, as they were the only way to determine if 'Bob' meant rain, or weightlessness sickness, or a shade of yellow, or any of a few dozen words and phrases.

They understood that to us it was a name, my name. I was the best translator we had, but at a crucial moment...

It ended up with another meaning. "One who cannot distinguish a friendly greeting and a heinous insult."

It comes up a lot now.

Assume

The group of professionals had planned the hit for three months, every angle covered, they assumed.

The group of friends had 24 hours to get the money together, and an inside man, so it would be easy, they assumed.

The group all had their own enemies, who had come together to deal with them all quickly, suddenly, and thus would get away clean, they assumed.

The boss who had the friends by the balls wanted to ensure they were screwed, if not they might succeed, he assumed.

The sole survivor has all the money and lives under an assumed identity.

Putting Out The Fire

He tried to balance the need to alert those in command of the issue that had arisen with the desire not to cause panic. But there's only so many ways you can say that the reactor core is locked in an inescapable cascade across an open commlink, if you decide to make sure the message is transmitted.

Yes, officially, he should have gone through proper reporting channels, the filing triplicate memos and such, but he assumed he'd either be a hero or dead, so why not risk it?

Now, at he is being court-martialed, he knows why he shouldn't have.

The Brother And The Sister

The Brother And Sister loved each other as Twins do.

They decided to make a world together, to rule and shape.

But to do this, they had to reduce their power, so as to interact with our level of reality.

She did this successfully, but he went too far, and was thrown down as one of us instead.

He can return to rejoin his sister, but he will need energy, faith, love, in order to achieve his true purpose he needs our help.

He does not need your money, don't be silly. He needs the blood of your sister, obviously.